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btsmosphere · 9 days

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Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 1: the Light Dies

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🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: He’s the hero. Unfortunately for you, you’re not the villain.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 6.6k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, it’s sorta like a mafia au but they have superpowers lmao 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: violence with superpowers, minor character death, attempted murder, injury, loss of consciousness

a/n: I have to say thank you to @casuallyimagining and @bluewhale52 for betaing this chapter, although this might come as a surprise to them since that was maybe 3 years ago now?😅I'm really not sure how much my writing had changed since then, but you guys can be the judge of that as the future chapters unfold! In the meantime, enjoy! If you want more supercharged in your life, you can also search my supercharged tag to find some musings, rambling, gifsets and visuals etc that inspired me and kept me going while I lost my mind over this story!

Lastly, I present the supercharged playlist✨ I had a lot of fun making this – several songs align with plot events, while some of them are there for the title, the vibe, or even a single line! Feel free to guess which are which or come and chat with me about it👀

An ear-splitting roar was barely contained behind shuddering steel doors. Just down the corridor, your fingers still clicked away, unperturbed, at your keyboard.

Tapping your foot, you looked impatiently up at the clock as another thunderous bellow assaulted the air. If the full-length windows weren’t reinforced by your boss, Kuyang’s own design, they would be rattling in their frames.

Blowing to rid your face of a strand of hair, you returned to your work, not even sparing a glance towards the source of the racket. It was only around half an hour until you could leave work for the weekend.

Finishing your task, you turned to filing the correspondence on your desk as a few yells carried through the air, mingled with the monster’s uproar. Bills and business deals the lot of them, you tucked them away in their respective places to be dealt with next week – only to stop on the very last one. How many times had the postman ignored the very clear sign for no newspapers?

You supposed the city felt the need to remind everyone that there was some semblance of central control – not really of much concern in a workplace such as yours, mind. Glancing across the front page, you realised why. You didn’t have a tv at home, but you would have to live under a rock not to recognise your city’s most celebrated superhero. Bolt, the media’s beloved, had claimed another victory against some crazy start-up trying to build their own bombs downtown.

The hero’s blue-masked face grinned confidently up at you from the desk, while police led what looked to be two scruffy teenagers into the back of their van. But Bolt’s vivid presence eclipsed them in his suit that matched his bright eyes.

Not bothering to read further, you pushed the paper into the waste bin at the end of the table.

Just as you were tucking away the final bits of paper, your boss emerged, wiping his brow on a cloth that looked as dirty as his face. Smiling pleasantly despite his ruffled state, you rotated on your chair to face him.

“Frank’s all good and sleepy now,” he said, “if you could get him sent up to the chamber.”

“Sure,” you nodded, already getting up and straightening your jacket.

With nothing more than a weary nod of appreciation, he left for his private laboratory. This was through a series more armoured doors, to which only you and a small number of lab workers knew the codes.

He was a scientist. And you were sure he was unhinged, but the job paid well, so that was all you concerned yourself with.

In fact, you had got very lucky. You had been surprised when such a good position had become available and quickly given to someone as ill-qualified as you, with no references to give. But your lack of connections seemed of no concern, and here you were, finally making ends meet and no longer in fear of being turned out of your run-down apartment at the edge of town.

So you did your job as well as you could, worrying yourself over nothing except pleasing the odd man that was Kuyang.

Even so, it was still a little daunting each time you had to come face-to-face with one of his experiments.

Reaching the steel doors that had not long ago been seriously threatening their hinges, you took a breath. Holding your thumb over a scanner by the door, you plastered a confident smile on your face as you walked inside.

Affectionately dubbed ‘Frank’, a great lump of teeth and dark furry flesh several times bigger than you was sleeping in a pod at the centre of the room. Surrounding this were multitudes of screens showing graphs and readings you couldn’t hope to understand.

At the edges of the room, a smattering of other workers were slumped against the stainless steel lab walls, almost as rumpled as their boss had been.

A hulking guard, Taeyeon, stood near the entrance, and you quietly confirmed with her that Frank was under and secure. Nodding, you gestured to Taeyeon’s team, another man and woman with the same uniform and intimidating stature.

Together, you assembled in front of the tank that held Frank, Taeyeon typing authorisation into one of the computers. The others locked down the external doors, just in case.

Though it was a familiar sight by now, the opening of the pod always prompted you to run through your training. If you hadn’t read it in the documents you dealt with, you would not have known Frank was also known as Necrus X, a new prototype Kuyang was working on, although you could not imagine what for.

Kuyang had been sure to tell you how to knock out the creature if it ever came to it, though. There was a spot behind his ear, which was more of a ridge at the side of his enormous head.

With the pod open, a panel rose from the floor, taking Frank rotating upwards. You caught sight of the patch behind its ear, zeroing in on it. Just in case.

The smooth expanse of ceiling split then, a hole revealing itself as the roof shrunk away into the walls, leaving a clear path for Frank to rise to the next floor, where he was stored.

As effortlessly as the ceiling retreating, a smooth steel staircase emerged from the walls. You and Taeyeon climbed it, spiralling around the edges of the circular space until you drew level with Frank, now snoring on the upper floor. Here, the space was wide open like an empty art gallery, half the walls comprised of expansive windows, no lab equipment to be seen.

The floor closed up beneath you both and you walked around Frank, opening a secret panel in the wall. As before, you raised your thumb to a blank scanner – but got no further.

A deafening smash sent you crouching to the ground in panic. Livid blue painted all the walls in the space as shattered glass skidded across the floor.

You had thought that glass to be unbreakable. At least that was the intention. But when you turned, you were forced to believe your ears: the central panel of glass was completely blown in, all the others down the row cracked from the force.

At the same moment the glass had shattered, you could suddenly hear what before had been hidden behind soundproofing. Outside, there were shouts, screams, car horns and alarms blaring from every angle – and above all, sirens. Sirens wailing through the air like disembodied banshees, descending, apparently, on your building.

Shuffling along the floor, you peered past the sleeping mass that was Frank in front of you. Walking across the room was a man in a tight blue suit, the same hue crackling in the air around his hands.

Bolt.

Mind short-circuiting, you were frozen. What should you do?

What was Bolt doing here? Was there some kind of threat? The image of him should have brought you relief, even though you knew nothing of what the danger was, but you hesitated.

Only having the presence of mind to shrink back silently behind Frank, you looked between the beast and the control panel you had abandoned. But you had no more chance to move before a fearsome crack ripped through the air, another flash of blue, sending the hairs on your arms bolting upright.

Spinning back to face Frank, you were met with a thump. A body, falling onto the floor.

Though she was mostly obscured by Frank’s sleeping form, you stared in unbelieving horror at Taeyeon where she lay, unmoving. Breath accelerating in your throat, you moved at last, scooting yourself back and away. Closer to the wall.

First you lunged to sound the alarm, mounted inside the wall panel, which instantly lit the room up in throbbing red, blaring loud enough to drown out the sirens outside. Then your hand was fumbling across the scanner. You had to get Frank locked away.

The walls of the pod which safely contained Frank overnight began to descend, much too slowly for your liking. Whirling to face the room, your heart seized in your chest when the imposing figure of Bolt, now shaded purple by the red light, met your eyes.

A glance up at the descending walls. They were halfway to the ground by now, but you still had to enter the code to lock them down.

Bolt yelled for you to stop, barely audible over the dizzying noise of the warning siren.

As he strode towards you, you could only watch, pressing yourself desperately against the wall as if it could swallow you up.

Bright light cut through the imposing red as the heavy door at the opposite end of the room was thrown open. Bolt stopped, both of you turning to see Kuyang enter. His hair was still sticking up from earlier, a strange expression on his face that you hadn’t seen before.

Paying no mind to the maniacal smile that had no place on Kuyang’s face, you took the moment of distraction to scramble for the code lock.

Without a sound, the gap between the floor and Frank’s pod closed, and your fingers were already leaping to action, typing the numbers behind your back at lightning speed.

Kuyang was running now, a direct path towards Bolt. But Bolt turned back towards you.

You were nearly done, but his hand was raising towards you…

In a split second, your fingertip met the final key of the code. Almost instantly, it was ripped away as shocking blue light cut through the air. You felt the impact before you could even notice that it was aimed at you.

Hitting you square in the chest, white hot pain scorched through your every nerve as your body was flung backwards, powerless as a ragdoll sailing through the air. The collision with the cracked window behind was almost lost on you. More intense pain was writhing its way down each limb, making you cry out, uncaring about the rain-spattered wind that whipped about your face now.

But you could see shards of glass as they fell along with you, like daggers aimed at the ground.

Biting wind rushed in your ears, the sound crashing over you like waves. And just as a pan sizzles down off the heat, the ferocious attack of pain seemed to reduce just as fast as it had invaded you.

Your heartbeat was the loudest thing, booming over the insistent web of sirens and whistling air.

Breathing choppily, you screwed your eyes nearly closed, suddenly aware of the tempest around you as you fell. Above, the already darkening winter night was illuminated with flashes of that awful blue.

You were falling.

It hit you then, as if you hadn’t been falling all this time. But it was only now that your senses caught up with themselves. You worked on a very high floor of the skyscraper, but as you were tossed around in the air, you saw the ground rapidly approaching.

A horror gripped your chest like nothing you had ever felt before.

Below you, and rushing towards you at terrifying speed, a skip sat surrounded by heaps of trash on the street. Unable to think, you could only shield your face with your hands, stretched out in front of you as if to stop the inevitable collision.

Though your eyes fell closed, you felt the jerk that flung your whole body backwards.

That wasn’t what you had expected.

Eyes snapping open in confusion, you found your vision lit with blue. In front of your face, blue light was shooting from your palms, pushing you up and away from the ground.

Your mouth fell open. Gaping in shock, you did nothing as the light died and you slowed again in the air.

Though you began falling much slower this time, you barely had time to notice your surroundings – much nearer the ground – before you were plummeting again, and this time nothing could stop you.

Your eyes weren’t even open when you felt your body slide off something. Not a second later, you were crumpling onto hard concrete which grazed your cheek.

You groaned.

It was dark. High above, any flashes of light didn’t reach you here, having landed in a thin alley beside the building. And though this shielded you from the commotion on the main streets out front, sirens still pierced the air, each one feeling like a stab to your head.

You clutched it as you maneuvered to sit. It took you a few tries, groping for a wall or something to lean against as you regained your balance.

Eyes cracking open, you waited patiently for the dark splotches to dispel before looking around.

Right next to you was a car which blocked you from view of the road beyond this alley. Evident from the dent that caved in its bonnet, that was what you had landed on.

Turning your head, you had to squint even more as light assaulted your sensitive eyes.

Among a blazing light, you could make out the vague shapes of rubbish bags and an overflowing skip that you recognised. Out of these, a vibrant fire was now burning. The correlation was too strong for you to ignore.

Breath shallow, you turned your horrified gaze to your hands.

They had done this… but how? They looked totally normal now.

Frowning, you brought them up closer to your face, so that your nose was practically buried in your palms.

No difference.

You were sure you hadn’t imagined that blue light which saved you earlier. Was there a way to make it come back?

While you were puzzling, you lowered your hands again, still staring intently as you rotated them in your lap.

Then, quick as a blink, a blue flash darted from them again. So fast, in fact, that you had no time to react before one of the bolts was fired directly into your opposite arm.

Snatching it away reflexively, you hissed in pain as a burning sensation crawled, tingling, over your skin there.

Despite the pain, the blue light didn't cease shooting from your hands. They tingled, a strangely uncomfortable sensation. It was as if something warm was wriggling its way up your veins and spilling from your fingertips.

“Stop! Stop!” you whispered in panic.

You turned them outwards, aiming away from you, but if they kept at it for much longer you were sure to draw attention.

Moving your hands around jerkily, the beams of light shook along with you, but did not go out. With each unsuccessful movement, panic made you more frantic until the glowing rays jerked erratically around the small space.

Straying too far, the light came into contact with a post at the alley’s entrance. You could only watch, helpless, as light like blue snakes skittered up it and latched around the wires it supported.

To your relief, the strange current seemed to have found an outlet, and only remained a second longer before cutting out. You were left blinking in the relative darkness. Panting heavily, you stared down at your hands, although you did not bring them too close anymore.

Once again, they appeared utterly innocent. There was nothing to suggest they had just channelled lightning through them.

Suddenly, the world plunged into darkness. The fire still burned at the other end of the alley, or you would have been left totally blind. In the building behind you, in the street, all the lights had gone out.

Almost instantly following the blackout, screaming rose again in the air.

Gulping, your eyes travelled to the blackened post at the corner, which you had accidentally electrocuted.

This was bad. Your head was spinning, both from your short, hard fall and from the whirlwind of events that had happened in what could only have been minutes. Surrounded by darkness, with the wail of the city and a fire for company, you could only see one course of action.

Run.

You had to get away from here. It wasn’t safe. You had little idea where was safe, but you couldn’t be here anymore.

It wasn’t like you had anyone to call who would care enough to come and pick you up. Nor did you have the money to try a hospital, though you felt as if you may need it.

But especially with electricity shooting from your hands at the drop of a hat, it probably wasn’t best to be anywhere around people.

The dizziness from your unfortunate landing on the car had worn off while you were sitting, but the world swayed anew the moment you made to stand. Pushing determinedly against the wall, you struggled on anyway, brand new dark spots in your vision offset by the brightness of the fire you walked towards.

This end of the alleyway led out through smaller streets, away from the city centre and furore of sirens.

On reaching the opening, you cautiously assessed the road stretching away either side. Empty. And if there was anyone there, they wouldn’t see you in this darkness.

Shoving your hands beneath your armpits on some misguided hope of keeping them from causing problems, you lowered your head and ran. It was more of a jog, considering everything, but you still moved as quickly as you could beneath the dead streetlamps.

Head throbbing more with movement, you stumbled a few times as you went. The pavement tilted around you.

You had made it a few roads before you felt that awful tingling in your arms again. It itched, like something fighting its way out of your skin.

Nausea rolled in the pit of your stomach. This couldn’t be real.

Slowing down and stopping beneath a signpost, you drew your shaking hands out in front of you. The world careened on its axis, revolving around the sight of your palms as a faint blue glow grew in them.

You were going to throw up, you were sure of it.

You wanted it to stop.

A few flickers of blue darted down the veins in your wrist. Towards your fingertips. Sparks leapt from them, small tendrils of lightning crackling between your fingers like webbing.

At last, you gave in to the rising horror mixed with a sick feeling. The floor’s spinning became too much, your hands turning to a bright blur in the centre of your vision.

You passed out on the spot.

Lights were turning on again around the city. Television sets flickering back to life to announce Bolt’s victory against the beast that had attacked earlier that evening.

But not on the street where you still lay.

The return of light only reached neighbouring roads, dim glow snuffed out before it could penetrate the middle of this street. A white-haired young man stepped forwards, but his face was totally obscured in darkness.

“Here,” he spoke to the silence.

The next moment, a deep red glowed in the middle of the road, though it brought little light. The red bounced off a signpost before it was gone, replaced by another man, seemingly from nowhere.

The newest arrival stood there, looking down at your figure, unconscious by the sign. Then he disappeared again, leaving total darkness behind as if he had never been there at all.

A few more moments passed, you and the hidden man the only beings on the dark road.

Not very long after, a car’s engine rumbled and sputtered into earshot. The bright beam of headlights rounded the corner, growing larger and shedding light on your form as it drew closer.

Pulling up next to you, the engine died along with the lights. Two doors opened and slammed shut.

As two pairs of feet stepped nearer to join the one remaining beside you, the streetlamp directly overhead began to glow. The faint glimmer grew until it illuminated the scene. Still no other lights joined it, leaving the small group of you lit up as if by spotlight.

“It’s her?”

The man crouching beside you asked the question without looking up, and the shadowed man answered.

“Pretty sure.”

“She’s breathing?”

“Yes.”

The crouching man hummed. Moving to kneel instead, his eyes roved over your somewhat battered face, dark hair obscuring his own.

“Namjoon?” he asked then, turning to the other man from the car. It was the same man who had momentarily appeared in the street earlier.

Taking his cue, the tall man, Namjoon, walked forwards and bent to lift your hands by the wrists. In just moments he was placing them carefully back, nodding.

“No doubt.”

“Okay then.”

“Can she travel, Jin?”

“Give me a moment.”

Producing a small object, he pressed a button and a small light sprung from the end. Carefully lifting one of your eyelids, he shone the light into it, observing like a doctor.

The first you became aware of was the far away sound of voices being quietly exchanged. But with the cloudiness in your head, identifying them didn’t seem very urgent. You were preoccupied with the swirling feeling that made the world swim around you, even though it was dark.

But as dim awareness was returning to you, the process of regaining your senses was violently accelerated as a blinding light was thrust into your vision.

You flinched, and as Jin pulled away he saw you blink, eyelids screwing shut in protest. His eyebrows raised in slight concern as he watched your first groggy movements.

Blinking around at the dimly lit figures over you, your eyes widened. The nearest man held the illuminated light stick. Was he a doctor?

Next, your eyes darted to the tall man standing behind him. You recognised neither.

Some strange feeling told you someone else was standing there too, but when you looked to your other side you were faced with nothing but empty shadow.

“Can you sit?”

The first man’s question was gentle, his hands ready to support you.

Nodding timidly, you heaved yourself up with his help. It embarrassed you to be panting after just that much movement.

“What happened?” came the next question.

As you replayed the events, you avoided their eyes. You could not let them know what happened, what you had become. They were helping you, and yet you might hurt them-

Fists clenching subconsciously, you stuttered in panic.

“I-I can’t pay,” you told them, but before you could say more a new voice was speaking. The standing man stepped forwards, his voice calm and surprisingly friendly.

“There’s no need to pay. We can help you. Can you tell us what happened?”

“I don’t, uh, I-I-“

His eyes travelled towards your hands, which you were trying to tuck behind you.

“You gained powers, didn’t you?”

You froze.

“I have them too,” he smiled, “I know what it’s like to be scared. But you can work with this and learn to control them. I’m Namjoon, and this is Jin. We’ve been through this before, we can help you.”

At your sides, your hands relaxed. Tension lifted from your tightly hunched shoulders. Wordless, you looked between the men who were watching you, ready to move, but only on your word.

Swallowing, a light frown creased your brow.

“What do you want-”

Namjoon’s smile dimmed into something kinder.

“At least let us check you over.”

Your hands fretted together. It was strange, you couldn’t feel anything there. Surely they should feel different? How would you know if these… powers, Namjoon had said, were to come back?

“You won’t hurt us, don’t worry,” he seemed to anticipate your thoughts as he watched you, “we can protect ourselves.”

“You were unconscious,” Jin spoke, drawing your perplexed gaze back to him, “did you hit your head?”

You blinked, but found yourself answering.

“I think so.”

Nodding, Jin shuffled at your side. He leaned a bit closer.

“I need to shine this light in your eyes again. You may have a concussion.”

Complying, you sat through the eye-watering brightness. He asked you things, like a doctor would, except he was working in the middle of an empty street in the middle of the night.

“Do you feel dizzy?”

“I did. I think still, a little.”

“Any nausea?”

“Yeah… but maybe because of the…” you gestured to your hands.

Jin sat back, taking the light with him. Namjoon shot you a sympathetic smile at that. You supposed he had been through the same thing, from the sounds of it.

Jin looked up at Namjoon.

“It looks pretty rough. Definitely a concussion, and she needs patching up, but in the long run she’ll be fine.”

“I-I’m serious,” you interjected, “I don’t have the money for hospital…”

Your voice faltered. You half thought of asking to just go home, but you were hardly sure of even making it there by yourself. And if you got there, then what? The prospect of burning down the place with these errant powers didn’t fill you with comfort.

“Good thing we’re not going to bring you there, then,” Namjoon said, “but I meant it when I said we could help. We can take you home, if you want… but you can stay with us, too.”

You stared at him wordlessly. Was it crazy that you were considering this?

“Just for a bit, if you need,” Jin added softly, “it’s just… now might not be the smartest time to be alone.”

You chewed your cheek. But your head was pounding too much to think very hard, and this seemed like the most straightforward option. The people in this city kept surprising you, after your first stroke of luck with Kuyang's generosity.

“Sure…” you spoke quietly, not quite able to look them in the eyes, “yes please.”

“Okay,” Namjoon took it in stride, “but let’s get moving.”

“Just one moment – we should wrap that.”

Gesturing towards your arm, Jin stood and went back to the car. On his return, he knelt again and began to secure cling film around the angry red blotch blistering your skin, where you had caught yourself with your own beam.

“We’ll sort it out properly when we get back,” he told you, “but Namjoon’s right, we should be going.”

You followed his gaze which seemed to dart up and down the street. However, nothing was there.

Jin helped you stand, still looking around. Sure enough, the dizziness from before hadn’t quite left you yet. Biting down on your lip, you focussed hard on getting the short distance to the car. You were led to the passenger seat and crumpled gratefully into it.

But just as Jin closed the door, you felt an uncomfortable prickling clutch your forearms again. Namjoon slid into the back seat in time to hear your gasp, noticing the way your fingers flexed in panic. Digging in his pockets, he produced a pair of thin black gloves and held them out to you just as the first trickles of blue appeared in your veins again. He watched with a studious frown as you pushed your hands into the gloves.

“Those will help,” he said, still looking at your wrists, “they can contain the powers. But you shouldn’t keep them on for too long.”

Jin was seating himself in the driver’s side as you frowned over at Namjoon. At first you had been relieved to have a solution to your erratic lightning problem, but that was ripped away at his last addition.

“Why not? It will keep you safe,” you questioned, but kept your voice quiet.

“Don’t worry, we’re more than capable of handling anything you could throw at us,” he laughed, “but you can keep them on in here. Best not to bottle up your powers forever, though.”

Resigned, you turned back to face front. The moment Jin stepped on the gas, all the lights in the road sparked to life at once. Startled, you blinked, looking around. On the pavement you were just pulling away from, a man was walking away, unidentifiable behind a hoodie.

Slumping back in your seat, you breathed a short, dry laugh. This mysterious happening was just the latest in this crazy night. You had no choice but to accept it.

The car ride was fairly short, but you were too tired and distracted to take in exactly where you were going. Streets seemed to blur together, aware only that you were heading out of town.

The itching in your arms had persisted for a while, but as promised, the gloves seemed to work. No fiery blue burst out of your palms, and, eventually, whatever it was decided to give it up, subsiding again by the time the car pulled up.

But no one got out yet. Jin had stopped at the end of a small road, big enough for only one vehicle, directly facing an expanse of crumbling and graffitied brick.

Curiosity woke you up from your daze, and you watched as Jin reached to tap something on his dashboard. Almost instantly, a groaning reached your ears from over the whirring of the engine. The wall ahead shook before shifting, sliding sideways until it tucked itself behind a dented dustbin, unveiling a space beyond.

Leaving you little more time to wonder, Jin started the car again and you rolled downwards through a plain, dark entrance. It reminded you of those multi-storey car parks formed with ugly blocks of concrete. It was considerably smaller than those, however, Jin pullingup into a space alongside about a dozen other vehicles, beyond which the place seemed entirely deserted.

Jin came around to open your door, but you were able to stand by yourself. It was still a bit of a struggle, your limbs sluggish and the world dull around you – although that may have just been the low underground light.

Namjoon led you, Jin staying close by your side. Blinking at the space as you moved through it, your eyes traced over the various car roofs, some cleaner than others. A larger four-by-four was particularly beaten up, with a large crease in one of the metal wheel arches.

Your eyes rested longest on what was probably the most pristine: a motorbike, at first hidden by the cars either side of it.

Soon enough, you were past them. Stopping as Namjoon did, you watched him expectantly. However, he did not turn around, instead standing face-to-face with a plain concrete wall. Except… now a low rumble announced the movement of a panel which slid away, revealing a wide doorway which had previously blended seamlessly with the flat wall.

Your eyebrows raised at the touch that was reminiscent of Kuyang’s lab. Without time for you to dwell on this, your small group moved up a dingy staircase that lay beyond the doorway.

At the top, you emerged into a new space, notably lighter than before. You assumed you were back on ground level, perhaps above. It was hard to be sure, disoriented as you still were in the whirlwind that had overtaken your day.

Bizarrely, the space appeared to be someone’s home. There was a large and coffee-stained table surrounded by mismatching chairs, a kitchen behind it littered with mugs and pot plants. Still, beyond the lived-in array of things lying around, it was big. You imagined it must be miles more expensive than the shoddy apartment you stayed in.

It was open plan, and you followed Namjoon past the dining table towards an area filled with two enormous sofas.

The back of a blond head was visible over the sofa, and now the person turned towards you.

“Guys!” a loud exclamation rang out as he leapt up. A dazzling smile spread across his mouth.

When his eyes fell on you, wincing at his sudden volume, the smile dimmed a little.

“Not so loud, Hope-ah,” Jin spoke gently from behind you.

“Sorry,” he dipped his head, smile remaining on his lips.

Jin’s hands came lightly to your back, steering you over to a sofa. As you sunk into it with relief, the blond man sat across from you, tilting his head to catch your eye.

“I’m Hope,” he smiled, “I’m glad we found you. You’ll be right in no time!”

Frowning, you couldn’t help but notice his eyes flicking over the damage on your face. Averting your gaze, you chewed your lip absently.

What did he mean? I’m glad we found you…

Had they been looking for you? You still weren’t sure if it was a lucky coincidence they found you, but perhaps it was something more.

The lingering ache in your head forced you to push the issue away. You missed Namjoon’s stern look at Hoseok as he hovered behind your seat.

Jin pulled a pack from a cupboard and set it beside you. You let him lift your arm and unwrap the burn, your unfocussed eyes dragging across the room while he applied something cold over it. Next came stinging, scattered over your face as he wiped at the small cuts and grazes with an apologetic grimace you barely saw.

You only forced the world back into focus when someone else entered your sight. Emerging from behind you, a gentle, friendly smile was directed your way from a man with pale pink hair. Swallowing, you never managed to smile back before he was turning away.

The pink-haired man reached a hand out to someone you couldn’t see. Another man appeared, walking towards him, but he never looked at you. Or if he did, it was obscured behind the black hair that fell to his eyes.

The two new people left towards the kitchen, though not without another smile from the pink one.

Who were all these people?

Frowning after them, you were interrupted by a clap on the shoulder from Jin.

“We’ll talk more in the morning. You need to rest.”

Looking around, you had half a mind to protest, but were overruled by the shakiness taking over your frame. Body too fatigued to allow you much say, you meekly followed Jin.

Beyond the living space, a thinner corridor led away, several closed doors along its walls.

Further you went, until a door just ahead opened. Another person walked out.

When he stopped to face you, his posture remained stiff. Tall and muscular, he was clad all in black except for a towel slung over his shoulder. Damp hair fell messily around his head. But you had little time to take this in, as his eyes fixed themselves fiercely on yours, rendering you unable to look away.

Mouth remaining in a hard line, his expression only twitched further into a frown.

Then his gaze flicked abruptly away, travelling to Jin just beyond you.

“Kook-“

Jin never got further than that before the man strode forwards, marching sharply past you and away with a scowl. Turning after him in surprise, you watched his tense shoulders disappear behind Namjoon, who you hadn’t noticed hovering.

Namjoon stared sternly after him, but the man seemed to avoid his gaze.

Jin sighed, sending an apologetic glance at you.

“That’s just Jungkook,” Namjoon spoke, ushering you all further along the hallway, “don’t pay him any attention.”

“Why was…”

You trailed off, unsure of what exactly to ask. Neither of them made an attempt to answer.

You had no idea a wordless encounter could leech so much hostility into the atmosphere. Picturing Jungkook’s glowering face, you blindly followed the others through a different door.

“You can sleep in here.”

“Hm?”

Shaking yourself, you looked around the new room. There wasn’t much to see. Beside a low bed, there was a mirror, a wooden closet and nothing more. Looking up, you didn’t even find a light in the ceiling. The only light leaked through from the hallway.

Clearly reading your gaping mouth and furrowing brow, Namjoon moved in front of you.

“Don’t worry, this is just a place to sleep, nothing more. But since you’re going to have to take those gloves off, we can’t have you in a space with any electricals.”

Stepping back defensively, your fingers pressed tightly together. Having the gloves on had let you almost imagine that nothing life-changing had happened. Like gaining unpredictable powers, for instance.

Namjoon watched patiently, holding out a hand.

“You don’t need them…”

He realised he had never asked your name, and let his sentence trail expectantly. Telling him your name, he relaxed into a smile.

“You don’t need them, Y/N,” he repeated, not that you believed him for a second, “you’ll be perfectly safe. And so will we.”

Only the yearning to collapse onto the bed persuaded you to hand over the gloves. The instant they were in his hand, you swore you could feel a shock go up your arm. Immediately tense again, your breathing became shallower, with no idea how to try and stop power shooting from your hands any moment.

But Namjoon and Jin seemed content. Before you could gather your thoughts, they had left, closing the door and drenching your room in near total darkness.

Stumbling to the bed and virtually falling into it, you wiped sweating palms against the fabric. Your mouth was dry with fear.

This couldn’t have happened.

Alone for the first time since your initial panic, it didn’t take long for your mind to wrap itself in circles again. Only hours ago, you had been sitting happily in your bright office, going through the motions…

One split-second decision from a powerful man had changed that.

You knew full well he had intended for you to die. But he was Bolt...

He had probably forgotten about it already. The guard he sent lifeless to the floor, the secretary he threw from the building.

Itching feeling returning, you swallowed desperately and raised your hands. Sure enough, against the darkness, blue pierced your vision, darting its way up-

Turning your face away, you flinched as the outburst came. Your eyes screwed shut, you pressed your cheek into fabric, not wanting to see the deathly lightning that shot through the room. Shuddering breaths broke into your lungs when at last it subsided.

Letting them fall, limp, to your sides, your hands fisted the covers tightly.

You were almost afraid to open your eyes, knowing it would only show you the empty room, confirmation that this was real. You were dangerous, shut in a safe room where you could hurt no one. Would you ever get out? Succeed in controlling this, like Namjoon had said?

With no idea where you were, barely any idea who the people here were, you wanted to block it out. But even with your eyes closed, you couldn’t escape.

The memory of Jungkook’s suspicious face made your heart sink. Perhaps people should be afraid of you, now. As much as you may want to, there was no getting away from this.

Pushing yourself to sit, you surveyed the room. Eyes accustomed to the blackness a little more, you could make out vague shapes. Your breath fell alone in the silence. This really was the safest place you could be right now, even if it was a nightmare.

As your head turned, you suddenly came level with your eyes in the mirror, and a shock of light.

For an extended moment, you could only stare.

Then all at once you were rushing forwards, tripping from the end of the bed. Bracing your arms against the wall either side of the mirror, you gaped at your reflection.

As you watched, an angular bolt of blue shot across your irises, which were already dimly glowing.

You gulped against the thick feeling crawling up your throat. Faced with this, you could no longer have any hope of denying it.

This was really happening.

Thank you for reading!! Please please let me know your thoughts on this chapter, comments make it all worthwhile!��💜

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korrasamiweek2024 · 3 months

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Hi everyone! This December will mark the 10th anniversary of Korra and Asami walking hand in hand into the Spirit Portal and changing the animation game forever. Korrasami means so much to so many people, so let's give them the celebration they deserve💖

Here's a general idea of what to expect and when:

February 1st - April 30th: Prompt Submission. Let me know what kind of prompts you'd like to see! Send me a message here and I'll add it to the list.

May: Prompt Voting. Depending on how many prompt ideas are submitted, this could take one week or a few weeks. We'll see when we get there!

June - December 14th: Long stretch of time during which I'll be on my hands and knees begging you not to forget this event is a thing, and you can brainstorm and work on your submissions!

December 15th - December 21st: Korrasami Week!!!

Keep reading under the cut for rules and guidelines😊

Rules and Guidelines:

1. What's allowed? Pretty much anything! Artwork, fanfiction, gifsets, headcanons, analysis/meta, memes, etc. are all welcome, as long as they're your own work and are Korrasami-focused.

2. Explicit content is fine, but the characters need to be adults, and everything depicted MUST be consensual.

3. Please abide by Tumblr's guidelines about explicit content, otherwise there's a chance Tumblr might delete your submission! If you're not sure, you can always post your work to another site (AO3, twitter, etc.) and then link to it here. All explicit content posted and reblogged here will be tagged "nsft" so be sure to block that tag if you'd like to filter out such content!

4. No whitewashing, racism, misogyny, transphobia, ableism, or other bigotry of any kind.

5. When submitting visual or audio media, please include a description either in ALT text or in the body of the post itself.

6. Other characters and relationships from The Legend of Korra are welcome, but your submission should be primarily about Korrasami.

7. Be kind. No criticism ("constructive" or otherwise) of other people's work unless the creator explicitly requests it. If you don't like something, just keep scrolling!

8. Follow the prompts if you can! They're meant to be helpful, but if you get inspired by something else entirely, please feel free to submit whatever you make!

9. Tag for content warnings if you think something might be triggering.

10. Submit your fanwork either by mentioning @korrasamiweek2024 in the body of your post and using the #korrasamiweek2024 tag, or by submitting it directly to this blog. You can also add it to the Korrasami Week 2024 Collection on AO3. All submissions for each prompt will be reblogged or posted by the end of the day.

11. There's no such thing as a stupid question, so if you're unsure about something, feel free to ask!

#korrasami #korrasamiweek2024 #tlok #lok #korra #asami sato

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arcielee · 8 months

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Ours never knew peace.

Summary: On the morning of the Great Tourney of Harrenhal, Lyanna Stark's granddam visits to give her an heirloom, a necklace with a sapphire stone... Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader Word Count: 7600 Warnings: Third POV and first POV, AFAB, mentions of infidelity, graphic violence, character deaths, and there is a hyperlink for the smut, so mind those warnings too. Author’s Note: I definitely played with the timeline of the Dance of the Dragons a lot to fit with the narrative. Also, the idea is the bloodline stems from Cregan Stark's sister, which is why Lyanna's granddam is still kicking. Also, this was not beta read, please feel free to DM me any mistakes you may find 💜 A huge thank you to my Tumblr kindred spirits: to @aegonx for this inspiring gifset, and to my darling @itbmojojoejo for these perfect dividers 🦝💜 Also, to Hozier. I started writing this in June and had not touched it until I started listening to Unreal Unearth. The title for this and the smutty one-shot are from the song Francesca.

“I have a gift for you, my dear.”

Lyanna was leaning against the ornate balustrade and watching how the sun rose above Gods Eye. She drank in the sight of how the rays danced against the blue-green gemstone surface, shimmering with the rippling waves that met with the shoreline and towards the center where the Isle of Faces jutted upwards; she saw the weirwoods shift lazily with the breeze, its red foliage breaking away and littering the laketop, like drops of blood.

She pulled her eyes away to see her granddam standing in her room, poised with her walking cane; a handmaiden was in tow, carrying a wooden box that had once been intricately carved into, though its detailing was now worn with age.

Her granddamn was the matriarch of House Stark and the only mother figure she had ever known as hers passed away when she was very young, leaving Lyanna with her father and three brothers: Brandon, Eddard, and Benjen. Though she originally had come from a noble house in Oldcastle, she had been proud to don the grays and whites of House Stark, dignified in such a way it seemed that she was born into and not just married.

Her reputation was notorious and though some would consider her shrewd, Lyanna knew her granddam had a sharp mind and wit, an undeniable ability to see beyond the façades of court with her storm colored eyes; she was gallant, devoted to her husband until his last breath and remained in Winterfell after, her devotion extending to the North.

“This is my home,” she had explained as if it was the simplest thing. “Always.”

Time now showed itself in silver streaks, a bold contrast with her dark hair that had been meticulously combed and knotted at the base of her neck, showing the severity that lined her features. This look alone had the other handmaidens–who before had been aimlessly flitting around her room, coaxing Lyanna to ready for the day’s events–quickly excuse themselves, allowing her a moment alone with her granddaughter.

“Set it there,” and the remaining handmaiden jumped to command, placing the wooden box on the vanity before following after the others.

There was the click of her cane with her sure steps, one hand resting on the gilded handles and the other coming to place on the edge of the wooden box, its brass hinges groaning in response to her opening it. Placed against the velvet inlay was a necklace of a peculiar silver that did not shine, but seemed to permeate a strength despite its delicate, celtic chains interwoven with one another; its pendant, a sapphire stone no larger than a silver pence, was nestled in the same style, curled around to hold it in place.

Only the stone gleamed, just like the water’s surface–alluring, calling, but she kept her hand at her side. “It is beautiful,” Lyanna acknowledged.

“It is reforged Valyrian steel,” her granddam continued, and she was pleased to see how her eyes widened with a reverence for the rare medium. “This is a heirloom that has been passed down, once belonging to your thrice over granddam. It is something for you to wear today.”

Lyanna remained rooted, only a wistful sigh in response. “This is my duty in life now, to be adorned in gems and silks and rare silvers, just to be shown off at this event.”

“It is our lot in life, yes,” her tone cut through the self-wallow. “Lord Whent wants nothing more than to parade the money he poured into this cursed castle, to show off his simple-minded daughter to the highest bid. The queen of love and beauty,” and her laugh was sharp, “only her brothers would defend that nepotist title!”

Lyanna felt her lips curl; she loved her granddam, dearly, especially when she was unabashed with her bold opinions. Her eyes fell back to the necklace. “Love and beauty,” Lyanna murmured. “No man has want for a clever wife.”

It was her turn to sigh. “This can be true, but some are fortunate with their matches.”

“Robert has no want for a clever wife,” Lyanna continued as if she had not spoken. “He wants something docile and pretty at his side while he wags his cock at every set of tits in Westeros.” She could see how the inside sagged with the weight of the necklace and a bundle of parchment that was tucked beneath, hidden in the folds of the fabric.

Her granddam plucked the paper bundled together with string and then moved back towards one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the fireplace. “My dear girl, love is always unexpected. Perhaps in time, despite the faults you each share,” she gave a knowing look as Lyanna moved back towards the bed, “you, hopefully, may have a gradual love and respect grow between.”

“He is already convinced it is love,” she sat back on the mattress, sinking against the goose feather pillows piled at the head. “But it is with this idea of me. He does not know me, who I am truly or what it is that drives me…” her eyes were drawn again to the box, opened still, and to the glint of the sapphire. “How did this come to our possession anyway?”

“It was a gift,” her granddam scoffed, untying the string and smoothing the letters on her lap.

Lyanna closed her eyes a moment, her own smile playing at her lips. “Yes,” her tone forced, “but who would have gifted this to her to begin with?”

Her granddam hummed, now her turn to smile. “How clever of you to ask, sweet girl,” but she did not answer Lyanna. “I saw how you are blossoming into a lovely young woman, especially after last night’s banquet,” and she saw that her granddaughter grinned, cheeky. “Ancestry has its weight with House Stark, and I thought now is the time to gift this necklace, just as your grandsire gifted it to me, and how it was given to your mother, who listened to me read this, years ago,” and she gestured to the letters.

Lyanna reached for the pillows, fluffing them and sinking back into them, her arms folding behind to hold her head upright. “I would never deny my granddam of my company,” she teased.

“Yes, how kind of you,” her tongue wet her lips, her eyes flitting over the first page. “Now shut up and let my old eyes read.”

And so she began.

It was the unmartyred act of my mother to bring me into the world. My father was a proud man, an honorable man who would never blame me, but I could see how he would wilt in my presence; perhaps it was that I reminded him of her as I grew, reminded him of the cost of her life so I may live instead. My brother, Cregan, kept his grief quiet, though it clouded his storm-gray eyes with this pain, this hurt that shadowed behind his irises.

With the unsaid, I know my existence haunted my father, Lord Rickon Stark, the Warden of the North, to his grave. It was only then that Cregan truly recognized me with our sorrow now shared, as well as the burden as our uncle Bennard was quick to come to Winterfell, bringing his shrewd wife and his sons, our wretched cousins.

I could only watch from the shadows with how Cregan fought to stay afloat with the smothering regency brought with them; our uncle was cunning, wishing to isolate my brother, which was why it was decided for me to be sent away to King’s Landing. It was under the promised lady-in-waiting for Princess Helaena Targaryen, though its true intention was for me to marry a Targaryen prince, for the opportunity to have a Stark within the royal inner circle and a direct line to the Iron Throne.

Cregan hugged me farewell, the whispered promise that he would write, and I was ushered into the carriage, cramped with my trunks, and my aunt Margaret, with her wardrobe and endless idylls of how I would lure King Aegon II.

I reminded her that King Viserys was not dead, and of the crowned Princess Rhaenyra. She bristled with her response: “No woman will ever rule the Seven Kingdoms.” She embellished this, and her inane plans to make me a princess; I had just turned ten and three with the soured taste of her words the further south we traveled.

We arrived at the capital almost two months later, coming as the last of the daylight disappeared in the horizon, with the full moon and stars already glowing in response. I wished to sleep, but was forced to bathe, to be soaked in a gilded tub with rose petals that floated on the surface while hands flitted over combing and scrubbing and cleaning every bit of me, all while my aunt hovered with her critiques.

The next day was our debut luncheon, allowing my formal introduction to the House of the Dragon. My aunt was peevish that the king did not join, we still met with the queen and Lord Hand, who introduced Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena.

It was said that Prince Daeron was away in Oldtown and Prince Aemond would not attend either, but did not speak more of it.

The prince and the princess held their old blood features, the shades of purple in their gazes and the gold-silver of their hair, a contrast to their mother’s auburn and her dark eyes that were watchful and worrisome.

Prince Aegon already had an exhaustion lining his face, with shadows that stretched beneath his lilac eyes, something heavy for someone only two years older than myself. In time I would learn that his shoulders sagged with the forced Hightower expectation placed, and its accompanying slow suffocation. The prince responded to it as well as any adolescent with unwanted responsibility: to rebel.

The princess–who we learned, to the woe of my aunt–was his betrothed, but that day she also became my savior, in a sense. Though she carried her own burdens, something deeply rooted within the ichor of Old Valyria that surged her veins, her company was enjoyable, nonetheless.

I enjoyed my time spent with the princess, learning of her fascination with entomology, with a favoritism that stemmed towards arachnids; though I found it unsettling, I still knew it was better company than my aunt. I was devoted to the task to fill mason jars with dirt, leaves, sticks to create little habitats for her ever growing collection, and it became our daily ritual to walk the gardens of the Red Keep, always in search of more to add or to release others who dutifully served their time in their glass confines.

One thing I noted was her utterances, her singsong riddles on repeat. “Be mindful,” she said with a hum one afternoon.

“Of what, princess?”

“A song of ice and fire,” her eyes were glassy, sorrowful. “It is a tragedy, again and again…”

My evenings were held captive by my aunt and her ever growing determination to force her way into the royal social circles; her daily mantra to remind me of the two remaining Targaryen princes, how I need my focus to be on snaring one of them.

I knew that Prince Daeron was a child and away in Oldtown, which left the second son of King Viserys, Prince Aemond, who I thought peculiar and quiet. He was isolated the first six months after we arrived, and I heard the whispered incident at Diftmark that had involved the crowned princess and her bastard sons; I also learned how it ended with the loss of his eye, but that was not learned until Princess Helaena brought me to visit with her brother.

“It would be good for him,” and her lilac eyes sparkled.

He was sullen, but rightfully so; he was still bandaged and refused the milk of the poppy, though I knew he was hurting, his anguish was vicariously heard with the roars of his dragon, Vhagar, whose bellows rattled the entire capital, leaving the inhabitants uneasy.

Eventually, Prince Aemond healed enough to leave his room, though the queen was still adamant he not venture outside of the Keep. I watched him, a dragon caged, stalking the corridors, a dark passing in search of confrontation, his unbridled want for vengeance and his inability to see it through; a tormented unrest, an unruly anger from the injustice of what happened that fateful night at Driftmark.

I had been present for over a year and would inevitably have the misfortune to cross his warpath, alone, without my shield of his sister. It was a foreboding presence that drained the air, a palpable anger that hung heavy, and I flinched, perched by the window, curled up with Ten Thousand Ships.

“What are you doing here?” He spat.

I remember how his anger darkened his features shown, but the rest was still hidden beneath bandages wrapped around his silver head. “Reading,” was all I dared reply, refusing to look away from the pages as if the very tale of Nymeria held me captive.

“They educate the women in the North?”

His words were mocking and this is when I pulled my eyes away to meet with his one uncovered. “The North does not only teach their women how to read, but how to fight as well, my prince,” my tongue had a life of its own I could not control, sneering his title in return.

Her granddam paused a moment, peering over the edge to see how Lyanna had shifted; she was now closer towards the foot of the bed, curled up with one of the pillows, her eyes glowing with admiration.

“My great-great-great granddam was fearless,” Lyanna concluded.

She chuckled in response. “It is a trait in Stark women, that is for certain,” she clucked her tongue. “Stark men also search for strong women to survive the winters. Maybe another day I will tell you about your great-great-great aunt Alysanne Blackwood.”

Her eyes shone. “I would like that very much.”

And then, her granddam continued.

I would learn that Prince Aemond was just lonely; allowed out of his quarters, his mar was forever isolating with how the castled treated him with kid gloves, like an open wound that never healed despite the jagged red of new flesh mended, cutting from his brow to his cheek and peeking beneath the eyepatch he took to wearing. Though he would never apologize for that day in the library, the next time I found him within the walls I saw he was lost in the pages of Winter’s Kings, or the Legends and Lineages of the Starks of Winterfell.

I could only assume it was all the apology that could be expected of a dragon prince.

Our friendship was something predetermined by the gods, or this was what Princess Helaena wholeheartedly believed; for a time, we were a trio of lonely souls akin and knitted together until the princess inevitably became pregnant with the twins. And then, there was the subtle change of our dynamic with the seasons passed, an initial wariness that settled in the edges of his features that only softened whenever I took his hand and pulled him forward.

Perhaps he believed that I would abandon him for his sister’s company, which would be expected of her lady-in-waiting. But I did not.

Instead I indulged the prince and his company, and we became inseparable; whether we visited with his sister, playing with the little prince and princess, while Helaena budding with a third, or going to the courtyards to train under Ser Criston’s watchful eye and my aunt’s apparent disdain. It was then that the evenings became our own and spent in the library of the Keep; it was here that Aemond dared remove his eyepatch, the sapphire stone that showed brilliant from his scarred socket.

The first time, I stepped closer so his nervous exhale fanned my cheeks; I could see the plumes of pinks to his features, my fingers ghosting his jawline as I attempted his ancient tongue. “Gevie.”

Beautiful.

Prince Aemond was respectful, always, but he was also fearless with me, allowing the same sense of freedom in return, to speak my mind as I always had. But I faltered with what I truly wished to say: that the years crafted him beautiful as any Targaryen prince, with sharp edges chiseled from marble stone, his lips that curled with a perpetual smirk as he voiced his peculiar insight which always led to a good natured battlement between us, leaving me flushed.

And then the day came that he took my hand, that his palm now enveloped my own.

It was the familiar touch now paired with a feeling, a fluttering in the pit of my stomach that I could not place, though writing these words allows a clearer perspective with the retrospect: that I was falling in love with him.

My aunt grew more insufferable with the passing days, though I expected as much with the letters I exchanged with Cregan. I knew his every action in Winterfell, what he was learning, of his sweetheart Lady Arra Norrey, my new nephew, but mostly of how our uncle continued to tighten his hold. My brother was a wolf, restless, and spoke that his hour was coming; and meanwhile, I continued to play my role, a simpleminded girl from the North.

My aunt tsked. “He will never see you as more than a plaything,” as if this was a cruel fate. In truth I was still so unaware of what was growing within the confines of my heart, but I knew that I only wished to remind at his side, devoted, present, always.

So when Aemond asked that I finally become acquainted with Vhagar, I went. I remembered how my hand fit within his as he pulled me to follow his steps, moving through the ingresses that weaved with the castle walls. We broke out to follow the coastline, a crisp salt air and the clouds covering the sun, heavy with the threat of rain, but Aemond promised we would rise above them.

I followed his long steps until we came to where Vhagar waited for her rider, diligent, alert.

Dragons are magnificent creatures, and I swear them sentient with the bond I saw between Aemond and the she-dragon. Fear trickled my spine, but Aemond held onto my hand and I tightened in response to the massive eyes that focused on us, her pupils constricting in query. Aemond held up his other hand, the honey spill of his soothing voice of his old tongue to coax her and allow me to climb aback.

I then felt the gaze of Aemond and refused to allow my fear to root me, moving to take the bottom rung of the rope ladder; he was pleased, a hum, the slight curl of his lips, and followed behind me with his promise that he would not let me fall. At the top, he pushed past to settle into the saddle, then reached to pull me behind and I settled against his backside.

“Just hold onto me,” he murmured, bringing my arms around his slender waist.

This moment I was adamantly aware that he was no longer that sullen child that sneered within his gilded cage, but against my hold that Aemond was solid, lithe, and so warm with a woodsy musk mixed with smoke against his skin.

Pressed against, I was able to feel his low baritone command Vhagar, followed by her jolted steps forward, the beating of her wings to take flight. To feel this power beneath you is indescribable; I could not help my scream, my laughter from the exhilaration that that spate my veins; I dared not close my eyes, tears streaming, and I peered to marvel at how small the capital seemed beneath, how large the shadow we cast overhead.

It was a newfound euphoria, and I felt my cheeks burn from the crisp air above the gray clouds, but I also knew it was from my close proximity to Aemond. I held onto him as we soared out over Blackwater Bay, and sighed from the touch of his gloved hand, from the heat that permeated through the leather when he placed it over my own.

And I knew then that I never wished to let him go.

He eventually brought Vhagar back to land onto the grassy knolls outside the city; the afternoon was growing late but there was still enough light to return. Aemond warned that my legs would be shaky and again he moved first, again with the promise he would not let me fall.

I still trembled when he set me on the ground, his large palms kept their hold on my waist and my hands rested on his broad shoulders. My eyes were wide admiring the beauty of his mussed, silver braid, his cheeks lined with his dimples with his pursed grin. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Enjoy myself?” I was incredulous, I was a mess; windswept and blooming red, a grinning fool with tear-streaked cheeks, “Aemond, you showed me the heavens.” And a boldness pressed me onto my toes, my lips against his.

It was my first kiss; it was a heartbeat’s length, it was everything, and when I pulled back, I fell solid to the earth, my soles grounded back on that gassy knoll. I looked up into his bicolored gaze, the lavender of one eye and the gleam of sapphire for the other that stared back.

Aemond was unreadable in that moment, and I felt my blood surge from my heart and pour into my face; the quiet that settled between us the same length of the years I had spent in King’s Landing, a choking regret that burned in my throat with the thought that I had ruined everything built between us.

Then he kissed me back.

And I felt alive once more with the touch of his arm that curled around my waist, how his other hand followed the curve of my spine, tangling into my hair and holding me to capture my mouth. His lips were warm and soft and his tongue clever in a way that drew the very breath from my lungs. I melted against him, my fingertips soft to follow the sharp contours of his jaw, trailing his neck and grasping his collar to bring him even closer.

We only parted for air; the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his riding leathers, the crimson on his cheeks with his quiet confession, something he held close to his heart.

“For how long?” I breathed

And he thought for a moment. “Always.”

To take his hand now was finding a piece that I did not know was missing from me; our fingers interlaced in a way that felt akin as if I held my own hand, though I knew it was him from the warmth of his skin, from the fire in his blood. By now the tendrils of dusk began to curl over the city, its amber hues bold against the blues and purples of the coming nightfall, but we continued our leisure pace back, Aemond and I.

We were greeted by the gold cloaks at the gates and they escorted us back, and though he did not let go, I saw that it was no longer Aemond who held my hand but the second son of King Viserys, a Targaryen prince. He was stoic, but this time I could tell the other emotions that flittered beneath, his uncertainty of what awaited, but above that was his determination.

We finally came to the barbican of the Keep where we were greeted by his queen mother, my aunt, and several White Cloaks.

Relief washed over the queen while my aunt raged, lifting her skirts to meet us in the courtyard, her nails biting with her grip on my arm and pulling me back; the rushed spill of her words, “I cannot believe this unseemly behavior of a lady, unchaperoned with a prince! We are leaving this moment–”

I tried to twist away but she held on still, a madwoman. Aemond moved after, quick, and his anger burning from him and his long legs moved to block her path. “She will not be leaving.”

The finality of his words, the barrier his form created halted her at once and I felt my heart between my teeth. “My prince,” she stammered in response. “We must leave this very moment! We have imposed on your hospitality far too long as it is, and when my lord husband hears of her behaviors–”

But she was unaware that Cregan and I wrote, dutifully; he shared his life within the walls of Winterfell, as well as his growing concern with the regency our uncle imposed still. She also did not know the newest letter I had received, how my brother was now the proper Warden of the North and our uncle imprisoned; my aunt paled with my words and it was commanded for her to be taken away. She did not leave quietly, her wails echoed and I watched impassively, knowing her every action was a self-serving and a selfish ploy for power for herself, her husband, for those wretched cousin kin in the North.

And I knew I would not miss any of them.

Ever the diplomat, the queen stepped forward with her congratulations for my brother, her condolences for the betrayal within our family, her practiced concern for my well being and its shift to confusion that knitted between her brows when she saw how I smiled at her son. She offered my escort back to Winterfell, but I was quick to decline as I knew I could not leave Aemond.

I saw the understanding began to roll over, and she then asked her son if he loved me. Aemond responded, “I believe I always have, mother,” and I knew I loved him in return.

It was decided that the ceremony would be held in the Royal Sept, and chaperoned until, though Aemond stole a moment to gift me this very necklace. I could feel the power of Old Valyria thrum from the metal, adoring how it was woven around the sapphire stone; he told me it was a piece kept from the same stone fitted for his eye.

I lifted my hair and turned my back towards him, my skin prickling from his touch to clasp the necklace around my throat.

He hummed. “Gevie.”

Only a week later, and the service seemed surreal. I felt his warmth that held to the robe he brought around my shoulders, the touch of my palm on top of his large hand kept me grounded while the Septon wrapped the ribbon around; shy glances shared, me to Aemond and seeing his gaze on the sapphire stone beneath my collarbone. The muted words called for a kiss and I burned when Aemond captured my mouth with his own.

The celebration after was an intimate meal with the king, who was a man withering away beneath a gilded mark, the queen, his siblings, and the Lord Hand, who seemed pleased with the idea of solidifying a truce with the North.

But I could not think of politics this night, not with the subtle touches from Aemond, a warmth that curled in my lower abdomen when he inevitably took my hand, his low voice that tickled against my ear. “Come with me, my sweet wife,” as we walked towards his quarters.

Her granddam stopped abruptly, flushed. “Well, you understand what is implied.”

“Understand what?” Lyanna quirked her brow.

It was a pregnant pause that allowed her eyes steel onto her granddaughter, and Lyanna returned her gaze with a cheeky, taunting grin.

“It would serve you well to not agitate your elders.”

“What a bore I would be if I was just another docile woman of nobility?” Lyanna countered, gleefully. “Granddam, Robert has bastards and I am no fool, I do not believe his immaculate conception claims…”

“Yes, you are very bright,” she huffed. “Now hush up and let me read.”

Our marital bliss that followed left me in a haze; Aemond was not one for public displays of affection and how I craved his subtle touches, his lingering hand that would have me blushing furiously in response. He would only hum, his perpetual smirk that played on his lips with my every visceral response to him.

I wrote to Cregan and informed him of our union; he was quick to respond with his congratulations, as well as his newfound concerns, asking if it was true that the crowned princess had sired bastards with the intention to make them her heirs without ownership of her actions.

“Our father was honorable until his last breath,” he wrote, “I would not besmirch his memory or our house, our legacy, for an oath made for bastard-born heirs to the Iron Throne.”

This was a topic I had already discussed in length with Aemond, even before we had even kissed. I was aware of his scar and its cause, and I knew of the old blood and the features lacking when it came to his nephews, something made apparent for the claimant hearings of Dirftmark, as well as the cruel response of Prince Daemon when a lord spoke out loud what the court was thinking.

I answered my brother truthfully, knowing full well that this would sway the North behind Prince Aegon II.

And then King Viserys met his inevitable demise; the small council moved quick to announce that his final words were that he wished his firstborn son to take the crown. Aegon panicked, but my husband and Ser Criston fetched him, washed him, fed him, but also comforted him.

It would be Ser Criston who coaxed him to the coronation, to be the one to place the crown of steel and rubies on top of his silver head, announcing: “King Viserys is dead, long live King Aegon!”

My husband would be sent to Storm’s End to negotiate a betrothal for his brother, Daeron, to one of the Four Storms. It resulted in tragedy, or vengeance on who spoke the narrative. The room stilled with Aemond’s words, the unspoken terror in the queen’s large, brown eyes, the shock that lined the severe features of the Lord Hand, but it was his brother, King Aegon wearing the Conqueror’s Crown who spoke that Aemond had shown the true blood of a dragon.

But in the quiet quarters we shared, Aemond lamented the loss of life, the war it started, a guilt that weighed heavily, and once more I saw the sorrowful prince when I first came to King’s Landing.

“There will be repercussions for my actions,” he rasped, unable to meet with my eyes. “I have ruined my namesake, and I have cursed our family…”

“War seemed inevitable,” I began slowly, my hands careful to hold his jaw, to bring his gaze to my own. “And with it comes rash decisions, with impossible choices to be made…I trust it was not intentional, but even if it was, cursed or not, I am still yours, husband.” A soft kiss to seal my words. “Always.”

War and its bloodshed was rampant in Westeros, and my brother wrote they would travel South when winter ended to help King Aegon with his rightful claim. I feared for the delay, for what would follow Storm’s End, and how it seemingly unleashed the Rogue Prince.

Hired men with the monikers Blood and Cheese came in the night, and I knew them to be sent for me, as one repeated, “An eye for an eye, a son for son,” but followed with his slow realization, “she is not a son,” before his sword was drawn and struck Prince Jaehaerys.

The screams of Helaena resounded against the cobblestone; Aemond found us covered in blood, his rage and his grief conflicting on his angular features. The king cried for vengeance for his firstborn son, to search for these men and place their heads on spikes; the kingdom was repulsed by the murder of the princeling, a martyr made with his blood spilled.

Aegon’s bloodlust made for rash decisions and the battle of Rook’s Rest; though one dragon and its rider slain, its cost was the king crippled in a way that he was not fit to rule. So Aemond stepped forward to take the title Prince Regent and the Protector of the Realm, a natural role that was suited for the second son.

The Rogue Prince struck against the Riverlands, torching until ash remained. In response, the now Prince Regent and Ser Criston left to claim Harrenhal.

I was told to wait, to remain at the side of our grieving queen, my sister by all accounts; I watched over sweet Helaena, coaxing her to eat, washing her, sitting alongside her in the haunting silence of the quarters that somehow still echoed her screams from that fateful night. We were often left alone, as the maesters and the dowager queen never left King Aegon’s side, and I remained with her until I received the latest letter from Aemond.

Harrenhal had been dispelled of every Strong traitor to the crown, and he spoke of a witch he wished me to meet, that I was to leave King’s Landing and be by his side, as the gods ordained.

A quick kiss to the silver head of Helaena and I left the castle, careful to retrace our steps that led to the coast and I continued until I was back on the grassy knolls from what felt like a lifetime ago. I waited the skies until I felt the rumbled call of Vhagar in the distance, gleeful when she finally landed and watched my prince descend to envelope me in his arms, his whispered adoration, “My love, my sweet wife.”

We returned to Harrenhal to meet with the witch he spared, a hushed reverence when he told me of her abilities. “She sees much and more.”

I could see she was hardened by life, but her expression was kind when she greeted us; her eyes roamed around, watchful, looking through to my bones and only then did I understand what my husband meant.

At supper, we sat around the table, along with Ser Criston, and her eyes watched the flicker of candlelight, the flames licking her irises, before she spoke: “Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”

Aemond finished chewing before he asked her. “And I am which?”

Alys’ eyes were black, her painted lips curled and framed around her pearl teeth. “To be the greatness, you must end the madness,” was all that she offered, and then, “the Rogue Prince is coming.”

Ser Criston looked uneasy, but it was a silent understanding in regards to her statement, something that pressed heavily on us both. King Aegon could only have a true chance to rule the realm if his sister lost the power she had with her husband, the Rogue Prince; it was known that he was unruly, untamed, but loyal to a fault, and willing to see it through to its brutal end.

That night, we fell back into an intimate embrace, cherishing the feeling of skin to skin–

Her granddam was crimson. “Oh, my, I believe I should skip this as well–”

She watched her granddam a moment, the intrusive thought to take the letters for her own readthrough, but it was muted by a growing sadness that began to settle in the edges of her sharp features. Lyanna knew well the history of the Dance of the Dragons, something scrawled on scrolls and tomes, its tragedy saved in ink and tucked away.

And still, she had to know this truth.

“Please,” and her voice was soft. “Please, continue.”

And granddam did.

It was the 22nd day of the 5th moon and we waited on the shores of Gods Eye, myself, Aemond, and the witch. Ser Criston rode North to meet with my brother, and we remained, waiting.

It had been a vision for Alys, something sinister; it was no surprise when the wyrm screeched its arrival, circling above, wary of Vhagar, before finally landing. Prince Daemon had an arrogance with his dismount, with his walk towards us.

There was a symmetry as they squared towards one another; the Rogue Prince was cloaked with the past and my Aemond embodied the future, the true hope for House Targaryen. My husband faced him, unflinching, his brow furrowed with his ever present determination, while Daemon rolled his eyes over the each of us, sucking his teeth.

Aemond broke the silence. “You were a fool to come alone.”

“Were I not alone, you would not have come,” Daemon was amused.

But it did not deter my dragon. “Yet you are, and here I am,” he sighed. “You have lived too long, nuncle.”

“On that much we agree.”

The prince retreated to his wyrm and Aemond looked to me, his eye pleading, the glassy lavender that bore through my skin, and the gleam of sapphire for the other. He then dipped forward to kiss me and the tears pearling in the corners of my eyes spilled onto my cheeks at the taste of him, the touch of him; I knew I could never imagine anyone else. Those words stilled on my tongue, how I wanted him to beg to stay with me, but I also knew that he must.

“Do not say it,” my voice broke, hushed against our kiss swollen lips. “Just come back to me.”

His two fingers pressed against the sapphire pendant I wore, before leaning forward to press his lips to my hairline, and then he climbed aback Vhagar, his lithe body quick to mount. I remained on the sand with the witch at my side, and we watched these winged beasts rise above us.

Dragons are truly magnificent, but they are also equally deadly. I trusted Vhagar was loyal to Aemond, but also knew it matched by the bond shared between Prince Daemon and his wyrm. It was said that Targaryens are closer to gods than to men, and I believed this as I watched them on dragonback, circling above the massive lake. Their roars vibrated through to our bones, the snapping of the jaws like cracks of lighting and their flames that singed the threads of my gown from my place on the shore.

My eyes did not leave, and I asked Alys. “Will he live?”

She was quiet for a moment. “The memory of him will live on,” and I felt her hand reach and touch my stomach.

And all I could do was hold onto my pendant with prayers to the old golds, to the new gods for mercy for my husband, whose child I carried.

They did not listen.

It was a clash of scale and bone, something that reverberated to Harrenhal and rattled the castle walls that still stood. The wyrm’s screams were cut short as the massive maw of Vhagar clamped onto its neck, and its talons flailed and cut deep into the old dragon’s underside. Blood rained onto the lake and I watched, struck with mortification at the dull glint of Valyrian armor, the flash raise of Dark Sister, and I knew it was over.

I remained on the shore as the waves created from the fall of dead dragons crashed against the sand, a blood foam that flooded and wet my skirts. I remained still as the sun tucked beneath the horizon, until I heard the call of the witch.

“My lady, the wolves have arrived.”

This would be the shift of power needed for King Aegon II; the Rogue Prince was dead and his men fell to the sword under the command of my brother and Ser Criston. Cregan was shocked to see me and I was stoic still, dumbstruck with my grief that did not feel real; we returned to King’s Landing with the Northern army, quick to dethrone Rhaenyra and place her in the cells with the company of all the lords who supported her.

King Aegon was scarred cruelly with a gimp to his steps, but he made his way to the Iron Throne, his crown of rubies and steel, and greeted his mother and the queen. This joyous moment died as I was tasked to share the news of the death of Aemond, of my husband and father of my unborn child; we cried our heartbreak, but I had no tears left.

This pivotal moment would be known as the Hour of the Wolf by our history. It will speak of the heroism of Prince Aemond and what he sacrificed to kill the Rogue Prince, of how my brother descended onto the capital with a vengeance and helped return the throne to its rightful heir. The casualties of war included the bastard princes, as well as both sons of the king.

When King Aegon learned that Prince Daeron the Daring met his fatal end, he decided mercy on the remaining Targaryen princelings, Aegon III and Viserys II, with his solemn vow to raise them as his own, as his heirs to the Iron Throne.

Cregan served as Lord Hand through my pregnancy, for the birth of my darling Lysara with a patch of silver that showed against her dark curls and her eyes the same as her father’s, lavender. My brother had also been widowed but met the Lady Alysanna Blackwood, a woman I admired fiercely, and Lysara was smitten with, and was thrilled when I learned I could call her sister.

It was then Cregan asked to be relieved so he could return to the North, to his son, and I asked to go with him. My time in King’s Landing was over, with every stone haunted with presence of Aemond; I already swore I would never marry again, would not dare have another set of hands touch and taint the memory of his hands against my body, his touch forever etched onto my skin and seeded into the marrow of my bones.

Aemond would return to me at night, a silver dream, my body thrumming with the warmth of his touch, his gentle kiss, the low murmur of his voice, but it always ended the same: my realization when my hands pressed to his chest and felt no heartbeat.

That I would never feel it again.

The pain of losing him has not dimmed nor diminished with time, but I do not mind it as it serves as my reminder that he was real, and that the love we shared was real.

As the witch predicted, Aemond also still lived within Lysara who was solemn, brilliant, and as determined and stubborn as he had been. I made sure to do an annual trip to King’s Landing, allowing her to meet her granddam, her royal family, and so that my daughter could learn that her blood not only held that of the Andals, the first men, but also of the fire that licks within her veins.

Which is also why I write this, along with the gift of the necklace. It holds legacy, but also the reminder of the words Queen Helaena spoke to me when we were girls, something said a lifetime ago and before I could comprehend the weight of them.

There is something in the blood of House Stark that calls out to these dragons, perhaps an ancient power of the old gods or a kindred spirit, the disparate bond of ice and fire, a clash that is brilliant, violent, and tragic, always.

As she once said: a song of ice and fire, it is a tragedy, again and again…

It ended with a finality that rested against her chest. This was a tragic history of the crown, something already written with facts and dates, but this was a personal storying stemming from the blood of Stark woman, and only now did Lyanna begin to understand how the stories remained so vivid, so detailed despite its years of retelling.

But also…

“What does this mean for me?” Her voice was soft, an almost childlike naivety to her tone. “I am already engaged to Robert Baratheon.”

Her granddam watched her, a tight lipped smile in response as her mind returned to the feast of last night, to the looks shyly exchanged between her granddaughter and the crowned prince, Rhaegar Targaryen, as he played his harp for her. It left her unsettled with a hunch, an inkling about this interaction.

Instead she agreed. “You are right,” and she sighed. “Let me help you get dressed for the tourney.”

The new Harranhal swelled with the life for the festivities, with the kingdoms’ best sent in response of Lord Whent’s invites; the new cobblestone seemed bright against the darkened foundation that still held, its ghosts trapped still and trampled underfoot by the crowds as the seats filled, the echoing chattered excitement that vibrated.

It dimmed with a hushed reverence to see Prince Rhaegar Targaryen entering the field on his steed; his lavender eyes scanned the masses, an intent to spot one soul in particular, and she unknowingly called to him with her sweet smile, by the glint of the sapphire that rested against her chest.

There's not one thing that I would change.

Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @snowprincesa1 @hb8301 @lovelykhaleesiii @darylandbethfanforever9 @namelesslosers

arcie's masterlist

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x stark!reader #tragic romance #inspired by hozier #ours never knew peace #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna stark #rhaegar x lyanna

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eddiediaaz · 5 months

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hi lovely!! do you have any tips on making cool fun and sexy typography?

hey joanna!! this made me giggle haha, i'm not quiiiite sure how to answer that, but here are some tips i keep in my when i do typography, and some examples:

FONTS

don't be afraid to "shop" for fonts and try funky fonts you've never used/seen. i often try so many before settling. i almost always use at least 2 different font for gifsets, even 3 sometimes. i think a good font pairing can do a lot for a gif. it's usually something like:

serif + cursive/funky fonts (example)

sans serif + cursive/funky fonts (example)

serif + sans serif fonts (example)

two different cursive/funky fonts (example)

or even simply the same font but all caps + all lowercase (example)

in case you're unsure where too start or want inspiration, here's a great resource: usergif's font pairing guide and its fonts page

BLEND MODES & LAYER STYLES

i think playing around with different blend modes and layer styles will always elevate your typography game, in my opinion. it's usually a bit more dynamic than just an opaque color. tho this minimalist typography can also be really good.

when you double click on a text layer, you get all the layer style options, as well as the blend modes. a very popular layer style is setting the layer's blending option to difference, paired with a color and/or gradient overlay (often set to multiply/color dodge). a drop shadow is also important so the text is more easily readable. we often see a black soft drop shadow, but don't hesitate to be creative with it, for example a thick, hard line, colorful drop shadow.

i feel like this step often takes the most time for me because the possibilities are endless. definitely play around with layer styles, especially drop shadow, color overlay, gradient overlay, stroke. and also try different blending modes for these settings.

as for the layer's blend mode, also definitely play around with them. and keep in mind that the text's color will also give a different result, it doesn't have to be white + blend mode set to difference, even tho this is a classic that works well.

TEXT WRAPING & POSITION

a great feature on photoshop is definitely the text warping tool. to access it, right click on a text layer and go "warp text". from there you'll get a few different styles and setting sliders. my favorites are flag and wave (example). you can always go back to edit these settings once they're done by right clicking again. and you can even keyframe/animate these settings!

typography doesn't always have to be centered and straight, i often prefer it on a side and rotated a little. you can easily rotate typography by selecting the layer(s) and hitting ctrl + T. you can also play with the skew and pespective after hitting ctrl + T by right clicking the canvas and clicking on either. these will give different ways to move your text.

SIZING

i love playing around with different font sizes, it makes the typography more interesting in my opinion, and it's a way to emphasize some words.

so for that reason i usually put each word on a different layer so i can edit each word separately. sometimes i will also put each letter on a different layer, because it can be interesting to offset/rotate some letters sometimes (example) (another example).

i often pair a quite small serif or sans serif font with a much bigger funky font (example). and often that bigger font will also have different sized words (example). i play around a lot with this!

ADDED EFFECTS

there are some things than can be done to enhance typography:

adding a colorful rectangle block behind the text (example)

using text symbols such as quotation marks or backets (example)

using lines around the text (example) (another example)

these can definitely bring typography to a different level

MORE RESOURCES

great font website

usergif's typography tag

my fonts tag

this is all i can think of right now, i hope it helps :D if you have any question on a specific text effect let me know, i can definitely make a tutorial!

#alie replies #silversmists #typography #photoshop #*ps help #resource #completeresources #allresources #resourcemarket #usercats #userabs #userpjo

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wistfulwatcher · 3 months

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Wow, this is a follower milestone I absolutely never expected to reach! I am beyond flattered that so many of you have followed me over the years, and especially that so many of your have stuck with me through the many, many, many, fandom changes.

In celebration of this milestone, I am taking gif and drabble requests! Please send me one of the words below, and an additional prompt(s) appropriate to the category.

FOLLOW; tell me which fandom/character/ship/etc. you followed me for, and I'll make a gifset of it. INTRODUCE; tell me one thing I introduced you to, and I'll make a gifset of it. MISS; tell me a fandom/character/ship/etc. you wished I giffed or wrote more often, as well as a 1-2 word prompt, and I'll make a gifset or write a drabble. REMAKE; pick a specific gifset I've made and I'll remake it now that my skills have (hopefully) improved! REMIX; pick a specific post I've made (gif, graphic, fic, meta, etc.) and I'll remix it by changing POV, colors, style, etc. CONTINUE; pick a meme from my open projects list and I'll make another gifset in the series. TEXT; give me a lyric or quote and a fandom/character/ship and I'll make a gifset or write a drabble inspired by it.

It's also been far too long since I've done a follow forever, so I'd like to give a special thank you to the mutuals I can't imagine tumblr without:

Some of you have been with me for over ten years, which makes me stupidly emotional tbh! Since there's a mention limit I have to be extra choosey, but even if I don't tag you directly please know that I truly value each and every mutual's presence on my dash ❤️

THE BESTIES AND IRLS: @dykedolly, @laurabenanti, @cobalts-beau, @samcat18, @its-a-pack-thing-babe, @ladysarabii

BLOGS THAT HAVE MADE MY TUMBLR EXPERIENCE EXTRA SPECIAL OVER THE YEARS (IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER): @acheleismyobsession, @aflawedfashion, @agathasajax, @alinaandalion, @banrions, @chilly-flame, @chocolate-cream-soldier, @damelola, @darthsavior, @debbielouocean, @delilahmidnight, @evilswan, @fireracesundermyskin, @fitchersvogel, @imusthavebecomesomething, @iwouldlovetoeatyourtoast, @jewishsuperfam, @kutekoolkat, @lesbiangabriellle, @littlebamflamb, @lizbethborden, @lizmitches, @lluthor, @loveexpelrevolt, @lucyllawless, @mariskahargitay, @missgrantscheerleader, @phoenix-91, @reflectingiridescent, @shatterthelight, @shinyalice, @singinprincess, @sophiedevreaux, @strangesmallbard, @tessaservopoulos, @thesnowymeadows, @tunemyart, @warningsine, @whenfatecollides, @when-fates-collide, @whodoesnataliehave, @xxtorchxx

and an extra special shout-out to my longest mutual @redfield5x5 ❤️ I am just as thrilled to see you on my dash today as I was 10+ years ago!

#thank you guys so much!!#follower celebration #follower milestone #mine #edit #*#my computer hateddddd this gif but i finally got it exported!!#i know i'm not the best at requests but i PROMISE i will make everything requested as part of this celebration!#10k*

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malecdiscordserver · 2 months

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Welcome to the Shadowhunters Reverse Bang 2024: Presented by the Malec Discord Server

We are so excited to bring back another year of artists taking the reins, and writers finding inspiration with their incredible works.

You might be asking yourself, what is a reverse bang? The Shadowhunters Reverse Bang is a collaborative fandom event that combines fandom talents! Artists create never-before-seen art that writers will find inspiration in and create an entirely new story based off of, and together, they create magic.

Who can participate? In order to participate in this reverse bang, you must be a part of the Malec Discord Server. You must be over 16 to participate and over 18 to create explicit works.

All other rules and FAQs can be found here or underneath the cut!

The schedule as it currently stands is below. This schedule is subject to change depending on the situation. You will be notified of any changes.

Artists Sign-ups Open - March 9 Artist Sign-ups Closed - April 6 Writer Sign-ups Open - April 7 Artist Check-in #1 - Due May 1 Writer Sign-ups Closed - May 16 Art Submissions Due - May 16 Art Claims Open - May 18 Art Claims Closed - May 20 Matches Revealed - May 25 Writer & Artist Check-in - Due July 1 Writer & Artist Check-in - Due August 1 Final Check-in (Fics & Art Due) - August 25 Posting Begins - August 31

Artist sign-ups will open on Saturday, March 9th. Join the Malec Discord Server for an immediate reminder, or keep an eye on @malecdiscordserver!

General Rules:

You must be part of the Malec Discord Server to participate in this event.

You must be over 16 to participate and over 18 to create explicit works.

All content must be brand new and never before posted to any forum. All content must be polished and finished. No unfinished works or WIPs that you plan on continuing later will be accepted. Works that are added chapters/continuations of previously published works are not permitted unless they can be viewed/read as a standalone.

All AI content is prohibited.

Artists are asked not to talk about their projects until after claims with anyone participating in this event to keep writer claims fair.

All content must focus on Shadowhunters universe characters.

All Shadowhunters characters/ships are accepted. OCs/borrowed characters will be accepted as minor characters.

AUs and crossovers are accepted as long as the Shadowhunters characters are the main focus.

Content of any rating and subject matter is accepted, but participants must make sure to include any relevant warnings and properly tag their work.

No blatantly hateful content of any kind.

Artists must communicate readily with their assigned writer and vice versa. This is a collaborative effort and writers must be open to the ideas the artists have. The same courtesy is asked of artists.

When you sign up for this event you are making a commitment to yourself, the Mods, and your future partner(s) to meet all posted deadlines and to communicate with the Mods and your partner(s) regularly. Please don’t sign up for the event unless you are confident that you can fully participate and be honest with yourself about what you can commit to.

Please respect the Mods and anyone working with you throughout this event. Certain complaints may disqualify you from this event.

The password to make sure you understand all rules is SHRB24. Remember this when you sign up.

Artist Specific Rules:

Artists must create at least one finished project and no more than two finished projects for this event.

Accepted forms of submitted art include:

Digital/physical art: 1 piece, 500px minimum

Photomanipulation: 1 piece with significant editing

Gifsets: 4 gifs (without watermarks)

Moodboards: 6 graphics

Video: 1 minute

Playlists: 10 songs and a graphic

Abstract art/line art, original songs, and poems will also be accepted as long as the prompt given to accompany it gives a clear picture for the writer.

Artists are expected to be respectful of the writer’s ideas. Artists are expected to be in contact with their writers about specific changes/ideas they might have along the way.

Artists will need somewhere to host their work so that it can be embedded on AO3.

Plagiarism will not be tolerated. If you are in need of stock images for your project please make sure that they are open source and that you provide the proper credits and sources. For gif creators using online gif makers, please remove watermarks before posting.

AI art is strictly prohibited.

Writer Specific Rules:

Writers must write a minimum of 4,000 words to participate in this event. There is no maximum limit but please keep in mind the time constraints of this event.

Writers are expected to be respectful of the artists’ ideas, likes, dislikes, and rating preferences. Writers are expected to be in contact with their artist about specific changes/ideas they might have along the way.

Writers must base their fics off of the art prompt they claim. For example, if the art features Clary as an art student, the fic should not be Malec-focused with Clary attending an art school in the background. The fic should be primarily about Clary being an art student.

Writers signing up for the event may not get their first pick when assigned art. Please be mindful of this! Ending your commitment because of this is not permitted and if you feel this will be an issue you should not sign up for the event.

Plagiarism and AI content will not be tolerated. All content must be the writer’s own original work.

Frequently Asked Questions

Why do I have to be a part of the Malec Discord Server to participate? All continuous communication for this event will be provided in a special category in the MDS. This includes all announcements, reminders, and ongoing requirements. If you want to join but don’t want access to the entire server, you can be given a Discord role based on your role in this event so the rest of the server is not accessible to you.

Sign-ups haven’t closed yet but I’m so excited about this challenge and really want to begin. Can I start working now? Artists are free to begin their piece(s) as soon as they read through the rules and requirements! Writers, unfortunately, will have to until they are matched with an artist, but we appreciate your enthusiasm for this event!

Can I sign up for more than one role? Absolutely. Many bang participants sign up for multiple roles as long as you believe you can complete all pieces before the assigned deadline(s).

What if someone doesn’t have a match? In the event that the art prompts outnumber writers, we will do several rounds of claiming so that every art prompt has a writer. If writers outnumber art prompts, we will open up the art prompts so that more than one writer is assigned to the same artist or ask artists if they are interested in completing more art. Every artist will be matched with at least one writer and vice versa.

What if I’m matched with an art prompt/partner I don’t want? The Mods (and most artists) would never want someone to create something that makes them uncomfortable, so if there is an art prompt that you don’t want to be matched with, don’t choose it during claims.

If you have any legitimate concerns about a partner (i.e. harassment or rude behavior), we ask that you please notify the Mods. Intervention by the Mods will not occur simply because of disliking story/design choices or the content they’re producing. Mods will not allow any rude or dismissive behavior by any participant. Please just be nice and work hard to help each other.

Can I repost old art or reuse/add to a WIP? No, All content must be brand new and never before posted to any forum. More on this in the rules.

What if I’m not around when claims occur? Claims will span three days and will not be on a first come first serve basis so as long as you are able to submit your interest in those three days, chances are you’ll be matched with one of your top three choices.

What if I’m not positive I can finish within the deadline? When you sign up for this event you are making a commitment to yourself, the Mods, and your future partner(s) to meet all posted deadlines and to communicate with the Mods and your partner(s) regularly. Please don’t sign up for the event unless you are confident that you can fully participate and be honest with yourself about what you can commit to.

What if something comes up after claims and I need to drop out? We understand that dropping out due to unforeseen circumstances can and will happen. We are/have always been very understanding when this happens and are willing to work with you. The quicker you let us know, the more options the Mods have.

How can I contact the Mods? Send us an ask on here or join the Discord server where we are more accessible.

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dailyclarkegriffin · 7 months

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Clarke Griffin Appreciation Week 2023!

Hey Clarke Kru! It's been a while since Daily Clarke Griffin has had an event, don't you think? Well, it's time to change that! We're bringing Clarke Griffin Appreciation Week back for its third year! As always, the event will run from October 24th to October 30th. (We start on Eliza's birthday and end the day before Halloween, it's the perfect time to celebrate Clarke, not to mention it's her birth month too!)

As we've done before, a list of prompts have been selected for each day to give you some inspiration for what you create for the week! Like we have said in the past, this event is hosted for all types of content creators, whether you make gifs or graphics or moodboards or videos or fic, we try to pick out themes we think will work for everyone. Check them out below!

Prompts:

Day 1: Favorite Look — For our first day we'd love to see your favorite Clarke outfit/look! Do you love her classic season one outfit? Maybe you like the black and blue outfits of season two! Or maybe give a nod to her temporary outfits like the Ark flashback or one of her dresses? Maybe you think her short hair could use some more appreciation, or you could even make a compilation of all her different hairstyles throughout the years!

Day 2: Favorite Underrated Friendship — We've done favorite friendship/dynamic, but what about a pairing that you think deserved more love? Maybe you wished we got a lot more out of the Clarke and Wells relationship. Maybe it's another one of the delinquents like Miller or Harper. Or what about Clarke and Roan? There's tons of duos to choose from, tell us your fave underrated relationship!

Day 3: Color — For this day we want to challenge all of your beautiful creative minds by channeling color! Whether that be one single color that makes you think of Clarke or a whole plethora of colors by making a rainbow edit! You could even use a color palette generator for some inspo if you want! Anything goes!

Day 4: Lyrics & Poetry — We love seeing things like this in the fandom and we want to see some more! Find a quote of some sort, whether it comes from a song or a poem or even somewhere else, and let it inspire you into creating something beautiful to celebrate Clarke! This could be in the form of gifs, moodboards, fanart, even a songfic! Whatever you want to create, we want to see!

Day 5: Bi Pride — It's not Clarke Griffin Appreciation Week without bi pride day! As always, we'd love to see all the bi love whether it's with a bi flag inspired gifset, a moodboard with cute bi aesthetics, maybe you could even use some lyrics from your fave bi musician as inspo! (Gentle reminder that this day is about bi positivity, we're here to celebrate Clarke's role as a bi leading character!)

Day 6: Halloween — The holiday is right around the corner and we'd love to see some fun and spooky ideas! You could do something orange and black themed, you can make an AU edit like Clarke as a witch or a werewolf! Maybe a manip of what you think Clarke would dress up as. You could also do some spooky horror-inspired editing if that's your thing. Even a Halloween drabble if you feel like writing instead. We hope you have fun with this one!

Day 7: Free Day — As always, we're going to end the week by giving you free rein to do whatever you like for the final day! If you have an extra idea or something you've been meaning to post, now's the chance to do it! It can be funny or shippy or completely AU or even just another compilation of your favorite Clarke moments! It's the last day so we want to see what you love to make!

There it is! Clarke Griffin Appreciation Week 2023 is officially happening! When the event begins please tag all your creations with #cgaw23 so we can reblog them here on the main blog for all our followers to see. We hope everyone interested in the event is able to participate, and we'd love it if you reblogged this post to spread the word! See you soon, friends! 💗💜💙

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tua-masked-author · 24 days

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🌺 📻 Summer remix ‘24 📻 🌺

Hello masqueraders! We are back again for another round of TMA in June (exact dates TBA!). This round, to celebrate the end of TUA, we want to appreciate the contributions of this fandom, so its time to REMIX!

🎭 What is a remix?

A remix is a fanwork of a fanwork!! There are a lot of different interpretations, but to keep things simple we are taking the broadest possible definition. A remix could be a scene written from another character’s pov, a story where the roles have been swapped, or the answer to the question “what if [this] had happened instead?” It could be an illustration of a scene in a fic, or a full blown comic, or a recreation of a drawing with a different mood in another style and setting. It could be fanfic of an artist’s drawing or fanart of an author’s story.

Basically it's a chance to show love and pay homage to another fan work by creating a new complimentary fan work!

🌺 You can find a more in-depth definition of a remix here. 🌺

The fanwork you are inspired by could be any TUA fanwork; fanfic and fanart of course, but also a tumblr post about an au that you are particularly fond of, a fansong; even a gifset with a strong concept or a meta essay you were grabbed by. We’re appreciating ALL fanworks here!

🎭 Do I have to do a remix?

As always the theme is optional; you don't have to do a remix. However, we strongly encourage everyone to give it a shot! We want to look back on all the great fanworks this fandom has to offer and appreciate the fans who have made our community!

🎭 But how do I know if the author/artist will be okay with it?

In place of a prompt sheet this round, we are letting people submit their fanworks to be remixed! (If you aren’t sure you’d like to participate, no worries! The submission form carries no expectation that you draw or write for the event.)

🌺 You can find the link to submit your works here. 🌺

🌺 and here are the works submitted for remixing! 🌺

Additionally, lots of authors will include permission statements on their AO3 profiles, so if you already have a fic in mind it would be worth checking for one. Alternatively, you can contact the author or artist and ask!

🎭 This is still the Masked Author though, right?

Yes! As always, when the posting period arrives (which we will announce in a more in depth rules post soon) you will post to the event collection that will anonymize your work, and afterwards there will be a period where you all put on your detective hats and try to solve who’s who. And if YOUR work gets remixed, then you’ll be getting an anonymous treat and get to try to suss out who gave it to you!

#tua #the umbrella academy #tua events #tua masked author #tua masked artist #tma summer remix

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ranchthoughts · 4 months

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✨2023: A Summary✨

Post your most popular and/or favourite edit/gifset/analysis for each month (it’s okay to skip months!)

Tagged by @lurkingshan (here) and @wen-kexing-apologist (here). Thanks for the tags!

In 2023, I made 175 original posts, including 45 metas about 12 different shows and two large scale projects (the GMMTV Multiverse and the GMMTV Kissing charts). It was interesting to see what meta (and how much) I had written in which months. It's also fun looking back as I approach my one year anniversary of watching and writing about BL - I'm so grateful for all the wonderful people I've met and gotten to chat with over these past months!

January and February [0 metas]

I wasn’t on BL Tumblr yet! Any and all meta came in the form of thoughts, texts, and powerpoint presentations.

March [6 metas]

My BL Tumblr debut! I started this blog with the intention of 1) more easily gathering and archiving posts for future reference, and 2) collecting my thoughts somewhere other than text threads and my notes app, so I began posting meta the day I got here.

Most popular: what started as me thinking about Win’s rock t-shirt from ep 11 and then grew from there… - reading a lot into a random Thai ql shirt choice? Me?

Favourite(s): Thoughts on Tinn, his mother, and coming out (part 1, part 2); Thoughts on Tinn, his mother, and music - My first meta ever posted! I keep returning to Tinn and his mother's relationship in My School President...

April [1 meta]

By default, the most popular (and favourite): Gun's feelings are realistic - I love when MSP subverts our expectations

May [13 metas]

Oh damn! This was a big meta month for me. Some of my favourite metas I've ever written were posted this month.

Most popular: The Eighth Sense and Missing Pieces - I am really proud of this one. It also made me laugh that I apologized for the length at the beginning when I would go on to post much, MUCH longer metas.

Favourite(s): Thoughts on genre, tropes, Bad Buddy, and My School President (aka my Bad Buddy and MSP thesis, which began life as a powerpoint presentation... now here's one of those much, MUCH longer metas in question); Wai as a faen fatale (which also began life as part of that same powerpoint presentation and I think perfectly encapsulates my analytical style); Conversations in ITSAY that are about more than they seem (I am really proud of the analysis I did here and the writing style I used to present it). This was also the month in which I started my deeply self-indulgent GMMTV Multiverse project, which later inspired my mission to record all GMMTV kisses.

June [11 metas]

Oh nooo another bunch of my favourites. This is cruel to make me choose.

Most popular: Thinking about Pran's "Pat, you've got to stop doing this to me" (I love this one! and this was the first of several times I've gotten to collaborate with the wonderful @dudeyuri)

Favourite(s): An analysis of the baseball mom shirt, Bad Buddy ep. 5 (my entry into the venerable field of Bad Buddy/ql shirt analysis and also encapsulates pretty much everything I try to do in my metas); An impassioned defense of the Bad Buddy ep. 5 rooftop kiss (combines many of my favourite things: reading deeply into the minute details of Bad Buddy, an analytical framework that just clicks itself together as I write, and literature reviews); and Thinking about Snow White as the engineering play, part 1 (shout out to the two other people going ham on Snow White as an allegory during the Our Skyy 2 madness - @chickenstrangers (here) and @letgomaggie (here))

July [3 metas]

Most popular (and favourite): Thinking about Pat, Pran, and pursuit (I think this was my first time articulating the idea of Pat and Pran's commitment to the bit, a concept which continues to circle in my head. This was also another collaboration with the wonderful @dudeyuri!)

August [7 metas]

Here comes Only Friends... and the GMMTV Kissing Multiverse project.

Most popular: GMMTV Kissing Multiverse updates 1, 2 and 3 (this is so much fun to track and analyze, and I've been really touched by everyone else's excitement for the project too); Various thoughts and musings on Only Friends and ephemerality (the Ephemerality Squad assembles!)

Favourite: Thinking about Boston: a study of episode 3 - I find Boston's mind a fascinating place to explore

September [8 metas]

Oh look! It's more Only Friends!

Most popular: Mansplain, Manipulate, Manwhore: Ray confronting Boston - once again, I love getting into Boston's head. This post was inspired by @wen-kexing-apologist's scene breakdowns, especially their Fight Night one

Favourite(s): The above, and also The Mundanity of Meanness

October [5 metas]

Most popular (and favourite): The first fist bump in Bad Buddy - oof. I've gotta come back to this idea sometime.

November [3 metas]

Most popular: The Latest Update to the Kissing Multiverse - the hotly anticipated post-Only Friends update to the kissing charts

Favourite: the kissing charts, and Thinking about Pat, Pran, and competition - again, I love to think about Pat and Pran. I consider this one to be part of an ongoing series, along with my earlier metas on pursuit and the rooftop.

December [1 meta]

Most popular (and favourite): Not Me and earrings - technically an addition on @chickenstrangers' post, but was a relief to get my months old "Not Me is about ears and earrings!" thoughts out.

some no pressure tags: @chickenstrangers, @distant-screaming, @dudeyuri, @neuroticbookworm, @slayerkitty, @telomeke, @twig-tea, @waitmyturtles

#bl wrapped #ranch thoughts #honestly all laid out this doesn't seem like a lot. I'm surprised by how much more I wrote in May and June!#fascinating how you - Shan and WKA - also didn't start your meta journeys until a couple of months into 2023

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victoriaspriing · 4 months

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2023 writing gif-making round up

Rules (adapted for fic, gifs, art, etc.): Share what you made this year! It can be works you posted to Ao3, Wattpad, Tumblr, or anywhere else! You can share everything you made or just the projects you're most excited about.

I was tagged by @swearphil! thank you sm renee <33

Hii!! so 2024 is right around the corner, happy new year yayay. Actually, if I think too much about it I think I'll start crying cause like what do you mean we're less than 42 hours from staring a new year?!! 2023 doesn't feel real tbh time in general doesn't feel real but yeah anyways I'll save that convo for another time. I'm here today to reflect on all the gifsets I've made throughout this year, which let me add, has been A LOT. I'm going to start by sharing some fun stats (yes renee I'm copying you <33), and then I'll do a fun top 5 of my fave gifsets, and to finish it off I'd also like to use this to shout out some of my fave people and creators on this hellsite cause you all made my 2023 so much better and I love you all for that <333

fun statistics:

In total I made 61 gifsets in 2023

57 are heartstopper (not surprised)

3 are 911 lone star (mostly tarlos)

1 are dan and phil

In august I made 20 gifsets, which are the most gifsets I've made in a month this year

In may I made 1 gifset, which is the month I made less gifsets this year

6 of the gifsets are song lyrics edits

3 of the gifsets are heartstopper comic edits

31 of the gifsets are scenes from heartstopper

6 of the gifsets are heartstopper compilations from s1 and s2

top 5 gifsets from 2023 (in no particular order)

that one dnp gifset: I think most people know that I was and still am a big dan and phil fan, and that I spent most of my teenage years obsessing over them and giffing them and only them. Well, they went on hiatus and they stopped having a big impact on my life util they decided to come back and ruin my life again (in a good way). This gifset was the first time I giffed them since like idk 2019/2020, and it does mean a lot to me :') it's not really about the concept and the coloring, I chose this one to be apart of my top 5 for sentimental reasons, and I think that's valid.

give your friendships the magic you would give a romance: once again, sentimental reasons. when I read this quote on loveless it just spoke to me in so many levels. One of the things I love the most about heartstopper is the importance they give to friendship and I just had to make something that highlighted that and I think it turned out super good.

I think nellie loves him: well, now I think I snapped with this one akdhjahak I just love it so much. the coloring.. the heartstopper tv scenes with the heartstopper comic scenes, like chef's kiss, just perfect. of course this is not an original idea so I'd love to thank @rose-nobles for inspiring this gifset <33

mr. ajayi loves museum dates with his grumpy bf: and just like that we are back to sentimental reasons ahdhkas. well, this was one of the first gifsets I made when season two came out and it blew up. I've never had that many notes on a gifset, and honestly I think it's well deserved cause the coloring is good and I had finally just figured out how to sharpen gifs, so yeah love that for me.

I'm bi actually: I had so much fun making this one. the amount of bi coded elements and colors I included on this, I WAS ON A MISSION. the fact I made the font wobbly hsjgdjaka, I love love this gifset.

a little shout out to my faves (I hope you all have an amazing 2024)

@swearphil ☆ @barrowsteeth ☆ @narliee ☆ @cafecdramin ☆ @heroeddiemunson ☆ @nelsonnicholas ☆ @curlyhairedprince ☆ @wylanvannecks ☆ @aimeegbbs ☆ @indimlights ☆ @jelloandsugar ☆ @perrieedwards ☆ @imogen-heaney ☆ @thatwasthenightthingschanged ☆ @klinejack ☆ @birthdaysentiment ☆ @seeleybooth ☆ @sonseulsoleil ☆ @taraolssons ☆ @immortals-malec ☆ @parissquads ☆ @rose-nobles ☆ @itwasmagic ☆ @perccyjackson ☆ @naomismcpherson ☆ @neverfindmegone ☆ @charlieisverybored

Okay I think that's it, I'm so sorry if I missed someone. I'm also tagging everyone that wants to do this, just say I tagged you in it <33

#tag games #this was fun

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blainesebastian · 2 years

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coffee cart girl (pt5)

words: 3,418 ship: austin x female reader summary: you’re the coffee runner on the set of Elvis. Coffee deliveries run pretty easy, until Austin accidently spills coffee on you. notes: thank you so much for all the support! previous parts are under this tag, this part was inspired by this gifset warnings: none tag list: under the cut! sorry if your username does not link up on the post if you requested to be put on the tag list (it’s getting hefty! :)), unsure how I could fix that. please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Despite everything changing, things stay the same—which is actually pretty comforting. You keep showing up on set, day-in-day-out, serve coffee, come back home and then wake up to do it all over again. You have to admit that you feel slightly lighter working your coffee deliveries and know it has everything to do with this relationship you’re building with Austin. Keeping things under wrap for right now feels like the best idea, just between the two of you, which is exactly what you both need right now. With Austin constantly working on Elvis, you have no interest in being in any sort of spotlight—at least not yet. Your script work is getting better but you’re still figuring out the steps that you’ll need to move forward, to get yourself out there—be noticed.

The last thing you want is for someone to assume you haven’t gotten somewhere by talent alone but because of who you know, or in this case, who you’re seeing.

Austin has always seemed like a very private guy anyways, he’s not very active on social media—he likes to keep his personal life exactly that, personal. It leaves you with this intimate bubble forms over you both, time to get to know one another and develop on shared feelings. It may not look like normal dating, and it might seem like sneaking around sometimes, but that doesn’t bother you.

In the end—what you have with Austin is no one’s business.

Except, you do want to tell Jillian.

Getting on set Thursday, you make a direct route to one of the makeup trailers that she works in. Climbing inside and closing the door, you make sure you’re alone with her before spilling the beans. You tell her everything, from start to finish, all the details you feel like are necessary to get you both on the same page.

It doesn’t take much—Jillian already thought that Austin liked you, so the conclusion jumping is a short distance once she has all the information.

Jillian’s face somehow looks like an emoji, a permanent heightened emotion that is hearteyes and shocked all at the same time. Her jaw may also be taking up a residence on the floor, she hasn’t closed her mouth since you began talking.

“I fucking knew it.” She laughs, “I’m so good at sensing chemistry—like, I should probably quit my job here and become a relationship guru,” You roll your eyes even though you’re smiling, “Or a tarot card reader.”

“You can’t tell anyone Jillian, I mean it.” You say after a moment, taking a step closer to your friend. “Austin and I don’t want our business out there.”

“Austin and I,” She repeats with a dreamy laugh, “Our,” She shakes her head, curls tied up in clip today, which is probably a good thing seeing as how she seems to be vibrating at a high frequency. “Does that feel weird to say—like, you’re dating a celebrity.”

You let out a slow breath, your stomach fluttering in a slightly nervous way that it does sometimes. It’d be obtuse not to acknowledge the elephant in the room that Austin is, in fact, a celebrity, that he is different than someone you met at a coffee shop or a bar. You two are very unique in that sense and are on distinct paths for your futures. But at the same time you find it important to remind yourself that Austin is human, he’s a regular guy that has normal emotions, needs and desires. You’re on the same page, you’re working together on this.

But that doesn’t mean that sometimes this whole thing doesn’t blow your mind because it does. It’s as if you’re worried you might wake up from a dream or something, harsh reality ready to grab you by the throat.

“Jillian,” You repeat, holding her gaze so you know she’s actually listening.

Jillian sighs, head tossed back towards the ceiling, “I hear you, promise. I won’t say a word to anyone.” And you do believe her otherwise you wouldn’t have said anything in the first place. Jillian might be a little eccentric but she’s trustworthy. “Are you going to go out on dates…or?”

You pause a moment, considering that…you actually hadn’t thought about it. So much of your interactions kinda stem on being on set together, you spend time between shoots, when you bring coffee or Austin lets you know when he’s taking food breaks but…

Eventually Elvis will come to an end and then what? There’s award shows and interviews and a very public eye. You’re pretty sure that even now if you two were to go out, someone would notice and put it out into the world—a fan, a pap, a gossip tabloid, too many different outcomes. One of the great things about set is that you can have privacy here.

“We’re figuring it out.” And it sounds like such a lame excuse right now but to be honest you don’t want to admit that it hasn’t crossed your mind.

Jillian just smiles before nodding, the door to the trailer opening up before any more questions can be asked. You’re secretly kind of thanking whoever’s listening for that—if your friend thinks you need to be a bit more planned about your future with Austin, she doesn’t comment.

Right now you think a day-to-day approach is best…but maybe a little bit more of a strategy wouldn’t hurt either.

The day is as busy as it always is, filled with running around on last minute rotations and add-ons mixed with your regular orders. Sal actually seems like she’s in a decent mood for once, which is always a nice surprise. You take your afternoon lull at the typical picnic bench, getting some serious editing done on your script as you slowly sip on a coffee. Second readthrough is done, now all that’s left is reading it outloud to catch any last mistakes before…letting a second pair of eyes actually look at it.

Speaking of—

You frown, picking up the clipboard nearby that had your morning and afternoon orders on it. Just as you thought, you don’t see Austin’s name anywhere. Time had been runnin’ so smoothly, you barely noticed that he hadn’t placed any coffee orders. Normally, you might not think that was odd but…after ending up on the same page, it’s usually a nice stolen few moments to see one another through a busy day.

You chew on your lower lip—it’s probably just a hectic day for him but there’s also a small pit in your stomach that is slowly beginning to feel like a black hole for whatever reason. You put the script in your bag and decide to stretch your legs, dropping your things off where you usually keep them and take a long stroll around set.

In a not surprising turn of events, you end up outside Austin’s trailer. Glancing around for a moment, you take a sip of coffee and make your way up the steps—at the very least you can pretend you have a last-minute caffeine fix for him, should anyone ask. You knock on the door and wait, taking a step back to make room for the door to open.

It takes a few moments but when it finally does, you pause, unsure of what to say.

Despite still getting to know him, it’s very plain to see that he’s upset. He must be in-between scenes because he’s in his own clothes, jeans, a black shirt, his hair scrubbed free of gel from what looks like his hands going through it. His face is slightly pink, eyes red-rimmed and wet and it somehow makes the color seem even more blue. He works his jaw a moment, swallowing, seemingly trying to get ahold of himself.

You’re kinda dumbfounded because…you’ve obviously never seen him like this before.

Blinking, you realize that you should say something. “Hi,” You pause, taking a breath, “Do you—you want me to leave you alone?”

“No,” He says quickly, clearing his throat. His voice is twinged with emotion, slightly deeper than usual as he opens the door so you can walk over the threshold, “You can come in.”

You hesitate for a moment before wandering inside, the door closing behind you. Austin moves to lean against the kitchenette counter and you stand in front of him, putting your cup of coffee down near the sink. You give him a few moments to collect himself, watching as he runs a hand over his forehead, swallowing, the muscles in his jaw flexing again. Your gaze flutters over the rings he has on today, both gold, one on his middle finger while the other rests on his pinky.

Did something happen? You’re trying not to bombard him with questions…so you do the only thing you think you can in that moment, remembering how his hand had smoothed its way down your back during that migraine. One hand moves to settle along his arm, squeezing, while the other gently rests along his neck. Your fingers graze the bottom of his jawline, his pulse quick and skin warm where you’re touching. You feel, rather than see him, take a short breath in.

Whatever’s got him worked up, it’s at least good to know that he’s letting himself feel it rather than keep it buried underneath his ribcage. Some people are so concerned about strong emotions, never allowing themselves to give into them, feeling like they have to keep them hidden or tucked away. Austin’s not only allowing himself to feel, but he’s also letting you see him like this.

Neither of you say anything for a while, just stand there together, soaking one another in. You rub along his arm, sometimes your other hand moving to cup his cheek, stroking along his cheekbone. He sniffles, running one of his own hands underneath his eyes before letting out a slow breath,

“Sometimes it’s uh, it’s hard for me to take a step back from what I’m doin’.”

You nod and honestly, a lot of details aren’t necessary. You're sure the emotional toll is sometimes brutal, how hard it must be to separate his feelings out between what's reality and what's the film. You know that Austin gives absolutely everything to his work—it's obvious in the way he carries himself, how he speaks about his roles, in interviews you've seen and even in conversations you've shared with him.

He doesn’t need to explain himself.

It’s a bit crushing to see him like this—you wish you knew what to say. “Can I do anything?”

Austin shakes his head, giving you a small smile. Removing the hand that you have along his cheek, he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist, “You’re doin’ it.”

You smile back, your stomach doing that ridiculous fluttering thing it sometimes does because of him. “I was wonderin’ why your coffee orders were missing from my clipboard.”

“Just been kinda nauseous all day,” Austin admits, running a hand through his hair, “Stomach’s in a knot.”

You’ve heard rumors that way before filming started Baz had organized for studio producers, crew, and the like to heckle Austin while he played some of his first Elvis songs. This wasn’t done without a purpose—much of Elvis’s first performances as an artist were similar. Regardless, you can’t imagine what it’d be like to experience something like that, especially if you’re already nervous about embodying such a role.

You wonder if today was something similar in the studio…or maybe it’s just a bad day. Not all of them can be perfect, even if Austin shows up ready to work as hard as he possibly can.

Taking a small breath in, you step back from him—you don’t have much time left on your own break before you’ll have to start taking late-night coffee orders. You’re sure he wants to spend a bit more on his own before he’s called to hair and makeup or wardrobe.

“I’ll see you later?” You offer, leaving it open just in case he wants to take the rest of the day to himself. You wouldn’t blame him, sometimes time alone is the best way to bounce back.

But Austin reaches for your wrist as you move to leave, squeezing gently, “I’ll find you.”

Giving him one last smile, you grab your cup of coffee and head out of his trailer.

Shooting stretches until two AM, which is not at all surprising. You end up leaving set around midnight, making a convenience run to grab a few things before making your way back to your favorite picnic bench outside the food tent. It’s a skeleton crew and luckily no one seems to bother to ask you why you’re still hanging out, walking past you with either a goodnight or no words at all.

Looking up as you hear footsteps approach, you smile when you see Austin, sliding off the table you’re sitting on to meet him halfway. He’s in his own set of clothes again but his hair is still styled to look like Elvis—the most important part, he looks a lot better than when you saw him this afternoon. Shoulders not as heavy looking, his eyes brighter,

“Hi,” Austin smiles down at you, “Fancy meetin’ you here.”

“I know,” You laugh lightly, “What a coincidence.” Throwing your bag over your shoulder, you walk with him towards his trailer. You don’t pass many people, which is comforting, before you finally make it to the destination. Austin heads up the steps first, opening the door for you to walk in.

Switching on the lights, the door closes behind you and you pause as you see that way back in the trailer…is in fact a bed. So it is true that some stars have legit places to sleep on set if they wish for late nights, naps between scenes. Though you’re not sure how that’d go—you always feel like such a zombie waking up from a nap. Can’t imagine that’s a good thing going from scene to scene.

So much for that being refreshing.

“Is that comfortable?” You ask, motioning to the bed as you put your bag down on the coffee table.

Austin looks up and in the direction of what you’re referring to, “Kinda, it has its moments when you’re really tired.”

“You gonna sleep there tonight?”

He purses his lips in thought, toeing his boots off near the couch. “Probably.”

And that…is totally not something to be thinking about right now. You shake your head as if to get rid of the imagery before clearing your throat, “I got you somethin’.”

He raises his eyebrows as you pass over the bag from the convenience store,

“Just my go-to’s when I’m feeling poorly.”

You smile, chewing on your lower lip as he pulls out a few essentials: a plastic container of Oreo’s, Ginger Ale, and mint tea.

“They didn’t have peanut butter.” Then quickly to clarify, “For the Oreo’s, I mean.”

Austin laughs softly, nodding, running his hand over the pack before smiling up at you. He reaches out to tug you close, placing a kiss on the bridge of your nose. “Thank you.”

You feel warmed from the inside out, blooming in your chest and sprouting outward. It’s not much and you’re not sure if his stomach is still upset but…you just wanted to be able to offer something to help. Sometimes a well-placed gesture is all you need.

Opening the pack of Oreo’s, he sets the bag on the coffee table to take a cookie out. Biting into it, he says, “I’ve never had Oreo’s with peanut butter before.”

You raise your eyebrows in mock outrage, “This is just unacceptable—don’t tell me you’re a cookies and milk kinda guy.”

He smiles a little guiltily—it’s cute. “You gonna take the cookies back if I say yes?”

You crinkle your nose, grabbing an Oreo for yourself. “Just please tell me you’re not a dunker.”

Austin shakes his head and well, good, at least you can work with that. Snagging a seat on the couch, you take your shoes off, crossing your legs up on the cushions. As you both eat through another sleeve of cookies, your mind wanders to this morning when you were talking with Jillian about…everything. The future, or at least what might happen when the filming of Elvis ends. You glance up at Austin, on the couch with you, one long leg folded up under himself, the other resting on the ground. His fingers hold one cookie while the other runs them along his lower lip, as if he’s in thought.

He touches his face a lot, you realize, especially when he seems to be considering something. After the emotive day he’s had, you’re not sure it’s the right time to really talk through what’s on your mind. There will be time for that.

Austin looks over at you as he takes an Oreo apart, which makes you scrunch your face a bit because you know he’s going straight for the icing. “How’s your script comin’?”

You take a soft breath into your chest, debating the words behind your teeth for a long few moments before, “Maybe end of the week you can look at it? If you’re not too busy.” No pressure, you can have Jillian read it over if he can’t.

“I’m not too busy for you.” Austin replies and he says it in such a way that has you believing it. Though, it’s a double-edged sword, you’re not quite sure how you’re going to handle him reading your script and…what if he thinks it’s absolutely awful? It’s just one opinion, sure, but you have to admit that it means a bit to you.

You shake out the nerves best you can and nod, determined, he’ll get that script by the end of the week.

Then you’ll go from there.

You stay on the couch for a while eating Oreos, easy conversation passing between the two of you. It kind of amazes you how simple it is that you can just…talk about anything. There’s topics that range from the serious (where do you see yourself in five years, who’s your biggest influence, book you could read over and over again) to the dramatic (zombie apocalypse—how fucked are you, favorite bird that you think has the biggest personality, drunk food go-to).

Another hour of time passes and it was already late to begin with, another yawn slipping past your lips,

“I think you should crash here,” Austin says, “That’s like your fifth one.”

You blink at the offer because no…while you know it’s late and he’s not wrong about you yawning a lot, the day catching up with you, you couldn’t possibly sleep here, right? On a few counts.

No…people would notice, wouldn’t they? While you like to think you blend into the background pretty easily, tomorrow would be the day for people to notice you coming out of Austin’s trailer, or in the same clothes you wore today. Way too risky, right?

And yet, for whatever reason that’s not what comes out of your mouth, “I think I got an extra pair of jeans in my car but—”

“I can grab you somethin’ from wardrobe.”

You raise your eyebrows, a scoff sneaking out. Oh really? “This couch is—”

“Let me worry about the couch, you’re takin’ the bed.”

Now you do laugh, “What you got an answer for everythin’?”

He grins, “Maybe.”

This is such a bad idea—the couch was comfortable enough to nap on when you had a migraine but getting a full night’s rest? Not even to mention, “Your legs are far too long for this thing.”

Now he’s amused, his eyes dancing warmly as he leans into your personal space. Your stomach flutters, gaze flickering down to his lips when he speaks, “You checkin’ me out Y/N?”

“You’re incorrigible.” You shake your head, gently poking at his chest.

Austin hums, “I’ve been told that’s my best quality.”

You don’t kiss him even though you really want to, a smile tugging the corners of your mouth—you realize within those few moments how much you like him, how your feelings for him are becoming more and more defined the longer you two figure this thing out together. At the same time, it’s a dangerous thing—you’re really falling for him.

You just hope it’s not too fast.

Once again, thanks so much for reading! I think I worked out that this series will be 10 parts total :)

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