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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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Prompt - Nie Mingjue's temper is already not great at the Phoenix hunt, so when they haul out men and women, some who look a great deal more like frightened peasants than cultivators he snaps, this is not how you treat POWs, it turns into a riot/battle and Jiang Cheng has had enough of kowtowing to the Jin and he and the new Jiang sect members and Wei Wuxian all rally to Nie Mingjue, does anyone else? Where to the Lan fall? Was nie mingjue's snap directly at jgy or more in general?

ao3

Nie Mingjue was, probably for the first time in his life, tired of fighting.

He’d fought in secret against the Wen sect for years, thanklessly defending the other sects that had refused to even acknowledge Wen Ruohan’s actions for years on end, and yet it had not prepared him for the brutality that was open warfare, for the difficulty of being the general of the entire Sunshot Campaign, for the burden of knowing that so many lives depended on him and him alone. He’d fought battle after battle, won tremendous victories, and yet the last hope had seemed out of reach – he’d eventually resorted to a desperate stratagem that had gone wrong – he had been tortured, mocked, his men killed – and at the moment of when all seemed lost, he was saved.

Saved…only to realize that it was Meng Yao being credited with it, with being their spy, and Lan Xichen had not told him.

He’d limped back to his camp, but they’d chased after him, and the news of what Meng Yao had done got out – not really a surprise; given the man’s ambitions, if someone else hadn’t spread it he would have done it himself – and in the end, politics had meant that there really hadn’t been much of a choice about swearing sworn brotherhood with the two of them, binding them together in life and death, not unless he wanted to risk another war.

Nie Mingjue very, very much did not want another war.

He had still not fully recovered from his injuries by the time the Jin sect had set up a celebration in the Nightless City, with Jin Guangshan using Nie Mingjue’s refusal to take on any of Wen Ruohan’s ridiculous trappings as an excuse to all but name himself Chief Cultivator in the man’s place. Nie Mingjue knew he should have protested then, but he was tired, his sect in need of rebuilding – they had been the ones bearing the brunt of the war, as they always had, and the only reason they were not the worst off of the Great Sects was because of what the Wens had done to the Cloud Recesses and the Lotus Pier – and he’d never really wanted personal advancement, anyway.

After what had happened with his father, he’d had a lifetime’s worth of being promoted.

Besides, as part and parcel of their self-granted promotion, the Jin sect had promised to take care of the worst of the clean-up, including dealing with the prisoners of war, and that had seemed fine, even a good result. After spending half his life doing things for other people, Nie Mingjue would return home to focus on that which matter most to him, and for once someone else would take the lead in caring for the rest of the world.

It wasn’t like the Jin sect couldn’t afford a few more mouths to feed.

It wasn’t like their coffers were anywhere near empty, or that they needed to rebuild; it wasn’t as though they’d ever stopped trade with Qishan or actually led in a major battle or - he should stop thinking about it before he became angry.

He’d been angry for so long. It would be nice to stop for a while.

Of course, it felt as though he’d barely settled in back at home before he was being summoned for yet another celebration hosted by the Jin sect, this time at Phoenix Mountain. A hunt, no less, and it was so pointedly designed as the sort of thing that the Nie sect favored that it would have been impossible to turn down the invitation. Not to mention, the invitation had oh-so-casually mentioned that Jin Guangyao, his sworn brother, would be the one in charge of setting up the hunt, meaning that any disruption or failure cause damage not only to his own reputation but to Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen’s, for having sworn with him.

Jin Guangshan would either have his day in the sun or a reason to tear everyone else down - a win-win situation for him, lose-lose for everyone else.

Fucking politics.

Still, there wasn’t anything for it. They had to go, so they went.

Nie Mingjue felt himself drifting back into that disconnected state that had allowed him to survive years of discussion conferences hosted by his father’s murderer. It was a strange sort of state, that allowed him to do the things he had to do to support his sect while feeling as though the world was separated from him by a window through which he watched everything happen. Anything that occurred beyond that window – all sounds and sights and even emotional reactions – was dulled or even muted; he could look Wen Ruohan right in the eye and think to himself of how much he longed to slaughter the man where he stood for his crimes, look at Jiang Fengmian smiling quite sincerely at Wen Ruohan and Lan Qiren bowing to him as if he was a man worthy of respect, as if they weren’t hypocrites that took Wen Ruohan’s money in trade and said apologetically that there wasn’t anything anyone could prove about Nie Mingjue’s father’s death, and yet, no matter how much he hated them all, his body would do nothing.

He would drink tea, and nod, and he would not breach etiquette, he would not bring war down on his sect’s head, he would do nothing.

Sitting in a place of honor at Phoenix Mountain felt much the same: yet another burden to bear, a torment that he could only hope passed quickly.

(It wasn’t healthy, but then again, what was? His entire life was grist for the mill that was his sect’s well-being, shortened by excessive cultivation and stress and endless rage, and knowing it didn’t change anything.)

He saw in the corner of his eye the way his little brother’s eyes flickered to him and then frown – he’d never liked it when Nie Mingjue went quiet and passive, knowing how alien the feeling was to him, knowing through fellow-feeling what it felt like, though perhaps he was wondering why the state had come upon him now again when Wen Ruohan was already dead and gone, even though it had never really just been about Wen Ruohan.

Perhaps because of that fellow-feeling, Nie Huaisang found a conversational interlude hat allowed him to slide over a little closer than politeness dictated, casually putting a hand on Nie Mingjue’s arm as if to beg for something. He knew that Nie Mingjue took comfort in the touch, in the reminder that with his saber at his side and his brother within arms’ reach, Nie Mingjue felt as thought he had everything he valued most in this rotten world close enough that he could try to protect it.

And then the Jin sect – using Jin Guangyao as their mouthpiece, though whether it was because of his skillful silver tongue or simply because they didn’t think he was worth anything more than that, only he would know – announced that they would kick off the hunt with some entertainment.

Nie Mingjue lifted his cup of tea to his lips, feeling pained, and his eyes briefly met with Lan Qiren’s across the hall, no longer in the place of the sect leader but slightly behind, his expression making clear that the same thought was on both their minds – anything but the prostitutes again.

(Surely Jin Guangyao had a bit more self-respect than that…?)

When a bunch of people in chains were marched out, Nie Mingjue had only enough presence of mind to be briefly relieved that the presence of mixed genders meant that they were probably not prostitutes – Lanling Jin abided by rules relating to birth gender and sexuality that seemed nearly as strict as the rules they were always criticizing Gusu Lan over, and according to them no one ever switched or was misaligned or deviated at all, which frankly seemed more than a little bizarre and unbelievable – and then uncomfortable because, well, they were in chains. Weren’t they supposed to be done with war?

And then Jin Guangyao started announcing the rules of some sort of ridiculous archery contest that the younger generation would engage in, and for a moment that seemed almost a relief as well – as a sect leader, Nie Mingjue was excluded from the younger generation despite being only a few years older than the rest of them, and of course there was no point in expecting his brother to participate in any competition of martial skill, and so for a moment it seemed as though this could be another part of this torturous endless experience that he could just tune out.

Indeed, that he was obligated to tune out. No matter how idiotic it was, whatever it was, whatever he thought about it (and he wouldn’t like it, he knew he wouldn’t like it, he’d never liked anything Wen Ruohan – no, that Jin Guangshan, insofar as there was that much of a difference – he’d never liked anything Jin Guangshan had set up in nearly ten years of working together, and odds were good that he wouldn’t like this), Nie Mingjue still had to think first of his sect and the consequences of making a fuss, and that meant he didn’t. He didn’t want a war, and so he had to be polite, restrained, quiet, no matter what he thought.

It wasn’t that hard to simply pull back even further. Nie Mingjue had been suppressing righteousness in favor of etiquette at these horrible conferences for such a long time that it came naturally to him, the way all bad habits did.

Only this time he’d brought Nie Huaisang with him, which he’d always resisted before, and his brother’s hand tightened on his arm to the point of pain.

Nie Mingjue’s first thought, stupidly enough, was to be pleased by the discovery that Nie Huaisang actually had some arm muscle underneath all those prissy frills he favored. His second was concern that Nie Huaisang had suddenly taken ill – with admittedly a bit of hopefulness that perhaps it would be something they could use as an excuse to leave early, as long as it wasn’t that serious – but when he turned to look at him his brother didn’t seem sick.

He seemed – angry?

Not Huaisang, Nie Mingjue thought, heart abruptly seized with an ancient fear. He knew perfectly well what he’d gotten himself into when it came to the saber spirits, had accepted years ago that he would die young, die early, die horribly and alone with nothing but his rage, but that was not going to be Nie Huaisang’s fate, not if he had anything to say about it.

The fear curdled in his chest, and it felt as though a crack appeared on the window that shielded him from all sensation, all pain and desperation forced far away.

No one was talking, other than Jin Guangyao droning on and on about whatever the new entertainment was – Nie Mingjue had stopped paying attention long ago – and so he couldn’t ask Nie Huaisang what was wrong, but he looked at him and furrowed his brow, trying to convey the question silence.

Nie Huaisang caught the glance and understood, and his mouth moved, shaping silent sounds – it’s an execution, they’re going to kill them –

What?

Baxia, lying by his side as she always did during these meetings, shifted a little, her rage nudging against Nie Mingjue’s mind as it always did – sometimes he thought she hated these meetings as much as he did, other times he was sure of it – and the crack in the window got a little wider, let in a little more light and color and sound, and Nie Mingjue found a thread of willpower to force himself to listen to what the entertainment Jin Guangyao was proposing actually was.

He replayed the words in his mind, turned to look at the people in chains – Wen sect, apparently, and though he couldn’t tell on sight whether they were civilians or cultivators, that didn’t matter. Not even criminals were executed like this, by standing at a distance and waiting to die, not even able to hope for an expert aiming to kill quickly and cleanly, but through a misplaced arrow that could strike them anywhere, cause them a lingering and painful death…this was supposed to be a game?

This was meant to be their entertainment?

The window between Nie Mingjue and the world shattered.

And suddenly all he felt was rage.

“What,” Nie Mingjue said, even as Jin Zixuan got up with a set expression on his face to accept a bow from his servant, “are you doing?”

Jin Zixuan paused, looking puzzled – and no surprise, since Nie Mingjue hadn’t said anything beyond the most mundane greetings when he first arrived. “Sect Leader Nie..?”

Nie Mingjue rose to his feet, his brother’s hand falling off of his arm as if he’d shaken him off like a dog. “What are you doing?” he demanded, louder this time. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Da-ge –” Jin Guangyao said, an obvious hint, a reminder of their relationship – Nie Mingjue was the one bound by it, the older brother responsible for setting a good example, and for all that Jin Guangyao was supposed to listen to him and follow his lead Nie Mingjue had never seen a hint that he’d ever planned to do so – but Nie Mingjue didn’t listen to him.

He was angry.

It felt good to be angry – a clean anger, a righteous anger, anger at injustice being perpetrated right before his eyes.

(Something so poisonous as rage shouldn’t feel this good.)

“This is an abomination,” he said, a touch of the battlefield in his voice so that it would be audible throughout the hall, would spread far and wide for all to hear. “Those are people you’re putting on the line.”

There was a moment of awkward silence.

Jin Zixun, Jin Guangshan’s nephew, broke it with an abrupt laugh. “Sect Leader Nie,” he said, pretending to smile, “surely you don’t think so little of us to suggest that my cousin would miss –”

“I don’t care even if he does strike true,” Nie Mingjue snapped. “You do not play with the lives of men.”

“Hardly men,” a minor sect leader, closely affiliated with the Jin sect, said. Sect Leader Qin, if Nie Mingjue placed him right. “Perhaps you did not hear, Chifeng-zun –” It was always his title they used when they wanted to avoid calling him sect leader, when they were trying to make a point about how young and angry and foolish they thought he was. “– but those are Wen-dogs.”

“I don’t care who or what they are,” Nie Mingjue shouted, and now he had fallen back into his body, back into the battlefield, because this was a battlefield; it was only that he had allowed himself – through tiredness or shock or a desire for peace – to forget it for a moment. “Is this not a celebration of peace, the end of war? If they are criminals, sentence them; if they are condemned, execute them with a sword. Even a rabid beast deserves to be put down cleanly, not to be used as target practice by children for the entertainment of others!”

There was movement in the crowd, multiple people shifting from one side to the other, the audience abruptly uncomfortable when faced not only with a gory spectacle but their own complicity in it.

“Sect Leader Nie, calm yourself,” Jin Guangshan said. His voice was stern, irritatingly condescending – as if he thought that styling himself as Chief Cultivator gave him the right to act as if he were Nie Mingjue’s father. “You go too far for proper etiquette; will you not give any face to me, as your host? Naturally, if you have a complaint, I will hear it –”

“I don’t recall the moment I yielded to your authority in matters of ethics, Sect Leader Jin,” Nie Mingjue snapped. “Please, feel free to remind me – the last I recall it, you were the one begging me for assistance.”

“Sect Leader Nie!” Jin Guangshan shouted, rising to his feet with his face starting to purple.

Nie Mingjue saw the furious glance he sent at a frantic Jin Guangyao – control him already! – and it makes his own rage surge even higher. It was not that he didn’t know that his sworn brother was being used as leverage against him, but to have it shoved right into his face like that, to think that they thought that etiquette and brotherhood would be sufficient to make him complaisant – to allow Jin Guangyao to run roughshod over his morality – to think that it had nearly worked –

“Sect Leaders, please.” That was Lan Xichen, standing up as well, his hands outstretched. “Is this not meant to be a celebration of peace?”

For a moment, Nie Mingjue thought he was standing up for his sake, supporting him in decrying what was happening in front of them – something he despised as much as Nie Mingjue did, that much was obvious from his stance – but then his eyes flicked from Nie Mingjue to Jin Guangyao as well, silently beseeching Nie Mingjue to remember how his actions could hurt Jin Guangyao’s standing, and Nie Mingjue felt cold.

So much for brotherhood, it seemed. How much was he supposed to bear on behalf of Jin Guangyao without receiving anything in return?

He turned his face away.

If the Nie sect had to make this stand alone, so be it. Even if it meant war, war against the rest of the cultivation world, war that would be ruinous to his sect...

There was no choice. The Nie sect stood for refusing to tolerate evil; to do any less would be to throw off the traditions of his ancestors more wholly than Nie Huaisang’s refusal to train the saber had ever been. Even on a personal level, he had long criticized others who stood quiet when evil was happening, and he would not let himself become the hypocrite that so many others had been.

Nie Mingjue had never before willingly backed away from doing the right thing, the righteous thing, simply because it was hard to do – he would not start now.

“It seems strange that a celebration of peace would begin with death.” That was Jiang Cheng standing up as well, the fourth of the Great Sects. His sister had once been engaged to Jin Zixuan, and she had been invited to the hunt as Madame Jin’s special guest – popular thought had it that the Jin sect would snap her up soon enough, allying with the last remaining sect, and leaving anyone who opposed them to stand alone. But even if that was the plan, it hadn’t happened yet, and Jiang Cheng was putting his voice on Nie Mingjue’s side – Nie Mingjue would have to find a way to repay him for his support later. “Weren’t the Wen sect supposed to be resettled somewhere peaceful? Or was the news I received incorrect?”

“The innocent branch members and civilians were of course resettled,” Jin Guangyao said, and his smile was strained – or was it? Was it actual concern, or some sort of show? Nie Mingjue could never tell with him, not now that he knew how easily the snake changed its skin. “These however are war criminals, sentenced to execution in the manner of our choosing. I hope you all understand: their deaths are in no way comparable to their crimes –”

You would know, having participated in so many of them, Nie Mingjue thought, and levelled a glare at his youngest sworn brother to remind him of that fact. It briefly interrupted the smooth flow of words, making them catch in Jin Guangyao’s throat; at least he had that much shame.

“Can I see?” Nie Huaisang asked in the brief interval, his high voice just as carrying as Nie Mingjue’s shouting – all those music and singing lessons had clearly been worth something.

“See what?” Jin Zixun sneered, stepping forward – and interesting that it was him that did so, while Jin Zixuan, the heir, remained still and silent. His expression was frosty, but he hadn’t yet spoken up in his own father’s defense; hardly filial, but given such a father it was difficult to see what else he could do. “See their crimes? Do you want a list, or for us to drag out their victims to testify? Is this how little your Nie sect thinks of our Jin sect?”

A strong effort on Jin Zixun’s part – it put the burden on them to prove that these were not evildoers and criminals who deserved what was coming to them, made the issue their rudeness and lack of etiquette, made it seem as if they were the ones looking down on everyone.

But for all that Nie Mingjue despaired of Nie Huaisang’s skill at arms, he had never doubted his skill with words.

“You misunderstand me,” Nie Huaisang laughed nervously, hiding his face behind his fan in a gesture of shyness – he made it look as though he were being bullied by Jin Zixun, rather than debating him. “I just meant, well, they’re criminals, right? They must be truly impressive cultivators to fight against the brave soldiers of our Sunshot Campaign…could we see their strength?”

Nie Mingjue knew a cue when he heard one. “Such strength must be considerable to deserve such a fate,” he said scornfully. “Even Wen Ruohan, who killed hundreds, was merely cut down, rather than tormented in the same manner he tortured so many of our cultivators…Or do you think to emulate him in this manner as well?”

“How dare you?!” Jin Guangshan was florid with rage – as if rage would ever stop a Nie. “You come to my home and accuse me with no basis –”

“I do accuse you!” Nie Mingjue shouted, letting his voice trample down Jin Guangshan’s. “But by your own acts you are condemned, by your own callousness and indifference. So much Nie blood was shed to stop Wen Ruohan from running rampant over us all – I would die rather than have spent that blood to buy us nothing more than the same dominion in a different color!”

And then everyone was talking at once, shouting, yelling, and Nie Mingjue took the opportunity to turn on his heel and stride over to Lan Xichen, standing there looking lost. Lan Wangji was beside him, only a step behind, and he caught Nie Mingjue’s eyes as he came over and nodded – he, at least, was with Nie Mingjue in this, and his support gave Nie Mingjue more confidence in what he was about to do. What he had to do.

“Will you abide by your Lan sect’s values and stand with me in this?” he asked Lan Xichen in a low, clipped tone. “Or was my oath of brotherhood only worth the benefits it could get for Meng Yao?”

“Da-ge!” Lan Xichen exclaimed, looking horrified. “Don’t think that, please. Of course I stand with you in this – what they were planning for the Wen sect members goes beyond bad taste and into the horrific.”

He hadn’t meant it the way Nie Mingjue had taken it, then. It must have only been Jin Guangyao’s pleading looks that had led him to take a stand the wrong way, seeking peace and friendship over justice.

“One should not look away from righteousness simply because it would be easier,” Lan Wangji added smoothly, sounding almost as though he were agreeing with his brother and not subtly scolding him. He saluted Nie Mingjue. “You have our full support, regardless of who is on the other side.”

Nie Mingjue continued to look at Lan Xichen who hesitated – no doubt thinking of the tough position they’d just put Jin Guangyao into – but in the end he nodded.

That was fine. Okay, no, it wasn’t fine, but right now he needed Lan Xichen’s support, regardless of his level of enthusiasm; the rest could be dealt with later.

He turned again and went to Jiang Cheng – Wei Wuxian was there as well, having appeared at some point, and he was vociferously yelling at some minor sect leaders. In Nie Mingjue’s favor, at least.

“Sect Leader Nie,” Wei Wuxian said, turning to him before Nie Mingjue could say anything to Jiang Cheng – not that he really need to confirm his support, given the public display from earlier, but it was only polite to come convey his thanks. “There’s something else you should know. I’ve heard some things about the innocent members Wen sect that were supposedly ‘resettled’ – and what’s been happening to them…”

Nie Mingjue glanced at Jin Guangshan, still shouting, and did a quick calculation. “Take Lan Wangji and go check it out at once,” he ordered. “They were supposed to be resettled by the Qiongqi Path. If Sect Leader Jin has been treating these ones so cruelly as this…I’m willing to believe anything right now. But whatever it is, make sure it’s both of you that see it with your own eyes, to make it harder to doubt your words.”

Wei Wuxian saluted him and headed towards Lan Wangji without even seeking approval from his sect leader. Nie Mingjue abruptly felt awkward and looked at Jiang Cheng, but the other man nodded his agreement before he could apologize for commandeering Wei Wuxian as if the other man was still his subordinate.

“At least he listens to you,” Jiang Cheng said, a rueful smile on this face. “Can I convince you to talk some sense into him when all this is done..? I must admit I wasn’t expecting another war so soon.”

“I had hoped we wouldn’t see one for another generation,” Nie Mingjue admitted. “I still hope we can avoid it – it depends on how the smaller sects fall out, and how determined the Jin sect is to dominate the rest, rather than willing to accept equality. But no matter how it goes, we can’t turn our faces away from injustice.”

“Agreed,” Jiang Cheng said with a sigh. “I think we have the better of the argument, and hopefully it sways the rest of them. But have you considered what happens if we win?”

“What do you mean?”

“Sect Leader Jin has been setting himself up as Chief Cultivator. After something like this, even if there’s no actual fighting, that’ll be impossible. You need respect to lead. So who will it be?”

Nie Mingjue experienced a brief moment of horror at the thought of having to take it himself – but no. It was a reasonable solution, of course, but it would also taint the whole thing. It would make his decision to stand up into a tawdry political play, designed to increase his power, rather than a genuine outburst of offended principle.

He might have proposed Lan Xichen as a compromise – he would have, even a shichen earlier. But after that display of weakness from earlier, however brief, he feared that it would somehow end up with Jin Guangyao (and Jin Guangshan behind him) pulling the strings from behind the scenes, using Lan virtue as a cover for their iniquity…no, that wouldn’t do at all.

The only other option was –

Well.

Nie Mingjue had thought to himself that he needed to do something to pay Jiang Cheng back for his support earlier, hadn’t he?

(And at worst, he’d owe him yet another favor.)

Nie Mingjue put his hand on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “You have my full support,” he said solemnly, and ignored the sudden look of panic on Jiang Cheng’s face. “Think it over before you say no.”

Being Chief Cultivator would do more to restore the Jiang sect to prosperity than anything else Jiang Cheng might do, and he’d put that together himself sooner or later even if the idea of that much responsibility had to be fairly terrible. But before they could decide things like that, they needed to win.

One more fight.

He could do that much.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #lan xichen #jin guangshan #lan wangji #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #my fic #my fics #roseunspindle #spectacle

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ravnicaforgoblins · 3 years

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Ravnica for Goblins

Alignment

Figuring out where on the spectrum of beliefs, morals, and neutrality your character falls can be a challenge. One individual’s Chaotic Good is another’s Lawful Evil. To help clarify things, most campaigns include alignment for significant NPCs, and one can often draw a line between that NPC and that alignment. This doesn’t apply to every NPC, but the more important someone is, the more they come to represent a specific section of the moral grid in a campaign.

Ravnica does this as well, with most of the alignment chart represented by a Guildmaster. This isn’t completely uniform, however, so there’s wiggle room for an NPC to lean one way or the other as fits the story. There are some pretty safe bets, however, who can be counted on to check certain boxes at all times.

Isperia of the Azorius Senate: Lawful Neutral

Isperia represents the goal of the Azorius; objective devotion to upholding the laws as they are written. She was elected to her position because of her ability to look passed right & wrong, instead focusing solely on interpreting Ravnica’s 10d6 of Psychic damage legal system for all disputes.

Lazav of House Dimir: Neutral Evil

Lazav is the Dimir at their most annoying but least murderous. Blatant disregard for everyone’s privacy, but preference for stealing, secrets, and information over assassination. Lazav infiltrates every Guild, including his own, always determined to stay several steps ahead of any potential threat. This is not to say he won’t kill people if necessary, but his is a cold, “bloodstained calculus” methodology. It’s never personal.

Rakdos of the Cult of Rakdos: Chaotic Evil

On this plane, Rakdos is the living embodiment of Chaotic Evil, a title he takes very seriously. It’s just about the only thing he takes seriously, as he prefers to live without rules and have everyone else do the same. Unrestrained hedonism and mayhem are his bread & butter. You do what you want, whatever you want, whenever you want, however you want, regardless of what anyone or anything else says. No restrictions, no inhibitions, no hesitation. Encouraging this kind of destructive chaos in the streets is the only thing keeping Rakdos from embracing more orthodox Chaotic Evil behavior of slaughtering millions, enslaving thousands, and bowing to no one.

The Obzedat of the Orzhov Syndicate: Lawful Evil

Hard to believe there can be something worse than an actual Demon given permission to encourage every sin imaginable, but that is what the Ghost Council are. The Obzedat exist to stretch, bend, and twist every law designed to maintain order, neutrality, or justice so as to benefit themselves. What’s worse is how the Orzhov play innocent when they do it. Unlike the Dimir or the Rakdos who accept and even embrace society’s interpretation of their actions, the Orzhov refuse to be seen as anything but humble, spiritual, gracious public servants. The very antithesis of what they actually are; arrogant, miserly, manipulative bastards. They will point out exactly which laws they are not breaking, which laws there is insufficient evidence to prove they are breaking, and which laws prevent you from punching them in the face right now.

Trostani of the Selesnya Conclave: Neutral Good

If there’s one thing to be said for Selesnya, it’s that they are rarely the problem. The Conclave is perfectly content to keep to their fields & forests most of the time and focus solely on building up their own Guild. In a city where every Guild has a problem with every other Guild, Selesnya is the only one who at least tries to get along with everyone else. They don’t tend to get involved in matters that don’t concern them, but theirs is always a safe haven for those who seek it. Trostani is made up of three dryads representing Harmony, Life, and Order. You don’t get much more Neutral Good than that. The only problem is that Trostani basically never leave their Guildhall, so their influence only spreads so far. The reason they can live so peacefully is because so little of the chaotic city life overlaps into theirs.

Besides them, everyone has wiggle room and gray area to move around in. Both Niv-Mizzet and Borborygmos are canonically Chaotic Neutral, but with their most prominent personality traits being vanity & anger, respectively, the “Neutral” part of that can go out the window quick. Still, almost every Guild has at least a semblance of a position somewhere on the chart to start from. You can basically count on a member of each Guild to be at least:

Azorius Senate: Lawful

This is the Guild that writes the laws of Ravnica, after all. They literally draw their power from this ancient legal code, so it makes sense that, whether an Azorius leans more towards Good, Evil, or Neutrality, they do so lawfully.

Boros Legion: Good

If the Azorius follow the intellectual letter of the law, the Boros follow the passionate spirit for which said law was originally written. Justice, not legal-ese. Sometimes the law is good enough, but sometimes it fails its citizens. A Boros should be an inspiring force for Good, whether Lawful or Chaotic depends on the individual.

House Dimir: Neutral

The best a Dimir operative can hope to achieve, morally speaking, is neutrality. If you are working for this Guild, you are lying & stealing. Odds are you are infiltrating another Guild to find/steal information to report back to your superior(s). Not every Dimir agent does this willingly, however. Maybe a character only became a Dimir operative after finding out their mentor was. Maybe a character had nowhere else to turn and no one else to depend on. Maybe they just needed House Dimir’s connections to get them close enough to someone in another Guild who wronged them. Whatever the motivation, cling to that gray area of neutrality like your life depends on it. It’s all you’ve got.

Gruul Clans: Chaotic

Gruul are many things. “Lawful” is not one of them. If you’re a member of a Gruul Clan, you’ve definitely got a bit of a temper on you and a strong disregard for authority. Now, a Gruul can absolutely be a force for good, or, conversely, evil. Maybe you joined the Gruul after your ancestral home was bulldozed over for a smelly Izzet facility. Maybe you had a mental breakdown after decades of trying to uphold law in a city where the laws mean jack shit unless there’s a guy in blue sitting at his desk. Maybe you got tired of planting trees and getting stepped on. Maybe you don’t like the pretentiousness of so-called “artists”. Maybe you just like hitting things. Whatever your reason, the Gruul will welcome another anarchist.

Golgari Swarm: Chaotic/Evil/Neutral

The Golgari Swarm are the first Guild where you’re really going to find a lot of diversity in alignment. Some definitely fall into the chasm of Chaotic Evil Necromancers, others stand firmly in the fields of True Neutral Rot Farmer, and some idly wander between the two. Necromancy is pretty normal in Golgari society, and “Evil” can be considered a harsh word to describe it. It’s definitely more normalized in the Undercity than it is on the surface. A lot of typically Evil behavior is like that for the Golgari, lest we forget that this society of giant bugs, necromancers, zombies, medusa, etc also run the sewage system and food stamps program for the city. That said, there are definitely Golgari with sufficient ambition/motivation to become ready-made Big Bads. What is a Lich, after all, but a wizard who says, “No, I’m too important to die!”

Izzet League: Chaotic

If there’s one predictable aspect of the Izzet, it’s that they are unpredictable. For a Guild whose founding principle is “I wonder what would happen if....”, it’s best to accept that you’ll never be Lawful. Your job, as it is, is to look at laws (nature, physics, etc) and poke at them with electrodes to see what happens. Your focus will always be on things that haven’t been written down yet, as opposed to what already has. It’s almost literally impossible to be Lawful and Izzet for that reason alone. As far as Good, Evil, and Neutral go; that’s up to the individual. This experiment could replicate food so we never have to eat Golgari rations again! Or it could replicate essential personnel to prevent understaffing! Or, it could even replicate.... ME (cue maniacal laughter).

Orzhov Syndicate: Lawful

The Orzhov, like the Azorius, draw their power and influence from the laws of Ravnica. Evil is expected, though not mandatory, but Lawful is a requirement. An Orzhov who doesn’t know their way around Ravnica’s laws is a loose end, and the Orzhov don’t allow loose ends to jeopardize their schemes & ambitions. One can absolutely be a Lawful Neutral Orzhov, also known as an Accountant, but such individuals rarely find their way into a life of adventure. A Lawful Good Orzhov can exist, but your greatest adversary will be the large majority of your Guild who sees you as a potential threat to their illicit activities. In which case, you’ll want to know those laws even better than they do.

Cult of Rakdos: Chaotic

Chaos is mandatory, evil is encouraged. By “Evil”, we mean “things people tell you are Evil”. Anything you would do while drunk you should be able to do at all times! There’s really only three rules in the Cult of Rakdos:

Rule #1, Rakdos is #1

Rule #2, JUST DO IT

Rule #3, Don’t be boring

Being Neutral breaks Rule 3, being Good breaks Rule 2 and/or 3, and being Lawful breaks all 3 rules. Which reminds me of the fourth rule:

Rule #4, NEVER break Rule #1

Truthfully, being Chaotic Good or Chaotic Neutral is perfectly fine as long as you don’t impede on someone else’s hedonism without a reason, or lack thereof. As long as you’re being free & crazy, that’s what really matters.

Selesnya Conclave: Good

As stated with Trostani, Selesnya is a pretty consistent force of Good, if nothing else. They don’t really do hate, you know? Life in the Conclave is pretty uniformly Good, so why make trouble? Why can’t everyone just be Good? In short; ‘cause they don’t wanna, none of your business, go hug a tree, and/or because fire is FUN. Lawful fits some individuals but can just get in the way for others. Neutral is pretty solid but some things must call you to act. Chaotic is if you really want to embrace being a Nature Warrior in a planet-sized cityscape. Selesnya is the Guild for goodie two-shoes, as if that’s a bad thing.

Simic Combine: Any

The Simic Combine is the one Guild that can honestly fall anywhere on the alignment chart. The Guild started out as Doctors, Naturalists, and preservers of life. Now it also operates large-scale bioengineering. You can have a Lawful Good Simic Paladin committed to preserving life and health, a True Neutral Simic Forcemage (Druid) dedicated to living a simple life bolstering plant growth, or a Chaotic Evil Simic Wizard who has decided on everyone’s behalf that flippers and gills are now mandatory. Just like science can be used for great Good, great Evil, or mundane routine, the Simic Combine can turn its experiments to any purpose, depending on the individual. And whereas the Izzet are firmly Chaotic, the Simic have the foresight to think ahead before they try an experiment. You can be anything you want in the Simic Combine, just plan it out.

#ravnica for goblins #ravnica #goblins #d&d #dnd #5e #alignment #roleplaying #dungeons and dragons #dungeons & dragons #good #evil #lawful #neutral #guilds

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quicksilversquared · 3 years

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The Wavering Peahen: Chapter 7

When Nathalie started feeling oddly ill again, both she and Gabriel were worried that the Peacock Miraculous might somehow (impossibly) be to blame again.

So naturally, they pick someone else to be the Peacock for a bit. You know, as a test subject. Except the new Peacock… doesn’t exactly know that.

links in the reblog

Marinette was really glad that the picnic broke up as soon as the ambulance vanished around the corner, because she couldn't get home fast enough.

Was the pin real? It had to be, since otherwise Tikki wouldn't have sensed it. But why on earth would Hawkmoth think that giving Lila a Miraculous would be a good idea?

And how did Lila's strange illness fit into it all?

"I suppose she could just be sick and that part could have nothing to do with Hawkmoth at all," Marinette told Tikki as she dug the Miracle Box out from under her bed. She had to talk to Wayzz right now and see if he could shed any insight on the absolutely astronomical levels of crazy that the past half-hour had been. "But she's been sick for most of the time that Pavona was out and about. Why would Hawkmoth let someone who was sick fight alongside him? If I were him, I would want someone healthy out with me. Whenever I'm sick, I don't do as good of a job fighting. Sneezing and coughing just throws me off and leaves me open to attacks. I mean, maybe he doesn't have any other choice, depending on what happened to Mayura, but still."

"Normally I would say that it's probably just a coincidence, but the Peacock's energy seems off again." Tikki was frowning. "I would have thought that Hawkmoth would have fixed the Miraculous once he got his hands on Master Fu's translations, and it certainly seemed like that was the case when Mayura started coming out to battles all the time. I might be wrong, since I'm not the expert, but my guess is that Lila got sick because of the Miraculous."

"I'd just ask- what was it, Duusu? But honestly, if his energy is off, I don't want to charge in headfirst. If I get sick like Lila, then I won't be able to fight as Ladybug." Marinette glanced over the box, then tapped the section for the Turtle. "So I want to talk to Wayzz first. He was the one who was always with Master Fu, so maybe they talked about whatever was going on with the Peacock." There was also the issue of whether it would even be safe to pull Duusu out when she wasn't transformed. If he felt any loyalty to his previous holders- which he might, after being with them for what was really a decent amount of time- then she might be running the risk of him seeing her identity and then escaping and bringing it back to Hawkmoth.

She wanted to believe that that wouldn't happen. That Duusu would be excited about being saved. But she had heard stories about kwamis getting attached to terrible holders before, when their viewpoint got warped around so that they thought their villainous holder was in the right, and as one-half of Paris's superhero team she just couldn't take any chances.

"Hopefully Wayzz and Master Fu discussed the Peacock," Tikki said as Marinette pulled the Turtle out. "If they didn't, we're going to be going in blind."

"Not completely blind. Wayzz is sensitive to what's going on with the other Miraculous and the auras around them. It should help." A green light flashed across the room, and Marinette grinned as Wayzz showed up. "Hey, buddy!"

"Marinette! I sensed a disturbance- a change in the aura around the Peacock- wait! It's close- very close- it's inactive!" Wayzz spun around in a wild circle, then made a beeline to the pile of fabric that was Lila's scarf, digging through it until the Peacock pin was exposed. "You have it! It's here! It's broken, but it's here! Duusu has been saved!"

"So it is broken again," Marinette confirmed. "How would it have gotten like that again? Are the Miraculous really so easy to damage?"

Wayzz shook his head, one paw stroking the Peacock pin as he talked. "Not at all! It's just that when it was fixed last time, it was not fixed correctly. Master Fu saw to that. When he was writing down the translation for that particular spell, he deliberately wrote down one step incorrectly. The spell would appear to fix the Miraculous, and then gradually wear off as time goes by. He did that just in case he lost the translation or it was stolen from him, since he knew that it would make things very difficult for you if the Peacock was fixed for good." Wayzz sighed. "I believe that he thought that the 'repair' would wear off a whole lot sooner, but those sorts of things are hard to control. I suppose it did end up doing what it was meant to, though."

"Eventually, yeah." Marinette grinned, then sobered a little. "Though I honestly would have preferred that it take out Mayura instead of Pavona. Then we would have at least gotten an insight to who Hawkmoth might be. With Lila, though, I just know that the only reason she's connected is because she doesn't like Ladybug."

There was a chance, of course- probably (hopefully) a really good chance- that Duusu would be willing to help and give them clues towards Hawkmoth's (and Mayura's) identity, but clues could only go so far. There were millions of people in Paris and the chance that she and Chat Noir would actually put together the supervillains' identities with only a few clues was pretty low. They could call up the police to help, of course, but even the police didn't know everyone in the city.

"I wonder how much manipulation went into getting Lila to go along with Hawkmoth," Wayzz commented. He raised an eyebrow at Marinette's dubious look. "...if any?"

Marinette shook her head. "I doubt that there was any manipulation. He probably offered up the Miraculous and she took it right away. And I'm definitely not going to let Lila get away with that. She's old enough to know that she shouldn't be working with a supervillain."

"I think even a little kid knows not to work with a supervillain!" Tikki agreed emphatically. "Remember that little kid that got akumatized a month after the attacks started and was super upset about it? He couldn't have been more than six or seven, but he knew that working with a supervillain was a bad thing and wouldn't calm down until you convinced him that being akumatized didn't count as working with Hawkmoth."

Marinette nodded. That had been pretty heartbreaking, actually, and she and Chat Noir had ended up running a whole publicity campaign affirming that akumas weren't responsible for their actions and that they were victims, not villains. No one chose to be akumatized, they had said- which wasn't strictly true, presumably Mayura had allowed herself to get akumatized to create Scarlet Moth and Marinette wouldn't be surprised if Lila had willingly and eagerly accepted a corrupted butterfly (or five) as well- and people shouldn't beat themselves up over it. People should try to avoid getting akumatized or causing akumatizations, of course, but they weren't the villains. Hawkmoth (and Mayura and Pavona, of course, but they hadn't been around at that time) was.

Of course, that was entirely beside the point at the moment. Lila hadn't been akumatized this time around, she had accepted a Miraculous from a supervillain willingly. That was different.

"I can probably say that a classmate of Lila's found the pin on her and alerted me at once," Marinette decided after a moment's pause. "So that's how we found it, and that's how we establish the first connection. Then we add on that the Miraculous has been broken and her symptoms are consistent with the use of a broken Miraculous, so we're positive that it wasn't planted. Or wait, no- I shouldn't mention planting at all, that would be dumb of me. I can just say that that's, uh..."

"Extra confirmation that she was indeed the one holding the Peacock most recently," Wayzz suggested. "Or that that makes it undeniable that she was Pavona, that way you're not suggesting that there was any uncertainty about Pavona's identity once the Peacock came to light."

Marinette jabbed her finger at him. "Yes! I like that. Hang on, I'll write that down. Now, next question- how soon should Chat Noir and I tell Paris about Lila? Right away, or do you think we might be able to catch Hawkmoth off guard if we don't publicize that Lila's identity was discovered?"

Tikki perked up. "Ooh, the second one! I would talk to the police and the hospital right away, though," she added. "To make sure that no news stories run about Lila's collapse. Maybe it's not likely, I don't know, but just in case."

"They probably wouldn't release names for several days anyway, but that's a good idea. The police will understand why we don't want to risk tipping Hawkmoth off, in case he doesn't already know somehow." Marinette pulled out her phone, opening the secure messaging app that she and Chat Noir used and shooting her partner a message. She wanted to let him know what was going on as soon as possible. If they could both be there when Duusu came out, that would be great. As she sent it, another thought hit her. "Wayzz, will it be dangerous for us to pull Duusu out considering that his Miraculous is broken? Will it affect us like it affected Lila?"

Wayzz shook his head. "It shouldn't. Lila got to the stage that she's now at by repetitive use of the Miraculous. Heavy repetitive use, and recent, from what I'm sensing around Duusu's aura. Which is odd, considering that Hawkmoth hasn't been active today...or this week at all."

Marinette gasped, stabbing one finger into the air as a revelation hit her. "That's how Lila got the photos! Today she had pictures of herself with all sorts of famous people, including Ladybug," she added to Wayzz when he looked confused. "To make her stories seem more true. I figured that she had just been using Photoshop, but I bet all of those celebrities were actually sentimonsters plus a poster behind her."

"Somehow, I am not surprised." Wayzz let out a long sigh. "Fitting that that would be her downfall, really. She must have used the Peacock's powers a number of times in a very short timeframe to become as ill as she did at the end. You will simply be pulling Duusu out and not transforming or using his powers, which means that the broken magic from the Miraculous won't affect you at all."

"Good." Marinette let out a long breath- that was a load off of her shoulders- and then checked her phone as it buzzed. "Chat Noir is available now. I'm telling him to go to Master Fu's old parlor- Hawkmoth never found that, so it should be private and safe enough. We can pull Duusu out there, so both of us can talk to him at once." She slipped the Turtle bracelet onto her wrist. "Is there anything I should be bringing along other than the Miraculous, Wayzz?"

"Some fruit, if you have some to spare!" Wayzz told her. "Duusu loves fruit, and I'm sure that the lying girl didn't give him enough. She seems the sort to only give the bare minimum and then snap when asked for anything more, which- ironically- would have just sped up the rate at which she was affected by the Miraculous being broken. You don't have to take a ton, but a snack would be nice."

Marinette nodded, already headed for her trapdoor. "That's easy enough. We always have fruit sitting out for snacks. No one is going to think anything of it if an apple and a couple of bananas go missing, that's what they're there for."

It took almost no time at all to grab the fruit, gather up the pin (and the scarf) and then hightail her way over to Master Fu's old shop. Going in felt a little odd- she had to slip in a back window as Ladybug instead of going in the front door as Marinette, and the shop had a distinctly abandoned feel to it instead of feeling like a home- but it was the best place they had to work out of. Chat Noir was already there, waiting anxiously in what used to be the living room.

"What's going on?" Chat Noir wanted to know as soon as she came in. "You said it was urgent? There's not some sort of invisible akuma or something, is there?"

"No, no akuma," Ladybug told him, pulling a pillow and a box that sometimes served as a sort of table over next to him. "There was an, ah, incident at one of the local parks not very long ago. Lila Rossi- you know, the liar girl- she passed out and fainted. And when Marinette was checking her over, she found...this." Ladybug reached out, depositing the Peacock on their box-table. Chat Noir's eyes went wide. "And Tikki and Wayzz have confirmed that it's the real thing."

"No way! That's- but how was Lila- I mean, I guess it makes sense considering how Pavona acted, she always seemed to think that she was more of a threat than she actually was. But- wow." Chat Noir let out a long breath, still staring at the Peacock. "How lucky is it that she just happened to be sick and passed out right then? Now Hawkmoth is down an ally, and maybe we'll get some sort of lead."

"It's not entirely luck, really." Ladybug tapped the Miraculous. "You remember how we thought that it was broken before, right? And that Hawkmoth fixed it? Wayzz said that Master Fu didn't write down the correct translation of the spell. He altered one step so that it would look fixed and feel fixed for a short while and then wear off. So the Miraculous has been making Lila sick, and then she used it a bunch- that's what we're assuming, at least- to fake some photos with famous people, and that was enough to push her over the edge into- well, she hadn't woken up yet from what I heard, so who knows? Maybe she's in a coma."

"Oof, that's- well, honestly, that's well-deserved." Chat Noir let out another breath. "It's a good thing that we found that out with the supervillains, at least. Imagine if we had gotten the Peacock back somehow and tried to fix it ourselves! That could have been really dangerous."

"I wouldn't have done anything to it without consulting all of the kwamis first," Ladybug told him. "And then I would have made sure to have Wayzz keep an eye on it, since he's best with the auras. I wouldn't feel confident enough to fix a Miraculous myself without supervision to actually use it afterwards without triple- and quadruple-checking to make sure that things actually went the way they were meant to. And- and Master Fu would have known that."

Chat Noir nodded. "That makes me feel better. I'd be pretty lost if you got sick and then vanished off of the face of the earth."

"I'd stop way before getting to the coma stage, believe me. One cough, and that Miraculous would be retired to a corner until I could contact the Order." Ladybug took a deep breath, her eyes returning to the Miraculous. "I haven't talked to Duusu yet. I didn't think it would be safe to at home, and it made more sense than interviewing him by myself and then trying to remember everything to pass it along to you. Besides, if Duusu gives us a lead to who Hawkmoth is, we should both be here."

"Ooh, fingers crossed that we get a good lead." Chat Noir settled down, shifting anxiously on his heels. "Ready to talk to him now?"

Yeah." Ladybug gave herself a shake, then straightened and turned her attention fully to the Miraculous, focusing on pulling Duusu out without actually touching the Miraculous. It took a minute, but then the Miraculous lit up with blue light. It glowed for a long moment, and then a blue bubble popped free. It glowed brighter and brighter, and then burst. Duusu yawned widely, then blinked blearily over at them. After a moment, his eyes widened and he shot up in the air.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Duusu exclaimed. "I've been saved! You would not believe the terrible people that I've had to put up with, it was awful!"

As it turned out, Duusu was an absolute gold mine of information. Maybe he couldn't say the names of his former captors, but he could certainly talk and talk (and talk some more) on about them until there was absolutely no doubt in Ladybug and Chat Noir's minds about who Hawkmoth and Mayura were.

And then Duusu kept talking, on and on and on. He complained about Lila ("Such a little brat, and so full of herself!") and about Mayura ("I don't know why she's going after a married man, he's hardly a looker or kind or a good dad or anything, no redeeming qualities at all!") and about another, previous holder, who apparently had been kind, if perhaps a little manipulative sometimes, and who was currently in some sort of cursed coma related to her use of the Miraculous in Hawkmoth's sub-basement lair.

Ladybug had to roll her eyes at sub-basement lair. What kind of unnecessarily dramatic (and rich) villain needed two lairs in the same building? It was absolutely excessive and ridiculous.

"Okay, so Hawkmoth is Gabriel Agreste, Mayura is Nathalie Sancoeur, and Emilie Agreste isn't missing, but a former Peacock and is hidden under the house," Chat Noir summed up once Duusu finally stopped talking for a minute in favor of inhaling some of the fruit that Ladybug had brought along. Her partner looked more than a little shaken, his face so pale behind the mask that Ladybug was starting to wonder if she would have to call for another ambulance. "Uh, is there any way to- to get her out of the coma? To heal her, I mean?"

"Once my Miraculous is properly fixed, the energy that I sapped from my users should slowly return," Duusu told them. "Well, as long as the they have my Miraculous on them. It won't work without that contact. They might need a little medical attention and maybe a boost from a potion or two to get the process really going, but unless the damage runs deeper than I can sense, it should be a pretty straightforward process to fix everything!"

Ladybug nodded, part of her mind already combing through the potions and spells that she and Chat Noir had gone through together. There were a couple that might be of some use, though she would want to do a bit more digging through things and consulting with the kwamis before she gave anyone any potions.

There was also, of course, the question of how they were meant to heal Lila- and possibly Nathalie as well, depending on how she was doing- without running the risk of them taking the Miraculous and running with it. Handcuffs and 24-7 supervision could only go so far when magic was involved.

The other part of her mind was- well, it was mulling over the discovery of the supervillains' identities. After all, that was what she and Chat Noir had wanted to learn for months now.

She wasn't as surprised as she thought she would be, really.

Part of it was the fact that she had suspected Mr. Agreste before. He had had the Miracle Book and had a butterfly as his brand's logo. He had a motive with his missing wife. He had the money and job security needed to vanish for hours on end to somewhere secluded and safe to unleash his akumas on the world. And, to top it off, he wasn't a very nice person. It was pretty easy to imagine that he would think that the rules didn't apply to him and that causing other people suffering and fear and distress was just a minor inconvenience that could easily be ignored.

And then the other part... well, both she and Adrien had commented on how odd it was that Lila, Nathalie, and Mrs. Agreste had all come down with the same symptoms at separate times. Once Lila collapsed and Marinette found out that she had been Pavona and the Peacock Miraculous had been what had caused the odd illness, that oddness had been nagging her from the back of her mind, begging to be noticed.

Marinette hadn't paid it as much attention as she might have otherwise because there had been a lot going on that had also needed her attention, but if she had had a couple minutes to give it a proper think over, she probably would have come to the same conclusion that she had now. With that one piece of the puzzle it would have all snapped into place anyway, even without Duusu's helpful comments. He had just sped the process along and ensured that they were absolutely 100% positive about the supervillains' identities.

"I guess the most pressing question now- well, other than how to fix the Miraculous- is how to deal with defeating Hawkmoth and then approaching all of the stuff with Lila," Chat Noir said hesitantly after a few moments had passed. "Mr. Agreste is out of town at the moment, I've heard, though he's coming back- er, tomorrow, potentially? At least that's what I've heard."

Ladybug blinked at that, puzzled, before giving herself a shake to refocus. How and why Chat Noir knew Mr. Agreste's schedule off of the top of his head was anyone's guess, but it also wasn't immediately important. If she remembered, maybe she could ask him about it later. "I got to talk to Tikki and Wayzz about that before coming here, actually. We thought it would be a good idea to go to the police and catch them up on what is going on, and then they could restrict what information gets released so that we don't tip Hawkmoth off about Lila collapsing and us getting the Peacock back ahead of time."

"And should we tell them about who Hawkmoth and Mayura are, or just Lila's identity?"

Ladybug let out a long breath. Honestly, she wanted to talk to Tikki about that to really feel good about her decision. After all, she was just a teenager with experience fighting akumas and pretty much all she had talked about with Master Fu was in regard to their battles, not what she should do once they had figured out who Hawkmoth was. "I mean...maybe? I don't- I don't know if I want to risk them trying to take over now, but I'm coming up a bit blank on ideas."

"Right." Chat Noir leaned back on his pillow, clearly deep in thought. "Well, if we want to surprise Hawkmoth- Mr. Agreste- then we want to get him before he has the chance to find out about Lila. So I think we should find out when he's going to be back for sure, and catch him coming off of the plane."

"Hopefully Mrs. Rossi hasn't contacted him already." Presumably she wouldn't have- after all, with Lila likely in a coma, Mrs. Rossi was probably too overwhelmed to think of doing anything like contacting Lila's employer- but it never hurt to shut down those possibilities before their advantage could get spoiled.

...honestly, it was a bit questionable as to if Mrs. Rossi knew about Lila's modeling at all. Somehow Ladybug doubted it.

Chat Noir frowned. "I hadn't considered that. But assuming that she hasn't yet, maybe we could ask the police to ask her not to spread any news about Lila? Then Mr. Agreste would come back unprepared, and we could catch him and Na- er, Mayura at the airport. If he tries transforming there, everyone will see him and he'll know it."

"If he knows that we already know, it might not matter," Ladybug pointed out, but she could see his point. "I think that's a good idea."

"If it helps, Mrs. Rossi doesn't know about Lila's modeling!" Duusu chirped helpfully, finally emerging from the slowly shrinking pile of fruit. "It was all a secret! I'm not sure if she would have allowed it or not if she had known, but Lila didn't really tell her mom anything. She can't stop it if she doesn't know about it, right?"

"I feel like Lila took that approach with most things," Ladybug sighed. She looked over at Chat Noir. "I feel like we probably thought about everything. Ready to go talk to the police?"

"In a minute?" Chat Noir had curled up on himself, his eyes on Duusu. "I'm just... I know we have to work fast, but everything is still sinking in. I just can't believe that everything is coming together and finishing so quickly."

Ladybug nodded, re-settling on her cushion. Honestly, they could use a few extra minutes before they headed out, just to decide what they wanted to say. "I know what you mean. I never imagined that we would learn Hawkmoth's identity this way. It feels really strange to be planning his defeat instead of just beating him during a battle."

"Mm-hmm." Chat Noir had a rather funny look on his face. "...yeah. But I- I'm glad that we did find out this way, instead of during a battle. Now we can, uh, prepare."

"Exactly!" Ladybug smiled over at him. There was a fair amount of trepidation creeping in- now that the shock was starting to recede, there were a whole lot of possible problems and things to consider that were threatening to overwhelm her. The takedown wouldn't be terribly complicated, but how they wanted to deal with the fallout, and getting Duusu help, and what should or shouldn't become public, and- and-

But that could all wait. Right now, there was finally- finally- an end to all of the endless battles in sight, and she wanted to focus on that.

Gabriel Agreste was pleasantly surprised when he woke up on the last day of his business trip to a continued lack of news about any sort of superhero-supervillain activity in Paris.

If he was being entirely honest, he hadn't been completely positive that Lila would follow his instructions to not go out with the Peacock, even with his threats. Her ego was big enough to fill a mansion, and she had proven time and time again during her time as Pavona that she thought that her strategic planning was eons better than anyone else's, even though that was nowhere close to being true. He had had to whack her and her ego back down to make her into an even remotely competent partner, and he had worried that she would just bounce back and act out again without him there to issue corrections immediately.

Perhaps he would have had a more restful week had he collected the Miraculous from her before heading out on his trip and simply returned it afterwards, but his worries about if Lila would disregard his orders hadn't really surfaced until it was far too late to do anything about it.

"I do wonder how we should approach using the- the bird," Gabriel murmured to Nathalie, letting his voice drop into a whisper so that none of the other passengers in first class would overhear. "Like how much longer we should allow the girl to use it. We're not going to get any closer to the jewels with her assistance, but you seem to be feeling better now that you've had a break from using the pe- using the bird."

"I'm inclined to believe that my illness was a coincidence, given the fact that Ms. Rossi has not complained about feeling sick despite the rigorous pace you've set," Nathalie told him. "And I've been thinking about my return as well, and came up with a potential approach. If you bring her back out onto the battlefield for a couple of fights- let me finish, Gabriel, do not interrupt- and then reclaim the- the bird. I will use it and look just like her, atrocious outfit and all, and then we can take them off guard. They will be expecting a weak opponent and an easy monster and instead, come face-to-face with- well, me."

Gabriel hmmmed, stroking his chin. "Ah, yes. I like that idea. You might have to tr- to use her form before," he added, glancing around to make sure that no one was listening in. Thankfully, it seemed as though everyone in the rows around them either had headphones on or was asleep. "To get used to the difference in height and the, ah, outfit." He had to shudder at the thought. Pavona's outfit was one of the most garish and tasteless things that he had ever seen. Frankly, it was a bit concerning that Lila was spending so much time around fashion and had still managed to come up with that. "Speaking of Ms. Rossi and her health, I think it might be prudent to call her up for a shoot before you return, just so that we can see her in person and ensure that she isn't hiding an illness."

Nathalie tapped at her tablet. "Of course, sir. How soon should the shoot be?"

"After several attacks. She has gotten some time off from them, after all." Gabriel tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair, a sharp staccato as he thought. "Let's allow for three or four in quick succession. That way, if she has any symptoms, they should be at a detectable level."

"A solid plan, sir."

Gabriel only nodded in acknowledgement.

The remainder of their flight passed quickly. Gabriel sipped away at the wine that he had bought earlier in the flight- enough to take the edge off of the mind-numbing dullness of travel, not so much that he would appear remotely incapacitated once he had to get off the plane- and sketched while Nathalie took advantage of the airplane Wi-Fi to take care of her emails and plan out both his and Adrien's schedules for the next two weeks.

It wouldn't do to return behind schedule, after all. There was a lot of work that went into running a company like Gabriel, and it was getting harder and harder to fit everything in around their increased number of akumatizations without anyone noticing. Every spare minute had to used wisely.

Hopefully everything would be sorted out soon. With Nathalie's suggested plan, Gabriel figured that they should have the Miraculous in their hands by the end of the following week. Then they would have Emilie back, so there would be no need to continue the time-consuming akuma attacks, and she would be able to help both him and Nathalie with their work. They could get caught up, and then Gabriel would be able to expand several of the fashion lines and use his extra time to continue growing the business into a few new countries.

Emilie would probably insist on them going to a few of Adrien's fencing tournaments or basketball games or something, but Gabriel could always bring along his tablet so that he could continue working and wouldn't be wasting so much time on such frivolities.

"We got an email from Adrien's school yesterday afternoon," Nathalie commented as the plane started its descent, swiping at something on her tablet and then setting it aside as the announcement to put electronics away came over the intercom. "I hadn't looked at it before, since it wasn't marked as urgent, but it sounds like there was some sort of incident during one of their class outings. It doesn't go into details, but I suppose we should ask Adrien about it."

"I imagine that it's just some schoolyard drama, but yes, I suppose." There was, of course, the off chance that something moderately interesting had happened, but based on prior emails the school had sent out, it was far more likely that someone had tripped and scraped their knee and then someone else had felt faint at the sight of the blood or something ridiculous like that. "I do wish that the school was a bit more discriminating about what they bother parents about. If I wanted to know about every inconsequential detail about what is going on at school, I would ask Adrien."

Nathalie nodded. "Precisely. I suppose that they had to deal with complaints from overly-involved parents who wanted to know every detail about what their kids were doing and that's why they felt the need to send something out- and for something that didn't even happen on school grounds or during school hours, either."

"Ridiculous."

Nathalie nodded, and they fell silent as the plane finished its descent and landed. As soon as they were stopped at the gate, Nathalie was up and pulling their carry-ons down from overhead. They were almost the first people off, striding up the jetway towards the airport. It would mean a longer wait for their luggage, but Gabriel much preferred that over sitting in the plane for any longer.

"Do you think that you'll be checking in on Ms. Rossi tonight?" Nathalie asked. "To update her on the plan?"

Gabriel shook his head. "No, for several reasons. Since she's Adrien's classmate, she's likely to be aware that I was gone as well, and she's likely find out that I returned today. That's the problem with us including her at all. She's too high-maintenance and spoiled. I worry that if I tell her that I'm going to be taking the pin back ahead of time, she'll try to stab me in the back and run off with it. I'll give the attacks a break for another day or two, then do an attack and visit her afterwards. I think that would be best."

"And then when you want to take the pin back, just do it the day of," Nathalie agreed as they stepped into the airport. "Wise choice. I'm looking forward to not having to deal with her anymore. Or, well, not having to deal with her on that side of our lives. I suppose she still serves a purpose as a spy at the school."

Gabriel sighed. Honestly, he would rather not have to deal with such an unpleasant child, but she was a mildly useful tool. "Yes, at least for a while longer. As soon as we get-" he lowered his voice "-the Miraculous, then we can drop her like a hot potato. She's a pain in the rear at photoshoots, she's been holding up the entire proce-"

He never got to finish his sentence. Out of nowhere, Nathalie got sent flying as a black pole slammed into her back, and Gabriel found himself hog-tied and dragged sideways abruptly, with no chance to defend himself. His face hit the floor with a smack and his nose started stinging as he was yanked across the cheap airport carpet, fibers and dirt and stray tiny stones scraping across his skin. The sensation- along with the tearing noise that was almost definitely coming from either his jacket or his pants or both- was a distant concern, though, behind the absolute panic that was welling up in Gabriel. He thrashed frantically, trying to catch sight of who had roped him, but there were too many people around. There were shouts of surprise and panic from the crowds as people started running away, tripping over luggage and other people as they did.

Gabriel was yanked across another few meters of carpet before coming to an abrupt stop, still face-down on the carpet. There was something uncomfortably sticky across his cheek, and now-

Now there was definitely a foot pressing down on his back, holding him down. It didn't feel that big, so Gabriel tried to thrash.

The foot pressed down harder, clearly stronger than its small size indicated.

"Look at what came off!" a male voice called, and Gabriel twisted his head just enough to see Carapace straightening up, a scrap of fabric in hand. Just a little further back- where smooth floor switched to rough carpet- Gabriel's red and white-striped clip-on ascot lay on the floor, having apparently popped off-

-wait. Carapace?

No. No no no no no no no-

"One butterfly-themed brooch!" Carapace announced, waving the scrap of cloth around. "That was easy!"

"Nice!" a female voice cheered, and Gabriel's eyes shot over to where Rena Rouge and Chat Noir were handcuffing Nathalie, who... well, it looked like she might have been thrown into the coffee shop area when she was initially hit by what must have been Chat Noir's baton. "No last-ditch transformation attempts!"

"What-" Gabriel croaked, his mind spinning as he tried to piece together what was going on. It sounded like they knew that he was Hawkmoth and Nathalie was Mayura, but how was that even possible? They had been careful! They had made sure to not go in and out of the mansion from as Hawkmoth and Mayura- well, at least not from any visible entrances or ones that could be connected to the mansion- and they had never been unmasked in front of anyone. They made to detransform in hidden spots that didn't have any cameras, if they decided to detransform somewhere that wasn't in the mansion. "No, I'd like that back, it- it has a picture of my wife in it, it's very special to me-"

Carapace snorted. "Yeah, I bet it's special to you, Mr. Supervillain."

"Welcome back to Paris," Ladybug said cheerfully from where she stood on top of him, her friendly smile a little too wide, a little too toothy, just on the edge of dangerous. "By the way, you're under arrest."

Paris flew into an uproar as soon as the news of Hawkmoth's defeat reached the public, shock and joy filling the streets. The police wasted no time in releasing the official story that Ladybug and Chat Noir had fed them, which was that a classmate found the Peacock Miraculous on the civilian Pavona while administering first aid following Pavona's collapse. She had grabbed it to give to Ladybug and from there, the superheroes had been able to piece together the clues that led them to Mr. Agreste and Ms. Sancoeur.

Hawkmoth and Mayura's identities had been known as soon as the arrest was made, of course. People in the airport had seen the superheroes making an arrest and waving a pin around, and it was easy enough to put two and two together. The police had initially declined to confirm the reason for the arrest, but it hadn't been long before it was obvious that no one was buying it.

The public then turned to the next question: Gabriel Agreste was Hawkmoth and Nathalie Sancoeur was Mayura, but who was Pavona? Perhaps she hadn't been on the battlefield as much as Hawkmoth or Mayura, or for as long, and really she had been more or a minor annoyance for the superheroes (and a source of amusement for the rest of Paris, who rather enjoyed seeing the supervillain constantly getting beaten up), but she had joined the supervillains and needed to face the consequences.

This time, the police declined to release any names right away. They might have confirmed- with Duusu's help and with the recording of Hawkmoth recruiting Lila that they had found at the Agreste mansion- that Lila's participation was 100% voluntary, but since Lila was underage, they wanted to be more careful.

Needless to say, the superheroes were not thrilled about that, particularly once Lila's estranged father appeared and looked like he might be moving to use his connections- connections that did exist, unlike the ones that Lila claimed- to keep Lila's involvement on the down-low. She would still go to jail- no connections could make the evidence go away- but no one would know. Everyone in her class- in the whole school, really- would remember her as the super-cool, super-nice student who was going to save the world, only to be suddenly felled by an illness and then vanish.

Lila didn't deserve that. She had been a supervillain by choice, and that made her fake everyday-superhero persona an insult to everyone who actually dedicated their lives to helping others.

And so the superheroes tipped the scales, so to speak. All it took was them mentioning in the ex-supervillains' hearing range why Lila had taken ill so suddenly and intensely that she had collapsed and spilled the beans. Gabriel Agreste had been so thoroughly infuriated about the fact that Lila had gotten sick from her own entirely selfish use of the Miraculous instead of just by using the Peacock for his cause that he had told reporters who Pavona had been himself during a press conference several weeks after his arrest.

Once upon a time Adrien might have felt a little bad about manipulating his father to do his dirty work for him, but not anymore. After all, Lila deserved to be exposed, and Mr. Agreste really couldn't get in any more trouble than he was already in.

Besides, Mr. Agreste had made Adrien put up with Lila during photoshoots and study sessions that Adrien had objected to, so if he looked at it that way, his father owed it to him to ensure that Adrien wouldn't have to listen to his classmates gushing about and worrying over Lila for who-knew-how-long going forward.

As was to be expected, the truthfulness of the story was questioned when it first broke, but it didn't take people long to figure out that there was no point in Mr. Agreste lying. In fact, since his identity had been figured out due to Pavona's collapse, he was bound to be pretty motivated to take her down with him.

Besides, Lila had, in fact, passed out at a park and was still in the hospital. All of the details fit, and Paris was convinced.

After that, it wasn't long before the police confirmed Pavona's identity. Lila's father had raged, but at that point, there was no point in denying it any longer. Everyone knew the truth, and it wasn't long before all of Lila's other lies came to light, too.

Lila's reputation was in the trash and- well, no one could say that it wasn't very well deserved.

"Well, at least one good thing came out of Lila being here," Adrien commented as he and Marinette watched the latest news coverage on the upcoming supervillain trials in her family's apartment. Ever since they revealed their identities to each other, they had been practically attached at the hip as Adrien came to terms with his father's betrayal and anxiously waited for news about his mother's condition. It had been hard at first, but now that Mrs. Agreste was definitely on the mend- as the only non-villainous Peacock holder, it had been a unanimous decision to let her use the Miraculous to heal first while they figured out security measures for healing Lila and possibly Nathalie- he had been much more cheerful. "After all, she sort of caused Hawkmoth's downfall, even if it was sort of indirectly and very much by accident."

Marinette giggled, curling closer to his side. "Ooh, imagine her face when she realizes that. She joined Hawkmoth to try to cause my downfall, and it completely backfired on her."

"D'you think it would be rude if we sent her a thank-you card as superheroes once she finally gets healed?" Adrien mused, and then immediately shook his head. "No, never mind, that would be rubbing it in. Not a very good look for superheroes."

"I think that there will be plenty of people reminding her of that without us chiming in." Onscreen, the news gave way to a commercial break and Marinette muted the TV so that they didn't have to listen before turning all of her attention to Adrien. "I'm glad that everything worked out in the end, at least. It'll be nice to have our class go back to normal."

"It will be," Adrien agreed. He smiled over at Marinette, reaching over to take her hands. "Though I wouldn't mind there being a few changes to our old normal, Buginette."

Marinette's answering smile was shy. "Oh? I don't suppose the changes that you're thinking of just have to do with the fact that we won't be skipping class all of the time to fight akumas?"

"That'll be a bonus, sure, but it wasn't what I was thinking of." Adrien flashed a smile at her before his eyes dropped down to their joined hands. "My Lady, I was wondering- well, you know that I like you and, uh, I was kind of maybe getting the impression that, uh..."

Marinette couldn't hold back her grin as her poor kitty floundered. She let him try to recover for another second or two, then leaned forward and cut him off with a kiss. Adrien startled, then immediately melted into the kiss, his smile so wide that she could feel it.

The last couple of weeks had been tough, what with Adrien's father getting arrested and then immediately having to deal with getting the Peacock fixed so that they could start healing Mrs. Agreste (and eventually Lila), but they were past the worst of it now. Now they could start moving on and settle in to a new normal.

And honestly, neither of them could wait.

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #The Wavering Peahen #marinette dupain cheng

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crowdedimagines · 4 years

Text

It’s Just PR - Harry Styles/Shawn Mendes (Part Eight)

SERIES LIST

Unfortunately, Harry and I couldn’t live in our little bubble anymore. If anything Shawn was a wakeup call for reality. The next day we hopped on a plane and went back to Los Angeles. It was weird when Harry dropped me off to be alone in my house. I had so quickly grown used to having someone else nearby. I miss that.

“I swear, you are more hassle than you’re worth.” Joan complains, lecturing me for the tenth time about how I can’t go ‘off the grid’ ever again.

“Whatever, I know you love me.” I grin while she rolls her eyes.

“Anyway, you’re back with perfect timing! You start the CK shoot tomorrow?”

“The what?” I ask.

“The Calvin campaign? We started that months ago! We’ve had this day on our calendar since March.”

“The one with Shawn?” I sit forward coming to a realizating to the one she’s talking about, “You’re fucking with me right?”

“I wish I could say that I was ‘fucking with you’” She says with obvious distate for my wording.

“I can’t do anything about it and you know that. You signed a pretty major contract. Even if you could, the fans are wondering why you are never with your best friend Shawn Mendes. You did the first test shots with him. They know that this collab is coming. Do this one campaign and all will be good for awhile. No more questions about him.”

“This is insane.” I scoff, “I can’t believe this.”

I leave once I get the rest of the details, even though they now make me sick. Shawn and I signed up to do this Calvin Klein campaign months ago. We were still happy. We were still together for that matter.

I decide to call Harry so I can vent and explain what’s going on. See if he has any brilliant ideas for me to get out of this.

“ello, love.” He answers.

“We never should’ve left New York.” I huff, trying not to cry even though it’s like my nightmare is coming to life.

“Why? What’s going on?”

It takes me a few minutes to explain the whole thing to him and why I can’t just back out now.

“Wow, you’re fucked then.”

“Thanks for that.” I laugh, I’m just sitting in my driveway, not going inside. I just stay in my car on the phone.

“Well you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. You can be very professional, Y/n. I have faith in you, this won’t be the worst thing.”

“You seem oddly calm for the boyfriend of someone who has to a photoshoot with her ex boyfriend in her underwear tomorrow.” I tease, finally taking my keys out of the ignition.

“I trust you.”

“Yeah, I- what are you doing here?” As soon as I round the corner to my front door I see a familiar face sitting on my doorstep.

“I had a bad day too, not as bad as yours, but I wanted to see you.” Harry grins and stands up from his spot. We both hang up and I take a few more steps to pull him down into a hug.

“Thank you.” I mutter, not relinquishing my grip.

“I’ve missed you. It’s weird not having you around all the time to annoy me.”

“Shut up.” I finally let go and smack his shoulder. I take a step around him so I can unlock my door and let us both in. Harry shuts the door behind him and pulls me back against his chest. His head peeking around my shoulder.

“But really, I’ve missed you.” He presses a kiss behind my ear.

“We just got back yesterday.” I tease.

“I know, I know. It’s just been weird. For three whole days it was just us, alone.” His kisses start to drift farther down my neck. “I’ve missed touching you.”

I bit my bottom lip smiling at the boy who has completely captivated me.

“Well what’s stopping you?”

That’s the only cue that Harry needs to pick me up and throw me over his shoulder.

“Harry!” I shout, no expecting such sudden action and excitement.

He runs up my stairs and throws my bedroom door open. We’re both laughing when he throws me down on my bed. All of our clothes have been ditched on the floor.

“Your such a dork.” I press my lips to his.

“My girlfriend has an underwear shoot tomorrow with her ex boyfriend. I think he could stand to see what we’ve been up to.” Harry sucks down on the spot on the outside of my hip.

“Mmm, you’re a horrible tease.”

Harry wasn’t kidding when he said that people would be able to see what we’ve been up to. Small bruises litter my hips and neck.

“You’re ridiculous.” I shake my head. It’s the morning of the shoot and they’ve only darkened since last night.

“Hmm, I feel like you might be proud of me.”

“Shut up.” I roll my eyes, “Do you want some breakfast?”

“Definitely!” Harry tugs on me and I fall back on the bed on top of him.

“I mean, I’m not mad, but this isn’t what I meant when I said breakfast.”

“It’s what I meant.”

It took even more effort for Harry and I to get out of bed this morning than it did last night. I knew I had to leave early so I would be on time for the shoot. Harry dropped me off at set, claiming that the studio he was recording at wasn’t far and promising to pick me up when I’m done. It’s the perfect day for a shoot, the sun in Malibu is out and shining.

“Y/n, you’re here!” Anne grins, a woman who I have worked with several times to do my hair and makeup. She follows me on tour, and I’m lucky enough that for this shoot they let me have her.

“I’m here!” I smile back. Just because today is going to be miserable for me, doesn’t mean that it has to be for the whole crew.

“Okay, you can just go sit in the chair, I’ll be right over to start!” She points over her shoulder where a few chairs and lighting is set up.

I wander over and discover that one of the seats are occupied.

“Hi, Shawn.” I say with a soft voice as I take a seat in the other chair.

“Uh, hey, Y/n.” He smiles with tight lips, not even bothering to look up. A woman who seems somewhat familiar is working on his hair, trying to get his curls perfect.

“So, are you guys excited?” Anne asks loudly, talking to both Shawn and I.

“Thrilled.” I mumble with sarcasm laced in it.

“What’s going on? You guys are never this quiet! Did you get in a fight this morning or something?” She asks looking between the two of us. Knowing Anne she’s not going to drop it.

“Shawn and I broke up.” I look over to her unwavering.

“What?” She practically shouts.

“If you guys broke up, who did that number on your neck?” Anne asks. She really can’t take a hint.

“Let’s not get into it, yeah? Let’s just try and make it through today.”

No one says a word after that. Anne just starts working on my makeup. It’s all natural themed, thankfully. Once Anne is done she sends me over to get dressed where they’ve set up a booth of clothes.

They pick the first look, one for us on the beach. It’s a classic Calvin set that looks cute. I really hope they let me take this stuff home.

“Okay, down to the beach for you.”

“Thank you.”

I make my way down to where they’ve set up for the first round of pictures. I’m so thankful for the sun today, because without it the wind would’ve been unbearable. Shawn is wearing jeans with the Calvin logo pulled high so it’s visible.

“Y/n!” The director greets.

“Hi.” I smile, not bothering to look at Shawn. I can feel his eyes scanning my body, surely he’s taking in the work that Harry did.

“Don’t you think that the hickies should be covered up?” Shawn asks the director, he has a smug attitude about him. My jaw almost drops, so much for us being mature today. All of that’s been thrown out the window. “It’s not very classy.”

I roll my eyes at Shawn’s attempted ‘dig’ at me.

“Actually.” The director pauses to think for a few seconds, “I kind of like it, we’re trying to sell sex. Y/n, you’ve got that going for you right now.”

“Thanks, I guess.” I roll my eyes, I cross my arms over my chest. I’ve never been one for modesty necessarily, but his comment makes me feel dirty.

They position us on the beach and we officially start the shoot. The day is more draining than I ever thought it could be. It wouldn’t be half as bad if it weren’t for Shawn. The poses were awkward and uncomfortable. Having his hands on me felt wrong now. We’ve hardly said two words to each other the rest of the day.

“That’s a wrap!” The director cheers, successfully capturing the last of the day.

“Thank god.” I mutter, snaking my way out of Shawn’s grip. I’m not quick enough though to not notice just how hurt Shawn looks. I find my stuff and text Harry letting him know that I’ve finished.

They pack up a bag of things for me to take home, thank god! A lot of this stuff was cute!

“Hello, love.” Harry makes an appearance.

“Hi!” I smile, my heart warming at the sight of him.

“How was your day?” He asks, watching my get dressed in my clothes so we can leave.

“Let’s talk about it in the car.” I roll my eyes.

“Uh oh, that doesn’t sound good.”

Harry takes my bag for me, I say a quick goodbye to Anne and thank the people who had to deal with Shawn and I for the whole day.

“Hey, Y/n.” A voice calls from behind me. I turn to see Shawn, standing there, his phone in his hands.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll just go the car.” Harry pecks a kiss on my check and leaves to give Shawn and I some space.

“Are we ever going to be friends again?” He asks, focusing on the floor rather than me.

“I don’t know, Shawn. If today was any sign, we both still need more time.”

He nods agreeing, still barely looking up to see me.

“Today was hard.” He states.

“I know, things will get easier. At least I hope.” I smile.

“Yeah, me too.” He smiles, finally looking up, “I mean, we were friends before anything else.”

“Have a good night, Shawn.” I start to back away and walk towards Harry’s car.

“You too, Y/n.”

give me feedback y’all!!!!

#harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes x reader #Harry Styles #shawn mendes #It's just PR

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butterfly-winx · 4 years

Photo

One more girl on the lineup! Empress Heir Xiang Galatea of Melody, Fairy of Composing/ Composed Music! Super shiny, super brassy!

Details below!

Galatea was born on Melody during a summer of spoiled harvest, and as it is custom for the emperor’s family to share the perils that hit their people, Galatea and her mother suffered significant undernourishment. This shaped Galatea’s years of early development and led her to appear frail and stick thin. At first the court’s medimagicians even suspected she would be an insufficient conduct for magic and never manifest any skills despite all her ancestry sporting strong magic users, but Galatea proved them wrong with her first fairy transformation, right on schedule on her fifteenth birthday. Using magic stabilised her and got rid of many of her fatigue issues, making her a lot more healthy than she looks to the eye. However this came with the side effect that her small treble clef shaped wings never fully disappear when she detransforms, always circulating some amount of passive magic through her.

“Xiang Galatea” is Galatea’s zí name, the one that is respectable and polite for people to use who don’t know her or are below her in standing. This name would usually be chosen when the person reaches adulthood and is ready to join society, but Galatea belonging to the royal family, she received it rather early so that she could make public appearances. Xiang is her family name that she inherited from her mother (which is a tradition on Melody that makes heritage tracing extremely difficult) meaning “lucky, good omen”. Her míng name that close family calls her by is “Wei Qing”, which derives from “small” and “blue,green” in reference to the light eyes she was born with that darkened over the years to her current brown. Platinum is shockingly also not Galatea’s actual hair colour: she dyes it meticulously, but her transformations make the colour appear natural. She used moving away from home to Alfea as an excuse to change up her look without her parents knowing and went for the choppy pixie cut that has grown to be her staple since.

Arriving at Alfea one year after the Winx made their debut, Galatea was very thankful for being able to enjoy her first year at school without great disruptions (whatever was going on in the Dungeons with a whole dimensional portal was not her problem, bless her soul). From a young age Galatea has been extremely dutiful, doing exactly as her grandfather wished or her country demanded of her, but this attitude slackened a little bit once had her own taste of the wider world. She knew she had to be thankful for the social position awarded to her by birth, for the continued faith of the people of Melody in the Emperor’s institute of power, but she couldn’t help but wonder. Did it even make sense to uphold the Empire? Wasn’t the court on its own enough? She just wanted more perspective, a little bit more from life, which probably sounded incredibly ignorant of her privilege as part of the heritage line of one of the world’s oldest dynasties. If her grandfather and father enjoyed a long life, then Galatea herself would have decades to enjoy life and build a family before she even had to consider ascending to the throne to rule. She had conversations with her father however, who suggested withdrawing from his position thinking it would be much better for Galatea to become Empress sooner so that the country could have a younger person at its head... That wasn’t exactly the kind of monarchy abolition Galatea had been hoping for.

Galatea was in general also tired of being followed around and supervised at all times, which probably influenced her change of spirit. There was painfully little however which she could have expressed her dissent with, aside the little promise she made her grandfather about connecting their countrymen abroad. She kept in touch with the other students at Alfea who also hailed from Melody as advised, but she didn’t really develop a friendship with either of them aside from Musa. Musa in her own way was already hardened from knowing two (and a half) princesses, so her attitude towards Galatea was completely different from the other Melodian kids. They were much too stiff when conversing with her and tried to mimic a proper Melodian high court accent that were just a little bit on the side of mocking putting Galatea off wanting to talk to them. So she didn’t and lied trough her teeth about tea ceremonies they supposedly held together, praying no babysitter to be sent after her.

Her second year hit like a sledgehammer to a wall with Valtor and the Trix causing upheaval all across the Magic Universe. Melody escaped their scrutiny for much longer than their neighbouring countries on the planet, but eventually Tian Qi Feng, the guardian fairy of Melody paid her and Musa a grim visit and cautioned them against returning home until the unrest has been settled. Worried about their families the two girls bonded comforting each other with a little piece of home, making music and cooking. To take her mind off the stress, Galatea threw herself into another kind of stressor with high expectations attached: her studies. She spent hours after class in the library, switching meaningful personal contacts for written text.

She was just in a wrong place at the wrong time when the Trix sneaked in and took her hostage and forced her to hand out Alfea’s secret spell collection. The witches first tried their luck with the librarian who got knocked out by the force of Stormy’s attack before moving on to Galatea and torturing her by freezing off her wings. Absolutely and helpless in shock, all she could do was send a distress signal to Musa, deeply ashamed by her lack of skill facing the witches. The Winx swooped in not a second too late and chased the Trix off, but not before Darcy set off a cursed fire in the library that not even Bloom’s fire control spells could tame. The others carried the unconscious librarian off while Musa and Galatea stayed behind, the latter feeling responsible for the situation and the books that have given her so much comfort over the last few weeks. Loosing information was the biggest curse that could strike a society and Galatea didn’t want to let so many important books perish because of her mistake. It took Musa a minute to tear her away from her futile attempt and lead her towards the exit that had since been blocked by a fallen over bookshelf. Galatea pointed out that Musa could easily fly over the obstacle, but Musa objected that her Charmix wings wouldn’t be able to carry the weight of them both. It would be a strain on a clear day, but amidst all the fire and exhaustion from the smoke they didn’t stand a chance. Dutifully, Galatea told Musa to leave her behind, but Musa refused to trying to figure out a way for both of them to get out alive. Her stubborn dedication made Musa earn her Enchantix. Subduing the cursed flames with her fairydust, Musa led them out with Galatea clutching the precious book in one hand and Musa’s hand in her other.

Outside Faragonda, teachers, other students have rushed to the burning library. Enchanti were instructed to use their dust to dampen the flames and Faragonda then used her powers to restore the books to their previous form, not a char mark left behind. Musa immediately returned to Galatea’s side once that had been dealt with and used her fairy dust one last time to give Galatea her passive wings back, ending the hour long anxiety attack Galatea didn’t even notice she was having. The two of them had a long conversation after that about low self esteem and feeling like the only worth one could earn was from how useful one was to other people. Galatea beat her insecurities about not being allowed to trust people and opened up to Musa admitting that she did want things from life, just for her own sake and Musa gently encouraged her to take that lep of faith next time a choice presented itself to her. In doing so, Galatea earned her Charmix.

Despite not much harm coming to her beloved books or herself, Galatea had been deeply shaken by the incident and developed a fear of the Trix, remaining apprehensive every time they were mentioned. During the Crisis of the Seas she stayed reserved in her grandfather’s shadow, right until the Trix started joining the mix. From there on she campaigned on behalf of Andros getting the help they needed and her words moved the Melodian court to mobilise troops for the final showdown.

(In the time between the two eventd, she did earn her Enchantix and graduated Alfea with stellar results in the same year group as Mirta did. Similarly to Mirta, she had been swept up in the consequences of magic returning to Earth and the unrest it caused across the Galaxy as well. Unhappy masses protesting the data collection regulations placed on witchers (lest they collaborate with the Black Circle from Earth, who were known terrorists, was the reason given) derailed a train she had been travelling on. Even though her magic aspect lay in something completely else, she tried to protect everyone in the carriage from the crash - and unlocking her Enchantix she did manage to do so!)

In the S6 timeline she shows up likewise late in the story arc, but at a crucial point to offer help to the Winx after they have been beaten back by the Trix despite having gotten rid of the Legendarium. Despite their partial victory, the girls were once again without weapons as their Mythix spells didn’t pack a punch against the physical attacks of the Trix. So Galatea temporarily gifted her vial of fairydust to Musa to use as a last resort. Ever since the library incident the two women have been tied together by a life debt Galatea owed to Musa, which now has been resolved. Galatea herself joined the Red Fountain and Company of Light forces sent to liberate Alfea and detain the Trix.

Having powers over Composing makes Galatea able to give other people inspiration and see harmonies, not just in music but in philosophy and life as well. She knows a lot about composed music as well - written songs, not passed by oral tradition - and can recite many to the great pleasure of her diplomacy skills teachers. It certainly helps if she can demonstrate knowledge on her conversation partner’s culture. Having an abstract power source Galatea is far from being a fighter and she absolutely prefers it so. Her very first battle (if you can call it that) showed her that she did not have the nerves of steel needed to handle such a dangerous situation with the acuity and quick-wit needed. She knows she is a weak conduct and has to take good care of her body and can’t afford to express large quantities of magic without fearing the rebound consequences. It took her a while to come to terms with it, but Galatea now knows where her strengths lie, and that is in politics: as her father’s and grandfather’s successor leading Melody.

Galatea is very underappreciated because she stays away from the action so much, but I took the chance to make it a part of her character. Just because people are capable of magic doesn’t mean they have to work towards becoming the heaviest hitting canons in the universe. Galatea as a casual magic user has her own place in my heart and in my story!

#winx club #winx galatea #galatea enchantix #locally sourced art #I had better writing seshes I'm not gonna lie #technically worldbuilding #also tumblr blue here to screw with my colours again

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jinruihokankeikaku · 3 years

Text

"Communicating Doors" by The Extra Lens (John S. Darnielle and Franklin Bruno)

A somewhat close reading that got a bit out of hand, because I couldn't find any interpretations of this song online. First, the song in question -

Campaign down from Atlanta Five-hour drive to the coast...

So here's our establishing shot. We establish the setting - somewhere on the Atlantic or Gulf coast in the Deep South - Jacksonville, Destin, Pensacola, Mobile, Panama City, and Charleston/Folly/Sullivan's Island are all possibilities. But what really stands out about this line, and sets the tone for the song as a whole, is the usage of "campaign" - a protracted venture to establish political or military control. The narrator is on a mission. They're struggling against some kind of opposing force.

...brought whatever we thought we'd need To pierce the skin of a ghost.

So the extreme ambiguity here is deliberate; it's a device JD uses fairly often, usually to comic (or at least tragicomic) effect. The narrator's deflecting, ensconcing the truth in what seems at first a slightly awkward metaphor (do ghosts even have skin?) to avoid the shame or embarrassment of saying it in so many words (despite the fact that he seems to assume we already know what he's referring to). So what exactly is the narrator referring to here? This becomes...slightly more clear as the story develops, but here we get an important hint both as to whatever "whatever" may be, and as to the object of the narrator's campaign.

In JD's oeuvre, ghosts show up quite often indeed, and this isn't even the only time they appear to be less-ghostly than they seem - for example, in "The Young Thousands", "ghosts...are prepared to take on substance...[and] have been learning how to breathe," and in the unreleased "We Shall All Be Healed (Rose Quarter Drifting)" a ghost is referred to as having once been able to "bite" the narrator. An outtake from Get Lonely, "Keeping House", establishes this as explicitly and as matter-of-factly as anything, and several times over - "Cursing the moment that saw him draw breath / The ghost on your doorstep is starving to death.... [S]oaked wet with rain...he clutches his stomach / And howls at the pain.... [T]he ghost on your doorstep has to eat / Same as you." This example makes it clear that the ghost in question is a bodily thing, and that the narrator and his newly introduced cohort(?) mean to do it bodily harm.

What makes a ghost a ghost, then, if it's still breathing, still hungry, still contained within fragile skin? A few vague ideas come to mind, but as the narrative presses forward, a more clearly defined notion of ghostliness begins to take form.

Left your car at the hotel, rode up seventeen floors And checked ourselves into separate rooms With communicating doors.

So, there's the titular refrain. Before we unpack the really interesting part - that is to say, the character of the relationship between our narrator and his companion - it's probably important to establish what the term "communicating doors" could be referring to. I had a vague idea, but I wanted confirmation, so I searched the Web - and was rather surprised to find little in the way of architectural jargon, and a whole lot in the way of articles on a 1994 stage play of the same title, written by Alan Ayckbourn, which - without derailing this post even further - seems to be a sex-comedy slash farce slash thriller, set - perhaps notably - in a hotel suite that travels through time. Now, to be clear, I have no idea if John Darnielle and/or Franklin Bruno had even heard of this production, and it would be a stretch further still to suggest that they were inspired by it - it premiered in England and seems to have received little recognition beyond three sentences on Wikipedia and a number of (mixed) reviews. However, the play predates the song by over 25 years, and is the first thing that shows up when one enters "communicating doors" into one's search engine so, like, make of that what you will.

Incidentally, the term "communicating door(s)" doesn't seem to have a Wikipedia page of its own, or even a dictionary entry. However, a trip to the StackExchange "English" forum proved that I was not the only one asking this question! There were several answers presented, with the common consensus seeming to be that a communicating door is any door between two rooms, among which rooms neither was a corridor, antechamber, hallway, or other common/shared space. They're sharing a suite and a car, but they're staying in separate rooms. This ghost-hunting partnership is strictly business, I guess...

....and that brings us back to the question of what the deal with ghosts is. Our protagonists (deuteragonists?) want to harm it physically, which is something that - if the rest of JD's body of work is to be believed, can be done to a ghost. The ghost's not dead. It's not spiritual, divine, or even especially ephemeral. If we assume that its description precludes its being a literal lingering mortal soul, we might need, then, to return to other ghosts that haunt the discography of them Goats et alia. A brief overview of the mentions of ghosts in the Kyle Barbour's The Annotated Mountain Goats, which covers the vast majority of John Darnielle's public songwriting between the early 90's and the mid-2010's, suggests that ghosts are typically - but not always - difficult or painful to interact with, and in many cases are actively malevolent. They haunt not only former / temporary domiciles (see "Genesis 3:23", "We Shall All Be Healed", "The Young Thousands"), and doorways (communicating or no) (besides the song currently on the dissection tray, see "Keeping House") but also dreams and traumatic memories, sometimes even in "armies....numbers far too high to measure" (see Tallahassee's "Idylls of the King" and All Eternals Deck's "Outer Scorpion Squadron"). The common thread here is, of course, liminality: an old apartment, a hotel suite, an illicitly infiltrated childhood home, and the depths of troubled sleep are all points of transition, places one has left or is soon to be leaving. Ghosts - living, breathing, and hungrily biting as they may be - are remains, artefacts, vestiges lifted out of time. With that in mind, let's return to our narrator's campaign.

Lay on top of the covers, turn the fan up to full Chase a memory around my head - silver satin, and wool. Close the bar at the harbor, say goodnight in the hall Smash the lock with a midnight knock - and the rest I don't recall.

That seems to have escalated rather quickly. The narrator tries to cool off, both literally and figuratively, because it gets hot down here. Once alone, he continue his pursuit of "a memory" which is, if not identical to the "ghost" in question, almost certainly a sort of synecdoche for it. After an unspecified length of time in futile pursuit, he comes up with only a few disjointed shocks of fabric. Sheets, perhaps, which might seem like ghosts from a great distance- you see where I'm going with this. He comes up empty-handed, give or take, and reunites with his companion at a bar down by the Harbor (this is totally me projecting, but I want to believe that this reinforces my theory that it could be Charleston, a city known for having one of those). They stay there - presumably arming themselves for the hunt - until they are politely asked to not stay there anymore and leave without any quarrel whatsoever, I'm sure. They make it back to their suite more or less intact, return to their respective rooms from the hall (which is to say, through strictly non-communicating doors), whereupon - true to JD-narratorial-form, he recalls only "smashing the lock" on the titular doors before we fade to black by way of Franklin Bruno's delightfully jaunty instrumental bridge. (And...scene.)

When our narrator's anterograde amnesia abates, we return with a final verse and another establishing shot, perhaps from a balcony 17 stories above the harbor:

Stones rise out of the water; water eats at the stones. I know people who dig up graves Just to label the bones. All that poison we swallowed, seeping out through the pores And floating over the transoms Of communicating doors.

The particular significance of the water, and the stones rising out of it, is of course open to any number of interpretations, or none at all. However, I do think it's worth noting that the opening line in this verse is the only line in the song to describe the natural world. It's stated directly and impersonally, as though the curtains have pulled back to expose something primal and eternal. On this brief threshold between oblivion and wakefulness, the narrator is experiencing a moment of enlightenment and/or disillusionment. He witnesses the Earth eating itself from high above, and then returns abruptly to his internal monologue (though in this verse, of course, he could as well be addressing his companion as could he the listener).

The narrator's return from liminal clarity, the passing of the moment at which the veil between the ghosts and the rest of us is "pierced", is evidenced by his abrupt change in tone in the following line. He re-asserts is subjectivity twice, here, in one line - first by stating for the record that he "knows people" (of which people he is not one), establishing a degree of separation between himself and what he's about to say, and second by returning to his original evasive metaphorical conceit - which conceit is, of course, now totally transparent to the listener. These guys he happens to know "...dig up graves / Just to label the bones." The fact that he's not, of course, just referring to some guys he happens to know, is evidenced by the fact that the two (marginally) distinct euphemisms he uses - "piercing the skin of a ghost" and "digging up graves" are both idiomatic stand-ins for the same process - that of "chasing down [memories]", of reaching bodily into the past. The only difference here is that, in the final verse, he admits that he knows why "people" do this - something he'd been hitherto unable or unwilling to do. He knows the motivations of the people he's referring to - and he provides no evidence, because he doesn't need to. Both he and the person he's now addressing, presumably from within the same room, know what he's talking about.

Sometimes it becomes necessary - or, at the very least, comes to feel necessary to label the past, to classify it, because a memory without context is a frightening, saddening, and confusing thing. A memory without context is a hungry ghost, "scanning the hallways nightly....searching for a sign." And just as the rising tide, over millennia, eats away at stone, the things one doesn't understand about one's own past add up, eroding - first imperceptibly, then catastrophically - the terra firma of one's identity in the present.

"But," - to borrow a quote from "Going to Marrakesh" another, earlier Darnielle-Bruno collaboration - "it's not right, and it's not nice / to try to kill the same thing twice." As our narrator and his companion are sweating out the poison, imagining that all that's toxic within themselves drifting away, over the transom, across the threshold to another place and time - the question of the ghost's whereabouts remains unanswered. As is the case with so many of John S. Darnielle's stories, we, the listeners, don't know what happens next. We don't know what ghosts yet haunt our narrator. The narrator probably doesn't either. So it goes.

~~~

#john darnielle #the extra lens #communicating doors #tmg

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threephasebird · 3 years

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Hello friend, it's Nicole from TAD discord, so sorry for awkwardly & randomly sliding into your dms. I've noticed that you've been reblogging a lot of The Untamed recently and I have just finished The Untamed & literally cannot think about anything else. I'm obsessed. Anyway, I've also noticed from your blog that your favorite seems to be JGY and I find that *fascinating*. He's very much not my fav, but he's such a complex character that I would love to hear your thoughts & feelings & analysis?

And to be completely clear, I will never try to debate with you or say your opinions are wrong or immoral or anything. I'm not an anti, I've stanned plenty of villains in my time. I'm just genuinely curious. I think the fact that you have such different feelings about this character is part of the beauty of stories and a testament to how complex and smart this particular story is.

Hello friend! First of all, thank you for your ask -- I love talking about my fictional faves, so there’s no need to apologize at all! There are definitely people out there who have already posted much more cohesive and succinct character analysis for JGY, but I’ve sat down for a bit to find an answer to the question of why I, personally, like him so much. I ended up finding six possible ways to answer this question, which I’ll list below and then go into (a lot) more detail under the cut. Hope you enjoy!

1) I like him because his motivations as a villain are complex and understandable

2) I like him because there’s no easy solution to his conflicts

3) I like him because he interacts with the story in a unique way

4) I like him because when we see him on top of his game, it’s fun to watch

5) I like him because LXC likes him

6) JGY is very small and has dimples

So, onward! (2.7k)

1) I like him because his motivations as a villain are complex and understandable

One possible way of looking at JGY is that throughout the entire story, his end goal is to eliminate all of the Jin family and come out on top as sect leader, chief cultivator and most powerful person in the cultivation world. However, I personally find it more intriguing to think that his specific plans shifted throughout the story and that he didn’t follow a long con the way NHS did, but that the common ground in everything he does is that he’s motivated by wanting security. Then, everything that he does afterwards is a step-by-step escalation when no matter what he does and how far he comes, his goal is always dangled right in front of him, but ultimately impossible to reach.

When he joins the Nie clan, on a superficial level it seems that this place could offer him the security he wants and needs, especially with NMJ protecting him -- but on the flip side of the coin, no one apart from NMJ and NHS seem to respect him, and his security entirely depends on NMJ’s goodwill. It’s an exteremely fragile position that could probably only ever last for a limited amount of time. Even if JGY never killed the guard captain and wasn’t thrown out of the Unclean Realm, how would the future have looked like for him? NMJ’s life expectancy was low to begin with, and once he had died (of natural causes, in this hypothetical case), NHS wouldn’t have been able to hold the same protective hand over JGY as his brother, and JGY would have become the disrespected advisor to the disrespected clan leader. (On a side note, I personally don’t think JGY released XY to get the yin iron -- I think it makes more sense that he wanted to use XY as bargaining chips against WC, seeing how he goes to free him immediately after WC asks for NMJ to release XY, to save the Unclean Realm and, in extension, his own ass.)

After JGY is thrown out, he’s basically out of options -- it’s go big or go home, because which other clan would take him in now? So he sets his sight on being recognized by JGS once more, and in order to succeed, he derives the plan of becoming a spy under WRH and do something so “heroical” that after the war, JGS has no other choice but to accept him into his clan. And at first, it seems like he succeeds and that he finally gets everything he wished for -- his father recognizes him as a son and gives him a position, he’s part of the Jin clan, he has power, he’s secure! But then it turns out that he was wishing on the monkey’s paw. His father doesn’t truly recognize him, and even in the Jin clan he’s disrespected (by JGS, by Madam Jin, by Jin Zixun), he doesn’t truly hold power (he just has to do whatever JGS tells him to), and he’s not secure (JGS instrumentalizes him because he’s useful to him right now, but does that mean he’ll be useful forever? So there’s a constant threat there).

I think the only reason JGS officially adopts JGY is that it allows him to claim the victory over WRH for the Jin clan and to expand his own power. Instead of JGY being recognized, JGS instrumentalizes him from the very first second and to make it worse, he makes JGY his attack dog the same way WRH did. I think the things JGY does under both WRH and JGS are absolutely horrifying, but I can’t help but also feel horrified for him. Under WRH, I think he tells himself that whatever he does is the lesser evil because it’ll end the war quicker, and that it’ll all be worth it in the end, and as a result, he loses parts of his own humanity there. And then under JGS, it’s the same fucked up shit again, except that this time, he also wants so very badly for JGS to value him, and in addition, he’s also completely out of options now. Without wanting to excuse the things he does under JGS, the only alternative at this point is for him to leave the Jin clan and the cultivation world as a whole, and I do think there’s a definite possibility that JGS would have him killed if he did because he knew too much about JGS’s plans.

Without passing judgment on his involvement in JZX and JZX’s deaths, as well as him killing NMJ and JGS for now (the latter being the one thing that I’m personally most horrified of), I don’t see JGY as a villain who enjoys being the villain the way XY does. I think he’s constantly horrified at himself and compartmentalizes to a degree where he’s actually derailing his own plans. Him throwing out XY immediately after killing JGS reads to me as him wanting to close the chapter of everything they did under JGS -- I think he must have acted out of a visceral emotion there or else he wouldn’t have left XY to die at the side of a road so carelessly (and, in effect, allowed for someone to live on with detailed knowledge of his own deeds). After rising to power (and finally, seemingly, really getting the security he’s always wanted), he doesn’t use that power to become WRH 3.0, but instead to do genuinely good things (such as building the watch towers). That’s not supposed to mean that him not being a cruel despot makes up for everything he’s done, but I find it interesting to think about from the perspective of, what kind of person could he have been if this opportunity had been given to him freely -- if his own class and social standing didn’t prevent him from that? I think he’d have become an incredibly powerful cultivator and clan leader if he’d have the same privilege as JZX.

In a way, I see JZX, WC, and JGY as narrative foils. WC shows us who JZX might have become if JGS treated him the same way as WRH treats WC. But, JGS doesn’t -- he shields his own son from this part of the Jin clan, and basically allows him to live in a completely different reality as JGY! JZX’s whole character arc is one of personality development, and becoming a hero, and falling in love -- he doesn’t have a clue about his father wanting to get his hands on XY and the Stygian tiger amulet and arguably about at least part of the war crimes he commits against the Wen clan. It’s not part of his life. In a way, JGY is the sacrifice being made to allow him to live his life unaware because in him, JGS found someone else to do his dirty work.

2) I like him because there’s no easy solution to his conflicts

Sometimes, when you want to be a villain apologist, all you need to do is point at one or a few bits of the story and say, “well if they hadn’t done that...”. (See, for example, Anakin Skywalker -- you wanna write a RotS canon divergence fixit? Just have Obi-Wan come back approximately one hour earlier and you have it, because before Anakin kills the Jedi even the Younglings he’s basically completely redeemable.) With JGY, you don’t get to have that. There’s no single turning point where you could say, “if he had picked the other option, he could have had a happy ending”. And part of the reason for that, which makes him a tragic character in my eyes, is that he crucially lacks options at many turning points.

In order to write a canon divergence AU for JGY where he comes out unscathed and redeemable, you’d have to go pretty far back in the story, and even then, you’d have to work hard to find a solution to his story that doesn’t a) rely on someone saving him (such as: LXC brings him to Cloud Recesses, or: JGS has a change of heart, frees his mother, and sends them a comfortable monthly pension), b) having him be dependent on someone else’s goodwill (such as: staying in the Unclean Realm in a delicate position).

If we don’t want to go back right to the very beginning or change fundamental parts of the story, well... As I’ve mused about above, if we let him stay in the Unclean Realm, he’d have never reached his goal of security either. If he never became a spy during the Sunshot Campaign, he wouldn’t have been accepted into the Jin clan and would have been out of options. If he never committed the atrocities for JGS, JGS would probably have kicked him out or killed him. (I do think there’s a lot of truth in what JGY tells NMJ in the empathy flashback, on that instance.) If he didn’t kill NMJ, there is a distinct possibility that NMJ would have killed him -- we see him try three times on screen, after all. (I’m leaving out the parts about him being directly responsible for JZX’s and JZX’s death in the show, as well as for controlling the corpses at Nighless City and JYL’s death, because it’s not in the book and I think it takes away from WWX’s character. As for QS’s and their son’s deaths...I personally do not see strong motivation for him to kill them, but in the end, we just don’t know which is, on a side note, a thing I really like about The Untamed/MDZS! Sometimes we just don’t know because the only people who know for sure can’t tell us anymore.) One option could be for him to confide to JZX, bring him over to his own side, and non-violently overthrow JGS, which would be a good and satisfying ending both to his and JZX’s character arcs -- but I also think there’s a high possibility JZX would hold JGY responsible for what he and JGS did, and never trust him with power again.

(Again, one thing I really do not wish to excuse away is how he killed JGS, and I just. Desperately wished he didn’t.)

I’ve been going over and over the possibilites for fix-its and canon divergence AUs, but in the end, I’ve arrived at the conclusion that the only real choice JGY has throughout the story is whether to remove himself from the narrative or stay in it. He could make the choice to give up his mother’s dream, reject his father, and leave cultivation world (and, on a meta level, the story!) to become a “nobody”. (Small side note, though -- living on which skills?) If he doesn’t -- well, as soon as he enters the game, the cards are stacked against him.

To pick up on the meta level comment, I do find it fascinating that in a sense, JGY not only has to struggle for respect and recognition within the story, but that what he does also serves to keep his character part of the story. He could choose to give up and leave (and thus come out of the story redeemable), but then he wouldn’t be part of the story anymore.

3) I like him because he interacts with the story in a unique way

Continuing with the last point, JGY interacts with the story in two unique ways that distinguish him basically from all the other characters. He’s not actually supposed to be part of the story, but that he basically claws his way in. But that also means that his class and social status cannot be removed from any of the conflicts he encounters in universe -- they’re at the heart of all of them. In the empathy flashback, he says to NMJ, “You always scold me for indecent scheming. You always say that you are just and straight [...] A decent man shouldn’t resort to devious stratagems. [...] You’re of noble birth and have profound cultivation. What about me? How can I be the same? First, I don’t have the foundation of cultivation. No one has ever taught me that since I was a child! Second, I don’t have any background. Do you think that my position is very solid in the Jin clan of Lanling?” What I find so intriguing about this scene is that he’s right when he says he’s different from the others both in text and on a meta level because most of the other characters are never faced with the same decisions and have a natural place within the story (apart, to some degree, WWX and XY, where also interesting parallels can be drawn). And the other characters are, in a way, self-righteous to judge him when almost none of them come out of the story without blood on their hands -- WWX’s revenge, JC torturing demonic cultivators after WWX’s death, and so on...The entire cultivation world (even NMJ! even LXC!) were complicit in the war crimes against the Wen. But when the cultivation world turns against JGY, they are the most appalled by the things I as a viewer would be the most lenient towards (murdering JGS), and don’t care at all about the thing that horrifies me the most (murdering the sex workers).

There’s an interesting post by @pumpkinpaix analysing how class dynamics work in the story, which I highly recommend! I don’t want to repeat what has been said there already in much better ways than I can, but among other things, it makes some really interesting points about how much JGY’s class is tied with his motivations.

4) I like him because when we see him on top of his game, it’s fun to watch

Aside from any analysis, part of the reason why I like him so much is that when he’s acting as a villain, he’s just so much fun to watch. When WWX breaks into his vault in paperman form and JGY has approximately 5 minutes to get rid of the head, the torture bench (?) and anything suspicious, contact and inform Su She, run to a different building and come back, and nonetheless he manages to convince everyone but WWX and LWJ that he’s the victim in this situation, it’s just. Peak entertainment? For a short time, he’s on top of the game, and then he’s backed into a corner and becomes sloppy, and finally loses it all due to sentimentality (if he didn’t want to take his mother’s body with him and say goodbye to LXC, I’m sure he could have fled the country). I think Zhu Zanjin did an amazing job as an actor to portray how JGY is constantly assessing everything, how 23638 emotions flicker over his face in half a second, how his whole body language shows the constant anxiety and pressure and stress and fear he’s under, and how we actually get to see in his microexpressions when JGY chooses a path and commits to the acting and emotional manipulation to follow it through.

5) I like him because LXC likes him

Here’s a secret: Actually, LXC is my favourite character. And LXC loves JGY a lot. So I’m kind of contractually obliged to at least love JGY a little bit as well?

On a more serious note, I’m very intrigued in their relationship because I do think what they had was genuine. I view it as two people being very open and honest and true with each other, while placing a lot of things outside the brackets and crossing them out. LXC even says that he was aware of some things JGY did (which ones? how? I need to know) but that he justified them to himself. I think they both realised that they could have had something very special, but under the given circumstances, LXC wouldn’t have been able to help JGY (see: point 2) even if he knew everything. Still, they were obviously very close and trusted each other as much as they could. I think in the end, when LXC seemed to have decided to stay and die with him, JGY pushed him away because he was the only genuinely good part of his life, and he felt like he couldn’t rightfully deprive the world of LXC. It’s all very tragic, and I’m very intrigued to explore what they could have been in a slightly softer world.

6) JGY is very small and has dimples

I can only speak for myself, but when I was watching, I was so prone at any point to believe in him no matter what was revealed. Look at him! Could this man do something wrong?

#buttercup-the-bard #ask #jin guangyao #the untamed #cql #meng yao #mdzs #my post #cql meta

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years

Text

Part 19

to the fucking NieLan arranged marriage AU I can’t stop thinking about - I’m really temped to name this “How To Communicate With Your Husband: A Narrative in Many Parts by Lan XiChen and Nie MingJue”

In the end, the official Conference is postponed for five days.

XiChen understands the reasoning behind the decision. The sects and clans that had participated in the Sunshot Campaign are determined to have a voice in something that will affect them all for decades to come. It will take time for them to gather, and it will take time for the next Chief Cultivator to be chosen. But this also means that XiChen must choose between remaining in the Nightless City for five days, at his husband’s side, or leaving for QingHe on his own.

MingJue cannot leave. Although he has made it clear that he will not take Wen RuoHan’s place, he seems to have been designated Chief Cultivator in the interim. Suddenly, no decision can be made without him, no meeting held, no task delegated. He is constantly sought after, every hour of the day, and XiChen finds himself both pleased and irritable in equal measure. His husband is a natural leader; he allows no nonsense or sect politics to influence his decisions, and it is exhilarating to watch him plow over Jin GuangShan’s veiled suggestions, Madam Yu’s blunt disrespect, and even Jiang FengMian’s patient monologues. At the same time, XiChen is no longer satisfied with a rushed kiss in the middle of the day, or the few careful ones late in the night, long after he has drifted off to sleep. Although his face heats each time he thinks of it, he wants to be back in the Unclean Realm, in his own marriage bed, with his husband at his disposal. He cannot bear the idea of being apart from MingJue again, so soon after everything that had taken place, and the thought of returning home on his own, of having to wait days to see him again, is too unsettling to even consider.

His desire to remain in close proximity to his husband is far outweighed by his urge to be far away from Wen RuoHan’s gaudy carpets, and gold wall hangings, and red linens; he decides to stay, already certain that he will hate every moment of the five days to come. On the second day however, respite comes from an unlikely source. The remainder of the Nie Sect left behind at QingHe arrives at the Nightless City gates, HuaiSang and MeiLing at their head.

They have arrived to fight, as the last message carried to QingHe had given them no certainty of victory, but all except MeiLing seem relieved to find the battle long over. XiChen is amazed but unsurprised that MeiLing has a full set of armor that is her own, a set that looks ancient and well-used. She does not discard it on her arrival, nor does she discard her saber, a heavy blade far more intimidating than any XiChen has seen so far. Instead, she barrels through the Nightless City with her brothers at her shoulders, determined to battle something after having traveled all the way from QingHe, and easily finds other things to beat into submission.

A-Sang seems slightly more subdued than he had been the last time XiChen had seen him, but his bright chatter and nonsensical observations remain unchanged. He inspects the chambers MingJue and XiChen had chosen to remain in for the next five days, and then, without a pause in some story XiChen is only half-listening to, he begins to alter the space in ways XiChen would have never thought of on his own. The Nie Sect servants are ordered to move the tea table close to the window, another is tasked with stripping the tapestries from the walls, two more are sent running to look for any cloth that is not crimson or gold. In a matter of hours, the space no longer seems as unbearable as it was, and XiChen feels overwhelmed with gratitude. He is not ashamed to admit that he tears up a little bit then, while A-Sang flutters uselessly around him, and sends more servants for another pot of tea and snacks. Afterwards, they sit in silence, and even the Nightless City suffocating breeze feels a little less oppressive.

The next day, the elders of the Lan Sect arrive, and XiChen is forced into numerous discussions that hold no interest. He understands that this is an important decision, and he is not exactly ambivalent about the choice of the next Chief Cultivator. Jin GuangShan has been playing his games, and sowing his whispers among the other sect leaders, trying to secure support even while the dead bodies were being dragged out of Wen RuoHan’s receiving hall. XiChen is very much invested in Jin GuangShan not becoming the next Chief Cultivator. But he is not ashamed to admit that he is invested in little else, and finds himself often nodding along with whatever the elders suggest, daydreaming about the next moment he and MingJue may have to themselves.

For once in his life, WangJi seems to have a better handle on the situation as a whole. He attends every meeting, voices his dissent without remorse, and continuously shows himself be just and honorable in his opinions. At the same time, Young Master Wei can often be seen rushing down the halls with a smile that could rival the sun, his robes ruffled and his hair tangled, obvious bite marks gracing his neck. XiChen is not exactly jealous of his brother, but he thinks it terribly ironic, that WangJi has so easily found the right balance, when XiChen still seems to be struggling with his own.

He does not sleep well.

Some of it is the simple inability to shift around any way he would like, without pain, without having to consciously consider how his body is positioned. He falls asleep easily, but wakes often, and each time he does, it is a little more difficult to drift back under. After three nights of this, he is exhausted by the process. MingJue had come to bed late, as he had every night since the City had fallen. XiChen had been drifting between the thin layer of sleep and deeper dreams, and he vaguely remembers lips brushing over his temple, and a sweet rush of warmth in his chest. Now, MingJue is sleeping peacefully, body curved towards XiChen’s side of the bed.

It is difficult to guess the hour in the darkness, but XiChen thinks the dawn is not too far off. He moves silently around the chambers, foregoing the trappings of propriety and status. There is no hair ornament that does not seem too heavy to bear this morning, and the clothes laid out the night before are too time consuming for his tired fingers. There is a restlessness under his skin again, one that cannot bear the idea of sitting still until the sun rises. Tying his hair off loosely with a ribbon, he shrugs on MingJue’s coat instead, and steps out into the hallway.

He has no set destination, allowing his feet to take him where they will. The palace is silent at this time of the morning, and XiChen meets no one except an occasional guard on the night duty, bowing silently before moving on. It is hard to believe, when faced with empty cavernous halls and deserted courtyards, that almost every sect and clan leader in the cultivation world is already somewhere within the palace walls. The Jin Sect Elders are still due to arrive; another handful of clan leaders who had been stationed far in the southeast, are only now crossing YiLing on their way to QiShan. But even without them, in the daylight hours, the Nightless City already feels as if it is bursting at the seams, loud, and crowded, and stifling. At this very moment, however, empty of noise, stripped of all its garish ornaments, and exposed down to its bare structural bones, XiChen thinks it does not looks so different from the Unclean Realm.

He wonders what it must feel like to Wen Qing, trapped in a place she had escaped once already, seeing the emblems of her former sect so casually tossed aside. As a child, he had loved stories of battles of wars, of empires raising and falling. But he had never thought he would see an entire sect be erased from existence in his own lifetime. He has little pity for Wen RuoHan or those who had followed him blindly, but sometimes he thinks that the cure can cause more pain more than the ailment had, just as Wen Qing’s salve had done on his injured back.

Mind preoccupied with Wen Qing, he finds that his feet had taken him to the south side of the palace, where she had taken the former healer’s chambers as her own. He has no intention of disturbing her. The south courtyard is not nearly as overwhelming as the others, and he thinks he may even settle under the tung trees for some time, and wait for the sun to rise. But the main chamber, where she had set countless bones and wrapped more than one injured limb in the last few days, is wide open and lit up brightly. She is sitting at the work bench, head bent over a a book, another two dozen precariously stacked at her right shoulder. She seems to sense him rather than hear him. Although he had considered simply continuing on, he cannot do so now that she had seen him.

“Is your back giving you pain?” she asks immediately, and he has to smile, that this is the first thing on her mind.

“No more than usual. Sleep is difficult, but the pain is bearable.”

Her expression clearly says that she does not think he is being truthful, and she rises from her seat, moving to slide the door closed.

“Let me see.”

He strips down to the waist easily, as he is only wearing two layers, the outer one quite a bit larger than his own tends to be. Her fingers are careful even as they press here and there, searching for something only she can see.

“It is healing well,” she says after a while, “I believe it may be time to start treatment to minimize scarring.”

While she is riffling through the shelves, he shrugs his his robe back on, and tries to find the right words for the questions that have been chasing back and forth across his mind.

In the end, he has nothing more eloquent than: “Have you been well?”

“I have been busy,” she says, without looking up from the small jars lined up on the counter, “Many of the sect ladies want to be of use, but know nothing of medicine, and are incapable of taking instruction.”

She pauses, then adds somewhat begrudgingly, “The Sect Leader Jiang’s daughter is ... adequate.”

XiChen does not know Jiang YanLi well, and can only vaguely picture her face. He knows she is here, in the Nightless City, but has not seen her yet, and every attempt to remember their last meeting only brings about an impression of a sweet smile.

Wen Qing brings him two jars of ointment, one thick and white in color, and the other slick and clear.

“This one is for your back,” she says, tapping the white one, “twice a day, once in the morning, and once in the evening. If Sect Leader Nie is too preoccupied for the task, I will find the time. It will not eliminate the scarring, but it should decrease the worst of it.”

XiChen is still flustered at the insinuation that MingJue should be the one to apply it, when she moves on smoothly to the next jar, “I highly doubt either one of you came to the Nightless City prepared to stay, or to engage in more intimate activities. I know many of the others have not, as I have given out nearly twenty of these in three days. The supply is already low, so use it sparingly. And I do not think I need to tell you to be careful of your injury.”

XiChen feels his face light on fire, and fumbles the jar, nearly dropping it on the floor.

“I-- this is-- not necessary.”

She is already walking back to her workbench, unruffled by his embarrassment, “No? Keep it regardless. Wen RuoHan had always insisted on the best quality medicine that can be produced, even in this-- particular area. I will wager you will not find one of equal value in QingHe.”

Face burning so brightly that even his eyes feel hot, XiChen quickly tucks away the jars into the pockets of the coat, determined to go no further with this conversation. Still, it takes him a few moments to gather his wits, and stop the unwelcome suggestions his mind insists on providing, of every possible way the ointment could be used.

He clears his throat, “Is-- is your brother adjusting well?”

“As well as can be expected,” she says, eyes back on the book, “Considering he has to live with having killed his Sect Leader without reaping any of the benefits. If such an act can be said to have benefits.”

XiChen is not quite sure how to respond to such a statement. He had thought himself hardened to blunt speech after having lived in the Unclean Realm for months, but Wen Qing still manages to throw him off balance.

“It was kind of Sect Leader Nie to have Nie ZhongHui take my brother under his protection,” she says after a moment, looking up, “Do thank him for this consideration, as I have not had a chance to speak to him yet.”

“Of course,” XiChen says, although he is not aware of any such thing.

He does remember seeing Wen Ning by Nie ZhongHui’s side more than once, but had not given it much thought. She says nothing else however, looking as if she means to continue with her work, and would prefer to do so undisturbed.

He bows, “Thank you, Healer Nie. I will take my leave.”

She snorts at the title, but tilts her head in acknowledgment.

XiChen feels the jar of ointment burning in the pocket all the way back to his chambers.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #lan xichen #nielan #ficlet #m #arranged marriage au pt. 19 #editing editing #will probably have the last two parts published by the morning #since i think i wanna post to ao3 too #and might need to reformat #but yeah #spoiler: they will not be using it #since it's been like 12 chapters of yearning #it'll probably all be over in like 3 embarrassing seconds #lmao

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sunriserose1023 · 4 years

Text

Starting Over

WARNINGS: Angst, memory flashbacks, lies, painful remembering WORD COUNT: 4987 AUTHOR’S NOTE: Part Five of the “When You Come Back to Me Again” series. Sorry it’s taken so long. This chapter is filled with (what I hope are) subtle nuances that are laying the groundwork to further this story. I can’t wait to hear the feedback on this one. (Also, I’m going to really try not to leave you guys hanging for too long until the next part.)

MASTERLIST

You didn’t understand how you could possibly be tired after being in a year-long coma, but you were. You couldn’t fall asleep at night without Betty nearby, and even though you knew she was terrified every time you closed your eyes and you hated doing it to her, you kept a tight hold of her hand until your body relaxed into sleep.

You shocked the doctors during one of their many examinations. Your father had been in the room then, watching with wide eyes as you climbed out of bed and walked across the room to get a book Betty had left you. She usually made herself scarce when your father was around, something you planned to dig into at a later time. You stopped on the way back to your bed, book in your hand, raising an eyebrow at the gaping mouths around you.

You shouldn’t be able to walk. You shouldn’t even be able to shift position in the bed. The physical therapists came and just watched you, fascinated with how your muscles hadn’t atrophied, how you were just as strong, if not more, as you were a year ago.

That fact left Betty uneasy.

You were released from the hospital a year and two days after you’d been brought in. The doctors had run every test they could think of, but when everything came back normal, you begged for them to let you go home.

Despite your father’s many pleas for you to live with him so he could take care of you (which you knew really meant his staff could look after you), you moved into Betty’s apartment. It was a small but quaint space, just enough room for the two of you. She’d taken a sabbatical from her job, so she was able to help you settle in and get comfortable, while also doing her best to help you fill in the blanks.

But you could tell she was holding something back.

You didn’t know what, exactly. Your father was also acting weird, and you were determined to get to the bottom of it, but you were also trying to adjust to a life you had no memory of.

Betty found you in the little breakfast nook, curled up on the bench seat, watching the rain fall through the window.

“Hi, honey.”

You smiled over your shoulder at her, then turned your face back to the window. Betty walked over to stand behind you, gently massaging your shoulders.

“You okay?”

You nodded, jumping the slightest bit at the lightning that flashed. Betty continued her gentle movements.

“I didn’t know we were in for a storm today.” “I thought it would snow some more.” “The temperature’s supposed to drop later.”

You nodded again, leaning back against her. Betty didn’t say anything, and you were quiet when you spoke.

“It’s so weird.” “What is?” “Being awake.”

Her hands faltered just a bit, and you shook your head before you went on.

“I feel like Rip Van Winkle or something. Like I just went to sleep, and then woke up almost ten years later.”

Betty nodded.

“It’s got to be jarring.” “It is.”

You licked your lips, then spoke softly.

“Have we been close? In my missing years, I mean. Like we always were?”

Betty smiled, moving to sit beside you on the bench.

“Yes. You’re my best friend, and you always have been.”

You smiled, turning towards her and leaning your head on your hand.

“Was it just us?” “The Ross girls against the world, baby.”

You gave a soft laugh, then shook your head.

“Did …”

You sighed and Betty gently squeezed your ankle.

“What?”

You lifted your eyes to hers.

“Have I had a boyfriend or anything? I mean … no one’s come by since I woke up, so I assume I’m single now, but … have I been single for the past eight years?”

Betty swallowed, trying to keep her face from showing what her heart was screaming. She looked out the window again as she spoke.

“You went on a few dates here and there.” “But nothing … steady?”

Betty smiled as she looked over her shoulder at you.

“Steady? What are you, fourteen and in Grease?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Seriously.”

Betty licked her lips, glancing away as she thought of the man who had sat beside her in the hospital, absently gripping her hand as he begged God for you. You deserved to know the truth. You deserved to remember Steve and how much you apparently loved him. She turned to you, taking in a breath.

“I don’t want to have to separate the two of you. But make no mistake—I will do whatever it takes to keep my daughter safe.”

As your father’s voice rang in her mind, Betty swallowed again, making herself smile, lifting a hand to smooth over your hair.

“I don’t know, honey. You may have had a piece on the side you never told me about.”

You laughed.

“Now we both know I could never keep anything from you.”

Betty smiled even as her heart was breaking. She stood up, turning away from you before she burst into tears, making her way to the refrigerator.

“You hungry?” “I could eat.” “French toast?”

You smiled.

“Sounds good. Can I help?” “Nah. Let me handle it.” “Well, I’ll fix lunch. Or dinner, if you want.”

Betty nodded.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Betty had offered to take you by the shop you’d opened, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go. The shop had been a dream of yours for as long as you could remember, but to think of it now …

You couldn’t remember it. Not the inventory, the books, whether or not you had any other employees. It was a complete blank, and you had decided you’d be better off to leave it that way. You put Betty in charge of selling it, and you set your mind on finding a new purpose.

You found it in the most surprising place.

You walked into Betty’s apartment and put your purse on the kitchen counter. You rubbed your hands together and blew on them, rubbing your arms before you made your way to the coffee pot.

“Do you drink coffee, Miss Ross?”

You whirled around, eyes darting around the room. You’d heard the voice as though it was right in your ear, but you were alone in the apartment. You stepped away from the coffee pot, rubbing your hands along your arms as you walked into the living room, coming to a hard stop when the door opened.

Betty set her bags down and reached a hand up to fluff her hair, stopping when she saw you.

“Honey? Are you okay?”

Your eyes were wide when you looked to her. She hurriedly set the remainder of her stuff aside, walking over and taking your hands.

“What is it?”

You shook your head, looking up at her.

“I don’t … I don’t know.” “What happened?”

You shook your head again.

“I was … going to get some coffee. But I … I heard this voice.” “A voice?”

You nodded, studying the room over Betty’s shoulder.

“Like whoever had said it was standing right next to me, but there’s no one here.” “Do you think it was a memory or something?”

You nodded.

“I think so. It had to be, right?”

You stared into your sister’s blue eyes, and Betty smiled as she moved a hand to brush some hair back from your face.

“You’ve been through a traumatic event, Y/N. You’ve lost a big chunk of your life. It’s only natural that lost memories would start returning.” “And have no rhyme or reason with them?”

Betty nodded. You sighed, and she rubbed your shoulder before walking towards the kitchen. You followed her, taking a seat in the breakfast nook while Betty pulled out her tea kettle—an old one that whistled when it was ready—and put it on the stove. She turned back to you and nodded.

“What was it?”

You smiled.

“I was reaching for your coffee pot and I heard a guy asking me if I drank coffee.”

You shrugged your shoulders, then sighed.

“So that leads me to believe that, if nothing else, I’ve probably been asked out for coffee at least once.”

You said the words with a laugh, shaking your head as you looked down at your hands. Betty closed her eyes and sighed, licking her lips before looking to you. After a quiet moment, you lifted your head and smiled.

“Guess what I did today.” “What did you do?” “I got a job.”

Betty’s eyebrows raised and you made a face.

“Well … sort of.” “Details.”

You glanced back at your hands and pressed your lips together, then met her eyes.

“I’m going to be working with Dad.” “In his office?” “No, in his campaign.”

Betty’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Campaign for what?”

You couldn’t help the smile.

“Dad’s going to run for President, Betty. And I’m going to help him.”

You watched the color drain from Betty’s face as she reached out a hand, fumbling for the back of one of the chairs, pulling it out and sitting down hard. You shook your head, getting up from your spot and walking over to her.

“Are you okay? What’s going on?”

Betty shook her head, closing her eyes as she gave a shaky breath. She leaned forward and put her head in her hands and you swallowed before you sat in the chair beside her.

“Betty, what’s going on between you and Dad?”

She didn’t move and you shook your head.

“I know something’s up. Did something happen while I was out?”

She lifted her head and met your eyes.

“You weren’t ‘out,’ Y/N. You weren’t asleep. You were in a coma. There was nothing they could do to wake you up, and Dad wasn’t there.”

You blinked and she went on.

“I was there with you. I spent every day at your bedside. Dad was there once. Once, Y/N.” “I didn’t know that.” “Of course not, because who’s going to go against the General and tell you? He was so busy, trying to bring the people who hurt you to justice and—“ “Whoa, whoa, what?”

Betty looked to you, blue eyes blazing. You shook your head.

“What do you mean ‘the people who hurt me?’ I was in an accident, wasn’t I?”

Betty swallowed, blinking before she nodded.

“Right. Yes.”

You blinked, shaking your head once, speaking softly.

“Are you lying to me?”

Betty met your eyes, and you could almost see her mind churning. She licked her lips, then shook her head.

“Dad was … he didn’t want to believe it was just an accident. He thought maybe someone ran you off the road, or did a hit-and-run or something. So he went on these … wild goose chases. No matter what I said, he wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t let it go. And I … I just felt really alone.”

She looked down at her hands, tears in her eyes.

“I just haven’t forgiven him for … I guess I feel like he abandoned me when I needed him the most.”

You sighed.

“Honey, I’m so sorry. I know it must not be easy with me running to him all the time. And now I’m going to be working with him.”

Betty smiled as she looked up at you.

“Don’t feel sorry for me. I’ll get over it. Won’t be the first time ol’ Thunderbolt has let me down.”

You smiled a sad smile and she shook her head.

“So tell me about this campaign thing. What are you going to be doing?” “To be quite honest, I think I’m going to be the star attraction.”

Betty raised her eyebrow and you shrugged.

“Sleeping Beauty, for lack of a better term? The princess in the tower who was in a coma but is now awake, her Daddy’s pride and joy.”

You sighed.

“I guess I’ll garner sympathy votes if nothing else.”

Betty swallowed.

“You don’t have to do that.” “Oh, I know. But he’s going to travel all over the place campaigning, plus do all his Secretary of State duties, and he asked me to go with him.”

You shrugged your shoulders, looking down at your hands. Betty’s hand reached over to take one of yours and you lifted your head to meet her eyes. She smiled at you, moving her other hand to pat yours.

“I think it’ll be good for you.” “Really?” “Really. You can travel with Dad, see the world. Win the hearts of everyone you come in contact with.”

You rolled your eyes, gently shoving her shoulder and she leaned backwards, a wide smile on her face. She nodded, patting your hand again.

“It’ll be good.”

You nodded, giving her a smile as you lifted a shoulder.

“And maybe putting my mind to work will bring back some memories.”

Betty smiled.

“Maybe so, honey.”

She patted your hand one more time, then stood up, walking to the stove, pulling the whistling tea kettle off the burner. You nodded when she turned and raised an eyebrow at you, watching as she fixed two cups of tea. She walked back to sit beside you, setting one of the cups down in front of you, lifting her own to her lips and gently blowing on it.

“What is that?” “Tea.” “Is it any good?”

You smiled, lifting the cup to eye-level.

“Try a sip.” “I don’t know about—“ “I don’t have cooties. You can drink after me.” “It’s not your cooties I’m worried about.”

You laughed, bringing the cup back down.

“Such a baby.” “What did you just say?” “Nothing.” “Oh, those were fighting words. Give me that damn cup.”

You blinked as the laughter trailed off in your ears. You stared at the cup before lifting your eyes to Betty, who raised an eyebrow as she sipped her tea.

“You okay?”

You swallowed and nodded, lifting the cup and gently blowing on it. You’d heard that same male voice, playful and gentle this time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask your sister about it. Instead, you stared into your cup, waiting until the steam had settled before you took a sip.

Thaddeus announced his intent to run for President during a gala. He brought you up on stage with him and you smiled at the crowd, laughing at the appropriate points during his speech, keeping an eye on Betty as she stayed near the back of the room, deep in conversation with the man you recognized from the hospital, the one who’d been your nurse.

After the success of the D.C. gala, Thaddeus put you in charge of planning another one in New York City. You and Betty took the train to Manhattan—she’d insisted on going with you, and you didn’t feel like arguing—and you stared out the window the entire time.

You’d booked a hotel in the middle of Times Square because you loved it there, tourists be damned. You stood in front of the hotel, amidst the hustle and bustle, closing your eyes and breathing in the cool air. You took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, setting off on your errands.

You’d convinced Betty to go shopping, because you felt smothered by all her hovering. You were going to the venue where the gala would be held tomorrow night, just to make sure the decorations were coming along to your standards and to double-check the menu.

You walked by the Brooklyn Bridge, coming to a stop and staring at it. You felt what you can only describe as a magnetic pull, and you started walking across it. You stopped and walked to the bridge’s side, staring out over Brooklyn.

“See, there’s all these little sections that make up Brooklyn. DUMBO, Coney Island, Bensonhurst. But over there, down by the port? That’s Red Hook. That’s my neck of the woods.”

You stumbled to one of the benches that were spaced out along the bridge and you sat down. You put your head in your hands and winced at the ache throbbing behind your temples.

That same voice had been echoing in your ear. Whoever it was, he was from here. And you’d apparently visited New York with him, so that he could show you where he was from.

“Excuse me. Are you okay?”

You lifted your head, eyebrows raising when you noticed that the man in front of you was wearing sunglasses and holding a long white cane. You sniffled, unaware that you’d even been crying. You nodded, then spoke softly.

“I’m fine.” “No offense, but it doesn’t sound that way.”

You smiled, sniffling again before looking up at the man.

“Would you like to sit?” “Thank you.”

He sat beside you, folding up his cane. He sighed, shifting as far back as he could go.

“I had a long night and slept through my stop on the subway. Decided I’d get some fresh air before I tried again.”

You smiled.

“Coffee might help.” “You asking me out?”

You laughed.

“No offense, but I don’t even know your name.”

He smiled as he shifted, holding out a hand.

“Matt Murdock.” “Y/N Ross.”

His face faltered just a bit and you couldn’t stop the smile.

“So you’ve heard of me.” “Guilty.”

You gave a quiet sigh, turning back and staring out over the city.

“I’m glad to hear you’re doing better. It was … touch and go for a while, right?” “That’s what they tell me.”

The two of you were quiet, and Matt leaned closer to you.

“You’re based in D.C., right? What brings you here?” “My father. He’s announcing his Presidential candidacy at a gala we’re throwing tomorrow night.” “Oh, I think we got an invite to that.” “Oh?”

He smiled when you looked back at him.

“I’m a partner at Nelson and Murdock.” “Ugh, you’re a lawyer?”

He laughed, picking up on the playful tone of your voice.

“Guilty again, I’m afraid.” “And here I thought we could be friends.”

You gave a dramatic sigh and he laughed again. Your phone chirped in your pocket and you brought it out, still unused to the sophisticated iPhone. You sighed as you read the alarm that you were needed at the venue in five minutes. You resigned yourself to being late and turned to your partner on the bench.

“I hate to run out on good company, but …” “Oh no, it’s fine. Most people take off running when they find out I’m a lawyer.”

You laughed, moving to lay a hand on his arm.

“To tell you the truth, I shouldn’t have even been out here. I got distracted and now I’ll be late.” “Where are you headed off to?”

You spouted off the name of the venue where the gala would be and Matt smiled.

“That’s not too far from my office. Would you mind some company?”

You found yourself smiling.

“I think I’d like that.”

Betty sipped her champagne as she looked over the room. She was glad you chose this venue in Hell’s Kitchen, instead of one in a different part of the city. Betty lowered her head as a pain stuck in her heart when she thought of Harlem and the last time she’d been there, after Bruce had destroyed it. She shook her head and finished the last of her champagne, eyes searching for you.

You were wearing a pale pink gown, sequins sparkling in the light as you laughed and spoke with a small crowd. Betty smiled when she saw you, her smile widening when you spotted her, a wide smile coming over your face. You left the crowd that had gathered around you, making your way to Betty, hugging her.

“Hi!” “Hey, sweetie. You look gorgeous.”

You waved a hand at her, looping your arm through hers as you turned and looked over the room.

“Good turnout, huh?” “Great turnout.”

You nodded, a smile coming to your lips.

“Can I tell you something?” “Anything.” “Do you see that guy over there?” “Narrow it down for me, babe. There’s a hundred guys over there.”

You smiled.

“The one with the sunglasses on.” “Seriously? Who wears—“ “He’s blind, Betty.”

She winced, cheeks growing red, and you patted her arm.

“It’s okay. We met earlier, just so happened to have this gala in common.” “Y/N.”

Betty blinked at you and you shrugged.

“He’s a nice guy and we just talked. Had a good conversation, that’s all.” “But you … want to have another conversation?”

You pursed your lips, shrugging again.

“I mean, I wouldn’t hate it.”

Betty blinked as she looked out over the crowd, eyes landing on the man in the dark suit. He had on a blood red tie, and a white cane that he kept close to himself. Another man was standing beside him, lips moving as he spoke, making Betty wonder if this man was relaying details about the room to the blind man.

“His name is Matt. Matt Murdock.”

Betty’s eyes widened.

“Of Nelson and Murdock?”

You nodded and she gave a shaky sigh. Betty knew that while you were in the hospital, the General had been watching the Nelson and Murdock firm closely, once he’d found out about the masked vigilante who frequented Hell’s Kitchen. There was no way a blind man could be a vigilante, so the General eventually gave up. But Betty had come too far to lose you now.

“Maybe you could have another conversation … if we weren’t headed to L.A. tomorrow.”

You groaned.

“I know. I just love New York. If I could live anywhere in the world, I think it would be right here.”

You took in a breath as your vision went fuzzy, that gentle male voice sounding in your ear.

“You know … someday when I’m ready to retire, I want to come back here.” “To Brooklyn?” “Yeah. Think you could make it as a New Yorker?” “Long as you’re here, I think I can manage.”

You groaned, closing your eyes before opening them again.

“Damn it, Y/N, talk to me before I make a scene.”

You groaned again, grabbing Betty’s hand and squeezing it. With her focus on you and your eyes closed, you and Betty both missed Foggy Nelson’s eyes on you, a few seconds before he murmured to the man at his side, who gripped his cane just a bit tighter.

You blinked and loosened your hold on Betty, wincing when your eyes met hers. She shook her head and you gave a quiet whine.

“Hurts.” “What does?” “My head.” “Do you want to go?”

You nodded, and Betty pulled you to her side, leading you out the back of the venue. You took in great gulps of air when you and Betty burst through the door, and you left her behind to walk a little, wrapping your arms around yourself in the cool night air. After a moment, Betty spoke.

“What just happened?”

You shook your head, and she stepped closer to you.

“No, you … you were in physical pain, Y/N. You kept making this quiet … wounded sound and I can’t … god, it hurt to hear it.”

You gave a shaky breath and turned to face her, and her eyes softened at the tears slipping down your cheeks. You shook your head when she walked to you, reaching shaking hands to take hold of her arms.

“Sweetheart, talk to me.” “It hurts.” “What hurts?”

You let out a sob as you lifted your eyes to your sister’s.

“Remembering.”

Betty shook her head, worried eyes locked onto you. You let out another sob, gripping her arms tighter.

“I keep … hearing voices and … I might see something, but it … it hurts. It hurts so bad.”

Betty pulled you into her arms and you put your forehead on her shoulder as you cried. She gently rubbed your back, patting your hair as she whispered to you.

“It’s okay, sweet girl. Just breathe. I’m here.”

You gave a slow, shuddered breath, and Betty swallowed hard as she closed her eyes before her own tears could fall.

“Were you scared? When you had to take the plane down?”

He nodded, hand clasped with yours. You spoke again, just as softly.

“What did you think?”

He sighed, leaning back as he shook his head.

“It was weird. I knew what I had to do, and I knew the repercussions. I knew I wasn’t making it out of there. It was absolutely terrifying, but Peggy … she talked me through it. We talked like we were going to see each other later that day.” “That must have made it worse.” “In a way, yes. Because I never knew what my last word to her may be. But then again, the last thing I ever heard was the voice of the woman I loved, and that … it made it all seem worth it.”

You blinked your eyes open when your body jolted sideways. You turned your head to see your sister beside you, white-knuckling the armrest between you.

“Betty?” “I’m fine. Just a little—“

She gasped as you were jolted again, and she squeezed her eyes shut, exhaling forcefully through her teeth.

“Turbulence.” “Are we there yet?”

She nodded, and you realized the jolting was partially turbulence, partially descent. You shifted in your seat and leaned your head back, closing your eyes.

“Were you dreaming?”

You kept your eyes closed as you nodded to answer Betty’s question. You didn’t offer up any details, so she spoke again.

“Memory or dream?” “I honestly can’t tell. It seemed like a memory, but we were talking about … god, Betty, I don’t even know. I think it was a plane crash? A suicide mission? And then he said something about the woman he loved and he wasn’t talking about me, so …”

You made a frustrated noise.

“I think I’m confusing reality with a movie or something.”

Betty swallowed, closing her eyes for a moment before she opened them again.

“‘He?’”

You nodded.

“It’s a man’s voice. Sometimes I can see … like his hands, but I can never make out his face. I don’t know who he is, but I keep hearing him.” “Nice voice?”

You gave a quiet laugh.

“It is. Kind of deep, very masculine. Slight accent.” “Hmm.”

You elbowed her and Betty laughed, sucking in a breath as the plane jolted one last time as it landed. When the plane came to a stop, you and Betty both gave long exhales of relief. The two of you stood and Betty took your bags out of the overhead compartment. You pulled your suitcase behind you, smiling and nodding to the flight attendants and the pilot as you and Betty made your way into the airport. The two of you made it out of the airport, where a car was waiting, and Betty pulled her sunglasses out of her purse.

“Welcome to L.A., my dear.”

You sipped a glass of champagne, sighing as you set the glass on a small table. You picked your skirt up and made your way out of the ballroom, walking down a hall and stopping to look out a window.

“Miss Ross?”

You turned at the sound of the feminine voice to find a tall, slender woman coming your way. Her hair was cut short, and she had a smile on her face, her golden gown sparkling in the low lights of the hallway. She held out a hand to you, shaking yours as she introduced herself.

“Hope Van Dyne.” “Y/N Ross.”

Hope stepped around you and you gave a quiet laugh.

“I enjoy parties like this, but it …” “Gets a little stuffy, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, smiling at the woman smiling back at you. Hope crossed her arms as she looked out the same window you’d been staring.

“It’s hard to see the moon through all the smog, but it’s still a pretty night.” “It is.”

You felt an itch between your shoulder blades and you turned to look at the woman beside you.

“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

She smiled as she answered, keeping her blue eyes trained out the window.

“Hope.” “Do I know you, Hope?”

She shook her head.

“No, we’ve never met.”

You swallowed, glancing down the hallway, looking back when Hope gave a quiet chuckle.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Miss Ross.” “You can understand my apprehension.” “More than you realize.”

Hope sighed as she turned to face you.

“Trust me when I say, you are the safest woman on the planet right now.”

You tilted your head as you stared at her, and Hope shook her head.

“I understand you’ve lost your memories?” “For the past eight years, yes.”

Hope slowly nodded.

“Miss Ross, some very important events occurred in those eight years. Things you need to remember.”

You shook your head.

“I can’t just make myself remember things. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Hope slowly nodded.

“I need you to try harder.” “Why?” “Because you’re not the only one who’s lost something from those years.”

Your eyes widened, and you turned at the sound of footsteps rushing down the hallway. You blinked when you saw Betty and your father, narrowing your eyes when you saw the relief on his face. You jerked when you heard a quiet buzzing at your ear, lifting a hand to swat at the bug you couldn’t see. You turned back to face Hope, sucking in a breath when you found the hallway empty.

“Y/N, you had us scared to death. No one could find you!”

You accepted Betty’s hug, staring over her shoulder, where the woman— Hope— had just been talking to you.

She had ... right?

TAGS: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan, @captain-rogers-beard, @bionic-buckyb, @deaniebeanie666, @shynara51, @wolfarrowepz, @captain-s-rogers, @m-a-t-91, @lovemesomepietro, @the-obsessive-fangirl, @winchesterenthusiast, @iamwarrenspeace, @until-theend-oftheline, @evansrogerskitten, @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl, @thisismysecrethappyplace, @jjsoccer11, @theotherplath, @unapologeticallymimi, @the-obsessive-fangirl, @beardburnsupersoldiers, @geek-and-proud, @shynara51, @moonlessnight14, @xhoneybearsx, @achishisha, @castellandiangelo, @stressedandbandobessed7771, @get-loki, @theladybiers, @patzammit, @maddie-laufeyson, @queenoftrash97, @xxashy999xx, @oliviaadamswrites, @theunofficialduke, @mizzzpink, @sergeantliz, @sea040561, @nerdy-bookworm-1998, @potteryourotter, @animegirlgeeky, @capsiclesdoll, @their-bibliophile, @thefandomplace, @peaceinourtime82, @fallenoutofrose, @profoundllamanickeleggs, @geeksareunique, @heyyouwiththeassbutt, @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall, @chrisevansgirl, @lili-ann-love, @sister-of-stars, @distractedgemini, @walkingchemicalfire, @buckybarneshairpullingkink

#marvel fanfiction #steve rogers x female reader #mcu fanfiction #mcu reader insert #captain america x reader #marvel au #mcu au #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #canon adjacent #female reader #marvel reader insert #when you come back to me again series

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cloveroctobers · 4 years

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HENRIK LILJENQUIST—

IG info/Bio: @/adventuresbyhenrik | 53.1k followers — “imma wild boi🌿🌏🧗 | happily taken👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

23 (24) years old

Parents are both Swedish and only speak Swedish, leaving henrik to also become fluent

His father Halvi is a pilot

His mother Lova is a race car driver

Siblings? Probably a brother, named Jahan & younger by two or three years + they get along quite well

Born & raised in Isle of Wight, England + loves it there & thinks it’s the best place for him to live, it’s his own private island in his mind plus he’s always finding something to do. He stays active

Climbing & wilderness survival instructor, he gets to talk as much as he wants while also teaching people AND all while being active! Sounds like the perfect job for him

Probably developed ADHD around his pre-teen age, leaving his parents to find him something he enjoys + can slow down and focus on

used to be on meds for it

Was well-known in high school, probably in the yearbook club since he was able to run around & get to know people but was kinda shit at knowing the functions of a camera

His selfie game has gotten a lot better now but he mostly posts anything but his face. You’ll see more of his face on his stories & location shots on his feed

Feels his hair is his best physical feature & his prized possession, would never THINK about cutting it. Even just a trim is a bit much for him

Always tries to be positive but at the same time can be condescending since he sometimes won’t pick his words wisely ex.) when he gave MC a backhanded “compliment” about makeup, being active, + wanting them to “think of others ” feelings — just because someone is opposite from you doesn’t mean you have to shit on the way they carry themselves...that’s my issue with him

maybe he’s a Taurus?

Loves fall & spring, more so fall since that’s when the weather feels nicest to him plus allergy season is a REAL bitch

The guy’s real Adventurous & always managing to find something to do. If you’re ever bored just hit him up, he has plenty of recommendations

Family owns a cottage & he’s the one who goes out there more than his own family does! “You should just sell it to me at this point!” He tells his parents over dinner often & it is strongly considered

Has five birds & a husky, when he goes on road trips they’re always with him. Which can get a little hectic at times but they’re his family, he’s a, “birdog dad”

BLAKE secretly dislikes them all, feeling like they take up space sometimes (especially when she wants to cuddle) but she deals with it since she cares for the guy — yes, they’re still dating

She’s been convincing him to cut a few inches off of his hair which he took like a slap in the face, “that’s like me asking you to quit speaking up for humans!” “No, no it’s not.”

They’re polar opposites with flaws which causes disagreements between the two of them by putting each other in their places but they learn to compromise? (*insert eartha Kitt gif laughing here*] if they want this to work

His mother seems to be the only one who dislikes blake (she strongly feels he should have bought MC back home...that’s right she watched the show from time to time. Not always since she doesn’t care for reality tv but her friends encouraged her to watch bits and pieces) while his dad and brother approve

It is tense when Blake and his mom are in the same room which makes Henrik sad since he believes Blake deserves a chance. He took a chance on her and it seems to be going pretty well so why couldn’t his mother just be happy for him like the rest of the family is?

Henrik loves his low-maintenance girls who are open to trying new things with him, Blake is usually down most of the time but she likes her personal space too..which henrik struggles to understand

He wants her to live with him, he’s sure his parents will let him have the cottage if Blake decides to live with him but Blake loves her freedom in Kingston

It’s hidden but I feel like he might be one of those guys that feels like “a woman should follow a man” since that’s what his father installed into his boys— which failed because his wife isn’t just a housewife, she has goals and went after them

I feel like Blake turns to social media almost always to post about her feelings (I can’t remember what I picked the first time around as my occupation but as I’m currently playing I picked human rights campaigner so) but it’s mostly subtle shade & it always goes recognized by fans which brings drama between her, mc x Bobby

Henrik jumps in because what kind of guy would he be if he didn’t have his gf’s back? Doesn’t care for the drama but he & Bobby usually said slick shit to each other in the villa, it’s safe to say they’re not really friends but they’re not enemies either that’s mostly between their gf/wife

Henrik doesn’t care enough about Bobby to dislike him but he won’t put up with his shit any longer and what easier way to do that than online? He feels like they can settle this with a phone call but Blake & MC aren’t with the shits and don’t want their men speaking to each other

Henrik & Bobby eventually have a chat in secret anyways

Henrik warns Blake that this can effect her job status if she doesn’t calm down since she uses social media for her cause

She usually knows when to stop but can’t help it if it slips out sometimes

They talk it out and move on usually with whatever fun idea henrik may have

Owns a ford bronco from the 90’s that used to be his uncle’s who builds tree houses for a living and is still running, a jeep gladitor, or some sort of pickup truck

Knows how to make the best apricot jam

All about saving the bees

Loves animals, probably on his journey to veganism if he’s not already there

We all know this fucking guy likes eating M0sS

“Embarrassing fact” but uh big fan of twilight, feels like Seth Clearwater and him are meant to be best buds but he also stans the Volturi 😷

Him and Lucas of course remained the best of mates, since they live 2 hrs away from each other and are always busy living their lives they always have to plan out when they can hangout but that fails 60% of the time when henrik pops up at Lucas’ job or at his flat not giving him a choice but to hang out

They’re always vacationing together too? Sure Henrik is his own version of low-key while Lucas likes a bit of luxury...they still find a balance to just have a good time regardless if they live different lifestyles...they’re basically married

Always texting if they’re not hanging out, henrik with his memes that Lucas doesn’t understand & Lucas just checking in on henrik’s well being which leads the conversation to many topics

He’s actually cool with Gary now? They like/comment on each other’s posts & even text here and there

Even ran into Rocco once on a road trip, that was interesting but when life gives you lemons...we’ll just say that

Even him and Ibrahim share recommendations through text or DM’s which is nice! Henrik is always down for friends even tho they’re not like his personal friends (except for Lucas, he fits into his criteria)

Most of his work is physical and talking but he goes the extra mile by hiking every Sunday either with his friends, Blake, or family — he’s genuinely likes being one with nature

If he’s at the cottage, he’s always outside, chopping extra wood, making sure the yard looks like it belongs on a magazine, or takes the boat out on lake to nap since he doesn’t like to fish as much anymore

Currently trying to grow strawberries but some animal keeps eating them :/

Adores adventure time, the x-files, bobs burgers + animal planet, and travel channels—like he’s a real dad

If he could shower outside everyday, he would, it’s such a freeing experience to him

His outings consist of being in the woods 24/7 so in his mind when he brings Blake out there with him, it’s a version of a date, whenever they spend time together is a date to him, which she has to remind him that she wants to do something different like getting dressed up every now and then + go out to dinner which he HATES but he’ll do his best to please her, as long as the restaurant is more earthy than snobby he’s okay

100% would survive the apocalypse, he knows how to make due with what he’s got, he’s always been that way

Enjoys rom-com’s so he’ll laugh at how cringe they are but still enjoy it, indie films, ALITA was the best film of 2019 to him & currently his fav film is, “the call of the wild” with Harrison Ford

His favorite films ever are Indiana Jones, Lara Coft: Tomb raider, Terminator, and I am legend

Aliens ARE real, they’re out there and he’ll be part of the reason they’ve been exposed

I feel like he wanted to be an astronaut growing up but then realized he’d be a confined space for long periods of time and said cancel that shit lol + he isn’t the greatest at science. History? He did real well in that subject

I think he loves Lorde, listens to Bon Iver—especially on early morning commutes to work, Rex Orange County, Omar Apollo, Joji, the nbhd, the driver era, kid cudi...yktfv

Celeb crushes?/types: The main girls from Charlie’s angels 2019, Alexa PenaVega... “you know Carmen from spy kids?” Diana silvers, Dove Cameron, JAMIE CHUNG, & VANESSA HUDGENS

Anthem = Wallows, “OK”

#litg #litg2 #litg s2 #litg henrik #litg au #litg headcanon #litg headcanons #litg Blake #litg Lucas #litg bobby #litg mc #edited cause I wasn’t aware the mans was actually Swedish oops

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isaacathom · 1 year

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giving my ttrpg characters goals at the outset is something i really should do more of

like. so Naielle has the goal, however vague and ephemeral, of 'doing good things using her warlock pact', to make the whole affair 'worth it' in the long run. that means she ends up doing the main quest of her campaign, and only rarely deviates from it to stand by her moral principle, because they largely align. its not a huge goal. but it does inform her. there's the side goal of reuniting with her fiancee, but at the campaigns open she considered that very secondary, and a long ways off. now its a bit more complicated, but she would not consider for a moment leaving the jeopardy to do that. not unless she thought she could get back.

florian had a nominal goal of getting enough money to pay off his debts, which is what brought him into the party in the first place. thats a goal thats thoroughly been left in the dirt, in part because he now reasons that it hardly matters what debts his father had accumulated when the old bastard has probably been killed by invading soldiers. he's a free man at this point. he doesnt even plan to go home, for fucks sake. so he's just chilling. but the goal was useful for the early campaign to figure out his vibe - now we're coasting on accumulated trust and the like.

zimri's the really unfortunate one, because the nature of the adventure path means they dont know what theyve done and where they've been. zimri has no personal goal, not one they can make headway on through the quests course. earn money to start up another bookshop when they get back? eh. poor zimri. theyre just along for the ride.

whereas all these hypothetical bitches ive got running around - pirates and paladins and moon witches - all have clear goals, external to whatever campaign quests might arise, or smth. the quest would inform them, the goal inform the quest, but they are separate. technically. the moon witch's concept suggests the quest is the goal but on a slant, because shes an antaognistic concept, but heyo. pirate and paladin out here trying to get wealth and resources to do specific things, help specific people, where the actions taken to acquire those things are secondary. well, maybe less so for the paladin, who is deeply principled on the matter, but the pirate wouldnt give much of a shit the method so long as it had the result she wanted

idk. goals are neat.

#i just want excuses to ramble about my ocs lmao #the pirate was one of my first character concepts and i clean forgot her until a few months back doing 'research'#(reading my blog) and going oh! well damn. so shes back in the shuffle #paladins the recent one. moon witch has TECHNICALLY been played but she and Devin aren't really the same #so while they have a common origin the result is different. doesnt count. devins not the moon witch

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today-we-will-survive · 5 years

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The Lucky Ones

Moodboard made by me.

Jungkook x Reader

Genre: University!AU, Soulmate!AU, Romance, Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 19K

A/N: This is the longest one shot I’ve ever written and my first soulmate au 😅

This one is for my girl, @dimpled-gukkie 💜

You’ve heard it all before. Patches, Raccoon, Bulls-eye…

People have made fun of the black mark staining the skin surrounding your right eye ever since it appeared the day you turned twelve. Everyone got their soulmate mark around that time. Some late bloomers received theirs when they were just a bit older than others but everyone got one, the mark signifying where their soulmate would touch them for the first time. Most people woke up in the morning with a black palm or a patch on their arm or their shoulder, maybe a small spot on their cheek. But you’ve never seen another person with one covering their eye.

Middle school was cruel to you. You went to school the first morning after you got your mark with your hair covering half of your face. Of course, that didn’t hide it well enough and by the end of the day, there was a rumor circulating that you were going to end up with someone abusive, your first physical touch from them being a punch to the face. Naturally, the thought terrified you and you came home that day and locked yourself in your room, refusing to come back out for a week.

The taunting followed you into high school and by the time you hit senior year, you’d developed a thick skin. The names, the rumors, the fake pitying looks at your unfortunate mark placement no longer bothered you. You became comfortable in your own skin again. You always wore your bangs back, your mark on display like a badge of honor. You tried not to think about the way your soulmate would someday touch you for the first time, instead focusing on the here and now. Living in the moment. Loving yourself.

Sure, you had your moments of weakness. Moments when the shield would come down and you’d notice the whispers, the curious looks, the laughter of little children that had no filter. But you tried not to let the world see. You tried to keep it in until you were alone. Only then did you let the tears spill.

You told yourself college would be different. You were going to one several states away and you hadn’t heard about any of your classmates getting an acceptance letter from them. This was going to be the new start you needed. Sure, you’d been pretending to be brave for the last several years, but now you were actually going to be. You were going to have a fresh start. Meet new people. And these people were going to know you as the girl that isn’t ashamed of her mark. Actually proud of who she is, not just someone who pretends to be in public then breaks down once she’s alone. In fact, you could be whoever you wanted to be at your new school. Were you going to be the mysterious artsy student? The vibrant, loud laughing, dance-to-the-beat-of-your-own-drum student? The dark and mysterious one that always wears black lipstick and headphones? Probably not that last one, but at a new school, the sky’s the limit.

But after going through your closet and deciding you don’t have the wardrobe to reinvent yourself just yet, you decide that the idea of becoming a whole new person is a bit overwhelming and more something that needs to be done gradually.

You didn’t want your parents to help you move into your dorm for fear of either of them saying anything to your new roommate that might give away any part of the life you’re trying to leave behind. You did let them help load your car, though, and gave them tight hugs, making sure they knew that you not wanting them to help you move had nothing to do with how you feel about them but rather their strange need to embarrass the crap out of you.

Now, you kind of wish you had accepted their help as you lug the first of many boxes up the two flights of stairs to your assigned dorm. The hall looks pretty nondescript and you figure they probably all look similar. If you weren’t so directionally challenged, this wouldn’t be an issue. Hopefully you won’t get confused too many times throughout the year.

Now your eyes scan the room numbers for the one that matches the number printed on the paper you clutch in your hand. You reach the end of the hall before reaching your room and when you turn the corner at the end, you freeze, almost dropping the box in your hands in the process. There’s 215, there’s 216 and then you can’t see the numbers on the next door because it’s already open.

You approach dorm 217 slowly, thoughts of who your roommate could be and what she’s like flooding your brain as you peer into the room. A girl is balancing on her knees on the bed to the right, her back to you as she tapes a large calendar to the wall.

“Uh…hi?” you utter, feeling a little like maybe you shouldn’t have interrupted her but also not wanting to just stand there in silence like some serial killer just waiting for her to turn around and acknowledge you.

Luckily she hears your tiny greeting and turns around, long, blonde hair swaying over one shoulder as she smiles at you. “Oh, hi!” she greets cheerily. “You must be my new roommate. I’m Lisa.” She scoots not-so-gracefully on her knees off of her mattress until she can scamper over to you and extends her hand for you to shake. After telling her your name, your gaze darts down to the bright purple glove covering her offered hand.

I mean, yeah it’s cold out but not enough to wear gloves. And one glove? Your eyebrow quirks up questioningly as you meet her eyes again. “Oh, that’s to cover my mark,” she says then tugs it down to reveal the patch covering her palm and disappearing up further under the glove. “I keep it covered so there’s no chance of my soulmate accidentally touching it. There’s too much I want to accomplish this year and I don’t have time for romance.”

You want to mention to her that that’s not how it works. That your soulmate has to deliberately touch you for your mark to change color and even then, theirs won’t until you deliberately touch their mark, but what’s the point? That seems to be the least of your roommate’s worries as she continues rambling, finally reaching out to take your hand to shake. You fumble with the box in your arms.

“Oh, sorry,” she says quickly and takes the side closest to her, helping you guide it onto your bed. “Anyway, I’m running for student body treasurer this year and I’m going to need to focus on campaigning. I won’t have time to deal with a soulmate. Hence the glove.” Then she sits down on her bed, bouncing slightly from the momentum. “So, tell me about yourself.”

You’ve already been in your dorm for about five minutes and haven’t even uttered a word other than “uh” “hi” and your name and now she sits there, expecting you to recite some sort of autobiography. Maybe new confident you is going to have to come on more gradually than you originally thought.

“Uh, well,” you stutter. “I’m an English major.”

“Oh! So you like writing?”

You nod, pulling the cuffs of your sweatshirt down over your hands, a nervous habit you’re going to need to break. “Yeah, nothing too serious yet, though. I want to be published some day but right now I’m more of a hobbyist.”

“So what do you write?” Lisa asks.

You take in a deep breath and look up at the beige ceiling. Beige, everywhere beige.

“Mostly…fan fiction.”

You actually have a pretty large following on Tumblr and you’d never be ashamed of something like this but just sharing the fact with a stranger makes you feel bashful all of a sudden. Your love for fan fiction has really only ever been expressed online and now saying it out loud just seems…weird.

Lisa nods as if she’s trying to be supportive but doesn’t really know what to say. “That’s cool,” she says. “What kind of fan fiction?”

Ugh, you can feel the heat creeping up your neck and you’re sure your face is bright red by now. “It’s mostly…uh…Bangtan fanfic.”

“Is that that one boy band that’s really huge right now?”

That one boy band. You blink back at her. They’re so much more than just a boy band. You’ve been with them since the beginning. Since their debut when they were still figuring out their sound. When they still didn’t know what the future held. You followed them on their rise to the top. You’ve memorized every one of their songs—which isn’t easy with how fast they can rap—watched every one of their videos. They’re not just that one boy band. They’re THE boy band. They’re legends.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“I haven’t really been listening to much music lately. And I definitely won’t have time this year. Gotta stay focused.” Then she spins around and gestures at the giant calendar she just hung above her bed. “My goal is to have that filled with clubs and activities that’ll get me close to as many potential voters as possible.” She spins back around again. “There’s a club fair going on tomorrow and I plan on hitting every booth. You should join me. I’m sure there’s a writing club or a BigBang fan club or whatever.”

“Bangtan,” you correct her.

“Right.” Lisa says then lets out a heavy sigh. “Well, need help bringing up the rest of your stuff?”

The speed at which she changes the subject gives you whiplash and for a second you just stand there in a silent stupor before finally remembering that, oh yeah, your car is still sitting on the street with fifty million boxes inside that somehow need to make it up to room 217.

“That would be great,” you finally say with a smile and a nod. “Thank you.”

“No problem, roomie,” she says the last word with a cute quirk of her shoulders before bounding out the door and down the hall.

As you trail after her, a thought suddenly hits you. She didn’t even mention your mark. You’re so used to people commenting on it or staring at it—you can always tell when their eyes are just centimeters off from meeting your own—when they’re talking to you, but her eyes didn’t even linger. You shrank back into your shyness so quickly when you met her but already you can tell things are going to be different. Maybe the new you won’t be as gradual of a change as you thought it would be. And you can’t tell if you’re excited or terrified.

The first couple of weeks of classes fly by. When you went with Lisa to the club fair, you actually did find a writing club to sign up with and you’ve already attended a couple meetings. Of course, these meetings mostly consist of everyone sitting in silence. Apart from the occasional discussion to help someone work through a plot hole, the only sound is the tapping of fingers on keyboards, but there’s something about being around other writers, even if you’re not talking, that keeps you focused. You’ve been writing and posting fics regularly, even with your busy schedule, and your followers have been as happy as ever. Some of them have even sent you asks congratulating you on making it through your first few weeks of school without imploding, which is something you stated you were afraid would happen in an “end of summer recap” post.

You met the neighbors in room 216 and one of the neighbors in 218—or maybe they’d somehow managed to get the room to themselves because you’ve never seen another person go in or out of that room. You like all of your classes well enough and campus isn’t so confusing. In fact, you could walk from your dorm to any of your classes or the library that your writing group always meets up at, with your eyes closed. Speaking of eyes, not one person has made a single comment about your mark. You see it every morning in the mirror so you know it didn’t magically disappear from around your eye and yet no one has uttered a word. It’s almost like there’s an air of maturity that comes with attending college. People are so much more accepting here than they were in any of your younger years of school. For that, you’re grateful. And it makes it that much easier for you to reinvent yourself. Which you have. Kind of.

You’ve come to terms with the fact that you could never completely change into a different person. You still have your same likes and dislikes. You still love to write and love Bangtan and you still hate waking up early and the taste of coffee sans sugar or cream. You still gnaw at the inside corner of your lip when you’re nervous or thinking deeply about an idea for a new fic. You still have these quirks, but to completely change would be lying to yourself. So you don’t mind that even after almost a month at university, you’re still undoubtedly you. Though maybe just a bit more comfortable. You 2.0.

One Friday evening, you find yourself surprisingly without any homework—at least none that’s due any time soon—and you’ve just settled on your bed, your back propped against the wall, laptop—with your new black marble case because somehow or another you managed to actually chip the corner of it—nestled on your lap and fingers resting on your keyboard when Lisa bursts into the room in a flurry of blonde hair.

“Get dressed,” she says with a bright smile. “We’re going to a party.”

You’re taken so off guard, you can only blink in response before looking down at yourself a little confused by her first comment because you are, in fact, fully clothed. But then the second part of her statement sinks in and you gulp loudly enough for the people out in the hall to hear. “A what?” you choke out.

“A party,” she says and makes her way over to your shared dresser and wrenches a drawer open. “If I’m going to be running for student body treasurer, I need to meet as many potential voters as possible and make a good impression,” she says as she rifles around in the drawer. “I’m running with the Liber party, which is a pretty popular party on campus but as a first year, I’m the underdog,” she pauses thoughtfully. “But that might actually make me look even better.” Then she turns to face you. “Wouldn’t it?”

“Uh, sure?”

“Rooting for the underdog is a thing now, right?”

“I think it always has—”

“Needless to say,” Lisa interrupts as she spins back around and continues digging for an apparently very specific article of clothing. “I’m going to a party and I refuse to go alone, therefore, you’re going too.” Finally, she finds it, a bright yellow sweater, and tugs it on over her head. “After all, the handbook does say we should use the buddy system as a safety precaution when traveling around campus, especially at night and especially as females.” You watch as she pulls open another drawer and pulls out a box full of gloves. She pulls off her green one then plucks a navy blue one out and tugs it on. “I’m not a huge fan of whoever wrote the handbook implying that we females can’t handle our own but nonetheless,” she takes a deep breath and sticks her now blue gloved hand in your direction, “you’re coming with me.”

How can you even argue with such an impassioned and tiring speech? You can’t, so instead you just take her hand causing Lisa’s smile to widen as she pulls you to your feet. Her eyes rove over your face and then the rest of you. “I think you look decent enough. You’re one of those girls that can pull off the super casual look. You know, the ones that don’t even have to really try? I wish I could hate you,” then she reaches up and pulls the clip off the back of your head causing your hair to spill down over your shoulders. She cocks her head to the side. “I really wish I could hate you.”

“Um…thanks, I guess?” you say pulling the cuffs of your sleeves down over your fingers.

Lisa hums in satisfaction before taking your sweater paws in her hands and tugging you with her out the door.

The party is at one of the more well known fraternities on campus, Beta Tau Sigma. For being such a popular frat, you’re surprised to find that the house is actually pretty small.

“I’ve done a lot of research on the different fraternities and sororities here,” Lisa says as the two of you walk up to the house.

“Of course you have,” you say, not taking your eyes off the place.

“Apparently, Beta Tau Sigma is known for throwing some wild parties. And I guess you could say it’s pretty exclusive. There are only ever seven members of the frat living here at any given time.”

Only seven? No wonder the house is so small.

“Only the seven with the top GPAs get to stay here. The rest live in other housing. Interesting, right?” Lisa asks as she tugs you closer to the house.

“Very,” you utter.

Even with how small it is, you still feel like it towers over you. The whole front of it is washed in bright purple light and you could hear the music vibrating down the block before you even stepped foot on it. You’ve never been to a party before—unless classmates’ birthday parties count, which you don’t think they do—so you’re feeling extremely nervous as Lisa pulls you closer, still rambling off facts about this fraternity that apparently throws ragers.

As she leads you, you find yourself shrinking back into your old, shy identity and ducking your head so your hair covers the right half of your face. When you realize what you’re doing, you immediately snap out of it, straightening your back again, holding your head up high and running your hand back through your hair to push it all out of your face. This is not the time to be afraid. This is the moment you’ve been preparing for. This is the moment that counts. Sure, you’ve been around campus, among the other students already, but they were in the same boat as you, too busy navigating their way around this foreign campus to notice the girl with the soulmate mark over her eye. This party would be the beginning of the newer, better version of you. The confident you. The one that’s not afraid to be seen.

It’s hard not to imagine that you’re only pretending to play the part of “college student” in some cheesy coming-of-age movie as you step inside the house. There’s so much to take in, you don’t know where to look first. Whether at the crowd of people surrounding a game of beer pong, or the many bodies dancing in a tangle in the middle of the floor, or the boy doing a handstand with the help of two other boys holding his legs while a fourth pours beer into a funnel that leads down through a tube into the first one’s mouth. The whole scene screams college party and for a second, you feel yourself backing again out the door. Lisa, unfortunately for you, catches on quickly and reaches out to grab onto your wrist.

“Uh uh,” she yells over the music. “We’re here to mingle.”

“You’re here to mingle,” you shout back. “I’m just the victim you dragged along for the ride.”

“You need to mingle too,” Lisa says pulling you along. “I bet you were shy in high school.”

How’d she guess? “Not on purpose,” you say in defeat as she leads you deeper into the house. Bodies bump into you on every side and you bunch your shoulders up, trying to make yourself as small as possible so you can fit through the tiny spaces.

At last the two of you emerge in the kitchen which, to your relief, isn’t as packed despite the fact that this is where most of the alcohol is.

“What do you want?” Lisa asks you.

“I’ll just take a soda,” you say.

“Keeping a clear head tonight, good idea,” she says. “Two sodas then.”

As Lisa makes her way over to the bar to grab your drinks, you lean back against the counter, letting your eyes drift over the scene. From this vantage point, it doesn’t seem so intimidating. If you focus on each person instead of the entire party, you notice little things. A boy with a mark on his arm and a girl with one on her shoulder inching subtly closer to each other, nervous glances exchanged between the two. You see sweat glistening on the forehead of one of the boy’s holding up the one doing the keg stand, as if he’s struggling to support the weight. Sure enough, his grip weakens and the one upside down tumbles to the floor in a fit of laughter. A loud cheer erupts from the beer pong table and a girl has her fists in the air, one stained black, a victorious smile spread across her face. These people are just here enjoying themselves. You should too.

Your eyes travel further and catch on a couple of dark figures in a corner. It’s obvious that the two are making out and you quickly look away.

“That’s Park Jimin,” Lisa says from beside you and presses a cup into your hand. “I’ve done a bit of research on him.”

“Really?” you ask, unable now to avoid looking at him again as he shoves his tongue down the throat of whatever girl is pressed against the wall. Your mouth bunches in disgust. “Why would you care about this guy?”

Lisa takes a drink of her soda and rolls her eyes. “He’s the current student body treasurer and he’s planning on running again.”

You watch as someone comes up behind him and puts a hand on his back causing him to break away from the kiss and turn around. He’s definitely good looking, you won’t deny that, with his dark hair and white smile. He looks like your typical frat boy. The kind that was probably class president throughout high school. The kind that uses his good looks to his advantage. You watch as he raises his arm, palm black, to slap hands with the guy.

“Apparently he’s pretty popular,” Lisa says.

“Apparently,” you utter but Lisa doesn’t hear you as she’s already putting down her cup and running her hands over her hair to smooth it down.

“—which means I need to work twice as hard,” she says pulling on her glove. “Starting now.” Then she turns to you. “Will you be okay here?”

You shrug. “Yeah, I guess,” you say and are about to ask how long she plans on staying so you can leave with her but she’s already weaving her way across the living room. Well, alright then. You sit back again against the counter and take a nervous sip from your cup as your eyes scan the party again.

“That’s kind of lame of your friend to just ditch you.”

When you turn your head to the left, you find a boy leaning against the counter a few feet away from you. He’s not looking in your direction but you’re guessing by the comment that he was talking to you.

“Oh, she’s not really my friend,” you say and then have to stop and think. Wait, is she? “She’s my room—”

He finally turns his head to look at you, his dark eyes locking on yours, set in a sort of uninterested stare. You can’t help the way your heart speeds up a bit when he looks at you. The boy is incredibly good looking and the way he stands is much too confident for him to be a first year. His lean body is curved inward, his broad shoulders slumped, but not in a shrinking sort of way, more in an I-could-be-doing-something-so-much-more-productive-than-this sort of way. He carries himself like a cocky frat boy, but his style reads more 90’s punk than collegiate with his distressed red and black striped sweater and ripped black skinny jeans. His dark hair hangs just barely in his eyes and silver rings adorn the ear that you can see.

“She’s your room?” the boy asks lifting a dark eyebrow.

“—mate,” you spit out then turn away again, automatically trying to shield your soulmate mark from view.

“Well, still,” he continues and you can’t help but peek back at him again out of the corner of your eye. “Kind of crappy to just walk off like that and leave you here by yourself.”

You shrug and fold your arms self-consciously over your stomach. This whole “You 2.0” thing is not going very smoothly. “Yeah, well, she has potential voters to canvas.”

The boy chuckles and stands up straight so he can also fold his arms across his chest. He does it, of course, in a much more confident way than you did. “Ah, so she’s the one running against Jimin.”

You can’t help turning to face him again. “School’s barely even started. How does everyone know so much about everyone else?”

“Your friend, er—roommate—is going to find out very quickly that Jimin doesn’t play nice when it comes to competition. He’s a third year and no one goes up against a member of Beta Tau Sigma and wins. Especially, not a freshman.”

This boy is full of it. “Sounds like you’re not a big fan of first years,” you say. You barely notice how your own gate has changed to match his, your feet planted firmly on the floor and your head held high. He doesn’t look so intimidating anymore.

His mouth curls up on one side into a smirk and he faces you full on now, leaning in a bit too closely. “I have no problem with freshman,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “Park Jimin, however, doesn’t take too kindly to underclassmen trying to steal his spot.”

You narrow your eyes. “I may not know Lisa very well but if there’s anyone that can go up against someone like Park Jimin, it’s her.”

His smile widens and he leans back, his hipbone resting against the counter again. You can feel his eyes lingering on your mark but his expression stays the same. Finally, he sucks in a breath. “I’m Jungkook” he says and extends his hand to you.

You stare at it for several seconds, your eyes raking over the skin of his palm and the back of his hand. No black anywhere on it. To shake his hand would be your first deliberate touch, which means he’s not your soulmate. Sure, it’s a weird thought to have about someone you literally just met, but your mind always seems to go there. Physical contact between strangers has never really been a practiced thing, especially since there’s so much significance in a soulmates’ first touch. Some would say it’s more intimate than a first kiss.

“JK!”

Both of you turn your heads at the same time to find a boy with sandy brown hair coming your way. Immediately, Jungkook swings his hand around, now offering it to him. You watch awkwardly as the two exchange high fives and bro hugs. Only then it seems the boy notices you there.

“Oh hi,” he says and his mouth spreads into a boxy grin.

Jungkook throws an arm around the boy’s shoulder and gestures to you with the other. “Tae, this is…” he squints at your face for a second. “Kitten.”

Kitten?

“Nice to meet you, Kitten,” the boy says with a polite nod.

“You can’t call her that.”

“Then why did you introduce her as Kitten?”

“Because that’s what I’m calling her.”

“Well, how was I supposed to—”

You blurt your name out quickly, both boys turning their attention to you again causing you to swallow hard. “It’s, um, nice to meet you too.”

The boy’s smile widens, his large-eyed gaze holding yours for a few more lingering seconds before Jungkook tightens his hold on his friend’s neck. “I’m guessing you didn’t come over here to chat with a freshman.”

“Well, actually—” his words are cut off by another squeeze from Jungkook. “I mean, Jin wanted me to come get you to help us bring the other kegs in from out back.”

Jungkook snakes his head around slowly to look at you again. Just the gesture alone oozes confidence. Who even is this boy? “I’ll be right back,” he says. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You tilt your head in a small nod and take a sip of your drink.

“I’ll be right back too,” Tae says with a waggle of his eyebrows and Jungkook elbows him in the stomach.

“No you won’t,” he says before grasping onto the back of the boy’s neck and pulling him away from you.

You let out a breath you very cliché-ly didn’t realize you were holding and slump back against the counter. What is even happening right now? You never would have gotten the attention of a boy back in high school. At least not the kind of attention you would welcome. Did something change? Did you suddenly become attractive overnight? Because why else would not one, but two ridiculously good looking upperclassmen take an interest in you?

You tip your cup back, taking a final swig of soda before setting the cup down and pushing off the counter. You make your way through the crowded house, peeking in each open door until you find one with a toilet and a sink then slip inside and latch the door. The loud music pulses through the walls, completely surrounding you and at first it’s overwhelming and you have to take a few deep breaths, but once you’ve managed to get your pulse back down to a manageable rhythm, you step toward the mirror and gaze in. Just as you thought, nothing has changed. Still the same face. Same mouth, same nose, same mark. But maybe there is something different. Something in your eyes that wasn’t there before. Could it be the surety you lacked in high school? Never in a million years would you gain as much confidence as this Jungkook kid has, but the spark is unmistakeable. Maybe there is something more to you than just a big black mark on your face.

A loud pounding on the bathroom door causes you to jump and you quickly fumble with the knob, wrenching it open and immediately shrinking back when the stench of booze hits you like a wall.

“You done?” the boy slurs and you can only nod as you squeeze past him and back out into the hall.

You don’t want to stick around in case the smell of vomit is about to join the already pungent scent of alcohol and you make your way back toward the kitchen with a slight hope that Jungkook is waiting there for you. Sure, the boy is cockier than anyone should be, but there’s something about him. Something that makes you want to get to know him better. If anything, just to find out what kind of person dresses like he listens to Nirvana. But when you get back into the kitchen, he isn’t there yet. Or maybe he already was and saw that you weren’t so he moved on. There are so many people here, you probably won’t see him for the rest of the night. So much for that.

“Another soda?”

You turn around eyes landing on a familiar face—hardly familiar but still. He holds out a red cup to you and you take it, holding it under your nose first and catching a whiff of rum. You hand it back to him. “I don’t drink,” you say giving a polite smile. “But thanks.”

“Ah, sorry,” he says and offers the one in his other hand. “Got them mixed up.”

This one, you can tell is just soda but still you shake your head. “You take a sip first,” you say.

Jungkook tilts his head curiously.

“I don’t know you,” you explain with a small shrug. “Not well enough to accept a drink I didn’t watch you pour.”

You can see him mull your words over in his head for several seconds before he nods. “I can respect that,” he says then brings the cup to his lips and takes a drink, swallowing as he holds it out to you again. You take it, tapping your finger against the plastic before at last setting the cup down on the counter beside you. Better not risk it. Then you face him again.

“Why did you call me Kitten?” you ask.

His eyes have been glued to the cup you just ditched on the counter but now they flick back up to you. “Hmm?”

“The nickname. Why Kitten?”

Jungkook smiles as if he’s just heard a joke and leans back against the counter. You find yourselves in the same positions as before, as if the two of you never left. “I had this cat when I really young. A white one that had one black patch over its eye and you just kind of reminded me of it.”

You can’t help the way your heart warms in your chest at the mention of this fond memory. “You named your pet cat ‘Kitten’?” you ask with an amused grin.

“I wasn’t a very creative five year old,” he says bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. Are those nerves you detect? “Would you rather I didn’t call you that?”

You shrug. “I don’t mind. It’s refreshing after the other names I’ve been called in the past.”

“Like what?”

You look down at your shoes. “Bulls-eye, Dalmatian, Shiner…” When you lift your head to meet his eyes again, Jungkook is staring intently, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “People used to joke about how I’m going to find out who my soulmate is when they come up and punch me in the face.”

“That’s not a very funny joke,” Jungkook says furrowing his brow.

“No, not really,” you say. “But I’ve gotten used to people making fun of my mark. It’s in kind of an unusual place. One that I can’t hide very well.”

“You shouldn’t have to hide it,” Jungkook says and tilts his chin up to meet your eyes full on.

You feel your mouth tug up into a shy smile. “I don’t anymore,” you say. “I think I’ve embraced my mark now. I’m done feeling sorry for myself over something I can’t change.”

Jungkook gives a satisfied nod. “Good.”

The two of you spend the rest of the night standing in the kitchen talking. You don’t catch sight of Lisa again until she finally makes her way back to you, obviously tired from going around meeting everyone there. There are a lot of people crammed into this small house. You really don’t want to stop talking to Jungkook and before Lisa can drag you out the door, he takes your phone, inputting his name and number, and saying goodbye with a flash of that lofty smirk.

“You didn’t do much mingling,” Lisa says as the two of you slowly make your way back to your dorm. Luckily it’s only a couple blocks away.

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t leave the kitchen for the whole night. One person doesn’t count as mingling. You’re supposed to meet people.”

“I met enough people.”

“You met one.”

You feel your mouth lift into an intrigued smile and your fingers wrap tighter around your phone. “One is enough.”

You don’t see Jungkook around campus but the two of you have been texting each other a lot. It has turned into one continuous conversation, never really ending even when the two of you go to sleep at night. You just pick up where you left off when you wake up the next morning.

You can’t help being drawn to the boy. Something about that gleam in his eye when he looked at you at the party. That cocky smirk, that confident gate. Even the way he called you Kitten and the reason behind it made you want to know more about him. But he’s not your soulmate. You have to keep telling yourself that. This is all a waste of time. Dating in general may still be common practice in the world but people really only do it for fun. What’s the point of being romantic with someone if you know they’re not the person you’re going to end up with? At least that’s how you’ve always seen it. You’ve never had a boyfriend—though that could just be because of the big black deterrent on your face—but you’d like to think it’s because you just never saw the point. Maybe there’s something to it, though.

Of course, this whole thing could totally be one sided. You’re not the best at interpreting subtext and signals so you could be way off base when it comes to the meaning behind this sudden attention from a second year. Maybe he’s just being nice—in his own bratty way. Maybe he felt obligated to stick by you at the party because Lisa had left you alone and giving you his number was just the nice thing to do. But then again, you can’t help but remember the way he smiled. The way he told Tae that only he could call you by his little nickname. Either way, the boy is still texting you a week later and so far, there’s no hint of him losing interest. At least not that you can detect.

Your work load is beginning to pile up. Writing group has become more of a study group and your Tumblr has fallen by the wayside. At first you hope that none of your followers will notice that you haven’t posted a new fic in three weeks but before long, the asks start trickling in.

Are you working on anything new?

When are you going to post a new fic?

I miss our boys! When are you going to post again?

Has college taken over your life?

It has. It really has taken over your life. You barely see Lisa since she’s out campaigning, trying her hardest to give Park Jimin a run for his money, and you know she is—just like you thought she would—because Jungkook has been giving you a bit of a play-by-play of what’s going on in the Beta Tau Sigma house. Jimin isn’t bringing home a new girl every Friday night anymore, he’s spending the evenings making posters, writing speeches, setting up rallies and promotional parties.

Y/N: Lisa’s roommate probably wouldn’t be invited to one of these parties, would she?

Jungkook: besides her, you’re public enemy number one.

Y/N: 😛 ah it doesn’t matter anyway. School’s been so crazy, I haven’t really had time to do anything but homework. Are you sure that party a month ago wasn’t a figment of my imagination? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve been doing nothing but writing this essay for the past five years.

Jungkook: Lol. If it was then so am I.

Y/N: well…

Jungkook: ?

Y/N: I mean, it’s been so long, I don’t even really know if I remember what you look like.

Jungkook: are you busy now?

Y/N: didn’t I just say I’m working on an essay?

Jungkook: eh, you’re working too hard. Take a break.

The knock on your door a few minutes later has you thinking that Jungkook was actually on his way over to your dorm while you were still talking to him. How convenient. With a sigh, you get up from your bed, tossing your textbook onto your comforter and shuffle to the door. It’s a very short distance. In fact the two beds and two desks as well as the shared dresser take up almost the entire space, making just enough room in the middle of the floor to maneuver. If both you and Lisa lay on your own beds and stretch an arm out, you could hold hands while you drifted off to sleep. Not that you want to but the ridiculous thought had crossed your mind that first night when you realized just how tiny the room really is.

You don’t need much space though since you do most of your homework and your writing on your bed. You have it set up the same way you did at home which makes it much easier for you focus on your work. It’s hard not to feel a little claustrophobic though in the room. Especially since, when you swing the door open, it actually hits the corner of your mattress. Now it makes a hollow thunk.

Jungkook is leaning back against the opposite wall in the hallway. Staying true to his 90s grunge style, he’s wearing dark skinny jeans, combat boots, a flannel shirt and green army coat peppered with patches. Who is this boy and why does he pull off this style so well?

“Hey Kitten,” Jungkook says as he pushes off the wall and steps closer.

You can only stare at him at first. You haven’t seen him since the party over a month ago and you weren’t lying when you said you couldn’t really remember what he looked like. You forgot how attractive he is. But then his mouth spreads into that bratty smirk and you snap out of your daze.

“I have a paper to write, Jungkook,” you say folding your arms over your chest and leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s Saturday night,” he says. “Surely, you don’t have to be working on it right now.”

You glance back at the alarm clock sitting on your desk. “It’s technically Sunday morning,” you say when you notice that it’s past midnight.

“When is your paper due?”

“Thursday.”

Jungkook’s head tilts to the side and he cocks an eyebrow.

You shift awkwardly onto your other foot. “You’re part of Beta Tau Sigma. Isn’t there a party you should be at?”

He shrugs. “I wanted to see you,” he says and you can feel your ears get hot. “Like you said, we haven’t seen each other since the last party you came to.” Then he leans through your doorway and peers around. “Besides, I was curious to see what a first year’s dorm looks like.”

“Okay, let’s go,” you say putting a hand on his solid chest and pushing him back into the hall before he can get a good enough look.

Jungkook stumbles back with a laugh. “Was that a Bangtan poster over your bed?”

If your ears were hot before, they’re on fire now. “Maybe.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” he says putting his hands up in defense. “I just didn’t peg you as the type.”

Now your eyes narrow as you step back to slip on your shoes and grab your coat off the hook just inside your room before pulling the door closed behind you. “And what type is that?” you ask.

Jungkook shrugs, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t know. The type that would put posters of a boy band up on her wall. I bet you have more back at home, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” you say and start down the hall as you tug on your jacket. He trails after you, continuing his pestering.

“Do you have all their albums? T-shirts? Bobble heads? Ooh, do you have one of those body pillows with their faces on it so you can pretend you’re cuddling with them every night?”

You spin around so quickly he falls back against the wall in surprise. “I do happen to have their albums, I do own several Bangtan t-shirts and I don’t have all that other stuff, but even if I did, it’s none of your business.”

Jungkook’s face breaks out into a grin. “You’re a feisty kitten, aren’t you?”

With a roll of your eyes, you turn around again and continue down the hall, not looking back when you reach the stairs. You know he’s following though because you can hear his peppy footsteps behind yours. The boy is such a brat but the cutest brat you’ve ever met and you can’t help but mull over the way he called you a “feisty kitten”.

Only when you get out onto the street do you realize that you have no idea where you’re going. So, finally, you turn around to face him.

“Where to?” you ask.

He digs into the pocket of his army jacket and pulls out a keyring. “You’ll see,” he says then starts toward a crappy looking black Honda sitting on the curb.

“You expect me to get into that junk pile with you?” you ask him.

“Hey now,” he says making his way around to the driver’s side. “No need to insult Black Betty.”

You let out a quick laugh through your nose. “Okay, now I’m definitely not getting in that thing.”

“It’s an awful long walk to get where we’re going,” he says and yanks his door open before leaning against the roof. “And it’s pretty cold out.”

“But where are we going?” you ask.

Jungkook just smirks and waggles his eyebrows before climbing into the driver’s side. You watch him through the window as he reaches across to unlock the passenger door and push it open. “Come on, Kitten,” he calls.

You duck down so your eyes can meet his. “If I get in, do you promise to never use the word feisty in a sentence directed at me again?”

“Cross my heart,” he says.

With a sigh and a slight flutter of your heart that you’re trying really hard to ignore, you slide into the passenger seat and close the door. For an old junker, his car is actually pretty clean. It even smells nice. Not at all what you would expect a college boy’s car to smell like. Something like pine with a hint of citrus, but not in the sickly sweet car freshener kind of way.

“So, where are we going?” you ask again after putting your belt on.

Jungkook just smiles as he starts the car and pulls away from the curb. Music starts pumping from the speakers and it takes you only a second to recognize the song.

“Is this Mayday Parade?” Jungkook nods, the corner of his mouth lifting more. You fall back against the seat with your own smile as your heart swells with the nostalgia of hearing your old favorite band.

Jungkook reaches over and turns the volume up a bit so you can hear it better. You feel your smile get bigger. “I haven’t listened to them since middle school. I kind of forgot about them actually.”

“Well, I mean, who has time for good music when you’ve got Bangtan, right?” He flinches away with a giggle as you reach across and swat his arm.

“No more making fun of my taste in music.”

Jungkook nods. “So no more using the word feisty and no more mentioning your poor taste in bands. Geez, Kitten, the list of demands just keeps growing. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to remember all this,” he says.

“Why are you like this?” you ask with a shake of your head. “Did someone hurt you? Were you never held as a child?”

“I’m damaged goods, Kitten,” he says in a fake sad voice. “Might as well run while you still can.”

“Well, I should probably at least wait until you stop the car.”

“By then it’ll be too late,” he says.

Now you shake your head. “Dang, I guess I’ll just have to be corrupted then.”

Jungkook can no longer keep a straight face, his mouth spreading into a grin, his eyes still focused on the road. At last he pulls into a parking lot and you duck your head so you can read the sign that’s lit up atop a tall pole.

“Wendy’s?” you ask him.

“It’s the only place in town that’s open 24-hours,” Jungkook says and pulls into the drive-thru. “Plus, frosties always taste better after midnight.”

“Is that a scientific fact?”

“You don’t believe me.”

You shrug.

“I’ll prove it to you,” he says then rolls his window down.

“You know, I kind of hate that you’re right,” you say before sticking a spoonful of chocolate frosty into your mouth. It really does taste better after midnight.

“Why’s that?” Jungkook asks as he swipes a french fry through his own and bites the tip off with his front teeth.

“Because the last thing you need is an ego boost.”

“I’m hurt, Kitten,” he says. “Genuinely hurt.”

“I’m sure.”

Though you’re freezing and eating ice cream, you kind of like sitting out here with him, the traffic noise from the freeway muted by the distance, the air a bit foggy from the cold. The two of you are the only ones out there sitting across from each other at one of the cement picnic tables. Apart from a couple of cars belonging to the employees, Jungkook’s car is the only thing in the parking lot. It’s just quiet and peaceful. You can’t help but feel a hint of sadness when you look down and see that there’s only a little bit of frosty left in the bottom of your cup. Should have gotten a large.

“So where’s your mark?” you ask as you dip your spoon in to retrieve the last scoop.

“Don’t have one,” he says studying a fry.

You pause with your spoon halfway to your mouth. What? “You don’t have a mark?”

“Nope.”

“But everyone has one,” you say.

Jungkook just shrugs. “Not me.”

You’ve never heard of someone not receiving their mark. He must be wrong. “Maybe it’s somewhere you can’t see. Maybe it’s covered up by your hair or something.”

“I don’t think so,” Jungkook says and scoops up more of his frosty with a bundle of fries before shoving them all in his mouth. “It’s fine, though,” he says. “This whole thing is a load of crap anyway.”

You’re still astonished over this new bit of information so it takes you a minute to respond. “What’s a load of crap?”

“This whole soulmate thing. I don’t buy it.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You do realize it’s how life works, right? There’s nothing to buy.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Jungkook utters. “I mean, to have the person you’re supposed to spend the rest of your life with already chosen for you just sounds stupid. What if you’re not compatible? What if you hate each other? And who even decides who that person is?”

You use your spoon to scrape up the last melted bit of your frosty. “Your guess is as good as mine,” you say before popping the spoon into your mouth.

“But you seem a lot more okay with it than I do,” Jungkook says.

You shrug. “It’s just how it is.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“Obviously,” you say and then the two of you are quiet. You can’t help but watch him as he inspects the inside of his now also empty cup. Finally, you let out a sigh and drop your own on the table. “It’s not like anyone is forcing people to fall in love.”

Jungkook furrows his brow and looks up at you. “That just makes it seem like we’re a bunch of mind controlled robots. I’ve seen my friends change completely when they meet their soulmate. I don’t want to turn into a mindless robot.”

“Well, then I guess you don’t have to worry about that since you don’t have a mark, right?”

Jungkook chews the inside of his cheek and focuses again on dragging a fry around the inside of his cup. “Yeah, I guess,” he utters.

His whole world is yellow, the sun in the morning, the cabs that run by his window, even his wallpaper, all yellow. But one day he enters the cafe you work at and nothing can prepare him for locking his eyes on a pair as—

The door blasts open, smacking hard against your mattress causing your whole bed to shake and you quickly look up from your laptop to see Lisa stomp inside in a huff.

“I HATE PARK JIMIN!” she screams throwing her book bag and then herself onto her bed.

You close your laptop and set it down beside you. “What did he do?” you ask cautiously.

Lisa mumbles into her pillow and you have to ask her to repeat herself. Finally with a growl, she lifts her head, her face still covered by her wild blonde hair. “He’s been running a smear campaign against me!”

Your mouth falls open. “Are you serious? And people are actually buying it?” It’s hard for you to believe that someone that has a good enough reputation to have been re-elected for student body treasurer for two years would do something so dirty.

“I don’t know if it’s working or not,” Lisa says with a groan and flips over onto her back. “I just saw a poster with my face plastered on it with the words ‘unreliable’ and ‘emotionally unstable’ written below and then everything just kind of went black.”

You shake your head and try not to let her see the smile you feel tugging at your lips. Sure, your roommate is dramatic but she’s definitely not emotionally unstable. And as far as “unreliable” goes, the girl has been making promise after promise to the different club heads and has managed to keep every one while also maintaining top grades. The girl’s a saint. She doesn’t have an unreliable bone in her body.

Lisa lets out a forlorn groan and throws her arm over her eyes. You know she could use some cheering up, or at least something to distract her, but—your eyes drift back to your laptop—you finally started finding time to write again after over a month now of not posting anything. And this latest one shot is going much better than the last three you attempted and then ended up deleting. What’s more important? Helping you roommate in a crisis or appeasing your followers that have been waiting to read your next Bangtan fic?

“Hey,” you finally say. Lisa turns her head, her eyes peeking out from under her arm to meet yours. “Want to go get some food or something?”

Lisa sighs and drops her hands back down at her sides. “No, I have a project due on Monday that I need to redo. Besides, don’t you have a date tonight?”

You lower your head, your eyes now fixed on your fidgeting fingers. “It’s not a date,” you say quietly. You and Jungkook have been going out for after midnight frosties every Saturday for the past three months now, sitting and talking at the table just outside the restaurant. It’s become a tradition of sorts. One you look forward to every week.

“Well whatever it is,” she utters and then rolls off her bed and lands on her feet. “I’m going to head to the student lounge and work on this stupid paper. And maybe tear down as many of Jerk Jimin’s posters as I can find.”

“Good luck,” you say and she gives you a halfhearted wave over her shoulder before she slumps back out of your room.

You wait until the door latches behind her before reaching for your phone that’s charging on your desk.

Y/N: Hey, do you know anything about Jimin’s smear posters?

Jungkook: …maybe

Y/N: And you didn’t tell me so I could warn Lisa?

Jungkook: Hey, Jimin’s my best friend. I’m not going to betray his trust!

Y/N: Well, you could have at least mentioned that your best friend plays dirty!

Jungkook: I told you at the beginning of the year that Park Jimin is a force to be reckoned with.

Y/N: Well, so is Lisa.

Jungkook: Yeah, apparently an unstable, unreliable one.

Y/N: Have fun sitting out in the cold eating your frosty by yourself tonight!

Jungkook: Wait, really?

Y/N: …

Jungkook: aw come on, Kitten. You know I was just joking.

Y/N: …

Jungkook: Will you go with me if I convince Jimin to take the posters back down and play fair?

Y/N: Alright. But you’re buying me a large frosty.

Jungkook: Anything for you, Kitten.

It’s the middle of January and much too cold to sit at your normal table outside the restaurant so the two of you are sitting in Black Betty, the heater on and some acoustic song coming through the speakers. You’re still not sure why you and Jungkook always choose to eat frosties even in the middle of winter. But at the same time, this is your weekly after midnight frosty. It would be sacrilege to get anything else, no matter how cold it is outside.

The two of you have been talking pretty much nonstop since you climbed into his car back at your dorm. You never really see each other on campus since your classes are in different buildings and you haven’t been to another Beta Tau Sigma party since that one near the beginning of the year, which means the two of you always have something to talk about. He’s an easy person to talk to anyway. Someone you wish you had in middle and high school. You would have been a lot less lonely during those years.

By the time you reach the bottom of your cup, it’s well past two o’ clock. The last half of your frosty had been soup but you wanted to eat it as slowly as possible so you could stay here in the empty parking lot talking to this boy. You try to keep reminding yourself that you don’t date. That there’s no point when he’s not your soulmate. He’s. Not. Your. Soulmate.

But the more you talk to him, the more you’ve gotten to know him, and the more you find yourself missing him whenever you aren’t with him. You miss the citrusy, piney smell of his car, miss the nostalgic, middle school emo music, miss his bratty remarks, his cocky smirk, his sparkling eyes. The laugh that seems to explode from him whenever you say something funny. Which is a lot, apparently. He brings out your sense of humor, makes you want to make him laugh because it’s such a beautiful thing to witness.

And now the sound of your spoon scraping the bottom of your empty cup just brings with it an ache in your heart that you can’t ignore. He’s not your soulmate. With a deflated sigh, you look up at Jungkook. He’s sitting sideways in his seat, his back against the door, one foot propped up on the middle console, staring at his own empty cup in his hand and twirling the plastic spoon around in it.

“So,” you finally say and he looks up to meet your eyes. “We should probably get back, then, right?”

Jungkook nods slowly. “Yeah, I guess we probably should.” Then he shifts around in his seat and turns the engine over. It’s already been idling for a while now so it sputters and he has to turn the car off and try again before it catches. The sound of the engine roaring to life is a sound you don’t really ever like to hear. It signifies the end of the night and the only thing you have to look forward to is your tiny dorm room, another one of Lisa’s tangents about Jimin’s latest antics and a long week of classes before you can do this again.

“Hey, are you doing anything tomorrow?” Jungkook asks all of a sudden.

A while back he told you he always had study group on Sundays—for someone that acts like he doesn’t care about much, he sure is a good student—so you figure Sundays are never available. Plus, as long as you don’t have a ton of homework, Sundays are usually spent at a coffee shop on campus so you can write. You’ve finally fallen back into the habit of posting your fics regularly and your followers have been very grateful for it. You know you need to keep it up if you want to keep them happy but…

“Uh, no I don’t think so,” you stutter out and you want to smack yourself for sounding so nervous.

Of course, this causes Jungkook’s mouth to lift into a cheeky smirk and he gives a small nod. “Want to do something? Study together or something?”

You try not to fuel his ego trip any further, just giving your own nod and a small smile. “We could do that. Though I don’t really have anything I need to study for, surprisingly.”

“Well, then you can just sit there and tell me how pretty I am,” he replies causing you to laugh as he drives to the entrance of the parking lot.

Just then the intro to a song you absolutely despise starts playing and you reach out to change it.

“No wait, I like this one,” Jungkook says and suddenly his hand clamps around your wrist just above the hem of the sleeve of your sweater, his skin mere centimeters from touching yours. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at the hold. It’s not tight and he’s not hurting you but just the fact that he’s so close to touching your skin causes panic to flood your body for a split second. You’re just not used to the contact and immediately, you wrench your wrist back and clutch it to your chest.

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “Did I scare you?” His words come out quick. “Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you say with a shake of your head. “I’m sorry, you just startled me.”

“I just didn’t want you to change the song. I didn’t mean to—”

“No, really, Jungkook. It’s okay,” you say again.

Jungkook’s brow furrows as he studies your face. “What are you afraid of, Kitten?” he asks. “I’m obviously not your soulmate.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I don’t have a mark.”

“I still don’t believe that,” you say shifting in your seat.

The concerned look falls from his face, a curious one replacing it. “If my first deliberate touch was on your wrist, wouldn’t your mark be there instead of over your eye?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I mean, I could always…” he reaches his hand up toward your face and you instinctively pull back.

“Jungkook, stop,” you say, your heart pounding in your ears.

Jungkook drops his hand onto his lap and peers at you again. “Why are you so scared?”

“I’m not scared. I just…don’t know that I want a boy that I know isn’t my soulmate to touch my mark.”

He gives a small nod. “Fair enough.” Then he presses his hand, fingers splayed, against his thigh. “What about your hand then?”

You chew the inside of your cheek thoughtfully. What’s the worst that can happen? He doesn’t have a mark on his hand and neither do you. He’s not your soulmate. You have to keep telling yourself this. Though every time you do, you feel another stab at your heart. You really wish he was.

“Alright, fine,” you say with a sigh and hold your hand out to him, palm up.

Jungkook’s eyes dart down to it and he sucks in a breath. “What’s that?” he asks and you notice his voice suddenly sounds tight.

Now you look down at your hand too. “Oh, it’s just a scar,” you say using the thumb of your other hand to trace around the raised line on the heel of your palm. “I cut myself really bad on a piece of glass when I was younger. It looks worse than it was though. I didn’t even need stitches.”

“Interesting,” he says then finally pulls the car out onto the street.

Why does he seem so tense all of a sudden?

Neither of you say a word as he drives you back to school. Even when he pulls up to your dorm, he’s quiet, his eyes glued to his hands where they grip the steering wheel. Before you shut the door, you duck back down so you can see him. “Jungkook?”

“Yeah?” he asks quickly and turns his head finally to look at you.

“Uh...did you still want to hang out tomorrow?”

Jungkook pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and looks back down at his hands again. “I, uh, just remembered that I have to help Jimin with something tomorrow. I’m not going to be able to hang out. Sorry.”

What did you do? Why is he acting so strange? “Oh, okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you later then.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “I’ll see you around.”

He doesn’t look your way again and you find there’s nothing for you to do but shut the passenger door and step back onto the sidewalk. His car pulls away from the curb and you watch his tail lights until they disappear around the corner. Even then, you stand there, listening to the sound of his car’s engine fade to silence.

Jungkook doesn’t text you. He doesn’t answer his phone when you try to call him. After a week of silence and your first missed midnight frosty run, you’re kind of tempted to go over to the Beta Tau Sigma house and confront him face to face. But that seems like a lot of effort to put into this when he’s not even your soulmate. You told yourself that you couldn’t date him, that this couldn’t go any further and now that it almost did the other night—even if it would have been just a touch—you really wish it hadn’t. You wish you would have just let that stupid song play. Wish you wouldn’t have even started going on those stupid weekly midnight frosty runs, wish you wouldn’t have met him, wish you wouldn’t have gone to that stupid party in the first place. You knew it would have to end eventually. And now it has, and you can focus on other things. On school, on writing, on Bangtan.

Over the course of the next month, you’ve posted a new fic almost every day. Where they were once sweet, fluffy, member x reader fics, they’ve turned angsty, depressing, filled with internal conflict and heartbreak. Of course, your readers are eating it up. They have no idea what has made you switch gears so suddenly but they love it. You’re even enjoying watching your follower count go up, the number increasing faster than it ever has. You’ve gained over a hundred in just the past couple of weeks. Though you’d trade all of that in a heartbeat just to know what happened to make Jungkook shut you out all of a sudden.

You’ve been spending a lot more time at the coffee shop near your dorm. That’s where you go now on Saturdays and stay usually until close. What’s the point of sitting in your tiny dorm if Jungkook isn’t going to come knock on your door anyway? It’s a good distraction. The people, the noises, the conversations drown out your own thoughts and keep you focused on the task at hand, whether that be a paper you’re writing for whatever class or a new Bangtan fic. Tonight, it’s the latter.

You shouldn’t have trusted him. You tell yourself that now from where you lay half buried in the snow, the only evidence that you’re down there is the skis sticking up out of the you shaped hole. Your boyfriend, the brat that he is, isn’t even trying to hold back his giggles as he bends down to pull you out. “Are you okay, Y/N?” he asks, his smile almost too wide for his face. You glare at him and brush the snow off the back of your snowsuit.

Now what? You think to yourself as you tap your fingers against the keyboard. This is your first time writing anything fluffy in a long time and you can tell you’ve grown a bit rusty. With a sigh you look up from your computer screen, your eyes scanning the cafe for a moment before settling on the few people standing in line in front of the register. Then they lock on a familiar person.

Tae stands there, head bent, face lit up by his phone screen. You don’t want him to see you. You don’t want him to call you over or mention Jungkook or ask you how you’re doing—because honestly, even though it’s been over a month, you still aren’t feeling that great. Whatever he’s doing on his phone, he seems distracted enough for you to be able to get out unnoticed so you slowly close your laptop and slip it into your backpack before picking it up off the floor and getting up from your chair as quietly as possible.

Of course, right at that moment, the barista behind the counter decides to call out your name, holding your drink up for you to retrieve, and of course, Tae recognizes it and turns around, his eyes locking with yours. Crap. Now your name is called a second time, this time by the boy you were trying to avoid.

Perfect. You smile and wave back, trying not to look like you’ve been caught trying to escape as he steps out of line to grab your drink for you before making his way over to your table. You smile and utter a thanks.

“Oh, were you just leaving?” he asks you, tilting his head toward the backpack hanging off your shoulder.

“Well, I was going to just head back to my dorm to finish writing this…paper.” It’s still too weird for you to tell people that you write fan fiction. When you told Jungkook, he teased you a bit at first—surprise surprise—but once he’d read some—much to your horror—he said it was actually really good. You’d smacked him on the arm for sounding so surprised and using the word actually.

“Well, would you want to come to a party instead?” Tae asks you with a shrug.

“Oh, I don’t know, Tae,” you say looking down at your shoes.

“Come on,” he says. “You haven’t been to one since our first this year. You can’t tell me you’d rather write a paper than come back with me.”

“What were you even doing getting coffee if there’s a party going on back at the house?”

Tae shrugs and now it’s his turn to look down at his feet. “I may have heard you frequent this cafe.” Then he looks up again at you shyly. “So I figured I’d see if I could find you and convince you to come.”

You can’t help but feel flattered. The boy is adorable and he seemed sweet the one other time you interacted with him. Maybe he would be the key to getting over Jungkook. Of course, the fact that he lives in the same frat house as Jungkook makes your insides churn with conflict.

“I don’t know, Tae,” you say. “Things are weird between me and Jungkook and I just really don’t want to run into him—”

“Oh, he’s not there,” Tae interrupts with a smile. “He’s at study group tonight and he usually stays there pretty late.” Then he puts a hand on your arm, the warmth seeping through the material of your sweater and causing goosebumps to raise on your skin. “Just please come to the party with me?” His wide, pleading eyes peer up at you from beneath his sandy brown hair and his mouth curls into a small smile. He’s too adorable, how can you refuse?

At last you let out a sigh. “Yeah, okay,” you say. “But I can’t stay too late. Just a couple hours.”

Tae’s smile widens until his bright white teeth are on full display and his eyes have almost disappeared. “Awesome,” he says then takes your backpack from you and swings it over his own shoulder to carry. “Shall we?” he asks gesturing toward the door.

You can only smile back and give a small nod. Your heart skips but something deep in your chest keeps the butterflies from turning into a full frenzy. Maybe it’s because you know Jungkook isn’t going to be there. Maybe it’s because you wish he was.

You find yourself experiencing deja vu as you and Tae approach the home of Beta Tau Sigma. This time the light reflected on the front of the house is a deep blue but the street is still vibrating with the bass-heavy music blasting from within it. You take a deep breath telling yourself over and over that Jungkook isn’t here. That he doesn’t even have to know you came. You’re here with Tae.

It’s like walking into a memory when you step inside. The room is wall to wall people and you reach forward, hooking a finger through Tae’s belt loop so you don’t lose him in the crowd. There’s the beer pong game in the corner, the keg stand happening by the stairs and the dancing bodies surrounding you. You’ve done a pretty terrible job at completely reinventing yourself this year but the progress you did manage to make is completely gone now as you shrink into yourself, pushing up against Tae’s back so you don’t get separated.

You only let go of him when the two of you reach the kitchen and he turns around. It was hot in that front room with all those bodies and when he turns to face you, your breath catches in your throat at the way his golden face flushes a bit pink from the warmth. You’re already hot since you’re wearing a sweater—why didn’t you think to go back to your dorm to change before coming here?—but now you feel a slight sheen of sweat break out on your forehead.

“Did you want something to drink?” he asks you, his voice lower than it was when you were talking on the walk back from the cafe.

You can only nod your head and then watch as he makes his way over to the bar. You didn’t mention that you don’t drink but for some reason you don’t call after him. Maybe it’ll help you get through this night in one piece.

“Here,” Tae says pressing the cup into your hand.

Thanks,” you utter and lift it to your lips. The smell of alcohol burns your nose but you tip the cup back anyway, tears springing to your eyes the moment the liquid touches your tongue. Don’t cough. Don’t cough. Don’t cough. You take a small drink.

“Kitten?”

Okay, now you do cough, slapping a hand over your mouth to keep from spitting everywhere as you spin around and come face to face with Jungkook.

“JK, I thought you were at study group,” Tae says from behind you, his deep voice tinged with panic. Well, good, at least he’s caught off guard too.

“I was,” he says not taking his eyes off you. “But now I’m not, so…”

“Jungkook,” you say but he turns away, heading back into the living room before you can say anything. You look back at Tae and press your cup into his hand. “I’ll be right back,” you say before diving after Jungkook into the crowd.

You catch him in the hallway that branches off into the rest of the house, your hand clutching his sleeve. To add to the deja vu of the whole night, he’s wearing his red and black striped sweater again. “Just wait a second.”

He turns to face you with a roll of his eyes. “Tae? Really?” he asks with a humorless laugh. “I mean, I guess I can’t blame you. He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he sure is the shiniest.”

You furrow your brow, anger making your stomach churn. “You’re not allowed to be mad. You’re the one that’s been completely ignoring me for the past month. What did I even do?”

“Nothing,” he utters. The music is still loud so you only barely hear him but you can tell he’s frustrated.

A burst of laughter echoes down the hall and you let out an irritated growl before pulling Jungkook into the closest empty room for privacy. It’s some sort of study.

You slam the door and whirl around to face him again. “You can’t completely ignore me and then get mad at me for moving on, Jungkook,” you say louder now.

“I know, but I mean, Tae? Really? Why not someone else? Like Jin or Namjoon? Do you really think Tae is soulmate material?”

You didn’t even think about the possibility of him being your soulmate. You don’t even know where his mark is, plus before tonight you’ve talked to him once. The fact that Jungkook is the only one you’ve actually thought about like that and now he’s mocking you makes you even angrier.

“What does soulmate material even mean? And why do you care who I’m with, Jungkook?” you ask, blinking rapidly because you can feel angry tears welling up and you refuse to cry in front of this boy. “Maybe Taehyung is my soulmate.” He laughs at this. “But even if he isn’t,” you continue, “it’s none of your business. You don’t even have a mark so why should you care?”

Jungkook stares at you with narrowed eyes for a long minute, his teeth working his bottom lip, his thick eyebrows furrowed so harshly, deep lines have formed in his forehead. At last he lets out a puff of air through his nose and leans back. “You’re right, Kitten” he utters. “It’s none of my business.” Then with a shake of his head, he turns and slips back out into the hallway, leaving you alone in the empty room.

“Hey, everything alright?” Tae asks when you make your way back into the kitchen.

You grab your cup back from him and take a drink, wincing as the alcohol burns its way down your throat. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you say.

“Jungkook can be a jerk sometimes.”

You take another drink. “Yeah, I guess.”

You know he feels bad for putting you in the situation and you know he wants to make you feel better, but you just can’t bring yourself to smile again. Even as you look at him and his own mouth lifts into a charming grin. Ugh, this boy is beautiful. With a deep breath, you tip your cup back again, gulping down the drink until your cup is empty. It’s already starting to take effect, making you unstable on your feet, but at least the anger and sadness is melting away. Now when you look at Tae again, you find it easier to return the smile.

“Do you want to dance?” you ask him.

He nods his head quickly, pushing off the counter and offering his hand. The alcohol may be clouding your brain but not enough to keep you from wondering “what if he is my soulmate?” Instead of taking his hand, you wrap your fingers around his wrist where it’s covered by the cuff of his long sleeved shirt and tug him with you toward the crowded living room.

You’ve never danced with a boy before, at least not one you weren’t forced to dance with by your parents, so you aren’t quite sure what to do once the two of you reach the middle of the tangle. Tae, luckily, has done this before and he puts his hands on your hips, his shoulders hunched in and it almost feels like he’s surrounding you. The alcohol in your system helps keep your nerves at bay and you find yourself moving along with him to the music. This isn’t so bad. In fact, you’re actually enjoying yourself.

You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck and feel his hands tighten on your hips. What if Tae is your soulmate? Even if he’s not, what if you were to give dating a try? Maybe he’s not the one that you wanted to try it with but who’s to say he can’t be?

Your eyes begin to wander, your head turning slowly as you scan the room over Tae’s shoulder. His body heat radiates through your clothes and the music pulses in your chest and the alcohol clouds your brain and suddenly your eyes stop on Jungkook where he leans against the wall staring back at you. His head is down, his hands in his pockets and he’s peering at you through his dark hair. You can’t tell if he’s deep in thought or angry at what he’s seeing, either way, a wave of guilt crashes over you and you feel yourself stumble, your chin bumping into Tae’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asks looking down at you, his forehead creased with worry lines.

“Yeah,” you say quickly. Though not quickly enough since the alcohol in your system seems to be making your tongue heavy. “Sorry, I’m just...clumsy.”

Tae smiles. “No, it’s okay,” he says. “It’s cute.”

Cute?

“You think I’m cute?” you ask.

His smile widens. “Yeah, really cute,” he replies biting his bottom lip.

Your eyes shift back to Jungkook and he seems to be staring at you even more intensely. As if he’s trying to speak to you telepathically. Why is he doing this? Why is he trying to ruin your night? Tae is a sweet guy. One you could see yourself getting closer to. And he thinks you’re cute! You return your gaze to Tae and smile back.

“I think you’re cute, too,” you say shyly. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck and you can’t help but glance one more time past his shoulder.

But your eyes only settle on a blank wall. Jungkook must have left. Good. You don’t need him being a distraction anyway. Though even as you dance with Tae, you can’t keep the memories from surfacing in your mind. Of that first night meeting Jungkook. His cocky smile, how it faltered for a split second when Tae called you Kitten. Of that first time he came to your dorm and saw your Bangtan poster. How he laughed as you swatted at him for making fun of you. Listening to Mayday Parade on the way to Wendy’s. Sitting at that outside table surrounded by the cold and darkness—frosties really did taste better after midnight. The way he looked at you that last night, like he wished he were your soulmate as much as you did.

You pull away from Tae. This is wrong. He looks down at you a bit confused. This is wrong. This is wrong.

“This is wrong,” you say out loud and then look up to meet his concerned expression. “I’m sorry, Tae,” you say. “I have to go.”

Then without waiting for him to respond, you turn away, pushing through the crowd until you reach the wall. You make your way around the perimeter of the living room, eyes searching for a glimpse of that black and red striped sweater. It’s hard to make out colors with all the bright, flashing lights and the alcohol causing your vision to blur a bit but you’d know if you saw it. He’s not there.

After circling the living room, you step into the kitchen. Maybe he’s getting a drink. Not there either. What if he left? Panic starts to set in as you stumble back toward the living room. Upstairs, maybe? You’re about to head for the stairs when you spot him back by the entrance to the hallway. With a cry of relief, you approach him, ignoring his protest as you grab him, once again, by his sweater and tug him down the hallway and into the room from earlier. You pull the door shut behind you then spin around to face him.

“Kitten, what the—”

“I need you to touch me,” you say cutting him off.

Jungkook blinks back at you several times, still in shock over the fact that one minute you’re yelling at him and the next, you’ve dragged him back into the study. Finally, he opens his mouth. “Um, what?”

“Please, Jungkook,” you utter. “Just touch me. Touch my mark.” Then you step toward him.

Reflexively, he moves back and you feel your heart drop an inch in your chest. “Wait a second, Kitten,” he says and holds his hands up. “Why do you want me to touch you? I thought Tae was your soulmate.”

You rake your hands down your face and let out a frustrated groan. “I don’t know if he is,” you say from behind your fingers.

“Well, there’s an easy way to find out,” he says and moves around you to try and get out of the room.

In a rush of panic, you quickly step in front of him again, blocking his path. “I don’t want him to touch me,” you say.

“Why not?” he asks irritatedly and grabs your arm to move you out of the way.

“Because I don’t love him!”

Jungkook freezes mid-step, his hand still warm through the material of your sweater. Your head is pounding, your blurred vision pulsing with every rapid beat of your heart. The two of you stand in the dim room, the sounds of your breathing amplified by the tense silence. At last you feel his fingers curl around your arm before he steps back again to look at you.

“I don’t want him to be my soulmate,” you whisper. “I don’t want him to touch me.” You can feel the tears welling up more and threatening to spill over. Your throat begins to close up. “I want you to.” You take a shuddering breath. “I want you.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen for a split second before darting back and forth between yours. As if he’s waiting for you to take it back. As if he’s waiting for you to say you didn’t really mean it. But you won’t take it back. And you did really mean it. At last, he lets out a heavy sigh. “That’s not how it works, Kitten,” he says. “It doesn’t matter who you love or who you want. That’s why this is all so stupid.”

You tilt your head down as you feel your heart slip from your chest and shatter on the floor. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, instead favoring keeping your eyes glued to your shoes. This just makes the tears spill over but you know that crying in front of him won’t change a thing and at last you lift your head. A pained look crosses Jungkook’s face when he sees the despair written on yours.

He steps closer to you. “Don’t cry, Kitten,” he whispers.

It’s too late for that. You sniff again wishing you could fall into him. That he would wrap his arms around you and hold you against his warm chest and you could just listen to him breathing. Listen to his heart beating. Even if it’ll never belong to you.

“Please don’t cry,” he says again then takes his hand off of your arm and brings it up to swipe his thumb across your eye, catching a tear as it falls.

You gasp a little at the feel of his skin brushing yours, a new sensation that takes your breath away. Jungkook seems to realize what he’s done at the same time because he pulls back suddenly as if he’s been burned. When you open your eyes, you’re met with his own astonished expression. His mouth is open, his eyes wide. You sniff self-consciously and bring a hand up to swipe your sleeve under your nose. “Jungkook?”

“I have to go,” he says quickly then rushes past you and out the door before you can say anything.

It’s almost midnight and the only light in your room is from the white lights you and Lisa strung up at the beginning of the year. The small lights make it pretty dim, but there’s still no mistaking that the mark surrounding your eye is now a bold crimson. Your gaze lands on Lisa where she sits at her desk over your shoulder. She’s been staring at you for as long as you’ve been standing there staring at yourself. You can’t help it, though. You can’t help fixating on your soulmate mark. The patch of skin that was once black and now red.

“So you can’t get ahold of him?” Lisa finally asks.

You left the party an hour ago and Jungkook hasn’t answered your calls or texts.

You reach up to touch the deep red skin, for some reason expecting it to feel different. Warm or something. But no, it feels the same as it always has.

“No,” you say with a sigh. “I should just give up.”

You can’t help feeling confused. He told you he doesn’t even have a mark. Why would yours change color when he touched you as if he were your soulmate, if he doesn’t even have one? Does that happen? Can an unmarked person have a soulmate? You’ve never even heard of someone not having a mark.

“Maybe it’s some weird allergic reaction or something,” you utter, though both of you know that’s complete crap. Nothing could turn your black mark red other than a touch from your soulmate. There’s no other explanation. “Or maybe he just doesn’t want me.”

Lisa’s mouth lifts into a sympathetic smile. “Well, maybe you could—”

A sharp knock has you stumbling backward from the door and bumping into Lisa where she’s jumped to her feet. Neither of you are expecting anyone. In fact, you’re both in your pajamas, Lisa’s hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head.

“Should one of us get that?” Lisa asks from behind you. Even as she says it, you feel her push against your back, forcing you to step forward.

This is ridiculous. It’s not like an axe murderer would knock and wait for you to answer the door before coming in swinging. With a deep breath, you take the few steps it takes to cross the room and pull the door open. Your heartbeat falters when you see Jungkook standing there in a black zip hoodie. His eyes lock with yours.

“Hi,” you say, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious at your reddened mark on full display. Your blush deepens and you tilt your head down at the fact that he’s the one that made it that color.

“Hi,” he utters and shifts from one foot to the other. He seems as nervous as you feel.

You sense a presence behind you and you turn to find Lisa standing there. “Well,” she says. “I think it’s time for me to go and do…something.” Then she slips past you, squeezing around Jungkook before marching down the hallway.

“You’re in your pajamas!” you call after her.

“It’s fine!”

“And you’re not wearing shoes!”

“It’s fine,” she calls again, waving an arm over her shoulder before turning the corner.

You and Jungkook stand there in your doorway for several more tense seconds, the only sound being your uneven breathing as each of you wait for the other to speak. The silence drags on until at last you both open your mouths.

“About the party—”

“Why did you—”

You clamp your mouth shut and nod, urging him to go first.

“Look, Kitten,” he says. “I know I ran off, and you have every right to be mad at me but I kind of freaked out and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“So you just left me?” you ask weakly. You can’t help the way your voice cracks. You’ve been in a bit of a daze ever since seeing that your mark had changed and now that Jungkook’s here, it’s all seeming to catch up with you. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“I know.”

“I thought you didn’t want me.”

“I know.”

“I thought you said you didn’t have a mark.”

“I know.”

“Well?”

Jungkook sucks in a breath, his eyes tearing away from yours to look down at the floor. You just watch him as he works his bottom lip between his teeth, until at last, he looks at you again. Instead of speaking, he reaches up to grasp the zipper of his hoodie then tugs it down, revealing a long strip of golden skin. When he pulls one side away, you can’t help but gasp at the sight.

It’s not just the sudden expanse of smooth skin that startles you—or the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt—but the black mark in the shape of a handprint staining the spot over his heart. The creases on the palm and fingers are perfectly etched out, and on the heel just below the thumb, is a thick line, devoid of black. A scar in the exact mirrored shape of the one on your own palm.

He doesn’t lift his head but closes his eyes as if preparing for your outrage. After all, he did blatantly lie to you about having a mark. With how long the two of you have been friends, with how close you’ve gotten and with how much you’ve shared about your lives with each other, maybe you should be. But you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but pure astonishment as your eyes trace the handprint. It’s so perfectly clear. Like no mark you’ve ever seen before.

You feel your hand twitch down at your side, the need to place it over the print too strong for you to resist. As if some force is guiding you to it, your arm raises, your fingers brushing up Jungkook’s sleeve before you reach up and place your hand directly over his heart, covering the mark completely. Jungkook sucks in a breath at the feel of your bare skin against his. He’s so warm.

Neither of you move. Your eyes stay glued to your hand where it sits over his mark. You can feel his heart hammering in his chest under your palm, seemingly matching yours which pulses in your ears. It’s all you can hear until Jungkook opens his mouth to speak at last.

“I didn’t want a soulmate,” he says. Your eyes finally shift to meet his. “I could have gone my whole life without one. At least I thought I could. And then I met you. And I feel like this is…different. I wanted you even when I thought you weren’t mine. And maybe that’s how this whole thing works but I don’t even care anymore. I’ll be a mindless robot if it means I get to be with you.” Then he reaches up to wrap his fingers around your hand and pulls it from his chest. A deep red handprint stains his skin.

You let out a heavy sigh of relief. “That could have been really awkward if it stayed black,” you say shakily.

Jungkook can only let out a broken laugh before taking your face in his hands and pulling you to him. Your mouths collide in what you can only describe as the most beautiful thing you’ve ever experienced. The relief flooding your chest is such an overwhelming feeling that you have to clutch onto Jungkook’s sides for dear life to keep from drowning in it. Tears trail down your cheeks, sliding over his fingers and when the two of you pull apart at last, you can see his own dark eyes glittering.

“What time is it?” he asks breathlessly.

You crane your neck around to glance at the clock on your desk. “A little after midnight,” you say turning again to meet his eyes.

The corners crinkle as his mouth lifts into a bright smile. “Frosties?”

The room is way too small for how many students are crowded into it. A temporary stage has been erected in the center and now it’s surrounded by an ocean of people in yellow and dark green waiting to hear the results of the student government elections. You, of course, stand next to Lisa and the rest of the candidates in her party. You’re already sweating from jumping up and down and screaming in celebration every time someone from Lisa’s party wins for their senate category. She’s been running under the Liber party, their color’s bright yellow and navy blue, so of course you’re sporting a canary colored shirt in support. Even if she wasn’t your roommate, the values her party stands for are right up your alley. You would have voted for her anyway.

You look across the stage at the Optimate party, the crowd decked out in dark green and white. Jimin stands in the forefront in a forest green blazer, his palms pressed together in front of his face in silent prayer as he stares up at the Supervisor of Elections. The senate seats have all been announced, the majority going to the Optimates. Jimin isn’t very good at hiding his satisfaction and even from where you stand, you can still see the determination in his eyes. But then your focus shifts a little to the left and you feel your mouth tug up into a smile.

Jungkook smiles back from where he stands a bit behind Jimin, mouth stretching wide to show his teeth. You feel your heart swell in your chest and you imagine his is doing the same. The V of the white t-shirt under his dark green cardigan is deep enough that you can see a bit of a red fingerprint peeking out. It’s bright against his golden skin and the fact that it’s on display for the world to see—though not as obvious as yours—makes the butterflies already fluttering in your stomach work into a flurry. It’s been months since the two of you made it official but even still you can’t believe that this beautiful boy is yours forever.

An elbow jabs into your ribs and you jump a bit.

“Stop making googly eyes at the enemy,” Lisa hisses. “They’re announcing the results for the executive ticket.”

“Right, sorry,” you utter glancing quickly back at Jungkook. He gives you a wink, sending the butterflies into a whirl again and you look away quickly as you feel heat tinge your cheeks.

“For position of treasurer,” the boy on stage says into the mic. That’s Lisa’s category. You paw at the space next to you for a second before your hand comes in contact with your roommate’s gloved one and you grip it tightly. You can feel her fingers bruising your own and you know your hand is going to be sore tomorrow but you couldn’t care less at the moment. The whole crowd is holding its breath.

Then the tension in the room bursts like a bubble as barely the first syllable of the Liber party comes out and the crowd descends into chaos. You’re jumping up and down and screaming as you clutch onto Lisa for dear life, the two of you suddenly at the center of a heap of bright yellow bodies. Your ears are ringing from the shouting around you and you’re sure your whole body is going to be sore from the onslaught of elbows and shoulders but they don’t even register now as you hug your roommate so tightly, you’re surprised she doesn’t snap in two.

At last you pull away from her, tears streaming down both of your faces.

“You did it!” you yell over the cheering.

“I did it!”

“You beat Jimin!”

“I beat Jimin!”

At that, you turn your head to face the other side again. Jimin’s back is to you, his face tilted to the ceiling and Jungkook has an arm over his shoulder, his big hand on the older boy’s back, giving him a few supportive pats. His eyes meet yours again for a split second and he flashes a small smile. You can tell this one is different than before. A bit sadder, disappointed, but still congratulatory. You smile back before turning around again to continue celebrating with Lisa.

The president and vice president end up going to the Liber party as well so the two of you are ecstatic by the time you make it back to your dorm. Lisa goes straight for her bed, throwing herself onto the mattress and screaming into her pillow. You laugh as you shut the door then spin around to face the mirror hanging on the back of it.

Jungkook is supposed to pick you up any minute so you don’t have much time to redo the makeup that has been sweated and cried off. You rip the band out of your hair and shake your head, letting it spill down around you. Just then there’s a knock on the door and, with complete disregard for how crazy you must look, you reach for the knob and yank the door open.

“Hey Kit—HOLY CRAP!” Jungkook falls back against the opposite wall hands up in defense.

With a roll of your eyes, you blow a stray strand of hair out of your face. “Come on, I can’t look that terrifying.”

“I beg to differ,” he says straightening back up slowly.

You swing the door around so you can see your reflection again and wince. Okay, so you do look a bit like an escaped psychopath. Quickly, you swipe your hands down your cheeks to clear away the smudged makeup then reach up to smooth down the mess on your head.

“Here, let me do that,” Jungkook says with a smirk before reaching forward to rake his fingers through your hair. He pulls you to him, tilting his head to mold his mouth to yours and you giggle against him.

“Okay, I know you’re soulmates and all but do you really have to do that here?” Lisa asks and you break away startled. Admittedly, you kind of forgot she was there. But then again being with Jungkook tends to do that to you. Makes the rest of the world disappear.

“Sorry,” you utter as you step back from your boyfriend, a blush rising to the surface of your skin. You turn away from him before he can tease you for it. “You should join us,” you tell her.

“Oh no, it’s okay,” Lisa says pulling her own hair back into a ponytail. “I was just going to study for my exam on Tuesday.”

“You just won your election and you’re going to study?” Jungkook asks.

Lisa looks up from slipping the navy blue glove off of her hand. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt your date.

You glance down at her now exposed black palm and then back up to meet her eyes. “It’s not a date,” you say. “We’re just going to hang out. Come with us.”

Lisa shakes her head. “No, I could—”

You don’t let her finish, instead grabbing her arm and pulling her off her bed and dragging her out the door after you. “Come on, student body treasurer,” you say. “We’re going to celebrate.”

“You’re going to celebrate,” Jungkook corrects you as he trails behind. “Don’t forget, my party lost.”

“Well, you can live vicariously through us then,” you say as the three of you make your way out of the dorms.

The restaurant is close to campus so of course it’s packed when the three of you get there. It’s a sea of yellow with a bit of dark green sprinkled throughout, everyone there either celebrating their victory or mourning their loss.

“There’s Jimin,” Jungkook says tilting his chin toward a booth in the corner.

You spot him hunched over a beer bottle, his fingers tangled in his hair as Tae and the other four Beta Tae Sigma brothers talk with him. Poor guy hasn’t lost in two years. He’s probably a wreck. Especially losing to a freshman. The last thing he needs right now is to see Lisa.

“Hey, Jimin-ah!” Jungkook calls, the boy lifting his head as Jungkook waves.

You elbow him in the ribs. “Really? Why not just rub salt in his wounds?”

“Ah, he’s a big boy,” Jungkook says grabbing your hand and pulling you toward them. You, in turn, grab Lisa so she doesn’t get separated in the crowd. “Besides, we’re never going to get a table of our own. They took the biggest one. We’ll fit.”

“Jungkook,” Lisa says from behind you. “I really don’t think this is a good—Jimin, hi.”

Jimin lifts his head, his eyes scanning the three of you slowly, starting on Jungkook and finally resting on Lisa. Your stomach drops a bit when you see his eyes narrow to slits. “Hi,” he says coldly.

“Want to make room?” Jungkook asks and gestures to Jin, Hoseok and Namjoon to make their way around the circular booth. They squeeze in closer to Tae and Jimin.

You’ve spent a lot of time over at the Beta Tau Sigma house since dating Jungkook and have come to really like the other members. Each of them gives you a friendly smile as you slide in after your boyfriend. Tae smiles at you too from across the table and you smile back. Things were awkward with him for a while but he couldn’t blame you for going back to Jungkook. After all, he is your soulmate.

“Did you really have to bring her with you?” Jimin asks, jutting his chin toward Lisa where she sits across from him.

Lisa sits back in her seat and crosses her arms over her chest. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, it’s literally been an hour,” the boy continues as if she isn’t there. “Give me time to lick my wounds, at least.”

“You’re just butt-hurt because you lost to a girl,” Lisa says and the rest of you exchange uneasy glances.

Now it’s Jimin’s turn to sit up and cross his arms. “I couldn’t care less that you’re a girl,” then he leans forward again so he’s halfway across the table. “I just don’t take too kindly to losing to first years.”

You watch anxiously now as Lisa leans forward too, a smile playing on her lips. “Well, you did, so you better get over it. It was probably that smear campaign you tried to run against me the did you in. People don’t take too kindly to playing dirty.”

You look at Jungkook where he watches beside you. This was a bad idea.

Jimin’s whole face scrunches up in anger as he sucks in a breath and sits back again. Then with a heavy sigh, his expression softens. “You’re right,” he says at last “I shouldn’t have called you unreliable and unstable.”

“Thank you.” Lisa says with a nod.

Jimin grabs his beer off the table and takes a swig. Once he swallows, his lips spread into a smile. “More like childish and incompetent.”

“Uh oh,” Jungkook utters beside you.

“I’m incompetent?” Lisa exclaims with wide eyes. “You do realize I just beat you, right?”

“How about you go celebrate somewhere else then?” Jimin asks loudly, pointing his beer bottle at her.

“How about you go shove that bottle up your—”

“How about the two of you just shake hands like adults?” Jungkook asks cutting Lisa off before she can finish. The two of them turn to look at him, indignant expressions on both of their faces. “Look, Lisa won fair and square. Jimin, you need to stop acting like a toddler and accept the fact that there was finally someone better than you for the position. Alright?”

The two rivals turn their heads to look at each other again, Jimin’s eyes still narrowed and Lisa’s eyebrows cocked as if daring him to continue. The rest of the table, you included, is watching this whole ordeal and you kind of wish you had some popcorn right now because this is better than any drama you’ve ever watched.

Jungkook tilts his head down, looking at the two out of the tops of his eyes. “Come on, shake,” he urges gesturing toward the center of the table where he expects their hands to meet.

Lisa lets out an exasperated sigh and Jimin rolls his eyes as each of them reluctantly extend an arm. In a blur of black, their palms collide, fingers wrapping around each other’s hands and then simultaneously they both let out a gasp. As you stare down at their joined hands, it finally dawns on you that Lisa had taken off her glove back at the dorm and didn’t have a chance to put it back on before you dragged her here to the restaurant.

The two of them open their mouths at the same time to speak.

“No way.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Ha!” Jungkook exclaims clapping his hands together once in excitement. “I knew it!” Then he turns to you. “See? I called it. You owe me a large frosty.”

“I honestly didn’t think you’d be able to pull this off,” you say with a shake of your head. “To get these two doofs to be civil? I’m impressed.”

Jungkook slips his hand around your waist and pulls you closer against him. “Anything else I can do to impress you?” he asks and waggles his eyebrows eliciting a laugh from you as he buries his face into your neck.

It takes you a minute to realize that everyone else at the table has gone silent, the rest of the boys still watching Jimin even as he just stares at Lisa, their hands still clasped.

“Actually,” you say pushing Jungkook’s face out of your neck and motioning toward the center of the table. “It hasn’t been confirmed yet.”

He furrows his eyebrows, his eyes darting between Jimin’s hand and his face. “Hey, Jimin,” he says and at last his friend tears his gaze away from Lisa to look at him. “What happened there?” he asks with a knowing smile.

It seems as if the two finally realize that they aren’t in their own little world and break out of their daze, letting their fingers fall away from each other’s grasp. Now their palms are exposed, each a bright red.

“Boom. Large frosty,” Jungkook iterates before placing a quick kiss on your cheek.

“Do you think your parents are going to like me?” you ask as you draw swirls in your frosty with the tip of your spoon.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jungkook says with a shrug. “They’re stuck with you.”

You nudge him hard with your elbow eliciting a smile and a laugh from him. “Hey, I’m just kidding,” he says and leans over to press a reassuring kiss to your lips. “They’ll love you.”

With a stomach fresh full of butterflies, you swivel on your seat sideways and settle back into the space he’s made for you between his thighs. The two of you are enjoying your weekly after midnight frosty at your usual table. Being almost summer, the air is warmer now. Finally, warm enough for you to not have to cuddle up to Jungkook, though you do anyway. You lay your head back against his chest, drawing your knees up so you can prop your feet on the bench as you tip your cup back and let the last bit of frosty drip into your open mouth.

“I see what you meant, now,” you say pointing your spoon up at him.

He peers down at you, pulling his own spoon out of his mouth. “What do you mean?”

“You weren’t a fan of soulmates because you were afraid it would happen for you the way it did for Lisa and Jimin, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he says.

“That’s not how it happened for us though, right?” you ask tilting your head up so you’re looking at him upside down. “I mean, I liked you when I didn’t think you were my soulmate. It felt…different than what would normally happen.”

Jungkook takes your empty cup and sets both of them on the table then brings a hand down to brush your hair back from your forehead. “It was different,” he utters. “I guess we’re lucky in a way.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

Jungkook smiles down at you. A strand of hair escapes from behind your ear and he brushes it back again, his fingers sliding further down your face to gently trace the red mark around your eye. You’ll never get tired of the feel of his skin on yours. “I don’t know,” he says thoughtfully. “I feel like if I had the choice, I would’ve still chosen you.”

You let out a loud laugh. “I think that may be the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Well, get used to it, Kitten,” Jungkook says hugging you tightly against him. “My parents used to make me watch cheesy romance movies with them so I’m chock-full of em.”

“Can’t wait.”

“I am, though,” he says and you look up at him again. The amused glint in his eyes is gone, replaced with something else. Something softer.

You can feel your heart melting in your chest, all warm and tingly. “What, full of cheesy lines?” you ask.

“No,” he says. “Well, yes, but no.” Then Jungkook smiles before tilting his head down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Lucky,” he says.

You close your eyes, feeling his lips on your skin, his heart beating against your back. “Me too.”

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