#does it bother tell an artist who spent five hours on a piece to tell them what you think of it

[saint-gerard-of-arc]

Why, why do artists, writers, gif makers, ANYONE who puts any sort of creative effort on something on this hellsite have to ask and beg everyone else to REBLOG their shit and not only LIKE.

#witchy.txt #good morning I'm bitter #I mean like #I don't care about 'being popular' ok #especially bc clout chasing here is even more useless than on ig or twitter #but you can't deny that it's fucking heartbreaking when you put effort into something #and all you can get is a pat in the back #that's what likes on your art feel like on this site #like jesus christ does it bother you that much to reblog? does it now? #does it bother tell an artist who spent five hours on a piece to tell them what you think of it? #I don't wanna guilt trip anyone. that's the last thing I want to do here #I'm just fucking upset bc I saw so much support before (like 20 followers in an empty blog counts as a win to me) #but now that I made my first post I have to reblog it MYSELF so it gets a little recognition? #what kinda bullshit is that #and I understand that not everyone could see it of course and hell thank you to anyone that has rbd it and told me their opinion on it #and of course it's the first post and a very particular one at that so I can't expect it to be a major success #the crüe first show ended up in a fight with the audience after all #but still. when it's likes only............ hhhmmmmmmm #idk man sorry for being an asshole #to delete later?

[tinyyoungblood]

romance, eh? | peter parker

summary: it’s the broken main characters typeshi where they don’t think they deserve love, but over the course of the movie, they help each other and fall in love. football fields and late night drives. it’s kinda cute

pairing: peter parker x reader

trope: best friends to lovers

warning: language, very fluffy

a/n: i’ve resurrected from the dead, waddup <3

* * *

You were sat at the porch of your house, tossing rocks down the driveway and watching them skip toward a puddle. The sound of splashing water was the only source of entertainment as you were seemingly the only person alive in this town. When you realized that you had finally run out of stones to throw, you considered hurling the gnome down the driveway but decided against it and instead, patted your pockets in an attempt to locate your phone. To your surprise, it started ringing the second you held it in your palm. Peter’s name flashed boldly across the screen, illuminating your face. You answered the call and stood up.

“Where the hell are you?”

Loud rustling was on the other side of the line, and you squinted down the road in search of any approaching cars.

Finally, his familiar voice rang through the phone’s speakers. “Y/N, fuck, I’m—ow.” You heard a car door shut, and a string of curse words lingered at the tip of your tongue.

“Oh God, you’re not telling me you’re still at home, are you? Please tell me, you just closed the door to get out of your car and not in.” Absolute silence followed, and you could practically see him sit still like a deer caught in headlights. A beat followed before he replied carefully.

“What if I tell you I just entered a very sketchy dance battle in the middle of the forest and now it takes me 10 to 15, maybe even 20 minutes, to kick ass and get out of here?”

You took a deep breath and dragged your feet back to the porch, shunning it with a glare. “Parker, I swear to God, if I hear you turn on the engine right now, I’m going to set your Star Wars collection on fire.”

You heard him mumble something on the other side of the line, but were only able to pick out a soft “not cool”. The clanking of keys occurred next and before you knew it, the engine was yanked to life, making you groan loudly. “I hate you.”

You heard him set the phone down with a chuckle, switching to speaker. “I’ll get over it. Just don’t touch my Star Wars.”

You slumped back on the porch and grimaced at the spider web hanging above your head. Scooting away from it, you let your back hit the wooden ground, phone still pressed against your ear. “Just hurry up,” You murmured, defeat and exhaustion instilling a softness in your voice. He cooed at you.

“Don’t worry, I know there’s never any parking space on Thursdays, but I’ll run all the way from the parking lot to your house. Actually, I’ll start running the second this car is parked—no, wait, I’ll start running while I’m still in the car—”

“Peter,” you cut him off, knowing he could go on forever but still somehow end up not coming at all. “Just drive safely, okay? I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Fine,” he replied, “but I’ll have you know that I have now stomped two holes into the car’s floor to get to you Flintstone style. That’s the dedication we’re working with here.” A subtle click followed, signaling that he had ended the call.

Light laughter bubbled over your lips, and you shook your head at your best friend’s words. He was a dumbass, but at least he could make you laugh. One of the many reasons, you adored him. The rest of your life could be spent listing off the other reasons, but even in the afterlife, you wouldn’t be halfway done. You didn’t bother to sit up, opting to just lay on your back until either he would arrive or a passer-by would mistake you for a corpse and call the police. Whatever came first.

The next few minutes were waste of time. Now and then, a glance would be cast at the display of your phone, but that was really how far it went with the physical activity. For all Peter knew, you could’ve been dead when he finally arrived, dashing toward you like a maniac chased by the Holy Spirit. “Y/N?” He skidded to a halt and breathed hard. “You alive?” You felt him poke your side with his finger. Too drowsy to react, you simply lifted your hand and gave him a thumbs up. A grin swept over his lips, and he bent down to scoop you up, coaxing a sign of life out of you as you squealed but almost immediately after melted into his chest.

He chuckled and carried you to his car. “Hello to you too, baby.”

You forced an eye open. “Took you long enough.”

Shrugging, he cocked his head to the side and lifted the corner of his mouth. “Oh, you know, some girl was babbling my ear off while I was on my way here. Really messed up my schedule.” He pretended to scowl at you, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Seems like she didn’t do her job right.” You tucked at his earlobe, and he grimaced. “Such a bummer. You could’ve totally pulled off the Van Gogh look.”

He let you down into the passenger seat, shutting the door for you and setting his crossed arms on the rolled-down car window. “Oh yeah? You got a thing for dead artists now?” His face was in a twist, and you found yourself rolling your eyes again.

“I got a thing for guys who value punctuality,” you replied pointedly, and Peter let out a loud laugh. Leaning down, he came to an eye-level with you.

“Good thing, that’s not me then, am I right.” He winked and walked over to the driver’s side. In a second, he was seated next to you and reversing out of the parking lot, head turned to look behind him while his arm was holding onto the back of your seat. You took the second of concentration to take in his features. When he caught you staring, a smug smile raised to his lips, but you were quick to smack his chest with the back of your hand.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was just checking if you had a black eye or at least a broken nose,” you said and ignored the way he cocked his brow.

“Thanks?” His eyes flickered between you and the road. “I gotta tell you, that’s a very sadistic love language you speak, but I’ll take it.”

You shot him a glare. “How else do you want to explain being 40 minutes late if it wasn’t being robbed by a biker gang and left in a ditch?”

“My answer was lack of time management by birth, but your excuse does sound far cooler.”

“Well, sadly, there’s no biker gang.” You heaved a sigh of exhaustion. “Otherwise, I would’ve gladly let them de-ball you.”

Peter cackled at your words, shaking his head before reaching over to pat your knee. “And they say romance is dead. I bet they’ve never met a total sweetheart like you.”

You broke out into a grin and swiftly whipped around to stare outside the window. Deciding to roll it up to stop the fidgeting of your hands, Peter made it his mission to choose the perfect song for your little drive. When the song “Midnight City” came up, he stopped and turned to you while wigging his brows obnoxiously. Pointing to the time on the upper corner of the car’s display, he awaited your reaction. It was five minutes past midnight.

You sighed. “Peter…”

“Oh, shut it, Y/N.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, morphing the pout on his face into a matching smirk. “You know,” he spoke up, still staring ahead, “Sometimes I wonder why I’m even friends with you if you never appreciate my genius.” He gestured to his face, and you snorted.

Your eyes caught a brown bag that was sitting at your feet. “I’m here to keep your ego from exploding, I thought we’ve already gone over this—hey, what’s this?”

Peter glanced at you. “Booze.” He said it so casually you barely wondered how he got a hold of it. “You told me to get the good stuff, remember?”

Frowning, you leaned forward and tried to catch his gaze. His eyes flickered to yours. “What?”

“Since when is the good stuff not chocolate?”

He contemplated your words for a second before pulling a face. “Oh. Well, you wanted to bitch about our sucky love lives, so I assumed that involved liquor.” He shrugged. “To make it less excruciatingly painful, you know.” Eyeing the bottle in your hand, you pursed your lips, oblivious to Peter’s pleading look to just go with it. You hadn’t an idea what he had to go through just to swipe that bottle.

“I guess,” you finally replied and screwed off the cap to take a big gulp, feeling the liquid burn down your throat. Raising the bag, you flashed him a big smile. “Off to our voyage!”

He mirrored it, also raising his fist in the air. “Off to the deserted island named football field.”

- - - - -

“So what’s got your love life in a twist?” Peter asked casually while biting a piece off his sour belt. Within the past hour, the two of you had consumed a considerate amount of alcohol but had yet to experience feeling fatally wasted. A slight haze had infiltrated your senses, but that was really it. You both were still perfectly capable of having a proper conversation.

“You mean my panties?”

“Huh?” He narrowed his eyes in deep thought. “Oh, you want to talk about your underwear. Yeah, I guess that’s fine too.”

“No, you meant my panties are in a twist.” He turned to look at you.

“Why would your panties be in a twist? Do you want me to untwist them?” Slowly, the corner of his mouth curved into a not-so-subtle smirk, and you fought hard to keep a straight face.

“I really do hate you, Parker.”

He grinned back at you. “Means I must be doing something right, huh.”

Choosing to ignore his words, your gaze traveled the dark night sky above, littered with endless sparkling white dots. Peter mirrored your action, letting comfortable silence settle in, as the two of you continued to lay next to each other on top of the roof of his car.

“I don’t know,” you responded after a while. You felt him look the side of your face, but you forced yourself to fix your gaze on anything other than your best friend beside you, your fingers fiddled with one another in your lap. “I guess I just haven’t caught anybody’s eyes yet. No one really likes me, you know.”

“I like you.”

“You know what I mean, Peter.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you sighed and took up the courage to meet his eyes. They weren’t holding any trails of pity like excepted. Instead, you gazed into nothing but a loving pool of honey that ignited clouds of warmth to swirl in your stomach. He looked at you in a way you couldn’t quite place, and you had to force yourself to look away, just barely missing the glint of disappointment as you broke the eye contact. You shrugged, an unsure smile gracing your lips. “Somebody will come along, I’m sure. Maybe at a hot dog stand. Hot dog stands are reliable, right?”

The tone in your voice, lacing your words like grapevine, was poisonous, making the boy beside you sit up and pull you right along. Your poor attempt of self-assurance didn’t sit right with Peter, but you didn’t feel like confronting it just yet, and he knew that. So, he tried to catch your gaze, and given that you had no other choice but to look at one of the most important people in your life, you dropped your shoulders and gave in. You simply stared at each other in silence, seemingly waiting for the other one to crack first. The serious situation quickly shifted into a comedic but intense stare battle and before you knew it, you were pulling faces at each other.

You were pretty certain, the alcohol in your system did not contribute a thing to it, but eventually, even the two of you would fall victim to it as you already felt it tuck at some loose strings. And Peter being Peter, he spoke up first.

“If neither of us cracks any time soon, we will both look like fools who escaped a mental institution and are roleplaying as Harley Quinn and the Joker.”

And just like that, laughter bubbled over your lips, prompting a face-splitting smile to dance on his lips while his eyes were staring at you like you had created all good in the world. It quickly turned into heartfelt laughter and once he joined in, it only made you laugh harder.

Your eyes drifted until they met those familiar honey ones again. The ones you have known since childhood, and the ones you had stared into one too many times tonight. And suddenly the entire world was encased into an incredulously large pool of amber that you never wanted to leave. It made sense. It just clicked, and suddenly the riddle was complete.

And the best part about it all was that you knew he felt the same way. He had never been an easy book to read, not even when you were children, but that night, in the middle of the football field, you could read him like he was your favorite poem. Each line and metaphor were as clear as the sky. Without having acknowledged it much, your face had grown closer in proximity with his. So, when he decided to speak, his voice was a hushed whisper. The alcohol easily fanning over your lips in waves.

“I really want to kiss you right now.” He inched closer, nose bumping against yours while his gaze danced between your lips and your eyes. “To find out how your lips feel on mine.”

His words caused newfound confidence to surge through your veins. The corner of your mouth quirked into a smirk, and you leaned forward. Lips brushing against his when you spoke. “I can put it on my to-do list if you want to know so badly.”

He chuckled, hand reaching up to cup your cheek while the other slid across your back. “Baby, you don’t understand how badly I want to know.”

He pressed his lips against yours, and immediately you sunk into the pool of amber. But you could taste more than just alcohol. There were honey and warmth. The way he made you feel—the way he had always made you feel all along, even in the most platonic ways. When cracking jokes or during shared detention. There had always been clouds of sweetness and joy surrounding you whenever he was near, but now that you had finally acquired the taste, you were addicted. You were making out with your best friend, and you loved everything about it. His arms tightened around you as you caressed his heated cheeks. They traveled to the back of his neck, threading through the curls of his hair, and pressing him closer to you.

When it was time to break away, you nibbled on his bottom lips, reluctantly parting, but still remaining close as his forehead rested against yours. He stared into your eyes with a whimsical smile while he tried to catch his breath. “Do you still hate me?”

You chuckled. “You know what, Parker?” Shaking your head, you tried to catch the train of thought you were losing just by gazing into his eyes. “Just a little bit.”

* * *

it’s 4 am here, and i’m pretty sure i’m sleeping as i’m typing this lol i had way too much fun with the dialogue. let me know what you think! as always, thank you so much for reading 💞 have a sweet one, guys x

masterlist

taglist: @honeypie-holland @himarisolace @duskholland @insidiousslut @siriuslyslyslytherin @quaksonhehe @geminiparkers @writertoo18 @fl0ating @luwloki @missnxthingg @hufflepuffhollander @dummiesshort @itstaskeen @nerdyandproudofitsstuff @totallyfangirling7177 @the-fictionwriters-hairdo @starlight-starks @fire1ordzuzu @parkerlovebot @parkerlovebot @ethereal-beauty-p​ @theweekendss @tom-hlover @peterspideysstuff @miraclesoflove @prettysbliss @fancyxparker @tom-hlover @blossomparkers 

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fic #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker #peter parker one shot #peter parker imagine #peter parker imagines #best friends to lovers

[yandearest]

May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 4: The Interviews

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 8.1K

Warnings - [in later chapters] major character death, graphic depictions of violence, swearing, obsession, dubcon-smut (smut will be marked so reading is optional), gore, unrealistically beautiful oc because I’m a sucker for that shitty trope and want to live vicariously through my writing (sue me)

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Previous Chapter: 1, 2, 3

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

Very little was said throughout the rest of hearing the other tribute’s scores, and as soon as that was finished you were hurried into a car to the studio to begin getting ready. You were pleased to discover that each tribute was granted their own dressing room and you didn’t have to share with your district mate. You wondered if this theatre was uniquely built for The Hunger Games given the twenty-four individual dressing rooms. As you were ushered into the make up chair and had a black cape draped around your neck, you thought about all the other female tributes from district four that could have been seated in this very room before you. You wondered how many of them had lived beyond the next week.

Before you could fall into a depressive spiral you were yanked back into reality by the team as they began to work on styling your hair with an array of wands, brushes and sprays. From the corner of your eye you could spot a rack of dresses two of the stylists were arguing over, but you couldn’t turn your head to properly look at the options with the way your hair was being pulled.

Unlike the chariot ride, where your hair had been pulled into a partial up-do and styled with various decorative clips, extensions, and a tiara, your stylists were discussing with each other how best to show off your “natural beauty”. Their reasoning seemed to be that in the arena you would not be wearing make up, so they wanted to create a look that could somehow capture your beauty and still transition from the stage into the games.

They had chosen to leave your hair down and loose, the treatment from a few days ago still feeling soft and looking healthy. They had elected to tame your natural wave into a smoother style, running a straightener through your hair before going back over it once more to apply a very soft curl towards the ends. With the hair finished the team quickly moved on to make up as the two stylists, who had previously been arguing by the clothes rack hurried over with the dress they had decided on.

“Isn’t it perfect!” Garnet sighed, holding up the white gown that seemed more fitting of a bride than a teenager, but you couldn’t help admitting that the dress was indeed very beautiful. Made of lace with a pattern of flowers and vines crawling across the fabric, the dress was adorned with shimmering crystals that resembled snowflakes throughout the fabric. Although you didn’t understand how it was supposed to fit a “natural beauty” aesthetic. You didn’t bother questioning it, the logic from Capitol people was something you had far given up on trying to understand.

Ruby and Quartz chimed their agreement as the rest of the team all chorused their approval whilst hurrying to start picking out matching accessories and select coordinating colors for your makeup. The fact no one had bothered to ask for your opinion wasn’t lost on you, but it’s not like you could see anything else on that clothing rack, or anywhere else around the room, worth arguing to wear instead. You were forced to shut your eyes so the artist could begin applying your eye shadow and in the resulting darkness you imagined yourself walking out on to the stage in the casual attire you were still dressed in, no make up, and damp hair still not properly dried from your earlier shower. You smiled to yourself at the imagined scandalized reaction from the audience, pretend Caesar sputtering as he somehow tried to carry on with his interview, and imaginary Finnick watching backstage with his head in his hands. If only you were allowed not to care about all of the showmanship of these stupid games. You dress up, smile and wave, and still get slaughtered anyway, so what good did playing along with their little show do?

'Sponsors!' Imaginary Finnick answered your own thoughts, although this time his voice in your head was an echo of a real memory.

From what time you had spent strategizing with him, the most important thing he had reiterated was always the importance of sponsorships, and the repetition of how he acquired his stupid trident. Easy for him to say when he had his carved face and had nearly been six foot back when he was fourteen. But Finnick had also been quick to rebut your snark with his reports and clips on how well received your chariot appearance had been in the Capitol. With training and the nightmare of dealing with Hoseok keeping you otherwise occupied, you hadn’t had any time to monitor the reactions of the people who were supposedly going to be betting on you. According to Finnick over the last few days, you were by far the most popular female tribute. As he walked you to the dressing room before, he told you that your surprisingly high Tribute score had done even more wonders for your odds, and all you really had to do now was show up on stage and look pretty. If everything worked out, you may actually have a shot of surviving this thing.

Was it fair that your only chance of survival in these games depended on outside interference?

No.

Did you care when a fair game would mean a guaranteed death?

Also no.

So you passively sat in the chair and allowed the team to work, until they told you it was time to stand up and change into the dress. You were lead to a privacy screen in the back corner of the room, and told to put the dress on as far as you could before you required help. You wondered how hard putting on a dress could be, but as you stepped into the lace and put your arms into the sleeves you realized the garment had a corset in the bodice, and you would need someone to pull the threads. You took a moment to enjoy the last few easy inhales and exhales you would enjoy for the next hour before calling on someone to assist. One of the triplets – you weren’t capable of telling them apart on their own – had you brace yourself against the wall as they set to work tightening the ribbons around your torso.

When she was done you fidgeted, trying to adjust to your newly restricted range of motion. Thankfully the corset was only under the bust so it wasn’t pressing upon your chest as badly as you were expecting. You uncomfortably stepped out from the privacy screen and ignored the staff reaction to your dress. You had already seen them fawn over you before, during the chariot parade, and you couldn’t care less how pretty they thought you were. Instead you looked around before spotting the pair of shoes that went with the dress; glittery silver pumps, with a modest heel so you could easily walk on stage. They were next to a full length mirror, so you walked over and slipped them on, before taking a step back to assess your appearance.

Oh.

The dress had appeared as merely a nice piece of fabric on the hanger, but actually being worn, it truly was stunning. The garment looked like a whimsical winter garden, the various jewels glimmering like snowflakes on the lace patterned white leaves and flowers that crawled across the fabric. The bottom part of the gown was long and flowed to the floor, with extra fabric underneath to create more volume. The corset cinched your waistline in tightly before ending just below your bust, pushing your breasts up, in the sweetheart-neckline bodice. The dress had below-the-shoulder sleeves that were sheer, with snow embellishments ending at your wrists. Your makeup was flattering; a neutral lip with a little gloss, and a focus on the eyes. Shimmery pearls and purples were used to create a smoky eye and crystal gems had been placed on the outer corners. You looked like an ice princess.

A knock at the door broke up your self assessment, before Finnick walked into the room.

“Show’s starting now, District 1 will be on in five, you’ll be up in about another fifteen minutes.”

Finnick stopped to take in your appearance, nodding his approval to the team, before coming over to stand before you.

“You look wonderful,” he spoke softly, reaching to pick up one of your hands and hold it both of his. He gave it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you,” you whispered, with a mild squeeze back.

“The Capitol already adores you after your chariot ride, so tonight just seeing you again, looking this beautiful will be all they need. You’ve done the hardest part with your tribute score, so just try to relax as much as possible.”

“Easier said that done,” you replied with a shaky laugh.

“I know that all too well,” Finnick conceded with a lop sided smile.

You envied him and his natural charm. But you supposed you had to have some of your own to have caught the Capitol’s attention, not to mention Hoseok’s too. You hadn’t been trying for either of those, so perhaps that was your best tactic to use with Caesar.

“How’s Namjoon?” You asked, your district-mate hadn’t said a word to you since the scores were read back in the living quarters.

“Calm.” Finnick replied honestly.

“Can’t even tell you what his plans are ‘cause he barely even tells me anything. Makes it hard to try and strategize, but if he doesn’t want the free help then I’m not going to force it.”

“But I thought you guys spent heaps of time together?” you frowned. If Finnick wasn’t helping you much, and Namjoon didn’t want his help, then what had he been doing? You guessed he had work to do with trying to gather sponsorships or trying to extract information out of the other mentors.

“Hardly. What little time you may have felt that we spent together is more than twice the time I’ve spent with him.” Finnick dismissed with a shrug.

“For the record, you’re my favorite between you, and I’m not just saying that based on your scores tonight. You’re humble and you listen. Arrogance doesn’t go far in games like these.”

“It did for you.”

Finnick huffed out a laugh.

“Keep that wit with you on stage and you’ll be swimming in sponsors. But to be clear, my arrogance was tactical, and I took outside help when it was offered.”

You nodded, not really knowing what more to say.

Finnick stepped past you to turn on a TV in the top corner of your dressing room. Krystal appeared on the screen, wearing a silk red dress and matching lipstick, laughing at something Caesar had just said. From the looks of it, her interview was nearly finished.

“Interviews are usually three minutes each, so not that long. There’s twenty-four of you and they have to keep the show under two hours,” Finnick explained as Caesar bid Krystal farewell.

Yoongi was quickly announced and stepped up on to the stage, to a round of applause from the audience.

“It’s worth paying attention because Caesar can be very tricky. He’s a showman and he needs to extract interesting information and reactions for ratings. Sometimes a tribute will accidentally let too much of their game-plan slip, and you can take advantage of that in the arena. Some of them crumble and you can pick out the easy targets, others become too hot headed so keep an eye open on people to avoid too.”

Finnick explained, as you simultaneously listened to Yoongi explaining how he volunteered upon hearing his sister’s name being drawn. Much like you had already suspected, his goal was to ensure that Krystal is the one to survive. You wondered how Hoseok, Athena, and Namjoon felt.

Once your supposed final six broke down there would already be a team of two. Knowing Hoseok he’d have to have some plan in place, especially given he was goading Yoongi over Krystal earlier. You didn’t like how his plan had involved you in it, immediately making you a threat to the alliance the same way Yoongi and Krystal were. But at least you had a friendship with Krystal. Maybe that’s what Hoseok was banking on. A team up of the two teams, to take out the outliers of Namjoon and Athena, then a fight between the duos. Hoseok could easily take Yoongi, but if this was his plan, he was giving you far too much credit against Krystal, who had kicked your ass most of the time in spar training. But he had been watching you and had to have known that too. Maybe he was planning to take her out another way? Maybe Krystal’s entire reason for being kind to you was to bring you into a team of three with her brother for their added protection, which also gave you a better shot of surviving against the likes of Hoseok and Namjoon in a final showdown. Or perhaps you would all be taken out by some rogue from an outsider district. You had seen a couple of pretty respectable scores of 7s and 8s.

“I’m going to go make sure Namjoon is ready, I’ll be back in a minute.”

You nodded in recognition at Finnicks words, whilst keeping your glazed over eyes in the direction of the TV. You weren’t actually paying attention to Caesar starting to wrap up Yoongi’s interview, too busy lost in your thoughts of how impossible this whole game was. Having strategies for the arena almost felt entirely pointless given how many things had to go right in order for them to work out vs the millions of ways something could go wrong. Alliances stab each other in the back, other districts are underestimated, the Capitol always throws out insane and deadly traps. Hoseok had to be insane to think he could somehow plan for all of these factors. But perhaps insanity would be the biggest advantage in the arena.

Finnick’s knuckles wrapping against the door broke your reverie and you turned to face the sight of him and Namjoon in your doorway.

“Let’s get this over with,” you muttered, walking out to join them and following along as Finnick started on a path through the corridors.

“That’s the spirit,” Namjoon sarcastically cheered at your monotone, clapping his hand over your shoulder to give it a shake.

You immediately swatted his hand away with an annoyed twitch of your nose. Finnick sighed, not even turning around as he continued to lead you, but you could see him pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He didn’t have time to stop and scold, as you could see you were approaching the backstage area. Several Capitol workers were busily rushing around each other, clasping clip boards, coffees, headsets, camera equipment, and a range of other items. A woman dressed in black impatiently waved her hand in Finnick’s direction with a frown. You weren’t sure if he was late or if she just hated her job.

You quickly found it was a combination of the two when she immediately scolded Finnick for showing up ‘one minute’ late as per the official schedule, before launching into snapped instructions on where you and Namjoon were to stand, how you would be called on stage, and where to go after. You didn’t say anything, and neither did Namjoon, just nodding docilely as additional staff hovered around you both; clipping on a tiny microphone, putting a small listening piece into your ear and applying last second touch ups to your hair and makeup. From here you were then escorted into a waiting section, at a wing on the side of the stage.

You swallowed a lump in your throat at the feeling of claustrophobia that the wing created. You were surrounded by large black curtains that hid you from sight and created a backdrop behind the constructed stage pieces. At the very end you could faintly see a tiny part of the stage, and a crop of short blonde hair you recognized as belonging to Athena. A few feet in front of you, behind a section marked off with red tape on floor, were the tributes from District 3 and their mentor, and at the corner of the curtain waiting with his own mentor and a stagehand, was Hoseok.

You vaguely recognized his mentor from a Hunger Games a few years ago. You didn’t recall her name, but from the sharp teeth you could see, you remembered her as the victor who had literally ripped a tribute’s throat out. You swallowed thickly thinking about Hoseok’s earlier bloodthirsty threats against your own alliance.

He was peering out from behind the curtain, watching his district mate with a bored expression, the angle giving you a view of his sharp side profile. He was dressed in a suit; fitted black pants, a white shirt with a thin black tie, topped off with a black jacket that was covered in black sequins. His outfit was completed by a pair of bronze boots, which complimented the shade of his russet hair that was styled in loose curls that framed his forehead.

His head turned at the sound of your heels on the floor, piercing brown eyes making contact with your own. You instantly froze, as if his eyes somehow were capable of inducing paralysis. He was eerily stunning, handsome beyond belief, but there was something more about him that sent shivers of fear down your spine. Memories from merely a few hours ago of him trapping you in the hallway, isolating you from the others, and forcing you into a kiss came to mind. You hated yourself for how weak you had felt, not even capable of pushing him away, again you still weren’t even sure that you wanted it to stop. Even now you could still feel the lingering tingle upon your lips, like a remaining taste of electricity that he had sparked. That same electricity was hovering in the air as the two of you stared at one another. But did you actually want him? Were you actually attracted to him, or was your fear of the games causing you to project these feelings?

“Two! You’re on!”

The stagehand’s instructions caused Hoseok to break the eye contact, nodding to the staff before turning to walk out. But not before he could look back at you once more, leaving you with a final wink. You shuddered uncomfortably, suddenly feeling cold and raising your arms to cross over your chest. You glanced up between Finnick and Namjoon, the latter watching you with a look of amusement whilst Finnick was staring out at the stage with a concerned frown. You knew he didn’t like Hoseok from the details you had already told him, so you could assume that little display didn’t help with his impression.

It was clear very early that the Capitol had taken a liking to the District 2 male. Hoseok walked out to loud applause, cheers, and a few whistles. He took it all in his stride, waving to the people, and smiling in a way that flashed his dimples and almost made his mouth look like it was in the shape of a heart. He charmed Caesar and answered his questions about his home life in two confidently (“We work hard to provide The Capitol with the finest weapons and masonry we can provide, in return the Capitol provides us with everything we need”), along with providing some details of his family life (“what can I say, I’m a momma’s boy at heart”). His mentor watched on stoically by the wings, the barest hint of a nod every now and then being her only reaction. You could tell Finnick was trying to get a read off of her, but she wasn’t giving anything away. Meanwhile the mentor for Three was doing all they could to try and reassure their tributes they weren’t going to die on stage.

“What are your expectations?”

Caesar’s question brings your focus back to their interview and you pay extra attention for this answer, given Hoseok has always been extremely vague with his actual game plan besides ‘kill everyone except you’.

“You know, it’s funny Caesar, the thing about these games is you can never truly expect anything. I spent eighteen years of my life training myself for this moment to come. I’ve studied all the arenas, prepared as much as I could for wherever we may end up, but nothing could prepare me for who was going into that arena with me. I showed up to the chariot ride and training, expecting to meet people who I would just see as targets to kill. Instead I’m now going into the arena with the love of my life.”

Oh no.

You feel your stomach drop as you instantly realize Hoseok is about to talk about you.

“Three days is an awfully short time period to fall in love with someone, don’t you think?”

“It took much less time than three days, Caesar. I was in love the second I saw her.”

Shit.

“So what was it about these games that made you realize your dormant feelings for Athena?”

Hoseok balks at Caesar’s assumption, his eyebrows raising, before he quickly moves to smooth his expression over with a laugh

“No, my feelings are for YN.”

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

“Mother fucker,” Finnick curses beside you. N

amjoon merely looks amused, whilst you also notice Hoseok’s mentor has now turned her attention from the stage to you. You feel even further unnerved from the fact she doesn’t seem remotely surprised by his words. She is far from an expressive woman, but you somehow get the feeling from her as she assesses your appearance, that it’s out of interest to know who her tribute has been talking about the last few days.

Meanwhile you wish that the floor would somehow open up and swallow you whole. Away from Hoseok’s advances, all the unwanted attention it resulted in and away an imminent painful death.

“But this is The Hunger Games, surely you know only one of you will come out alive?”

“I’m faced with an impossible task, but I’ve never felt more certain of anything in my life. Maybe we will both die in that arena, and that will be our way to live together in eternity in the next life. However, I do have one idea, and it’s a crazy long shot, but for her I have to to try.”

“Well I am just dying to know what that one idea is, but I have a feeling if I asked you wouldn’t tell me anyway!” Caesar exclaims with his trademark uproarious laugh at the end.

“Absolutely not,” Hoseok shrugs and shoots him a grin.

Caesar’s laugh continues and the audience joins in before the host bids him farewell and Hoseok leaves the stage.

You’re still lost in your desire to no longer even exist anymore that you barely register anything that has happened. You vaguely hear Hoseok’s concept of a long shot plan but it seems so unrealistic that it’s not even worth considering what it might even be. It’s not like you were planning on going along with it anyway, especially not after how he had just thrown you to the wolves in his interview.

You realize that Finnick is talking to you again, he’s trying to process Hoseok’s interview just as much as you are and has quickly taken to offering advice now. “This may not actually be too bad, maybe we can work this to our advantage. Hoseok is the top betting favorite, so potentially this can boost your odds too” … “Caesar loves gossip so the more time he spends talking about Hoseok in your interview, the less time he’s trying to extract things that could make you slip up” … “talk about your loved ones back in four” You’re not sure if you’re capable of processing his advice but you nod along anyway.

Namjoon continues to say nothing, but you don’t like the expression on his face. He has a smug air about him, similar to the one back in the apartment when his scores were read. You have an eerie feeling from him and you don’t like it.

The time district three takes for their interviews passes in what feels like seconds. Before you know it you have the stage hand waving you on stage and Finnick whispering a rushed “good luck” as you’re ushered out.

The first thing you realize is that you can barely see the audience, the bright lights being directed upon the stage are nearly blinding and you can’t see much from behind them besides a warped blur. The next thing you realize is that although you cannot see the audience, you can definitely hear them. You are met with a loud reception of applause and cheers as you make your way over to the directed couch. You attempt to take it in your stride, smiling and waving before you dip to a curtsy as you take your seat.

“Isn’t she lovely folks!”

You turn your painted on smile to Caesar, who is even more green in person. His hair is shockingly vibrant, his emerald suit reflective in the stage lights and you can see the sparkling details of his matching contacts.

“Now YN,” Caesar immediately launches into business and you mentally begin a countdown clock of the 180 seconds that you will be forced to remain in his presence. “I simply must say that you are gorgeous on camera, but even more stunning in person! I almost can’t even believe you’re a real person and not some divine creature!”

You respond with an awkward shrug and humbly averting your eyes to the floor, your hair flows down over your shoulder at the movement. The audience cheers again and whistles their approval at Caesar’s assessment of your appearance.

‘Shallow cunts.’ You remember Finnick’s words from the train, and you huff a small laugh to yourself in agreement. You allow this to bring a more natural smile to your face as you raise your eyes to meet Caesar’s once more.

“Oh Caesar, you really are too much. I assure you that much of this is the work of my talented stylists and make up artists.”

“Now, now don’t be so modest. Surely your beauty must still exist without these glamorous outfits for you to have District 2 so enamored with you!”

You have to mentally restrain yourself from scowling at the mention of Hoseok and his interview. Instead you settle for attempting to coolly rebuff him.

“I’m flattered, but really I don’t even know him.”

Caesar isn’t deterred and continues with his angle.

“But yet Hoseok still fell in love with you. And who could blame him folks I mean look at her everybody isn’t she gorgeous!”

At this the crowd launches into another round of applause. You attempt to appear bashful, yet flattered. You pretend to hide behind one hand whilst waving to the audience with the other.

“Now come on YN, tell us what you really think of Hoseok,” Caesar begins to press and you find yourself becoming increasingly frustrated with how he’s making your interview about another competitor. As if you are only in these games to exist as a romantic interest for a man.

“I don’t.” You reply bluntly, and if you weren’t in a fight for your life that relied upon being likeable you would have folded your arms and left it at exactly that. But instead your force yourself to continue on.

“At least not in an emotional sense. These games are so intense, from the parade, to the three days of training, the assessment, and now this interview, and that’s before we even step inside the arena. I barely have time to breathe, let alone develop a romantic connection.”

You hope this is enough to get him off your back.

“She’s really not going to give us anything!”

You’re confused for a moment before you realize that Caesar thinks you’re lying.

“I swear, it’s the truth,” you try to implore, looking at Caesar in the eyes before trying to see into the audience as if begging them all to believe you.

“The only man I love is back home in four, my father. I can’t allow myself to get distracted by anyone when I need to win to see him again. My mother died a few years ago and I’m an only child. All we have left in this world is each other.”

You have to stop and take a deep breath as by the end your throat is starting to choke up. You’ve barely allowed any thoughts of home to enter your mind, as you know it will only lead to you becoming upset and you have to remain focused for any chance of survival.

Sensing your distress Caesar finally starts to change the topic.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry about your mother,” he coos and you hear similar hushed “awes” from the crowd.

You refrain from snapping that they’re clearly not sorry about the loss of life to prevent the annual slaughter of twenty teenagers. Instead you settle for a demure “thank you”.

The remainder of your interview is spent talking about your parents, your home, your work on the boat and ends on a final note of your skills with a knife. By the end you are exhausted; emotionally spent from the topic of your parents and feeling like Caesar had somehow drained the energy out of you through his exuberant and overbearing presence.

After your final courtesy to Caesar and the audience, you are directed to an exit on the opposite end of the stage from which you came. You don’t stick around to watch Namjoon from the side, all you want is to be by yourself and you figure that your dressing room is probably the best place for that. Following signs that are up on the walls of the hallway, you easily navigate yourself back to your room. Though you pass some of the other tributes who are approaching the stage for their interviews, you are relieved you don’t see anyone you really recognize.

Entering your room, you head straight for the chair you had been sitting in before, noticing that the TV had been left on from before. The camera was focused on Namjoon who sat comfortably on the lounge, and gave the impression that he was totally at ease.

“…doesn’t know what he’s talking about when it comes to Y/N.” you catch him mention your name and frown.

“He thinks he’s fallen in love with her at first sight just because she’s beautiful, which of course she is, I mean come on Caesar we all have eyes.”

He pauses to look to the audience with his arms outstretched, as if he’s stating the obvious, and they respond with a laugh. Caesar cackles along, clearly please to have a guest that is hamming it up for the cameras.

“But she’s my teammate. We’ll work together in the career pack as long as we can but when that inevitably reaches the end I’ll be the one protecting her, not him. He’s known her for less than a week, we grew up together.”

What?

“Why Namjoon, is there a bit of a love triangle going on here!”

“There just might be”

Whatever relief you were hoping to find upon your interview being over and finally having some time alone was absolute gone. For the second time in less than half an hour, you feel as if your stomach is made of lead and plummeting to the floor.

“Tell us more! You simply have to tell us more! When did you first realize your true feelings for our darling YN?”

He doesn’t!

“There was no moment, no instant spark, because that’s not how love really works. Love is the familiar, the regular presence and comfort she brings just from knowing she’s in my life. Her name was never meant to have been called at the reaping and I wish when I volunteered it could have been in her pla-”

“What a load of bullshit!” Your cry at the television, cutting off the sound of Namjoon’s lies, as you threw the remote at the screen.

Perhaps the Capitol had experienced tribute outbreaks in the past because it merely bounced off the surface, however it thankfully turned off the stream. You bunched the skirt of your dress in your hands, preparing to storm out onto the stage and call out Namjoon’s bluff yourself. You turned towards the exit of the room, only to swirl into a hard surface. You grunted at the impact of hitting a muscular body, the toned figure made you think it was a Capitol security guard coming to investigate your TV tantrum, but a familiar drawl suddenly caused your blood to run cold.

“What’s the rush, darling?”

Even in all his terror, Jung Hoseok truly was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. The television cameras failed to do him justice. They didn’t capture the warmth to his skin, the softness of his hair, nor the addictive scent you were being forced to inhale from his sudden presence.

“What are you doing here?”

Your voice was unintentionally soft as a whisper, almost as if you were praying he wasn’t really in the room. But your hands on his chest from where you had collided reminded you he very much was real, as you tried to push yourself away. He only hummed in contentment upon feeling your touch on his body, locking his hands upon your wrists to keep them there. Hoseok’s long fingers were like iron chains, grasping so tightly you couldn’t even think to try and push past him.

“Get out, or I’ll scream,” you hiss, trying to sound threatening, but the instinctual fear that Hoseok’s presence set off only caused your breath to shake and your words to sound pleading.

The corner of Hoseok’s lip raised upwards into a cruel curl as he stepped forward, you instantly took a matching step back. But this only continued until your back collided with the wall, his body pushed against yours and your wrists held tightly in his clutches.

“I thought you were going to scream?” he taunts, cocking his head to the side, his eyes seeming to sparkle with glee as he mocked you. You were trembling, you had wanted to scream, but the second he started to advance upon you all of your thoughts had instantly turned into flight mode, foolishly backing away until there was no space left to go. Oh god, you truly were dead once you stepped into that arena tomorrow. Over his shoulder you could see the door shut on the other end of the room, with no way for anyone to see him inside of your room. How had he even managed to get inside without being noticed?

“HEL-”

Before you could even get a word out, his forearm was pressed against your windpipe, cutting off your cry. Your already panicked eyes blew wide open in fear, unable to move or breathe.

“Shhhh,” he coos, leaning in so his lips were ever so slightly hovering over yours as you tried to push him off – your lungs starting to burn from the lack of oxygen.

“You know I promised not to hurt you love, but if you’re going to be that fucking stupid then you leave me no choice.”

Restricted between his body and the wall, it was all you could do to vainly scratch your nails against his grip on your wrists, desperately trying to get him to release his hold. But all Hoseok did in return was gently brush his lips to yours, in a move that contradicted his violent chokehold, before pulling back to watch you struggle.

“C-a-nt … br-eee…” with no air, you barely made a sound, eyes watering in pain. You try to kick, but Hoseok’s body is too close, his hips and thighs pressing against yours making it impossible to move.

Finally, his pressure relaxes, although his arm still remains resting upon your throat.

You inhale a choked gasp before letting out a broken cough. You weren’t sure how long he had cut off your airway, every second burning in agony had felt like a minute, and the impact left you struggling to regain your breath even after he had backed off. Meanwhile Hoseok released his hold on your hands to snake his arm behind your waist and pat against your back, as you continued to splutter trying to suck in air with tears streaking down your face.

“You’re insane,” you wheeze, voice raspy and barely audible, but Hoseok’s quirked lip breaking into a wicked smile showed you that he had heard.

“Only because you drive me crazy,” he grins, moving his arm away from your throat to catch a tear rolling down your cheek with his thumb.

Your head was spinning and your vision was filled the kind of black spots you would get if you stood up too fast. Your throat was sore and your lungs still burned as you tried to regain your breathing. Too weak to fight back, it was all you could do to try and lean as far away from him as you could, turning your face to the side. But Hoseok wasn’t having any of that, tightening his hold on your waist.

A choked whimper escaped from your lips, the sound similar to that of an injured animal. You were frightened by the ease he had overpowered you, contrasted by his sickening affection. With his arm holding you around the waist, he gently rubbed his palm up and down against your back. His other hand came to rest on the side of your head, tenderly running his fingers through your hair, as if soothing a child woken up by a nightmare.

“I hate you.”

Your voice was a strained whisper, as your eyes deliberately focused on the ground to avoid his burning stare.

Hoseok merely hums in recognition, content to remain in this position for as long as possible – trying to ingrain everything into his memory. The softness of your hair was like liquid silk passing though his fingertips. Despite the thickness of the bodice, he could still feel the warmth of your body beneath his palm through your dress. As he looked down, he had a direct view of your exposed cleavage pressing against his chest, watching the swell of your breasts heave with every breath.

‘Soft, soft, soft’ his mind repeats over every little detail. From your hair, to your skin, to your breasts and your scent, everything about you was so delicate and enticing. He almost felt bad for how roughly he had handled you, except that doing so had resulted in you becoming so pliant in his arms. ‘a necessary evil’

“Good,” was his eventual reply.

“I hate you,” You repeat again, raising your chin to glare at him for dismissing your anger so flippantly.

He only smiled at you fondly in return.

“I love you.”

It was somehow like he had knocked the winds from your lungs all over again. In his interview it was possibly an insane strategy, but seeing the burning intensity in his eyes as he stared at you like you were the only thing in the universe, made you truly realize that this was what he actually believed.

“That’s impossible, we’ve known each other for three days,” you hiss back. “And you don’t hurt someone you love!” 

Hoseok closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head slowly.

“Oh but darling, you hurt the ones you love the most”

As if to emphasize his words, his hands in your hair tighten into a painful grasp, causing you to whimper. You reach both of your hands up to hold onto his grip, trying to get him to release. In turn, he does, but only ever so slightly, just so he can enjoy the feeling of your hands touching him.

He leans further in to press his lips to the shell of your ear, the tickling feeling of his breath causing you to shiver.

“I love you so much it causes me far more pain than whatever you’re feeling now. I looked at you for one moment and you were like an insidious vine that crawled inside of my veins to wrap around my heart. So now it belongs to you, beats for you, burns for you and craves only you.”

“Please, I didn’t do anythi-”

You tried to beg, but he immediately cut you off.

“That doesn’t matter.” He snaps and you flinch.

“The instant I saw you it was like every tie that once bound me to this earth was cut, and then every thread was tied to you. In just a second you become my oxygen, my gravity, my entire reason for being.

Every night since the moment I saw you, I have dreamed of you. I dreamed of kissing you senseless at the chariots, like how I wanted to do the moment we met. I dreamed of you during training, that it was my bed you came back to at night. When I saw you in this dress I instantly knew that tonight I will dream of making you my wife. And I have a plan that will make that dream a reality.”

Finally, he released his hold on your body, stepping back to watch as you slump against the wall and slowly fall to sit upon the ground in a combination of exhaustion and horror. Your eyes were wide in a shell shocked daze.

Slowly, he steps backwards towards the door, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. But you don’t even notice. You’re no longer even looking at him anymore, just staring emptily at the room, but not seeing anything inside

“If you try to run from me tomorrow, I will find you. I will hunt you down and drag you back to me, where you belong.”

For a brief moment you regain a sense of clarity to ask him the question that has been burning in your mind ever since he started his insane proclamations.

“What happens when we’re the last two? Who dies?”

Stepping out of the room, his answer offers you no sense of closure before he shuts the door behind him…

“You leave that for me to deal with. All you need to know is that you will leave these games by my side, or not at all.”

 ***

 After Hoseok had left you in your dressing room, you had immediately scrambled to your feet to lock the door behind him. From there you rushed to strip out of your dress and back into your lounge clothes. Grabbing wipes from the counter, you angrily scrubbed off all the make up from your face. You weren’t sure if you had to go back out on stage at the end with all the other tributes, frankly you didn’t care.

“Hello?”

You’re startled by a knock at the door.

“It’s Finnick, can I come in for a moment?”

You suppose he’s only asking to be polite, given he very likely has access to any room you’re in as a mentor. With a huff you storm over to the door, unlocking it and wrenching it open.

“Did you tell him to say that about me?” You snap, referring to Namjoon and his earlier interview. Finnick hurriedly enters the room and pulls the door shut behind him.

“Is this part of your little fucked up plan for the tribute with the better prospects to actually win, by using me to try and humanize that bastard?” You continue to yell.

“No!” Finnick replies, vigorously shaking his head.

“Then what the fuck was that?” Your pent up frustration and anger comes out in a harsh shove, causing Finnick to stumble backwards, though he quickly regains his balance.

“I only told him to show that he cared about you as a teammate” Finnick sighs, holding his hands up in a surrender gesture, whilst emphasizing the word ‘teammate’ slowly. “I swear I never told him anything about acting like he had romantic feelings.”

You immediately feel bad for pushing him.

“Whatever rage you feel at me, and especially at him, save it. Save it and use it tomorrow the first thing you wake up because that is what you’re going to need to become a killer.”

“Can I kill him tomorrow?”

The question slips out before you can think it might be a bad idea to confess to your mutual mentor that wish to kill your district partner.

“If you think you can, that is the game after all,” Finnick shrugs with a lopsided grin.

You’re too stressed to properly laugh, but you let out an amused hum at his quip. You’re grateful for Finnick’s good nature towards you.

“I’m sorry I pushed you,” you apologize.

“It’s fine,” Finnick quickly shrugs it off.

His relaxed demeanor quickly tenses though, before he turns back to the door to make sure it’s locked behind him. You mentally kick yourself for not doing that earlier.

“Listen, I’m here because I wanted to tell you that it appears the president has taken a liking to you.”

You blanch.

From all the ridiculous shit you have heard today, the president joining your little fan club is the least thing you expected.

“President Snow? But why?”

“I’m not one hundred percent certain, but if you remember when we first met on the train I told you that the Capitol loves beautiful things. I wanted to at least warn you.”

You nod to show you remember the conversation, but you’re still confused as to how this involves the president.

“But isn’t this a good thing? Maybe I might even be able to survive if the president wants me to. All those ‘natural disasters’ that game makers can cause and all”

“Yes, it’s very likely you won’t be impacted by that in the game. I especially wanted to tell you that alone, because I feel Namjoon would be too short sighted and threatened by any idea of favoritism, to see the long term benefits of keeping a protected tribute in his alliance.”

You nod again.

“Is that all?”

“No.”

Finnick pauses.

His intended break slowly extends into an uncomfortable silence. You want to ask him what he’s trying to say but you can tell he’s struggling to find the words, so you remain quiet and let him think.

“If you win, you don’t just survive the games and retire in peace in the victor’s village.” He eventually begins. “You have to keep coming back; for the victor’s parade, as a mentor, for visits to the Capitol for all your adoring fans”

“I… I could do that,” you respond, but the pained look in Finnick’s eyes tells you that there is more.

“But you don’t deserve to have to.”

It’s a strange moment to watch your mentor, the person you trust to be strong, the survivor of these games, appearing vulnerable before your eyes. The six foot one man in front of you is suddenly just another teenager, around the same age as you.

“As a tribute, what I wish more than anything my mentor had warned me about, wasn’t what was inside of the arena, but what awaited outside. I can forgive you for being preoccupied and not noticing but I haven’t been spending any of these nights in my own bed since we’ve been here and that’s not by my own choice”

“Why?” you whisper, although a sickening sensation in your gut tells you, you can imagine the reason why.

“The Capitol loves beautiful things.”

You don’t know what to say. There’s nothing you ever could say to express your sympathy for his situation. You’re torn between wishing to offer comfort that you cannot, and a newly awakened fear that this could be what awaits you should you somehow make it out alive.

“I wish I could say that you are too young to hear this, but I needed to hear it at fourteen, and I have spent every day since winning those games regretting the fact that I did. There are fates in life that are much worse than death. By all means fight to protect yourself in that arena, no child or barely legal adult deserves a painful death, but if an opportunity presents itself to go in peace, seize it, or else you will spend every waking moment of your life outside in regret.”

#yandere #yandere bts #yandere hoseok #yandere bts fic #yandere jung hoseok #bts x reader #dark bts #dark bts au #y!hoseok #hoseok fic #hoseok x reader #hoseok au #dark jhope #HUNGER GAMES AU

[kaitycole]

“Lipschitz!”

Summary: Sugawara is just trying to find himself, how does that work out for him?

Pairing: Sugawara x Reader

Word Count: 2068

Warnings: Angst. Mentions of murder, cheating, alcohol, drowning 

A/N: This is the official last chapter, I’m still mulling over the possibility of an epilogue. Thank you so much to all of you who supported this series from the beginning. I hope I did it justice!

“Do you want to tell me a little bit about Sugawara?” She stretches her neck to the left and then right, tapping her pen on the legal pad.

“Sure.” You smile at the journalist, but it never really touches your eyes.

*                      * “Just a minute longer, I swear.”

You sighed, your boyfriend had said that same line five minutes ago. You were restless, legs stiff from not moving and all you could think of was how good it would feel when you could finally stretch. When you could finally put on something warm, the sheer fabric he had delicately draped over you wasn’t cutting it anymore, your bare skin felt the chill from the cool air that blew in through the opened window.

“You said that for the last five minutes, Kōshi.”

The silver-haired man just laughed behind the canvas, paintbrush held in the air as he narrowed his eyes looking at his work, then up at you then back to the painting. You leaned up just enough to see that he was biting the end of the brush which you knew meant that he was conflicted. All artists are their own worst critics, but sometimes you felt Suga was worse than Van Gogh, Monet and even Pollock at times. Not that you really had any frame of reference, but still.

Watching him painstakingly criticize his own work, endlessly making changes that he only deemed made the pieces worse was really hard for you, watching the person you love drive themselves into a dark hole of perfectionism took a toll on the both of you. But you loved him and at the end of the day, that made it all better, right?

After what felt like forever, you finally saw his signature smile, the one that was bigger than life and he sat down his paint palette then swirled the brush in his murky colored water cup. You watched his shoulders relax before he nodded and you knew that he was finally done.

“Lemme see! Lemme see!” You squealed as he walked closer to you, sitting next to you on the sofa you had been lounged out on.

He kissed you, the paint on his hands and fingers transferred to your skin as he grabbed your face. You scrunched up your nose as the cool wet sensation before kissing him back.

“Maybe tomorrow.” He peppered your face with kisses as you both laughed. His hands trailed down your arms and across your upper chest, his lips were pressed up against yours again.

“You’re going to get paint all over me!” You giggled, his lips trailed across your jaw and down your neck.

“That’s okay.” His eyes met yours, “you’ll become my greatest master piece.”

*                      * “They say that artists can be very passionate people.”

A laugh escapes you and Alex looks at you confused, “that’s a bit of an understatement.”

“It couldn’t have been easy on your relationship. Artists tend to struggle for a while before gaining notoriety.”

“He worked as an elementary school teacher during the day. It wasn’t the money that caused issues, it was watching him tear himself apart that was the hardest.”

“What do you mean by that?” “No one was harder on him about his art than he was. He could produce something that was immaculate, but he’d say his students’ finger paintings were better.” You take a deep breath, “it was hard watching him beat himself over things I couldn’t help fix.”

“What changed? How did you go from wanting what’s best for him to…being in here?”

“A lot. A lot changed.”

*                      * It started when he decided to go out one night with his coworkers for drinks one Friday night. You didn’t mind it, you really didn’t because you trusted Suga and you enjoyed seeing him relax for the first time in a while. What did bother you was the fact that it seemed the occasional Friday night turned into the whole weekend to where he spent more days of the week out than at home.

Your knees were pulled up to your chest while you sat on the couch, a commercial playing on the TV while you scroll through your phone. When that stopped being a solace for you, you tossed it across the couch, deciding to stroll through his art studio. The smell that hit you when you opened the door was a mix of acrylic paint and peppermint, it was undeniably Suga. You saw one of his easels covered with a sheet which intrigued you, it wasn’t often that you didn’t see his work.

But once the sheet came off, you wished you never had. Your stomach dropped. It was like all of the memories you had spent making since high school, since college, shattered and all the jagged edges pierced into your heart as it sank. You could tell by the pose it was the one he had painted of you a couple months ago, the one that he told you wasn’t ready. Now you understood what he meant by ‘not ready’, it was your pose, but it wasn’t your body, wasn’t your face. You weren’t sure who it was but you knew it wasn’t you, the curves and lines, they didn’t belong to you. Tears welled in your eyes as you chewed on your bottom lip, realizing that while you laid completely exposed to him, his mind was clearly on whoever was in this painting.

Three long hours had passed before he stumbled into your shared apartment, crashing into everything he possibly could, waking you from your sleep. While his head hurt from the alcohol, yours hurt from crying. You got up, walking in just soon enough to watch your boyfriend fall onto the couch face first.

“Suga?” You leaned against the door frame.

He hummed something in response into the cushion.

“Kōshi? Babe?” You walked through the room, crouching down next to his head before placing a hand on his back.

He mustered up just enough strength to turn to face you, “I didn’t mean to wake up, sweetness.”

His innocent words, gentle tone, the use of the nickname reserved for only him, didn’t stop the tears from slipping down your cheeks, doesn’t untwist the knot that tightening in your stomach,  doesn’t remove the fact that you can’t help the one person that you want to.

After that night, you watched him change. He spent more time in his art studio, face covered with paint smudges, a sight you thought was absolutely adorable. He seemed happier, constantly dragging you into the studio to show off various artworks he’d finished. Everything was perfect, until he came home smelling like cheap perfume and stale beer.

*                      * “So he was cheating?”

You smile politely which catches Alex off guard, placing your elbow on the counter in front of you, as you rest your chin on the palm of your hand as you look at her. “He said he was trying to find himself.”

“Trying to find himself?” A look of pure bewilderment crossed Alex’s face.

“That’s the exact expression I wore when I asked him the same thing.”

*                      * “What the hell does that mean? Finding yourself?” You put air quotes around the last two words. There was a sense of anger running up your spine, you were tightly clenching your fists.

“I just think that I need to let loose. To learn how to breathe.” He flicked the paint brush against the blank canvas, not bothering to even look at you.

They say that smells can trigger memories, something with the olfactory system being located in the same part of the brain that effects emotions and creativity. Something about the fact that certain smells can affect the region of the brain that’s responsible for storing our emotional memories. That’s why you assumed whenever you smelled acrylic paint you thought of Kōshi, of the one person you thought would never let you down.

But now the smell just made you nauseous, made your heart hurt because whoever this silver-haired man in front of you, it wasn’t the love of your life. Wasn’t the boyfriend you’d been with for years. No, because that man would never hurt you like this, would never refuse to look at you when he all but broke your heart.

“I didn’t realize I was suffocating you, thought I was just being supportive!”

You yelled and then he yelled then you yelled some more and before you knew it the paintbrush hit the floor with so much force it bounced a bit. He shook his head storming passed you, his shoulder hit yours but he didn’t stop. The walls vibrated when he slammed it shut, leaving you leaning against the door frame, lip quivering.

** You stormed through his studio, grabbing all the gallons of paint you could carry, making a few more trips than the anger in you wanted. You started to fill the bathtub, the various colors muddling together, the thick liquid clung to the lining of the tub.

A smirk covered your lips as you thought back to how frustrated Suga would get when colors mixed like this, turning a disgusting brown that no artist would make on purpose. You remembered him saying the color reminded him of dirty paint water, somehow this all felt ironic.

Your foot catches on the rug into rug and you tripped, the empty red paint can fell from your hand; thin splatters clung to the white wall next to you.

*                      * Alex takes a deep breath, sitting her pen down before looking up at you. Hearing these crimes had progressively gotten worse as the interviews went by though she came into them thinking it’d get easier.

“Why didn’t you just use water?”

You lean forwards, chin still on the palm of your hand, teeth showing as you smile. “I thought paint gave the scene a more artistic flair.”

*                      * You felt Sugawara’s resistance slowly fade as he stopped trying to push his hands up, stopped trying to lift his head out of the tub of paint. His feet stopped kicking against the floor, his body slowly became lifeless under your hold. You stood up, leaving his hunched over the side of the tub, his beautiful silver hair now covered in the brown paint mixture.

They say when someone drowns, their entire body fights to survive. There’s panic, the sheer realization of what’s happening and the frightening moment you know you don’t have an idea of what to do. The moment when you subconsciously know you’re about to lose consciousness, your lungs going against the logic of not breathing in the water to try to salvage your existence. Body going into overdrive trying to save you, trying to get much needed air into your lungs. Some who have survived drowning say they had flashbacks, snippets of their life that flash through their mind as consciousness faded.

You wondered if Suga felt that panic, if his body had registered what was happening, or if the alcohol had clouded some of that. You wondered if he had fought as hard as he could’ve or if his inebriated state had lowered his abilities. You wondered if he saw flashbacks and what were they of. Did he see the two of you? The long years you had spent by his side, supporting every decision that he had made, giving up the few things you wanted for his dreams. Or did he see those women? The drunken nights spent at the bar, the woman he was thinking of when he was painting you, the owner of the cheap perfume he would come home smelling like.

*                      * “Most people just break up with their lover when they discover they’re cheating.” Alex looks at you pointedly.

“We did, some could say we ended our relationship due to artistic differences.”

Alex looks at you puzzled, “I’m not sure I follow.”

You stand up, stepping as close to the glass as the counter will allow before slamming yours on the glass while pressing your face against it. Alex jumps back in her seat, her chair scooting against the tiles loudly, her heart thumping against her chest. She watches the guard rush over, grabbing you away from the divider and pulling you out of the room.

“He saw himself alive and I saw him dead.”

Series Masterlist here

General Masterlist here

#haikyuu!! #sugawara koushi #sugawara x reader #tw major character death #tw murder #tw drowning #tw alcohol

[oftenderweapons]

The Conversations - part 3/3

Characters: Hoseok, Taehyung

Wordcount: 2.2k words

Genre: slice of life, discussion of NSFW topics, conversation

Rating: suggested 18+

Hello readers! I’m back and I bear gifts!

This is the final installment for The Conversations. In this piece Tae and Hobi discuss their relationships with their girlfriend, Lace -- Tae’s gf -- and Giggles -- Hobi’s --, sharing some spicy details and offering each other advice. Since I consider them the “freakiest” among the guys, do expect some TMI. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: so much BDSM I had to read a handbook, impact play and dedicated objects, bondage and restrictions, themes of domination and submission, use of safeword and mentions of subspace. Voyeurism and exhibitionism, adult clubs and dungeons, public sex, masturbation and oral sex. Blindfold, powerplay, roleplay. Mentions of a sextape... :’) (also hints of a possibly angsty Namjoon future fic, I had to.) 

Wordcount: 2.2k

And here is my masterlist :)

Enjoy!

“Hey hyung, sorry for last night.” Taehyung said, sitting beside Hoseok at the lunch table in the common room.

“It’s okay, no biggie.” Hoseok already had a bright smile on, warm and honestly unbothered by the event.

“I didn’t knew Giggles was at your’s.” Taehyung opened his lunch, starting to analyse the various boxes and cups.

“Yeah,” Hobi’s ears turned reddish. “It was a surprise for me too.”

“How is it going?” Tae cheered as he found the main course. Beside him Hoseok stirred his noodles.

“It’s great. She’s fantastic. How about Lace?”

“She’s doing great. We’re doing great.” Taehyung looked around a little to see if anyone could possibly overhear. “We experimented with a riding crop. Best decision of my life.”

Hoseok laughed out loud, smashing his free hand enthusiastically against the table. “Glad to know. Giggles prefers the paddle. Or my hands. But yeah, Lace gives crop vibes.”

“She’s a huge freak.” Tae took some kimchi, mixing it with his rice. His mouth still half full, he muttered. “But I guess I am, too.”

“As long as she likes that there’s nothing wrong.” He too took a bite of his own food. “Wanna share?”

“What? No.” Tae filled his mouth some more. “I mean, I have to ask Lace first.”

“I mean the food, you pervert.” Hoseok bent over his dish, “though I guess nor Lace nor Giggles would oppose.”

“God, Lace is such an exhibitionist.” Tae said, motioning to his side dish and inviting Hobi to take what he liked.

Hobi also put his smaller boxes in the middle. “And you’re a voyeur, which works just fine.”

“Match made in heaven. Does Giggles like it too?”

“She likes it enough. But, she’s not that visual. She prefers focusing on other senses.”

“I kinda reckoned.” Taehyung remembered the previous night, when he’d endlessly knocked on Hobi’s apartment door only to have his hyung come to the door half undressed, faux leather pants on, his forehead sweaty. Behind him, Tae could recognise a woman -- well, Giggles -- fully naked, sitting on a chair, wearing nothing but a blindfold. And several feet of rope.

“Freak.” Deadpanned Hoseok.

“What about you, freak?” Tae also stirred his noodles, enjoying the steam coming from them together with the heavy smell of soy sauce and fried peppers.

“Do you want me to say I enjoy having her at my mercy, nothing but a blabbering mess, incapable of getting away or understanding what’s going to happen to her?” Hoseok was overly descriptive on that. “Because yes, I do.”

“So not only blindfolded but also tied up?”

“If she’s not behaving, then yes.” Hoseok suddenly looked stern.

“I bet she doesn’t behave much.”

“At all.” Hoseok smirked. “I think I should change her punishment to something she enjoys less.”

“Lace hates not touching me.” Tae fits a huge meat roll in his mouth.

“Giggles is not bothered, as long as I’m touching her. She needs to feel some sort of an anchor, a safety line, so to say.”

“Well, I’d need one too if I were tied up and in the dark.” His mind wandered back to one of his first times with Lace, when he’d let her cover his eyes with a thick silk scarf tied behind his head, his body at her mercy, as she observed him and touched him without him knowing where she’d land her attack, without his intense gaze following her every movement and making her flustered. She had confessed feeling free, unjudged. Not that he would ever judge her, but he knew that he would feel conscious too if he were the one in the spotlight, were the roles to be reversed. He knew he would feel freer without his lover looking at him, analysing where his attention gravitated. But this happened at the beginning, when they were still learning. Now their most pressing need is watching each other. 

“Well. Once it got bad. She got into subspace. Only time she used her safeword. That’s why we don’t use handcuffs anymore.” Hoseok’s face was instantly dull. He still tortured himself for what had happened that one time. The look in Giggle's eyes as he let her wrists free, the angry red marks on her skin showing the indentations of the metal. The way she had seemed so broken, so lost. And the heavy tears falling on his chest as she hid in his form, clinging to him.

"Just once? Me and Lace had to use them a couple times. Both of us. Sometimes she's not in the right mindset and she asks me to stop and cuddle her. Sweetest thing in the universe." His eyes turn dreamy. "After her taste, obviously."

Hoseok laughs and punches him lightly. "TMI, bro."

"Come on, if Giggles tasted that sweet you would boast too."

"I'd rather keep that honey all to myself."

"Greedy." Taehyung poured himself some cola, watching it fizzle before downing it in one go. "By the way, do you have any good role play suggestion? I'm thinking of surprising her during the weekend but I'm so tired I can barely think."

"Strangers at the hotel. Book a room, meet at the lobby and then go upstairs to fuck like bunnies?" Hobi said it without even thinking. 

"Done that."

"It's a classic. Giggles loves it. She fucks me like a slut." He snickered softly, nothing but dark mischief in his voice, but also undying fondness for his beloved.

"And that's TMI." Tae quips.

"You asked."

"Yeah, fair."

"Maid and master. Or butler and madame. You pick." Hobi drank some Sprite directly from the bottle.

"Cliché." Taehyung tutted and proceeded with his meal. “I don’t know. Not really.”

"Artist and muse? I don't know man, you're super picky." It came out with his typically whiny intonation, his tone a rollercoaster as he got deeper into thought.

Taehyung stayed quiet for a few minutes, mulling over the possibility. “Could do.”

The other man slurped in his noodles, finishing them and sipping the soup. “So, roleplay, uh?”

“It makes me feel freer. Like I’m not V from BTS. Like I’m just a boy who loves his girl.”

Hobi nodded. “You don’t know the incredible amount of places I wish I could fuck Giggles.”

Tae clapped his hands and laughed. “Like that one time at the restaurant. Damn, you disappeared for half an hour.”

Hoseok stood up to discard his container, then sat down again. In the meantime he reminisced. How Giggles had smiled mysteriously at him, holding his hand and carefully taking him away from the main scene, into a corridor and then to the restroom. He remembered how she’d palmed him heavily, how he’d cum in her mouth after five minutes of her devoted ministrations. He remembered how Giggles had fingered herself as she was sucking him, waiting for him to be done so he would crouch down, bunch up her skirt and eat her out until her eyes crossed and her legs quivered, lost in ecstasy.

“Sometimes I wished I could just get lost somewhere like in an alley or drive off in the countryside and get it all loose.” Hoseok huffed quietly as he cleaned after his meal, grabbing an half empty tube of ice cream and setting it on the table, again sitting beside Tae. “Make her take off her panties while we’re out for dinner. Do her against the mirror in the elevator.”

“The one back at the dorms...” Tae arched an eyebrow, nodding knowingly.

“Yeah. Or like… Go to a club and just finger her on the dancefloor. Or in a dark nook.” His eyes crinkled shut.

“I get it. People knowing you sucks sometimes. Lace and I wanted to go to one of those... dungeons? Or maybe like an adult club. One of those places where you can perform in front of a crowd. Try some real exhibitionism. And some serious bondage.” Taehyung finished his own meal, discarding the finished cups and plates and grabbing a spoon to share the ice cream.

“Like, shibari?” Hobi asked, making eye contact with his friend.

“Yeah, why not.” Tae shrugged. “Lace would be interested. We’ve done mild things before and she enjoyed, but those are things you need to learn with an expert and just thinking of all the things that could go wrong makes me shiver.” He took a big mouthful of ice cream, almost freezing his brain in the process.

“I took an online course. Kinda fun.” Hoseok smiled and turned a bit shy. “Giggles was ecstatic. We learned some extra knots together, from a book our teacher recommended. She’s a keen student. Very dedicated.” He exploded in bubbly laughter.

“Would you let her tie you up?” Tea asked.

“I don’t know if she wants to, but I would let her.” Hobi blushed. “I wouldn’t mind. She’s talented. And disciplined. Very careful and diligent. I know I would be in good hands. What about you?”

“I’ve already let Lace tie me up.” Taehyung was absolutely confident, his voice neutral. “I enjoy letting her manhandle me every now and then.” He shrugged again, blowing his cheeks and rubbing at his chin. “She can do that. Honestly, she did take some lessons and taught me a few things. We explore a lot together.” At this, his eyes moved to the floor, a bit flustered. Lace knew his body like no one else in the world. He had spent years living in it and getting to know it, but his girlfriend had put body and soul into exploring him, memorising every small tell, every little quirk and sweet spot. Lace had unravelled him in a couple weeks, studying his anatomy with a maniacal precision. And when he allowed her to take control of him, her knowledge showed. Her fingers could draw endless pleasure, keeping him on his toes for hours and then making him explode like fireworks. But the most important thing was the way she had learned to soothe him, to care after him, her affection like balm to his bitter moods and darkest nights.

“Glad for you.” Hoseok gave him a pat on the shoulder, drawing him in for a hug.

Taehyung was getting ready to leave. “I got to talk to Namjoon. He’s giving me feedback on some lines in English. By the way, have you heard of him and Vixen?”

“What?”

“Had a fight. He’s hell-bent on making it up to her.” Tae scrunched his nose. “Guk sorta walked in on them in the studio the other day. I don’t know if they made up.”

Hoseok pouted. “Joon temper’s sucks. Boy got some pent up pressure and he’s gonna blow a fuse someday or other. Plus Vixen’s no saint.”

“She holds him accountable for his bullshit. Takes good care of him. Plus, man, she’s a keeper.”

“Truly.” Hobi thought back to the sparks between her and Namjoon everytime they’re together. If that wasn’t love, then he didn’t know what it could ever be. Probably it was the way Giggles searched for his hand when she was afraid, the way she always looked at him when she found something funny, or that small breath she held every time he said her name. Or even the way he needed to bury his nose in her neck when he needed to rest. How he always put his hand on the small of her back when he needed her at his side, when he looked for support and protection.

Taehyung already had his hand on the handle of the kitchen’s door when Hoseok stopped him. “How do you store your… stuff, with Lace?”

“You mean what? Toys? Porn? Pics?”

The older huffed. God, he’s really shameless. “Your vids?”

Taehyung’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. That stuff. I assume you’re not hiding it from her?”

“I was thinking of shooting something. I need safe storage.” Hoseok rubbed at his forehead, crossing his arms.

“Avoid phones. Worst thing. Get yourself a good camera and a decent memory card. Like 72GB. Keep all the stuff in the memory card or pen drive. Lace and I have it in our bedside table. Never keep stuff on the phone or in cloud.” He pointed a finger towards Hoseok for emphasis. “I would recommend an action camera, which is practical like a phone but safer. But if you do use a phone, no connection, no wifi, nothing. Just a phone used like a good ol' camera. Move all the stuff away as soon as you’re done.”

“Yeah, that was sort of a given..” Hobi nodded. “So, a camera? Suggestions?”

“Depends? Handheld or tripod?” Taehyung asked, checking his phone.

“You know me. Hands on my girl, and I like shifting a lot.”

“Tripod. Definitely. I’ll send you some links for reference tonight. Enjoy.”

#bangtan sonyeondan #bts smut #bts scenario #bts imagine #bts reaction #bts headcanon #kim taehyung #jung hoseok #hoseok imagine #hobi imagine #hoseok reaction #hobi reaction #taehyung imagine #taehyung reaction #hoseok one shot #taehyung one shot #bts conversation

[nobody-wants-ice-cream]

Everything Wrong With The Umbrella Academy. Episode 4, Man on the Moon.

We Only See Each Other at Weddings and Funerals

Run Boy Run

Extra Ordinary

Disclaimer: This is all in good fun! I wanted to do a really nitpicky re-watch of the series and found some really cool and interesting things I didn’t notice before. This is meant to have a Cinema Sins-esque tone. However, I did take off a lot more sins than Cinema Sins would have because I do genuinely like the series and the people that made it possible. So all of the good things got one sin off and all the bad things got one sin added. This is a really long post, so grab some popcorn. If there’s anything that I missed, feel free to add it!

I would also like to add, that normally you wouldn’t watch a show this way. I am purposefully looking for mistakes, easter eggs, and other things that we’re not supposed to notice. To be honest, I am seeing a lot of the things I’m pointing out for the first time because I am watching not with the goal of entertainment, but for analysis. 

Man on the Moon

Tom Hopper’s workout routine. -1

What was Luther holding in his hand? A lighter? A toy? I can’t tell. It’s weird that they put something there at all. +1

Klaus knocked down the wall between his and Vanya’s rooms. That was the one thing in the house that said Vanya ever lived there and he destroyed it. +2

However, Klaus’s room looks really, really cool. Set designers, you win this one. -1

The bike. I have questions about that bike. When did Luther get it? Or did it belong to all the children? Sinning because no way Reggie would buy Luther a bike. Or give one to the children. +1

The shot following Luther directly gave me a bit of motion sickness. +1

Netflix subtitles have Reginald saying “Attention, Master Luther” when it is clearly Pogo. +1

“Mission alert” +1

Everyone else is gone! Luther has no backup. Reggie is a dick to Luther. +1

I know I should have mentioned this in the last episode, but Reggie put five young children in leather catsuits. Potentially six, but we never see Five in one. And he still makes Luther wear it as an adult! +6

Luther never leaves the house and keeps going on missions for Reggie because of a sense of responsibility. I can understand that. -1

However, Reggie was the one who fostered that in Luther. He made Luther think that he was responsible for saving the city, when in reality that’s up to law enforcement officers. +3

Why didn’t Luther go to a real hospital? Did Reggie take him home? How did Luther end up back in the Academy after that mission? +1

Was Luther dead? Reggie feels for his pulse and says “dammit”. Did the ape serum bring him back to life? +1

How long was Luther on that table? We see him with a beard in episode one, but it isn’t as crazy as this one. Also, does Luther bleach his hair now, or what? I am confused by Luther now being a brunette with impressive facial hair. +1

Tom Hopper nails ‘dawning horror and shock at now being an ape’. -1

Pop goes the weasel. +1

Who wound that box and placed it there? And why? The only other people there are Reggie, Grace, and Pogo. No way they did something so cruel and juvenile after permanently disfiguring him. +1

The umbrella the monkey-in-the-box suddenly has the title when it didn’t earlier. +1

“There’s something you have to see”. Yes Allison, continue to be vague. I’m sure Luther will appreciate it. Why not “I think the assassins killed Mom. Come take a look.” Is it because that would have been too logical? +1

Luther is still calling her “Grace”. +1

“Poor Diego. I mean this is gonna be so hard on him”. Choke on that irony, everyone. +1

 “I don’t wanna discuss it”. This family. Allison said the same thing about Claire moments before telling Luther everything. Parallels. +1

Vanya spent the night at Leonard’s house. Sigh. +1

“For one day I’ll think you’ll be fine”. What makes you think that, Leonard? +1

Vanya takes one sip of her coffee and never touches it again. Leonard doesn’t even drink his. What is the point of the damn coffee? +1

“When I was a kid I felt like I had to apologize for even breathing.” Reggie is a dick. +7

“I don’t think my Dad ever forgave me for being born” foreshadowing patricide. +1

Vanya and Leonard talk in front of the Icarus Theatre. Comics fans, you know why that’s significant. +1

Helen doesn’t acknowledge Vanya’s greeting like a normal human being. +1

People are already tuning, Vanya! Get your ass in the theatre so you can do the same! +1

Leonard is stupidly charming. I hate that he’s sort of likable, but it makes sense for what they’re using him for. +1

The kidnapping of Klaus Hargreeves. +4

Klaus is too kinky to tourture. -1

Where is that blood on his chest coming from? +1

Ten hours of tourture! Fuck you show for making Klaus go though that. +10

 “He’s a freak like his brother”. Which one? You met Luther and Diego. And they presumably know Five through the Commission. But which one is the freak into kinky shit? Diego? +1

“Remember Trinidad”. Noodle incident. (if you don’t know what that is google Noodle incident TV Tropes)+1

This motel has a surprising amount of towels in the bathroom. Some of the nicer places I’ve stayed don’t have that many. +1

Patch lives in house 204. “2” and “4”. Hmmm. +1

Does Diego show up on Patch’s doorstep being emo often? +1

Why is she still thinking about the 1938 fingerprint? We know that it’s plausible because of Five, but the police department should have thrown that out. It doesn’t make any sense and fingerprints can be alike. +1

She mentions the 30s cold case and Diego starts to look up in recognition. Even if he doesn’t know about the Commission or the Apocalypse, he does know about Five’s ability to time travel. He even mentions “The Boy”. Diego thinks that it was Five based on the fingerprint and his examination of the two crime scenes. -1

“For once, just try things my way”. Foreshadowing. +1

Diego hasn’t bothered to clean up the blood on his face from last night. Weirdo. +1

Allison is already forming a plan to kick Leonard’s ass the moment she sees his silhouette. Good. -1

Also, not the first time the audience has seen Leonard creeping around. Remember when he stole the journal? +1

Allison takes him down easy. Character moment showing that her superhero training hasn’t left her. Also, Allison is a badass. -1

Allison sees right through Leonard. This scene is excellent. -1

Lance has a really cute dog. -1

After seeing the shady deal while tailing Meritech, Five decides to tail Lance instead of just watching the building. Good job, Five. -1

How do you bill insurance companies for fake things? You need an insurance ID or SSN to have a patient. Where does Lance get these fake numbers from? +1

Why are eyeballs such a hot commodity? +1

“Names and numbers and I need it NOW” Five is scary. -1

Five jumped into the seatbelt. Did his powers secure it for him? +1

Five has a really organized desk. I wish I could read what he labeled the binders. +1

Luther decided to search Five’s room for clues. Pogo would be excellent at cinema sins. +1

For all we make fun of Diego’s stupid outfit, just remember, comics Diego has an even stupider one. This is the stupidity turned down. +1

The labels are now upside down on the binders when they were right side up in the last shot. +1

Either Five was a really good artist, or Reggie let Five have a poster above his bed that didn’t feature the academy. No explanation is given. +1

Five’s wallpaper depicts a boy pulling a mannequin in a wagon. -1

Luther punches a hole in Five’s wardrobe. This is never mentioned again. +1 

“When you watch those nature shows does it turn you on?” Diego is a dick. +1

If you look really closely, you can see something that looks suspiciously like the ending to Apocalypse suite in Five’s room as a piece of art taped to the wall. I checked with the comics. It looks very, very similar. -1

There are two cylindrical things on the wall. One on Five’s wall and one we can see through the doorway on the wall across from Five’s room. What is it? Nightlight? Loudspeaker? Alarm? +1

Ben Hargreeves enters the chat. -1

“Stay calm, Klaus” stay calm. +1

Hazel and Cha Cha spent over 10 hours beating the crap out of Klaus but they didn’t think of the training manual, something Cha Cha clearly has memorized, until now. +1

When did they grab his coat? Klaus was wearing nothing but a towel. Did Hazel decide to grab it on a whim? +1

“Asthma medication”. Klaus is still coherent enough to come up with an okay lie after 10 hours of tourture. +1

“Amputee hookers”. Nice call back to the comics. -1

Hazel and Cha Cha don’t hear Klaus say “not until they're high as kites” when responding to Ben. +1

“Klaus, be strong”. Ben’s facial expression was really weird with this line. +1

Klaus cracks after 10 hours of tourture while going through withdrawal. Impressive. -1

The multi-screen effects look really cool. -1

Watching Hazel and Cha Cha burn down Meritech while high as kites amuses me. -1

Watching this later while knowing that Meritech doesn’t really matter means that I don’t really care about this building. I wish there was something to make this more interesting instead of just making the eye a red herring. Leonard hasn’t lost an eye yet, so it doesn’t matter. +1

What were Hazel and Cha Cha dancing to in universe? Was this song playing on the radio or something?? +1

Luther goes through the door that’s too small for him because he’s Number One and Diego goes through the door that would actually accommodate Luther’s size. +1

Vanya’s book should be way more beat up than that if it survived the literal apocalypse with Five for 45 years. The ink looks too fresh, too. Unless this is another, newer copy of Extra Ordinary? Sin for confusion. +1

Five got way too close to that explosion. Five survives this without injury. +1

We see him lying amongst the shrapnel for crying out loud! +1

Gossip magazines. “We’re doing fine!” +1

Tween Hit is still a popular magazine seventeen years later. -1

“Vanya, she’s gone” is the vaguest wording ever. +1

However, Vanya understands this. Sin on the writers. +1

“It was those psychopaths last night” weird delivery. Allison’s tone is off. +1

Does Vanya not have any students other than Leonard? She’s perfectly free on some random afternoon so she can have a drink with Allison. +1

Hazel and Cha Cha coming down from their high. -1

Cha Cha hates doughnuts. +1

Reginald Hargreeves put his eight year old son in what amounted to a tourture chamber so he would stop being afraid. Reggie is a dick. +8

Why is Ben stuck in the closet with Klaus? +1

The cleaning lady (her name is Claudia, according to a card she leaves) has one of her ears uncovered. She totally would have been able to hear him. +1

Callback to the screw Hazel threw away to remind the audience that it’s important. -1

Ben’s whiny bullshit. Now is not the time, asshole. +2

We know why the dog ear is important, but why would Patch? At this point it’s a random piece of fabric that might look like something she saw on surveillance footage (Cha Cha’s mask). Point is, that could be something from Meritech and not necessarily urgent. +1

Patch gets the message intended for Five about Klaus. When Diego thinks that the missing brother is Five and that’s who he meant when he was talking to her. Choke on that irony and miscommunication. +1

This show is shot like a comic book and I love it. -1

“That’s what you do when you’re 17” in this specific circumstance, yes. In others, not so much. You don’t have to leave when you’re 17. +1

Luther calls out Diego for not being a real grown up while also not being a real grown up himself. +1

Diego asks “You ever even been with a girl”. Diego is a dick. +1

“We’re orphans again, dude”. When were you ever orphans? Sin for the writers for writing this or to Reggie for making them believe that they were regular orphans he adopted legitimately instead of buying. +1

“Do you ever stop talking. Wow that was easy.” I wheezed.-1

Five is drunk in the library with Dolores with equations scribbled all over the place. No one stopped him when he started writing on the walls in sharpie. +1

Five has two bottles of hard liquor with him. +2

 “Drunk as a skunk” +1

The comedic timing of Five’s hand letting go of the bottle. -1

“Jerk off on your Mr. Snuggles teddy bear”. First of all, eww. Second of all, yeah, Vanya these are all valid points she’s making. You just met this dude! +1

“But sometimes men are unredeemable shits” yeah. Sin for men and for the fact that Vanya doesn’t know this. +1

“Yay sisters” -1

What are Allison and Vanya drinking? Seriously, what are their drinks of choice? It looks like Vanya has something like a gin and tonic or a vodka soda and Allison has a rum and coke, but I can’t really tell. This is a sin until I know for sure. +1

That is a lot of extra blood on Klaus with no explanation. +1

Draw Ben like one of your French girls, Klaus. -1

“Is your brother here now.” “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific on that” -1

Ben’s wink. -1

Reggie is a dick to his adopted children. +7

Torturing a literal child and calling it training. +4

Reggie, you dramatic bitch. +1

Warrants exist for a reason, Patch. +1

Also, Patch decides to follow Diego’s shitty advice without any backup. +1

Drunk Five being carried bridal style by Luther. Aidan Gallagher being carried bridal style by Tom Hopper. -1

“I’m going through puberty. Twice.” Sucks to be you. +2

You had two bottles, Five. And you somehow didn’t die of alcohol poisoning. +2

Diego’s face. -1

Aidan Gallagher doesn’t play drunk very well. To be fair, he’s never been drunk (or at least I hope he hasn’t), but it’s still a sin. +1

“You know I hate code names”, okay Spaceboy. +1

“I’m the four frickin horsemen” or Gabriel’s horn. -1

“You haven’t been this sober since you were a teenager, since you decided to keep the ghosts at bay”. I hate the delivery on this last line, but to be fair to Justin Min, it was a shitty line in the first place. Sin for delivery and for the writers. Also, gee Ben, I thought he was just doing drugs to be contrary. +2

Zoya Popova is so underrated. I love her. -1

Ben’s lil smile. -1

Vanya’s apartment is so warm and nice with all the lights on, but this is the only time we get to see it that way. When she is on good terms with Allison. Lighting cues. -1

Allison, you’re too tall to fit in Vanya’s sweatpants. They’d be sweat capris. +1

Have I mentioned how much I love Allison’s jacket in this episode yet? Because I really like it. -1

Creepy flowers are creepy. +1

“She knows it was a misunderstanding”  Allison’s face all but says. “Do I?”. Emmy Raver-Lampman rules. -1

Also, Vanya speaks for Allison. +1

This is where they decide to show just how much of a creep Leonard is. Well done, show. -1

Leonard is a creepy, manipulative little bastard. +1

Sin off for the gory sfx makeup in this episode. The ghosts look brutal! -1

Syd the tow truck driver is back. Too bad he’s dead. +1

The dead cheerleader is disturbing. +1

This episode sort of confirms the headcanon that Klaus can speak/understand many languages. -1

The gore on Klaus keeps changing. +1

The switch in camera angles shows the shift in point of views, hence why the ghosts disappear. Clever. -1

Ben voice: Nicely done. -1

Patch waited a pretty long time. How long was the walk from the library to thy gym? +1

Chair scoot. Klaus is smart. -1

Klaus gives himself a concussion. Sinning because he had to give himself more trauma to escape from touture. +1

Claudia gives Patch the key to the room without question and then runs.+1

Klaus is coherent enough to think to hide in the vent. Klaus is a smart cookie. -1

The death of Detective Eudora Patch. +1

The Klaus theme -1

Kenny’s mom appearance! Her hat and jacket have matching flowers that also match her pants. Cute. -1

Klaus’s wink. -1

Kenny’s mom definitely saw a lot more of Klaus than what was already on display. +1

Time traveling briefcase! -1

Kenny’s mom looks for Klaus under the seat. What??? +1

Diego gives Dolores a chair. How nice of him. -1

Diego’s Prime 8s poster. If you know, you know. -1

Aidan Gallager sucks at pretending to sleep. +1

“You throw another one of those goddamn knives at me, I’m pressing charges”. I love Al. -1

It was a half hour walk from the library to the gym. Patch waited a really long time. +1

Now you remember Klaus after you found Five, who wasn’t really in any danger. +1

The little pat Luther gives Dolores. -1

Diego takes his gloves off. It’s like he wants to get framed. +1

This scene is really emotional and made me cry the first time I saw it. +1

David Castaneda is a really good actor. -1

The fridging of Detective Eudora Patch. +100

Overall Review:

This episode starts off on a really high note. I follow Tom Hopper on Instagram. He’s really fit. There is no denying that. I also appreciated the way he played Luther this episode. The scene where Luther realizes what his body looks like was heartbreaking to watch and really well acted. 

Speaking of heartbreaking to watch, the fridging of Detective Patch pisses me off. For those who don’t know, “Fridging” is when a female character is hurt or killed in some way in order to move a man’s story/emotional development forward. Considering that Patch’s death is what starts Diego’s character development, I would say that this applies. I am genuinely disappointed in the writers for doing this to Patch. I think it’s been established that I respect Patch. She doesn’t take any shit and she follows her moral compass. That is her real character. She only screws up when it comes to Diego and this is no different. She decided to be reckless like him and paid the ultimate price. However, this is completely out of character. Based on what we’re shown, Patch should have brought up her suspicions to Beeman (the other detective) and went from there. But instead, she had to die. That injustice done to her character is what deserves 100 sins. The show really dropped the ball with this one. 

Moving on, Vanya and Allison have some really good interaction in this episode. I think it’s a little weird how quickly Vanya forgave Allison after the shit she said last episode. Diego and Allison treated Vanya like a fragile object, which is what led her to Leonard. To be fair, Vanya was pretty stupid that last episode when she didn’t run away, but that doesn’t excuse what Diego said and Allison agreed with. Overall, the yay sisters thing was a good, but sus moment. 

Next, Klaus and Ben. Almost everything Ben said in this episode pissed me off. The “that’s the real tourture” speech was awful. For all the fandom loves him, Ben is a prick. However, Ben was also able to keep Klaus calm and encouraged him to control his power over the many, many ghosts in the room. So it’s kind of a wash for me this episode. I hope season 2 explores more of his character and why he would choose to say something so awful while his brother is being literally tortured. 

As for the main plot, Five’s only lead, not that it really matters yet, has been destroyed. Hazel and Cha Cha realize that they’re going to end the world if they complete their mission. And Leonard has finally been revealed to be a creep who wants something to do with Vanya’s pills. On a rewatch, we know why that’s significant, but a first time viewer would be confused in a good way. The show wants the audience to ask: Why? Vanya’s pills have been there for important moments up until this point. And now there are being forcibly taken out of the equation. Why?

Total: 193

Sentence: Getting drunk in the library with your mannequin wife while trying to do math. 

#The Umbrella Academy #all in good fun #show warnings apply #lots of spoilers #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #Allison Hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #eudora patch #leonard peabody #hazel and cha cha #analysis of the umbrella academy

[joonapeach]

a 2k word drabble about detective oc who’s after wanted criminal artist taehyung except the catch is that they used to be in love in uni until their differing ideologies and means of achieving justice put them against each other

ok enjoy maybe i’ll write more idk 

*

“Thinking of running?” you smile obnoxiously at him. Staring him up and down, you let your gaze linger on the handcuffs on his hands at the table, all with the intention of rattling him.

Whether he notices or not, he’s unaffected. He smiles back just as obnoxiously, perhaps an ounce too much, making you uneasy. 

“Why would I ever dream of running?” Taehyung grins, looking up at you with big doe-eyes. “I’m right where I want to be after all. It’s been too long since I last saw you.”

You ignore his statement, pulling up a chair from the side of the room. His eyes don’t take a second away from you, and it bothers you. It bothers you that Taehyung is still the same each time you cross paths. 

From behind the one-way glass of the investigation room, all your superiors and colleagues were probably watching intently. They got to be the lucky audience to your reunion with the man you once almost gave your heart to.

Keeping your watchful colleagues in mind, you straighten your back and give a stoic glance towards Taehyung. He looks at you the same as always. But you weren’t the same as his memory. You had a career now, and your career depended on this right now - your career depended on stopping the crimes that had created chaos in the country.

Your career depended on a fool like Taehyung.

“We’ll keep it simple and start from the beginning,” you clear your throat, sitting down across from him. “Walk us through your crimes.”

“Through my crimes?” he cocks a brow, laughing in disbelief. “Come on, _____. Don’t be boring.”

“Mr. Kim-”

“Mr. Kim, now am I?” his eyes glint with the question, unabashedly winking. 

You glare at him, your hands shaking ever so slightly before you quickly regain composure. Not here… not now. 

“Talking about my crimes… that’s no fun. All I do is paint some walls. I’m more curious about you now. How’ve things been lately?”

Your jaw drops. “Paint some walls?” you repeat in a scoff. “You vandalize the most important buildings in the country, Mr. Kim. And that is only a small portion of your crime. You and your group are arsonists.”

“But my art is pretty though, isn’t it?” he smiles softly, focusing an intent stare on you as if searching for an answer. “You used to love seeing all the new things I’d make.”

You freeze, your head subconsciously snapping to see the glass through which all your colleagues were watching. Of course, you couldn’t see a thing from your end. But you could only hope things from their end didn’t look so compromising for you.

“Tell us how Mosaic chooses the targets. What’s your motive?”

“Ah… that reminds me. Remember in college, every time I’d come running to show you a new piece, that dick, Theo, would always be there. Do you still let him hang around you?” Taehyung tilts his head, curiously blinking at you. Your eyes widen at his evasion of your questions. “He should thank me, you know. The only reason you ended up giving someone like him a chance was because I dropped out. We all know if I’d stayed till graduation, it’d be us that-”

“Mr. Kim, what is your motive?” you jump to cut him off, loudly enunciating each syllable so to block Taehyung’s rambling words from reaching your audience’s ears. He gives a small smile at your frenzy before responding.

“I just wanna make the world a prettier place, _____. You know that’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he says sincerely, looking innocently at you. 

“Why is Mosaic burning down so many institutional buildings these last few months?” you press on. “You all would never aim to go that far last year. Something’s changed.“

“You’re right. We’re in a hurry now, so we stopped wasting time on the baby steps,” he shrugged, smiling once again. “That and I started running out of designs. It’s hard work for me to churn out that drawing every month, y’know?”

You could scream in your frustration. He’s giving you nothing. 

Your fists clench, your eyes shoot to the clock and you’re realizing Taehyung’s game. Three minutes had passed in this room and he hadn’t said anything of value yet. Any longer and you’d be removed from questioning him and still no closer to putting an end to a year long case.

But you know better. If someone like Taehyung and his group could be stopped with a few questions and threats of torture, you would have caught them all already. 

Exhaling, you decide to take a different approach. “How do you decide what to paint?” 

He beams, pleased with your different question. “Hmm...  just this and that, you know. I give it some thought. We’re telling a story here so the message has to be clear in the art. Otherwise we’re just burning down buildings without a point,” he pouts. “You know, you should all spend some time on Reddit, _____. They’ve done a pretty good job analyzing my art. Better than you anyway… which sucks, considering you should know my-”

“Tell us what your plan is,” you interrupt as soon as you feel him begin to digress. “These attacks are becoming too frequent and large-scale now. There’s bystanders and deaths at each one. Do you realize what you’re doing?”

He pauses, blinking. “I’m making a change, _____. While you and Theo and Yunseo and all of you all were wasting hours in class trying to learn how to stop the bad guys, I actually went out and did it first-hand. We’re not the villains here.”

“You’re killing innocent people each time you mark a building with your art, Taehyung,” you plead softly, holding his stare. At the sound of his name, his eyes shut. “Please. Reconsider this. Work with us and I promise you, we can give the change you’re looking for.”

“We’ve done more in the last three months than your teams have in this year,” he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, _____. But I’ve already chosen my side.”

Your body stiffens and any sense of mercy you were willing to have washes away.

“Well, you’ve chosen the wrong one,” you say as a matter-of-fact. “You were caught painting the wall at the railway station. Now, Mosaic’s prime artist has been arrested, the station has been evacuated and lookout teams are there hunting your group,” you announce, carefully watching his face to note his defeat.

There’s nothing. He barely even blinks, before sadly looking up at you and saying, “You should really go see my art, _____.”

You halt, raising your brows at his words. “That’s all you want to say?”

“I always do the hidden details you like to look for,” he says with a grin he fights to keep off his face. “You should go see.”

You scoff. “What are you talking about, Taehyung?”

His eyes twinkle with a look that reminds you all too much of the boy from your past.

“You know. You said you liked seeing something for the first time and thinking you understood it all, but when you looked closer, you found something else entirely. Didn’t you say that’s why you chose to become a detective?”

Your blood runs cold and your expression drops. Perhaps to another detective, to any one of your colleagues watching this interaction, this would seem like a passing remark. Maybe a little strange, but everything that came from Taehyung was granted to be a little strange.

But to you, the words carry a different weight. You could blame it on the years spent by his side or you could blame it on the feelings that you carry around like a guilty burden. Nonetheless, there was something in what he said that pricked you.

“Finding something else?” your brows furrow as you jump up from your seat.

He nods, pausing to look at you for a moment too long. “Hm. Finding something else, somewhere else? You were always good at figuring things out.”

You stop for a second, blinking at him before running towards the door of the room. Your heartbeat rings in your ears and you burst the door open before screaming like a madwoman at all the people inside. 

“CALL EVERYONE! WE GOT THE WRONG LOCATION! IT’S A TRAP!”

Your few words invoke manic across the room. It’s all in fast motion now, and your head spins from the way everyone in the room races to move. Your colleagues rush out the door to contact other teams, you hear your superiors call the officers on lookout to tell them to change location. There’s a few moments where it all moves so fast and you can barely recognize anything around you.

Then suddenly, it stops. Your captain yells in madness, sinking to the floor and it’s quiet across the room. He smashes the phone that was on his ear to the wall.

“What… what happened?” a detective from beside you asks hesitantly. 

Another detective shakes as she stares at her phone. “This was a distraction,” she slowly says. “All of this… they… Mosaic is burning City Hall to the ground,” she cries.

For the second time in the last five minutes, you feel fear overcome your body, threatening to tremble you till you’d have no control over yourself. But you quickly steady yourself, just for one last thing.

You already know what awaits you as you run back into the questioning room, but for the sake of the small chance you’re wrong, you still check. All that remains inside is two empty chairs and a pair of handcuffs lying on the table.

Kim Taehyung was gone. And he left nothing to show for it.

*  *

You’ve felt crazy many times because of him. You remember in university, you once spent hours everyday researching art history and painters just to have topics in common with him. You would change your route back to your dorm to pay visits to places he’d be or art galleries, learning more about him just so you could be close to him. Perhaps the time you felt the craziest of all was when you found out he had dropped out of university to join a group of misfits who’d claimed they would change the world, and considered whether you should follow him in his descent to madness.

But you steady yourself. You always do. You pride yourself on following your instinct and your logic, not your heart and whatever it calls.

That’s, after all, why you’re here today. Standing at the wall in the empty railway station he’d last painted before pulling off the biggest attack the Mosaics had done yet. It only seemed right to look for any traces of Taehyung in his art. 

Once you approach it closer, you take it all in. He was right. You should’ve come to see his art all this time.

No longer was he the artist he was when he was the boy you loved. No, now he was… something much more magnificent now. His style had evolved and he tackled much more complex and large designs now. You were honestly impressed at the way he had managed to create a mural like this inconspicuously, before letting himself get caught.

The large strokes of the red paint create an imaginative face of a man, and inside the details, Taehyung’s included a variety of colors and details.

You stare at it for a few moments, looking at each edge of the picture. Minutes pass by before you try to tear yourself away and head home. 

As you take a few steps back, you give the wall one last glance. You look at every corner and every edge, at the eyes of the man, his mouth, his hair. You think about Taehyung coming here in the dead of the night, taking the utmost care to paint every small stroke and detail to create this piece. You wonder if this was another world, would he come running after you just as he once did to show you what he’d created. The thought makes you laugh and you slowly walk away.

But then you stop in your tracks. The right shoulder of the man catches your eye. Something in the style of the shading, the strokes, the way the colors mix perfectly everywhere else but here… it all looks off to you.

Instead of stepping closer, you cautiously take a few steps back. The darkness of the station hinders you from focusing carefully on the spot and you turn on your phone flashlight, pointing it at the wall.

Tilting your head, you can see it now. What seemed like a small error of technique on an otherwise perfect piece, now read something out to you. Deliberately hidden in the details. 

You exhale a chuckle before walking away. You two were a predictable cliche. Against all odds, you wound up standing against the boy you once thought would always be by your side. And against all odds, he was running from the girl he wanted to stay by.

And although they shouldn’t, the words on the painting make you happy. Because you know despite everything, you mean them too.

I’m sorry. I love you.

*

i had an alternate ending (you can read it here) but i decided against it bc i like the way i wrote this one more hehe anyways if u read this thanks

#joonapeach #my writing #taehyung fic #taehyung #bts fics #bts #kim taehyung #v #kim taehyung fic #taehyung x reader #bts x reader #taehyung drabble #taehyung drabbles #bts drabbles #criminal au #taehyung criminal #taehyung fic recs #bangtan #detective au #reader x criminal!taehyung #criminal!au #taehyung criminal au #taehyung scenarios #bts scenarios #bts taehyung #bts v

[callsign-bunnie]

Dependencies pt 1

Fandom: Thomas Sanders Pairing: Analogical (Anxiety x Logic) Warnings: dark themes. You guys know me by now. Virgil’s anxious thoughts are stated. Allusions to sex. (Lust mention.) Food mention. Notes before going in: those who have been following me know by now that I am uh... not all sunshine and rainbows when it comes to my writing. My stuff can get pretty heavy and often pretty dark. However, any trigger warnings will be tagged. And if you ask me, I will tag specific non-general triggers in any future chapters or works. If you simply don’t want to see a fic in general, I would suggest blacklisting the name, which will be in the tags. Thank you. Summary: Logan is very neat and controlled. Virgil is the opposite. Logan, 30, is the leader of a well known underground crime network, though he specifically has managed to remain anonymous, very few knowing his identity. Virgil, 23, on the other hand, is an artist who hates talking to people and has chronic anxiety. Virgil and Logan are thrown in each other's paths when Virgil gets Logan as his professor in the math class Logan uses as a cover identity. (And guilty pleasure but he’ll never admit that.) Already, Logan is... intrigued.

Sometimes, our darkest secrets aren't the ones we hide the most. For Logan, possibly his lightest secret was the one he hid the most. To quickly raise in the ranks, he had to give an appearance of being cold. Unfeeling. Sociopathic. And while yes, he could be considered a sociopath, he could feel some things. Anger. Love. Lust. Happiness. As much as Logan tried to hide this secret, the feelings were drugs for him, just as addicting as Heroin or Cocaine. And anything that sparked these feelings was considered precious to him. He needed it.

However, Logan was incredibly intelligent. This was perhaps how he managed to keep himself from gaining a... dependence. And perhaps how he rose so fast in the ranks. He'd learned by now to never do his own dirty work and to stay detached from it, as well. Lest whoever does it is stupid enough to be caught. Many of his higher-ups had not learned this and of course paid the price for it, once the police caught on. Another lesson he'd learned from observing his higher-ups was to never leave a paper trail. Of course, keep track, but always have a fail-safe. Logan had taken to keeping his documents in a barrel that one could simply throw a match in and light it up. He'd also learned not to trust the internet unless using some kind of code. Unfortunately, lackeys were not good at recognizing and remembering codes. So, he just left all of his business to over throw away phones and in business. Maybe requests and commissions could be taken over the internet, but through nothing that could be traceable and he was always sure to keep his interactions vague, going through a lackey who typed differently so even that couldn't be tracked. And possibly the most important thing he'd learned; have an excellent cover. His being a math professor. He was seen as dorky by his students. No one would ever even suspect him of being who he was.

Of course, maintaining of these self-imposed rules required immense discipline. Possibly even an obsession with order and control. Fortunately, Logan had both of those qualities.

Virgil was the opposite. While Virgil was clever, he wasn't very academic. And his darkest secrets were the ones he kept deepest inside himself. Virgil also had a problem with feeling too much. All of his life, he'd been considered too emotional. Too... anything, really. He'd been told this many times. He figured by this point that if he was too much for people, he might as well not bother them. Other people never usually had anything interesting to contribute, anyway. He was also incredibly out of order.

His room was usually a disaster. And he managed to trip over everything. You'd think this would lead him to keep the floor clean, however, he just didn't care enough to bother. He also didn't care to bother cooking, so he'd become accustomed to eating ramen and anything microwaveable. And take out, when he could afford it. He didn't have a job, however, he received money from his parents and an allowance from what was left of his college fund and then later some weird source? On to that, later.

His parents weren't wealthy, however, and his college fund's remains were not grand. So, he sometimes had to go without a meal or two. Whatever, though. It wasn't a big deal to him. He barely thought about it.

Virgil had taken up art to keep from thinking about certain things. It was much easier to ignore issues if he was focusing on lines and color schemes, instead. Art was also a way to release pent up frustration, sadness, even happiness. You'd think happiness couldn't be pent up but when you talk to literally no one, well... it happens. So, he'd found an outlet. A relief. And just as emotions were intoxicating to Logan, art was just as intoxicating to Virgil. Granted, he wasn't making art most of the time, but he was usually thinking about it. Plotting out pieces he wanted to make, deciding where to fit yet another piece on his wall, what color fit what he was feeling, etc. Honestly, the thoughts alone seemed to help at this point, allowing him an outlet where there wasn't usually one

.Virgil stumbled into Logan's sight when he went to his first math class. Stumbled being literal, as Virgil almost tripped and hit his head on the fire extinguisher by the door. Luckily, he was early, always terrified of being late to a class due to having to walk in and everyone watch him walk to his seat. The idea filled him with dread. He hated it. So he made sure to be early to each class. Being early also had the perk of getting to choose his seat. Which he quite enjoyed. He almost always chose a seat in the back, however, math was a difficult subject for him, so he begrudgingly sat in the almost front. Okay, really, he usually sat in the middle of the class. People in the back were usually considered to be angsty, in the front to be go-getters. And nobody thought about those in the middle. It was the perfect place. But in college, with large class sizes, sitting in the middle often meant being unable to focus for Virgil. And since he already struggled with math, he usually decided it would be best for him to sit closer to the front.

He was already dreading this class, however. As he knew he would likely be close to failing it if he didn't ask for help. He'd struggled enough the year before. This year would likely be the same, if not worse. So he was already gearing himself up to have to talk, blegh, to his teacher in order to ask for tutoring options. Much fun was in store for him this year, because then he'd have to talk to whoever was tutoring him. Yay. Oh well, he was taking two art classes this year, so at least he had that. He was already finding himself daydreaming about them. They were independent art classes, which basically meant he got to create whatever he dreamed about creating.

So at least the year wouldn't be so bad, right? And he was... mostly fine in all of his other classes. So no tutoring there. Just math would be difficult.

As expected, he spent most of the class way behind and struggling to comprehend what the professor was saying. The professor was semi-friendly. Was mostly that dry professor who was kind but you could tell they wouldn't take your shit. Virgil tended to like those professors, as they usually left him alone, unable to remember every student. Unfortunately, once Virgil would make his presence known to this professor, he was sure they would remember him and he'd be stuck dealing with them until the end of the year. Yay, again. At least this professor wasn't a fast talker. That would be a struggle if they were. Well, more of a struggle, anyway. He was able to catch some detail, so it definitely helped. He'd taken to writing, in messy inconsistent shorthand, what the professor was saying to try to organize later. He never really got around to later, but hey, he was trying, at least, right?

His anxiety got worse and worse throughout the class, and needless to say, this was not helping his focus. He was dreading having to ask for help. So it was making his anxiety flip out. However, he managed to swallow it, tapping out his racing heartbeat on his stomach in his pocket as he went up to the professor's desk at the end of class. "Professor? Can I talk to you?"

"Of course, Mr..."

"Storm. I'm Virgil Storm. I um... Well, I have a tendency to struggle in Math and I was hoping you could have any tutoring recommendations?" Virgil asked, almost too quiet, but luckily he was heard.

The professor nodded and seemed to glance Virgil up and down. "I do offer tutoring hours of my own. I typically teach until five and I offer to tutor between 5 and 9. However, I will only allow up to an hour, since I'm assuming tutoring will have to be a regular thing?"

Virgil turned red and nodded in answer to the question. "Yes, unfortunately." He was managing to slow his tapping, though. Which was good.

His professor laughed, suddenly, and then stated,  "goodness, you don't have to keep standing. Sit and we'll discuss a time to meet up."

Virgil turned red again and pulled up a chair, sitting in it and slouching slightly. "Since this is my last class of the day, I think tutoring at five would be helpful... So I could just hang around here, you know?" And his tapping sped back up, worried the professor would think that was a dumb idea.

"That would work out. I suppose it might help you to remember, as well." He nodded.

Virgil relaxed and nodded again. "That too. I'm sorry, I forgot your name..."

"Oh, of course. It's Logan Fairling. It's fine if you just call me Dr. Fair, however." Dr. Fairling answered, nodding

.Virgil nodded a bit and relaxed more. He knew he tended to overthink, but it really was a relief when he was wrong. "Thank you, Dr. Fairling. When do you think it would be best to start?"

"Hmm..." Dr. Fairling stopped and seemed to think for a moment. "Perhaps today. Since we already started with a lesson, I believe it might be good for us to start sooner rather than later."

Virgil was a bit surprised but he decided Dr. Fairling was right. It would be good to start earlier. However, he was already nervous about it. What if Dr. Fairling decided Virgil was too dumb to be helped? That he was helpless? It got too much to keep tapping out his heartbeat, so he switched to fidgeting with the sleeves instead, making sure to hide it under the table. "Alright. That sounds like a good plan. I'll come back here in an hour."

"Perfect." The professor nodded and then allowed Virgil to leave.

As Virgil left, he rubbed his throat, finding it a bit sore after talking so much when he usually didn't.

As Virgil left, Logan leaned back in his seat, tapping his pen against his chin. "Hmm..." He felt something unfamiliar but not unknown start to bloom. However, he just couldn't identify it. However, he did know that Virgil was already quite... intriguing.

-----

I will tag people if they want me to. I don’t really care how you ask, I’m not particular.

#tw food #tw food mention #tw dark themes #tw anxious thoughts #analogical #sander sides #thomas sanders #logan sanders #ts logan #mafia boss logan #math professor logan #virgil sanders #ts virgil #artist virgil #selectively mute virgil #anxiety x logic #virgil x logan #logan x virgil #i am already so pumped! #so have this!

[slothgiirl]

Y/N AND HARRY STYLES SOULMATE AU part 2

Mindlessly you scratch at your wrist like you have been for the last two days. It's only two and you're already done for the day, yet you still have work after class, which is unfair and further proof that monday's suck.

At least you won't be hungover like you were after the concert you'd been dragged to by Lydia who didn't have work the morning after.

What you needed was coffee. That would help you make it through the day. An overpriced cuppa coffee with lots of cream and sugar that was really and basically a coffee milkshake.

“Is regular milk okay,” the cashier asks, voice as dead as you felt after class, wrist sore from all the note taking.

“Um do you have oat milk actually,” you ask, feeling bad about making this mans day harder than it had to be and wondering if you should have gone with the regular milk after all.

“Yeah it's 50 cents more is that okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer, wincing and pretending that those fifty cents were fine in the name of self care when you could've really just skipped the coffee and saved five pounds.

You scratch at your wrist again. Looking down a you stand by the bar, waiting for your name to be called, when the sweet relief of scratching an itch stings instead.

Your wrist is red. Has been since it started itching at some point yesterday. You hadn't been able to pinpoint when it happened. Fuck.

It was just your luck, to run into your soulmate and not remember when. This wasn't the same as misplacing keys and your phone and the books you needed for class. It was your soulmate.

The words had only cleared up a little, going from a black smudge, much like eyeliner after you wiped your eyes, to distinct letters. Still too fuzzy to make out.

Well shit.

You scrolled through your phone. Checked your email like a functioning adult. Opened and closed instagram without scrolling down further than two posts.

Harry Styles walks into the coffee shop, wearing jeans and a hoodie, hair disheveled. You wondered if you should say hi, eyes on your phone to keep from staring.

Technically you had met him. And he'd been nice. But wasn't that a fan interaction. Would he be bothered? Would he rather you did?

Did he even remember you because the whole night was fuzzy for you after all the shots and beer you'd had.

You're still wondering what to do when your name is called out. It's a relief. Now you don't have to figure out what to do. You can just grab your coffee and go browse while your shift starts at that boring desk job you'd never thought you'd have.

As far as jobs go it wasn't too bad.

“Hey,” Harry says coming up to you, with none of the anxiety you'd had when you'd seen him walk in. “How have you been,” he asks, surprising you when he remembers your name.

“You know,” you shrug, “work school, wondering if making jewelry on etsy is a realistic career path? It can't be worse than getting an art history degree.”

He laughs, “that's cool. Can I ask why art history?” He's casual and relaxed and that takes the edge off for you.

You have to wonder if he does it often.

“Sounded better than straight art,” you explain. Art was what you wanted to do. It wasn't a surprise when your parents had regularly taken you to museums as a kid. It was a fun cheap way to spend the day together. You tell him all that, feeling like your babbling.

Harry's gaze holds yours, looking down at you with warm green eyes, listening and interested. “have you shown anything?”

You blush, proud as you tell him, “yeah. Small gallery and it was just one piece but it sold!” It had been a small painting you'd done on a broken plate. It had been part of a series you'd done for a class.

“That's really fucking cool,” he responds, “I’d love to see your art.”

Your cheeks heat up, under the praise. It's still surreal that's you'd sold anything at all. It was basically the same as being a real artist. “How about you?”

“Just working on writing,” he admits. “There's some music too but it's all still pretty rough.”

“Is writing lyrics or music harder?”

“It depends.” Harry says with a one shoulder shrug.

You snort. “That's such a shit answer. A complete cop out,” you tell him.

His eyes crinkle up as he laughs.

“Excuse me,” two girls ask, “can we get a picture?” One of them already has her phone in hand.

“Sure,” Harry says easily, already turning to them.

“Well it was nice seeing you again,” you tell him. You have to go to work and you don't want to be in the way and he probably has things to do.  

“Yeah,” he says, smiling softly, his eyes meeting yours as the girls go to stand on either side of him, ready for a selfie. “Can I text you later?”

You're already walking away, realizing your kind of running late. “Sure,” you wave of not bothering to turn around. Works not too far you'll probably make it on time.

You're drinking down the coffee. Fuck savoring it when you mentally facepalm. You didn't have each other's numbers. How was he supposed to text you!

Oh my god was he asking you for your number.

You feel like an idiot, groaning as you clock in, taking a seat at the desk you'll be at for the next six hours.

Your wrist itches again. It was crazy how bad it did and you force yourself not to scratch, not wanting to draw blood.

Instead you reach for the hand lotion in your bag, smothering it on. The soulmate business was annoying, you think.

In a city of millions how were you supposed to find them? again? You'd bumped into so many people on the tube alone.

You're fingers trace over the smudged letters. The skin around pink from irritation. They had started to clear up again which meant-

You groan.

Soulmate marks cleared up as you spent time around each other until the name was crystal clear. A sweet confirmation.

And the first letter was a hazy but understandable H.

You'd bumped into Harry at the concert and again today...it couldn't just be a coincidence. Could it?

Fuck.

And you didn't give him your number.

You feel like an even bigger idiot than before.

#Harry Styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #soulmate au #soulmate marks #mine #part 3 anyone??

[shookethbrooketh]

Church Boy - Chapter 5

He looked so peaceful while asleep, as if it was his favorite activity. Phil didn’t blame him; he didn’t mind watching it either. His brown hair curled neatly on the top of his head in a way Phil had never seen before, and he couldn’t help but wonder why he ever straightened it. The curls were in: in Phil’s head. It just made him look a certain type of soft that you wouldn’t expect from looking at any other aspect of him. Sleeping, Dan just looked so pretty to Phil, as if he could just lean right over and kiss him.

Description: Phil’s lived in the same town and gone to the same church his entire life. But when his pastor leaves, a new one comes in, with his teenage son Dan in tow. He’s broken; real broken. And he thinks Phil’s just another church boy that’s going to hate him just as much as everyone else he’s ever met, but maybe he’s just going to be the one that can fix all his broken parts.

Genre: AU, High School, Strangers to Lovers

Chapter Warnings: Swearing

Fic Warnings (Not Final!): Heavy Speak of Religion, Heavy Homophobia, Swearing, Discussion of Sex, Fighting with Family

Chapter Word Count: 1.5k Total Word Count: 10.3k

Read it on Ao3! Read it on Wattpad! Fic Masterlist

“Fuck Precalc, honestly,” Dan said on the ride home. His second day at school had gone well, minus the fact that he had no clue what was happening in Chemistry and, well, fuck Precalc. “What does she even mean ‘draw a picture with triangles’? That could mean, like, five different things!” 

“You gotta use all those stupid trig formulas,” Phil said, glancing over at Dan in the passenger seat. “I’m assuming you’ve forgotten those.” 

“Definitely,” he said. “And why is it a partner project? It seems simple enough for one person to do.” 

“Says the one who doesn’t know any of the formulas.” 

Dan rolled his eyes. “Touche. But seriously.” 

“Maybe it’s to help those of us who have a little thing called lack of artistic ability.” 

“You do the math, I do the art?” 

“Solid.” 

The car was silent for a moment before Dan finally furrowed his brow and turned to Phil. “When is that thing even due?” 

“Tomorrow.” 

“TOMORROW!” Dan shouted so loud Phil almost jerked the wheel. “That’s so little time! We’ll never finish by tomorrow!” 

“Dan, you don’t even know what we’re doing.” 

“Projects always take more than a day; everyone knows that.” 

Phil laughed as he pulled up to Dan’s house. “Whatever you say. See you in the morning.”

Dan slid out of the car, taking his backpack with him. “See ya,” he said with a smile. As he walked to his house, he couldn’t help but think about the project. He was definitely one to stress over schoolwork, and the fact that he was working with Phil didn’t help. What if they didn’t finish? Would they hang out after school? Would he be able to contain himself? It sounded like the end of a cheesy sitcom, followed with a ‘find out next week on Dan’s Anxieties!” He sighed, throwing open the screen door to his new house. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a few pieces of food before retiring to his room, where he’d be until the following morning. 

Dan sat half-dead in the passenger seat of Phil’s car that morning; he had made some unwise choices the previous evening in not sleeping much, and he was really kicking himself for it. It wasn’t like him at all to not sleep; sleep was sacred. But for some reason, the new house had a vibe that just screamed “I haven’t slept properly since 1947, and I never will again″. Between that and his anxiety keeping him up he’d probably only slept about eight hours...in the last three nights. And, especially with the fact that he normally slept really well, it was starting to take its toll on him. 

He was dressed sloppily, wearing the same sweatshirt he slept in with some black jeans and Converse. He hadn’t even bothered to straighten his hair, which pained the hell out of him, but he was just too tired. He could barely even keep his eyes open on the ride to school, and when Phil finally spoke to him it felt distant, and it took him a couple seconds to realize he was even talking.

“Huh?” 

“I asked if you were okay; you seem really zoned out this morning.” 

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just exhausted.” 

“High school, huh?” Phil laughed. 

“Yeah, that. Sure.” He leaned his head back against the seat and reclined it as far down as he could. The second he took his hand off the lever, he was out like a light. 

Phil looked over at Dan for a moment, not wanting to wake him. His phone told him there were still 15 minutes before classes started, so he could just let Dan sleep; he obviously needed it. Phil had no clue how long Dan had slept, but he seemed like his brain was still asleep when he got in the car that morning, and even Phil, who was terrible at reading people, could tell he was going to collapse if he didn’t get any rest. Even fifteen minutes would help. 

Phil wasn’t about to leave Dan in his car, so he reclined his own seat and looked over at Dan. He looked so peaceful while asleep, as if it was his favorite activity. Phil didn’t blame him; he didn’t mind watching it either. His brown hair curled neatly on the top of his head in a way Phil had never seen before, and he couldn’t help but wonder why he ever straightened it. The curls were in: in Phil’s head. It just made him look a certain type of soft that you wouldn’t expect from looking at any other aspect of him. Sleeping, Dan just looked so pretty to Phil, as if he could just lean right over and kiss him. 

Phil suddenly jumped back into his seat, realizing he had been inching closer to Dan with every coherent word of his thought. He sighed, burying his face in his hands. “Great job, Phil, you’ve known the guy three days and you’re already into him.” 

“Huh?” he heard Dan’s voice next to him and jumped for the second time. 

“Nothing! Sorry to wake you.” He smiled through gritted teeth, sweating profusely.

“Are we at school? What time is it?”

“Classes start in ten minutes, and I thought you could use your rest. We can go in now if you want.” 

“Rad,” Dan said, picking up his backpack and throwing the door open. Phil exhaled deeply, pulling his lanky body out of the car. Did Dan hear him? He hoped not. If he did, he definitely wasn’t saying anything about it. Phil could only hope he hadn’t a clue. 

Dan sighed, his exact fear having come true. They spent an entire period in Precalc working diligently (if ‘diligently’ meant occasionally in between absolutely idiotic conversations) on their project and still were only about halfway done. 

“Now what the hell are we supposed to do?” he asked, exasperated, as the two left the classroom. He took a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath; he had been extremely stressed lately, and the lack of sleep wasn’t helping. 

“Well,” Phil said from his right. “We could go back to my house after school and work on it and then I can take you home. Or we could work on it in town. Whatever you’d like, really.” 

“Town?” Dan asked. 

“Oh, yeah, you just got here. Kids hang out in town after school all the time. I can show you around if you want.” 

“Hell yeah!” Dan said. If he was going to be stuck living in this town, he might as well soak in the culture. In fact, maybe it would even grow on him. Phil certainly already had. 

“Lit. We’ll work there.” 

The rest of the day was one of the slowest Dan could remember; for some reason, he was thrilled to go to town. It was so bizarre; in fact, everything was bizarre. It seemed like when he moved to this new town, a completely different Dan emerged He’d always been a depressed kid who didn’t even have the beginning of a clue of how to deal with his life. His parents were shitty, his work ethic was shitty, and his future looked blatantly shitty. The only thing he actually took seriously was sleeping way too much. But in this new place, things were different.

Dan hadn’t found himself hating his life once since he left the church that Sunday, he had a single person in his life who made him smile constantly, he cared about his schoolwork, he was staying up later than he should, and he was actually excited for almost every event he could think of in his future. It was almost like he was living the normal life he hadn’t seen a glimpse of in years. The even crazier thing was that it was happening because of everything he’d ever despised. He sat through classes in a tiny school, he was surrounded by rednecks, he lived in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, and he met the only person he truly cared about in a church. His entire life had turned around in only three days, and it was because of this crazy new town. No, it wasn’t, he decided. It was because of Phil. 

Everything was because of Phil, and, sure, he was hyped to go to town, but that wasn’t what really had him restless waiting for the final bell to ring. He wanted to spend the afternoon with Phil in the environment in which he thrived. This was his home, and there was nothing he wanted more than to share a space, and even a home, with Phil. He was the first person he’d ever felt like he could have a completely genuine and functional friendship with, and he couldn’t bear to wait to see what it was going to develop into. 

Finally, after what felt like ages, the bell rang, and Dan was the first one out of his class, a new spring in his step as he speed-walked to meet Phil. 

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #phic stuff #church boy #tw #tw swearing

[richrubies]

Part IV: M is for Making Up

Warning: trash rap lyrics by me / inaccurate representation of min yoongi / lots   to read - click a letter in order to go to the next chapter

 E   N   E You are here -> M    I     E    S

It had been over a month since the incident with Min Yoongi, and thanks to the paparazzi, more articles had been released after photos of you at the after-party had been released, and the slight bruising of your body could be seen.

You hadn’t confided in the boys about what had happened, but you really didn’t have too. They were smart enough to know that you’d argued with Min Yoongi, and they were smart enough to figure out how you got the bruises.

The company had been in an uproar over it, even Kiseok had wanted to take Min Yoongi to court, but you’d decided against it. It would only cause your label to be surrounded by press, and with everyone already working towards their own tours, you didn’t want to mess up the company’s flow.

You had been warned, however, by all of your protective friends, ‘If he does it again, beat his ass. Then tell us straight away so that we can beat him too!’

Currently, you were sitting in a meeting with Bang Shi-Hyuk, who had heard about Min Yoongi’s behaviour and had wanted to apologize on his behalf.

‘You were one of my favourite contestants,’ Shi-Hyuk tells you as he sipped at the tea you’d made for him, ‘I was surprised when the judges didn’t vote for you.’

You nodded, ‘Me too,’ you tell him honestly, ‘But there’s nothing that can be done now.’

Shi-Hyuk nodded at your brazen response and set his cup down, looking around your private studio. The door swung open and Sunghwa and Kiseok both walked in to listen in as Shi-Hyuk states, ‘But I didn’t come to talk about the old days. I know there is a lot of angst between your label and Yoongi. Before, it wasn’t a huge deal but no–,’

‘What do you mean it wasn’t a huge deal?’ you ask with a raised eyebrow as you sat back and crossed your arms, ‘Are you talking about it not being a big deal when it was only me who was affected by it?’

Flustered, Shi-Hyuk struggled to come up with a response to your harsh fact. It was true. Now that you had bitten back at Min Yoongi, the press had begun to love the tension and had reported on it non-stop. Even worse was the speculation of the bruises you’d gained at the party after last being seen with BTS’ spitfire rapper.

‘What is it that you want?’ you ask, ‘A reconciliation?’

From the way that Shi-Hyuk sat in silence, you knew you’d hit the nail on the head.

Kiseok spoke up, ‘That bastard deserves to be hounded by the press. We won’t go through with whatever bullshit idea you have.’

Shi-Hyuk nodded with a sigh, ‘I understand that there’s a lot of heat between you two, but why should it affect the rest of his group members? They’re under just as much fire right now.’

‘You should have thought of that before you let your rapper release a dis track about our Y/N. You’re just as much to blame for this as he is,’ Sunghwa says with a frown as he leaned against the door frame.

‘Let’s just think about it, huh? Even if you continue to hate each other behind closed doors, that’s fine. I just want it to be kept out of the public eye before it damages the rest of the members. You must want the same thing for your own team.’

You could see Kiseok ready to lurch with another one of his rants about Min Yoongi and how the articles have never bothered your label before, when you stated; ‘Fine. Let me think about it and get back to you.’

Thanking you, Shi-Hyuk took his leave moments later whilst you slumped back in your chair, listening to Kiseok’s angry protest towards the idea of collaborating.

No matter how much the boys would protest against settling with Big Hit, or how much they told you that the tension between the two labels didn’t affect them, you knew otherwise.

The best solution was to settle the feud and protect the same people who had always protected you.

‘Let’s do it,’ you tell Kiseok quietly, ‘Let’s just settle and get this over with.’

I can handle Min Yoongi, you thought as you ignored Sunghwa’s protest in the background, 파이팅!

 ~*~

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ Jay asked for the millionth time as you prepped your studio, cleaning the dust that had managed to reach your panel.

‘What else can I do, 형님?’ you ask as you cleaned, ‘If it keeps our business out of the eyes of the media, I’m all for it. And Shi-Hyuk is right. Our members are affected by it is well. I don’t want to get in the way of everyone else because of a piece of trash like Min Yoongi.’

‘Still,’ he tells you as he moves to plug in your neon lights, lighting up the room with a pink glow that emitted from your sign ‘Strength and Passion’.

‘It’s okay,’ you tell him, ‘I’d rather do this than have everything about our feud out in the public.’

‘If he lays a hand on you, I swear I’l–‘

‘You’ll what?’ Min Yoongi asks from the door of your studio, behind him stood one of the groups manager’s Se-Jin and CEO Bang himself.

‘I’ll beat your ass,’ Jay tells him confidently and without hesitation.

Se-Jin clears his throat awkwardly while you bow and greet him and Shi-Hyuk, clearing the tension as you say, ‘Welcome to AOMG.’

Min Yoongi says nothing as he enters the room, kicking off his shoes in the process and moving over to the long bench space that served as a desk.

 ~*~

You’d read over the lyrics many times since agreeing to collaborate on a song, placing your own ideas and input on to the paper. It was originally written by Min Yoongi, so you had expected he would have resistance to changes, once you two actually sat down and read over the lyrics together.

‘You can’t just change someone’s artistic work!’ Min Yoongi argues heatedly whilst you sighed in frustration.

The day had not gone well at all – you’d spent the two hours talking to Min Yoongi through his manager, only being graced with his comments when they were degrading your studio and your style of music.

You had a headache from hell just from putting up with him, and now that he was currently sulking over his lyrics being altered, you’d finally had enough, ‘Why are you such a child? Are you really twenty-five?’

‘Yah!’

‘What?’ you retaliate, ‘Your lyrics are good,’ you tell him with honesty, ‘But they don’t suit what we’re trying to do here! You can’t release a reconciliation song with one person rapping about their hatred for the other!’

‘Well what do you suggest? Huh? Like you’d have anything better!’ Min Yoongi argues, equally as frustrated, not seeing why the song had to have a meaning.

 You were trying to snub out the articles and rumours about your beef, so what did it matter what you sung? As long as it was done together, the public would eat it up like it was their first meal in years.

‘Let’s start something from scratch,’ you tell him, rubbing your temples, ‘Something genuine. If it’s not genuine, no one will believe that we’ve finished feuding.’

It took hours, just to complete a quarter of the lyrical sheet, and by time Min Yoongi left, you were exhausted and regretful of ever having agreed to do the song, ‘It was easier having beef with him,’ you complain to the boys who were all gathered in the common room, sitting around and eating pizza.

‘You can hate the guy, but you can’t deny the fact that he has talent when it comes to rapping,’ Jukyung says with a mouth full of food.

‘I don’t hate him,’ you say as you pick up a piece of pizza, with all of the guys turning to look at you like you were crazy after stating so.

‘It’s him who hates me. I just have a strong dislike for him considering he’s always acted like an asshole towards me.’

‘You don’t hate him, even after all you’ve been through?’ Sunghwa asks.

‘Not really. It’s what brought me home to AOMG,’ you tell them cheesily as you snuggled your way between Hyukwoo and Kiseok as the men in the room cooed at you.

  ~*~

Min Yoongi turning up at your studio became a normal thing over the next week – he’d come unannounced and would stay until late as you both worked on beats, still not agreeing on the lyrics. Your conversations had upgraded from grunts and one-word replies, to small sentences, which was an improvement. Even better was the fact that Manager Se-Jin had trusted you both to sit a room without killing one another, which was even more of an improvement.

It was late in the evening when Jay knocked on the door and brought in food; he was like a mother hen that you were eternally grateful for.

‘That’s it?’ Min Yoongi questions at the one portion that Jay had brought for you.

Jay rolled his eyes, ‘Why would I buy you anything?’

‘Jay-형님 …’ you complain as they bickered, ‘I love you, but please don’t start this now. We’re working at a good pace right now.’

‘Fine,’ Jay shrugs as he backs off, ‘Let me know if you need anything,’ he says as he ruffles your hair for good measure before leaving the room. You pushed the food aside and continued to work on your computer. Or at least you tried to, but the sound of Min Yoongi’s stomach growling caused you to stop moments later with a sigh.

He’d gone back to being stoic as he aggressively scribbled on a paper, ignoring the fact that he was hungry. Letting out a sigh at his stubborn attitude, you tentatively opened the container to find your favourite dish from the local Japanese ramen house down the street from AOMG.

Grabbing the wooden chopsticks, you placed them into the bowl and placed it beside Min Yoongi, ‘Eat it. You’re probably hungrier than I am.’

‘Forget it,’ he grumbles, sour from Jay’s treatment.

‘Why do you have to fight me with everything?’ you ask exasperated, as you grabbed the lid of the container and moved to cover the bowl, ‘Jesus Christ, you can’t just say thank you and eat what I give you?’

Min Yoongi looked up at you in surprise as you ranted, your cheeks flushed red, embarrassed by the rejection of your kind offer.

Without thinking, Min Yoongi grabbed at the hand that was covering the container and muttered, ‘Sorry. Thank you for the food.’

You froze at his action and watched as he gently placed your hand to the side and took the container, reopening it before grabbing the chopsticks.

Taking a step back, you watched as he ate, shocked at the turn of events.

‘Stop staring at me,’ Min Yoongi says as he slurps at the noodles, not taking his eyes away from his own screen, causing you to blush and turn away from him, flustered.

You had been focusing on your computer when you felt a tug on your shirt. Looking at Min Yoongi who pushed the container towards you, you raised an eyebrow at the half-eaten food, confused.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he told you, ‘You need to eat as well.’

You nodded, unsure of how to act. This kind of behaviour was weird for the both of you. As you pulled the container closer, Min Yoong rubbed at the back of his neck and asked, ‘Have you got another pair of chopsticks to eat with?’

‘I don’t need them,’ you tell him with a shrug, grabbing the pair he’d just used and digging into the food, much to his surprise. Eating happily, you continued to work, not noticing the way Min Yoongi observed you with interest.

When did she become so pretty? He wondered, taking in your messy hair and baggy hoodie and track pants, how is she so pretty, even in the worst of clothes?

~*~

Masterlist

#min yoongi #min yoongi scenarios #min yoongi scenario #min yoongi cheating scenario #drunk min yoongi #suga scenario #suga scenarios #angst suga #min suga #august d #suga #bts #bts scenarios #kpop scenarios #love #sarang #korean #korea #kpop #kmusic #south korea #blue #yoongi angst #angst #scenarios #scenario #k pop scenario #big hit #rich rubies scenarios #richrubies

[www-suzannerichardsonwrites]

On Connection, Disconnection, Memento Mori, and “In The Pines”

In my creative writing classes I use a text by Janet Burroway, Imaginative Writing. In this text there’s an entire section about fiction, and plot, but specifically stories being told through the concepts of connections and disconnection. Though I’ve taught this portion of the text many times, I’ve often confessed to my students that I was never fully convinced by the idea that connections and disconnections make for good stories or plots--or at least not in the way Burroway describes. She claims each moment in a story is a moment of connection or disconnection building towards a climax. She charts out Cinderella with certainty and quotes Claudia Johnson, “The conflict and surface events are like waves, but underneath is an emotional tide--the ebb and flow of human connection” (Burroway). Each time I’ve taught this section I have re-read it and tried to more deeply understand how periods of connection and disconnection make good stories and it hasn’t really made sense, until now.

It is safe to say I have been disconnected. I find myself single again at thirty-four and while it feels somewhat hopeful, it also feels like an overwhelming task. Each break-up I go through takes me back to the original break-up of my twenties, the place where all that pain lives pressed like dead flowers on display. I struggle with feeling like a failure. Feeling like a lonely failure. Feeling like I fought tooth and nail for something that I should have let go years ago. It feels a bit like being underwater while people breathe deeply and splash around on the surface. It feels a bit like being the party guest who wants to go home within five minutes of entering the party. It also feels like being a newborn--all this focus on me, my needs, my wants, what matters to me, is almost like I’ve grown a new set of eyes and I am seeing the world anew. I take long walks, I stop whenever I want. I get up in the middle of the night and eat citrus fruit or drink down gulps of grapefruit juice over the sink (some of my old single girl behavior). I shower in the dark sometimes--a fun game. Entering a gas station is like landing on a new planet--the thrum of the neon lights, the low growl of the refrigerators; rows and rows of cold beverages and I can drink any, or all of them. I have lots of choices; which is both freeing and scary. I wake up with answers to some of my own questions that I ask myself at night; it’s like my life is now one long, deep conversation with myself that I occasionally invite people to. I started dreaming again--something I was too stressed out and depressed to do for almost two years. I dream first about myself, looking in a mirror and I’m so interested in what I see, I take my shirt off and examine my naked breasts (like I’ve never seen them before). Next the women come rushing back; I dream about girlfriends I’ve been disconnected from. Stress dreams of one who just had a baby, two others who are both pregnant appear in a dream inviting me to sit down in the kitchen of our old apartment we shared in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. I dream about circles and wonder what the universe is trying to tell me. Turn? Keep going? Roll? This is a cycle? I try to pay attention.

I find inspiration everywhere--tree bark, jewelry I haven’t worn for many years, parts of books I love that I revisit when I can’t sleep. I’m reminded of the fiction about vampires, how they grow fangs and begin to know a hunger they’ve never experienced before--I too am hungry. I think many emerge from heartbreak a little undead, a little closer to the coffin, a little more evil, a little more interested in feeding themselves than those around them.

But it isn’t just me. For months others are telling me their own stories of disconnection. This semester almost every person in an office left of me has disconnected, struggled, tried desperately to stay connected to the people they love, made sacrifices they never thought they’d have to make. I love them all, the way they have bent, twisting, contorting, drooping, so as not to break--the ones who break (like me) I love them even more. I love them for risking everything--risking all connection-- to burst into pieces alone. The ones who are about to break--I can see it in them, their eyes pooling.  Is it a kind of insanity to want to break? During snowstorms in March, Rosie would wake me at 3,4,5 am to go out--so quiet then. Snow flakes the size of quarters traveled to the ground. The tulip tree in the front yard was doubled over. I kept waiting for it  to break, every day, more, wet heavy snow, more pressure, the boughs and branches brought all the way to the ground. I walked around it looking for a breaking point. A shame to lose this much of a tree; I kept thinking. The nubs of its fuzzy buds glowed gray-green in the dark. The winter wouldn’t let up--unforgiving and snowing until the first week of May. But slowly spring came. First, I noticed the perfect circle of a bird’s nest; then I realized it was nestled in the part of the tree that had spent months on the ground and was now in the air; elastic; resilient; it gave; it gives. I want to learn more from this tree. It is teaching me. I am now drowning and drunk off the perfume of its blossoms. Passing the tree makes my circuits jump; the pink soft folds of the blooms; a deeply sensuous reward for such a bitter broken disconnected winter. I want to show my colleagues this tree-- proof of connection and disconnection making a good story so that in moments of pure doubt, when they ask themselves why they are bending, and breaking, they’ll know there’s an end to the suffering.

                                                   *        *        *

In April, on a trip to Rhode Island with students, I was lucky enough to view a pilgrim’s compass on display in a glass case. The tour guide had leaned over and casually pointed out the menento mori etched into the top of the compass.

“Sickos” he’d chuckled.

“Maybe it’s a comfort,” I’d retorted, standing up straight to meet his gaze.

“Ah, so you’re a sicko too,” he winked.

I thought about fear, all the fear I had inside me about being alone again. I thought about fear, all the fear a pilgrim might have in the woods not knowing if they should go north, or south, or east, or west, and how no matter what, death in every direction; always. How it makes the choice easier.

                                                *         *         *

In Rhode Island we visit houses Edgar Allan Poe wrote in, lived in, loved in. In some of my darkest moments I always turn back to him. Later in life he was interested in philosophical dialogues between fictitious characters about the process of death and dying. In his piece, “The Colloquy of Monos and Una” he describes the end of bodily attachment and the deep sensual state of death where all who are dead gain a 6th sense, and all touch, and pleasure is enhanced ten-fold with no dull, dirty, body to process it. Both Monos and Una describe to one another the story of the end of the world (disconnection) and their deaths one by one (disconnection) then Una’s coffin is lowered onto Monos’ and the space around his body becomes the body--the idea of “being” is replaced with location, “perpetual place and time” --things with no form (disconnection). “For that which was not--for that which had no form--for that which was soulless, yet of which matter formed no portion--for all this nothingness, yet for all this immortality, the grave was still a home, and the corrosive hours, co-mates” (Poe). Ah, nothingness, still somehow a trap according to Poe (disconnection). I start to realize I have a habit of staying in relationships longer than I should for bodily comforts even though I start to spiritually suffer. Only when I reach a spiritual breaking point do I leave--

Back in school I lecture to my students about the haunting American folk song “In The Pines,” or “Black Girl,” or “The Longest Train,” or “Where Did You Sleep Last Night?” We are reading Rob Sheffield’s book Love is a Mixtape and he is lamenting that the only artist who is writing about and singing about marriage and its strange cultural link with death is Kurt Cobain. Sheffield talks about the strange and scary vows, how marriage is a death pact. He unpacks Cobain’s version of “In The Pines,” a wailing and warbling version that builds into a sorrowful howl. Before he plays, Kurt attributes his version as inspired by Leadbelly’s recording. All covers of this song seem to stem from two early recordings though the song has been dated back to the 1870′s. Either Leadbelly’s or Bill Monroe’s versions are inspiration for newer ones. It should be no surprise the country covers follow Bill, and the more emotionally charged blues versions follow Leadbelly. The song’s lyrics change slightly in every version I’ve heard--each singer adding to the narrative, or trying to make sense of what has remained true and real about the song. Sheffield is convinced it’s about a married couple; their married troubles. I don’t buy his interpretation--it feels very clouded by his own worldview. There’s something else that bothers me about interpretations of this song: it’s the fact there’s clearly a call and response, or a female voice that gets crunched into the main narrative--her story, her words are not separate from the man who is angry, wounded, and accusatory in both versions. My college boyfriend used to play Nirvana’s version for me. We would talk about the lyrics together.

If your lover isn’t sleeping with you, where are they? A chilling question for the ages. Is she dead? do “the pines” become a metaphor for a burial place? Is sleep death? Does she know she might as well be dead if she didn’t come home to her husband last night? Is her lover about to kill her? When did the song become one voice telling the story? This becomes the ghostly part for me--her answers become squelched into the story her lover is telling about her betrayal. Why can’t she tell it? What happened to her? She “would” shiver, as in, she can’t? In Leadbelly’s version a murder does take place, but it seems it’s possibly the man who is asking where his girl went. Someone is decapitated, their body never found...but how can that be if he’s telling the story?

This song is a story of disconnection; death, anger, questions unanswered.

Even in the country version it’s sad, though it opens with descriptions of trains from Georgia. By the end of the country version the singer is heartbroken, wants to know why a woman treated him so badly.

After a while, all the versions start to blend together; Nirvana, Leadbelly, Bill Monroe, Dolly Parton, Loretta Lynn, The Carter Sisters--whose version haunts Youtube. They sit, still as dolls with long crazy dresses adorned in bows and curls like they’re trapped in a cult reporting about it live on a country TV variety show. Their harmonies so sad it breaks you.

Both versions are love gone bad. One murderously bad. One just plain old ass out on the street, bad.

My recent ex climbs his anger like stairs, I want you to feel pain. Feel the pain you’ve made me feel. I want you to hurt. I rearrange these words: I want to hurt you. You want I to hurt. I think about a dream I had once where I was shaking a friend hard by the shoulders, but then halfway through, realized I was choking her and couldn’t stop. I. Hurt. You.

He rages at me. I almost want to laugh in his face--this idea that I’m not suffering at all. That I will never suffer like he does. Like his suffering should eclipse mine, show up and beat the shit out of me. That because he’s certain I’m not in pain, or not in enough pain it’s now his responsibility to make me feel it, a kind of justice in his mind to see me suffering. Is someone with you? Is someone there? Are you seeing someone else? (Where did you sleep last night?)

I don’t answer.

(Disconnection).

#Disconnection #Connection #In The Pines #Nirvana #Leadbelly #Carter Family #Bill Monroe #Memento Mori

[rainbowravioli]

Do you have any fanfic recommendation especially with Yuri!!! ON ICE and Voltron? I think you have a good taste because your meta analyses are always a great read. Aside from art, do you also write fics? Sorry for the many asks. Thank you!

Awwwww you flatter me anon! I never really wrote fics. Well ok, not entirely true, I wrote some pieces for friends in the past. I’m really really insecure over the idea of writing in something that’s not my native language. I still mess up English a lot. You know anxiety and all that.

Don’t apologise for sending asks, I’m always happy to get them. I’m sorry I took a while to reply, but I was compiling a list and I don’t have an ao3 account so tracking down fic I previously read is a bit difficult! 

About Voltron fics. Since I don’t engage with the general fandom much and stay in my safe corner, most of what I have to rec is Sheith. I don’t know if you ship Sheith, so here’s my non-sheith recs (if you do though, feel free to come back and ask for my recs on that)

Give Them Shelter by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)

Have some freakin’ gen fluff, you goddamn animals. In response to Day 15 of legendarydesvender’s Inktober

The paladins explore the castle and do adorable some team bonding.

Making the Rounds by Kiaxet

When Shiro has trouble dealing with his past with the Galra, he heads to engineering for company. Pidge and Hunk…aren’t quite sure what to do when he just…hovers. (Cuddles. Cuddles forever.)

Very sweet and amazingly in-character “team looks after Shiro” piece.

the fear of falling by amillionsmiles

Keith can pull off a downward spiral. It’s the kind of maneuver he does in his sleep.

Brilliant character study and backstory exploration of Keith. 

i miss you sideways daily by amillionsmiles

“I know how it is,” she sighs fondly, snatching up the empty plastic bags from the table and throwing them in the trash as they exit the cafeteria. “The three of you just zoom off to your own little world sometimes.”

“As long as we come back, right, Mom?” Katie teases, already thinking of next year, when she’ll don the orange and white uniform as well.

Her mom smiles, rising on her toes to kiss Matt’s cheek, pinching Katie’s side with her other hand.

“As long as you come back.”

(or: Katie and Pidge and her family. Before, after, and from now on.)

Outstanding, well paced, super emotional character study! The incorporation of science and technology in the story is brilliant. 

Your Princess Is In Another Castle by VelkynKarma

Part of the paladin’s mission is to spread peace and diplomacy. Allura has trained for years to be exceptional at it, in all situations.

A perfect demonstration of the importance of Allura’s role (with bonus importance of Shiro’s political role as the Black Paladin) and how utterly amazing she is.

Fragile Atlas by Pie Badger

Stranded on an unknown planet, Shiro struggles with the ramifications of Zarkon being able to take control of the Black Lion.

Shiro and Black talking and bonding over shared pain.

As for Yuri on Ice, I had a previous rec list here (x). Here’s more, under the cut because it gets really long

Complete

Like a Fairytale - lucycamui

In which Prince Victor gets swept off his feet at a royal banquet and will go to any length to find his ‘Cinderella’ Yuuri.(And Phichit is the fairy godmother who has no idea what he’s doing).

“The crown prince of the Nikiforov kingdom, infatuated with a mystery pastry chef he’s only just met. This is exactly the kind of scandalous love story my life has been missing… So, what’s he look like? What exactly is Prince Victor’s type?”

“…Sweet.”

“Well, he does make pastries.“

This is super sweet, adorable fluff! Lovely, smooth, whimsical writing style that really had me feeling like I was reading a fairytale. The whole thing just melted my heart. It’s also really funny.

Beside the Dancing Sea - lily_winterwood

He’s finally here in this lovely and quiet little beach cottage, and the rest of the year seems to stretch out infinitely before him. Time will pass, though, and it will pass faster than he realises, but in the meantime he will stop worrying about writer’s block and deadlines and not even having the foggiest clue what his next novel’s going to be about, and live.New York Times-bestselling author Viktor Nikiforov arrives in the sleepy seaside town of Torvill Cove to cure his writer’s block. After encountering local wallflower Yuuri Katsuki at a party, he discovers that this mysterious dark-haired man has a couple secrets up his sleeve.And Viktor will be damned if he doesn’t find out just what those secrets are.

This fic emotionally drained me and ruined my sleeping schedule. I adore it! It just has all these elements that I love so I may be biased, but I really feel like the writing is beautiful and evocative and the take of the mythology is very unique and heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time and the whole story and character arcs are just really well-crafted. I wish this fic was an actual original novel so that I could buy and keep in my shelf forever.

Wanted: Skating Lessons - slightlied

Hi. I am Victor and I need to learn how to skate before Saturday. My parents have been paying for me to get skating lessons every week for the last fifteen years but I never actually attended any of the lessons and I spent the money on marble busts instead. Now they want me to perform to ‘Stammi Vicino’ at their wedding anniversary on Saturday.

If you can teach me, be here at Ice Castle tomorrow at 7:27am with an extra pair of skates. I am a fast learner (well, at least my dog Makkachin is–it took me only two weeks to teach him how to roll over) so I am pretty sure I will pick it up quickly. In return, I can teach you how to say some pick-up lines in Russian or tell you some facts about my love life. Whichever you prefer. Not both, though.

Yours sincerely, Victor

PS. I’m a size 8

—

Or, Yuuri answers an ad he sees on Ice Castle’s community board.

This is adorable and really funny.

Twenty-Five Hours by 0lizzybennet0

In which Yuuri spends a 25 hour flight next to Victor Nikiforov, skating legend, and feels it might simultaneously be the best and worst thing that has ever happened to him.

This fic messed with my heart beautifully. But I must warn, this is angst based on a misunderstanding/Yuuri deciding to be a big liar and taking the lie too far, so it’s certainly not for everyone since I know it’s a trope that a lot of people really dislike. That said, this has probably one of my favourite portrayals of the Victor/Yurio relationship I’ve ever read.

Here And Human by TreacherousGnome

aka ‘Viktor is a baby when he’s tired and Yuuri can’t *believe* that doesn’t bother him more’

This fic includes several things I’m weak to - filling the gaps in between episodes we didn’t get to see, Yuuri dealing with his growing feelings, mentions of the banquet that Yuuri doesn’t get, and literal sleeping together.

not gold like in your dreams by ebenroot

“Victor, you could have let some psychopath into your apartment.”

“Oh come on, he’s not a psychopath,” Victor chides. Christophe makes a gesture with his hand that says ‘are you seriously this naïve or are you drunk at work again?’.

“Victor, you don’t know that. You don’t know anything about him. Whose name am I going to give to the police or face I’m going to describe to the sketch artist when they find your body chopped up like Hannibal Lecter’s side dish?”

–

in which Victor and Yuuri are roommates and Yuuri has a secret

This is the Penelope AU we deserve! Even though I knew the movie, this fic still kept me on the edge of my seat and messed with my emotions and had me both cheering and bursting into tears. Great pacing, great writing style. I love it enough that I’m willing to overlook that this is a villain!JJ fic.

The Tsesarevich lives! by mtothedestiel

An Anastasia AU. Victor is an orphan with no name, no family, and no memory of a time before he was ten years old. Could he really be the missing Nikiforov heir? An adventure across Europe with two conmen will lead him to the answer.

I mean, entertaining the idea of an Anastasia AU for YoI is not hard if you’re a fan of both, but I always had reservations on how to execute it properly. This fic more than succeeded! It knows where to be faithful to the original and where to deviate, fixes a lot of the problems I had with the movie and even adds actual historical context and addresses the issues that come with it.

Unworthy by heartsdesire456

5 Times Victor Overheard People Saying Yuuri Wasn't Good Enough For Him and 1 Time Someone Told Him Yuuri Was Too Good For Him

My favourite fix-it fic for the finale, with Yuuri being a very accurate insecure mess, the world accurately doubting Victor’s intentions, Yuuri’s friends being amazing, Victor being smitten and Yuuri winning gold. I’m still amazed this was written before the finale because it has this one piece of dialogue that echoes it, except it’s much better. 

improbable by themorninglark

The first words Phichit Chulanont says to Seung Gil in over a year are, “You literally have only one photo on your Instagram.

This is probably my favourite characterisation of Seung Gil I’ve ever read and the whole thing is both funny and adorable.

if love is king, who wears the crown by Crollalanza

“Second is seen as nothing,” Christophe had derided.

“But that moment you glide onto the ice, that hush of the audience, and that expectation, isn’t that worth something?”

“You speak as if you know. You used to skate?”

Past tense. It still stung, even if it was expected.

Minako knows exactly what it’s like to be at the top of your game, and she remembers the descent just as clearly.

Chris feels and Minako feels and just…my heart aches for both of them.

Ongoing

The Rules For Lovers by ADreamingSongbird

Prince Yuuri Katsuki has a duty to his country, above all else (his desires, his dreams, and his happiness included), and he knows this alliance will help to ensure the safety of his people. That’s the only reason he accepts Prince Nikiforov’s hand in marriage. The pleasant surprise, of course, is the part where they fall in love along the way. The unpleasant one, well…

That’s a long story.

Suffer with me. In the best way possible. The writing is beautiful, the relationship build is so well paced, the setting is great with its mix of modern day, alternate history, magic and technology, even the OCs are brilliant. This fic is amazing, but god does it stress me out with its cliffhangers and the plot and political intrigue and suffering! I’m holding on to that “angst with a happy ending” tag to keep me going.

My Hero, Yuuri by Abarero

At the age of 23, Yuuri Katsuki is certain he’s just a dime-a-dozen hero that will never make a difference. Little does he know that the moment his path crosses with legendary hero, Victor Nikiforov, both of their lives will begin to change for the better.

A perfect combination of two things I love - Yuri on Ice and My Hero Academia. It mashes the two universes brilliantly, managing to keep tie-ins and references to both while still being very much it’s own (amazing) thing. It has made me laugh out loud and warmed my heart and manages to keep surprising me.

Trade Your Heroes For Ghosts by Naamah_Beherit

Having endured what was probably the worst day of his life followed by a night he does not remember, Yuuri wakes up with a hangover of the century and a desperate plea for the world to forget about his existence. Alas, the world has other plans.

So does a certain Russian skater.

Canon divergence where Yuuri and Victor keep contact immediately after the banquet and Yuuri is made aware that the banquet happened. This is beautifully written. It flows so nicely, especially the dialogue. The characterisation of both Yuuri and Victor makes my heart ache in the best possible way. I’m so eager to see where this one will take me!

empty spaces between stars by astudyinrose

Victor gets just as drunk as Yuuri at the Sochi Banquet, and they disappear together after the dance-offs. They wake up the morning after with rings on their fingers, and pictures of them kissing after getting married the night before are all over the tabloids… but neither of them remembers a thing. They decide to stay married for a while for the sake of Victor’s sponsorships, and in exchange, Victor coaches Yuuri through nationals…

Do you like fake relationships, slow burn and mutual pining? Do you like going through an emotional rollercoaster of one minute melting over how adorable and romantic a moment is to screaming at your screen in frustration the next? Then this fic is the one for you!

The Power of Love by kiaronna

“The two Japanese singles medalists make a beautiful pair! Here, at the 2009 Tokyo GPF, we have the start of this power couple’s reign!”Yuuko and Yuuri dominate the singles skating competition as Japan’s power couple—except they aren’t a couple, and when their old skating idol stumbles into their personal life, everything rapidly goes downhill.

A fic that includes Yuuko and focuses on her friendship with Yuuri is already a fic after my own heart. This is Victuuri, and although it’s dipped in the angst you would expect from massive miscommunication and assumptions (and the fabulous game of “how hard can Yuuri’s anxiety misread a situation” which kills me every time), it’s still so sweet and heartwarming. Though the angst destroys me. But my favourite part of this fic is the friendship. Not just between Yuuri and Yuuko, but also between Detroit trio once Phichit comes into the picture. It’s deep, loving friendship portrayed really well.

Fatum ad Momentum by maydei

These are the moments that were lost in the rush for the Gold, and the things that were built within them. A re-evaluation of everything, from day one, the real day one. From, “Be my coach, Victor!!” And how trust, friendship, and love were built from there. Through Victor’s eyes, the story unfolds—the journey and experience of knowing Yuuri.

Really lovely Victor, really interesting take on his POV and the series’ missing moments, and the Victor in Hasetsu scenes my heart has been craving. Just, the whole fic really warms my heart and it’s an absolute joy to read.

#Anonymous #replies #yuri on ice #voltron #fic recs #long post

[falke-scribblings]

not dead!

Have some TT: a still untitled typo-ridden draft chapter for yet another thing that I really want to have time to finish now, because writing it is a blast.

(Also, editing is proceeding.)

"I thought we were going to a business address," Judy said, when Nick parked them in the shade of one of the long warehouses in the old quarter. She looked through the passenger window at the trendy old ironwork and barn-style doors. These were all converted apartments.

"So did I," Nick said. He killed the engine. "Check the file again. It says Journaler Gallery, right?"

"1800 Couloir, 2A," Judy confirmed. "We're in the right spot."

And this was going to look silly if they couldn't find the place. Bogo had only given them this brand-new case to take over because they'd made such good progress on the paperwork from the Stoverborough affair, and because Del Gato and Wolford needed to stay on patrol. This one was supposed to be, in his words, 'a walk in the park,' so they couldn't well call in empty-pawed.

The little lot on the back side of the building was empty, too, so there wasn't likely to be someone to ask. The only other mammal out here-

Was Del Gato. His brush tail was vanishing around the corner of the old brick as he climbed a flight of stairs.

"Come on," Judy said, and kicked her door open. At least they hadn't been the first ones on the scene.

---

It was in fact a business, inasmuch as a private art gallery was a business. Judy followed Del Gato into a concrete-floored space that was all one big room, with a lofted ceiling. Her ears caught soft echoes off the walls. Half the floor was elevated, like a stage. It might have been where a wall stood once. There were spiral boosters for small mammals, elegant enough to be art pieces themselves, scattered around in front of a pawful of paintings.

Wolford was here already, listening to a severe-looking kudu as she gestured at the art. A moose in a gray pantsuit was up on the riser the other side of the room, inspecting one of the pieces.

Judy counted five works, space mostly evenly. "So what's missing?"

"Just one painting," Del Gato said. He pointed at the corner. "The smallest, too - it was only about a foot square."

"Do you know who it was?" Nick asked. He was frowning at the nearest painting, which looked to be a thick layer of old blue oil paint. His ears were still aimed back at them. "The artist."

"Karov or something," Del Gato said.

The lady by the door turned to raise her voice briefly. "Korlinkoff."

Del Gato's shrug went all the way through his mane. "Yeah, that."

"Timeline?" Judy asked.

"It got reported missing a couple hours ago. Miss Gremble here made the call. But the gallery's been locked tight since yesterday afternoon, as far as we can tell. Not even staff in or out."

"Two doors," Judy prompted, as they toured the space.

"With cameras watching them, and another four watching the art itself."

"What about the skylights?"

"Magnets on the catches."

"Smaller-scale doors? Unintentional gaps?" It was an older building; Maybe there were some bricks missing. They'd had a couple cases like that.

"Not that we've found. You might have the scene team look it over again, though."

It was twelve hours and change. Plenty of time, if a thief was going for something small and easily concealed. But with no sign of forced entry?

"We'll need a look at the cameras."

"Gremble says she has them," Del Gato said. "We'll send you a copy of her statement, too, and the lab tests from the swabs when they're done."

"Is she the owner?"

Del Gato shook his head. "Just runs the gallery. She said she'd get us the owner's number."

"Okay, we'll follow up there, then. Thanks." Judy let him stop and talk with his partner, and caught up with Nick where he was working his way down the row of paintings.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"What, right now?" Judy sized up the far doors. They were old, maybe original, built for large mammals and larger equipment. They'd been treated with modern weather stripping along the floor. "I don't think anybody broke in. Nobody big, anyway. They wouldn't be able to get most of pictures out with them."

"Max Korlinkoff," Nick read off the placard, where a spotlight was now illuminating a set of empty pegs. "Variation Ten." He looked at the next canvas over. "And Variation Six. You know, I think I've seen some of these at the museum."

"Here?"

"Yeah," Nick said. "Art, with a capital A. Way back. And they popped up at a special exhibition a few months ago, do you remember?"

Judy shook her head. "Where do you fence something like that?"

"I wouldn't count on a thief to sell it," someone said behind them. "We would notice right away."

They turned to see the moose had come over from the other corner. She gave them a polite nod.

"I'm sorry to intrude." She held down a hoof. "I'm Greens. Bria Greens. The insurance company sent me to look things over."

"Insurance for the building, or for the art?" Nick asked.

"Both, as it turns out," Greens said. "Though the art is much more valuable." She tilted her broad muzzle at the empty pegs. "Variation Ten sold for nearly twelve million the last time it was at auction."

For a square foot of canvas? Judy turned to take in all the paintings again. That gave her a bit of a new appreciation for the value - though the numbers quickly multiplied so high they got meaningless.

Greens had started another slow circuit of the room. She was looking into the corners, and up at the skylights.

"So you weren't here until after the reported theft," Judy said.

"That's right. I spoke with Miss Gremble as soon as I could, but she was the one who called the insurance company, and the police."

"What do you do if there's damage instead of theft?"

"I'd leave that to the company," Greens said. She opened a slim folio and gave Nick a card. "I'm an independent investigator, not an assessor."

Judy felt her ears sharpening the intrigue. They passed another canvas with a riot of splattered colors, but now she was more interested in their companion. "Like a private eye?"

"Precisely." Greens smiled. "I understand your case is ongoing, and you're limited in what you can share. But I wondered if you might trade a favor for some information."

Nick was reading her card. Now he looked up. "That depends on what you want, Ma'am."

She indicated the card. "Adler Simms will be putting in a request to view footage, since it's technically police evidence now. The sooner it gets approved, the sooner I can start work. That's all."

Nick thought about it, and tilted his head her way. Judy didn't see the harm. There weren't likely to be many requests anyway. For all the money that was apparently attached, ZPD didn't get many art cases.

"That shouldn't be a problem. I'll sign off on it myself, if I can."

Greens nodded her thanks. She stopped near the center and pointed a hoof up, toward the cameras that were clamped to the light tracks above them.

"The only anomaly, until today, was that the gallery owner delayed his opening by two weeks. He was insistent that Adler Simms vet and approve special security providers."

Judy looked from the perched cameras to where the kudu had followed the other police out. "Do you think they were involved?"

"I rather doubt it." Greens had a faint smile on her muzzle. "They're the same group that provides security for the city museums, and they have a sterling track record. If anything, it should have made theft less likely."

"That's a nice tip," Nick said. "Are you sure it's only worth a couple forms?"

"I'd follow up on it myself, but it's little more than an administrative wrinkle right now. I'll have enough to juggle just watching what happens next." She started for the door. "My number's on the card. Give me a call when your paperwork's done. Good luck, officers."

---

Judy turned that card around in her paws as Nick drove them across town, to the art museum's glittering facades on the riverfront delta.

According to ZPD's records, Bria Greens was exactly what she purported to be: an "investigative expert" on retainer with Adler Simms for her specialty in high-value property. It didn't actually say private eye anywhere, which Judy thought was a shame.

"She's on the up-and-up," Judy said. She dropped the card on the cruiser's keyboard. "She does a lot of work with the fancy insurance companies, the ones you and I can't afford. She's even helped out ZPD a couple times."

"Okay." Nick raised his eyebrows behind his sunglasses and pulled them into the parking lot. "It was awfully convenient, is all."

Judy swallowed the slightly offensive comment about gift horses and considered that Nick might have a point. Meeting Greens had been memorable, if only because Gramble had spent the entire time they'd questioned her after that looking as if she smelled something.

"More useful than the gallery manager."

"See, her I am inclined to take at face value." Nick waited until she'd popped her door to hit the locks. "She doesn't bother pretending not to be a snob."

"So you don't trust anyone as smooth as you."

That finally got him to grin. "Smooth is easy to scam people with. I should know."

Instead of the industrial chic of the downtown gallery, the Roschmann Art Museum was a brightly lit sea of white. A bunch of interconnected staircases in dark slate dominated the atrium, like they were floating.

The main desk was a long slab of polished wood. The receptionist pointed them to the bespectacled beaver curator, in his office on the second floor. He stood in the multi-species conversation circle in the corner of the room and frowned at their pitch.

"Are you suggesting someone's targeting the museum, officers?"

"No, not at all," Judy said. "We're just following common threads." She tilted her head. "But there haven't been problems here, have there?"

"Not recently." The curator thumped his tail on the cushions. "We'll get the occasional poke at the outside doors, and the motion sensors in the parking lot will fire at night sometimes, but that's about it."

"Does anyone ask about the security systems?" Nick asked. "The cameras, or what they're pointed at?"

"You mean other than the police?" He seemed to find it amusing. "Not really. We direct inquiries to Archa. That's the company that runs it for us."

"Any notable inquiries?"

"Could be. I remember a couple of reps were in here showing a pig around a few months ago because he wanted to see their work in action. We're Archa's oldest client, and they've been excellent."

"Do you remember his name?" Judy asked. "Did he give you contact information you can share?"

"Moretti, I think it was. I can look, but Archa will know better. I can tell them you're interested, if you like."

"Please."

Nick lingered to look at a map after the curator had found them their info and bid them good night. Judy stood beside him and ran a paw over the brass markers on the collection legend.

"I knew I'd seen some of these before," he said. His ears came forward. "It looks like they made it permanent since then."

"The art? Korlinkoffs?"

"This way." Nick beckoned her down the broad hallway, past the sign about cell phone use in the galleries and toward one of the tinier room off the main path.

There were four flats here, each fixed in the center of an otherwise blank grey wall that felt too large to Judy, like there wasn't enough there. She could hear Nick's claws echoing. Sharp spotlights aimed at each wall. Judy saw the network of cameras, too, blinking their red lights along the ceiling.

All of the pieces were variations on the same theme. There was an info placard at the center that showed the guide lines Korlinkoff had apparently followed a different way each time, to come up with swirls, or brown polygons, or straight lines in an eye-hurting shade of blue.

The multi-species consideration here was a set of graceful ramps, fixed to the tile foor. Nick leaned against one of them to study the art.

"If this Moretti guy had two of these, he was loaded," Nick said.

"Do you think our thief knew that?" Judy asked. "I thought it was because it was easy to get out for a small mammal."

Nick grinned down at her. "You're going to get taxonomics grad students on your case again."

"Don't remind me," Judy grumbled. She would rather that particular university case stay finished and forgotten. "I'm just saying, there wasn't a way for a larger mammal to get into that room without setting off alarms or being seen."

"That's true," Nick said. He was tilting his head at the swirly variation on the left.

He'd be able to carry it out of here, if the staff let him. She could do it just as easily. A mustelid or two could manage, or a team of mice. Maybe they ought to check for loose bricks again.

"Are they all this size?"

"I think so." Nick tilted his head the other way and held out his paws like a frame. "The ones I saw here back when I was just a curious museum-goer? I think they were about this big."

Judy smirked up at his reminiscing. "When was this?"

A soft chime sounded over the intercom, and a recorded voice announced the museum was closing for the evening.

Nick looked up at it. "Oh, I was still running stuff for Big. You were probably still in high school."

She waited for him at the hallway until he was done looking. "I didn't think his tastes were that modern."

Nick pointed a triumphant forefinger. "I knew you knew something about art."

"Lucky guess." Her ears wilted, in a mirror of his own expression. "Sorry. I never made time for it like you did. I didn't even know you liked it."

"It has been a while. And I didn't have long to appreciate it then, either," Nick admitted. "But you're right, it wasn't Big. The guy I was with that day had plans to sell one of the variations to some shady buyer."

"What, straight off the wall?" Judy lowered her voice as they made their way back down the atrium. There probably wasn't any harm in it, but there was no need to alarm the staff with discussions of even hypothetical theft. "It's a museum piece."

Nick shrugged and held the door for her. "He had a knack for making stuff disappear."

Every time Judy thought she had her partner dialed, some new facet of his past surfaced. She'd have to spend some snuggle time tonight getting him to spill the beans. She smelled a story, and Nick's were always fascinating.

She ran the info on their mystery security system enthusiast while Nick took them back downtown, and got a name. Emmanuel Moretti was indeed a pig, Zootopian upper crust, with a place in the Heights and a squeaky-clean record. That would make him harder to follow up on. He didn't have an occupation listed. Hopefully he'd be in on the weekend.

"Did you get Greens her paperwork?" Nick asked. "Her lead paid off, it's only fair we do the same."

"I sent it first thing," Judy said. "Should we tell her we got something?"

Nick shook his head. "Make her trade for it," he said. "She seems to like that."

Judy pulled her phone out to tap out a reminder - and because she'd set her phone to silent to comply with the museum's rules, she didn't see the email waiting in her inbox until now. It was from Greens.

I found something else you should know about, the message read. Can you meet me tomorrow? You choose the time and place.

#Zootopia #zootopia fanfiction #wildehopps #nick x judy #thematic thursday #/trash/

[yoi-secret-valentines2017]

love at second sight

For @mypoorlittlephanshipperheart from Edgedancer (@radiantmists). Happy Valentine’s Day!

***

Victor lay on his back and listened to the indistinct murmur of voices below him. Slowly, as it always did, his mind drifted to the ice, to the feel of skimming on a knife-edge and the freedom of taking flight. From those well-worn paths he was drawn to the sound of a crowd screaming his name, of voices in his own tongue declaring him a hero.

Downstairs in the onsen’s main room, Victor knew, Yuuri would be saying the words leaving and Russia and nationals and Victor in a voice too small for him, trembling with the conflict between hope and sorrow. He would be looking at the ground or his shoes or his hands, and so would be surprised to feel his mother’s arms close around him. When his father tells him they’re happy for him, mostly telling the truth, Yuuri would smile, tears in his eyes, and mostly believe it.

Victor could barely believe it himself, could scarcely fathom how these wonderful, kind people had let a perfect stranger drift into their home like a stray dog and had somehow turned him into a part of the family. Most of all, he couldn’t believe that Yuuri was at that moment giving all of it up, in a way, so that Victor could keep skating.

Ten days wasn’t a long time to uproot your whole life, wasn’t really long enough to say goodbye to the family you only just found again.

It wasn’t really long enough to come out of retirement, either, so Victor pushes himself upright and starts packing.

***

They headed to the rink early the next morning; Victor had called Yuuko while they were in the Barcelona airport, had made sure that Ice Castle Hasetsu would be theirs alone until the nineteenth. She had said she was happy to do it, had congratulated him on his decision to return and for proposing to Yuuri, had somehow managed to sound sweet and cheerful while declaring that if Victor let the first interfere with the second he would find his ice skates shoved, blade-first, in very unfortunate places.

It was almost like her blessing. Victor hadn’t been able to explain to a mortified Yuuri, listening on speaker, exactly why he had been smiling.

Now, Viktor set up the camera at the edge of the rink and video called Yakov. He was willing to swallow his pride and admit he needed all the help he could get to make it back in time for Russian Nationals on the twentieth.

He glided onto the ice, cued Yuuri to start the music, and began.

The thing was, it would be inaccurate almost to the point of falsehood to call what Victor had been doing for the last eight months a break. On top of the time he had spent coaching Yuuri, Victor had passed hours listening to music, dancing in Minako’s studio, biking and running and stretching. And he had skated, of course, had after hours of watching Yuuri finally remembered the way that ice under his feet had always felt like breathing.

When he had skated the two pieces through, heart pounding with strain, Victor returned to the computer Yuuri held at the rink’s edge, where Yakov looked pensive.

“It’s not good enough,” he said. Victor’s heart skipped a beat even though he thought- hoped- he knew what Yakov would say next.

“Not yet.”

***

The next ten days were a mad rush of ice, food, baths, sleep; Victor and Yuuri ran to Ice Castle as the sun rose, wolfed down the lunches that Hiroko had made for them the previous night, ran home as the sun set and collapsed. Sometimes in the morning they would chase each other, laughing; a few nights one wandered into the other’s room and they had curled together, too exhausted to do anything but sleep.

Their breaks were the time when the other was on the ice; Yuuri’s breaks were much longer than Victor’s, and Victor felt guilty though he knew he shouldn’t. Yuuri had months to perfect his routines; he took silver at the Grand Prix Final–barely missed gold– and there was no one at Japanese Nationals who was a serious threat to him. Victor, on the other hand…

Victor had never worked this hard before, and especially he had never done so knowing that despite it all, it wasn’t possible to win. As the week went on, he found himself developing the sort of empathy he’d never had for other, less talented skaters. Victor had always seen practice, competitions, advancement as simply reaching out to take what was his. If others couldn’t match him, it meant only that they didn’t want it badly enough. But suddenly, there was a wall between him and success, or perhaps a heavy door that he had to shove with all his strength just to keep from closing even further. Victor tried to imagine going through this struggle as a child, and couldn’t quite convince himself that he could have kept skating through it before he’d ever tasted the peace of a clean program.

Sometime during the mad week, he tried to tell Yuuri all this, asked him how he had kept on for so long without feeling what it was like to win.

Yuuri laughed. “Maybe I couldn’t feel it,” he said. “But I saw it, when I watched you.”

Victor stood, dumbstruck. He knew then and there that his skating, his loneliness at the top, his whole life had been worthwhile, if it had kept this beautiful creature on the ice.

***

For some horrendous, unknowable reason, the Russian and Japanese Nationals overlapped. To add insult to injury, they stretched through Victor’s birthday. Every year before, he hadn’t cared, but now…

Well, at least he and Yuuri had already exchanged gifts.

Yuri came to Victor after their warmup period. He opened his mouth, then shut it. Finally, he growled, “Don’t think I’ll go easy just because you’re an old man.”

Victor laughed, and it tasted like poison, like every night that he’d gone out to drink and flirt with beautiful strangers he’d known he couldn’t keep, because five gold medals or not, Katsuki Yuuri had never called him, and what more was he supposed to do?

Yuri would beat him here without trouble and they both knew it, but the thought rankled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The next day, Victor drew a slot right in the middle of the two dozen other men vying for a medal. Twenty-five dreamers; thanks to Victor and Georgi’s placement last year, Russia was allowed to send three of them to European Championships. Medalling here wasn’t just about being Russia’s best; it meant that the season could continue.

When his time came, Victor took to the ice confidently. He could hear the commentators gossiping about his costumes, reused from several years ago, and about his planned programs, much easier technically than in years past and notably missing his signature flip. They wondered if he really thought such a sudden comeback was possible, if he had any life left in him, why he had even bothered.

Victor arrived at his starting position, not listening. He wasn’t skating for them anymore. He kissed his ring, knew that somewhere, Yuuri was watching and doing the same.

The music began, and so did Victor. It felt like a beginning, the energy of the crowd and the music and the gold on his finger coursing through him. Every motion in this program was deliberate, filled with hope for the future. He thought back to the feeling when Yuuri had first tried his flip, when Victor had known that no matter what happened, if he could just somehow hold onto this boy the future would be bright. As the music built, Victor remembered the moment Yuuri had asked him to stay on his coach. He remembered the instant where he could see the future stretched out before him, and for the first time it had been filled with not just victory, but with their victory.

As he sank into his final spin, the music went silent for a moment. The whole stadium, the whole world seemed to hold its breath as he whirled, waiting to see what would happen next.

The final note rose along with him, and he stretched out his arm as though reaching for something, the other behind him holding an invisible hand.

There, he told the screaming crowd, and Yuuri somewhere far away, watching. There. Can you see it, too?

Yuri attacked him as soon as he left the rink.

“I can’t believe you!” he screeched, as he dragged Victor to the Kiss and Cry, then sat in the coach’s spot. “You can’t just skate for the katsudon forever!”

Victor only smiled and waved at the camera as the scores were posted. The presentation score was astronomical, record-breaking for a short program. The announcers and the crowd were hysterical; Yuri grumbled unrepeatable things.

Victor spotted the Japanese news logo on one of the cameras and blew Yuuri a kiss.

***

“After yesterday’s artistic triumph, Victor Nikiforov’s free program today doesn’t quite measure up, does it?”

“Only two quads, and he seems unable to truly connect with this music. Though Nikiforov edged him out in the short program, if we look back at Popovich’s characteristically… emotional free performance just moments ago, it seems uncertain which will take silver.”

“Well, we’ll be seeing both of them at Europeans in any case.”

***

Yuuri skipped the Japanese banquet and flew straight to Russia; he arrived at the rink just as the medal ceremony began. Afterward, Victor leapt straight from the ice into his arms and kissed him silly, then pulled back and smiled teasingly.

“You brought me a present, didn’t you? Besides your presence, I mean.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes but dutifully produced his gold medal from his coat pocket. Victor placed it gently around his fiance’s neck, then handed his own medal to Yuuri so that he could do the same.

He remembered his own joke, weeks that felt like years before: I won’t kiss it if it’s not gold. He’d told Yuuri, he’d known, that coming back would be challenging, that reaching this level was a triumph in its own right. But Victor was tired, and every self-deprecating smile tasted like ash in his mouth.

But the walled-up sadness in Yuuri’s eyes felt like a knife to the gut, so Victor put on a smile anyway. I’ll do better next time, he thought. I can do it for you.

“It’s perfect,” he said. “It matches my hair.”

***

“Do you have a theme?” the reporters asked at the winner’s panel.

“Yes,” he said, not quite lying, and gave them the sort of smile that everyone knew meant he had something up his sleeve.

He’d bought himself some time. Now he just had to look up his sleeves and find it.

***

The two of them went back to St. Petersburg, to Victor’s one-bedroom apartment just two blocks and a bridge away from Yakov’s ice rink.

Yuuri hung his clothes in the walk-in closet next to Victor’s, and within a week they were hopelessly mixed together. Yakov finally told Victor that the next time he showed up to the rink in a shirt three sizes too small, he’d be thrown out into the snow, because no one wants to see your stomach all the goddamn time, Vitya.

(Yuuri was not forbidden from wearing Victor’s clothes, mostly because he was smart enough not to do it with anything that would get in the way of practicing. Of Yuuri practicing, that is, because how was Victor supposed to concentrate on remastering the quad flip when Yuuri was wearing his sweatshirt?)

Victor was in awe of how quickly Yuuri got to know their neighbors, whose names Victor had never before learned in the six years he’d lived in this apartment. Like his rinkmates, they adored the combination of Yuuri’s sincere timidity and his moments of intense frankness.

Victor would have been jealous, but every day he discovered new reasons to love Yuuri that were all his own. He’d known that Yuuri loved food, but now Victor got to watch his own cooking make Yuuri’s eyes widen in delight.

They went out so Yuuri could teach him to dance properly, and it was even better than that first wild night, because the next morning and whenever else the urge struck them, they danced through the apartment to music only they could hear.

Every so often in Hasetsu, Victor would buy flowers for Yuuri on his way back from walks with Makkachin. Now, they settled young perennials in the window boxes Victor had forgotten existed, and he watched as Yuuri carefully coaxed the bulbs into blossom.

At the rink, they were somehow both Yakov’s biggest headache and the skaters who required the least maintenance; they distracted each other ridiculously, but the next moment Victor would offer some criticism that let Yuuri land his quads twice as often, or Yuuri would make an encouraging comment that changed Victor’s whole presentation.

One day, Victor talked Yuuri into skating each other’s programs just to drive Yakov crazy. It backfired, the older man using it as a lesson for both of them, making Victor spend time on Yuuri’s impossibly graceful spins and forcing Yuuri to repeat jumps until they matched Victor’s technical perfection.

Another time, Victor and Yakov came to the rink after lunch to find Yuuri running through Yurio’s step sequences with him. Soon, half the juniors at the rink were asking for time with the Japanese skater. Victor got pulled into it too, helping them with their jumps.

Yakov took Victor aside, in the middle of January, and told him seriously that he had a future in coaching when he retired for real, that they both did. I’m getting older, Vitya, he said. Someone’s going to have to take over this place. Victor looked at the fourteen-year-old girl listening to Yuuri explain how to fix her layback spin, and wondered when he became so… content.

For months, he had treasured the wonderful promise of spending his future with Yuuri. But more wonderful even than that was this: his life, now, with Yuuri.

***

Thankfully, Yuuri was able to come watch Victor at Europeans. Victor had hidden his costumes, when they had finally been delivered, and he skated his short program on the high of Yuuri’s delight, clothed in a Hasetsu sunrise.

They went out that night with Yuri, Chris, and Otabek; Georgi and Mila had tagged along, and they’d somehow managed to run into Emil and the Crispinos at the restaurant. (Victor suspected Chris, or possibly his quiet, extremely sneaky boyfriend.)

Victor was in second after the short program; he’d brought up his technical score significantly, but to his chagrin couldn’t surpass the perfection Yurio had achieved once again with Agape. Victor had created a monster, and he wasn’t sure whether to be proud or annoyed.

Chris, of course, started by teasing Victor about losing to a sixteen-year-old.

“Well, at least I’m in good company,” Victor winked. He had never done dinners like this before Yuuri, hadn’t been friends in the way the other skaters were. After all, Chris was the only one who was old enough to have entered Seniors before Victor’s gold streak had begun, and even he had seen Victor as some sort of constant, always a few steps ahead.

Now, they’ve all seen him waver. For the first time, Victor realized that his competitors were not as much sharks circling for weakness as they were people looking for some point of humanity. Stopping to coach Yuuri may have set him back in his skating, but it was the best decision he’d ever made for his personal life, for more than just the obvious reason.

Like his thoughts, the conversation circles back around to his relationship with Yuuri, and Victor has the pleasure of watching Europe’s best skaters argue over who’d shipped them first.

“I think Chris wins that one,” Victor said lightly. “He did introduce us at the banquet last year, after all.”

Chris grinned smugly, then jumped when his boyfriend elbowed him. “I don’t think he can take credit for that.”

Chris sighed. “Fine. No, I didn’t really believe it was serious until what Victor pulled at the Cup of China.”

“Ha! I win!” Sara Crispino crowed. When everyone stared at her, she added, “Mickey and I started researching competitors as soon as assignments came out. We saw Yuuri’s theme announcement, and…”

Yuuri groaned and smacked his head against the table as the other skaters laughed in recognition. Victor pulled him closer and rested his chin on top of Yuuri’s head, smiling. He’d watched the video of that incident perhaps even more than the one of Yuuri skating Stay Close to Me– at first trying to make sense of the rapid-fire Japanese as Yuuri had gone off script, and then during the long nights when he’d needed reassurance that despite Yuuri’s shyness, Victor wasn’t the only one who desperately wanted to hold onto this.

He hadn’t watched it recently; he hadn’t needed to with the real Yuuri sleeping beside him with a matching ring on his finger.

“Speaking of which, what’s your theme, Victor?”

The laughter quieted as everyone waited for his response to Emil’s question. Even Yuuri looked up, questioning.

Victor smirked. “You’ll find out tomorrow along with everyone else, at the winner’s panel.”

Under the ensuing chaos, Victor heard Yuri mutter to Otabek, “I’ll bet it’s something ridiculous like happiness or marriage.”

Victor smiled.

Close, Yura, he thought, but not quite.

***

Victor unzipped his jacket and handed it to Yuuri, then removed his skate guards. As Otabek’s score was posted, he circled quickly on the ice before returning to the barrier.

“I’ll be here, watching,” Yuuri said, pulling Victor close. Victor rested his head on Yuuri’s shoulder and breathed him in.

As the stadium quieted, he pulled away. “I know.” He smiled, and it tasted like sunlight.

The cheers as Victor saluted the crowd were deafening, but as he took his position, eyes closed, he thought he’d be able to hear a pin drop. Even the announcers were silent. In second place, and with four difficult quads in his program to Yuri’s three, Victor was poised to make possibly the greatest comeback in the history of figure-skating.

Victor raised his hand to his lips, saw Yuuri doing the same. He felt light, birdlike.

The music began. Victor launched straight into a quick step sequence, but it felt as effortless as dancing through the kitchen with Yuuri and letting dinner burn. He leaned back into a spin as though falling into bed, and when he launched himself into his first quad he could have sworn he felt strong arms lifting him up.

As the violins entered, Victor let his motions become more fluid, allowing the music to carry him. He knew this routine better than the back of his hand, and he let his mind drift until he found himself back in their apartment.

A January blizzard had swept into St. Petersburg, filling the streets and rattling the shutters. Yuuri had brought in the Chinese jasmine they’d been growing in the window-boxes, and Victor had lit the fireplace. They’d curled up together with Makkachin, each other’s bony warmth more comfortable than the bed could ever be.

Yuuri had stared out the window and told Victor about how it rarely ever snowed in Hasetsu even in winter, how the flurry on the April day Victor had arrived had been nothing short of miraculous.

“Like you,” he’d said, suddenly frank in the way that always knocked Victor’s breath right out of his body. “All the time we were in Hasetsu, I was waiting for you to melt away.”

Victor had taken his hand, squeezed it as tightly as he could. “Well,” he’d said, and swallowed. “Here, the snow takes forever to melt.”

The music came down to near silence, and Victor could have sworn he heard Yuuri’s voice, as clear as it had been that day: “I’ll be here until then.”

Victor pushed his toe onto the ice and leapt with the piano, spinning two, three, four times. He landed back in the stadium; Yuuri was behind him, so Victor added a half loop and triple axel to face him.

Yuuri was crying, Victor saw for a moment before he had to return to his program. As the music picked up once again, Victor remembered the last time he’d seen Yuuri cry, when their jasmine had finally bloomed after weeks of Yuuri pulling it inside every time there was even a chance of frost.

Rising from his last spin, Victor traced the vines that wrapped around his legs and climbed his white shirt. He placed one hand over his chest, holding out the other, palm up as though to take someone’s hand, or perhaps to offer them the pale pink flower stitched into his glove.

***

“It’s official- in a free program that ended in a mirror image of Katsuki Yuuri’s, Victor Nikiforov takes back the record his student stole only months ago!”

“Katsuki doesn’t seem especially angry about this.”

“No, but look at Plisetsky! I know the Ice Tiger of Russia skates better when he’s angry, but I think apoplectic rage is going to be a little too much for the judges.”

***

Victor gave Yuuri his medal as the stadium emptied, and smiled while Yuuri looped it over his head.

Then he gasped as he was pulled down to meet Yuuri’s sparkling eyes.

“Set a date for the wedding,” Yuuri whispered. “I’m coming for this in April.”

***

“My theme,” Victor beamed, “is life.”

***

“Katsuki Yuuri takes Four Continents by a landslide, earning a personal best in both programs! He came within a few points of Nikiforov’s record combined score from years ago. Worlds is going to be interesting, don’t you think?”

“Yes, and– Are those rose petals coming from the ceiling?”

(“I can’t believe you thought I forgot Valentine’s Day,” Victor pouted.

“Well, you were a few days late,” Yuuri laughed.

Phichit tossed a few more rose petals over their heads, took a picture, and said, “Don’t be silly; if he’d forgotten I wouldn’t have let him live a few days.”

Yuuri’s friends were terrifying and Victor loved it.)

***

They had their medals off before they left the ice; their tradition was public enough knowledge at that point that it would no longer look like a snub.

Victor did Yuuri’s first. It felt different this time, knowing he’d be giving Yuuri something else gold in just a few weeks.

Yuuri’s hands shook a little, and Victor could see the tenderness in his eyes. He found himself remembering the last time he had won a bronze medal, when he was nineteen and in his second year of Seniors, full of the hope and ambition that would eventually take him to the top of the podium but still growing into too-long legs and too-short hair and too-heavy expectations.

He folded his hand and Yuuri’s hand over the medal, brought it up to kiss softly, and thought, I’m still growing into this, too.

“It’s perfect,” he declared softly. “It matches your eyes.”

End

***

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you for the inspiration, both from the domestic Victuri stuff on your blog and more generally to make me actually finish something. :)

Victor’s short program is to the song Road to Victory. His free program, as well as the title of the fic, is from The Gambler by fun., though I imagine he skated to an instrumental version.

Coda:

“No, I will not be your flower bearer!”

“But you’d look so pretty, Yurio–”

“I’ve been there getting embarrassed by your stupid antics from the beginning. I’m getting you back in my best man’s speech and that’s final.”

#yoi secret valentines #yuuri katsuki #viktor nikiforov #phichit chualnont #writing #chris giacometti #yuri plisetsky #submission