#Halfway through they get boring because there isn't anything to do but pick them off before they fucking land 😑

[thingsmysplattershotjrtoldme]

i wish anyone who uses a charger in turf a very lose.

[xoxosimp]

Right Person, Wrong Time

POV: You break playboy!Bucky’s heart 

Pairing: Bi!Bucky Barnes x Bestfriend!Reader

Part two: Perfect Timing

Warnings: angst, not beta’d, mediocre writing

A/N: This is heavily inspired by this sound on tik tok and one of my favorite scenes in a Disney channel show I used to watch LOL.

~~~~

If there is something about life, you like things to be simple. 

You flourished when you had a consistent and simple routine. Where others feel bored with things being the same everyday, mundaneness gives you a certain type of peace you never wanted to give up.

Bucky Barnes was a part of your routine. Every day after work, you and Bucky would run at the park. Sometimes it was one mile, other days it was five. 

Your workout routine with Bucky was never stale. Warm up, run, (Bucky insists that he always runs behind you for whatever protective reason he has. And looking at your ass is a great motivator, not that you know the latter). Then you would have dinner together, either one of you would cook or you would go out to eat. 

The sound of you and Bucky’s steps echoed against the pavement. Sweat clouded your vision and your lungs were begging for a respite but you were halfway to your checkpoint point. You picked up the pace, challenging him to keep up from behind. 

Bucky caught up to you and gestured to your foot, “ Your shoe is untied, angel,” he panted out.

You furrowed your eyebrows and glanced at your feet, breaking your stride. “ Well, I guess we can take a break now,” Bucky said as he came to a stop.

You smiled, “ You freaking liar!”

Bucky holds up his hands as if he was innocent. “ Don’t hate me just because you stopped, beautiful.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned against the rails of a bridge you so conveniently stopped at.

“ What do you wanna do for dinner?”, you asked Bucky, wiping the sweat from your forehead.

“Anything you want, I want, angel.”

You asked him everytime and every time he gave the same response.  He always wants what you want. “ Then let’s get Peruvian food, I could kill for lomo right now.” 

Bucky chuckled to himself, like he had something to say. “ Do you not want lomo, Buck?”

“ That’s fine, angel, just..” he trailed off. “ At least this dinner won’t have a side of tension.”

Bucky alluded to a dinner you had with your other friend Steve Rogers, and his significant other, Lililian. Steve isn't the one to argue in public, but his girlfriend kept picking fights. You and Bucky would attempt to dissolve the tense atmosphere, but it always seemed to thicken again.

“ Yeah, I couldn't imagine going through all the drama they’re going through. Steve looked like he wanted to explode,” you recalled.

He nodded his head. “ I think Steve needs someone less…in your face, you know?”

“Elaborate.”

“ Steve has a … strong personality, angel. He needs someone to soothe rather than excite.”

“So what, he needs someone to tame his inner alpha?,” you quipped. 

Bucky chuckled and looked at you. After a pause, he said, " You know, we wouldn't be like that.” 

You raisd an eyebrow, standing up straight, “ Like what?”

“ Complicated. If we were together, it would just be me and you, plus together.”

Your stomach fluttered. The notion of dating Bucky wasn't completely foreign to you. Bucky was an attractive person, inside and out. It was something about the way he looks at someone, the way he looked at you, that you knew you could trust him with the darkest parts of yourself. His huge fucking arms were always open if you needed a hug, and his beautiful blue eyes were always on you.

But if Bucky Barnes was anything, he was a player. He knew how to play a woman ( or man) like a finely tuned instrument, and make them melt into his hands. 

Bucky Barnes didn’t date. Bucky Barnes didn’t settle down. He thrived in spontaneity. 

You shook your head, “ We’re friends, Jamie.”

“ But I want more. I want more of you, angel. You’re the first person on my mind when I wake up, and the last thing before I go to bed. I can’t go a day without you. Would it really be that much of a difference if we were together?”

He spoke with so much conviction that you almost trusted him.

“ Bucky , ever since I met you, you’ve always been a player,” you explained. “ We have the perfect relationship and I don't wanna lose you just because you wanna try something new.”

You could have slapped him and Bucky still wouldn't have looked so shocked. His expression makes your heart drop into your stomach. 

“ What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he countered.

“ You get bored easily,” you crossed your arms. “ If we started dating you would get bored of me, then we would break up and our relationship would never be the same.”

“ We’re friends, Bucky,” you reiterated. “ You can have as many boyfriends and girlfriends you want, and we can still be best friends.”

Usually you could tell what mood Bucky was in. He had a “ I’m Hangry” glare and a “ I’m tired of this bullshit “ glare. You couldn't make out what he was feeling.

“ I don't feel like Peruvian food today,” he uttered “ Let me walk you to your car.”

“Are we good, Jamie?” 

“ We’re good, (Y/N).

He didn't call you angel, or beautiful, or any of the other pet names he would call you. Bucky didn't give you a kiss on the cheek and tell you to drive safe once you got in your car. The feeling of hurting him weighed heavy on your chest, but the relief of speaking your truth was liberating. 

Maybe you made a mistake, telling Bucky you didn't trust him with your heart.

No, it’s for the better. 

[meme-streets]

dollars event day 6. prompt: money ---

“What would you spend all that money on?” Tuco has asked him once, slumped languidly back against the wooden siding of the wagon.  He’d been half asleep; he must’ve been, because otherwise they didn’t talk about the gold.  Too many assumptions there that neither of them wanted to make. “I don’t think it’s wise to spend money you haven’t got,” Blondie had replied, a pit in his stomach, and Tuco had made a sullen kind of a noise and put his hat down over his eyes and that was the end of it.

Well, now he’s got the money and he still hasn’t got an answer to that question.

A hundred thousand dollars.  It’s an almost obscene amount of money.  He's never been one for buying much more than the bare necessities; Tuco had always ragged him for never spending the money they made pulling the rope trick.  There hadn't been anything he wanted that badly, and there's certainly not anything he wants now that costs that much.  He doesn't even know what people put that kind of money into.  Land, probably, but land’s got to be managed, tended, looked after, and consequently stuck close to, and he has no desire to do that.  Might be useful to have a place to come back to, but his hideouts in the past have all been temporary–caves and old shacks and abandoned farmhouses–and it's suited him just fine.  Even a permanent hideout has to have somebody to look after, which means hiring somebody, and he's got no desire to do that either.  So he does what he always does: he keeps moving.  He’ll figure out what to do with the money on the road.

In one town he tries to gamble some of it but despite his well-practiced poker face, he's not much of a card player.  Too cautious.  He wins a little and then gets impulsive and goes all in on a bad bluff and loses it.  He isn't even angry.

In another he spends a night in a too-fancy hotel getting drunk on champagne behind his locked door before he discovers he hates champagne and remembers he hates being drunk.  Spends another half a day nursing the worst hangover of his life, spends the second half lying around doing nothing but feeling sorry for himself and consequently bored out of his skull, sleeps horribly on the overplush bed, and checks out at the crack of dawn the next morning, thoroughly disgusted with himself and convinced the life of the idle rich isn’t for him.

He leaves a considerable chunk of it in a sack outside a San Antonio mission.  He considers a note but doesn't know what to say.  Considers signing somebody else’s name, but that won’t go over and he knows it.  So he just leaves it in the night and rides off without so much as getting off the horse, and if he sees a half-familiar figure in the window watching him go, he decides not to make anything of it.

Each inkling of civilization he passes through (and at this point he skirts it) he hides all of it he doesn't need someplace outside of town, but then he has to go pick it up again and that gets old fast.  It's heavy.  It weighs him down.  It puts a target on his back, has him sleeping with his hand on his gun more even than he used to, has him waking up at every little sound, has him watching every lone stranger on the range with eagle’s eyes and his jaw set too firm.  One night setting up camp he gets so sore at the sight of those money bags it makes him almost sick. He buries all but a couple thousand in a dozen different places all across the desert and accidentally-on-purpose halfway forgets all of them.  He hurls his shovel off the top of a ridge and listens to the distant clatter it makes in the depth of the canyon and he only sort of feels better.

He tries bounty hunting for a while, legitimate, but in truth he was never as much as a bounty hunter as he let Tuco think.  His heart wasn't in it then and even less now. He scans newspapers and wanted posters and tries not to feel twisted-up inside when he doesn't see what he wants.  He spends hours looking over maps.  Thinks of going to Flagstaff where the high mountains are coated in snow, thinks about going to California to see the ocean.  It does sound nice.  Get away from all this, from the heat, from the dust, from the memories.  Somewhere nobody’s ever seen his face before.  Something stops him, and it's nothing to do with money.

There's only one worthwhile thing he spends any money on, and it's a neat little pair of binoculars that he saw in a shop and thought it might be nice to see from a distance who and what was coming and going. One morning he sees smoke on the horizon, back the way he had come from, and peering through the glass he spies a figure, small and blurry and familiar. And for the first time since Sad Hill, Blondie smiles.

[dalishious]

Dragon Age: The Missing #1 Thoughts

...Well that was some of the dullest shit I've ever read.

I got about halfway through before getting so bored I started to skim-read, realized what I was doing, then forced myself to go back and slow down, only to end up doing it again.

Varric is just not an interesting protagonist to me. He's just not, so when all you have to carry your story is "hey, it's Varric, you know him!" then I couldn't be less interested. And that's all this first issue has going for it--characters like Varric, Harding, Charter, Evka, and Antoine you can point at the page and say "oh, I know them!" And even then, it's just 'The Varric Show' to start off with at least. Maybe it'll give more attention to the others in follow-up issues? I hope so.

I also have to complain about the art, because I'm really unimpressed that this artist decided the dwarven ladies need to look so petite. The dwarven ladies in game have my body, but the dwarven ladies here only have the slightest of movie star curves. Look at how tiny Evka is:

Also, for some reason Charter has gigantic ears? And this isn't just an art style thing, because Antoine's ears are normal sized. Charter looks like this though:

I could pick apart the art way, way more, but I'd rather move on.

Oh wait, I don't even have anything more to say, because this issue was just full of nothing. What a terrible way to start a comic. First issues are supposed to engage the reader with excitement for what's to come! Not bore them to death.

[solarsavoy]

what ac students would get piercings, and or tattoos? and if so, what would they get? 

*pulls out the roster*

Okay.

Piercings Standard piercings: Okano, Okuda, Kataoka, Hara, Fuwa, Kayano, Kanzaki, Nagisa (but he doesn't wear anything; it was because of his mom they're even pierced) Double piercings: Yada, Kurahashi One side pierced: Chiba, Muramatsu, Takebayashi (he was going through a phase) Gauges: Hazama, Yoshida Double piercings with a bar: Nakamura Belly button piercing: Nakamura, Yada

Tattoos Sugaya I think would have the most, full sleeves and his whole back and chest done. I had a friend, also an artist, who only did black and white tattoos because they aged better and if she was bored, she could color them in temporarily. I totally see Sugaya being that way too, and whoever his significant other ends up being would probably get a kick out of it. XD Nakamura has a tramp stamp and maybe a few other small ones like a ladybug next to a galaxy or something random, but also unique and somewhat mesmerizing. Maehara has at least two, one he really regrets while he was drunk, and one he worships more than anything. I don't think Nagisa ever would (unless Karma got him drunk enough one night and Nagisa would probably hate him for it) but I love the idea that he has one of those massive tattoos of a snake wrapped around his side, across the back, and then under him arm going up around the shoulder. He'd look so badass! But I don't think he's inherently a tattoo guy. Karma probably only has one and he makes it sound like it was a random last second decision, but it actually means a lot to him. And it's in a secret, well hidden place that only the highest caliber of SOs get to see. 😏 Chiba. I can see him rocking a sleeve. Probably a dragon, a play on his name, but I can also see some random ones of various art. Also, he strikes me as the guy that would write a song for a girl (Hayami) and then get the sheet music of a part of it on his back right over where his heart is. 💙 Maehara convinces Isogai to get one for his father. This is probably the one Maehara has too, because I totally hc that he likes Isogai's dad deeply as well. Kimura has one or two. He was peer pressured. He doesn't hate them though. Maybe one is a Flash symbol and the other is a running rabbit or something. Both related to his speed. Kurahashi totally has a butterfly or 30 somewhere on her body. XD Kanzaki. Still trying to be defiant… I imagine she regrets it though and later has it removed. Hayami. I think she has one she secretly dedicates to Chiba, but explains it as something else. It's a sight (like when you look through the scope) on her back and it's placed over her heart like Chiba's sheet music for her. 💙💙 I will die with this ship. I think Terasaka tried to get a sleeve done, but he didn't know what to put on it and just picked random stuff and gave up halfway through. He likes it all, but there isn't much of a story behind any of it. Yoshida has a back tattoo of something important to him. I'm not entirely sure what, but I imagine it's mostly black and white with some red highlights in just the right places. And it's a massive tattoo, the largest of anyone else's. Probably had Sugaya design it. Muramatsu caved and got a tattoo of his favorite noodle dish. It's really small and probably somewhere like on the back of his hand so he can easily show it off. He thought it was cool, okay? Itona I think has a few, but they're random and spread out. They're all meaningful though, and in some form or fashion represent strength. Fuwa has a tattoo or two of a notorious symbol from One Piece. I haven't seen the anime, but something as prominent as Luffy's hat.

Bonus! Ren has a single piercing and a few tattoos on his arms. Seo got his ears pierced, one of which got infected and closed up, and then he didn't want to put it in the wrong ear and be considered gay, so he never wore anything. Argues it's what all the cool Americans do. XD He also has a stupid tattoo or two. Or five. He regrets all of them, but refuses to get them removed. Koyama is most likely to have the long extravagant anime piece, probably something from Hayao Miyazaki's films, like Howl's, tattooed around his leg. He's very proud of it. Araki has a tattoo he also greatly regrets. He got it because of Seo. XD Shuu wouldn't dare sully his body my making such unnecessary modifications to it. You would be idiotic to think he would. XD

Thanks Blessed-Arson for the ask! It was a long one. XD But I enjoyed it a lot!

I may have forgotten some of them, so feel free to ask if I didn't mention a character you think would have piercings/tattoos/both. Have a great day!

[fruitcoops]

hi eve ! i was wondering if you could write a fic where coops are at home just doing stuff and suddenly the electricity goes out because of a thunderstorm like it did that night at dumo's ? and coops just sit there and reminisce ? (man i hope that is how you spell that word, english isn't my first language hahah) idk i just thought that would be neat

There isn’t a lot of sitting and reminiscing, but this prompt was just too cute to pass up. Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for making out (courtesy of an anon who was enjoying the hot tub fic) and mentioned future spice

Remus’ hand was halfway to the popcorn bowl when the house went dark. The tv shut off, the dishwasher went silent, and the comforting hum of the fridge disappeared. “Uh. Hmm.”

There was a rustle next to him. “Did the power just go out?”

“I think so. Hang on a second.” Remus stood and padded toward the living room window, wrapping his arms around himself to stave off the chill as their heating cut off; the coming winter would be harsh. Outside, he saw nothing but a row of dark houses and car headlights in the distance under the place traffic lights should have been. Frost crept along the corner of the windowsill as his eyes adjusted. “Yeah, our whole block is out. There’s probably nothing we can do except wait for it to come back.”

Sirius hummed from the couch and opened his arms. “Nothing?”

“Not a thing,” Remus sighed, grateful for the darkness hiding his smile as he settled back down.

Sirius laughed and pulled him down by the arm, spreading his thighs so Remus could lay between them on his chest. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Do you?” Remus asked, only inches from his mouth.

“Mhmm. Can’t have you getting bored, can we?”

“Oh, no, definitely n—“ Remus’ words were cut off by warm lips and he smiled as Sirius’ tongue swept forward. A hand snuck up his shirt and he nibbled Sirius’ lower lip, drawing a low laugh from him; Remus set his elbows on either side of his head and wove his fingers into Sirius’ soft hair.

“Off,” Sirius mumbled with a tug to his tshirt.

“Pushy, pushy, pushy,” Remus tsked, though he separated for long enough to reach behind his neck and pull it over his head. The fabric of Sirius’ long-sleeve rubbed against his chest as he laid down and muffled a moan into his mouth, feeling him melt as Remus tugged his hair lightly. “Yours, too.”

Sirius’ pout was almost audible. “I’ll get cold.”

“I can keep you warm,” Remus said with a sly smile, drumming his fingers on Sirius’ ribcage. He skimmed a thumb over his nipple and laughed when Sirius’ breath caught. “Please?”

Sirius huffed and wiggled around until Remus—being the most accommodating boyfriend in history, thank you very much—sat back to straddle his waist and occupied himself by tracing Sirius’ abs until strong hands hauled him back down into a fervent kiss. “I love it when you ask me for things.”

“Hmm, really?”

“Makes me feel useful.” One hand came up to cradle Remus’ cheek, but the other wandered down his spine and only stopped once Sirius had a solid handful of his ass to knead.

Remus let out a harsh exhale into the side of his neck and pulled Sirius’ thigh up, relishing in his soft noise as he began rubbing the outside through his sweatpants. “This feels familiar,” he practically purred.

“Does it?”

“Making out in the middle of a dark and stormy night with no lights on? Now, where have we done that before?”

He felt Sirius’ pulse give a hard thud under his own. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“One year.” Remus felt some of his blinding want smooth out into affection and kissed the corner of Sirius’ mouth. “And a couple weeks, of course.”

“We should celebrate—“ Sirius nipped his lip and pushed down on the small of Remus’ back. “—more often.”

“Monthly anniversaries.”

“Does this mean we get to have sex tomorrow night after I get a hat trick?”

“It’s Kasey’s birthday party tomorrow.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Absolutely.”

“Fuck yeah,” Sirius said under his breath, though Remus could feel him smiling. They broke their kiss for a moment to laugh, but quickly returned, much slower than before.

“If we do this right, I get to wake up when you come back to bed and kiss you stupid without any warning.”

“Deal.”

“And you have to cuddle me all night.”

“I was going to do that anyway.”

“Just making sure.”

Remus tucked his face beneath the hinge of Sirius’ jaw and breathed deep as he sucked a small hickey into the shallow dip—he smelled like buttery popcorn and laundry detergent and home. His broad hands ghosted across Remus’ back before pulling him away by his hair to press another kiss to his mouth; he gasped as his stomach swooped. “What do you want to do?”

“This,” Remus managed between kisses. There was an urgency, but not for anything he could name. He wanted the closeness and the quiet of the night.

Sirius waited for a moment. “Anything else?”

He was tempted to say yes, but that would involve more fumbling and possibly even—god forbid—leaving the couch. Remus shook his head and tilted Sirius’ chin up with his finger. “Just this.”

“Okay,” Sirius said, sinking back into the cushions. He smiled into Remus’ next kiss and wrapped both arms around his back; he was hard against Remus’ hip, but didn’t grind into his thigh at all.

“I love you,” Remus mumbled.

“Je t’aime aussi.”

“Are you comfy?”

“Hmm, let me think.” Sirius’ mouth trailed down his cheek and neck before settling near his collarbones. “Laying on my couch, in the dark, with my incredibly sexy boyfriend on top of me just waiting to be kissed after putting up with me for over a year…yeah, I’m pretty comfy.”

“I don’t put up with you,” Remus scoffed, leaning his head to the side so Sirius had more space to work. “I love you. There’s a difference.”

He closed his eyes as tongue and teeth lavished his pulse point, sending a shock all the way to his toes. The winter cold was the last thing on his mind—he was warm everywhere, though the involuntary shiver when Sirius blew gently on the hickey he left was a greatly-appreciated exception.

“You’re sure you’re okay with not doing anything right now?”

“I was promised sexy times tomorrow.” Sirius gave his ass a playful squeeze, accompanied by a nibble to the hollow of his throat. “We have to follow tradition, mon coeur.”

He bent down to Sirius’ ear with a grin. “If the power stays out, we could do it right here. No curtains, no lights on, right in front of that big window.”

“Mon dieu,” Sirius said on the tail end of an exhale.

“We could.”

“I know, that’s the problem.”

“I don’t see a problem with that.” Despite his words, Remus felt himself succumbing to the cocoon of shadows around them and slid his hands under Sirius’ wingbones for a cuddle. He had already been drowsy when the lights went out, and being that close to the most comforting person he knew certainly hadn’t helped, no matter how horny they were. “We can pick this up tomorrow night? Gives us plenty of time to brainstorm.”

Sirius’ chest buzzed underneath him before he nosed along Remus’ cheek for a kiss. “Sounds perfect.”

“I can call the electric company and tell them to keep our block’s lights out,” Remus suggested.

“Love it.”

“We should go upstairs, shouldn’t we?”

“I don’t care, as long as I get to do this when we get there.” Sirius’ accent had thickened over the past half hour and Remus soaked it in like a sponge.

“Such a stickler about tradition,” he teased, resting his head on Sirius’ shoulder; the couch wasn’t quite wide enough for them to fit side-by-side. Not that he was protesting, of course.

A beat of silence passed between them. “If we go upstairs, we can make out properly without falling off the couch.”

“Oh, thank god,” Remus said immediately, stumbling to his feet and dragging Sirius after him. With any luck, the power would be out long enough that they wouldn’t be able to go anywhere for days.

[big-tiddie-squad]

I did it again.... 😶🤫

The Tease in the Recording Studio

"Try it again, but more seductive. We're going for a sexy vibe for this song, you have to make them feel like YOU want THEM." The producer in charge of the recordings offers. "You've got this, the fans already want you. You just need to give a little extra back to them."

Bangchan runs his hands through his hair. He's been singing the same part over and over, bringing forth his most charismatic personality, but Ms. Park says it's not enough after every recording. "Alright," he sighs, "let's try it again." He puts the headphone back up to his ear but you can see he's tired and confused on what she wants from him now.

"No problem, have a quick drink and we'll roll it back and start at the beginning again." The woman watches Chan through the glass studiously, then turns to you to apologize, "I'm sorry we're taking so long Ms. Y/L/N, but the job isn't done until it's perfect. I know you've been waiting here awhile but I appreciate you being patient with us. It shouldn't take much longer."

You always liked this recording producer. She was brilliant at her job and she's also very sweet and always allowed you to sit in while recording when you got bored of waiting at home. "It's fine! I understand completely. Can I say something to him before you start again though?" You ask.

"Words of encouragement are always welcome. Go ahead!" She shows you what to press to speak to him. You wet your lips and speak clearly through the small mic. "Channie?" He straightens and smiles at your pet name before replying right away, "Its okay if you wanna wait at home sweetheart, I know it's taking me a bit to get this right but I'll be home at some point tonight, you don't have to wait for me."

"What-? I'm not going anywhere," you laugh, "I just wanted to let you know that you can do absolutely do this, I know you're tired but I also know that you've got this!! Just know I'm here to support you!" You offer up a cheesy grin and wink at him causing him to laugh as well.

"Of course I do. I'm sexy after all right? Singing seductively should come easy to me if I don't think too hard." His eyes brighten and he puts his headphones on before giving his producer a thumbs up to signal he's ready.

"Here we go again!" She says cheerfully, as you sit down on the couch to watch your boyfriend make magic happen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A frustrated growl leaves Chan as Ms. Park tells him to take a break. It's been over an hour and he's made no progress. He chugs his water bottle and slams it down. You don't typically see him this angry and maybe it's caused by sitting here for so long but... it's kind of hot. He only gets aggressive when you guys are intimate, becoming a whole other person it seems. You get up to go eat something with him while you all take a break.

You both sit in the small break room together as you watch him eat the small sandwich you brought him from home hours ago.

"I just don't understand what I'm doing wrong?" He complains, furiously taking a bite. "How can I not have given off the right vibe by now?" He licks his lips and you're thighs close on their own, stirring up memories of what the two of you did last night. His tongue seemed to have a map of your pussy memorized. Oh how he took you on a mind altering trip. Bending you to his will, literally.

He notices you're staring into the distance and waves a hand in front of your face, "Y/N? You okay? Maybe you should go home and go to sleep now, it's already 11:18 at night." He reaches down and puts his hand on your knee, you'd worn a cute black skirt that comes about halfway up your thighs. Thanks to his touch alone, an immediate urge woke in you and caused you to almost jolt from the contact. Apparently, your poker face needs some practice because Chan picked up on it almost instantly. His eyes dilate a bit as he watches you take your lower lip into your mouth and your breath hitches.

"Oh princess..." he coos at you teasingly, "does my little love need some special attention?" He slides his hand up from your knee to your thigh and begins to stand up and lean in slowly, almost like a predator stalking his prey. "Well, do you?" Every nerve in your body is firing off and your brain is giving you a fight or flight command, but that's what he wants right? He wants you to feel like prey, like you need to run. You wonder if you don't back off... if you were a bit disobedient, maybe this time you could take charge...how would he react?

Wouldn't hurt to find out right?

"Why does it matter? It's not like we have any time for you to do anything about it." You smirk at him, folding your arms and leaning back. His face goes slack for about .5 seconds before his eyes turns a whole new shade of brown. So dark you could be lost in them forever. "Excuse me-" he begins, teeth gritted, just as the door opens to reveal a newly energized producer.

"LETS GO PARTY PEOPLE! We need to get this done and I feel like this next take is gonna be perfect!" She's comes and goes like a hurricane leading the way to the recording room, with you and Bangchan following behind.

Once you all get to there, Chan immediately goes into the small sound proof portion to begin. However, his eyes continue to flit to you, and you can tell he's a little annoyed with being interrupted in the break room. Especially after your last comment.

Ms. Park tells him he's definitely giving off the right kind of energy atm and to keep his head space where it's currently at for the song.

And then you have a wonderful idea. Seriously, you should be an evil temptress. He nods at her but doesn't take his eyes off you for long as he starts singing. Perfect. You look at the back of his Ms. Park's head making sure she's focused on what she's doing. Before swiping your tongue slowly and suggestively over your lips, making full eye contact with Chan. He stumbles over his words, and Ms. Park sighs and asks him to start over, jokingly saying that that was just a warm up.

You smirk it feels nice to have control especially when he isn't able to do anything about it. You're almost positive that this will come back to bite you in the ass but.... it's kind of fun. So you continue. You lean forward and dig through your purse, fishing out a sucker, but as you do you begin letting your breasts tumble out as much as possible. His voice has a slight subtle change to it. And the producer claps her hands excitedly. So far so good.

You sit up and unwrap the sucker placing it in your mouth as you open your legs widely before crossing them, knowingly giving Chan a peep show. His voice is radiating through your body now causing a deep aching in your cunt. Damn was this what Ms. Park was wanting from him. You didn't know how you felt about other girls receiving this special type of feeling from him. A small sting of jealousy courses through you and though you know how deeply you've both fallen for each other. It's just a song, you tell yourself.

You decide to keep taunting him, and you finally run your tongue of over the sucker. You twist it against your lips before sucking it into your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you slowly pull it back out of your mouth smiling at him. His eyes haven't left you this whole time, and the dangerous and almost feral look he gave you was making you clench at nothing. Your pussy was already slick causing your panties to grow wet with your need. You didn't realize how much you were testing him.

He was already harder than hell but thankfully Ms. Park couldn't tell with his sweats and baggy hoodie on. He didn't know where you got this cocky and teasing attitude from but he couldn't wait to take you home and fuck it out of you. You'd never purposfully been this much of a tease before and he'd be lying if he said he didn't like it. He takes a breath before going into his solo part in the song and in that exact moment, he knew you were going to be punished tonight.

You'd waited for his part to come up and just before it did you spread your legs to show off your soaking panties slowly slipping a hand down over yourself and rubbing gently. You were so caught up on teasing him you hadn't realized how sensitive you'd gotten. The moment you pressed onto your clit you're mouth opened a bit and you wiggle slightly at the stimulation.

And BOY does Chan notice, his hips jerk forward slightly. Chan watches as your legs close tightly around your wandering fingers, wanting so badly to to replace your fingers with his own. He's in the clear now. Finishing the song with a lusty, almost dangerous note as he sees you bring your fingers up to your lips and suck your own juices off of them with a minx-like grin. You pull your skirt back into place and pop the sucker back into your mouth.

"THAT WAS IT! THAT WAS AMAZING! It's exactly what we needed! We are DONE!" Ms. Park yells whilst jumping up and down. She turns to you and thanks you for your support. "I don't know WHAT you did on lunch to help him get the right mood but whatever it was we might have to have you in here more often!" She laughs. You all gather your stuff and part ways once you get out of the building.

Chan wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in tightly before leaning down, voice rumbling in your ear, "you have awakened a whole new side of me I hope you know that."

You look up at him with the biggest most innocent grin you can muster, the friction of your thighs rubbing together and the meaning behind his words and tone setting your stomach alight with a monstrous sexual hunger. The walk home was difficult for many reasons and at least one of them was because Chan had slipped his hand under your top, fingers brushing your bare skin and adding to the discord of tingles you already had.

"Who would've known you could be such a brat," he says as you both make it to your apartment. He opens the door and let's you walk in first slapping you on the ass and causing you to squeak out in surprise. He enters behind you and locks the door before quickly grabbing your hand and pinning you against the wall. Your lips meet and you can taste his need, the pure desire to ruin you tonight. His hand sneaks into your skirt and panties feeling how wet you were for him. You moan at the contact, your body almost crumbling in on yourself. "Chan" you manage say. "Babygirl- you have a three second head start." He tells you voice coated with a dominant and feral tone as he removes his hand from your warm sheath and licks his fingers clean. "1.......2...." and before he could get to three you bolt for the bedroom, the immense need to run taking over. You haven't even made it 5 feet away before you hear him say three. Before his foot steps are sounding behind you. And all you can think is.

It's going to be a long night.

[ilikekidsshows]

One thing that pisses me off not just about the miraculous fandom but modern fandoms is fans inability to consume long overarching stories.

Like so many people are complaining about how long the reveal is taking or why haven't certain characters outgrown this trait yet or why is this character arc botched or abandoned. Like guys we just got the confirmation this show will be 7 seasons long PLUS like 3 tv specials. We're only roughly halfway through the series.

Once the reveal happens half the tension in the show is gone! I'm not saying leave the reveal till season 7 and make us wait 9 years this isn't HIMYM but miraculous is not a fast paced story. It's a long haul story. I just wish more fans would be patient. Miraculous is in the extremely fortunate and rare position that it will have a conclusive end and not be suddenly cancelled. That was and still is a huge problem for shows and cartoons with dedicated fans but networks pull the plug for stupid ass reasons.

So miraculous fans please chill the fuck out on things not resolving right away. We still have 78+ episodes plus the tv specials. If we get the end to certain things now it'll be so boring.

I think the concept of Instant Gratification describes the issue with many modern fandoms today. I hate to sound like I'm anti-technology, but the constant stream of quick and short bursts of entertainment allowed by the information age has made people more impatient. It's not about waiting for the climax to get a deeper sense of satisfaction, it's about getting that instant gratification right this instant. It's why one-shot fanfics are all over the place, when multi-chapter stories used to be just as common and popular, if not even more so, and it’s also why people are less willing to read a fic that’s still a work in progress. It's why people refuse to watch Youtube video essays even as they leave comments on the topic based on the title and thumbnail alone because, while they couldn't be assed to watch a 20-minute video (let alone an hour long one), they sure can spend that time calling the Youtuber names and making arguments the video actually already refutes. It's why a lot of online arguments happen only because one party read nothing but the first and maybe the last paragraph of someone's post and skipped all the explanation for their point of view (if I've ignored an counter argument for one of my posts, it was either because I missed it or because said counter argument did this. I have attention deficit issues so I do genuinely forget responses sometimes, but I'm also not writing a second essay for someone who's proven to me they won't read it).

Of course, it's only by constantly consuming only fast-paced content that you can become this impatient. People have different ideas about stories based on what stories they have encountered in the past.

Another thing that influences the Miraculous fandom in particular is that, while I love to show off exactly how much Miraculous has done to build up the overarching plotlines, Miraculous isn't really a show that's about a single story. It's easy to understand why people think it is one though: there's one main villain, we keep discovering more about the mythology, one of the main plot threads is the romantic relationship between the leads and singular episodes and plot elements tend to get payoff later. What is the purpose of a show if not to progress the story? Because the heroes aren't getting closer to defeating Gabriel or getting together, people think that the story isn't accomplishing anything.

I'll do a comparison to illustrate why these things aren't as clear-cut signs of a continuous storyline as people think. In the Spider-Man comics, you can pick any issue up and the chances are that the villain will be a part of Spider-Man's already established Rogues Gallery, who's back for more after who knows how many defeats, and those past defeats might even get referenced in callbacks to previous issues. It's also very possible that Peter and Mary Jane's relationship is the central focus with them not being together yet, having relationship problems or even having broken up (in really old issues the girl might be Gwen Stacy and short-term options have also always been available for romantic entanglements). Does this mean Spider-Man is a continuous story where the only point is that all the villains get put away for good and Peter and MJ live happily ever after? No, it doesn't. Spider-Man is designed to go on indefinitely, so there's no clear ending point. So, what is the point of Spider-Man then, if there is no Ending?

It used to be the single issue, because comic books used to have every issue be a stand-alone story about the hero and their supportive cast. These days it's more every three-to-six issues, because superhero comics are written to have short story arcs that can then be collected into trade paperbacks. A superhero series is not a single story; it's a series that functions as a story engine, meaning the series can generate several shorter stories where the hero helps fix a problem or solve a mystery.

In the superhero genre a villain will never get killed off or removed from stories permanently as long as the writers think they can still come up with stories to tell about them. The hero's romantic life will never be completely smooth sailing unless the writer is using other things to ramp up the stakes. Everything always allows for there to be another adventure.

I think the huge success of Avatar: the Last Airbender made people think that a series that is a single story is always superior to a series with multiple shorter plots. When I was liveblogging Sailor Moon, a viewer offered to give me a list of all the non-filler episodes because they genuinely thought I'd feel like I was wasting time on the show otherwise. This attitude is simply not based on fact. It's not fair to compare Miraculous Ladybug to Avatar, because they're both setting up to do completely different things. Miraculous Ladybug is trying to become a brand, like Batman or Spider-Man. It is part of the "Zag Heroes" lineup, a series of French-created superhero franchises to compete in the America-centric superhero market. This challenge is good for the genre, because Marvel and DC have started resembling each other more and more as these companies stew in their old ideas and copy everything that worked for the other one. The superhero genre needs new blood.

Also, Avatar: the Last Airbender first became popular by doing episodic plots for almost the entirety of the first season because it's actually not a wise choice to expect the audience to be willing to commit to a story that'll only give payoff later when working with an untested IP. Very often shows with longer story arcs start with the episodic format to hook people first, and sometimes the more linear plot is introduced specifically because the audience for the show is now expected to be both dedicated enough and older and capable of keeping up. Because, here's the thing: you can't expect little kids to remember every episode or even every character you've introduced in your show. I'm not sure if people are ready to hear that but I'm throwing it out there anyway. Kids are not dumb, they can understand more complex storylines, but many kids are still training their memory, so they might not remember the details of complex storylines that go on for too long.

This is why the news that Miraculous Ladybug's fourth season was going to have a recommended viewing order originally had me concerned. Miraculous is being branded for kids. The plot requiring too much skill in memorizing story details will make it less accessible to kids and might put those two additional seasons at risk. However, it seems that the "constantly changing status quo" concept of Truth, Lies and Gang of Secrets was a fluke and the evolution of the show is more subtle, so they might not be cutting the amount of episodes for those final seasons because the show is getting too complicated for kids to follow all the important details.

Regardless, Miraculous Ladybug being an adventure cartoon TV show instead of a comic book or a more cheaper-to-produce TV drama does mean that Miraculous Ladybug isn’t expected to go on for decades like a superhero comic or a soap opera. Because of this, it can have evolution and changes and even a planned ending. The show is expected to end at some point, even by the people making money off of it, mostly because making a cartoon like this indefinitely costs a lot of money, and kids’ adventure shows tend to see a decrease in returns if they go on for too long.

[whosaskingwrites]

Glass Heart (Oikawa x Reader x Kageyama)

A/N: This was the only request that came in for the follower event which by the way I've extended so its still open. So thanks for requesting this it was fun to write! Full disclosure the Akaashi b-day one was supposed to be uploaded first but I haven't finished it yet so...Also I went a little feral on this cause its the first ever request on the blog 💞. I even added it a small thing from one of my favorite movie series. Also I don't know if this is exactly what you wanted but I did my best to fulfill the request. Some things are changed in it but this is the final product.

Details: 9.4 pages 3,305 words (she long)

WARNINGS: Mentions of blood, angst, heartbreak, there's a happy end for Mc tho, manga spoilers??? Kinda not really???

Date: December 7th, 2020

Theme: Glass Heart Syndrome- Similar to the Hanahaki disease, when a person goes through heart break it causes their heart to literally form into glass and break. It will result in the person never being able to love again or die through the agonizing process. The symptoms include dark cracks on the chest stemming from the heart that spread and grow darker the worse the heartbreak is, the victim becomes physically weaker, and they’ll cough up blood. (Taken directly from the request)

Sachi- means miracle. Thank you @msecchi for requesting 💞 hope you enjoy!

Nightmares.

That's what the doctor said to him. "You can't sleep because of the nightmares!" Thats what he was told by them. For ten years doctors told him its just nightmares. But he knew it wasn't nightmares no...He was being haunted by her. Dead and cold e/c eyes stared at him from the darkness as they dulled. A faint shattering sound accompanied it as he watched shards of glass fall.

His heart was cracked black lines trailed against his skin hidden under his shirt. It had cracked all those years ago when he thought she was gone. She had recovered though it was a miracle really that she had. After all he was there when her heart shattered.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa still looked at him with disgust. They supported him sure but they only supported him because they wanted him out of Japan. Iwaizumi didn't look at him the same either, there was always something hidden behind his gazes. He could take the anger from them though it was worth it to know she was still alive.

He loved her. He knew that, Iwaizumi knew it. For ten years he asked Iwaizumi how she was doing "she's fine," was the only response he got. Now he could see for himself if she was fine. The Olympics were here and he was currently on his way to Japan with his team. It'd been a long time since he'd been back. Almost nine years now but he wasn't worried. He curled into the plane seat shutting his eyes and trying to catch some nightmare free sleep...

___________________________________________

"Y/n-chan! You look really pretty today!" He threw an arm around the h/cette's shoulder pulling her roughly into his side. She stumbled a bit peering up at him through long eyelashes. "Can you let me go please Oikawa-san?" She asked shifting to pry his arm off. He held on though and gasped "Eh? Why Y/n-chan!" He shrieked and just like that his arm was thrown off her shoulder and Iwaizumi stood there.

"Dumbass she doesn't like people touching her!" He yelled flicking him in the forehead. He whined and rubbed at the spot "Iwa-chan you're supposed to be on my side!" Iwaizumi simply shook his head before turning towards Y/n. "So Y/n have you decided on a high school yet?" She merely hummed "I was thinking Shiratori-" "No you can't go there!" Oikawa cut off quickly throwing himself infront of her.

"...Can I finish my sentence?" She asked sending a pointed look towards him. "Please do," Iwaizumi supplied as he covered Oikawa's mouth. "Shiratorizawa but my cousin convinced me to go to Aoba Johsai instead," She finished sending a pointed look towards him. He pried Iwaizumi's hand off to speak "You're going to Aoba Johsai!?" She laughed then smiling at him and he felt his heart rate speed up in response.

It'd been a few months since then he was a third year now and her a sparkling brand new first year at Aoba Johsai. Since day one he'd been around her constantly. Walking her to her classes or sitting with her at lunch sometimes bringing her an extra piece of Milk Bread. Of course the team knew he liked her it stared them in the face everyday. He'd smile at his phone everytime she texted or his face would flush slightly when she complimented him. Not that she ever noticed but they knew she was falling to.

She no longer rejected physical touches from him she leaned into them instead. She always smiled at him whenever he appeared in her line of sight. She even started using his first name! Halfway through the school year everybody knew Oikawa Tooru and L/n Y/n were attached at the hip. Fangirls confessed all the time but he rejected them without fail thinking of the girl with s/c skin and e/c eyes. He wanted her confession but it never came to him. He got tired of the team making fun of him one day. They always picked on him so why should they be allowed to do it when it involves the girl he liked?

"Oh please! Like I even care about her! She's getting boring anyway i'll just move on to a new girl. One that's more exciting and not some bright-eyed first year," He had said crossing his arms and looking up indignantly. "Oikawa...You don't mean that," Iwaizumi said slowly looking at him. "Of course I do. She's boring now," He pushed refusing to crack under the pressure.

Of course how was he going to remember that all of this went down a minute before she was supposed to walk into the gym to watch him practice like everyday? He really should have remembered that if he had things might have gone differently. Practice had ended as usual though it had been quieter than he remembered. Something was missing and he knew it.

He shrugged it off as he left the locker room walking towards the front gates to wait for Iwaizumi with Y/n. "Hey Y/n-chan what'd you think of practice?" He waited a moment to see her rush around the corner in a flurry of excitement but it never happened. "Y/n-chan..?" Rounding the corner of the gate he saw the spot they normally waited in was empty no sign of the beautiful girl anywhere.

There was however a piece of paper trapped against the bars. It was a small thing easily loseable but the way it was crumpled and felt soft meant the paper he held was old and probably had been thrown away. He opened it slowly and glared at what he saw on it. 'Kageyama Tobio xxxx-xxx-xxxx' What were the odds he'd find his enemies number here of all places? Astronomically low he knew as he chucked the paper away.

Iwaizumi had come up then pushing him along while he struggled. "Iwa-chan! Y/n-chan isn't here yet!" Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. "She went home. She was feeling sick today," He responded easily while Oikawa's nose crinkled. That was impossible he'd been with her all day except for in class. She was perfectly normal in every way today, he'd have know she was sick.

Maybe if he said something to Iwaizumi instead of keeping quiet he'd have seen her and fixed everything. Maybe if he had made them stop at the park like he did everyday instead of being consumed by his thoughts he might have seen a familiar h/c haired girl sitting with a boy that had blackish blue hair and vibrant blue eyes.

He might have seen the boy give her his jacket and a carton of milk when she started crying. Or how he awkwardly patted her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. But instead the duo walked on with him thinking about how to ask Y/n why she lied. Of course for the next two weeks he wouldn't receive a response since she avoided him at every turn.

Eventually though he cornered her right outside the gym after she dropped off Hanamaki's water bottle. He didn't question why she had it or the black and blue jacket she was wearing that was slightly too big for her. Instead he ran after her stopping her before she got to far. "Hey! Y/n-chan why are you avoiding me!?" He shouted towards her.

She and everyone else nearby stopped people whispered as they looked at them but he didn't care. He watched her turn and froze as dull e/c eyes met his own. "Just speeding things up. After all you said I was boring Oikawa-san,"

___________________________________________

He jolted awake sitting up rapidly as he tried to slow down his racing heart. "Hey you okay man?" He turned his head looking at his teammates who looked startled. "Yeah I'm fine...Just a bad dream," He smiled at them before looking out the window. Japan was spread out below them lights twinkling in the dark.

The smile fell from his face as they landed replaced with a sense of displacement and nostalgia. He gripped his bags tightly tomorrow he would be facing his biggest rivals on the court all to see who would win the gold. He didn't have time to think about what happened to the girl he used to know.

___________________________________________

"Wha- who said you were boring?" He asked stepping towards her. She took a step back in response "You did. Two weeks ago when I went to the gym. I heard you," His eyes widened dramatically as he looked at her "No- That's out of context!" He tried to save it but she just shook her head. 

"Don't lie Oikawa-san," Her eyes became more dull as she spoke. "Don't- dont call me Oikawa please. Dont do that please," he begged reaching out towards her. She coughed then putting a hand up to her mouth. As she did the sleeve of the jacket rolled down and he saw them. The thin black lines trailing across her skin and decorating her pale s/c arm.

"Y/n-chan...," he trailed off as his eyes focused on her arm and the thin trail of blood coming from her mouth. She smiled but it wasn't anything. Only a slight twitch upwards no warmth behind it. "Its okay Oikawa-san you helped me you know?" He paused as he looked at her "Helped you..?" She nodded slowly "Yeah! You helped me realize that love is worthless so thank you," He could only watch in horror as the black veins spread further and widened being accompanied by a cracking sound.

Like someone had thrown a ball threw a glass window she collapsed at the same time a shattering sound filled the air. A girl nearby screamed as Y/n fell while someone else yelled for emergency services. "Y/n!" He was shoved backwards as Hanamaki and Matsukawa ran past him.

"What happened!?" Matsukawa yelled as he lifted her head. He looked at him while blood dripped from her mouth. "I- I don't know. S-she said she heard me a-and-," Hanamaki whipped around at that "She heard you!?" He stood blood had left a red stain on his white track pants. 

"If she dies from this I will never forgive you," Hanamaki hissed. "Makki she's- she's not breathing!" Matsukawa screamed pressing a hand on her heart. Paramedics rushed into the area skittering around as the pushed Matsukawa and Hanamaki away. "What happened?" One of the medics asked. "Glass Heart Syndrome," Hanamaki answered back glaring at Oikawa as he spoke.

"We need to get her out of here right away! Lets go!" The medic had run back over towards Y/n helping to pick her up onto the gurney. They paramedics left quickly with her denying Hanamaki and Matsukawa's attempt to go with her. They raced into the gym grabbing their stuff before running back out. Hanamaki shoved Oikawa out of the way and down to the ground as they ran.

___________________________________________

He sighed as he jolted awake for the third time in a row. This was ridiculous she wasn't even dead so why couldn't he sleep without seeing dead e/c eyes? Guilt that's what Iwaizumi told him. He tilted his head to see the time five am was what the clock told him. He needed to meet the rest of the team at seven thirty so he changed and went running.

The streets he ran on seemed so familiar but so different to him. Of course he stopped at the nearby park it was similar to the one he used to stop at with Iwaizumi and Y/n. Those trips long since abandoned after what he did his eyes flittered over the park until they landed on a h/cette. His eyes widened as he looked at her so similar to the last time he saw her.

Slightly taller and figure slightly rounder perfect to him but it hurt to realize it was a pregnancy bump. The h/c hair on her head sparkled and her e/c eyes glittered with a warmth he hadn't seen in years. He began walking towards her almost starting to run until a voice stopped him. "Y/n!" He stopped immediately snapping his head to the side. Barreling towards her was a male with silver and black hair and golden eyes sparkling. He knew who that was...Bokuto Koutarou wing spiker for the MSBY Black Jackals and he was his opponent in the upcoming game.

He slunk closer and it was then that he noticed a little girl hugged to Bokutos chest. She couldn't have been older than five from what he could see but he noticed that running through the girls h/c hair were streaks of silver. He certainly didn't expect her to take the little girl from him and kiss his cheek. His shock was palpable when she reached a hand up to run through his hair. A thin sliver band with a small diamond on it glared back at him glittering in the sun.

Bokuto had lifted his own hand to run it through the small girl's hair the silver came through more prominently as well as exposing dark navy almost black streaks he hadnt seen before. The little girls head turned revealing a single e/c eyes. His eyes however zoned in on the gold band on Bokuto's finger. He was excitedly talking to her while she shook her head and started walking off. He watched Bokuto's eyes widen comically as the wing spiker ran off after her.

He stood frozen as he watched the scene anybody could see a cute family scene. That should have been him handing her their kid not Bokuto. But it wasn't him no it was someone else. So of course he called Iwaizumi to complain.

"Iwa! You didn't tell me Y/n was married to that- that wing spiker!?" He yelled into the phone while Iwaizumi scoffed. "One I shouldnt tell you anything about Y/n since you ruined that. And two thats not your business," He returned the statement with a scoff of his own. "Not my business? Shes married! You know what Iwa. I'll win her back," Iwaizumi laughed then it was laced with disbelief much like his voice was. 

"Sorry you are gonna try to win back a married woman who has a kid and another one on the way?" Iwaizumi was right that sounded wrong out loud but he couldn't back down. "Yes! I'm gonna win her back from that Bokuto guy!" Iwaizumi snorted "Sorry how'd you figure they were married?" Iwaizumi asked with a laugh "I saw the rings and her daughter has silver hair like him!" He stated indignantly.

Iwaizumi did bust out laughing then "Silver hair? Must have dyed it then," Iwaizumi mumbled quietly. "Iwa what are you going on about?" He asked not being able to hear the male on the other line clearly. "Oh nothing just suprised you don't pay more attention to your sworn enemies," He called uninterested. "I pay enough attention to know they're on the same team and will be playing against me," He hissed and Iwaizumi laughed. "I gotta go. See you later Oikawa," He hung up and Oikawa sighed as he put the phone away.

___________________________________________

"Oh are you all here for Ms. L/n?" The team turned eyes landing on a doctor with short brown hair and hazel eyes. He was clearly foreign but they didn't have any questions other than about her. Looking at them all he could see the fear in their faces and sighed. "Well its a miracle really that she lived. One of the worst cases of Glass Heart Syndrome I've seen in years," Oikawa froze as he felt the numerous glares on his back.

"Thank you doctor...?" Hanamaki walked forward looking at the man. "McCoy. Leonard McCoy," He said holding out a hand. "Thank you Doctor McCoy. Can we see her?" Hanamaki shook his hand while the doctor sighed. "Im afraid not. She still needs some time to recover we're going to try some beta blockers but until we try them I can't allow you guys in just incase," He said turning back around and leaving just like that.

The next week was spent waiting for the news. It came during practice one day for them "The beta blockers worked. She starts school again tomorrow at a new school," Matsukawa said as he walked back into the gym. The team cheered in excitement "Wait a new school? Shes transferring?" He asked stopping everyone while Hanamaki scoffed "she lived which was a fucking miracle and now you want her back here at the school that she almost died at with the person who almost killed her?" He flinched at the tone.

___________________________________________

The game had ended with Argentina's victory them winning the gold. He smirked at the wing spiker on the other side who only tilted his head in confusion silver hair following the movement. Iwaizumi smacked him as he approached "Stop looking at Bokuto like that," He said with a sigh. "I won against him and now I'll do it again," He was determined as he huffed. "Also Iwa how could you! Did you even know they got married!?" Iwaizumi scoffed in disbelief.

"Of course I knew she got married. I was a groomsmen along with Ushijima and Bokuto. Hinata was the best man," He processed the words "Sorry did you say Bokuto was a grooms-," before he could continue his questioning the patter of running feet interrupted him. "Daddy!" He snapped his head to the side seeing the little girl again only this time his jaw dropped.

The girl was pulled into a pair of arms which he followed to their owner. Kageyama's side profile glared back at him as he smiled down at the little girl. From this side he saw her other eye was a vibrant blue shade and sparkled in joy. "Hi angel what's going on here?" He lifted the girls hair in his finger and Oikawa saw the silver band around his ring finger while silver hair slipped through his fingers. "Uncle Kashi took me to the hair salon while he was watching me! I got my hair done to match Uncle Bo!" The little girl threw her arms up with a smile.

"Eh? Why not Uncle Tsumu kid?" Atsumu had asked joining the conversation. The girls nose crinkled "Uncle Bo is better than you!" Atsumu threw a hand over his heart and gasped mocking hurt. "Sachi Kageyama what did I tell you about running off?" Everyone turned seeing Y/n walking over with her arms crossed Akaashi stood next to her carrying her bag of stuff a ring of gold stood out prominently on his finger. "M'sorry mama," The girl now identified fully as Sachi frowned looking down with big eyes.

"Sachi. Just because Uncle Bo's sad face doesn't work on me doesn't mean yours will," She tapped her foot twice and Oikawa felt it the black veins trailing on his skin getting bigger and darker. He could hear the crack in his heart as Kageyama leaned over to kiss Y/n. The two of them fitted together perfectly while Bokuto bounded over to Akaashi and threw an arm around his shoulders. "Alright we get it. You two and your miracle are cute!" Hinata claimed as he shoved the two apart.

Y/n laughed as she looked up her eyes flittered over the other team stopping on Oikawa for a moment. He froze under her gaze. The warmth in her eyes faded replaced by the same empty and dead eyes he'd grown used to. The group had headed towards the exit as he felt the cracks happen rapidly. The last thing he could remember was the loud sound of something glass shattering before he collapsed to the ground.

[officerjennie]

A Hopeful Hesitance

CW: None

Rating: T

Summary: Jaskier isn't sure a picnic date with Valdo is the best idea, nor is he sure if he should trust the hope blossoming in his chest - but he wants to believe that, just maybe, this could work.

Thanks once again to @jaskierswolf for looking this over for me

Jaskier still hesitated. Every step of the way, he hesitated, from when he slipped into his cute new sandals to the moment he stepped out of his car with the bottle of wine Valdo had requested he bring. His big blue sunglasses tinted the world a cooler shade but they did nothing for the sweltering heat that wasn’t even on the forecast for that afternoon - no surprise there, really; weatherman were the best and worst of liars - and Jaskier already found himself sweating as he made his way out of the parking lot and towards the park.

It had been a while since he’d been here. A quaint little place, with a nice sized pond that currently had a bunch of ducks and geese floating around in it. Jaskier thought the ducks were cute but steered clear of the geese that had waddled up onto the grass, keeping a massive distance as one eyed him like he was the perfect beating bag for its wings.

Some people called him stupid, which he took exception to despite the occasional questionable decision he made. But Jaskier was far from suicidal. He’d leave it to Lambert to fuck with the geese.

As far as he remembered, they were supposed to meet on the far side of the pond. According to Valdo it would be cooler there - Jaskier had his doubts - and since most people would be there with their kids they’d be at either one of the big gazebos filled with picnic tables or they’d be nearer to the playground and the basketball court that was right next to the park.

Jaskier had his doubts about that as well. He made a face at the pavement as he followed the walking path towards the other side of the park, wondering not for the first time if this was really such a good idea.

They’d been at odds with each other for so long. At each other’s throats during the worst of it. Could they really be anything...more?

He was a romantic but there were some dreams even he was afraid to dream.

Sunlight reflected blindingly off the surface of the pond, Jaskier having to shield his eyes with one hand even despite his sunglasses. He was sweating and he hated it. Even the light shawl he wore over his tank top was almost too much though he would be loath to take it off. Without it he’d be so devoid of color and sometimes fashion was worth the pain.

At least he reached the trees soon enough. The path wove into a nice little cove of maples and pines and shielded him much better than his hand could do, the temperature dropping immediately to something Jaskier could at least stand to be in. It had always been more the sun itself than heat that had bothered him, anyway.

He wasn’t the first to arrive, surprisingly. Jaskier caught sight of a familiar derriere and slowed down, taking a moment to smirk and admire it from afar. His rival turned friend turned...whatever they were now, whatever they would be, was bent over, shaking out a blanket as he tried to straighten it on the ground.

A blanket, right. Jaskier blinked, his smirk fading - Valdo had brought a blanket for them. It was a cute one, too, from what he could see. Red swirling patterns, not some plain, boring old shitty thing he’d expected Valdo to bring. If he’d expected him to bring one at all. The hesitation came back but it was mostly born of not wanting to hope, of being afraid to give that spark any kindling, but Jaskier squashed the hesitation for the moment as he’d done so many times already that day.

One chance wouldn’t kill him. A little bit of hope wouldn’t crush him. And some free food would make just about anything worthwhile.

“Careful, I might take that as an invitation,” Jaskier teased out as he got closer, practically smelling the scowl that immediately scrunched up Valdo’s face at the tease. But Valdo ignored him long enough to straighten out his blanket, straightening up and pushing his bangs out of his face, and he most certainly sent Jaskier one pinched scowl.

It wasn’t one of his really heated ones, though. Over the years Jaskier had learned to read his expressions better than he knew any others, able to tell whenever his jabs hit home, when his teasing was taken lightly or to heart. He knew him better than any lover he’d ever taken in the past, and yet…

And yet they had never been that to each other.

Would they really work like that?

“Good, you brought the wine.” Valdo waved his hand towards the basket he’d brought himself-

-and wasn’t that yet another thing that had Jaskier pausing, blinking, because he’d brought a basket. Valdo was not the type to own a picnic basket, he was sure of it, so did he...buy one? Just for this occasion? Just for a small, little date between former rivals?

“I can remember to bring one item, Valdo.” The retort wasn’t as barbed as it should have been, nor was it all that good. Jaskier breezed past him to settle down on the blanket, hoping to act like he wasn’t all that concerned with their banter - but his heart was fluttering away in his chest, a traitorous rhythm.

“We all know how your memory can get, Julian.”

“And we all know how you never know what on earth to wear- are you wearing long pants in this weather?” Jaskier stared incredulously at the other man as he settled down onto the blanket near him. Very near him. He tried to focus on anything but his hands, those long finger and beautiful wrists, as Valdo brought the basket near and started raffling through the items he’d brought with him. It was an assortment of cheese, crackers, preserves, some salami, and other finger foods.

Things Valdo could have gotten in a single prepackaged deli tray, that he’d instead picked out by himself. An assortment, so many different choices, as if Valdo had looked at all the store had and decided he couldn’t decide at all.

Jaskier’s heart fluttered some more. His fingers itched to know how smooth Valdo’s cheek was, to scratch through his beard, to find out if his lips were chapped or not. All things he’d been telling himself to not think of for so long he’d convinced himself he didn’t want to know - but he did.

“Jaskier.”

His eyes snapped to focus at his name - Jaskier, not Julian, and he could count on one hand the number of times Valdo had used the name he preferred - and it almost hurt to see the careful look Valdo had schooled his face into. Those deep green eyes were closed off, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly, his lips becoming a thin line as he prepared for something. But for what?

“You don’t have to be here.” Valdo sighed, something like bitterness flashing across his face, and Jaskier ached at it. “This is- this doesn’t have to…” The poor man floundered, almost twitching with agitation.

Valdo had never been any good with positive emotions, or he’d never seemed to know how to show or process them as well as the others. Jealousy, anger, bitterness, those had always come so naturally, had always shown so clearly on his face - but joy, tenderness, contentment, those were all things Jaskier had rarely if ever seen on him. And for the longest time he’d thought it was because Valdo didn’t know those things but there was a vulnerability to the slump of his shoulders, a resignation to his lower tone that made that damned hope flutter up in Jaskier’s chest.”

It was far too hot to even be outside, let alone be close to someone, but Jaskier braved the heat and the distance. He reached out and took a gentle hold of one of Valdo’s hands, daring not to look up at him, though he at least finally pushed his sunglasses up and away from his eyes as he studied the stock still fingers now resting in his hand.

Valdo had planned this. Had gotten together a basket full of food that they wouldn’t at all be able to finish in one sitting, had gotten a lovely, colorful blanket for the occasion (because there was no convincing Jaskier he had own anything of the sort before this), and had dressed himself up in nice black pants and a nice shirt to meet with him in some small park next to a lake surrounded by trees and dandelions.

He was trying. And if he was trying then maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to give him the smallest, most minuscule benefit of the doubt and believe that Valdo wasn’t going to crush his heart to dust when this was all over. If it was ever over. If it ever actually began, whatever it was.

“Valdo,” Jaskier sighed out, holding his fingers gently and caressing them with the rough pad of his thumb. A breeze rolled past through the trees and ruffled his curls and Jaskier could almost pretend he could smell all of the free food he’d been promised - if only it weren’t still neatly tucked away into all of its packaging. He still thought it would be more romantic if he could smell it. “I drove halfway across the city to come meet you, you know that right?”

“I know where you live, yes.”

Jaskier’s eyes flicked up to catch the pinched, thoughtful look on Valdo’s face, finding it still guarded as if he wasn’t sure where Jaskier was going. And perhaps Jaskier should have been extra nice to him but he couldn’t help himself, no matter how his heart fluttered away, no matter that he slid their hands together until their fingers were intertwined, and no matter that he never wanted to let go even if their palms were sweating against each other.

He wondered if their hearts were beating the same erratic rhythm intandem.

“If you made me drive all of this way,” he said, shooting his once rival and once friend a look he hoped would get his point across quite firmly, “just to tell me this isn’t a date, I am going to personally go through all of your music notes and spill ink onto every other note.”

Valdo stared at him for a breath, and then snorted, an ugly noise that made his whole face scrunch up in a very undignified fashion - and it made Jaskier desperately want to kiss his wrinkled nose. “Every other note? There has to be a more efficient method, Julian.”

Those long fingers squeezed Jaskier’s and he squeezed back, winking at his once friend, now date. “No better way to infuriate you than to waste my time and yours.”

“Better ways to get my attention, Julian, since we both know that’s what you’ve always been after.”

“Wha-” Jaskier started, huffing and sputtering that Valdo’s attention had not been what he’d been after, but it was impossible to form a coherent argument when the wine he’d brought had been expensive, the shawl brand new, and that with each passing banter he drew himself closer to the man who used to infuriate him more than any other.

--

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

[oikawa-tuwu]

Sitting Room (gn!Reader x Tendou)

Rated T, 2.3k words

Not Home for the Holidays Masterlist

"We're snowed in."

Once upon a time, waking up to a winter wonderland of snow outside your window was something to be excited about. It was the first snow of winter, a sign that the holidays were soon to come! Time to make snowmen and drink hot chocolate and bring out the big old bin of decorations from the attic!

Now, some decade and a half later, all the sight of the snow does is fill you with an inescapable dread.

Someone has to scrape the snow off those sidewalks. Someone has to worry about the heavy snow bringing down a power line. Someone has to put salt on the pavement to prevent ice so someone doesn’t get sued.

And yes, that someone is you, so you roll out of bed, into your best winter clothes, and hurry downstairs. If you’re fast, maybe you can get most of it done before you need to make breakfast. It's not a huge rush; you only have one guest right now, a tall man with red hair, and from the last couple days, you already know likes to sleep in. This snow, however, needs to be gone before your new guest arrives today, so snow first, then breakfast.

You take a deep breath, embracing the warmth of the house for just one last measly second, and go to open the front door.

It doesn’t budge.

Frowning, you double-check the lock, making sure the deadbolt is in the correct position. It is, so you try the door again.

It doesn’t budge.

You push harder.

It. Doesn’t. Budge.

With a grunt, you shove your entire body, every ounce of force you can manage, half-asleep, at seven in the morning, against the door.

It budges. Just a little, just a tiny crack through which you can see the… four feet of snow.

You’re snowed in.

Wonderful .

Shedding your winter gear as you go, you make your way to the sitting room, trying to figure out the next step. Maybe you could call for help? Pay a couple local teenagers to shovel your door free? You have to let your guests in and out somehow , what the hell were you going to do about this new guest-

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. Your work phone, so you dig it out of your five million layers, answering the call without even reading the caller ID.

“I have to cancel my reservation,” says the voice. “My train got cancelled because of the snow.”

You hang up the call with mixed feelings. That solves some of the urgency, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed about the missing income. Still, it gives you time to breathe, and think, and you hold your head in your hands for comfort.

You’re sitting there for so long (maybe you accidentally fell back asleep?), that when you look up, you jump. Your guest is awake, leaning against the entryway into the sitting room, one confused eyebrow cocked as he looks you up and down.

“We’re snowed in,” you say.

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” he says, nonchalant. He shrugs, gestures to the television above the fireplace. “I can entertain myself.”

For a second, just a single second, you allow yourself to feel relieved. Maybe you’ll get through this after all.

And with that, the power goes out.

“ Fuck. ”

 

It’s a delicate dance, carefully avoiding being in the same room as your lone guest.

It’s nothing against the guy, Tendou, you believe his name is, but it's… awkward. You can’t leave, you have to use flashlights to get around due to the lack of electricity and lack of sun (thanks again, snow), and you’re lowkey convinced that you’re living in a horror movie, because sometimes you’ll turn around without realizing he followed you into the kitchen and all you see is tall and red and oh my god , oh! It's just Tendou. Again.

You do what chores you can. Changing bedsheets with a flashlight in your teeth, setting out a couple ingredients for dinner (thank god you have a gas stove and can cook dinner at all), vacuuming downstairs ( battery-powered vacuum, thank god), etc.

The lights still don’t turn on.

In all honesty, with the holidays and this storm and on a Saturday , who knows how quickly they’ll get them up and running again.

You check the time.

It’s only eleven.

“Fuck. ”

 

Lunch is sandwiches. Normally, you don’t serve lunch, as most of your guests choose to go out themselves to get it, but that’s, unfortunately, not possible on this fine day. So instead, you throw together a couple cold sandwiches and bring them out to the sitting room.

Tendou is in there already, lounging on one of the couches, scrolling through his phone. At this point, most of the clouds have receded, so, from the light filtering in through the windows, you can see him without need of a flashlight. It’s a welcome change from the narrow beam that only seemed to pick up his ginormous red hair. When he notices you approaching, he clicks off his phone, and doesn’t quite smile out of joy, but gives an awkward, thankful half-smile, as he accepts the plate of food.

Halfway through your sandwich, the silence starts to grate on you.

“Sorry,” you say, setting down your sandwich. “I guess this isn’t how you imagined your holiday going.”

Tendou shrugs. “You can’t control the weather. Besides, I’m not sure what else I would be doing. I booked this trip on a whim.”

“Really? You don’t have anything that you wanted to do while you were out here?”

Tendou ponders the question, chewing on it like he chewed on his sandwich. Finally, he says, “Maybe eat. Find a local sweets shop.”

“There’s one on main street in town,” you say, and your mouth waters remembering some of the treats you’ve bought there. “They’re very good.”

“Good to know.”

It falls silent again (god, were you tired of the silent ), without even the ever-present hum of electronics to distract. You’re debating between your lackluster prepared get-to-know-you questions (top contenders are What do you do for work? and What’s your favorite food? ), when suddenly and without precursor, Tendou throws down his sandwich.

“I’m bored,” he announces, with the disbelief of a man that had never been bored before in his life. “I lied, I can’t entertain myself. Let’s say the snow never melts, lights never come on, what’s our game plan?

You snort. “ Our game plan? Please, after day three it's every person for themselves.”

“I like the way you think, that fear of being murdered will keep things interesting.”

“Exactly.”

Tendou laughs, gleefully. He laughs, and you realize very quickly that you want to make him do that again.

“I’d bet,” Tendou says, leaning back in his loveseat, a challenge in the curl of his lip. “Thirty-six hours in, one of us is jumping off a balcony to take out chances in the snow.”

“What, you think we can’t handle being around each other alone for thirty-six hours?”

Tendou shrugs. “You did threaten to kill me, your perfectly innocent guest, not thirty seconds ago.”

“Please don’t put that in your review.”

There it is again. That laugh. You’ve only seen it twice now, but you’ve already decided you like the way he laughs, throwing his whole body into it, an already expressive face devoted to that pure joy of laughter and humor.

Just two minutes ago, it had been awkward, silent, cold, but that that ice hadn't so much as broken as completely obliterated, like dropping an ice cube on pavement on a blistering summer day.

It's not summer, it's winter, and yet the chill of the big old house sans the central heating slowly fades away at the sound of Tendou's gleeful laughter.

"Why don't you have any decorations?" Tendou asks, once his giggles have subsided, and he glances about the sitting room. His voice takes a melodic, teasing lilt. "It's the holiday season , isn't it?"

Now that was a question you had been asking yourself recently. Everytime you walk past the attic ladder, you have half a mind to just get it over with, pull out the box and go crazy with the lights and tinsel, but you always hesitate with your hand on the door. Something about this year just didn’t feel real. It felt like you were stagnant in November, a weird limbo where the holidays never come.

It never seemed to feel real until it snowed. The first real snow that sticks.

Well. Crossed that bridge.

“I haven’t put them out yet,” you say, finally. “They’re up in the attic, I just haven’t had time to bring them out.”

“Let’s go then,” Tendou announces, pushing aside his empty plate and standing from the couch. “Lead the way.”

You blink up at him, trying to catch up with his leaps and bounds and grins. “Right now?”

“Do you have something else you need to be doing right now?”

Fair point.

It takes a fair amount of maneuvering to get the both of you into the cramped and dark attic. Thankfully, Tendou was smart enough to bring his phone with him, so he turns on the flash and directs it towards a group of cardboard boxes. There, scribbled with marker, it says holiday decorations , so you make some noise of triumph, carefully sliding between Tendou and another pile of boxes to reach the decorations. Unfortunately (fortunately?), that means the two of you are incredibly close, close enough that your sides brush and you can smell his cologne, something just a touch sweet, like the first whiff after walking into a bakery.

One hand bracing the box, you take a second to relax. It’s too much, him, this, that laugh, too much.

“Need help?” Tendou asks, leaning over your shoulder to peek at what it is holding you up.

You clear your throat, carefully inching around the boxes so that he’s not so close that you can smell that cologne. You go to lift the box, but before you can, Tendou tosses his phone to you, and as you fumble to catch it, Tendou picks up the box instead.

“Could you shine that light on the steps so I don’t kill myself?” Tendou asks, still smiling despite the giant, heavy box of holiday decorations in his hands. Silently, you do, and all three of you: the box, Tendou, and you, make it down the attic ladder and back down to the sitting room in one piece.

Tendou flips open the lid, revealing the mess of blue, white, red, and green.

The both of you get to work.

The first thing to come out of the box is the garland, plastic greenery with little lights, so the first strand goes on top of the fireplace, and as you go to head back into the entryway to wrap the second strand around the stairwell as well, Tendou unearths… the snowman.

It’s an old thing. Small, a little more cream-colored in the places it should really be white colored, with a missing button on its jacket. Where the rest of the decorations are clean, new, commercial, like an artfully staged set for a Hallmark movie, this piece is a little more… homely.

“And who is this guy?” Tendou asks, lifting the plush.

How to explain the snowman? In all honesty, you can’t even remember where it came from. Maybe it was a garage sale, bought as a joke? Maybe one of your employee’s kids had made it, hence why it had never been thrown away. In the end, you suppose it doesn’t matter, because over the years, it became a staple of your holiday decorations.

"Its my snowman. His name is Jeffery."

"Jeffery," Tendou repeats. "Alright."

With a giggle, you take the garland and continue on your way back to the stairwell.

You hear Tendou talking to the snowman, something unintelligible, until you manage to make out the word, "Fireplace."

“If you kill my snowman, I’m killing you,” you shout back, and Tendou’s laugh echoes through the whole downstairs.

When you return to the sitting room, you see the snowman resting peaceful on top of the garland, the centerpiece of the fireplace mantle.

Slowly, the pile of decorations in the box dwindles, and the room looks more and more holiday-esque, fairy lights and snowflakes and candles and garland abound.

Finally, the last decoration, one last snowflake to hang from the wall, is hung up, and the box is empty.

The clock in the corner reads 4 pm, and you wonder where all the time went. Wasn't it just noon?

You glance around the room again. The two of you did a good job, and you’re sure once the lights are on again, the view will be beautiful.

“We did good,” you remark, and when Tendou’s hand slips into yours, much softer and gentler than you expected, you don’t complain about it.

And then, with impeccable timing as always, the power comes back, starting with the hum of the heat making its way through the vents, and then the lamp in the corner flicks on, and then all the fairy-lights, twinkling bright, and, sure enough, its breathtaking in its entirety, and you feel that little rush that comes with the holidays.

You look at Tendou and Tendou looks at you and you both grin.

“We did really good.”

 

It’s a couple weeks before you check your bed and breakfast’s review page. Probably longer than you should have waited, and immediately there's one review in particular sticks out, so you click the link to read it in its entirety.

 

Tendou Satori 5 out of 5 stars

owner of B & B threatened to kill me on multiple occasions. 10/10 would stay again.

Successfully resisted the urge to write about Candlenights, you are very welcome. I was also super tempted to roll out the mistletoe this chapter too (it was gonna be hella smooth too), but nah, saving that for another chapter. Maybe I'll write it anyways and post it as an extra or smth. I'll see you in five days for Kuroo's! (Which is actually the first one that I wrote, like two weeks ago! I really like it 😌)

[vivwrite]

With the Ghost of You(When the Sun Goes Down We All Get Lonely)

Maybe he’s just imagining, maybe its just another fantasy he pictures, but Luke seems semitransparent, a halo casting around his figure, holy, angelic.

“The night was very long but it didn’t seem long to the Snow Man; he stood lost in his own pleasant thoughts, and they froze until they crackled.”

or: Ashton meets Luke in a library, and the story tells itself. (AO3 link👇)

ooookay so my first fic for lashton and 5sos . Thanks for reading it. And tbh I'm extremely nervous because English's not my first language. So sorry for the mistakes lol.

One thing: I read Marquez's work in my first language, and I can't find the English version of it, so I translated the title and first sentence to English. There might be a mistake so sorry again lol

-

Ashton has always loved the library.

It isn't the school library, which is always so grand, demure, solemn, much like a robot- no, too cold and inhuman.

What he prefers, rather, is a smaller one run by a group of retired professors. It seems determined to hide itself in the northeastern corner of the campus, made up of three small but never crowded reading rooms. No matter when he walks through the doors be can find lamps shading yellowish circles on wooden tables, rows and rows of bookshelves up to the ceiling, and seats, beside small windows where the sunlight outside leaks in just perfectly on sunny afternoons.

To him it's always a getaway, a secret hiding place from the stressed and sometimes too fast school life, the only friend he can turn to when he isn't that enthusiastic about life, a comfort when facing another rock bottom. He's already studying a too rational subject; he'd love spending some time being just sensitive in here.

He'd spend hours and hours wandering among the bookshelves, picking one when he feels like it, skimming a few pages before deciding to read on or not. By doing this he feels just like a boy on the beach, amazed by an emerald or sapphire brought on shore by waves from time to time- what matters isn't just the book he gets. It's more of the communicating, the chore he gets to strike.

-

Unsatisfactory experiment result, loads of homework, a long and tiresome discussion with the professor about his research orientation- which he thinks is too early for him to consider, but she insists that as he has already got postgraduate recommendation he needs to consider it fully right now- and Ashton finds himself wandering in the library again, walking aimlessly, not for finding books, just to feel the connection.

It is a strange feeling, really, to be connected with books. Most of them on the shelves just seem to be books as they are, silent, quiet, lifeless. But, well, maybe it’s just his imagination- but some particular ones seem to be staring back- especially that one.

His hand automatically moves to pick that book out of the column.

It is quite delicate, a hard back small enough to be held on one hand, the title shimmering under the dim lights.

Ann’s Diary.

He remembers reading it in his teen years.

“Sorry, but that's mine.”

Ashton springs from the bookshelf. The book slips straight from his hand, hitting the wooden floor with a thud, as a boy rounds up from the other side.

He's tall- even taller than Ashton. And quite young, a freshman or sophomore, maybe. He is staring at Ashton from behind those strands of blonde, messy curls falling off to his face, piercing pale blue eyes met with his hazel ones, and that made his breath hitch for a second- although those eyes are definitely showing dismay.

"I... I don't really understand." He tries his best to cover all the confusion and fear- dealing with strangers always makes him uncomfortable (although he can manage it by acting cheerful and shit), especially with a pissed one.

But the boy seems determined to stay silent and on edge. He just flips the first page open, gesturing to a mark on it.

It's a two-word initial. Must have written quite a long time ago, as the lines are a bit blurry and the ink has faded into light gray. But he still recognizes the word, written in Italic, reading "L.H.".

Wait. The librarians never said that there is a place for personal collections.

Before he can ask about it the boy swirls around and walks off, leaving alone a dumbfounded Ashton.

-

He goes to ask the librarians, then the curator(because the librarians know nothing), about books with a L. H. written on it.

"This is a long story, darling, but it's late." Mrs. Hemmings' voice is collected and calm as always, but Ashton can tell that there is something as her eyes are a bit dull, "Maybe the other day."

-

His favorite spot in the library is a small table tucked behind seven rows of bookshelves of English literature(yes, he counts how many bookshelves are there), just besides a small window. Others rarely find it- unless they're crazy for novels by Adeline Virginia Woolf or they're just too bored to do anything else.

That's why he chooses here- There's no disruption, no noise, only the random shuffle for a person searching for books and pages being turned. Being alone.It suits him.

The sound of a chair pulling broke the silence,ripping him from the novel plot- someone has slipped into the chair opposite of him.

Well, fuck.

Ashton lifts his head from the pages, slight agitation rising from his chest, which shifted to utter surprise as his eyes meet a strangely familiar shade of blue.

Before he could say anything the boy blurts out , "Please... I want to explain."

For a moment Ashton just sits there, staring. Thoughts cloud his mind, tangling messily, laying conflicted- He was so senseless but now he seems so sincere! He won't trust his own voice right now, afraid that something stupid pops up all of a sudden. So he decides to just nod, a silent permit for the stranger to go on.

The boy clears his throat, looking a little nervous, "About the incident yesterday... I'm sorry. Got into something stupid and was shouted at all day long- but, I mean, fuck, even that isn't the reason I became such a jerk to you. I'm not trying to defend myself, but please don't be angry... Oh my fucking god, I don't know what I'm saying." He groans, pushing a hand through his curls, messing it up a bit.

Well, isn't that adorable.

Ashton hears himself chuckling, "I understand, no worries. Everyone has a bad day, don't we?"

He watches as the boy visibly relaxes with the reassuring words, a smile slipping on on his face, "Yeah, I guess. Thanks... Um, what's your name, by the way?"

Oh, right.

"Ashton."

"Thanks, Ashton." the boy's smile widens, "I'm Luke."

So the initial does belong to him. The L. H..

It's not until silence falls that Ashton realizes he may have stared at those sea- blue, sincere eyes for a bit too long. Hastily he ducked his head into his novel, flushed, trying to pick up the stream of Woolf's consciousness again.

"Virginia Woolf?" Luke's voice cuts in, and to Ashton's surprise- filled with pure interest.

Everyone else just thinks he's crazy and nerdy fancying Woolf's works.

"You like her?" He can't help but feel hope lighting up.

"One of my favorite!" Luke's literally buzzing with excitement, like a puppy finally getting some fresh air after a long lockdown in the house, "Never found another person to discuss, though. Everyone just say it's too hard to understand and shits."

And with that their conversation swiftly shifts into a heated discussion about stream of consciousness novels, to Woolf, then Proust, Faulkner, all way up the history, even to Freud- and Ashton finds, surprisingly, that they can strike a chord in every part of it- and the way Luke talks relentlessly, smiling so broad, eyes shining and hands waving- tells him he holds the same feelings, same thought, same passion.

His throat's sore- he hasn't talked that much in like, forever- but that doesn't stop him from being smug like an idiot when he leaves the library.

He's been alone for a long time, But it seems that he has finally found someone.

-

He starts to spend more time in the library- first just to do some more leisure reading and writing stuff there, then he starts bring his textbooks and laptop there to finish his homework, then even starts to stay there as long as he neither has classes nor needs to go back to the dorm. Yes, he admits it's kind of strange one's never tired of a library- especially that he has already ploughed through every part since he first stepped into it- but he knows why- a cute boy with ocean blue eyes and a smile is always there now.

It has become a routine. Luke accompanies him every day, sometimes already halfway through a novel when Ashton arrives, while other times Luke shows up merrily when he’s buried in the middle of projects and homework, bringing in a sense of cool breeze and fresh air before peeking over and ushering him to take a break(well sometimes the work has to be done, but Luke’s so sweet that he can’t refuse). Their time spent together is usually quiet, Ashton either typing away on his laptop or on a book, while Luke is immersed in his own novel, just piping up from time to time to discuss the plot or asking about the author. Topic wanders- books, school life, bands, music (seriously, how many same hobbies do they hold?).

They have went through so many fields- Stream of Consciousness to Science Fiction, Agatha Christie to Akudagawa, Shakespeare's Sonnet to Samuel Ullman's prose, but the list still seems far from ending. To Ashton's surprise Luke have read most of the writers not only by representative works but also less- famous chapters- many of which he only knows but has never read. He had thought he's an English Literature student, but Luke amazed him again by saying he studies Math actually- the same amazement occurred again when Luke discovered the chemistry paper Ashton's working on.

He can’t recall the last time he felt this content -Well, he can’t even remember when he has become so silent and depressed, on edge and under pressure.

But seems Luke has already become the solution.

-

Ashton sighs, recoils back in his chair, takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes- He never learns the lesson of not leaving your homework to the deadline, fuck it.

Besides him Luke rises his head, a slight smile tugging at his lips, "You finally done?"

He just groaned, eyes shut."I wonder how the fuck you can even finish your homework. You never seem to be doing anything related to math."

"Maybe that's because all can be done quickly if I want."

Smug idiot.

"Wait till you're a post graduate and you'll know what's torture."

"Will quit right after four years, then."

Ashton scowls, cracks open one eye and spares a hand to flip Luke off, to which he ducks away (he always does) and giggles, "You're of no fucking help."

"What do you want me to do, then?"

"Don't know. Tell me a story. Or just read something. As long as I'm not thinking my head off about the synthesis route of some stupid fucking molecule I'll be fine."

He heard a light chuckle, "Aye- Aye, Captain, here we go."

The sound of pages turning, Luke clearing his throat, then,"'It's so bitterly cold that my whole body crackles!' Said the Snow Man."

Ashton lifts an eyebrow wearily,"Now you're telling me an Andersen's Fairy Tale?"

"Shh. Shut up and be a good boy. It's my favorite one." then, "This wind can really blow life into you! And how that glaring thing up there glares at me!" He meant the sun; it was just setting..."

Luke reads on, and Ashton finds himself relaxing, sinking into the familiar tale he’s read hundreds of times as a toddler, following the thread of the story, recalling the dialogue, how the Snow Man calls the Old Watchdog “my friend”.

Luke's voice fades for a brief second, then returns, slightly changed, softer, “Then the Snow Man looked, and he really saw a brightly polished thing with a brass stomach and fire glowing from the lower part of it. A very strange feeling swept over the Snow Man...”

Here comes the part- tracing the memory he can still feel it, the confusion when toddler him read to this part, then realization and excitement for no reason when he picked it up again, just for one time, before he come to this city.

He thought a new place brings a new life. That he would finally leave that old black and white town. He thought he knew what life was all about, what love was.

So ambitious, so young, so dumb.

Ashton blinks furiously, shaking the thoughts flooding up away from his mind. He’s here, in his favorite place, with an adorable boy who keeps his company, reading a tale to him. He’s fine, they’re fine, it’s fine.

His eyes lands on Luke.

The small lamp on the table is tilted slightly, soft golden light casting gently down on the boy’s right side, splitting a silhouette, leaving the left side of his face in the shadow. Curls falls off his face, dangling. His long, thick eyelashes turns to an almost-silver color under the light, trembling slightly, dancing altogether with the little particles floating in the air, as those blue eyes, clear as the sunny day but still deep as the sea, moves with each line, each word on the page. Maybe he’s just imagining, maybe its just another fantasy he pictures, but Luke seems semitransparent, a halo casting around his figure, holy, angelic.

“The night was very long but it didn’t seem long to the Snow Man; he stood lost in his own pleasant thoughts, and they froze until they crackled.”

The story’s still going, coming to an end, and Luke’s voice, a little raspy now, is merely above a whisper, like if he tells it any louder the fragile, beautiful tragedy will be destroyed.

“Come out, dear sun! Come often, skies of blue!

And nobody thought any more about the Snow Man.”

And with that Silence falls, a sad love story coming to its end.

For a while they just sits, looking into each others eyes.

The atmosphere’s changed, he knows it, can feel it. It’s a brand new feeling, one he has never felt, the rising urge, the need, the want, to get closer to the boy in front of him, to truly know him, to be with him, go through everything with him, feel the same with him, to like him, love him.

Hesitantly, he reaches out, slowly, hand trembling.

For a moment Luke seems to be on the same page with him, eyes fluttering shut and automatically leaning in, but suddenly he gasps, like being reminded of something he has long forgotten, and recoils back sharply, Ashton’s hand touches nothing but air.

Why.

“It’s late, Ash.” Luke whispered, not looking him in the face, “Maybe the other day.”

-

Something’s changed between them.

Not that the intimacy has changed- no. They still meets at the very table, reading and chatting, Luke still listens to his bickering about homework and fucking lab life- but something’s there, like The Sword of Damocles, hanging dangerously, but both just choose to ignore it.

Luke’s still Luke, sweet and gentle, cute and caring. But he’s somewhat quieter then before- he’s still chatting when it comes to their hobbies, but he always stops abruptly after the topic’s over, cutting the conversation.

It’s only that Ashton’s confused, confused about fucking all of it, confused about why Luke refused his invitation, why Luke takes a step back while he finally decides to step forward. It’s like an invisible barrier is built, all things suddenly turns indefinite without reason.

He hate it. He fucking hate all of it.

It’s only worse that he’s stuck in the library right now- it’s pouring outside, he’s left his umbrella at home, his jacket has no hat, and Luke’s oddly quiet.

He’s reading, more of scanning automatically, mind crowded with uncomfortable thoughts, screaming at him to at least find out what’s wrong with Luke(he don’t know how when they’re in this awkward state), to pluck up his courage and try again(well look what a coward he becomes when it comes to pining), to get this mess sorted (to which he has absolutely no fucking idea).

Fucking shitty day.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed- the sky is darkening, pure black seeping into pale gray, as the window starts to mirror the lighted lamp, making it unable to see the outside.

He hears a sigh, then the sound of book shut.

He can see those clear blue eyes from the corner of his eye, a little dim than usual, like the eyes of a sad puppy, and that almost break his heart. He wants to get close to the boy again, tell him it’s okay, he’s here, no need to keep those shit all alone and stuff- but instead he stares intently at the screen, so hard that his eyes starts to water, cursing himself inwardly.

A pause. Then, “Ash.”

Ashton gives himself a slap in the head, then puts on his most cheery face, “Yeah?”

Luke shakes his head furiously, “Don’t... Don’t act in front of me. I know you’re not well these days, and it’s all because of,” He waves his hand impatiently, then pulls his curls, casting out another deep sigh, “Yes, I... feel there is something I need to explain.”

And again he finds himself lost of words, exactly like the last time Luke made an explanation. But Luke’s acting different- strange. He’s frowning, shifting in his seat, hands tightly clasped together, teeth tugging at his lower lip, eyes filled with... fear.

Luke has never gone frightened in front of him.

“Hey, hey.” He reaches out, trying to grab Luke’s hand, but the boy squealed and pulls away abruptly again- so he just sighs, being as comforting as possible, “It’s okay, Luke. All okay.”

Finally the boy seems to have made the decision. He points to the book he just finished, which is lying on the table now, “The second short story.”

“You’re making me a puzzle through Marquez? Typical.” Ashton picks up the book, checking the writer. He’s trying to make a joke, but it came out weak and not funny at all, as Luke just sighs again and rests his head in his hands.

“I don’t know how to say it, so.” God, he hates how Luke’s voice sounds, all hurt and in pain.

“Luke, I mean, I’m not forcing you, but you know you can tell me everything-” panic’s rising, and he feels the urge, that they’re coming to the crossroads-

“Um, Ashton?”

He’s never hated life- the approaching librarian as well- more than now.

“Yes?”

She comes to stand beside him, a hand on his shoulder, “It’s ten now and we’re closing in five minutes. You need an umbrella?”

“Um, just a minute. We have something to discuss. I promise it’ll be quick.” He gestures to the seat across the table, where he knows Luke’s sitting.

He expects a nod, but her face is puzzled, coated with a layer he can’t read, “We? But Ashton, there’s no one across the table.”

“What?”

His head whips around, so quick that he thinks he must have strained his neck. He closes his eyes, then opens them again- yes, Luke is sitting right there, in the chair, totally frozen besides the nervous act just now- but he’s there.

“But...”

She only shakes her head, “You’re the only one here all day, Ashton. No one else feels like coming on such a stormy weather.”

With that she leaves.

Ashton turns back to Luke frantically, “What the hell-”

He’s met with a stony face and watery blue eyes. Luke seems defeated and in total grief.

“Tell me, Luke. Tell me!” Panic overcomes him, his voice three octaves higher than usual. It can’t be real, it’s just his fantasy, things like this can’t happen in real life...

Luke holds out his trembling hand, and very slowly, reaches over, linking it with Ashton’s.

A wave of icy cold rises up- from his feet up to his spine, overwhelming him, drowning him, making his head dizzy, the world turning, the sense-

The sense of not being touched.

Luke’s hands go straight through his.

“Because they can’t see me.” The silhouette figure whispers, voice barely audible.

“I’m not as real as you see me, Ash.”

-

The next three days come and go like a blurry scene.

Ashton remembers it just vaguely- he remembers fleeing out of the library, running alone the dark campus path till his chest burns and every breath becomes a burden. He remembers the rain, pouring down and hitting him relentlessly, flowing off his face, mixed with some warm fluid he didn’t dare to think about. He remembers walking back to the dorm, all worn out and broken down, throwing himself on his bed and crying till weariness finally came over. He slept, then woke, then ushered himself into sleep again, like only in dreamland he could forget all of it, until he was really not able to sleep anymore.

He pushes himself up from his bed and stumbles into the bathroom, eyeing himself in the mirror. He looks like shit, even worse than a hangover, purple bags hanging from his eyes and hair sticking in all directions. He sighs, turning to walk from the bathroom, cursing as he nearly trips over something on the ground- but the word died halfway in his throat.

It’s that book. The Collection of Marquez’s Short Stories. He must have thrown it on the floor that night.

Ashton swallows, hesitant- he’s not that sure if he’s ready to face it, that memory, that typical boy- but his hand does it for him, already flipping through the pages.

The second work, what is the second work......

He sees the title.

Someone Messed up the Roses.

He takes in a breath.

Today’s Sunday, the rain’s stopped, and I want to pick some red and white roses to my grave...

His eyes is welling up, but he reads on, about the story of a boy’s ghost and his sister, a wish never coming true, a story of love and regret.

There’s a note, written in Italic, at the corner of the page, end of the story, black ink suggesting it’s freshly written.

You have given me the happiest moments my whole life and beyond life, Ash. It might be like a cheesy novel, but I love you and I’m sorry.

Luke Hemmings

He’s crying before he knows it.

“Fuck, Luke.”

-

The scenery outside the window’s changing, fading from concrete jungle to fields and woods. On the end of the road, a hill’s approaching.

He’s sitting in the bus, hand clutching at Marquez’s Collection and a piece of paper- a piece of paper Mrs. Hemmings gave him, showing a route to the place he wants to go.

The vehicle stops and Ashton stands, hopping off the bus, going for the iron door just beside the muddy road.

He pushes it open, the rust on it sticking on his hands, the scent of soil coming up to greet him. As he keeps walking stones appears- delicately carved, yet lifeless.

An oak. That’s what she told him- an oak beside him.

He lifts his head, looking around, and found it- an oak, already tall, rising from the soil, pointing straight to the pale-gray sky.

Uncertainty and fear echoes in the back of his mind, trying to stop him, as he just goes on.

He’s already experienced lost once. He doesn’t want to lose it again.

He stops in front of the oak, hesitates before sitting down, cross- legged.

“I don’t know what to say, Luke.”

He stops, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“A part of me is telling me to forget all this, deny it, wave it off as a dream. It’s all just a fantasy, something I pictured, and I’m supposed to, I should...”

“But, Luke, every minute spent with you is so real.”

“They would say I’m crazy, everyone will; I mean, who would believe a person falling in love with someone already gone- and supposed to be in the state of nonexistence? But... you’re like someone I finally found, a person in this world who could understand me... Who I’ve searched for my whole life.”

He sniffs, blinking away the tears welling up, “You know, during my years alone I’ve learned about not to expect, not to hope; but you... you bring the difference, like a light suddenly cracking in. I mean... if you’re there, if you’re really there... please, just please, give me something to hope, to wish for, and don’t just go away like that.”

“Because I’m so lonely,” He finally let it slip, “So lonely, Luke.”

A soft wind picks up, leaves rustling, like an answer. But as he listens on everything just stays silent, like they’ve always been forever. No silhouette, no soft voice belonging to a boy.

The sky’s getting dark, so he just pushes himself up and leaves.

-

He continues with the life. Attending classes, finishing homework, finally deciding his research orientation. His professor says something about “A big step” and “I know you can do it”, which he just brushes it all off, not truly listen.

He continues to go to the library- but not sitting in that very table anymore, and just stays there for less then an hour each day. He’s read Someone Messed Up the Roses again and again, like all of the other works have suddenly lost their attraction to him.

The pages are all dog-eared and worn out, but he just goes on with it, flipping the pages, ready to read the short story for like the twentieth time.

“I wouldn’t treat a book like that, you know.”

He jumps from his seat, eyes widening, turning around.

Someone turns up from behind the bookshelf.

Messy curls, sea- blue eyes, the lips curling up in a slight smile.

It’s like a dream. He’s in a dream.

Like he can read Ashton’s mind, the blonde walks straight up to him and extends his arms, wrapping him into an embrace.

He feels warmth.

Still no feelings of being touched, the figure still semitransparent, but warmth.

“It’s real. Don’t doubt it.” Luke’s voice is soft, reassuring, barely above a whisper.

Just like he remembers.

The warmth doesn’t fade, like when he’s standing under the afternoon sun, closing his eyes, feeling the hope coming up.

He finally believes it- tears are sliding down his face before he knows it.

“Luke."

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

Winter Rain

I'd like to thank @xerxezra for the encouragement. I really needed it, and to the Enya song in which the title and fic is based on. I'm still working on the fic to go with a fanart of mine, but until then feel free to check out my other fics which can be found on my Fanfic Masterpost or Ao3 links which are in my description under my header.

In this fic the reader deals with a change in plans.

_______________

City streets were passing by, underneath stormy skies. No, there were no neon signs but there were cargo trains rolling by on the tracks parallel to the main road. Hmm, wasn't that an Enya song? Perhaps it was.

Funny that you were thinking of new age songs when none were playing on the radio, though you wouldn't have minded if any music was on; it would've made a difference. Enya's songs in themselves reminded you of that one teacher in elementary school who wore that cherry brooch you liked and drowned herself in a bottle of perfume. Your teacher, whatever her name, was halfway pleasant, but always wore a blouse which was a size too big and thus you always saw more of her then you cared to whenever she leaned over a desk to assist another student. Another Enya song, Only Time, reminded you of that one book you tried to read around that time with the questionable cover. Of course, neither of these things had anything to do with the drive home, but it was a passing nostalgia you couldn't pass up.

Wiry, naked trees were scattered along the way; none of them of much consequence except to the fragments of your imagination, where they were dancers in a wintery, mournful ballet. For his part, Rick was unaware of these random thoughts, for you had not mentioned them, but you did wonder about something else when you took a glance at the time and found you two were getting home a little faster than usual. “Rick, do you prefer driving? Or is flying in your spaceship easier?”

“I-I think each one is great in its own way,” he answered, keeping his eyes on the road. “but th-the fastest way to travel is by using my portal gun.”

“So it is. Hmm, makes me wonder what the Flash would have to say about that.” you commented as rain pitter-pattered against the passenger side window. “I bet he'd have a few things to say if you can catch him.”

“Gee, I don't know. I'll ugh - I'll have to ask him the next time I'm in his Earth dimension.”

Sometimes you didn't know if he was being serious or simply joking, though you tended to believe him, especially since it only added to your natural wonder. Your curiosity was a quality which tickled him immensely, but whether he could withstand it while driving was not something you were about to test. Outside, straight ahead, the roads looked all the same, although, to the discerning eye, one would notice the cracks here and there, and the splattered paint on the curb closest to city hall and the fire station. And while the roads were neither empty or full, you would say they were in want of life and perhaps a good shoveling, but with whatever technology hidden in the nooks and crannies of his station wagon, you two drove on the icy roads with ease. It was cold outside, but you weren't cold; Rick made sure of that by giving you the heated seat and a quilt to drape over yourself.

You were, however slightly bored because Zeta-7 hadn't been talking all that much this evening. He had been in a mood and you thought it could've had something to do with the phone call he received while you two were at the craft shop but he didn't say. It hadn't made him any less sweet, but he seemed distant in a familiar way that you were sure you had experienced some time ago. Perhaps he was fearful, he would have reason; contemplative as always; afraid, to an almost unhealthy degree, but risking a chance to placate him, you joked. “Are you trying something new? Is it a seduction tactic, cause I'm certainly intrigued.”

“Wh-what?” he blushed, as he turned the corner to head towards your street.

“Aren't you trying the broodish thing all cool guys do in those cheap romance novels? You know, the kind they sell at the drugstore?” you giggled, turning up the heat in the car to fit your preference.

“Gosh, n-n-no. I ugh - I-I don't think I'm cool enough t-t-to do that.”

“Really? Well, I think if you wanted to you could, though I doubt you'd try it unless convinced it would work. Not sure how effective it would be on me, but this isn't about me. What's going on with you,” you questioned with a serious, but gentle candor. “you haven't said much tonight.”

“I ugh - I have a few things on my mind is all, but it's going t-to be okay. I'm sorry if I alarmed you.”

“Not too much, I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Are you?”

Stopping in front of your home, he admitted with a sudden disheartenment. “I don't know. Sometimes it's - it's hard to know especially if you hear bad news but I th-think I will be. Eventually.”

One of his watches was flashing, and it made you wonder if it meant what you thought it meant. While you couldn't read the line of code which passed over its digital face, you thought you'd seen a similar line of code before. “Are you going to have to go? Is that what's bothering you? I know you promised that we'd paint together tonight, but you won't be able to will you?”

“No, I'm - I'm sorry. I had asked for the whole week off, but this - it's from my supervisor. I can't ignore it. I have to go in. I-I really wish I didn't have to.”

“Oh Rick, if you had to go, why didn't you tell me earlier? I would've understood.”

“You were having such a-a great time picking out supplies that I didn't - I couldn't bring myself to crush your excitement. Now th-that I think about it, I don't know if this was any better, but I-I asked that I'd be able to bring you home first so that I wouldn't have to worry about leaving you there without a-a word.”

Zeta-7 hated to break his promises, and you hated the feeling of a broken promise, but as he switched the car off, and you two walked towards your porch, you admitted. “I would've figured it out and got home somehow. I mean there's enough Uber drivers in this town, and one of them would've driven me home, but I'm glad that at least I had this time with you. Please be careful and visit me whenever. You know you can.”

Instead of comforting him as your easy resignation usually would, he balled his fists and hit them against the railing; hateful of his own inadequacies. You had to admit that when he got upset, it caught you off guard, but it also reminded you that he still was very much a Rick, albeit a softer one. “Th-this wasn't supposed to happen. I-I don't understand why it always comes to this. We were - I had so many things planned out for us and th-”

You hugged him from behind, interrupting what he was going to say. “There will always be next time. Calm down,” you cooed, “it's all going to be okay. It's not the end of the world and I'm not upset by it.”

“But I don't - I don't want t-to keep doing this to you. I promised.”

“I know, but it's not like you do this on purpose. You see, this is what happens when a girl like me dates a guy like you. Expect the unexpected, and maybe a few space worms every once in a while if I eat a sandwich from a gas station on a comet somewhere. These things happen.”

“I wish it - it didn't. Lately,” he confessed, his voice taking on its softer quality. “I've been thinking a-about when I'd like to retire. Maybe I finally should.”

“Whatever you want to do, I'm okay with it. As long as it makes you happy, but only if you do it without regret. You would know best of course.”

“I-I certainly hope so.”

You two stood there in silence for a moment, but you heard a beeping noise emanate from under his sleeve. “I d-don't want to say goodbye, but I'll miss you m-mi corazón.”

When he wasn't around, your home felt emptier,

though you refrained from saying so, and because you didn't want to add to his guilt you simply said. “I'll miss you too.”

“Th-there's a chance I won't see you in a few days. At least it will feel th-that way for me.”

“You can always call me, and if you can't then I'll see you when I see you. You know where I'll be.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “somewhere I-I'm not.”

“Don't say that. You're always on my mind, and I'd like to think you're always with me, in one way or another. There's no way I couldn't think of you.”

He turned around to face you, his eyes appearing twice as expressive through his glasses. Zeta-7 studied you and brushed his thumb across the back of your hand. “Siempre estás c-conmigo, and because of - of that, I'm never truly l-lonely.”

“Oh Rick, I love you.”

As easily as it was to adore him with your entire being, so it was to break his heart. Whether it had been a lack of love or an abundance of heartache in his life thus far which shook him to his bones, a replenishing of spirit was always in order. You weren't tall, you never had been, but stepping on the tips of your toes, you pressed a kiss on his cheek that never failed to floor him, and marvel as though it were from a fairy queen; one comprised of stardust and moonbeams. “This means you belong to me. Got it cutie? No one else has dibs except for me, so don't look so surprised. You're mine.”

Like a tease, the weather picked up and the strong gust which followed made you shiver, which alarmed him and prevented his reply. You were trying to tough it out because he could be gone at any moment. And must've sensed this, for against your control you shivered once more, but he pulled off his own scarf to wrap around your neck. “It's going t-t-to get colder,” he said protectively. “so please don't forget to wrap yourself up tonight. I um - I placed a-a few thick blankets in your closet just in case. Why d-don't you go inside?”

“Because I can bear it for a little bit longer. Thank you,” you smiled sweetly up at him, despite losing feeling in your cheeks. “but I doubt I'll try to leave my house for the next few days. I'll look after this for you. Hopefully, it's going to be warmer where you're going.”

“I-I can't say, it's…”

“Classified information.” you finished.

“Gosh, I-I-I guess you know th-the drill by now. Smart girl.”

“Maybe. I don't know much, but I know you, and that you can't tell me certain things because you don't want whichever information to be held against me. At least I'm learning. Either way,” you softened, buttoning the top button on his jacket. “please be careful.”

“I-I will. Can I um - can I-I give you a kiss?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

Though of course, he would ask as though your disappointment would disqualify his validity to partake of your affection. He bent down to try to kiss you goodbye, his glasses fogging up at the closeness between you two, but a portal opened right behind him and the guard Rick's on the other side pulled him through. And like that, he was gone again; without a choice; without a goodbye. Your arms which had been around his waist a moment ago, you brought down to rest at your sides, and you too clenched your fists in quick frustration but found yourself halfway exhausted by the cold temperatures and suddenness of it all.

His scarf felt warm and soft about your neck and smelled like him; of vanilla, and of whatever his house smelled like. You thought of the painting that you two would not do tonight, and how you were once again alone. That seemed to magnify it all, intensify the fact that you might've always been alone and destined to remain as such. It used to make you cry when you realized that he could be taken from you at any moment, but you had gotten used to it, or at least you thought you did. Only a few hours ago, you two were at a café, discussing painting techniques and how with a little practice you too could paint that little tree you liked that was growing in the corner of your yard; his enthusiasm was contagious, and you were pumped because you really wanted to show him you had been practicing.

If once again someone cried, then it was you because he couldn't cry where he was going; he wouldn't dare to and repress it for as long as he could help it; if only you were as strong.

Oh, winter rain, how could it relate? It knew little except its natural way; of falling upon the earth; of life; of beginnings; of letting go; of uncertainty. Yet, it wasn't the rains fault; it does not know and could not know; if only. It was cold, and you were cold, with the only part of you that was really warm being where his scarf was.

Thinking of what lied in store for him made you want him back all the more so that you could hold him, and make him feel safe. You wanted him back now because it seemed so unfair that they'd take him when he didn't want to go, but you couldn't bring him back; not even for his sake; being against your power just like the rain. For now, all you could do was only open the front door to your home and step in as the last train passed by; not knowing when the next will come.

Fin

[imagine-ddadds-blog]

Honestly I'd love anything with Brian he's my fav and there really isn't a lot of him :(

“brian is one of my faves…. hes so big and soft and i wanna squeeze him. here’s some fluff. ur name is Dadsona. -dad dan

based off of this prompt

Dadsona worked from home often, so he never really talked about his day. It seemed pretty obvious to Brian what he did all day anyways- take calls, work on his laptop, all that boring stuff. 

Brian never wanted to press Dadsona to talk about it. He knew Dadsona’s job stressed him out. Whenever Brian came home, he would usually find him asleep on the couch or still working.

Brian never worried about it. The house was always in one piece by the time he got home, so he had no reason to worry.

Sometimes, though, Brian wondered.

And Brian wondered on the wrong day.

He got off of work early- he finished a client’s deck sooner than he had expected, and sooner than he told Dadsona he’d be home.

Brian thought about stopping at Home Depot to pick up a few things, but instead of taking the turn to the store, he found himself driving home and walking through the front door. 

Halfway into calling his name, he sees Dadsona. On the floor. Sitting next to an open bottle of Jack Daniels and an empty glass, singing softly to the music playing on the radio.

“…Maxwell?”

His corgi was dressed up in a Thor costume, one that Daisy had bought for him during Halloween several years ago. They couldn’t get it on him back then, but for some reason, Maxwell sat still aside for his butt wagging violently as Dadsona zipped up the outfit.

“Babygirl, ‘whas yo name?” Dadsona hummed the lyrics and swayed dangerously to the right. He caught himself before he fell over, slightly confused for a moment before grabbing the next piece to the costume. 

Maxwell looks so excited. He has no idea what’s going on.

“Lemme talk to ya, lemme buy you a drink…” he trails off as he struggles with the cape, trying to put it on backwards.

Brian can’t contain his laughter anymore. He keels over and closes the door behind him.

Dadsona looks up, just now noticing that Brian came home. Maxwell barks and whines loudly when Brian sits down next to them, ready to Receive Attention. He leaps into Brian’s arms, leaving Dadsona pouting and dogless.

The music picks up a little and Dadsona seems to remember what he was doing. Brian can’t stop looking at him. He looks adorable. 

“I got money in the bank, shawty, what you think bout that?” Dadsona scoots closer to Brian and rests his head on his shoulder as he clips the cape on Maxwell. 

Maxwell didn’t like that. He’s rolling on the floor now.

“We in the bed like- M-Maxwell! We still gotta… the helmet.” He lurches forward to try and grab the corgi, but Brian puts his arm around Dadsona’s waist to keep him from falling on his dog.

Dadsona didn’t like being pulled back, but he relaxed into Brian’s arms anyways, soaking in his boyfriend’s warmth.

Brian presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Let me help.” But by the time he looked up, Maxwell had already run off to go roll around on the floor somewhere else.

Dadsona didn’t seem to notice. He has his eyes closed, cheek pressed against Brian’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re having fun working from home,” Brian says after taking a few moments to look at Dadsona’s sleepy face.

Dadsona’s eyes open. He’s offended. He sits up, trying to defend himself.

“I, we… Robert!” He points at the Jack Daniels bottle like he was accusing it of murder. “That!”

Brian sighs softly, trying to calm him down by rubbing his back. “So the Jack Daniels told you to go into the closet, find Maxwell’s Thor costume, and dress him up?”

Dadsona’s face is red.

“I-I’m gettin there, babe. Hold on.” He grabs the Jack Daniels bottle and holds it up. “Robert. He came over for a sec to say ‘thanks for mowing the lawn that one time’.” Brian knows for a fact that he didn’t mow Robert’s lawn because he was actually the one that did it, but he lets Dadsona continue. 

“He left it with me ‘cause I told him I only drink fruity drinks. It’s not fair, Brian. It’s gross. I don’t wanna drink it. Didn’t touch it. Look at it.” Dadsona said ‘look’ as though Brian could absorb the taste just by staring at it. 

Brian takes the bottle from Dadsona’s flailing hands before he could spill it, laughing to himself. He sets it down on the coffee table.

He can’t get over how cute Dadsona looks- face flushed pink, an irritated expression on his face. “Yeah, it… sure looks gross.” The bottle is half empty.  

Dadsona throws his arms up. “I know!” The motion causes him to fall into Brians lap. He twists his body around so he can look up at him. “And- and Maxwell. He told me to do it, Brian.”

He runs his fingers through Dadsona’s hair. “Right.”

Dadsona jolts, trying to sit up. “No! Brian, he told me.”

At this, Brian gets up and lifts Dadsona off the ground. He presses his lips to his forehead again and carries him to the bedroom.

“Wh-Where are you taking me?”

“Shhh. You need some sleep.”

Brian finds himself laying in bed after a few protests and insistent tugs on his shirt. He feels gross and sweaty from working in the sun, but Dadsona doesn’t seem to mind, wrapping his legs around Brian and laying his head on his chest.

Dadsona’s never gonna live this down.