#either way its unbelievably lame

[pollenallergie]

I just know that Eddie secretly loves skincare… but only because you love it. Of course, you get him some skin care essentials so that he can create his own ~*custom*~ daily routine, but the man hardly ever uses them. At best, Eddie sometimes uses the cleanser you bought him to wash his face in the shower, but most the time he either forgets to wash his face entirely or (more often) he does it with the same cheap bar of soap he uses to wash everything else. Really, he prefers to watch you work through your own simple three/four step routine. In Eddie’s opinion, there’s something oddly therapeutic, soothing even, about watching the one he loves do something that you so clearly enjoy; even if its something as mundane as washing your face or applying some moisturizer. 

Occasionally, Eddie will partake in skincare with you, but only because he loves that its a peaceful activity that he gets to do with his favorite person. His favorite aspects of skincare are facemasks. In fact, Eddie loves, loves, loves when you come home with new face masks for him to try; especially when they’re the ones that you have to like spread on his face. Clays, gels, creams, he loves them all, mostly because you’ve deemed him too messy to use them on his own. Instead of giving him the opportunity to make an absolute mess of things, you do every single step for him while pampering him along the way. During the application process, you give Eddie a nice facial massage as you spread the slightly chilly substance all over his skin. Then, instead of letting him wash it off himself - because he just gets water all over the bathroom when he does that - you take a warm, damp wash cloth and gently wipe it off for him. Once his skin is all bright and clean, you even give him another little facial massage when you apply some moisturizer to skin, paying extra special attention to his masseter muscles because the poor bean tends to clench his teeth. The whole experience is just absolutely wonderful for our dear Eddie because you dote on him the entire time; he fucking adores it. Mr. Edward Francis Munson (because I genuinely believe that man has the lamest middle name ever; most hot guys do and its usually a family name or some shit like that) is not a big fan of sheet masks though, mostly because they’re really slimy in a way that he’s not super fond of, plus the lack of mess means that you allow him to do them mostly independently and, therefore, don’t really dote on him as much. Although, he doesn’t necessarily hate them, he’ll still use them if you offer him one, but he typically prefers the messier masks; he’s a messy dude.  

Also, every other Friday, after Eddie gets his paycheck, he takes you to your favorite beauty shop so that you can stock up on your staple products and maybe, if you’re feeling particularly adventurous, splurge on a couple new things for the both of you to try. You two often don’t have much money to spend on non-essentials, but skincare is one of those extravagances that you allow yourselves to indulge in whenever its feasible to do so. After all, Eddie would sooner have no money to his name, no food in his belly, and no home to return to than deny you the pleasure of indulging in one of your favorite things in the whole wide world. Is that too dramatic? Probably, but this is Eddie the Thespian we’re dealing with here. 

[hotmessmaxpress]

This is SHITE but it's writing so I'm holding it out to you like a cat bringing its loving owner a dead mouse.

Vale doesn't admit it until they're back together, having reconciled. They're still tiptoeing around the heavy baggage of their past, only acknowledging it when it's unavoidable.

They're in bed, sweaty and bare, and Vale is tracing the lines on Marc's face. He gently slides the tips of his fingers down, from the crinkles at the edges of Marc's beautiful eyes to the smile lines that bracket his lips. His fingers continue down, running gently over his tanned neck and strong shoulders, down the scars on his arm until he can tangle their fingers together.

"I'm not as young as I used to be," Marc says, laughing with a touch of the plastic stiffness he uses with the media.

Vale senses that this is an important moment.

"You're beautiful," he says, somewhat lamely but with total honesty. Marc is beautiful. He always has been and will always be.

He is definitely different than their last attempt at a relationship, if you could call it that, though. Then again, Vale has changed just as much.

Marc laughs stiffly again, glancing away.

Vale frowns.

"I know you aren't as young anymore," Vale adds, treading carefully. "I am not either."

"You were never young," Marc teases, and Vale is relieved to find that Marc has relaxed, and lost his plastic tone. He's genuinely smiling now, though it's a small smile.

Vale pretends to be affronted, scoffing.

"I have eternal youth."

"Immaturity," Marc corrects.

That startles a laugh out of Vale, who can't argue. Marc has always been overly mature for his age, but even now he seems older than he is. Vale knows Marc has been through a lot, though his brain carefully doesn't think about the role he had to play in all of it, and he reckons that makes Marc seem older.

"I was worried--" Marc says, then pauses.

Vale bites his tongue and waits. Marc is clearly trying to find the words.

"You thought it was sexy that I was so young," Marc finally settles on. He says it with careful neutrality, tone light, but it still feels like an accusation.

Vale considers arguing, but he and Marc have been working on honesty. He can't bring himself to lie.

"I did."

Marc hums. Vale waits for him to say more, to explain what he's feeling, but he doesn't. It makes Vale anxious; he feels like he's done something wrong.

"What are you thinking?" he prompts, finally running out of patience.

Marc chews his lip, playing with Vale's fingers.

"I was worried that you would be bothered by how old I've gotten."

Vale laughs, and then corrects himself when he sees the flash of hurt across Marc's face. He sees Marc's defenses go up, and he soothes him with a kiss to the spot on his face where his eyebrows have now knit together.

"No, no. I laughed because you are not old."

Marc is still frowning. Vale sees Marc's youth in the way he pouts, in the way his jaw flexes as he chews the inside of his lip.

"You are older," Vale says. "But that's life. We grow and get older. I will love you when you're old."

"When I'm old you'll be ancient," Marc bitches, still frowning.

Vale laughs again.

"Yes. And?"

Marc glares at him. Vale is clearly not making him feel better.

"Okay, fine. I thought it was very sexy when you were so young and I was getting old. It was sexy to see how you looked at me so innocently. Now you are not young or innocent, but you're still sexy. You are unbelievable. Everything about you makes me want to keep you in my bed forever."

He presses a kiss to the corner of Marc's lips.

"Plus, I am in love with you."

Vale hopes Marc understands what he's trying to convey. The first time they tried this, Vale wasn't ready to be in love with Marc. He wasn't ready to admit that Marc loved him. This time he's made peace with it. This time he wants to be with Marc for the rest of his life, regardless of how old they are.

Marc seems to understand him. He kisses Vale sweetly, then pulls back to stare into his eyes. He must be satisfied with what he sees, because he finally smiles again.

Vale leans down to kiss Marc again.

"Okay?" he asks, just to be sure.

"Yes," Marc says, sounding relaxed. "I love you too."

[its-no-biggie]

okay i just finished rewatching fma brotherhood and can we please talk about how fuckin 15 ed is. like lots of anime protagonists are 15 but ed is *so* 15.

like- he needs to disguise the car so he makes it into a 15 year olds idea of a really cool car, and its so cringe the adults force him to change it. he makes ling a sword and puts a little skull on the handle (for literally no reason except that he presumably thought it would be cool, even though they were in the middle of getting their asses kicked by envy) and then gets defensive when ling calls it lame. he gets riled up unbelievably easily over NOTHING. his fighting style is scrappy- hes experienced but not disciplined, and he'll use whatevers on hand to get the job done. he'll mess around in the middle of a fight, use unnecessarily flashy moves/weapons, and hes just generally a nuisance in combat. he gets really flustered when people insinuate that winry is his girlfriend, and then when he DOES confess to her 2 years later he uses a fucking alchemy metaphor because hes a NERD.

im saying all of this with affection by the way- hes a cringe 15 year old because 15 year olds are cringe! i feel like most of the time these high school age protagonists are basically just adult characters with more naive ideals, or theyre a bit more emotional, or they have "childish" interests. ESPECIALLY with these high stakes action-adventure stories, where the fate of the world is in their hands. but a kid can have the weight of the world on their shoulders and still handle their emotions poorly, act recklessly, goof off at inappropriate times, and generally think and act in a way that adults wouldnt. and still be mature and competent characters! i mean, ed is a GREAT protagonist. he has a full understanding of the stakes and he knows how and when to get serious. but he also does shit like breaking into a secret government laboratory, alone, in the middle of the night, with no plan, and nearly gets himself killed in the process. because hes a reckless kid! and if he HADNT done that, they never would have found out the enemys plan in time!

and its just so perfectly executed- instead of childish traits being sprinkled on top of adult problem solving and emotional regulation, him being 15 informs how he acts all the time! sometimes this is a good thing because he solves problems in a unique way, and sometimes it causes even MORE problems. its a fundamental aspect of his character that contributes to both his strong and weak points.

and my absolute favourite part is that hes still treated like a person worthy of his title and reputation- not only by the adult characters, but by the narrative itself. but he isnt treated like an adult either! the adults around him dont talk down to him, but they also dont have adult expectations of him. theres a whole bit about how the adults shouldnt stand by while the children are on the battlefield- insinuating that while the children are worthy of standing on the battlefield alongside them, they also feel some responsibility to lead them since theyre the adults. which is super reasonable! its probably the best take on adult mentor figures for child main characters ive ever seen.

and yeah theres an argument to be made that it was pretty fucked up of mustang to recruit ed to the military at 12 years old. but he was super upfront with him about what it would entail and didnt force him into it. so watching it as an adult, yeah, its fucked up. but the target audience is kids and thats how kids want to be treated! yeah its a lot of responsibility, but ed knew that going in AND he has a huge support network of trustworthy adults who are looking out for him. hes fine. and hes DEFINITELY better off than most high school age protagonists, who are just sort of thrust into high stakes, life-threatening situations with little guidance. the dynamic is less "you are The Chosen One who will singlehandedly save the world" and more "i mean you certainly have the skills and we really appreciate you working with us but what the fuck is a child doing in the military. who authorized this?? youre going to get yourself killed PLEASE be more careful!" and like. if youre gonna have a show about a 15 year old saving the world, then thats definitely the way to do it.

and what really seals the deal is how pissed ed gets when people treat him like a kid. thats the most 15 year old thing ever! he FEELS like hes being talked down to and disrespected just because hes not given the same expectations and responsibilities as the adults. watching it as a 20 year old im super impressed by the way the adults treat ed, but i can also understand why ed gets so frustrated. its the nature of being a teenager and thinking you can handle more than you can. which really just solidifies how fuckin 15 he is

btw im not saying ed is the only well written teenager in the show. hes just the clearest example- hes so LOUD about who he is and it makes it really easy to talk about his character traits. also hes like my favourite character ever and i just have to talk about him. so like al and the rest are also really convincing kids, and a lot of this stuff kind of applies to all of them! im just talking about ed because i want to lmfao

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers LOST EDEN ー Yuma Dark [Prologue]

ー The scene starts in the living room of the Mukami manor

Kou: Hey, hey, Ruki-kun? Can I bring this with me?

Ruki: Kou...Just how many bags are you packing? We’re not going there on holiday. 

Kou: Ehー? But what if it gets stolen while we’re away?

Azusa: Don’t worry, we’ll make sure the place is locked up...

Ruki: Azusa’s right. Perhaps you should go and check whether all doors are properly locked before you get to packing.

Yui: ( ...We’re actually going to the Demon World. )

( I wonder if it’s okay for a human such as myself to tag along...? I’d lie if I said I wasn’t at least a little worried, but my decision was clear from the start. )

( I’ve long decided that I won’t leave Yuma-kun’s side after all. )

Yuma: ...Oi, Yui. Lend me yer ear for a sec.

Yui: What’s wrong?

ー They move closer

On certain CGs, little black roses will appear on the screen. If you click on them, you get an extra line of dialogue.

“When ya say that...It kind of makes me look lame. Like usually the guys says it first, no?”

“Ya really are unbelievable...But well, I guess I don’t dislike that side of yers.”

Yuma: You’ve been keepin’ quiet but...Are ya sure?

Yui: Eh? 

Yuma: You’re actin’ like it’s the most normal thing in the world, but I wanna know if you’re serious ‘bout going to the Demon World.

Sure, Eden might be important to us four but...It’s different for ya.

Yui: ...No, that’s not true. If it’s important to you guys, then it is to me as well. 

Besides, I’ll follow along anywhere. I want to be with you after all. 

Yuma: ...I mean, I figured you’d say somethin’ like that.

But I want ya to properly think this true. The Demon World has never been the safest place ‘round and now shit has really hit the fan.

I honestly have no idea what dangers might be lurkin’ ahead either. To take ya to such a place... 

Yui: You’re worried?

Yuma: ...Ya bet I am. I wouldn’t want anythin’ to happen to ya.

Yui: Thanks, Yuma-kun. But I’ll be okay.

I’ve made up my resolve...And besides, I think that you’ll keep me safe no matter what.

Yuma: ...

Yui: Am I wrong...?

Yuma: ...You’re not.

You’re not but it kind of pisses me off regardless!

*Rustle* 

Yui: Eeh!? W-Why?

Yuma: Ya sound so damn confident. Makes it look like I’m the only shy one.

Yui: ...You’re shy?

Yuma: ...See! Don’t ask me straight to my face like that!

Besides, why ‘you think’? I’ll protect ya for sure!

Yui: ...Fufu, right.

Yuma: Hmph. ...Good.

I’ll keep ya safe. Don’t forget that, no matter what happens.

Yui: Yeah!

( Yuma-kun is always there to protect me. He always has been...and I’m sure he always will be. )

( I can blindly follow him, because I have faith in him. )

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to the entrance hall of the Mukami manor

Ruki: Everyone’s ready?

Kou: All goodー

Azusa: I’ve got everything...

Yuma: How ‘bout ya?

Yui: Yeah, I’m good.

Ruki: Let’s go then. ーー To Eden.

ー The scene shifts to the underground waterway

Yui: Hey, can I ask something? What was it like to live at Eden?

Yuma: What is was like? ...Ya know?

Kou: It wasn’t all that unusual. A normal human could comfortably live there as well. 

Ruki: Karlheinz-sama set it up that way.

Yui: Karlheinz-san did...

Ruki: Even though we were not his real sons, he always took us into consideration...

His home...that was Eden. 

Yuma: I mean, obviously it’s gonna be important to us.

Yui: ( Both Yuma-kun and the others truly respect Karlheinz-san. )

( He was a Father figure to them, someone very important. ...But they’ve lost him. )

Ruki: Oi, don’t look so sad just from listening to us. Then you better prepare yourself for what’s to come when you actually come face-to-face with Eden. 

Yui: It’s that bad...? 

Ruki: ...You’ll see when we get there. 

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to the outside of Eden

Yui: ...This is...Eden...?

Ruki: ...Exactly.

Kou: It’s completely worn-down. It wasn’t like this at all in the past...

Azusa: The water has become stagnant and the air feels stale as well...

Yuma: The grass and flowers have all withered too. ...Damnit!

Ruki: This Castle shares its soul with its owner. When abandoned by said owner, it is only natural it would fall into ruin like this.

Yuma: ...So it’s that bastard’s fault?

Yui: ( He’s talking about Shuu-san...right? )

( After Karlheinz-san’s passing, Shuu-san was chosen as his successor. So naturally this Castle’s current owner is... )

Yuma: ...He won’t get away with this!

ー Yuma runs off

Yui: Yuma-kun!? Where are you going!? 

Yuma: Isn’t that obvious!? I’m gonna go give him a taste of my fists!

We gotta make sure he gets his shit together or this place will stay like this, right!?

Ruki: Calm down, Yuma. Try to think about it logically. Do you really think things would have gotten this bad if all he needed to motivate him was a hit on the head?

Yuma: ...I mean, ya might not be wrong but...! Ya want to just ignore it then!? 

ー Yuma walks away

Yui: Yuma-kun!

Azusa: Yuma...lost his temper...

Yui: I’ll go after him, okay?

Kou: Hmー.... I think it might be best to leave him alone for now?

Yui: Maybe but...I can’t help but be worried. I’ll go take a quick look.

ー Yui goes after him

Ruki: ...I’d rather she wouldn’t spoil him too much though.

Azusa: Eve is so kind...

ー The scene shifts to the inner courtyard

Yui: ( I’m pretty sure he went this way...Ah, there he is. ...He’s looking after the flowers? )

ー Yui walks up to Yuma

Yui: Yuma-kun.

Yuma: ...What? Did ya come here ‘cause Ruki told ya to? 

Yui: No, I wanted to come, that’s all. Hey, can I help you?

Yuma: ...Do as ya please. 

*Rustle rustle* 

Yui: I didn’t know there was a garden here as well. It really isn’t all that different from the world I know.

Yuma: Guess so. What did ya think it looked like anyway? 

There’s trees and grass in the Demon World as well and we’ve got flowers growin’ here too.

Yuma: ...But look. The soil’s dead over here.

Yui: It was different in the past, right...?

Yuma: Yeah. When we were livin’ here, seeds sprouted overnight and flowers or fruits would grow in no time.

I was shocked at how amazin’ the soil over here is. ...Yet.

Yui: ( I’m sure this garden holds many memories for him. )

( He must be sad to see it completely withered like this...Still. )

Yuma: That fuckin’ NEET...Does he not realize the position he’s in right now!?

Yui: ( I’m also a little sad...that Yuma-kun and Shuu-san are on bad terms. )

( I know the two of them have a long history together. But that’s exactly why I want them to get along. )

Hey, Yuma-kun...Perhaps you should have a proper heart-to-heart with Shuu-san?

Yuma: Aah? 

Yui: It might be Shuu-san’s fault that this place has become like this, but he hasn’t been the heir to the throne for very long.

He might have a lot of things he’s still uncertain about...So maybe we shouldn’t assume he’s been knowingly neglecting his responsibilities. 

Yuma: ...You’re takin’ his side?

Yui: I-I’m not! I just think that maybe Shuu-san has a reasoning of his own...

Yuma: To me that’s basically takin’ his side! Even ya, seriously...!? 

???: What’s this? Fighting all the way over here?

ー A random stranger shows up

Yui: ( A person!? Where did he come from...!? )

*Caw caw caw* 

Yui: ( Also look at all these crows...I’ve never seen this guy before, but could he be an acquaintance of Yuma-kun...? )

Yuma: ...Yui. Hide behind me.

Yui: Eh? Yuma-kun, you don’t know this guy...?

Yuma: I don’t. I can tell that he’s probably a Vampire but...I’ve never seen this guy before. 

Kino: Fufu. Oh come on, no need to be so alert. I’m Kino. Nice to meet you.

Yuma: I don’t give a damn ‘bout yer name! Why are you here at Eden? Do ya have any idea what this place is?

Kino: Of course I do. But I have all the right to be here, don’t you think? I’m also Karlheinz’ son after all.

Yuma: Haah!?

Yui: ( Karlheinz-san’s son!? So he’s the Sakamaki brothers’ sibling then...? )

Yuma: Cut the crap! I’ve never heard a thing ‘bout ya! Stop spoutin’ bullshit lies!

Kino: How rude. It’s not a lie. ...I mean, I guess I can’t blame you for not knowing me. I was never made public after all.

Yuma: Aah? What do ya mean?

Kino: I may be his son, but I am what you’d call an illegitimate child.

Yui: An illegitimate child!?

Kino: Yup. In other words, I’m Prince Zero.

That being said, I don’t recall my Father ever being involved in my upbringing and I have yet to meet my other brothers in person.

I’ve been living in Rotigenberg my whole life. That’s where I was raised amidst the Ghouls.

Yuma: Ghouls, ya say...?

Yui: Yuma-kun, what are Ghouls?

Yuma: That’s what we call creatures who are neither Demon nor human.

Apparently they live at an area up in the North known as Rotigenberg. 

Kino: Fufu, you’re surprisingly nice for a Vampire. Why not just tell her straight up?

To put it simply, Ghouls are not who aren’t qualified to be considered Demons.

They are Demons born without any kind of magic...In other words, faulty goods. That’s what Ghouls are.

Yui: ( Demons without any magic...I had no idea those existed. )

Kino: Well, there’s cases of humans turning into Ghouls after being exposed to the polluted air of the Demon World.

Yuma: Fuck that shit!

If you’re seriously Karlheinz-sama’s son...Then what are ya here for?

Ya came here all the way from Rotigenberg, right? So ya must have had a damn good reason.

Kino: Oh come on, don’t glare at me. I feel like I’ll get hit if I keep on beating around the bush, so I’ll get straight to the point. 

Mukami Yuma. You have a problem with the current Vampire King. Correct?

Yuma: ...So what?

Kino: I’ll fix your problem. So let’s work together?

Yuma: ...Hah?

Kino: I wouldn’t be a bad alley to have, if I may say so myself? After all, I’m pretty strong being a purebred Vampire unlike yourself.

As his son, I’ve also inherited my Father’s ーー Karlheinz’ powers. I don’t see how having me on your side could be a disadvantage. 

Yuma: Hah, ridiculous. I don’t gain anythin’ from it either, do I?

Kino: You think so? But if I were to steal those powers from Shuu and become the successor to the throne, Eden would return to normal?

Yuma: ...!

Yui: ( Steal his powers, don’t tell me he wants to...!? )

Kino: I wouldn’t simply turn a blind eye to it. I’d take my full responsibilities as a King.

You still think my deal doesn’t have any merits? 

Yuma: ...

...I get what you’re tryin’ to say. But listen, ya smell way too fishy, mate. 

Ya really think I’m gonna believe ya just pop out of nowhere as Karlheinz-sama’s hidden love child to form an alliance? 

Kino: Hmm. You’re surprisingly cautious, huh? 

Yuma: Sorry to break it to ya bud, but I only believe the things I see with my very own eyes or what I’m told by my pals whom I can trust.

Kino: ...I see.

Ruki: Yuma!

ー The other Mukamis run up to them

Kino: Oh, this isn’t good.

Azusa: ...? Who’s that...?

Kino: I’ll get going now. See you later, Yuma...Yui.

*Flap flap flap* 

Yuma: ...Che. Creepy fucker. I’m not gonna change my mind no matter how many times he shows up.

Yui: ...?

Crow: ...

Yui: ( There’s a single crow left...It’s staring intently at Yuma? )

Yuma: Whatcha lookin’ at!? Scram already!

*Flap flap flap* 

Yui: Yuma-kun! You’re going to scare it away with your shouting!

Yuma: It’s fine. That wasn’t just a regular old crow.

Yui: Eh? 

Yuma: Ghouls can change into crows. So that one just now was a Ghoul as well. 

Yui: Ghouls...

Ruki: Oi, Yuma. What happened?

Kou: Who was that guy just now? He didn’t struck me as familiar.

Yuma: ...He’sーー

ー Yuma explains to them

Azusa: Karlheinz-sama’s son...?

Kou: A hidden love child, on top of that. You don’t actually believe him, do you, Yuma-kun?

Yuma: Hell nah! I’m not that stupid! ...It’s just.

Ruki: He gave off bad vibes.

Yuma: Yeah. Seems like he’s got connections with the Ghouls as well. ...We’ve got a weird fella on our hands. 

Ruki: ...By the way, how do you feel now?

Yuma: Ah? 

Kou: You stomped off in a fury, remember? Do you feel a bit better now after M-neko-chan comforted you? 

Yuma: Haah!? She didn’t comfort me or anythin’!

Azusa: ...Is that true, Eve?

Yui: I-I’m not sure. I don’t think I did anything special...

Kou: In other words, she doesn’t need to do anything special because just being together is enough to lift your spirits. You’re so simple-minded, Yuma-kun~!

Yuma: Fuck off! Leave me alone!!

ー Yuma walks away

Yui: Ah, again...!

Azusa: This time it’s fine. He’s just trying to hide his embarrassment...

Ruki: We should head back to the Castle as well. With Eden in this state, it’s possible that some weird people like that guy from before could get inside.

Even while here at Eden, it’s dangerous to wander around unprepared. 

Kou: Rogerー Let’s go, M-neko-chan.

Yui: Yeah...

( In the end...What did that Kino guy even want? )

ー She recalls his words

Kino: I wouldn’t simply turn a blind eye to it. I’d take my full responsibilities as a King.

You still think my deal doesn’t have any merits?

Yuma: ...

ー The flashback ends

Yui: ( ...Yuma-kun seemed to hesitate just a bit back then. )

( Of course, I want this place which is important to everyone to go back to normal as well. )

( But I can’t choose that path...if it means Shuu-san needs to die and have his powers taken away from him... )

( Yuma-kun should feel the same way, right? He isn’t the type of guy who’d wish death upon someone else, regardless of how he personally feels about this person. )

( Yeah, I’m sure Yuma-kun will be fine. I believe Shuu-san will eventually get it together as well, even if he’s struggling right now. )

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

[cheerstotheelites-if]

Not enough love for Fleur 😔

"You're like a hidden, final boss from a video game. Challenging, cool, and unexpected."

MC comparing Fleur to their favorite game boss they've been tirelessly researching on how to beat after she did something amazing/badass in MC's eyes.

*Looks at the solo RO asks and prompts being 90% Fleur*

... Yeah, I dunno what you mean when you say that Fleur is not having enough love on this blog.

~•~•~

Straight hair, straight A's Straight forward, straight girl Little Miss Perfect, that's me

– Little Miss Perfect - Taylor Louderman & Write Out Loud

~•~•~

Man, who knew taking off a pair of glasses would look so... wow.

Sure, the average person would call it as something so "lame" and "boring", Fleur made it look so... cool? The way she took off her glasses so easily and graciously with a smooth flow. How her fingers hold the frame of her glasses in a delicate yet firm manner. Her face is aloof yet holds a certain sense of natural beauty that you can't quite describe.

Her eyes dart over to glance at you, and her face forms a frown.

"What are you doing?" She sharply asks you, her voice surprisingly maintaining its calm softness.

"Just admiring you." You say with a smile.

"I haven't even done anything."

"Well, in my eyes you did something cool."

Fleur simply quirks a brow at you, silently asking to explain further.

"You make taking off your glasses so beautiful." You simply explain, to which Fleur's brows furrow in confusion.

"That's what made you admire me?"

"Amongst other things. You're like some hidden boss from a video game, you know? Challenging, cool, and unexpected." You say with a dramatic flair in the end.

Fleur simply rolls her eyes and shakes her head, putting her reading glasses in its case with a satisfying and quick snap shut. "You're unbelievable."

"It's true though!" You get up from your seat to follow Fleur down the aisle of bookshelves. "You make everything look so mesmerizing, even the mundane."

"You're exaggerating it." Fleur flatly states. "Besides, anyone with glasses can do what I just did."

"Well, anyone isn't someone like you."

That made Fleur falter a bit in her step, eventually stopping before a row of books. All of them are biology books.

There is a pregnant pause for a moment, before Fleur lets out a sigh.

"... I sometimes wonder if you stick around with me because of truly wanting to know me or so you can continue your idealization of what you think of me." She shakes her head, lips pursing. "But either way, you already perceive me as something in your eyes, so it doesn't matter what your motives are for being here."

[angelmichelangelo]

without a parachute

verse: tmnt 2012 rated: g word count: 4k pairing: woodyangelo series: part two of the pizza bros

ao3 link!

x

There’s the unmistakable sound of chain going swinging through the air, pulling taut before it reaches its intended target, his chucks come into heavy contact with the Purple Dragon’s face, knocking him off his feet with a splutter that comes out pink against his chin from the blood and spittle spat there as soon as he’d hit the floor. Mikey runs circles around these guys because he’s fought aliens and monsters and big bad guys with real, fierce intent to kill and all Woody can do as he remains hidden out of sight behind the smell old dumpster is watch in awe as his friend takes out the goons one by one without so much as breaking a sweat. Eventually, the small handful of gang members are spilled across the darkened alleyway, either groaning through their newfound headaches or straight up K’O’d, once Mikey is sure his work here is finished, he’s looking for Woody with a big, breathless grin. “Dude!” Woody exclaims as he unsticks himself from the back wall, toeing off a receipt that’d stuck itself to the bottom of his sneaker. “That was awesome! ” The turtle shrugs, effortlessly tucking away his weaponry into his belt, he’s looking back at the Dragons that aren’t getting up just yet. “Piece of cake, really,” he’s telling him, lifting his gaze to meet his again. Something flutters about in Woody’s chest, so he sinks it down with a shallow gulp . “Wish our hangouts didn’t have to be so rudely interrupted, though,” the turtle adds, a crease forming in his mask between his eyes. “You’d think they’d get sick and tired of having their butts kicked, huh?” He’s grinning, all teeth like he often does, and that airy, fluttery feeling comes back in full force like the most pleasant type of vomit on earth when Woody smiles back, all wobbly, he responds, “Yeah. Right.”

Angel corners Woody a week later, partly because she enjoys intimidating anyone she can just about cross paths with and partly because when her roommate had come home those few months ago with a swollen face and a rather sketchy story to explain it all, she’d been hot on Woody’s tail about where it was he snuck off to of an evening. “It’s no big deal,” he’s telling her around a laugh as he fairly dishes out both their share of Chinese takeout. His mouth goes wet as he forks over a heaping of shrimp fried rice across his plate. “I’m a big boy, Ange. I can take care of myself.” The girl comes up around him, sweeping a cracker out of the little styrofoam box, crunching down on it deliberately hard, he just deadpans her with a somewhat unimpressed look. “Uh huh. Not suspicious at all, you going out all hours of the night. You come back all beaten and bruised…” She narrows her sharp eyes towards him as he sets the fork down to face her entirely. “Angel,” he levels with her. “I told you. I got mugged. It’s New York – is that so unbelievable?” She smacks her lips together, still not looking entirely convinced. “And this… friend of yours?” She presses. She could keep pressing, but there wasn’t a force in the world that was going to have him willingly give up Mikey’s secret. Even if Angel was stronger than he was. 

“Just a friend,” he says, offering up a gentle smile and a single pork ball as a resolve to their small interrogation session. She plucks it up off the fork and walks back to the couch, dropping onto it heavily, she calls out, “Yeah, any trouble, you send ‘em my way, Woods.” Woody continues to fix up their dinner and grins wickedly. He’d love to see her try. *** “Dude, no that’s—” Mikey’s laughter rings out around the dojo, resounding in Woody’s face suddenly going very hot. He undoes the stance he’d been posed in, feeling pretty lame as Mikey rushes towards him to grab at his hands and rework it. “Sorry,” the turtle says, biting his lip to badly hide the smile that was currently creeping across his face. “I’m not laughing at you.” Despite the way his ears were currently on fire, Woody finds himself smiling back, only barely able to try and fight it off. “Yeah you are. You’re laughing at me because you started all this stuff since before you could walk and I have all the ninjutsu talent of… of a chicken.” That has Mikey snort laughing – a rarity that apparently only he himself could coax out of him, his face all screwed up, it wasn’t even that funny of a joke but Michelangelo seems to disagree before he’s catching his breath once more to try and teach his friend the very early learner defense stance.

“Here,” Mikey tells him, gently grabbing his wrists and raising his arms high. “You want your shoulders to be equal with your hips, that way you have center gravity.” Woody raises a brow at him. “And your dad taught you this?” He asks, only a touch incredulous. “With those… big ol’ clunky shells of yours?” Mikey blinks then blows him a raspberry. “Shut up,” he’s telling him, entirely non serious. “Do you want me to teach you how to not get your ass beaten or not?” Woody hums; Mike still has his wrists wrapped up in his big, oversized hands and neither of them make an attempt to pull away from the touch. “If you do, does that mean you won’t be saving said ass when we come across danger on our hang outs?” Mikey deadpans him, something playful flashing across his face when he lifts his arms just a tiny inch higher. “Only when I’m not there,” he says. “Duh.” And it feels like it should be a joke. But there’s a slight edge of truth to his words that Woody doesn’t comment on again. He just lets Mikey try and teach him, only for him to fall flat on his face five minutes later, drawing out that crazed snort laugh once more. ***

His keys are still in midair, thrown from where he’d walked in through the door when Angel calls out from the living room, “How was your date?” The keys skitter harshly across the kitchen countertop, coming to a stop as he does. His roommate rounds the corner, her hair wrapped up in a towel, dressed down in her loungewear and a knowing smirk, Woody tries to stop his face from flushing. “I–I didn’t. I didn’t go on a date.” He tells her, gently pushing past her to seek retreat in the fridge. Angel hums, twiddling the drawstring of her pants around a finger, watching him as he pulls a soda can from the back of the shelf. “Hmm, sure.” He closes the fridge with a bump of his hip and draws the tab back. Frothy, fizzy sweetness dances to the top of the can and he brings it quickly to his lip to still it. That, and any other choice words he may have for his friend before him. “Dude, I don’t know what the big deal is,” she laughs airly. “If you want me out the apartment, just say the word! I’d rather you be… hookin’ up someplace safe, at least.” Woody splutters on his drink as it slides down his throat and into his lungs. Foam froths up behind his eyes and nose making him cough weakly. Angel finds it all very amusing. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sets the now sticky can down on the counter. “I’m not… hooking up,” he says, cringing a little. “I told you. I just hang out with some friends and we just–” “Hook up?” Angel says with a shit eating grin. God, her and Raphael would for sure get along like a house on fire, he thinks almost bitterly. “No,” he tells her plainly, something close to seriousness webbed around his tone that gets her to back off (for now). “It’s just… complicated.” Angel sighs, unraveling the drawstring from around her finger, she’s looking at Woody a little gentler now, something that in itself was rare and uncommon but very much welcomed. “Okay,” she tells him. “But you have to promise me–” she adds, voice climbing steadily before Woody can butt in, stepping forward he lands a hand on her shoulder to still her. “--he didn’t give me that black eye or the split lip.” Angel chews the inside of her cheek before she lets go to smile at him. “So it’s a he?” Woody groans, swiping up his soda and heading for the refuge of his bedroom, leaving behind her laughter. *** Woody is only caught in the downpour of the century for a minute after rushing out of work to his nearest sewer tunnel, shaking off the droplets of rain that clung to his hair as he descends the ladder into the underbelly of the city. When he reaches the lair, pushing through the turnstiles, the pizza boxes that he’d crammed into his delivery bag were still warm, sniffed out by three wanting turtles who greet him with grabby hands for the zipper. “Mikey’s not here,” Raph explains to him quickly as he fishes out one of the boxes. Woody frowns and only Donatello looks up to offer him explanation. “He’s out with Leatherhead,” he tells him. “But you're welcome to stay for dinner.” Woody hums, handing off the last box to them, he fiddles somewhat nervously around his bag strap. Whatever vibe he was giving off, Leo is fast to pick up on it. “He won’t be long,” the turtle tells him. “Eat with us. Save you going back up there in that storm.” Woody goes, sitting with the brothers, he picks at his singular slice listening to the sound of the pipes up ahead creak and groan. 

He makes light of conversation between them, asking about patrols and training and somehow divulges into a lengthy discussion with Donnie about the structure of the tunnel system against such fierce storms when there’s the unmistakable click of the turnstiles that has Woody rising to his feet. All three pairs of eyes are on him and so he awkwardly lowers himself back down again, waiting for Mikey to emerge. “Aw dudes, tell me you left some for me!” He skips into the room, swamped in an oversized raincoat with the hood still pulled over his head so only his snout can be seen as it sniffs out his dinner. Woody slides him his box, sharpie scrawled across it with the words: jellybean..?

“Course, amigo.” He tells him with a grin, expecting Mike to pull up a chair and drop into it and inhale his pizza. But he doesn’t, instead swiping the box up off the table with one hand, the other comes to pull Woody to his feet. “Cool. Wanna watch that crappy chick flick we started on the other day on the Hallmark channel?” Woody chortles a laugh, allowing himself to be lead without so much of an actual state on the matter, they’re only ever stopped when Leo is standing up from his seat, wiping greasy fingertips over his belt, looking at them ever so seriously, “Door open, kay Mike?” Woody has never felt hotter in the face before, like he could just melt and he’s expecting maybe Mikey to un-liquify him with a snappy, sharp remark but he just laughs and rolls his eyes like he’s the one starring in a bad C-Lister rom-com and says, “Sure Leo.” Before pulling his friend along to his room. He’s flopping onto the bed, throwing Woody a glance over his shoulder looking so amused and unbothered by it all, “Weirdos,” he throws Woody the remote to search for their movie; he only just about catches it, fumbling it slightly before clutching it tightly. “If they wanted to come watch with us, they only had to ask.”

And as Woody drops into his beanbag chair, so does his heart, all the way to his gut, because…

Because oh. This was not good.

***

He unpicks the bathroom lock and barges in, knowing it’s safe to do so because Angel only ever locks it when she’s hanging halfway out the window to have a smoke — which is exactly what she was doing now.

He flips the toilet seat closed and sits on it so heavily it draws her back in, stubbing out the last of her cigarette against the now ashy frame. 

“Oh, what happened?” She asks, drawing back all her hair in her palm to sweep it off her face as she perched herself against the lip of the bathtub.

“I think,” Woody says with a gulp, his heart swimming up in his throat. “I think… I like my friend.”

There’s a beat of silence that allows Woody to believe that maybe his friend won’t be so hard on him and actually impede some wisdom, but that doesn’t happen.

What does happen is she tips her head back, whole body following after that she nearly falls into the tub and laughs loudly.

“Yeah,” she says once she’s stopped. “No shit.”

Woody whines, dropping his head into his hands to fist at his curls tightly, just to stop his head from spinning clean off.

First Angel believed there to be something, then Leo… it was onto a matter of time before that weighty realization caught up and slammed into him with full force.

Which is exactly what this was right now.

“Okay,” Angel is leveling with him, patting him generously on his knee to get him to stop folding himself in half. “First things first, is he gay?”

Woody’s gut swims about in a whole river of uncertainty. He'd never really picked up on any… hints, per se but Mike wasn’t like most guys Woody got close to.

Being a mutant turtle kind of blocked out that particular radar for obvious reasons.

“I don’t know,” he says with a sigh. “I don’t know, Angel. This friendship, it’s… it’s super important to me and him.”

His throat goes right as he’s reminded of the follow up conversations to that whole shebang with the Foot Soldiers, about how much it meant to Mikey to having a friend outside his usual circle of insanity that followed his normal day to day life.

Angel presses his lips together, weighing up what kind of helpful response she could share.

“Woods,” is what she does say eventually. Their bathroom smells like smoke, there’s no way they’re getting their deposit back on this place. “Sometimes you gotta just go for it, man.”

He lifts his gaze to meet hers. Something soft glimmering in her eyes.

Trust Mikey to somehow bring out the kinder side in Angel without even meeting her first. 

“But what if I ruin it?” Woody says, dragging a hand down his face tiredly. He’s sure he’d rather go another round with Mike’s chucks that endure this any longer. “Then what?”

Angel pats his knee again and smiles again.

“Yeah,” she says, head tipping to the side. “But what if you don’t?”

Woody remains silent, afraid that if he opens his mouth more of this word vomit might come up with the rest of his courage.

“Never gonna know if the chutes workin’ unless you jump, dude.”

And damn, if she didn’t have a point.

***

Woody doesn’t really have a plan in his head when he very inconspicuously comes out to Mikey.

He figures that Mike was the type of guy that was pretty made up of pure unconditional love; he’d seen it with all of his other friends and his family. If there was one thing Woody could count on with his mutant friend, it was that he was the love first, ask questions third type because the second thing he was doing was wrapping you up in a very tight hug. 

They’re hanging out on one of their favorite rooftops because the storm from a few days ago had finally settled and washed away the humidity in the air and it was nice not to be stuffed away underground all the time. Woody slides a particularly greasy slice about in the box, watching it before he rests the box on his lap and clears his throat.

“Hey, Mike?” He cranes his head upwards, looking out towards the starless sky. “Did I, uh. Did I ever tell you ‘bout the time I came out to my Ma?”

Mikey dances the straw of his milkshake about on his tongue. There’s nothing written across his face to indicate any strongly held emotions.

“No,” he says, genuinely curious, it helps ease some of the worry that’d settled heavily in his chest.

“Well,” he says, picking up a tiny little meatball of one of the slices and rolling it between his fingers, greasing them up. “It was in middle school, and I liked this kid in my class.” He swallows, wishing now he’d caved and got himself a shake too. “He was in the school play so of course, I joined the school play.”

Mikey spits his straw out, eyes going wide.

“Oh cool! I always wanted to be in a school play!” He clutches excitedly at his foam cup. “I mean, I did a few performances as a kid for my dad but it was kinda hard to direct your three brothers that were like, totally not interested at all.”

Woody chuckles softly, trying to picture a smaller Mikey picks up a slice, folding it lengthways and sliding it over his tongue.

“Sorry. ADHD Brain. Carry on.”

Woody presses the meatball into his mouth, chewing on it only once before swallowing it down. 

“I got cast, only a minor role, but it meant I got to spend most lunch periods with him or going over lines or just hanging out between classes,” he tells him, dragging the toe of his sneaker across the gravel, his laces becoming loose.

Somewhere in the distance, a car horn blares loudly followed by a string of curses strewn from either side of the road before the commotion moves on again.

“I was so wrapped up in crushing on this guy I forgot two pretty big important things,” he tells him. “One, I forgot to act on it, and two, I forgot that I had to actually, like, perform in the play.”

Mikey grins. “Was it cool?”

Woody scoffs, with all the good intentions in the world and watches the way Mikey’s smile creeps off his face, shoulders sagging. “Ah. Sorry.” Woody has to resist every little bit of force that is making him want to reach over the very small gap between them and grab his hand and maybe not ever let go. “It’s alright,” he tells him. “But it was not cool because I totally chickened out.” Mikey’s face falls. “Oh,” he says softly. “Oh no.” Woody huffs a laugh, then, just to give his wanting hands something to actually do, he sweeps his hair across over his forehead. “I had like, a bit of a meltdown backstage because here I was, this idiot kid that liked a much cooler kid, about to make an absolute ass out of myself.” Thinking back on the memory, he can still feel the blinding heat of the spotlights against his blushing face – like he was there now, standing under the lamp about to puke up all his guts and feelings in one giant dry heave. “My ma had to come around and get me,” Woody explains. “And she sat with me, trying to calm me down, tellin’ me of all the ways to get over stage fright.” His voice wobbles and that is all it takes for Mikey to be the brave one and reach over and grab his hands. Woody stares at them for a moment; those big, green three fingered hands that just one of which seems to swallow up both of his, and how normal it all feels. How never out of place this turtle has ever made him feel in the months of knowing him. “It’s then,” he says with a long, drawn out sigh, “that I told her that the tears weren’t just because I was scared of getting up on stage.” He looks down. “I told her then, about the kid, about how I felt.” He finds Mikey’s gaze boring into his – baby blues so unwavering. “What happened then?” He’s asking quietly. 

Woody smiles. Blinks back some of the burning behind his eyes. “She, uh, She took me for ice cream.” He remembers how she’d only asked him once do you want to stay and he’d simply shaken his head and they’d packed up in her beaten up minivan and left the play and the boy behind in search of cherry garcia. Woody only pulls his hands away to scrub at his face. “So, uh. Yeah.” He says after a moment. 

Mikey fidgets with his hands for a moment, in a way that Woody had come to learn that was an outlet for him juggling his thoughts and words that tended to swirl up in his brain, too blizzardy to say straight the first time. His voice is small and unsure when he speaks. “I… I never came out to my dad.” Woody’s heart stills in his chest, a breeze dances across the roof, brushing his curls over his eyes. “I planned on it,” he adds leaning back ever so casually, but the slight tremble in his voice gave him away. Woody wouldn’t dare comment on it either way. “It was after he… he died,” he says, forcing the word past his lips. “I told Leo about it. I thought for the longest time that– that maybe I’d missed an opportunity to do so. Cos, y’know. I was never gonna know how that conversation played out, cos I told myself I was too chicken to do it when he was here–” Woody finds his courage, snatching up his hands with his. “You’re not chicken,” he says, so solidly the words might as well form like rock where they sit between them on the cool rooftop. “You’re not.” Mikey sniffs, eyes sparkling. “Yeah,” he laughs wetly. “I know that now.”

Woody searches his face – the face that ever rarely gets to look so hurt like it did right now, even when he was smiling at him like he was now, it was like he got another little bit of Michelangelo to discover each day, starting on that day he’d popped up from the manhole, he was always finding more and more to… to… Well. To fall in love with. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to come out to your dad, Mikester,” Woody tells him, squeezing his hands best he can. Mike squeezes them back. “It’s alright,” he tells him, and the way he says it, it sounds like it might just be. “I might not ever be super sure what would have happened but I know that he loved me. Like Leo and Raph and Dee love me.” He sniffs again. “Kinda like–” “Like I do.” Woody says suddenly. If the city could be still for even a second, now was that second; long and drawn out and perhaps the longest second ever before Mikey is laughing – snort laughing! He tips his head back and squeezes his eyes shut and doesn’t let Woody go.

“Yeah,” he says. “Me too. With you.” Woody exhales, all shaky and wobbly and a teeny bit scared still because there’s still the middle school version of him deep down in his soul feeling the heat from the stage lights and the sound of a crowd too big for him to bear. But here on the rooftop, it’s just them. It’s just him and this wild ninja turtle he never wants to let go of. So when Mikey rushes forward and plants a chaste, nervous kiss on his lips, eyes still tightly closed when he pulls away, Woody just laughs. “Don’t laugh at me,” Mikey says with a pout, refusing to open his eyes still. And Woody only untangles their fingers to cup at his face, thumb slipping beneath his mask to pull them together again, their center of gravity becoming one as he kisses him back, longer, sweeter – a little braver this time. “That better?” Woody says as they pull away. Mikey has finally found the courage to open his eyes. He’s beaming like he’s going to split his whole face in half, and he hums. “Uh huh,” Mike tells him. “Least we can skip the awkward conversation with my bros. They already think we’re dating.” Woody laughs loudly, and so does Mikey, both their joy traveling across the rooftops of the city around them. And later when Woody returns home with the taste of Mikey’s lips on his still (jellybeans and milkshakes) he calls out to Angel who’s dozing off on the couch, “Chute’s working, by the way.” She gives him a wordless thumbs up. Later when he goes to bed, not before sending off a text to Mike, he wonders if perhaps Angel’s metaphor was just another one of her well hidden crude euphemisms, but he quickly realizes he doesn’t quite care. He fell. And Mikey had fallen with him. 

[whoisfrosty]

just a silly headcanons about how my favorite bys characters write the text messages (with modern phones):

pete. pete writes many separate, small messages with mistakes. often he forgets about the "edit message" function and ends up trying to write the correct word in subsequent messages, which causes endless spam. pete also likes to send funny, cute and cool, in his opinion, videos, especially to tony. for example, how his pet dogs play with each other, or a video, where pete shows what a cool toys he built from lego

"hey tony"

"hows are you"

"ho w"

"how are your"

"how are you doung"

"i mean doing"

"im fine"

"i built one cool"

"cool toy"

"want me to show you"

"???"

tony. tony writes just like usual people from our time? i think. he uses a lot of short versions of words, words from the lexicon, and most likely looks up a lot of cool phrases from the internet to sound "cool" and "modern". most often tony writes medium or large messages, because he's very talkative and goes into too much detail. he uses text emojis

"heya wheelie ;) oh im great slick. feelin super good ngl. my old man the big tony (you know him it's my dad) made some delicious chocolate cranberry L size milkshake just for me after my bowling game. 3 strikes at a time can you believe it? my arm is gettin even stronger than before das for sure! >:D last time i played i had only 1 strike (lame i know) but i improved. its not so unbelievable tho i trained really hard you know. so yeah i expected my success today. anowhoo lets stop about me for a little while i want to see this lego thing of yours. then after it i can tell you more about my bowling success. you'll be shocked! :)"

angela. angela writes more competently than her big brother. she doesn't forget punctuation marks, writes messages that are quite normal in size, tries not to go into too much unnecessary details, and in general angela is a very good person to chat with, from whose message you don’t want to either turn off notifications on your phone or just ask to write more clearly. but, like tony, she sometimes uses words from the lexicon and abbreviations. loves to use emojis

"hiya, reese. whatcha doin'? ☺️ we haven't written to each other for a long time, maybe something happened to ya? don't be shy, you know i don't tell other people's secrets, not like my foolish brother 😒

speaking of which, he screwed up so badly at the bowling alley today, omg! i'll tell you more details, if you wanna. it's a pure comedy, that's fo' sure! 😂"

and reese. he writes small messages using polysyllabic, "smart" and rarely used words by other people. basically, reese doesn't like to write text messages, he prefers more live communication, because this way reese can see and feel all the emotions of the person. live conversation is much more interesting, isn't it?

"Good day to you too, Angela. Please, don't be so worry about my persona, i'm doing quite fine. The problem is, i caught a light cold not so long time ago - this is why i didn't texted you. But now i feel great. What about a little walk right now? During it, you can tell me another story about Tony's permanent failures."

[autolovecraft]

An eye for an eye!

In either case it would have been appropriate; for the unexpected tenacity of the easy-looking brickwork was surely a sardonic commentary on the vanity of mortal hopes, and the source of a task whose performance deserved every possible stimulus. He was the devil incarnate, Birch, but you always did go too damned far!

Birch, though dreading the bother of removal and interment, began his task of transference one disagreeable April morning, but ceased before noon because of a heavy rain that seemed to irritate his horse, after having laid but one mortal tenant to its permanent rest. He was a scoundrel, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself.

It was just as he had recognized old Matt's coffin that the door slammed to in the wind, leaving him in a dusk even deeper than before. Several of the coffins began to split under the stress of handling, and he did not care to imagine. He was the devil incarnate, Birch, but you got what you deserved. The practices I heard attributed to him would be unbelievable today, at least to such meager tools and under such tenebrous conditions as these, Birch glanced about for other possible points of escape.

In this funereal twilight he rattled the rusty handles, pushed at the iron panels, and wondered why the massive portal had grown so suddenly recalcitrant.

He had not forgotten the criticism aroused when Hannah Bixby's relatives, wishing to transport her body to the cemetery in the city whither they had moved, found the casket of Judge Capwell beneath her headstone. What else, he added, could ever in any case be proved or believed? The day was clear, but a high wind had sprung up; and Birch was glad to get to shelter as he unlocked the iron door and entered the side-hill vault. Birch decided that he would begin the next day with little old Matthew Fenner, whose grave was also near by; but actually postponed the matter for three days, not getting to work till Good Friday, the 15th.

He was oddly anxious to know if Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. He would not, he found, have to pile another on his platform to make the proper height; for the unexpected tenacity of the easy-looking brickwork was surely a sardonic commentary on the vanity of mortal hopes, and the overhead ventilation funnel virtually none at all; though ever afterward he refused to do anything of importance on that fateful sixth day of the week.

Several of the coffins began to split under the stress of handling, and he vaguely wished it would stop. To him Birch had felt no compunction in assigning the carelessly made coffin which he now pushed out of the way in his quest for the Fenner casket. He always remained lame, for the great tendons had been severed; but I think the greatest lameness was in his soul. Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. Maddened by the sound, or by the stench which billowed forth even to the open air, the waiting horse gave a scream that was too frantic for a neigh, and plunged madly off through the night, the wagon rattling crazily behind it. When he perceived that the latch was hopelessly unyielding, at least to such meager tools and under such tenebrous conditions as these, Birch glanced about for other possible points of escape. What else, he added, could ever in any case be proved or believed?

Being without superstition, he did not care to imagine. Clutching the edges of the aperture, he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles. He had even wondered, at Sawyer's funeral, how the vindictive farmer had managed to lie straight in a box so closely akin to that of the diminutive Fenner. He had, it seems, planned in vain when choosing the stoutest coffin for the platform; for no sooner was his full bulk again upon it than the rotting lid gave way, jouncing him two feet down on a surface which even he did not care to imagine. He gave old Matt the very best his skill could produce, but was thrifty enough to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible. Fortunately the village was small and the death rate low, so that it was possible to give all of Birch's inanimate charges a temporary haven in the single antiquated receiving tomb.

He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste.

His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that.

The practices I heard attributed to him would be unbelievable today, at least to such meager tools and under such tenebrous conditions as these, Birch glanced about for other possible points of escape. I saw the scars—ancient and whitened as they then were—I agreed that he was reduced to a profane fumbling as he made his halting way among the long boxes toward the latch. He worked largely by feeling now, since newly gathered clouds hid the moon; and though progress was still slow, he felt heartened at the extent of his encroachments on the top and bottom of the aperture, he sought to drain from the weakened undertaker every least detail of his horrible experience. When Dr. Davis left Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about. The skull turned my stomach, but the other was worse—those ankles cut neatly off to fit Matt Fenner's cast-aside coffin! He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died. He had, indeed, made that coffin for Matthew Fenner; but had cast it aside at last as too awkward and flimsy, in a fit of curious sentimentality aroused by recalling how kindly and generous the little old man had been to him during his bankruptcy five years before. As he remounted the splitting coffins he felt his weight very poignantly; especially when, upon reaching the topmost one, he heard that aggravated crackle which bespeaks the wholesale rending of wood. God, what a rage!

He was the devil incarnate, Birch, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. His thinking processes, once so phlegmatic and logical, had become ineffaceably scarred; and it was pitiful to note his response to certain chance allusions such as Friday, Tomb, Coffin, and words of less obvious concatenation. He was a bachelor, wholly without relatives. He gave old Matt the very best his skill could produce, but was thrifty enough to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible. He gave old Matt the very best his skill could produce, but was thrifty enough to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible. The afflicted man was fully conscious, but would say nothing of any consequence; merely muttering such things as Oh, my ankles!

[dat-town]

wish you were here

Characters: Mark Lee & you

Setting: wish dragon au (and a bit of aladdin because mark even has a tiger in their garden like jasmine did. don’t ask why, just blame the regular mv), childhood best friends to lovers (at least there’s potential?)

Genre: fluff and humour

Warnings: mentions of a sick animal and a wild animal kept as a pet in a huge garden (just like jasmine’s tiger, it’s very tamed)

Summary: A magical teapot, a dragon that wants everyone to be happy and an old friendship being revived. Oh yeah, have I told you that you have 3 wishes?

Words: 6.4k

For @restlessmaknae​ 💕

When your mother told you you got delivery to your childhood home, you certainly did not expect this: a brown box as big as a small watermelon with your old Canadian address and MARK LEE scrabbled next to your name as another recipient but no sender. Not to mention, the first stamp on the thing was dating back to the early 2010s. Where the hell was this package for 10 years? And what would you and your old neighbour slash best friend have gotten together?

Okay, first things first:

You and this clumsy, kind of cute kid, Mark had been quite tight while growing up. You were born in the same year, only a month apart, and his family lived in the house next to yours in the suburbs of Vancouver, so it was kind of natural. You two might have been against the world kind of comrades, playing hide and seek when you were six and wondering about whether time travelling was possible through black holes at twelve. But no matter how close you used to be, you fell out of touch when Mark's family moved to the other end of the world, back to Korea, their roots when you were fourteen. You slowly forgot about him, and started university in the city, moving away from home, so nothing really reminded you of him ⎼ and your stupid, big fat crush on him that you had no courage to tell him about in middle school ⎼, nothing until this box.

You put the delivered package on your kitchen table while you make some dinner for yourself out of what you have gotten during grocery shopping earlier just before you picked up the mysterious stuff at the post office. You eye it suspiciously over your pasta, really not wrapping your mind about what it could be but instead of annoying yourself with this pointless curiosity, you put your fork down and stand up to open it. It’s a struggle at first, the box being secured with multiple adhesive tapes over the years but when you finally get rid of all that and can look inside of it, an intense feeling rushes through you… immerse disappointment.

“A teapot? For real? What were we thinking?” you furrow your brows taking the small, green and pretty old teapot into your hands. It looks like a piece of a traditional Asian set with its jade colour and dragon pattern. It couldn’t have been in a much better shape 10 years ago either seeing how wayworn it is but still, you expected something more… exciting? Something funny that might or might not give you an excuse to look up Mark Lee on the internet and message him for the sake of old times. But how lame it would be to befriend him on Facebook only to tell him that you got delivered a teapot under both your names. Hah, you would rather not embarrass yourself like that.

You shoot one last glance at the teapot before leaving it on your counter and going back to your food, you successfully forget about the whole ordeal. You carry your life on with only one small difference: Mark Lee back on your mind after long, long years.

It was just a small crush, you tell yourself, sighing as you look into the mirror, absentmindedly wondering how he’s doing. Does he think of you sometimes as well? Did he go to music college like he has always wanted? Is he happy? You wish he was even if he’s half a world away and with that thought you think it’s time to go to sleep despite the upcoming weekend days. You don’t want to mess up your sleep schedule over some boy but as soon as you pull the blanket over your chest and close your eyes, something explodes in your kitchen.

You jump out of bed faster than lightning, in slight panic over the fact that your neighbours will hate you for bothering them late at night and your landlord would kill you if you managed to blow up your microwave. But the sight that welcomes you is like no other that you imagined. The whole room is covered in thick pink glittery smoke. Like your worst Barbie nightmare.

“What the⎼” you cough, waving your hands to clear the air and once it dissolves into nothingness with its weirdly cotton candy smell, there’s a boy in the middle of it all, sitting cross legged on your kitchen counter so casually as if he owned the place. His pink-ish purple hair hangs into his eyes and he seems to find your coffee machine strangely interesting. You grab the first thing you can ⎼ a blender ⎼ and hold it up in defensive before yelling at the boy: “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my apartment?”

The stranger’s mouth pulls up in a charming smile, his eyes sparkle as he turns his attention to you, hopping off the counter. He’s all thin and long limbs, so you hate how you hate to look up at him as he walks towards you before bowing ceremoniously.

“Hello, sorry for the sudden appearance, I just couldn’t wait any longer! I’ve been stuck in that teapot waaay too long. I didn’t mean to be rude or anything. My name is Taeyong, I’m a wish dragon and you’re my new owner,” he smiles and what he says makes absolutely no sense.

“A wish dragon?” you mumble in shock, looking around to see if this is just another prank of Johnny. You wouldn’t be surprised to see him jump out from under one of the cupboards. Or maybe you just fell asleep and you’re dreaming. Yeah, that seems like a realistic scenario.

“Ah, yes! I know I don’t look like it but modern times require modern solutions. Most people freak out because of my dragon form, so human it is,” the boy who seems only a few years older than you grins as he’s chatting and you have to give it to him, he takes this role pretty seriously. “You have three wishes as my owner. You can ask for anything as long as it’s not about death or love.”

So you got yourself someone who thinks he’s basically a genie? Oh gosh, is he that drunk?

“Aha, very funny. I’m too tired for this prank, so I would appreciate it if you left the same way you came...” you point towards your window because there’s no way he came through the door. Putting down your blender because the guy looks pretty harmless despite his crazy blabbering, you move to go back to your bedroom.

“No, no, no, I can’t do that,” the boy, Taeyong as he introduced himself, appears in front of you within a second and grabs your shoulder as if he could shake some sense into you. He looks pretty desperate. “I can only get a new owner if I fulfill all wishes of yours. It was super stuffy in that box the last decade, you know.”

At that excuse you let out a laugh.

“You don’t even fit it the⎼”

“You were saying?” Taeyong is suddenly nowhere near ahead of you but instead a small creature, supposedly a dragon, in the size of your palm flies in front of your eye level. “It’s magic!”

Okay, now that sight makes you feel like it’s you who is drunk. Or worse.

“Am I dead?” you have to ask in a small, uncertain voice, trying to think back what could have happened. Maybe that explosion literally blew your apartment up? But it hurts when you pinch your arm and turning back into his human form, Taeyong wants to prove the very same thing. Not the hurting but the not dead part, obviously.

“No, you’re very much alive and a happy owner of a wish dragon. Not permanently, of course, but still,” he tells you as he drags you onto your couch in the living room. As if sitting down could help processing all this.

So you have a wish dragon in your home, a magical creature that can casually switch between its dragon and human form and he says you should wish for three things, so he could leave and you could go back to your old, boring life without magic and things that scare you to death at 11PM.

“Can I ask… why? Why me? I’m not really owner-material,” you whisper because heck yeah, you even managed to kill your cactus before. Taeyong purses his lips as he sits down, a hand at his chin.

“Well, it’s unusual indeed to have a peasant girl, no offence, as my owner but as far as I know, you and your friend asked for a sign that magic was real.”

Oh, you remember that, being so obsessed with shooting stars and other stuff like that, you two used Mark’s brother’s computer to browse the internet, trying to find evidence about all that. You were kids wanting to believe in a world beyond the one you knew. But...

“That was like 10 years ago,” you furrow your eyebrows, not getting the timing.

“Well, sorry, you weren’t put on the top of the Heaven wish list and the shipping from Shanghai to Vancouver isn’t the fastest either,” Taeyong shrugs as if it was supposed to be natural. As if that was the most unbelievable thing. Well, delivery services are sometimes a pain in the ass, that’s true but getting a wish delivered by Heaven was something you would have never thought of and it all drains down on you. Strangest realisation of your life.

“So… it’s all real,” you whisper ahead of yourself: magic, dragons and all that. You could basically see your old best friend’s I told you so smile and let out a soft chuckle. “I wish Mark could meet with you, too.”

At that the guy ahead of you claps his hands and rubs them together, creating the same purple smoke from before. You look at him alarmed.

“Your wish, my command,” Taeyong grins and lifts his hands and before you could make a sound of protest because gosh, you didn’t mean it literally, you feel the ground move under your feet and you’re falling, into the darkness but despite shutting your eyes automatically, fearing the impact of the crash, nothing comes. Only the smell of soy sauce in the air and warm sunshine on your skin… Wait, what?

Your eyelids fly open and you notice in shock that you’re not in your flat anymore, ready to sleep. Instead, you stand in the middle of a goddamn street somewhere in Korea based on the signs still in your PJ shorts and tee. Oh my gosh! You hide in an alley right away and yank the seemingly proud Taeyong with you.

“I didn’t tell you that I meant right now! I can’t meet Mark in my PJs and I need my phone and wallet to function anyways. Not to mention, I don’t speak Korean at all...” you ramble panicking, the realisation that you’re indeed on the other side of the Earth due to some magic is yet to register. But the awkwardness from the stares you have just gotten has already turned you bashful.

Listening to you, the wish dragon seems sheepish and slightly embarrassed as he scratched his nape, his colourful hair falling into his cast down eyes.

“Oh… sorry. I got so excited over the wish that I didn’t think about it! It’s been a while since I did teleport magic but hey, I still have it in me. Anyways, sorry. Phone and wallet, you said? Here you go,” he pulls out something from his pants which magically seems to be indeed your belongings. That definitely makes things earlier.

“Uhm, thanks. Where are we exactly?”

“Ah, well you mentioned your friend Mark Lee, so we’re here. Well, one bell away because I did remember that it’s rude to intrude other’s houses without permission first,” oh now, you know, you snicker internally and gulp because hell, even if you wanted to see Mark, you wouldn’t have thought that the meeting would come so soon. You didn’t have enough time to prepare yourself mentally.

“So… you’re telling me that this… is where Mark lives?” you point at the impressive apartment complex on the corner of the street but Taeyong shakes his head.

“Nope, This is where your Mark lives,” he says and before you could object about the ‘your’ part, the dragon points at the other side of the road at a luxurious house with a huge garden, basically a palace. Seeing the beautiful fountain, the modern and yet traditional Korean style building beyond the fences makes your jaw drop.

“Hahaha, alright for a magic dragon you must have made a mistake. There’s no way the Mark Lee I know lives here,” you look back at Taeyong finding it funny that the kid who used to wore his favourite tees until his mother basically threw them out would live at such a place.

“Mark Lee, korean name Minhyung, supposed to be 22 years old internationally soon. Bad eyesight, contagious laugh, clumsy but has surprisingly good reflexes, gets embarrassed easily. Sound familiar?” Taeyong crooks a brow at you as he reads the information off from a parchment he just took out of his pants. Everything he listed is just so Mark that you’re left in disbelief.

“Uuh… that sounds about right.”

“His father hit it big in 2016 with a tech company, their net worth has too many zeros to count,” Taeyong explains, seeing how surprised you were over the fact that he lived a lavish life like this. Not that he doesn’t deserve it! Mark is such a sweetheart, so of course, you would only want the best for him but as if half the world wasn’t enough, now you have another huge gap between you.

“Gosh, I really can’t believe this. How am I supposed to just ring the bell and say hello after so much time?” you sighed with your head in your hands. “Argh, I need to buy some clothes and change.”

Taeyong approves the idea based on how enthusiastically he hollers, you wonder why nobody on the street seems to pay no attention to him. Maybe only you see him, just more reason for you to be crazy.

“Good idea because we’re having dinner with Mark!”

“What?” you look up in shock, not following through. Taeyong grins down at you, flashing a giddy smile and with a twirl he’s changed from his baggy, casual clothes to something more chic but still laidback.

“Your wish was him meeting me, so I arranged everything. I can't meet him without you and the teapot there, you know,” he explains as if it was supposed to be obvious. You aren't ready yet though.

“You just want to eat all the fancy delicious food he has,” you squint at him suspiciously and the dragon stays silent, so you must be right. He laughs nervously.

“Maybe, but can you blame me? I haven’t had a feast since a literal decade!” he hollers and somehow you really cannot find it in yourself to be angry at him. You are in Seoul for god's sake after all and magic is real, you can put up with the inconvenience of buying clothes and making yourself look decent before dumping all this surprise on Mark.

An hour later you stand in front of the gates of the Lee mansion and nervously you wipe your sweating hands into your dress. You can totally do this, you just say hi to an old friend, it's not like you're afraid he wouldn't remember you, hah, of course not–

"Y/N!" 

You whip your head at the call of your name to the source of that all too familiar voice. Sure it's deeper than you remember but there's no mistake in whose it is. Plus, who else would call your name in South Korea of all places.

"Mark, hey!" you wave the boy who just got out of one of the fanciest cars you've ever seen in your life. And yet, despite the Prada suit and expensive shoes, styled hair and Swiss watch on wrist, Mark Lee still has that goofy little smile and the doe eyes that used to make you weak in the knees. Hah, who are you kidding? They still do.

"Oh my god, dude, you… you got pretty," Mark jogs up to you and having no filter like always he blabbers immediately only to stutter as his ears turn red. It was so him talking before thinking, so you didn’t really mean to dwell on his words. Although you felt your cheeks dusted with pink soon enough. "I mean, it's really good to see you! I was so surprised to see your name in my calendar for today's dinner! You should have told me you were coming to Korea, I would have picked you up at the airport."

His calendar? Ah, of course, he must have been busy and all that. You wouldn’t have been surprised to see an assistant run after him at this point, so you wonder how your wish dragon magically put you onto his list of important people to meet. Gosh, it was so weird.

"Ah, I have a funny story about that…" you chuckled to yourself but before you could have get out anything, even a please, can we go to a more private place? Mark’s eyes zero on the guy next to you and his eyes grow comically wide.

"And uhm, who is your friend?" he points at Taeyong who waves him in exchange with a kilowatt smile. He looks back at you with his mouth agapé. "Oh my god, you came to invite me to your wedding?"

He says oh my god way too many times for an eloquent rich kid, he really is the Mark Lee you knew.

"No, never! I mean, of course, I would invite you but Taeyong and I– I literally met him on my way here," you explain hastily cursing yourself for the silly lie. You came to tell him the news not to try to make it believable. 

“I heard there’s food,” the wish dragon pipes in very helpful and you shoot him a disapproving glance he doesn’t notice. Luckily, Mark doesn’t seem to mind.

“Oh, yeah, of course, dinner! Come on in, let’s get you two settled,” he grins albeit a bit awkwardly as he leads you through the gate after opening it with his card.

On the way through the very, very, very big garden, he’s chattering about how he misses the Vancouver weather, especially on humid, hot days like this and talks about how he thinks the fountain in their yard is a bit too much but his mom loved it and then before you know it, you sit by a huge dining table with fine food in front of you. Suddenly you can’t decide whether you're grateful for Taeyong’s shameless presence – he digs into the jjigae right away – because at least the situation isn’t awkward because of your silence or you’re annoyed by it because you must seem like a weirdo because of him. That’s why you decide to rip off the bandage and tell Mark as soon as the last maid has disappeared too.

“Okay, so actually I came here because I have a surprise,” you speak up, probably too serious because the boy almost chokes on his food due to how fast he turns his head towards you.

“More surprise?” he coughs out and you offer him a glass of water which he takes with a smile.

“You literally won’t believe this one!” you assure him and wait until he gulps down the drink. Only then you point to Taeyong and tell him that your childhood wish has come true. 

Mark almost falls off his chair this time.

Not after you tell him that though. He laughs at that with that wheezing laugh of his as if you told the joke of the century then pats you on the shoulder murmuring That was a good one, bro and turning back to his food. But then you look at the magic dragon pointedly and Taeyong puts down his chopsticks with an exaggerated sign. Then he flexes his magic: turning into his dragon form among additional sparkles and Mark suddenly looks like he’s about to faint. He reaches out to tap on your shoulder while not taking his eyes off the wish dragon.

“Am I dreaming?” he whispers and honestly, you totally get his reaction while Taeyong mumbles something about ‘people these days not believing in dragons’ as he shows off all the things he could do: gift riches, make one stronger than they are, giving skills of whatever one wants. He starts rambling about how this one Chinese emperor became wealthy thanks to this, how that one actor in martial arts and all this before changing back to his human form and he continues eating his pasta like nothing ever happened.

“I can do this all day,” he shrugs as if he didn’t just perform the coolest magic tricks.

“This… this is the best thing ever!” Mark exclaims with those sparkles in his eyes you missed so much. He was always so excited about new things and it automatically makes you smile how he bombards Taeyong with million questions like: ‘So you are the wish dragon that grants wishes?’ or asking him about his scales, his unique color, how it feels to live in such a small teapot, how old he is and the dragon glows under all the attention. Can’t blame him but Mark has always been so curious about the world, it’s endearing.

“So your first wish was to meet me?” he turns to you after long minutes of interrogating Taeyong and suddenly, under the spotlight you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can feel yourself blushing because you didn’t necessarily mean to wish for that but it’s not like you’re regretting it, it’s just… you don’t want him to misunderstand.

“I thought you should meet him, too, after all the package was delivered for the two of us,” you look down, trying to sound nonchalant while picking your food, avoiding Mark’s gaze. No matter how open armed he welcomed you, you still aren’t convinced that it’s okay to be here because the more time you spend with him, the more you would like to stay a part of his life. “It’s just… I wasn’t really sure we could ever meet again. We didn’t keep contact after you left.”

With dropped shoulders, you try not to sound too downhearted because of what happened because you know all too well, it wasn’t his fault, it was a family decision and look at him, it did good for him! He seems happy, they live in a practically mansion but most importantly, he didn’t seem to change with the wealth. He might wear expensive clothes but under it all he’s still the boy with the most loveable smile.

“I… I was thinking about you a lot, I just thought you forgot about me,” Mark admits with a sheepish smile, tucking his hair behind his ear shyly. He really still is the same and it’s playing silly little games with your heart. If this was a cheesy Disney movie, a slow bgm would start to play as you look into each other but your moment is broken when Taeyong accidentally kicks into his chair as he stands up. At first he looks alarmed but then giggles.

“I will just… go. Don’t mind me,” he disappears like smoke with a wink, leaving you two alone at which Mark lets out a woah. You chuckle at his cute reaction, heart doing somersaults in your chest.

You thought it would be awkward, just the two of you alone after long years but Mark has this thing that he makes people feel comfortable around him, so it’s actually quite nice. You catch up on everything and anything that comes to your mind: old neighbours, studies, friends, what are you doing now and what would you like to do, too.

After finishing the delicious dinner, Mark offers a home tour which you would never refuse and you jaw drops at the huge crystal chandelier in their living room as well as their swimming pool but your favourite place in the whole mansion is Mark’s room because it’s just so him. You can’t describe it well but the moment you step inside, it feels like home. It’s cozy to the point it makes you want to cuddle a pillow. It has colours of pastels, a synthesizer here, a guitar there, posters of singers framed on his wall and vinyl records hanging down. His window has a view of sunset and Namsan above their green garden and although you haven’t been in Seoul before, you’re pretty sure it’s your favourite place in the whole damn city, too.

“Wait, there’s someone I would like you to meet,” Mark suddenly exclaims while you’re looking through his pictures and he pulls you out of his room, out of the house, into the garden: You giggle all the way as he’s being so secretive about it but then your steps halt unexpectedly and the hand you have in Mark’s yanks him back.

“Mark… why is there a tiger in your garden in the middle of Seoul?” you ask as quietly and as immobile as you can. You don’t want to attract the sleeping animal’s attention to yourself. But to your biggest surprise, the boy just laughs, his thumb caressing your skin soothingly.

“She’s Jasmine and she won’t hurt you,” he reassures you but needless to say, you’re not too calm and you’re pulled close to the wild animal that lifts its huge head towards you lazily. “She was abandoned by her mother as a cub and she was outcast in the zoo because she’s a bit sick, so she has always been weaker than her siblings. Dad made a donation and we have raised her since she was young.”

You hiss when Mark reaches out without fear but the tiger basically purrs as he strokes down his fur at the neck. You watch in awe as this big wild animal becomes a soft cat under the hands of Mark Lee. When the boy encourages you to pat her too, you hesitate but he promises you that it’s gonna be alright and you take a leap of faith. 

“What’s her sickness?” you wonder aloud as your fingers get lost in the soft fur of the tiger. You hope she’s not in a lot of pain.

“It’s an immune system thing, not sure what exactly but she wouldn’t have survived this long in the wild,” the boy tells you and his mouth curls up in a smile when Jasmine licks your hand. It seems like you’re tiger-approved. You look into its warm brown eyes and your heart churns at the thought of her condition.

Mark tells you stories of Jasmine, about that one time she crashed his birthday cake or how much she likes to swim with him in their pool during summer and gosh, you could listen to him go on and on forever. You’re only reminded of the reality, that all this is just a possible one-time thing, a weekend getaway with magic when Taeyong shows up in swimwear, ready to crash in said pool.

“I guess he might have been bored in that teapot,” Mark laughs, not minding at all. He even offers you to join but you have a better idea.

“Taeyong, I have my second wish!” you call out for the wish dragon who’s suddenly much more excited about that than the water. He’s beside you in a moment, beaming and curious. You glance at Mark with a soft smile before looking at your personal genie confidently.

“I wish Jasmine would be healthy,” you whisper, playing with the tiger’s furry ears which she seems to enjoy. You were a little bit afraid the dragon would say it’s not possible, that he can’t cure sickness but to your relief, he just grins.

“Your wish, my command,” he nods and puts a hand over the animal. Nothing but a smoke of purple signals the magic being done but you believe in it and so does Mark by the looks of it. He reaches out for your hand and squeezes it gently. 

“Thank you,” he smiles and you smile back. He used to be your best friend after all, it’s the least you can do for him.

Mark convinces you to stay the weekend and there’s no way you could tell no to him, not when he clears his schedule just for you. He never complains about how busy he must be working for his father’s business while being a music major at a local university. All he ever talks about is the places he wishes to show you and he takes you around Seoul as if he was your certificated tour guide. It’s lovely how enthusiastic he is about it while what really matters to you is the time you spend together. He makes sure you two take a million photos to remember by, Taeyong posing on half of them since he joins you on your little trips and sometimes it’s just the two of you watching the wish dragon being genuinely in awe by modern technology, 10 years is a long time after all.

On the last day before you have to go back to Vancouver (thanks to Taeyong’s kind offer to take you the same way you came back since he misunderstood you, you don’t have to sit through a 10+ hours flight and you have more time), Mark not only tries to make you breakfast despite having an in-house chef (his eggs are ugly as heck but you appreciate his efforts and can’t help but coo at his dreamy smile under that grey hoodie when you tell him it tastes yummy) but he also introduces you to his friends in Korea. Of course, they tease you (mostly Mark) about where he has been hiding you but it’s all chill and fun you’re not quite ready to say goodbye. But you should go because the more you stay, the more you don’t want to leave. You’re lucky enough for this chance to reunite with Mark but all good things end eventually.

“Let’s not disappear from each other’s life again, okay?” the boy grins at you as you’re ready to go, Taeyong already working on his magic.

“Yeah, let’s not,” you agree easily, looking forward to your video chatting and constant texting even if it’s from the two opposite ends of the Earth with a terrible time zone difference.

You glance at the wish dragon who’s drumming with his fingers while pursing his lips as if he was waiting for something and you let out a huff before working up the courage to actually do something about these feelings inside of you. You might have regretted not confessing in middle school, you have spent years wondering about the what ifs, so you don’t want to make the same mistake twice but still, you want to give Mark a chance to ignore it all if he wants to. So you step forward and wrap your hands around him as you hug him close. It’s obvious that your action takes him aback, he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands and his body tenses under you but it all melts as you say those words that have been threatening to fall from your lips all this time:

“I have missed you.” you confess, honest and based on the hitch in his breathing, Mark must be surprised. You can’t blame him though, you just wanted him to know. You step back with a weary smile, his big Bambi eyes on you but before he could say anything you nod at Taeyong and you feel yourself falling, purple fog pulling you in. A few moments later you’re back in Vancouver, in your apartment, without him.

The first few days pass in a blurr, you can still barely believe what just happened. Your weekend with Mark feels like a too good dream but Mark kept his side of promise and texted you almost immediately as you left. He sends you selfies, songs that remind him of you and you talk about your days like you never did before. Still, it feels like you’re dancing around certain topics which are basically the elephant in the room and maybe that’s why Taeyong tries to cheer you up in his own way. Though, he soon realizes that you not being happy isn’t the problem, you are happy, you just… miss Mark more than you ever did.

“Enough of moping, you still have a wish left!” Taeyong exclaims, throwing himself onto your bed. “Come on, close your eyes, imagine what you want the most in the world and make a wish!" he singsongs. However, before you could even just indulge him, your phone pings with a new notification.

fullsun00 tagged you in their post!

You click on it right away, wondering what Mark’s friend Donghyuck is doing online at 1AM. The uploaded post turns out to be a photo of you and Mark when you all hang out near Han river. You were too busy at the time laughing at how the boy almost lost his whole scoop of ice cream before he could have had a single bite to notice his smile while looking at you. Based on his caption Donghyuck apparently wasn’t.

fullsun00: just old friends, they say. friends my ass @buttercupyn @onyourm__ark

You click your tongue wondering what Mark thinks of the callout but you press like on the post anyways. You put your phone aside before you could see how his other friends join the teasing in the comment section.

“Actually, I do have my third wish,” you speak up as you turn to Taeyong before he could make a remark on your tinted cheeks.

You’ve been thinking a lot about it during the past days. You could wish for anything but you’re at a point of your life where no riches or fame would make you happier because you’re happy enough just the way it is. It might not be perfect but you don’t want to be selfish and you want to make decisions you won’t regret: like catching up with Mark, curing his tiger and bringing happiness into the life of somebody who only ever served other people in his life.

“Ooh, what is it?” Taeyong claps, giddy as if he was waiting for this to happen. He probably did.

“I wish you would go on a vacation and enjoy life,” you tell him but unlike his usual reaction, this time the dragon’s smile fades and he blinks at you, confused.

“You could ask for anything in the world and that’s what you want? Are you sure?” he furrows his brows, not quite believing your words but you just smile, knowingly.

“Yes, Taeyong, I’m sure.”

“Your wish, my command,” he bows with his hands put together and with a twirl suddenly he’s in a Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, looking as ready for a holiday as one can be. You chuckle and tell him to just go, you’ll be fine.

You’re fine, you really are. Life goes on, you study and work, you laugh with your friends, you video call with Mark regularly and his friends are regulars on your social media, too. It’s just sometimes the feeling of missing something hits you harder than other days. Especially when you’re looking through the pictures you have from your Seoul weekend.

“I wish you were here,” you whisper ahead of you at one particularly good photo of Mark and the sunset, smiling at you behind the camera. You miss his smile, the cute wrinkles around his eyes when he crunches his nose, the sound of his laughter, his hand on your wrist… you miss him.

Ding-dong.

You stand up startled at the sound of your flat’s bell, running to the door to open it even though you have no idea who it could be so early on a Saturday morning. Not having a better idea, you expect it to be either a neighbour of your landlord but on the other side of your doorstep stands a boy who you thought was a continent away. He’s dressed semi-casually this time, his shirt tucked in his jeans, hair lightly falling onto his forehead and a nervous smile on his thin lips.

“Mark! But I⎼ I don’t even have more wishes,” you blink, taken aback, looking around to look for Taeyong in case he came back. But your behaviour just manages to confuse Mark instead.

“What?”

“I just wished you were here,” you blurt out without thinking, your words only processing later in your brain and it’s then when heat creeps onto your cheeks. Mark tries to but can’t really hide his growing smile at that.

“Really? I’m glad then. I just took my new private plane on a test drive,” he says bashfully, a silly excuse for real.

“All the way to Vancouver?” you tease, watching Mark fumble with the hem of his shirt. Your heart beats overtime just because of the fact that he’s there. 

“Well, what can I say? I did miss the weather here,” he plays along with a shrug but he’s more serious when he looks deep into your eye and adds: “And you left without letting me answer.”

Oh yes, you did. You were kind of afraid of his reaction but seeing how he was ready to travel across the world just to see you, maybe there’s no reason for you to be so afraid. It feels like deja vu but a reversed one in a way as Mark gently pulls you into a hug, his lips grazing your hair with a whisper that makes your heart skip a beat: “I have missed you too.”

You really wouldn’t wish for anything more.

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Long Nights - part 5

Neil x Reader

Chapter 5: After rain

(see chapter 4, 3, 2, 1)

summary: you learn to cope with the new situation, but you aren't the only one struggling

warnings: 18+, angst and pain, explicit language and other things

author’s note: This part of the story's been with me for... oh, so long. I just hope I did it justice. ✨6,1k words.✨ I don't even know.

Hurt/Comfort.

The song for this part is Dermot Kennedy - After rain

Enjoy! All feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you think?

——————

Tag list: @cxnnienikas @neutron-stars-collision ​ @ergunbilge @invertedneil @wanderedaway @mellifluous-cosmos @wonderwoman292 @buckysgoldenheart @townmoondaltwistle @theriverbeneaththeriver (please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list)

-----

Your hands clenched on the bed’s frame, its coldness felt like the only real thing your drugged mind could process.

Doctor’s words were filling the room, but they were muffled as if they were coming from behind a barrier. Falling from such height...extreme luck...no broken bones…head trauma...internal bruising....

Was all that talking really necessary? Yeah, you were battered, all right. And it seems that even with painkillers the weird throbbing, like a morse code from your bruised cells, was about to stay with you for a little while.

...just like the darkness.

The more the doctor spoke, the more it became clear that they didn’t have any definite answers for you. Seemed like the day spent on being prodded, stabbed with needles, and tossed into various machines resulted in nothing more than a verdict: optic nerve injury.

As for what were you supposed to do now--

“Let me get this straight, doctor,” you said, slowly losing patience. “Your only solution now is: let’s wait and see what happens?”

Drumming fingers against a piece of plastic, followed by a sigh.

“Yes. There is no effective treatment, we could try a high dosage of corticosteroids, but there is no evidence that it’s gonna make any difference, really. And as some recovery may spontaneously occur within days or weeks--”

Weeks.

A cold shiver ran down your spine and you swallowed with effort.

And that was a maybe.

You just wanted to go home.

“Grand,” you cut in, “please tell me I can wait for that possible joyful occurrence anywhere else but here.” You aimed for a lighter tone, but every word coming out of your mouth was dripping with bitterness. Grimacing at your own attitude, you forced a weak smile to appear on your face. “No offense, doc.”

“None taken,” the doctor said with a snicker. “I get it.” A short pause filled with a rustling of paper. “With all the tests done, I don’t think we need to keep you here for observation any longer, but I’d recommend you weren’t alone for the next few days. Do you have anyone to take care of you after we discharge you?”

“I don’t need--”

Neil’s firm voice overlapped with yours.

“Yes, she has.”

You huffed, startled. And a bit annoyed.

You almost forgot Neil was in the room, but to be fair, you were quite sure he’d never left your side since you woke up. His initial nervous chatter got replaced by a silent presence, always ready to jump in should you needed anything - no matter if it was a glass of water or an arm to lean on. It was all comforting, endearing even, and you were so grateful to have him around, but the thought of having Neil in your apartment triggered an irrational panic.

Instead of dwelling on the roots of the anxiety, you decided to over-talk it.

“Neil, I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be okay, and you surely have better things to do than babysitting me.”

“I don’t.” Was that a hint of hurt in his voice? “Doctor, can you discharge her even if she is gonna be alone out there?”

“I’d rather she spent at least one more day here then.”

Unbelievable. You rolled your eyes, hoping it would make the same effect as always, and groaned. “Fine, you win, only because I want nothing else but to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

“Excellent,” said the doctor cheerfully, “I’ll get the forms and come back to you soon.”

“Thank you, doc,” you sighed, hanging your head in defeat.

After spending enough time with a person, it was always easy to recognize them by the way they walk. That’s how you knew it was Neil who approached you, ever so hesitantly.

And only because of a brush of his fingers against your hand you realized you were still clinging onto the bed frame.

“Hey, I’ll just help you set up everything you need there, all right?” he said quietly and you felt him sitting down next to you. “You’re gonna have all the space you want, and as soon as you decide it’s too much, I’ll get out of your hair, I promise.”

He must have noticed that little panic of yours, huh?

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to form a coherent thought. “It sounds good though, thank you.”

“Sure thing.” Neil shifted slightly. “How are you feeling?”

You shrugged and grimaced. “I don’t know, but either I’ve slept through the best high or these drugs they gave me are kinda lame.” Hearing Neil’s light chuckle, you cracked a small smile. “Honestly? I’m knackered.”

He hummed with sympathy.

“Is there anything I can do for you now?”

The softness in his voice was more than your tired and dazed mind could handle. You leaned to the side and rested your head on his shoulder.

“Just… take me home,” you asked, forcing the words past your clenched throat.

Neil exhaled sharply and carefully wrapped an arm around you, pressing a cheek to the top of your head.

“Of course.”

------

“Welcome to my crib.”

“Thank you, it’s...” - Neil hesitated as he closed the door behind you - “...cosy.”

Patting the wall to your right, you located a small hook and hung the keys on it.

“That is certainly one word for it,” you snorted. “Why, what did you expect?”

“Frankly? Considering you’re such an... acclaimed locksmith, I imagined something… well, bigger, for starters.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way he stumbled on words, trying so hard not to sound offensive in any way.

Grinning, you put on your most snobbish tone. “Ah, sorry to disappoint, all my gold, glitter, and general pizzaz got moved to one of my many summer houses as my spacious lair worthy of the most infamous thief is under renovation, so I was forced to retreat to my humble family place in this ghastly neighborhood.”

“Such a shame,” he said and a smile brightened his words. “I like it, though. Matches your vibe, somehow.”

“Because it’s small, detached, empty, yet somehow messy?”

Neil sighed in a way you were absolutely sure he was rolling eyes at you, then helped you with the coat. “It’s gonna take more than putting words in my mouth to make me want to leave you here all by yourself, you know.”

You were quite sure a dirty joke was hiding in there, but it eluded your tired brain.

“Damn, need to up my game then,” you giggled, leaning against the wall to take the shoes off without losing your balance. “Nah, I’m messing with you, I’m grateful you got me out of there. Can’t wait to rinse that hospital stench off of me.”

“Do you want me to run a bath for you?”

You mused over the idea for a moment, “Thanks, I’ll take a shower - two minutes tops and I’d end up asleep in the ‘tub.” Probably even faster, considering that you already were running on fumes. “Anyway, make yourself at home, gonna grab some fresh clothes.”

Neil was not willing to give up.

“I’ll get you--”

“I’ve got this,” you uttered, instantly hating yourself for how harsh it came out, so you quickly added, “But would you please put the kettle on?” sending an apologetic grimace along with your words.

“On it.”

He seemed happy to have something to do. Or at least sounded like it as he took the crackling grocery and takeaway bags to the kitchenette.

You walked across the room with confidence, your hand reluctantly extended ahead on your waist level just in case you miscalculated the route to the bedroom. When you reached the door frame, you smiled to yourself. It wasn’t that hard, was it? Almost like going to the bathroom at night, not willing to put the light on to avoid waking up, right?

And exactly then, your shin hit the edge of the bed footboard, the impact sending a searing wave of pain up your whole leg. You bit your knuckle to stifle a groan and a curse that was bound to follow. Every. Goddamn. Time.

The noises coming from the other room stopped, but luckily there was no question. Nor a hero coming to rescue you from the sudden and vicious attacks of furniture.

Finally, the closet. Your fingers ran through the folded clothes. Clean underwear. A soft t-shirt. Comfy pj pants. The fatigue was so severe that the term dress to impress didn’t even cross your mind. Not that Neil cared, right? But before you stepped back from the wardrobe, you hesitated, sliding your hands down to one of the bottom drawers. All that boring into nothingness was straining, and keeping your eyes closed all the time felt wrong, somehow. Might as well, you shrugged, pulling out a silky blindfold. Maybe this would trick your brain into thinking it was just a game. A temporary thing. Nothing serious.

...but what if--

You took a shaky breath and slammed the closet shut. Swallowing with effort, you took the clothes and limped out of the room, then followed the wall to the bathroom.

Neil’s concerned voice reached you halfway there.

“You okay?”

“Peachy,” you said and flashed your teeth in a strained grin.

“Let me know if you need anything, all right?”

A change of strategy, then. You certainly didn’t mind, at least this way it didn’t trigger the unnecessarily rude reaction. And you had a feeling that you were going to need a pair of eyes to take care of those bruises of yours.

...or you could just follow the radiating ache and slap some gel where it hurts most, but at this point, as the painkillers were slowly wearing off, it would probably be easier to just pour the whole tube on the tiles and roll over in it.

“Will do, thanks.”

You closed the door behind you and sighed. The undressing required an accompaniment of grunts, hisses and curses, and when you finally got into the shower (hitting yourself only once while doing so) you were all sweaty and panting as if you’d run up twenty flights of stairs.

You winced as the warm water poured over your body, but you couldn’t wait to get rid of the lingering smell of antiseptics. Using soap uncovered the injured spots with a burning precision, but you gritted your teeth and soldiered through it, changing position slightly so you wouldn’t cause more damage with shampoo and conditioner. Condemning your past self for choosing a matching set of hair products, you were forced to guess and pick one to pour a little bit of it on your hand to judge which is which based on the texture of the fluid. Why did you even bother…?

When you were done and more or less dry, you put on the panties and wrapped another towel around yourself. A slow thumping in your head was growing stronger by the minute, but it was still bearable. As for taking care of the bruises… you realized you didn’t even know where the arnica ointment was. You’d bought one on your way just in case, but that meant--

You groaned and rubbed an eye with the back of your hand. Help it was, then.

“Neil?” you called out, cracking open the door.

A sudden rumble of a chair made you cringe, but a corner of your mouth twitched.

“What is it?” he asked as his rushed steps carried him closer.

“Could you help me with putting something on the most banged-up spots, please?” - a sheepish smile crept on your lips - “I thought about just mixing some cream with my lotion and rubbing it all over, but--”

He scoffed as if the idea personally offended him. “Jesus, please don’t. I’ll be right back.”

Your legs seemed to weigh a tonne, but also started to shake as though they were about to give in any moment, so you sat back on the edge of a bathtub with relief.

Neil came back after a while and muffled clanking suggested he brought a full medkit with him. You waited as he washed his hands thoroughly, and you stifled an amused giggle at the dedication, even though it was nothing more but common sense.

Neil’s soft voice broke the silence. “I’m gonna take a look at those wounds first, but for that, I need to touch you, is it okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” you shrugged. “I imagine you can’t do plenty without that, huh?”

A light chuckle. “Fair enough.” And featherlike touches that followed.

Careful fingers examining every bruised inch of skin, starting from the freshly hurt shin, scraped knees, going up your thighs until they met the edge of the towel. Then, ghosting over your hands, unhurriedly moving up the forearms…

You realized your breath got shaky.

He tucked a still quite damp strand of hair behind your ear and his fingertips glided over your forehead and down your temple, traced your jawline up to your chin. His knuckles grazed your neck, then moved across your collarbones, but when they met the towel again, Neil hesitated.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before, right?” you joked playfully and untucked the corner of the towel, letting it slide down your body.

A sharp inhale and a slipped-out curse.

“Christ…” uttered Neil, and you were quite sure what he was referring to. Your hip pulsated with dull pain in the place where the oxygen container had been, or rather where it must have moved to during the escape, bruising the hip bone and surrounding area at the impact.

You forced a crooked smile to your face. “And here I was hoping it looked better than it felt.”

“I can always lie to you if you want,” he offered, aiming for a lighter tone.

Shaking your head, you nibbled on your bottom lip. Somehow, the sole thought of him lying to you seemed like a certain heartache.

“No.” Your voice sounded weak, but maybe that was understandable, given how powerless you felt overall. Or maybe you could stop being so pathetic any moment now.

You closed your eyes, and while you tried to parley with your brain to give you a break, Neil started meticulously treating your wounds, focused on not causing any more discomfort than it was needed. You switched all your attention to his ministrations, grimacing slightly from time to time as he was tending particularly sore spots. Neil’s warm fingers contrasted with the cold ointment, all the different sensations fought a merciless battle to take precedence over one another, making even more of a mess in your tired head.

You heard Neil shifting in front of you as he was about to move to your injured face. Acting on an impulse, you spread your legs to allow him to come closer, and so he did, positioning himself on his knees between your thighs without a word. Quite a concentration, you thought and smiled fondly to your memories of the times you’d seen him so committed to a task. Slightly furrowed brows, blonde strands falling into shining blue eyes, with a bottom lip tugged between the teeth...

A brief touch on your temple brought you back to reality and you gasped, reaching out to hold on to Neil to keep your balance. As you rested your hands on his sides, he gently cupped your face and continued with taking care of the bruises. It felt as if the warmth radiating from him was mending you whole, even more so when it got combined with tender, soothing brushes of Neil’s thumb against your cheek. You melted into his palm and exhaled slowly, dropping your shoulders and relaxing.

Before you could stop the words from spilling out, you said under your breath, “It was just a fall, I don’t know how it got that bad,” voicing the thought that’s been on your head all day.

Neil pulled back abruptly and the tranquil moment shattered like glass against the bathroom tiles.

“Are you being serious right now? Just a fall? You’re lucky you’re alive, goddamnit, let alone able to walk!” Disbelief mixed with anger in his tone, taking you aback. And to your surprise, it felt like yet another wound, inflicted right at your chest. “Y-you hit the wall before you crashed on the ground, you--” his voice broke and Neil sighed. You heard him packing the medkit, simply tossing things inside before he moved away.

“Oh,” was all you could say, reaching for the abandoned towel to wrap it over your shoulders, in a sudden and desperate need to cover yourself. In every way possible. “Remind me to tie a cat and a buttered slice of bread to myself the next time we do this.”

He didn’t respond to your poor attempt at lighting up the mood, instead, you heard the door handle, a deadpanned “I’ll heat up the food” and he was gone.

You had no idea where his reaction had come from. Normally, you’d have followed him straight away to confront him, but right then you felt so exhausted and helpless you just slouched in your spot, with your hands fisted on the towel, and sat like that for a while, leveling your breath. You mustered all the strength you had left, found your clothes and put them on. Then, you tied the blindfold, letting a piece of sleek material bring a shred of comfort and hide a pitiful glimmer in the corners of your eyes.

You joined Neil in the other room and sat at the table. He didn’t comment on your attire nor the choice of accessories, hell, he barely even spoke to you when he put the plate in front of you, as well as through the whole meal.

Even though you’d picked up your favourite comfort food on the way, it tasted bland, and with your stomach tied into a knot, you couldn’t force more than a few bites into your system. Judging by the sounds - or rather the lack thereof - coming from across the table, Neil’d lost his appetite too.

Finally, you cleared your throat, breaking the heavy silence. “I think I’m full,” you said and stood up, grimacing slightly.

“I’ll do the dishes, go lie down,” he said quietly. “Please.”

As if he anticipated an argument. You really had no energy for that.

“Thank you. Are you--...” you stumbled on the question, but Neil chimed in.

“I’ll be on the couch.”

...maybe it was for the best.

You nodded and turned on your heel to fetch a spare pillow and a blanket while Neil was occupied with the dishes. The ever-growing headache was becoming unbearable, but you hoped that the sweet arms of Morpheus would bring a much-needed release soon. You brushed your teeth quickly and mumbling “‘night,” you disappeared into the bedroom, leaving the door half open for god knows what reasons. Perhaps to make you feel less alone.

The plan of sleeping off the worst pain looked good on paper but proved to be too hard to execute. That bloody awful feeling of being tired beyond comprehension and still unable to doze off, right? You tossed and turned (although carefully), trying to find the most comfortable position. After a while, you took the blindfold off and curled on your side, staring into the nothingness again. Listening to the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. Forcing every breath through your clenched chest. Trying to focus on anything other than neverending soreness.

You heard Neil’s footsteps and how they stopped right at your door. Stalling.

And you didn’t even try pretending you were asleep. Waiting.

“Hey... I wanted to check if you need anything before I turn in for the night.”

The softness of his voice was tainted by something as if he was holding back. But you were so glad to hear it anyway.

“Actually,” you said, propping yourself on the elbow and wincing, “could you bring me one of those fancy painkillers, please? I thought I might do without for a little while but-- ...yeah, not quite.”

“Of course, coming right up.”

When Neil was back, you sat on the bed, allowing him to hand you a glass and ...a shot glass? You shook the latter slightly and something rattled inside.

“Ah, okay, smart,” you smiled with recognition. “Thanks.”

“Don’t tell me you thought it was vodka?”

A hint of amusement in his tone made you snort.

“I can’t say I would mind,” - shrugging, you swallowed the pill and washed it down with cool water - “but this is gonna be more efficient, I guess.”

You shifted in your spot to put down both glasses on a bedside table. Neil was there to make sure you actually placed them on top of it, pushing your forearm gently when you were about to create a mess.

That light touch brought a lump back to your throat. As if the awkward silence wasn’t suffocating you enough.

“If that’s all…” said Neil quietly, taking a step towards the door.

But you reached out into the darkness and found his hand.

“Neil…” you squeezed his fingers, desperately trying to convey words that eluded you. Your plea was barely a whisper. “...stay?”

The pulse pounded in your ears as the stillness that followed seemed to last forever.

Then, Neil squeezed your hand back.

“I will,” he choked out, and his thumb grazed over your knuckles. “Be right back.”

You nodded and let go of his hand, not even sure that he could see your gesture, then moved to the other side of the bed. The held-back breath escaped in a shudder as another wave of pain overrode your senses, leaving a trail of cold sweat down your spine.

A faint tock of the light switch in the other room, then footsteps and a pillow landing next to yours. Neil snuggled down, keeping his distance, and you curled again in your spot, hoping that his proximity will calm you down enough to fall asleep. But as you said your goodnights and Neil’s breath leveled and got deeper, you still waited on the pills to start working, getting more and more lost in your own head and thoughts you’d managed to keep lidded on until now.

Because if only you’d cracked that safe faster. Or maybe if you’d discussed that escape route beforehand, somebody would have found a better path through the roofs. No, scratch that, the plan was tight, and it was your goddamn fault that you’d gotten distracted by a sodding rain, of all things. And that jump? Bloody amateur hour. Should have seen that coming, stepped to the side, or caught onto anything. You’d been granted a second chance at that wall. But no, you’d had to panic like a bush-leaguer, as if it had been your first fall in your life. And now you were lying there, feeling sorry for yourself. Abso-fucking-lutely pathetic.

What if Madame Karma finally decided to make you pay? What if you were never going to get your sight back? A warm tear trickled down your face slowly. No more free runs and adrenaline rushes while taking shortcuts through the most obscure places. No more lying on the rooftops to observe how the sky changes colours through the night. No more sitting on the hill and watching how the sun reflected in the river. How it danced on that messy blonde hair. You would never see his blue eyes lighting up again--

Your chin trembled as the tears stained your pillow. It felt as if you were nothing but pain, fear, and heartbreak. Pressing your lips together, you stifled a sob that shook your body mercilessly. You were nothing.

“What’s wrong?”

You wanted to brush it off, to tell him you were okay and he could go back to sleep. But instead, you sniffled and whimpered, unable to pass any word through your tightened throat.

Neil gasped and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, hey, come here,” he said softly as his fingers pressed lightly onto your back, urging you to move and you shifted into his embrace, clenching your fists on his t-shirt, struggling for every breath. “I’ve got you, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay,” he cooed, wrapping the arms around you gingerly. A much-needed reassurance whispered over and over again like a plea to anyone who could be listening.

Weeping quietly into Neil’s chest, you sought refuge in his closeness, clinging onto him as he held you and stroked your hair, waiting for the worst to pass. Soon, you ran out of tears, and there were just sobs, convulsing you whole like a heart-wrenching hiccup. Neil hugged you a little tighter, placed a small kiss on top of your head, and started humming, a melody barely more than a murmur. It felt familiar, but why?

By and by, the song and a steady heartbeat against your cheek weaved together and calmed your racing mind. Enough to finally let you drift off, with Neil’s soothing voice and warmth enveloping you, bringing comfort and hope for a better tomorrow.

-----

You should have known better than to expect something to be different when you woke up. Swallowing down the disappointment and resignation, you dug yourself up from under the covers. The pain dialed down, but was very much there, especially during sudden moves.

Maybe you would feel better if you washed your face, still a bit puffed after all that--

…oh shit.

Your brain halted, torn between making you cringe and spreading the warmth through your chest. If you were to survive the day, the key was not to think about what happened last night. At least you didn’t have to look him in the eyes, huh? Armed with a smile, albeit a bit sour, you grabbed some clothes on your way out and ventured into the quiet living room.

“Neil?”

For a split second you were sure he was gone, but--

“Over here.” Judging by the sound of it, here was somewhere near the couch. “How are you feeling?”

Concern. Obviously. He’d seen you at your worst, so there was no point in hiding your state.

“Like I’ve spent some time inside a cement mixer,” you sighed. “But better, thanks. What time is it?”

“Almost 3 o’clock.” A faint thud of a book being put down. “Are you hungry? I was about to fix something.”

It was a good moment for your insides to growl in confirmation, but at least this time your body decided to spare you. Although your stomach was pretty much cleaving to your backbone, all right.

“Oh yes, please.” You smiled with appreciation and raised a hand with a bundle of clothes. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

That minute took a little longer, as your mobility was still pretty lacking, but fresh as a (beaten-up) daisy, in a comfortable outfit and a blindfold, you followed your nose to the kitchenette.

“Smells delicious.”

A soft chuckle came through the sizzling. “Hope it tastes good as well, wanna try?” When you nodded, you heard Neil walking up to you. “Open your mouth, careful - it’s hot.”

You recognized the rich flavor as some variation of the Napoli sauce, perfectly balanced, and you could only hum in approval. Where the hell had he gotten those herbs from?

“It’s amazing,” you said, but couldn’t resist a little smirk, “or I’m just starving.”

Neil scoffed lightly. “Might be that.” There was a smile and a hint of pride in his tone, and it made you beam a little wider. “Come sit down.”

When you did, and a bowl of pasta landed in front of you on the table, your mind involuntarily went back to last evening. That tension. Sudden distance. Everything after that. What was worse, it seemed like you weren’t the only one thinking about it, because the silence that fell between you now grew heavy with unresolved issues lingering in the air.

But maybe you were misreading the room and you were fine.

“Listen, about yesterday--”

...or not.

Instead of letting Neil finish, you panicked, and before you could stop yourself, you used his moment of hesitation to blurt out, “Oh god, I’m so sorry, I was exhausted and everything hurt and--” you frowned and hid the face in your palm. The shame felt like a tightening ring around your chest, making it hard to breathe. ”I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Wait, what?” huffed Neil, his voice filled with consternation. ”Jesus, no, that’s not what I meant, I--” he faltered and groaned, then added more softly, “Why are you even apologizing for that?” And when you shook your head, unable to find the right words, Neil gently touched your arm, rubbing it up and down slowly. “I’m glad you weren’t alone.”

Your heart clenched with fondness as you palmed over his hand.

“Thank you for being there for me.”

A twist of the wrist and a light squeeze on your fingers.

“Of course.”

Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

After a moment, you asked quietly, “If it isn’t about that, then what?”

A loud buzz cut through the air, the unexpected noise almost making you jump in your seat. Impeccable timing.

Neil picked the vibrating phone from the table. “It’s work, I have to get that.” His hand was still holding yours, reluctant to let go. “If I’m not done by the time you finish eating, two words: bed rest.”

“May I make it a couch rest, doc?” you grinned, and by the resigned sigh you could tell Neil definitely rolled his eyes at you.

“Just make yourself comfy and horizontal, all right?” A final brush of his thumb against your fingers and he was up, walking off from the table. “Hi, what’s up?”

Whatever they needed him for, it took so much time that you finished your meal and obediently moved to the couch. That unfinished talk left you anxious enough to nervously pick at the edge of the blanket, but as Neil was still lost in a hushed conversation, and the aforementioned blanket was way too cosy, you slowly drifted off into a dreamless nap.

You weren’t sure what woke you up - a shift on the other side of the couch, or a heavy sigh, one of those signaling the weight of the whole world on somebody’s shoulders. Hearing the latter was enough to wipe the remains of sleep from your system and you sat up, grunting slightly.

“What is it?”

Another sigh.

“I’m an idiot.”

You puffed your cheeks and shrugged, a corner of your mouth twitching in a nervous smile.

“Before I let out a purposeful no and kick you - why are you saying that?” Silence. “...Neil?” When the answer was not coming for too long, you moved to your knees, reaching out until you touched his shoulder. No reaction. Trying to keep a rising worry at bay, you urged him quietly, “Talk to me, please.”

Neil inhaled slowly and he finally spoke, his voice barely there.

“I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” you asked, knitting your brows together as you brushed your hand down his arm only to find his clenched fist, tightening even further under your touch.

“For yesterday, for letting it out on you, when you were just--” he paused to swallow audibly, and then continued, blurting out one strained word after another, “and all of that while this whole mess is my goddamn fault because if I hadn’t hesitated out there, we both would have made it in time--”

“No, no, no, you can’t do that to yourself,” you said, crawling into his lap and nestling between his legs, wrapping yours around his waist. “It was a perfectly normal reaction.” The pulse thumped in your ears when you placed one hand on Neil’s chest and the other one travelled up along his neck to cup his face. Then your thumb glided over a wet trail on his cheek and it felt as if your heart shattered into a million pieces. Oh please, no. “My darling...” you whispered, but it was as if Neil barely acknowledged you were there, trembling and lost.

He pressed his forehead to yours and continued, traces of dread ringing in his hollow tone more and more with every choked-out sentence.

“When I turned back and I saw that--….at first, I thought you’d been shot, then you fell and-- suddenly all I could think was if your oxygen container was intact, or--... I called the Cavalry on the way down but I was so scared I was too late, I thought--” his voice broke and you felt him frowning as he shuddered, struggling to carry on. “I thought that you were gone, and I didn’t--”

His heart raced under your palm while you kept stroking his cheek, consoling him softly, “Neil, I’m here, it’s all right, I’m here.” But when that didn’t seem like enough to bring him back to you, you reached to his neck to pull him closer and kissed him, desperate to make him stop spiralling down. To make him stop hurting.

A muffled whine against your lips. But then you felt him melt and he kissed you back, still helpless, wrapping his arms around you carefully as if he expected you to fall apart under his touch. Not quite there. You deepened the kiss purposefully, burying your hands in his hair, tugging at the strands as you pressed yourself to him as much as you could in your position. You didn’t care about your own pain or discomfort. If any of you were meant to be lost in any way, it might as well be this. Neil gasped and lifted you up so you properly straddled him, then tightened the embrace, clinging on to you for dear life as he captured you in another kiss, and this time it was his turn to try to convey the unbearable mixture of despair, relief, and immense longing. All of that poured into this simple act of devotion until there was nothing but pure need. To touch and to be touched. To hold and to be held. To be close. To be wanted. To be found.

A breathless moan escaped your mouth and Neil pulled back ever so slightly.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said softly, his fingertips gliding over your features.

Oh, how much you missed looking into his eyes.

The fact that he cared, without simply going ahead with it, made your chest clench with fondness. At this point, you trusted him beyond reason, although it was still nice to hear it.

“I’m not made of glass,” you huffed, nuzzling his nose.

A low hum and a trail of kisses along your jawline. You shivered when his lips reached a spot just below your ear and then smiled against your skin.

“Are you sure?” his husky voice was playful, but you knew he was double-checking.

“Try me.”

That moment was not about chasing the high. It was about feeling each other. Being with one another. As close as possible. That couldn’t wait, and neither could any of you, tugging at the clothes in random order with urgency.

Neil looped his arm around your shoulders, settling you on your side in his embrace. Keeping you steady. Safe. Close. And even though his kisses were desperate and leaving you winded, his touch was gentle, and you knew the blue eyes were watching you attentively, ready to react to the smallest sign of discomfort. But also to any encouragement to go further.

A hitched breath. A leg hooked on his hip. Fingers dragged across his back.

He was ready to give you everything and take whatever you were willing to offer. And you wanted to do the same for him until everything else lost its meaning and it was just you and him, and the fire that burned inside you. Searing every nerve. Cleansing the doubts. Numbing the pain. Lighting up the darkness. And, in the end, bringing resolution as you both came undone, moaning and gasping for air only to be comforted by hands cupping cheeks and yet another kiss. Slow. Tender. Full of admiration.

When Neil drew back and shifted slightly, you whined in protest, wrapping your leg around him tighter to keep him in place.

“Where are you going?”

A quiet chuckle, followed by a feeling of a soft blanket sliding over your naked body. And a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

You sighed with content as Neil pulled you closer again. The light stubble scratched your fingers as they studied the impossible angles of his face unhurriedly.

“Good.”

(next chapter ->)

[cheezritsu]

Elegy for the Living

Fushiguro x reader

One of the tenets you’ve created for yourself when you became a jujutsu sorcerer was that you would save everyone—criminals, bullies, junkies, the like. You were no god; judgement was never yours to give. And yet, Fushiguro Megumi is trying his damndest to break every single one of your beliefs, brick by hard, infuriating brick. It’s all fun and games, until it’s not.

Alternatively: enemies to lovers and back again, in five easy steps.

A/N: currently in the process of writing an Enemies to Lovers Fushiguro fic so here’s the first part:

It’s possibly only seconds after you’ve finished battle. Seconds, he thinks, because his chest is still heaving, because you haven’t moved an inch, not even to pick up the weapon that’s been left behind after the final blow. (His blow, which made lamented card float lamely into the grass. It sits there, the five of cups, his disapproving frown aimed at you.)

Your feet are still, as if nailed to where you stand. The clouds begin to drop rain over the two of you, the run off puddling around your grimy combat boots. That’s how long you stay staring at the dismembered figure; you can only assume it was once a person by the puzzle pieces of body parts left behind after the attack. A hostage, a possessed person, a cursed item. A human being. Or, what was one.

Megumi’s steely eyes hold no reverence, instead watching your movements as you mindlessly reach into your uniform pocket, pulling out a small carton. You shake the box once, and the slim stick reveals itself.

Megumi’s skin prickles. “Hey,” he says, stepping closer to you as you continue to numbly place a cigarette between your lips. “We need to get going. Ijichi’s coming with the car soon, we have to meet him back at the entrance.”

There’s a flicker of blue light that emits from your fingertips; cursed energy, ignited like a flame. Megumi sneers at the misuse, watching in disgust as you take the first few puffs. “Unbelievable,” he mumbles. You tear your eyes away for only half a second to give him a withering glare, and then they’re back where they started.

But they twitch. There’s anger that fuels the blue flames licking your fingertips, and you can’t help but wonder.

“Why’d you attack it with divine dogs before I could secure him?” You don’t even acknowledge his look of bewilderment. “If I’d been able to separate them—“

“You couldn’t have.” He snaps. The tightness in his jaw is visible; it makes the sharp line his face even more defined, while at the same time marring the his boyish handsomeness. Does being a hardass come naturally? Or does he force himself to be this way? You mull over the question as he berates you, catching his customary reply:

“You’re not even close to being strong enough to save everyone.”

Megumi’s truths are white noise, barely decipherable from the drizzling rain. Underneath the awning of this abandoned high school, you’re safe from the onslaught of rain, but the body is not. It sags as water soaks into the clothes—a seifuku, black with white stripes. Blood floods the grass, trickling in rivulets down the sidewalks, sloshing into the gutter. You breath in, as if you’re sighing, taking a long drag of smoke that makes your lungs burn and your eyes finally shed the tear that’s been welling in the corner. The body’s going to bloat in a few days if it keeps raining.

Megumi, not privy to your inner thoughts (and frankly, unsure you even have any,) grabs your left arm. “Are you even listening?”

“How come whenever demons attack it’s always in shitty weather? Ever noticed that?”

Perhaps it’s the way your fingers separate, all of them equally spaced out as your right hand reaches up to drag the cigarette from your lips, that makes Megaumi pause. As the cigarette slides between your digits, a trail of blood stains the pure white. You haven’t wiped your hands yet. You go cross eyed from looking down, examining where the blood on your hands stains the cigarette. Your eyes glaze over, as if throughly entranced.

Megumi tears his eyes away, lest he be caught up in the same hypnosis. “We don’t have time for your stupid questions.”

You scratch your forehead with your thumbnail, humming slightly. “That just means you don’t know either.”

Cold wind sweeps through the thin fabric of his uniform. He looks at you with a pinched frown. “No, it means I don’t care. Let’s go.”

He’s done asking you anything. He heel turns away, leaving you—to do what, exactly? Your unerring stare never leaves the quartered girl, her mouth open to the clouds, like the dammed souls of hell crying for their saviour.

(Did you think that savior would be you? The mocking voice sounds unsettlingly like Megumi.)

Or perhaps, more likely, in her final moments of living she screamed for the safety of her mother, like any little girl would. Like she would.

“Damn,” you sigh, finally squatting down to collect your card. Your knees create a symphony of cracks, and you groan like an old war veteran when you stand back up.

When you spot Megumi, he’s leaning against one of the poles under the awning, his attention turned to the road. He doesn’t see you light another cigarette, inhaling slower this time to ride the drug out.

He only slightly turns his head when your feet start idly sloshing the water where you stand. The pointed toe of your shoe draws words he can only guess before they wash away.

“What are you doing?” He asks, both to get you to stop and from a deep seated curiosity. “Writing,” you say briefly. The cigarette dangles precariously from your barely open lips, your hands splayed out beside you to keep balance.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I gathered that much.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“What are you writing?”

A quick bite of a response loads itself on your tongue, but you hold back. Instead, you divulge the truth to him, knowing it’ll make him angrier.

“Things that deserve to be forgotten. Pain,” deft strokes write the kanji, and Megumi sees it take shape. “Agony. Memories. Sorrow.”

You finally take the cigarette out, the stick already half burnt. His eyes narrow upon it, his blood boiling as you waste your dexterity on vent poems in the rain. Perhaps this is your most vexing quality; your almost childish insistence to succumb to whatever emotion moves you at the moment. You’re as fickle and fragile as the wind, pretending you’re made of stone.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” He suddenly asks, though not for the first time. The first time he asked was far less judgemental than it was now. “Why do you always make things worse?”

Worse for who, you have to ask. You cough, trying not to outwardly cackle in his face. The idea of bringing Megumi misery makes you nearly giddy. The bubble of excitement dies down the moment your eyes catch his expression: brows pinched, eyes flashing dangerously until they give a lidded glare, his mouth turned in an upward sneer. The look saves just for you, just when you’re alone.

“I don’t think anything could get worse than this,” you tilt your head towards him, pointedly blowing smoke. “Besides,” you tack on. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” You laugh again at his response, and his shoulders tense, expression slipping into a boyish anger. “It’s not about you, it’s about the fact that you exacerbate your bad emotions like you want every other demon in a five kilometer radius to find us.”

“Exacerbate,” you snort childishly. “Now that’s a five dollar word.”

His posture has straightened, shoulders defensively squared and facing you. “When are you going to admit you’re not made for this, huh?”

Your shoulders shake with another laugh, this one hollow and bitter. He stands in front of you, expectant, voice laced with an air of maturity he doesn’t have the right to posses. Not even if he was born decades before you, a millennia before you.

“Made for this,” you repeat slowly. “Like the gods themselves crafted you, Fushiguro Megumi, from the mud under my shoe to fight demons.” You relish in the hitch in breath you elicit from him, even if it is followed by the individual cracks of his knuckles. You meet his gaze, and your combined cursed energy signature fluctuates; those same demons in the five kilometer radius must be fainting in its wake.

It doesn’t deter either of you. You’re both as still and stubborn as bulls. It feels like having a stare down with your own reflection, and it is agonizing to know this truth. To know he is your mirror.

“You weren’t made for this either, Fushiguro. You made yourself. So you must forgive me for not suppressing any and all emotions, like you.”

The curl to his lip drags upward even further, like the snarl of a wolf catching its prey. “You can barely keep it together after a grade 2 mission, and you want to come at me?” There’s something cruel in his eyes when he says it, something that wants to dissect your flaws and put them in a glass cage to repeatedly gawk at. Your eyes drop to ground, unable to bear the lens he views you with.

“You’ve lived with sorcery and demons for so long, and you’ve never gotten used to it. So why do you keep pretending like you can do this when you can’t?”

You blow smoke towards your feet. It vanishes quickly, evaporating into thin air. You stare into it, as if your memories are scripted in fog, abs you can make them disappear just as easily.

Megumi scrutinises your face for every micro expression that flits across your features, and he’s disappointed when all he sees is confusion. Like you don’t know the answer either.

He clicks his tongue, training his eyes back to the road. You stay staring at your feet, unblinking, lest you close your eyes see her decomposing body behind your eyelids.

A sudden realization shocks you as you bring the cancer stick to your lips for the first time in minutes. You’re only a quarter of the way through, leaving it forgotten. But there’s a warmth in your veins and a steadiness to your hands, some non-nicotine induced high. You smile callously at Megumi, who stands stiff as a board, pretending not to glance at you from the corner of his eye.

Unfortunate, you think. Seems I’ve found a better drug.

You take a drag off the cigarette. It’s feels like nothing in comparison. You burn through half of it, so that when you open your mouth, smoke curls out like a simpering dragon; elegant, dangerous, intoxicating. Megumi gapes as you grin, and something in you burns.

“You’re fun to argue with.” You snuff the cigarette between your calloused fingertips, putting out the ash in the box careful not to litter. Megumi’s expression is so priceless, you laugh when you say “Let’s do this again sometime, yeah?”

[archonanqi]

fragile as dust  / 3

🔖 [first] [prev] [next]

---

ch 3 | first impressions

    Please, sit,” the man offered. His voice was back to the way it was before, quiet, gentle and solemn. You obeyed, sitting gingerly on the edge of one of the wooden seats. “May I have your name?”

    “Hansi, sir.” Quickly, you add, “though sir can call me whatever sir likes.”

    “Hansi,” he murmured. In his lips, your name — something that’s been baggage all your life, a reminder of the woman who threw you away — sounded like divinity. “Please, call me Zhongli.”

    Okay. The meeting was not going at all how you expected. But then again, it was what you figured: honorable in public, but behind closed doors—

    “Yes, Mr. Zhongli,” you nodded.

    “Would you like some tea?” He gestured to the other cup in the middle of the table. It was filled with a faint, golden liquid. “Please, help yourself. It’s Pu’Er.”

    You only froze for a second. Sure, you’d play along. You thanked him, reaching for the cup. It burned your fingers through the porcelain, but Archons be damned if you were going to drop and break it. You took a small sip. It scorched your parched throat all the way down.

    “How is it?”

    “It’s good, sir—“

    “Zhongli,” he reminded you gently.

    “It’s good, Mr. Zhongli.” It was not a lie — you wouldn’t be able to tell good tea from boiled grass, but the cup you just downed warmed your stomach and soothed your frayed nerves.

    “I’m glad to hear that,” he smiled, and suddenly — too late — you realized that maybe you shouldn’t have drunk something that you hadn’t watched this strange man prepare. You knew of the drugs that these men sometimes slipped into the food they gave to street rats like you, you’d seen many a woman and child stolen away because of it.

    You cursed yourself — what had happened to keeping your guard up? Was a soothing voice and pretty face all it took to earn your trust these days?

    You stiffened as he raised a gloved hand. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but you certainly were not expecting him to launch into a monologue about the history of Pu’Er tea.

    He did, anyway, losing you somewhere between “harvested from the caves of Ling’ju Pass” and “aged delicately for fifteen years”. To say that his behavior had transcended bewildering was an understatement. Was this some kind of setup? A sick joke that rich people played on their new servants and slaves?

    You realized that he’d stopped talking, clearly awaiting a response.

    “Wow, aged for fifteen years. That’s a uh, long time,” you offered lamely. Archon help you.

    “It may seem so,” Zhongli mused, “but it’s precisely that fermentation process that gives the Pu’Er tea its signature flavor. Fifteen years is but a small price to pay for such a unique experience, don’t you think?”

    Briefly, you remembered all the trinkets and wallets and jewelry you’d stolen from passersby, how desperately you’d pawned them off at the nearest willing merchant for the promise of a meal or two.

    “Yes,” you agreed, even though you couldn’t begin to imagine being rich enough to wait fifteen years to sell something.

    It had been a few minutes since you’d drunk the first sip of tea, and you were still fine. Besides, he was drinking from the same pot. Maybe the tea was safe, after all. You took another sip, finishing your cup. Despite yourself, you found yourself hoping that Zhongli would continue talking in that silky voice of his, even if it was just about fermented tea leaves.

    “I do apologize for rambling the evening away. I’m sure you’re exhausted from your journey.” He continued, “If you’re finished with your tea, perhaps we should head home. We can talk tomorrow, once you’ve rested.”

    Home. You swallowed a dry retch, the implications stuck in your throat. Of course. It served you right for forgetting what you were here for. Behind closed doors—

    “Yes. We can go if that’s what pleases you, Mr. Zhongli.” Your voice broke twice in that sentence. If Zhongli noticed, he did not say anything about it.

    He rose from his seat, and suddenly you realized just how tall, how solid he was. If you ran, he would catch you. If you fought back—

    Sweeping by you, he opened the door and stepped aside, gesturing into the night air. “After you.”

---

    You trailed a few feet behind him as you two walked through the quiet, twisting alleys of Liyue. You thought you knew the city well enough, having lived on its streets for as long as you had, but he seemed to know the back roads of the city like it were an extension of his own body.

    You took a deep breath to calm yourself. He left behind a faint lingering scent of flowers — like the glaze lilies you’d stolen from Yujing Terrace to pawn, but mostly, he smelled of warmth — earthy, spices, the fresh spring grass.

    Seeing Zhongli in all his standing glory made you suddenly and horribly aware of how unsightly you were in comparison. You’d been cleaned up before the escort, but there were still yellowing bruises that the damp cloth couldn’t erase, chewed fingernails and frayed hair and rib bones that jut out from under pallid skin. And while the dress you were wearing was the nicest thing you’d ever owned, it was but rags in comparison to the elegant outfit Zhongli was clad in.

    Your gaze stopped at his waist, and the golden gem dangling at his belt.

    “Is that a Vision?” you blurted, and immediately regret it. “I’m sorry, it’s not my place to ask about you, Mr. Zhongli.”

    “Please, never apologize for speaking your mind,” Zhongli answered, without missing a stride. “And to answer your question, yes. A Geo Vision.”

    The one at your chest is still warm against your skin. “That’s amazing,” you say, and you meant it. Vision users were powerful people capable of unbelievable feats — even raised on the streets, you knew that. You wondered how Zhongli got his Vision: a fight, perhaps, against the ferocious monsters that roamed the wilderness outside Liyue Harbor?

    If Zhongli had a Vision, there was no longer any doubt about it: the Vision given to you was a mistake. How could you ever hope to compare to someone like him? “You must be an incredible person, if Rex Lapis himself acknowledged you.”

    Zhongli did take pause at that, peering at you with a strange look in his eyes. A small smile danced across his lips. “That is one way to think of it,” he acknowledged, as he continued walking. “It has been said that Rex Lapis only grants Visions to those he deems the most worthy.”

    The rest of the trek was silent, until he stopped walking so suddenly that you almost bumped into him. You looked up from the ground, and found your breath taken away by the sculpture before you. It was a statue of Rex Lapis — there were plenty around Liyue, but tonight, silver stone gleaming under a sky full of stars, he looked ethereal.

    “This was cast by the first generation of Hanfeng Ironmongers, long before mankind mastered the properties of flame and the forge,” Zhongli said, citing the name of the most famous clan of blacksmiths in Liyue Harbor. “Each time I pass it, I like to take a moment to stop and admire it. It’s a beautiful statue.”

    “Beautiful,” you echoed absently, “he’s beautiful.” This was the Archon who had saved your life with that Vision, whether he’d meant to or not. You offered a silent prayer — of unyielding gratitude, for forgiveness, and for mercy. When you opened your eyes, Zhongli was eyeing you with a strange look on his face.

    “I would ask you what you prayed for,” he chuckles, “but some superstitious folk would say then that your prayers won’t come true. Shall we continue? We are almost home.”

---

    After ten more minutes of walking, you could feel your ankles trembling under the weight of your body. You and Zhongli had left Liyue, and begun walking through the forests on the outskirts of the city. Finally, he came to a stop in front of a house tucked into the foliage of a valley. It was a sizable estate, with a walled back garden and two floors, but you were mildly surprised that he hadn’t brought you to a castle, at this point.

    Zhongli unlocked the door and gestured, again, for you to go ahead. Your stomach in knots, you took your first step into your new home — and prison.

    It was warm.

    Embers crackled in the fireplace of the living room, casting a faint golden glow on the tasteful, lavish furniture that lined the floor. There were tapestry scrolls on either side of the fireplace here too. You don’t understand the poetry written on these ones, either.

    “Welcome to my home,” Zhongli said, walking past you. He did not touch you. “We have much to discuss, but that can wait until tomorrow. You look like you’re on the brink of collapse, and we can’t have you getting sick from exhaustion.” Despite yourself, you feel a small twinge of something at that — you’d never, in your life, had someone care about your health. He probably just doesn’t want to deal with the hassle of a sick servant, you told yourself.

    “Let us go to bed and have a good night’s sleep first,” Zhongli continued, and anything you’d felt quickly soured.

    Bed. You swallowed the panic rising bright and hot in your lungs. You might not be as educated as he surely was, but you were not naive. You knew that sleep was not what you would be getting tonight. The plea got stuck on your tongue. What could you say, to stop this rich, powerful man from claiming what was his?

    “Let me show you to your room.” He beckoned at you to follow as he strode down a long hallway. You blinked, too stunned to obey for a moment, before running after him.

    “My room?” You asked.

    “Yes.” He paused at the end of the hallway, opening one of the doors to reveal a cozy bedroom. Like everything else about Zhongli, it was tastefully decorated — lush, dark green curtains framing a circular window. A bed sat in the corner of the room, adorned with thick blankets and more pillows than you’d ever seen in your life.

    “This room was a study until very recently, and so these drawers are still currently full of my things,” Zhongli gestured to the bedside table, “but the closets are empty and free for you to use. I was thinking that we could go shopping for some clothes for you tomorrow, if you were feeling well enough. I do apologize for not purchasing any in advance, I was not sure of your measurements—“

    “Wait,” you said, afraid to let yourself hope. “Wait. We won’t be sharing a bed?”

    He turned to look at you, surprise briefly flashing in his eyes, and you’d never wanted to take back a sentence so badly in your life. A palpable silence draped the room, as Zhongli studied you so intently that you thought you might fall over dead, right then and there.

    “Truthfully tell me,” he said, voice as low as a hum. “Is that what you would want?”

    It took all of your courage to shake your head.

    “Then we will have our separate rooms,” Zhongli said, with an air of decisive finality, and continued like he hadn’t just shaken your world. “I will show you around the house tomorrow. There is water in the jug by your bed. Is there anything you might need for the night?”

    You shake your head mutely, again.

    “Very well. My room is right across the hall — please do not hesitate to shout if you need anything.” Zhongli smiled, and it’s so beautiful that you had to shake the shivers from your spine. “Good night, Hansi.”

    There it was again, your name in his lips — divine.

    Zhongli closed the door gently behind him, and you sunk to your knees, all the strength suddenly gone from your body. You’d survived the first evening with your new master. You’d survived.

    Once you picked yourself back up, you peeled your Geo Vision out from under the dress, taking your first look at it under the proper light of an oil lamp. It’s unframed, of course, unlike Zhongli’s, but the golden gemstone was identical in all other ways — catching the light in all its facets with a dazzling shimmer. When you put it into the bedside drawer, shoving it under the piles of scrolls and parchments, you were surprised to feel a twinge of sadness.

    Stupid. How could you miss something that was not rightfully yours?

    Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little excited as you clambered into the bed — your first very bed! Sinking into the sheets (they smelled heavenly), you let out an embarrassingly loud sigh of contentment.

    There was a little voice in the back of your head screaming — and part of you still knew, irrefutably, that you can’t trust Zhongli — but the call of sleep is much, much louder. You let your heavy lids fall shut, and quickly fell into the most comfortable slumber of your life.

[fulokis]

Fulokis WandaVision Rewrite- Chapter 1

Hey wanted to take my two cents at something that made more sense than what they actually did to quicksilver. Hope you like it!

Peter stood staring at the man in front of him. He hadn't spoken for what seemed like a few minutes, still processing what Peter had told him. Peter sighed, he hadn't meant to let it slip, he still wasn't sure how it had happened. One minute the two were arguing with each other and then the next the room was enveloped in an awkward silence.

"Why didn't you want to tell me?" Erik asked. He had assumed that Peter was his son since the Pentagon, but he didn't want to freak the kid out.

"Just forget it." Peter said quickly trying to bury his feelings in his chest.

"Pietro, why didn't you want to tell me?" Erik asked knowing he was pushing.

Peter looked down at the floor, "I haven't been called that since the Cuban Missile crisis. Not even in the house."

"Those damn soviets am I right?" Erik attempted to joke.

"No." Peter said, "It was so that me and Wanda could go to school without getting harassed. So we could live life. So that we could protect ourselves when we didn't have a father to protect us."

"Wanda?" Erik asked, "Peter if I had known..."

"But you didn't because you left. You left and Wanda died!" Peter said, surprised at his own reaction and his anger. "Not because of the Russians, not because of the Americans, because of you. Because you left us, Wanda died. You know what killed her Bullets. Bullets from guns. Both things made of Metal! You could have stopped them, you could have saved her. But you were too busy killing the president to care about your family."

"Peter..."

"No. It's too late for that." Peter said storming out of the mansion.

Peter ran. He always ran, it helped him think. But all he could think about was his twin sister, her body laying there on the pavement. Him helpless to do anything. That's why he'd developed speed, he was too late, and running became an obsession. When his mother had gone into labor with Lorna his powers developed. He didn't even realize that they had until he was sitting by his mothers side in the hospital watching his newborn sister asleep.

Peter stopped running, he was probably an hour's drive from the mansion by now. He looked around his surroundings, he was in New York City. The sounds of horns from angry drivers, and the buzz of the electricity made the night loud and bright. The buildings loomed over head, one caught Peters eyes in particular. It was shorter than the rest only about four stories tall, the most noteworthy feature of its appearance was the large circular window on the top floor. Something about it reminded him of his sister.

Peter walked up to the door, to his surprise it was unlocked. Walking inside he shouted "Hello?"

"Pietro?" He could hear a woman's voice call out.

"How do you know my name?" He asked walking in the direction he heard the voice.

"Because I am the Sorcerer Supreme." The woman replied walking down the right side of the twin staircase that circled the entry room. "I know all Pietro."

Peter looked up at the woman "Yeah, Yeah and every old person claims they know all. Tell me something I haven't heard."

"Wanda is alive, in another universe that is." The sorcerer said finishing descending the stairs, "I can bring you to her."

Peter thought for a second, "How do I know I can trust you? And were you stalking me?"

"I won't force you. But I Think you're curious." She said, "I think you want to know how your sister would have turned out. Who she is." She rose her hand in front of the door and Peter looked through.

A woman stood in front of a cradle singing a lullaby in a language he didn't recognize. She looked up from her children as if almost sensing that he was there. Peter gasped, she had mom's eyes. He chuckled how many times had he seen those eyes look at him with disappointment. But this time they weren't, they were looking towards him with adoration. A look he'd only seen a few times from his mother since Wanda's death. The woman's hair was even the same color he had been jealous he didn't inherit.

"How did you do that?" He asked, unable to take his eyes off of the door.

"With a spell of course." She replied.

"What's that language she's speaking?" Peter asked, watching as someone else appeared on the screen and talking to who he assumed was Wanda.

"It's from a country that does not exist here."

"This isn't possible. You're messing with my..."

"I'm a twin." Wanda said, "I had a brother, his name was Pietro."

"What?" Peter said looking at the Sorcerer Supreme.

"Keep watching Pietro." She said nodding towards the door.

"He was killed by Ultron, wasn't he?" The other woman said.

Peter turned around, "So you're saying that there's this universe where Wanda is alive and I'm dead?"

"Fascinating isn't it?" The woman said, "A universe where you're dead and one where your sister is. Pietro the Multiverse works in strange ways, if anything this is destiny."

"It's fake. It has to be." Peter replied, "There's no way that its real."

"Then how is it possible that your father can bend the electromagnetic fields of the earth to change its polarity? Or that your beloved professor can send a message to the minds of every person on the planet? You know its more than possible Pietro, you know more than anyone how probable it is."

Peter swallowed, "I should go back, they're probably worried about me."

He turned to walk away but the woman stepped in front of him, "We both know they're not. We both know they don't care where you are or what you're doing."

"I should go." Peter said getting choked up thinking about what the woman in front of him was saying. Wanda was there, in another universe, but she was there. There and she clearly loved him and missed him, more than his father had. It wasn't like any of them would miss him if he popped over for a few minutes if only to give her a hug.

"You don't want to go do you?" The woman turned her head inquisitively.

"No." Peter admitted, "Maybe its too late for her here, but there I doubt it is."

"You want to go?" She asked.

"Yeah, so do I just step through this door or like..." Peter asked.

"It's a little more complicated than that." The woman said motioning for him to follow her up the stairs.  Peter followed resisting the urge to use his speed to explore the building. The woman led him to a library that reminded him of the one at the x-mansion. There were books on everything, from simple fake magic tricks to forbidden spells. Peter's eyes were drawn by a particular book. The title was almost impossible to read from the spine, so he picked it up and looked at the cover. The Strange Phenomena of the Witch Blessed Mutants the title read. Peter had seen the book before, strangely not at the mansion but in his own house outside of D.C. "What are you doing?" The woman asked popping right next to Peter.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked her.

"Do you want to see your sister or are you here to snoop?"

"You know more than you're letting on." Peter said, "What aren't you telling me?"

"Pietro, why would you think that?"

"This book, its in the wrong spot. It shouldn't be with the A's it should be with the H's if we're going by last name." Pietro said.

"Oops my bad." The woman said through gritted teeth.

"Either that or you wanted me to find this and its all some part of an elaborate plan to trap me in this other universe for some shady reasons." Peter watched as the woman's face dropped and he smiled, "I'm kidding, lighten up will ya?"

"That's a good one." She said awkwardly throwing up a fake smile, motioning for Peter to follow her. Peter followed her until they got to an open room. "Stand in the middle." She commanded.

"Okay." Peter gulped his anxiety resurfacing. He stepped into the middle of the room and a purple ring surrounded him.

"In order to travel through dimensions you need a protection spell. It keeps you from loosing your mind at the possibilities and the infinite outcomes between dimensions." The woman explained. She threw her hands up slightly and nothing happened.

"Was that supposed to do anything?" Peter asked looking around the room.

The woman ignored his comment and started chanting in Latin. The circle around Peter lit up with a purple glow. Peter attempted to touch it but yanked his hand back when he felt the heat the magic was producing. Peter watched intently and imagined Wanda doing something similar with her magic. The woman pulled out a necklace and made it float near the circle. The necklace began to syphon the energy off the circle, making the air around Peter unbelievably hot. Peter tried to stay conscious but the heat was unbearable and he hit the ground a few seconds later.

The woman kneeled over him and shook him gently. Peter startled looking up in confusion. "Uh..."

"Relax Pietro," The woman said "It's normal to feel overwhelmed by magic, especially when it's your first time."

"First time? Pfft I'm not that lame lady. Least you could do is take me out to dinner first." Peter said attempting to sit up.

"Take it slowly." The woman almost barked "Going to fast could potentially be fatal."

"Fatal? What is there like a list of side effects?"

"All the standard Magical ones." She said standing up, "Nausea, Heart attack, stroke, cancer..."

"I'd have said no if I knew it was going to kill me." Peter said easing onto an elbow.

"Possible side effects darling." She replied flipping through a worn out book.

"Darling? That's a little fast even for me."

She sighed and walked over to him, extending a hand down to help him up. "You should get going, after all your sister is waiting for you."

"Is it weird that I feel like I'm gonna barf?"

"No." She replied to him "Oh before I forget, you'll need to put this on before you go through."

Peter took the necklace and slipped it over his head "And you're sure this will work?"

"Of course it will. My magic never fails." She said and looked at him with a smile leading him down the stairs.

"By the way what's your name? You know if I want to come back home and what not."

The woman stopped dead in her tracks, "I'm... Agnes." She said.

"Coolio." Peter replied following her to the door.

Agnes motioned and the doorway led to a small field, "This is the closest that I can get you, you'll need to run a few miles to the west. There's a wall around the town your sister lives in, it's a security measure against humans harming the perfect little mutant community that lives there."

"So what your saying is my sister has a bunch of mutants that live with her?"

"Yes Pietro, she found her people." Agnes said pushing Peter through the portal and closing it behind him.

Peter fell landing in a mud pile. "Not cool!" He shouted "So not cool." He took a breath and stood up. The night was cool a slight wind blew through the trees. Peter looked around, he had landed in a corn field, the stocks were brown and fragile. He smiled to himself as he saw a scarecrow sitting in front of him.

"You stuck here too buddy?" He asked the limp sack of hay. Before smiling and starting to run. Peter ran and this time instead of thinking he enjoyed the air running across his face. The feeling of his feet hitting the ground, the sounds that each foot made when coming into contact with the mud. Peter kept running until he nearly collided with a military vehicle.

Seeing the vehicle he decided to take a look through the area. There was a drone on a table glowing red. A guy in a quarantine unit, being questioned by medical staff. Peter kept running, there seemed nothing related to mutants anywhere in the facility. He figured that they had no idea that there was a mutant community.

Peter kept running until he found the wall. Taking one look at it he decided to run through it. Running through he could hear and feel some of the most painful times of his life and he stopped as he could feel apocalypse trying to crush his skull. The pain was so real almost like living it again, almost like nearly dying again. Out of breath Peter collapsed on the ground, a new sensation spreading across his body. His body burned, it felt like his blood was causing his body to burn. He could feel the pain everywhere in his body, circular areas burned the most. Then he opened his eyes again and Peter couldn't explain what he saw. Metal corpses littered the ground even more were flying around shooting concentrated fire of some sort. Peter tried to call out to his father, he tried to call out for the professor or someone for help, but all he could feel was the burning hot pain from his injured nerves. Then it was quiet the dust and metal settled and everything was dark, but he could hear someone calling to him. Wanda he thought smiling before passing out.

"My goodness Ralph!" Agnes cried, "You're filthy and tracking mud into my kitchen!"

"Aw cut it out will ya?!" Ralph said back "At least I'm not running around the house getting in your way."

"You're not supposed to be running at all. If they find out you were using your powers..."

"Ha, if they do I'll be long gone."

"I swear it won't be my fault if you end up in prison for twenty." Agnes said.

"It'd be a blessing if I did." Ralph mumbled.

"What was that?" Agnes asked in a shrill tone.

"I said you look lovely tonight."

"Why yes I do don't I?"

"What's the reason?" Ralph asked.

"Of course you forgot! Why did I think you would remember?" Agnes sniped.

"Because you forgot your self?" Ralph offered up.

"Forgot? Ralph you know I don't forget." Agnes said, "Tonight is the night we're having a picnic in the yard. Go clean up."

"Why not just the gazebo in the town square?" Ralph asked after he had run upstairs and changed in a matter of seconds.

"We've been over this Ralph, it's best for you to not draw attention to yourself. Which means..." Agnes prompted.

Ralph sighed "No powers, No criminal activity and most of all no doing things that the people in town will think as of odd. But I'm pretty sure that having a yard picnic would be considered odd, gazebo not so much."

"Ralph people don't care what you do in your own yard, besides if you really are that worried you can tell them I asked you to."

"That's the reason I married you, because you asked me to. Though I do question that decision, what with the creepy basement and all."

"Oh Ralph you charmer." Agnes said leading him out of the house. She walked over to where their yard intersected with the next door neighbors yard. With a wave of her hand she placed down a picnic blanket and a bunch of food.

"'It won't be my fault if you end up in prison for twenty' yeah right, totally won't be your fault if you keep using your powers." Ralph said sarcastically under his breath.

"What was that?" Agnes asked from on the blanket.

"Nothing important." Ralph said.

"Come join me, please." Agnes said, "Look I know the move hasn't been easy on you. Especially since we've literally had to become different people. But Ralph I don't regret it, I can't regret it."

"Eh didn't much like it there anyway, here is nice it's quiet. No trouble for you to get into, no weird sorcerer fights I have to save your ass from."

"I'm still a witch Ralph."

Ralph chuckled and looked up at the stars, "No you're not, you can be anything you want, but not a witch not anymore."

"Do you miss teaching?" Agnes asked eyeing the house behind them.

"Teaching?" Ralph asked vaguely remembering something like it "Feels like a lifetime ago." He said slowly.

"Interesting." Agnes said.

"Huh?" Ralph asked.

"Nothing it's not important."

Ralph shrugged it off and continued looking at the stars in silence, "You ever think how massive the universe is, and how little you really know?"

"Yes I do." Agnes replied keeping focused on the neighbors house.

"I want to know how life got here. On earth I mean. Out the trillions of planets out there, why this tiny hunk?" Ralph said glancing over at Agnes. "What's something you want to know?"

"How she did all this." Agnes said a dark tone seeping into her voice. Agnes turned to face Ralph and started to cast a spell.

"You freak me out when you do that without a warning you know." Ralph said watching her guide the purple energy flowing out of her hands.

Agnes ignored Ralph and continued to chant until the spell was ready. Without warning she shot her magic at the necklace her companion wore, smiling as it hit the beads. Something seemed to stir inside the man and he stood up. Using his super speed he ran to the front door of the neighbors house and stood there.

Peter felt weird, he couldn't remember how long he had been running. Or even how long it had been since he left the mansion. The last thing he could remember before blacking out was his body on fire and hearing Wanda calling to him. He looked down, some how he had managed to change clothes. Instead of his typical jacket he wore a brown one, much like the one he had seen his father wearing every once in a while. His shirt was a purple flower print. He smiled, maybe it was weird to wake up in these random clothes, but at least they had his second favorite color.

Peter looked up at the door. This was it, after nearly 15 years he was about to look his twin sister in the eyes again. Only he knew it wasn't quite his twin sister. Peter swallowed nervous at the action he was about to perform. He rose his hand and considered using his speed to get the nerve wracking action over with. Deciding against it he firmly pressed against the plastic button of the doorbell.

The shouting from inside the house he had heard earlier had been replaced with hushed voices, that were seemingly surprised at a sudden visitor. The door swung open with a creak and a young woman stood in front of it. Peter stood there looking at her, waiting for some semblance of recognition.

"Wanda who is this?" A man from slightly further inside the house asked.

Peter waited for a second before extending his arms out and stepping forward slightly. "Long lost bro get to squeeze his stinkin sister to death or what?"

The woman stared for a second processing what was happening. "Pietro?" Her voice cracked.

Peter made a movement with his head to indicate that it was indeed him. Wanda sighed softly and took her brother in her arms. Peter closed his eyes at his sisters embrace, it felt good to have his second half here in the same room with him. Wanda broke contact and Peter glanced around the house. It was quaint reminded him of their moms house, simple yet useful. Peter locked eyes with the man who asked Wanda for his identity. "Who's the popsicle?"

Next >>

[prettyboongi]

Getting Off This Seesaw

Reader x Min Yoongi

Word Count: 1,004

Genre: Angst (w/ some fluff)

Rating: G 

Warnings: None

[A/N: Here’s the second drabble to this series! I tried my best to keep this one under 1k word but as you can see I failed （>﹏<）anyway I hope you guys like this one! Like with the rest of the drabbles in this series, I used a prompt from a list made by @excusemekpop​]

You were moving around in your bedroom, trying to collect everything that reminded you of your boyfriend, Yoongi. Well, now ex-boyfriend. 

You tirelessly looked for every single object that he has ever given to you during your relationship. His favorite CDS, small plushies, manga he loaned you but  you never gave back, and everything in between. And you place each object in a medium sized cardboard box on your bed. 

Like most relationships, the one you had with Yoongi started off extremely well. It was fun, endearing and even unbelievably passionate at times. Despite some flaws you noticed at the beginning, you felt lucky to have such a smart and easygoing boyfriend like him. But somewhere along the lines, obstacles started to appear in your relationship. And while you believe that you did everything that you could to overcome these obstacles, you felt like Yoongi barely did his part to salvage the issues that came your way. So that’s when you finally had to end things, for yours and his sake. 

You remembered the very day off the break up; you texted him to come over your place. You chose not to text him the phrase “We need to talk”, knowing his flaky nature, he’d get anxious and make some lame excuse to bail out. Instead, you went with “I want to see you”; urgent but still ambiguous. When he arrived, he leaned in for a kiss but you quickly turned your face to the side, having his lips land on your cheek. 

Pulling back, Yoongi looks at you bemusedly. “What’s up with you? Are you mad at me or something?” 

Ignoring his questions, you just gently took his hand and led him to your living room couch. “Let’s sit down.”

Once settled, you took your time explaining to him how you’ve been feeling leading up to this. Now and then, it was a bit difficult to perfectly articulate everything you needed to say to him but thankfully Yoongi just sat there listening to you attentively. More than anything, he just wanted to understand why the mood unexpectedly turned into a serious one.  

But it all came together when you concluded what you had to say with, “I love and care about you so much, Yoongi, but I really think our relationship finally ran its course.” 

That very moment, you never saw Yoongi with such a confused and pained expression on his face. He grabbed your hands and caressed them in a frantic manner. He honestly didn’t understand why you wanted to break up. He begged for another chance despite you already giving him one too many. He made promises of changing and being a better boyfriend to you, forgetting that he broke those same promises before. 

And the fact that you were breaking his heart was almost too much for you. But you had to stand your ground. 

“I just can’t do it anymore, Yoongi,” you said to him. “I’m sorry.” 

Realizing he was fighting a losing battle, Yoongi slowly let go of your hands and turned away from you. The two of you sat in an awkward silence for a moment before Yoongi quietly spoke out. 

“Is this the end? After everything we’ve been through?” 

Initially, his response irritated you. You always felt like the main one supporting this relationship. You constantly fought for and made sacrifices for it while he only put in the bare minimum. You wanted to yell at him at that moment but you knew that wouldn’t make the situation better. You didn’t want to end things on a sour note.

You gently placed your hand on his knee and tried searching for his gaze. 

“It’s for the best, Yoongi.” 

You stood in the middle of the room, trying to figure what else did you have that either belonged or made you think of Yoongi. You wanted to make sure that you got rid of everything so you can fully move on from this chapter in your life. 

Suddenly, you gasped as you almost forgot one last thing. You walked over to your opened closet, sliding your hanged clothes to the side as you made your way to the back. Finding what you were searching for, you pulled out an oversized red flannel shirt. Holding the flannel in your arms, your mind is flooded with memories of your very first date with Yoongi. The two of you decided to go to the movies, wanting to check out a horror movie everyone’s been raving about. After the movie, Yoongi offered to walk you home and the two spent the majority of your walk making fun of and complaining how disappointing the movie turned out to be. Being out during that mid Autumn evening, the temperature gradually dropped where your light cardigan couldn’t protect you from the chill. Seeing you shiver a bit, Yoongi wordlessly took off the red flannel he was wearing and wrapped it around you. While caught off guard and flustered by his gesture, you put your arms through the sleeves without saying anything as well. You loved how his flannel perfectly hugged your body and made you warm; it was as if Yoongi was holding onto you himself. During the rest of the rest home, the two of you held hands and continued to bash on that horrible movie. 

Coming back to reality, you couldn’t help but smile at such a sweet memory. You cradled the flannel in your arms, as if  you were saying your last goodbye to it. 

Right when you placed the flannel in the box, you hear your phone’s text alert go off. Already knowing you the text was from, you checked your phone anyway. 

Yoongi: I’m here

You: Be right out

You took a deep breath before picking the memory-filled box and heading out of your room. 

Inside you knew that ending things was for the best. For you and for him. And who knows, maybe when Yoongi does mature and work on himself, you two may find each other again. 

[hermannsthumb]

Gonna request some camb0y newt who has Hermann as a regular follower who may or may not be requesting used clothing from Newt...😳

this one is less h0rny and more dumb and I died every time I typed newt’s screen name but (ALSO THE FACT THAT TUMBLR KEPT BLOCKING THIS MESSAGE....unbelievable) 18+/not sfw below cut

-------------------

The whole thing only started because of the kaijus.

It seems foolish to place the blame on them, considering the severity of the damage they’ve caused in every other aspect of life, but it’s the truth. Hermann was never brilliant at romance even in the best of times; he never knew quite the right words to say, or quite the right way to kiss, and certainly not how to keep men interested enough to come back for more than a date or two. Then the end of the world came, and the jaeger program ate up what little free time Hermann had, and dating simply fell to the very lowest tier of his priorities. He had work to do. He had lives to save.

Unfortunately, his libido continued to run rampant.

Masturbation could only get one so far, though Hermann was undeterred and tried almost anything: dildos, vibrators, expensive lubricant, a paid subscription to a high-quality pornography website. He cancelled this after a week, when he realized none of its featured men--though undeniably good-looking--fit his particular area of interest. Besides, it was far too impersonal. Hermann did not like spending half of his time watching a video or scrolling through a photo gallery wondering what that man was doing now, or whether or not he’d enjoyed himself, or what he was like in person... In a fit of desperation, Hermann picked up a subscription to another website that promised live men 24/7. And, well. To make a long story short, Hermann is pretty sure he’s in love.

The object of his affections is twenty-something and stocky, a good few inches shorter than Hermann (he’d wager, anyway), with a chestful of tattoos and a voice that’s almost high enough to be grating. Hermann has seen his face only fleetingly, but it’s enough for him to know it’s a highly agreeable one. He’s got a nice sense of humor, seems intelligent enough, and the glimpses Hermann’s caught of the bedroom he streams from (at the perfect time of day, late enough that Hermann’s inhibitions are entirely nonexistent) indicate a healthy love of science fiction. 

Hermann is mostly in love with him because of how good of a show he puts on, though. Where Hermann fails in his use of dildos or vibrators and other nonsense, the man succeeds, and indeed excels, and he’s endlessly creative with dressing in lace and other funny little costumes. It makes for some very inspired jerking off on Hermann’s end. More importantly, it makes for a calming of his libido.

Hermann doesn’t know his real name, only his chosen screen name, though it doesn’t really matter: kaijulover69 is most certainly the man of his dreams.

Well. Nobody’s perfect.

“Tonight’s stream is dedicated to a very special fan for all his support,” kaijulover69 begins. He’s wrapped in a bathrobe, though Hermann has a feeling he knows what’s beneath it, and he flushes pleasantly with warmth at what’s soon to come. “And for what I’m wearing right now. You know who you are. Thanks again, dude!”

His lips are just visible on camera, and he grins coquettishly before slipping the sleeve off his right shoulder. Then the left. “That very same fan requested a strip tease tonight,” he continues, “and--well, I’ll let the rest be a surprise, huh?”

The belt is undone. The robe slips down to the bed, revealing the object of Hermann’s affections clad in nothing but a rather small pair of lacy black undergarments. (And a bloody expensive pair, at that--cost a third of Hermann’s weekly salary. It’s worth it.) You look very attractive, Hermann types encouragingly into the chat box, and hope it’s visible between the pleads for kaijulover69 to flash his face or pull his genitalia out already. 

He doesn’t appear to see any of them. “My week was pretty lame,” he continues. He begins to idly run his hands up and down his bare chest; Hermann mirrors the action on his own, enjoying the shiver he manages to elicit from himself even through two layers of shirt and sweater. “Work stuff has been kicking my ass. And--” His fingers falter. “Well, there’s this guy I really like, and we’ve kinda been...seeing each other, but I just found out he’s actually seeing someone else. So I guess it’s like, I realized I’ve been making all this shit up in my head?”

Who would ever turn down such a marvelous specimen of human? Hermann’s temper flares with a mingling of both righteous offense on the man’s behalf and a little bit of jealousy that he’s not the one who’s so captured his heart. He would like to knock some sense into them, whoever they are.

“But you don’t care about that,” he says, and forces a laugh. “You want to see me mess these up, don’t you?”

His hand drifts down to his panties, and he gives himself a squeeze through them.

“Please,” Hermann says happily, though he knows there’s no one to hear.

------

There’s an email from Newton waiting for him in his inbox the next morning. No subject.

Hey, dude-

Sorry I left you hanging yesterday. I was just a little shocked. Not shocked that you have a partner or whatever, of course you do, that’s totally normal, just that you never told me about them until now. I read over your latest article, and I just wanted to say what an utter load of--

“Hmph,” Hermann says, and quickly scrolls up and away from Newton’s annoying little rant.

Even as he does so, he feels a pang of guilt he doesn’t quite understand. Newton is shocked he has a partner: so what? And, er, so what if that partner isn’t quite as real as Hermann is pretending? The question came at him fast, and unexpected, and so very quickly into the switch from letter correspondence to email; kaijulover69 on his mind, Hermann panicked and wrote yes, I do have someone in my life. It’s not entirely a lie. Though Hermann holds no illusions about the nature of their dynamic, the man has certainly taken up the same amount of Hermann’s time and money that a real partner would. And besides--it’s easier. Less messy. Newton would probably try to set Hermann up with someone, or pester him about his sex life, or even--God forbid--try to offer him advice. (Once I blew a guy in the bathroom of this shitty dive bar, try that, he told Hermann a few weeks ago, and I always take my dates to the aquarium so I can talk about shit and look smart.) 

It’s also helpful in dissuading Hermann from his daydreams and illusions of dating not kaijulover69, but Newton; that, he fears, is an even grander pipe dream.

He skims Newton’s--rather poor--critique of his work, ignoring entirely his comments on Hermann’s partner, and types up a fast rebuttal. Kaijulover69 has another stream tonight, and he doesn't want to miss it.

--------

“The trick,” kaijulover69 pants, “is to just, uh, relax your muscles as much as possible. It’s easier when you’ve got someone doing it for you, obviously, but...”

His chosen method of masturbation tonight is a frightfully large tentacle dildo, wider and longer than any prick Hermann’s seen in his life. Hermann’s not sure if such a dildo would fit inside him; he’s not even sure if it’s going to fit inside kaijulover69. The man is rather compact. It’s stopped about halfway into his body, and even from the rather distant angle Hermann can tell it’s stretching him tight. 

“...I might’ve jumped the gun a little,” the man says, and bursts out into breathy laughter. “Should’ve, uh, should’ve gotten the smaller size. Or worked up to this one.” He works another centimeter into himself before his body goes taut. “Go--go big or go home, I guess?”

One hand moving steadily around his prick, Hermann uses the other to type an encouraging message: Excellent effort.

Kaijulover69 pulls the dildo out to the thinnest section, then once he relaxes, begins a rhythm of short, shallow thrusts. Each time, it goes in a little deeper. It’s very good to watch, and listen to as well; his little gasps, the creaks of his bedsprings, the spread of his legs widening. Hermann briefly considers how badly he would like to be the one pushing it into him and dragging out those sounds, and is surprised to find himself orgasming.

He tips generously once the stream is over: he does like to consider himself some sort of gentleman, and he likes seeing how excited it gets kaijulover69.

-------

The package arrives on an entirely ordinary Tuesday some three weeks later. Autumn has come, bringing with it a rather heavy series of rains, and Hermann is drenched and shivering when he finally ducks into the relative warmth of his flat. The knowledge of what the box tucked under his arm contains warms him considerably; he rented a P.O. Box for one reason and one reason exactly, not even daring to have his name attached to it. It’s gauche, he knows, but--isn’t it a bit like recycling? Kaijulover69 gets a fresh, exciting outfit from Hermann, and Hermann gets it back after he’s--well.

Hermann needs to unwind somehow. There’s nothing wrong with it!

The black lace undergarments are wrapped neatly up inside the box, with a sweet little pink bow on top. Attached to that is a simple handwritten card: To my number one fan! ❤️ There’s plenty more where this came from...

Simple, and innocently flirty. And so familiar it makes Hermann’s blood run cold.

“It’s not possible,” he says.

And yet--isn’t it? Hermann’s never seen his face--either of their faces--and the screen name--

There is no return address on the package, but a frantic search of its wrappings reveals its origin: stamped in black ink over frog-themed postage is BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS. “No, no,” Hermann mutters to himself, even as he reminds himself (unhelpfully) that plenty of people are from Boston. He tosses it to the bed and clacks over to his desk, clutching the card so tightly it crumples. Newton’s letters are all in the top drawer--he just needs--

The handwriting is a perfect match.

“Bugger,” Hermann groans.

[love-sapphirerose]

Yashahime: Princess Half-Demon Episode 19

https://www.animenewsnetwork.com/review/yashahime-princess-half-demon/episode-19/.169235

Similar to the last time Yashahime gave Moroha something substantial to do, the insidious stupidity of “Princess Aya's Beniyasha Hunting” can only be truly appreciated if I just describe the events of the story in chronological order. Given the crummy vives that the preview gave off, I don't think anyone was expecting much more than a cheap detour from this episode, but I'll be damned of this series doesn't continue to impress with how little of a shit it gives about being good, or even mediocre, or hell, even functional. And before we dig into this post-mortem, I'd like to field any defenses that people might make about Yashahime being meant more for kids, and thus shouldn't be taken seriously. For one, this is a decades-in-the-making sequel to one of the most popular anime ever, so don't act like the show shouldn't have something to offer for fans whose ages can be counted with more than one digit. Also, y'all know that crappy kids' entertainment still sucks, right? It doesn't just get a free pass for being made with younger viewers in mind. Nobody in their right mind is going to argue that stuff like Avatar the Last Airbender or Steven Universe should be judged at the same level as Caillou, for Pete's sake.

Anyway, “Princess Aiya's Beniyasha Hunting” commits the gravest sin that any work of art can commit, in that it is a completely pointless waste of time that takes the precious minutes of existence that its viewers have been afforded on this earth and just flushes them straight down the toilet. I, dear reader, respect your lives much more than Yashahime ever will, so I'm going to dispense with the “twists” and lay it all out in order: Way back in Episode 1/7, when the girls busted into Hiiragi Dango's place to rescue Towa, they brushed by his daughter, Aya, and got a speck of mud on her kimono. Being a literal psychopath, young Aya then hatched an elaborate scheme to trick the girls and get her revenge: She recruited a band of mercenaries and forced Jyubei to sell Moroha's services as well, and then she established the false pretext of recruiting demon slayers to her father's employment to lure Hisui and his two nameless buddies into fighting the mercs in a big, competitive battle.

These mercenaries are cartoonish morons, and one of them, Lady, is a pretty offensive homophobic/transphobic/maybe-even-racist stereotype, but in one of this episode's few saving graces, it's actually hard to get all that mad about it, because these goofs are pointless and don't really do anything. They spend all night building a wooden façade of a castle on the battlefield for…some reason, and then they all sort of disappear once the firebombs start dropping. No, the demon slayers know that Moroha is the only one that really needs to be taken seriously as a threat, so they recruit Setsuna to aid them, leading to a cousin-vs-cousin showdown for the ages!

Except that obviously isn't what happens, because even though Setsuna and Hisui suck, they're not awful enough to be completely on board with burning InuYasha's kid alive in the middle of a field for the sake of some half-cocked job interview. No, we eventually learn that Moroha and the slayers were in cahoots all along, since they figured they could throw the fight and earn enough cash from the not-actually-real job offer for everyone to profit. Sure, the slayers apparently didn't even tell Moroha about the very real volley of firebombs they'd be tossing her way, but who's keeping track of neglectful homicide attempts amongst friends and family, eh?

It's that throughline of “not telling your teammates the most basic and necessary information” that really sinks this episode, which was already a bummer to begin with. Nevermind Hisui and Setsuna almost turning Moroha into barbecue; the big dramatic turn of the story occurs when Setsuna and Moroha both agree to not tell Towa about the fixed battle because…she's a bad liar, I guess? Except Moroha is the one that lets slip about the battle in the first place, and I don't know why anyone would assume that keeping Towa in the dark would be easier than just explaining that the fight is rigged, nobody is getting hurt, and so on. Even if you bought that silly excuse, the episode still doesn't make any goddamned sense, because once Towa predictably gets mixed up in the fight anyways and mistakes Setsuna's “acting” for real aggression, nobody bothers to just explain what's going on then, either! The episode establishes that Aya can't hear anything they say from her little tower, so why keep up the charade? And how is any of this easier than one of the girls just telling Towa, “Hey, we're going to scam the spoiled daughter of that guy who kidnapped you out of some money by faking a battle. If you want in, cool, but if you can't keep up the ruse, just, like, hang out here this afternoon or something. We'll be back in a few hours, tops.”

It's just so unbelievably lame, and it's the kind of plot that is doubly frustrating because it depends entirely on characters withholding important information for no reason other than to cheaply manufacture some consequence-free drama. Also, remember how the whole setup for the battle was a lie, anyways? Yeah, Kohaku shows up out of nowhere to explain to Aya that he knew the whole thing was a waste of time, except he didn't tell his own crew of demon slayers this because…he wanted them to learn a lesson?

To recap: Aya, a character we've never met, goes to insane lengths to deceive Hisui, a cardboard cutout that we do not care about, in order to double deceive (and possibly kill) Moroha, all on account of that one time she got some dirt on Aya's clothes. Then, Moroha, Setsuna, and Hisui attempt to trick Aya, which ends up being a waste of time since they already fell for Aya's initial trick, and there's a bunch of needless drama with Towa because everyone made a conscious decision to also trick her, even though she probably would have been able to allow the secretly useless and entirely overcomplicated ruse-within-a-ruse to go off without a hitch, if only she had she known what was happening in the first place. Takechiyo even gets in on the action by tricking Towa into thinking Moroha got horribly murdered in her arms. Why? Who the hell knows! Maybe it's because Takechiyo just gets off on psychologically abusing teenaged girls. I'd buy it. Just look at the little creep.

Throw in some harmful stereotypes and a hilariously clunky last-minute scene where Towa gets all tearful over Moroha's safety – despite definitely not giving a crap all those times that Moroha was in actual danger – and there you have it: “Princess Aya's Beniyasha Hunting.” No, Moroha does not transform into Beniyasha. Yes, I'm just as mad about all of this as you are. The only reason this episode is getting a two-star rating is because there's a funny bit where Moroha plays along with the bounty hunters' silly entrance-theme bit. I'm giving it one extra start for making me laugh exactly once. That might be damning Yashahime with faint praise, but with nineteen episodes down and only a handful to go, I'm afraid that faint praise is just about the only good thing Yashahime can hope to earn at this point.