#hard it is to get a set of *three* tickets together. impossible for less than $80 apparently!! the drive down was also very stressful

[sorrellegiance]

THE TECH INTERACTIVE

[dailydaydreamings]

Best in the Worst Way, Chapter 14

The Reader has been having a love affair with two Avengers and gets caught in a sticky situation. She’s suddenly faced with life decisions she’s not prepared for, including who to love, what she wants, and is this all worth it?

Okay okay, warning. This one got away from me (18+). Also, as always, I outdid myself on the swearing. It’s a little shorter, but for a reason. Thank you to all the responses! Enjoy this part :)

You have this memory in your head.

You’re not sure when it happened, it must have been early in your relationship though, because Steve and Bucky weren’t living with you yet.

The morning starts off so beautifully slow. Dawn breaks and your room fills with soft light. It was one of the few mornings you didn’t have to set an alarm.

You wake to feel slow, sloppy kisses up your naked back. You moan, curling back against Bucky. You feel the slow prodding of Steve’s fingers as he teases you awake.

You moan again, still not sure if you’re dreaming. “Good morning.”

Bucky grinds himself against your rear. You can feel Steve sliding himself over your entrance. You gasp, clutching at the sheets, desperation hitting you hard and fast. It doesn’t matter they kept you up all night. You wanted them both now.

“Please,” you murmur, leaning forward to wrap a leg around Steve. “Oh, please, please, please.”

Bucky’s stubble tickles that sensitive spot on your neck and you jerk backwards into his embrace. “So polite in the morning,” he bites at your ear. “But not very specific. Use your words baby, please what?”

His hands slide up to grasp your breasts. Steve moans in front of you, gripping your hips, but still not giving you what you want. Your hips buck faster, more erratically, hoping he can just slip in.

“Stop it, Steve,” Bucky grunts.

Steve practically whines but does as he’s told.

“No,” you keep moving on him, desperate now for some friction. “Please.”

“Please, what?” Bucky’s tongue licks the inside of your ear.

“Please,” your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Please fuck me.”

Bucky chuckles darkly, tweaking a nipple, “How should we fuck you, hm?”

You bit your lip, “I want both of you. To fuck me, just like this.”

Bucky bite on your ear lobe, “All you had to do was ask, baby.” And with almost no warning, he, already lubed, slides into you from behind.

“Oh!” You gasp, needing a second to adjust to the suddenness.

Steve leans forward, sucking on that spot to help you relax. In half a second you’re moaning and begging for more again. Steve grabs your leg, wrapping it around himself and enters you slower, more gently.

You moan deeply, your head falling back against Bucky’s shoulder.

“How does she feel, Steve?” Bucky asks, his hand stroking up and down your side.

Steve only moans in response. The sound causing you to drag your nails down his back. You reach back to grip the back of Bucky’s neck, withering between them. Steve sets the pace, grinding into you, sending you back into Bucky, who pushes you forward again.

Steve’s mouth comes down to your neck and that’s it, you’re release rockets through you thanks to the extreme pleasure of the two of them inside of you.

Their lazy, morning pace continues. They get two more out of you before the three of you are left gasping, clutching to each other for air. You could die right now, right here, and you would be perfectly happy, you realize.

Steve kisses the top of your head as he rolls away, asking if you want pancakes or French toast. Bucky kisses your cheek, saying he’s going to run out to your favourite coffee shop.

The rest of the day was just as perfect. You eat breakfast, you drag the boys to the beach. Bucky refuses to go in the water and Steve gets a wicked sunburn, but they fall asleep tangled together in the sand while you read your book. It starts to rain at some point, just misting. It wakes them up and as you reach the boardwalk, it starts to pour.

You take cover in an ice cream shop, with the most ridiculous flavours. Between the three of you, nearly all of them were tried much to the dismay of the shop owner, but then you each bought a giant cone.

The rain didn’t let up, and the air conditioning plus your wet clothing made it unbearable after a while. You make a break for the car and Bucky blasts the heat, while you sit there waiting for the rain to stop.

You head home, have dinner, and someone mentions that there’s a late showing of a new movie, you’ll make it if you leave now. You run to the car, and miss the previews, but you sit between your boys, happy as can be. Even if the three of you fell asleep and had to be woken up the usher when it was over.

It was one of the happiest days of your life. There was no work, no missions, no stress. Just the three of you. You could just be.

It is a moment you search for when things feel impossible. When you want to throw something at Steve. When Bucky forgets something and you feel like you’re losing parts of him. The perfect day. Even with the sunburns, the sand caking your bodies, the wet clothes in your car, the wasted movie ticket. None of it mattered, except for the people around you. Because it was also the day you realized you loved them.

It’s what you remind yourself of as you drive to the hospital as another contraction hits. Your stomach tightens painfully and your whole body goes rigid.

You cry out, your hand grasping the arm rest with a death grip. The pain would be worth it. The babies would be here soon. It’ll all be fine. Totally fucking fine. But holy fuck it hurt.

“Can you go any fucking slower?” You look over at Bucky. He, for the record, looks about ready to pass out but is still in better shape than Steve.

“I swear this is the only day ever there is traffic,” Bucky mumbles. He wasn’t wrong, the drive normally took less than twenty minutes. They’d already been driving for thirty.

Steve rubs your shoulders from the backseat, “Isn’t there that festival downtown today?”

You turn in your seat, swatting Steve’s hands away, “That would have been helpful before we left, you—”

You cut yourself off as another contraction hits. You brace your hands against the door. Holy shit this hurt.

“They’re really close together,” Steve mumbles.

“Thank you for your fucking observation,” you pant. Holy shit they were. Your head lulls back against the seat. You just needed a moment, just one second to breathe. Please.

Bucky’s hand comes to pet your leg, “You’re doing great, baby. Almost there.”

“I’m never fucking doing this again,” you mumble, wanting to curl into a ball as you can already feel another one coming.

You expected the pain, but this was too much too fast. There was no time to adjust. No break between contractions.

“I feel like I need to push,” you gasped as the last one finished. There was a new pressure. You’d always wondered what women meant when they said they needed to push and this was it.

“It’s way too early,” Steve rubs your shoulders again. “You’re hours away.”

You barely manage a moan, reaching back to grab his hand, desperate for some contact now. “I’m not joking. I really feel like I need to push.”

Bucky shot you a look, “We’re two minutes out. You’re not having these babies in the car.”

You groan. The longest two minutes of your life later, you’re pulling up. Steve is out, calling for a wheelchair before helping you to your feet. You lean against him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.

A nurse comes running out, helping you into your chair, “How are we doing, mama?” She asks.

You shake your head, bracing yourself through another contraction. When it eases, you gasp, “I feel like I need to push.”

She shoots Steve a look, “How long has she been in labour?”

“About an hour and a half?” They’d guesstimated it. Your contractions really hadn’t been painful or consistent until you started dinner.

She shakes her head, starting to wheel you inside, “You’ve got hours to go before that, don’t worry hon.”

You grip the arm rests like a vice. You were not going to be able to handle hours more of this. If this wasn’t time to push, you weren’t looking forward to what it was going to feel like. The pressure was insane.

Bucky jogged up beside you as you were wheeled up to admitting.

“Are you the father?” The nurse asks.

“Yes.” Both boys answer in unison.

She looks up in surprise, but waves you all in. They help you into a gown, into bed.

Dr Lawrence waltzes in, “I was not hoping to see you three for a couple more weeks. How are you, y/n?”

Not well. The pressure you were feeling was becoming unbearable. You grasp the sheets, your teeth clench together as you grind out, “I’m telling you all, I need to push.”

Dr Lawrence shakes her head, “You have hours to go. I was going to have my student do your first look, is that okay?”

“Fuck, fine,” you cover your eyes with your hand. “I want an epidural. And soon.”

Dr Lawrence shakes her head, “We’ll let you labour for a while. It’ll only slow things down now.”

“Oh fuck me,” you murmur, pressing a hand to you eyes.

Bucky kisses the top of your head, “You’re doing great.”

Steve squeezes your other hand, “We just want what’s best, baby, it’ll be over before you know it.” You wanted to smack him in the face. No, the groin.

You life your legs into the stirrups as the student takes a look. You feel some pressure as they check your dilation and then, “Um, Dr Lawrence...”

Your head shoots up, “What’s wrong?”

Steve and Bucky are on either side of you, their hands tighten on yours.

Dr Lawrence practically shoved the student out of the way, “Let me see...” Her eyes widen, “Oh, you do need to push.”

You straighten, “What?”

She looks up at you from between your legs, “You’re ten centimetres dilated. I can see the first baby’s head. It’s coming right now.”

You frantically look between your boys, terror rocketing through you, “I want the epidural. Now.”

Dr Lawrence shakes her head, “oh, it’s too late for that now.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Bucky squeezes your hand, “You’ll be fine, baby.”

Steve leans forward to kiss your forehead, “You’ve got this, baby.”

“Oh the next contraction, you need to push,” Dr Lawrence commands.

Well fuck.

And you push. And push. And push.

You fall back against the bed. Gasping. Your whole body on fire.

“One more push!”

You wanted to shake your head, to turn away and cry. But the contraction built up and you screamed as you pushed. Hard.

And then the first baby is out. You grasp your boys hands to your chest as you wait for a cry. It’s too early, it’s only thirty-two weeks. You know that they might not cry, they might go straight to the ICU, but—

A wail fills the room.

You let go of their hands, desperately reaching for your baby.

“It’s a boy!” Dr Lawrence places the baby against your chest.

“Oh,” you gasp. “Hello.”

Your perfect, perfect baby boy. Who is still crying, but you wrap your arms around him, holding him close.

“Oh my god,” Bucky mumbles, reaching out to touch his cheek. His perfect little cheek.

Steve kisses the top of your head, “Good job, baby.”

You can’t keep your eyes off of him, you can feel your whole body trembling. The whole ordeal isn’t over, but he’s so perfect.

“I love you so much, Henry,” you murmur, as the nurse reaches out to take him from your arms.

“Okay, good job, y/n,” Dr Lawrence says, “One more to go.”

And you push. And push.

Nothing happens. This is harder than the first time. You collapse backward, gasping for air.

“Can we get some oxygen for her please,” Dr Lawrence’s voice cuts through the room, and a mask is fitted over your nose. “Okay, one more push.”

You push again. And again. And again. You flop against the bed. Your head is spinning, and no baby yet.

“Come on, one more push,” Steve kisses the top of your head.

You can only shake your head, you can’t even tell him you can’t. You can’t do this. Your body is failing you. The ones thing it is supposed to do, you can’t do.

“Damn it, prepare for a c-section,” Dr Lawrence calls out.

“What?” You hear Steve gasp.

“The last baby isn’t coming,” Dr Lawrence’s voice is beginning to sound very far away. “Y/n stats are dropping and so is the baby’s. We need to get the baby out now.”

Tags

@booktease21 @sexyvixen7 @just-the-hiddles @fading-mentality-bouquet @a--1--1--3 @broco8 @yougottalovefandoms @hailqueenconquer @tazzi-baby @imaginebeinlovedbyme @amiets2 @prettyblueskylark @spookyparadisesheep @bloodbrink @holl2712 @navs-bhat @animegirlgeeky @fanofalltheficsx @obsssedwithjustaboutanything

[someonestolemyshoes]

Helplessly, Hopelessly

Cutting it a little close to the deadline, but here’s my entry for @levihan-drabbles​ Angst Monday! My prompt was: Levi and Hange are in an established long distance relationship, Levi surprises Hange by showing up right before midnight on New Year's Eve.

Once again, I got a little carried away :’) it’s not my favourite thing I’ve written this week but it’s done ahaha, please enjoy! And a HUGE thank you to the mods for running this whole thing, it’s been a lot of fun actually writing again.

Warnings: mentions of cheating (but I’m a big ol’ levihan sucker so worry not), body weight, anxiety/depression

It took him three attempts to knock. He even considered turning back and trying to change his flight, to head home and pretend this never happened, to live in blissful, agonising ignorance over Hange’s sudden, disinterested quiet. It was shameful, that he’d rather keep Hange ostensibly his than face any outcome where he lost them.

** 

Levi hadn’t intended on turning up quite so last minute.

His flight was supposed to land at noon, which would have given him ample time to make his way over to Hange’s part of the city. But the weather had not been in his favour—his first flight had been delayed due to intermittent snowstorms, the chill air so thick with snow, Levi could barely see his own hand in front of his face. In consequence, he had missed his connecting flight by well over an hour, and spent the majority of his evening sitting on the floor in the overcrowded airport, surrounded by his bags, sipping piss-water tea and waiting for the next available flight taking off to London.

It had been almost eight months since he had last seen Hange in person, and even then, they hadn’t spent nearly enough time together. Hange had returned home only briefly to attend their grandmother's funeral. Levi had seen them at the service, and they’d snagged a few hours together between family engagements and the regular study periods Hange had set aside for themself during their stay, but it felt rushed, lacking. Hange had seemed flustered, then. They had confessed that their studies were proving a lot more demanding than they had initially anticipated, that they were tired. That they were beginning to feel a little burnt out, but they had no time to take any substantial break without getting too far behind to catch up again.

Levi missed them. He and Hange had, from early in their childhood up until Hange left for university, spent almost every waking second in one another's company. It was impossible to recall a time when they weren’t together, excluding a handful of miserable periods during which Hange’s family had whisked them away on some holiday or other while Levi sat in his mothers tea shop and made himself as useful as any child could.

They had grown together, through school, through their awkward, angsty teenage phases, through Hange’s stuttering realisation that gender and sexuality were incredibly confusing things, and they had no idea where they stood on either spectrum. They had tried alcohol together for the first time, tried holding hands, tried kissing and fumbling with clumsy, nervous, eager hands in Hange’s old treehouse, a touch too small for two grown teenagers, but just big enough.

They had been each other's first partners, in every sense of the term. The progression, Levi remembers, had felt equal parts strange and yet completely natural. Expected. He and Hange fell into step with the same absent simplicity as breathing; it took little thought and even less effort, to love Hange as more than a friend.

And then, Hange left for university, and Levi stayed behind to help his mother with the shop. And things had still been easy, in a way. Hange was only a phone call away, and they made sure to call or text at least once a day, even if they only had the time to spare for a quick good morning or good night or did you shower? I can smell you from here or I love you, too.

It was okay. Not ideal, but manageable. But in the last few months, Hange’s texts had grown infrequent. They were busy, they’d told him. Too many deadlines, not enough time. They would get back to him when they could.

They never did.

It was always up to Levi to reach out, and Hange, to their credit, was always incredibly apologetic about the time elapsing between points of contact—I completely forgot, Levi! I’m so sorry. Now isn’t a good time though, I promise I’ll call you back when I get a minute?

Levi had tried to reason that they probably were busy. But there were terrible, guilty, nagging doubts, and they had only grown more as time went on, as Hange’s texts and calls dribbled down to almost nothing. 

It wasn’t that Levi didn’t trust Hange. He did, implicitly so. But they are young. A young couple from a small town, where a handful of kids their age are all they’ve ever known. And suddenly Hange was living in the big city, surrounded by like minded people—people who were astronomically smart, academically driven, who shared Hange’s interests. Who could do more than just listen while they chatted endlessly about plants or bugs or the vastness of the ocean, the movement of the Earth’s crust, the stars, the atmosphere in outer space, anything and everything that caught their interest. Levi had never been able to keep up, could only lend an ear and let Hange ramble until they were spent.

But they would meet people now, who could match them word for word and raise them facts they’d never even heard before. People Hange could have discussions with, debates with. People who could engage with Hange in a way Levi could never even hope to. The thought of it made his stomach hurt, and it crossed his mind too often, a guilty little echo in the back of his head every time Hange was too busy to talk to him. Every time his texts went unanswered.

And so, he had dipped into his savings and, with a little help from his mother, had bought a ticket to surprise Hange with a visit on New Years Eve. His mother assured him it was a sweet idea—romantic, she’d said, which had made Levi flush and scowl—but in truth, Levi had only decided on surprising Hange with the visit in fear that they wouldn’t want him to come, if he told them he planned on it.

Now, he was stuck navigating an endless network of underground trains, staring hopelessly at the maps on his phone and trying to figure out which line he needed to be on to make his way out to Hange’s apartment. It was already 11pm. Levi felt drained, his back and shoulders aching from carrying his luggage. The weather was cold and wet, the streets lined with slush that splashed up his legs and soaked into his shoes as he walked, and by the time he made it to what he hoped was Hange’s apartment building, an icy rain had started to fall, soaking into his pants and running in great rivulets from his coat.

He paused at the entrance. There was no keypad on the door, no way to buzz up to Hange’s room to get them to let him inside. He could ring them, but it had been weeks since Hange had answered his calls. Levi groaned, huddling under the small canopy above the door. It offered little shelter from the rain, and no barrier at all to the biting chill of the wind.

Levi had resolved to at least trying to call Hange when, by a stroke of luck he hadn’t thought possible today, the door opened, and three rather drunk and incredibly underdressed people tumbled out. They apologised to him as they stumbled by, but had the decency—or else the stupidity, Levi thought—to hold the door open for him. He thanked them quietly and slipped inside.

Hange’s apartment was on the third floor. Levi took the lift, which clattered ominously as it crawled four stories before shuddering to a stop. Levi’s stomach churned as he stepped out into the quiet hallway. There was a bubble of excitement, a thrill at the prospect of seeing Hange again after such a long time, but more than that, he felt nervous. He had no back up plan if Hange couldn’t, or wouldn’t, accommodate him. He wasn’t sure he had the money for a hotel even for a night or two, and he had optimistically booked his return flight for seven days’ time. If Hange had really changed their mind about him, about them, he had no idea what he would do.

Marking this off as one of his worst ideas to date, he dragged his luggage down the hall until he found apartment 3C.

It took him three attempts to knock. He even considered turning back and trying to change his flight, to head home and pretend this never happened, to live in blissful, agonising ignorance over Hange’s sudden, disinterested quiet. It was shameful, that he’d rather keep Hange ostensibly his than face any outcome where he lost them.

But he was here now. He had made his bed, and he would lie in it, whatever the outcome turned out to be. He rapped three times on the door, and waited.

And waited. And waited.

His mind wandered back to the party-goers he had passed in the doorway. It was New Year's Eve, and Hange was in university. It hadn’t crossed his mind that they might have plans, since he and Hange had always spent the night together, before now. But Hange couldn’t have anticipated Levi’s appearance; it would make sense, if they had taken one night off to enjoy themselves. Pass the occasion away with friends. With someone special, even. Someone who wasn’t him. Levi’s gut turned unpleasantly at the thought.

Lost in his musings, Levi almost missed the door opening. He blinked dazedly, took in the figure in the doorway, and his stomach dropped.

There was a man standing there. Taller than Levi, with a mop of light hair and a sweet, open face, wearing a somewhat rumpled, baggy shirt and a pair of threadbare sweatpants. He took in Levi’s appearance with a startled expression. Levi swallowed hard, mouth dry, tongue thick behind his teeth.

“I’m looking for Hange,” he said. Cleared his throat. “Are they home?”

The man jumped at the sound of Levi’s voice. He rallied himself well enough, then nodded, and turned to call over his shoulder, “Hange? There’s someone at the door for you.”

Levi mumbled his thanks. He felt lightheaded, heart thudding in his chest. For a moment he and the strange man simply looked at each other, until he heard a familiar voice from inside saying, “Moblit? If it’s Nanaba, tell her to go away. I already said I’m not going.”

“Not Nanaba,” Moblit called back. Levi heard the shuffle of footsteps, and then Moblit stepped aside, and he was face to face with Hange.

It seemed to take them a second to register who he was. Their tired eyes landed on him, bloodshot and bruised purple behind their glasses. Levi watched slowly as realisation dawned on them. Their eyes grew wide, lips—dry, cracked—parted in surprise, and their skin, already sickly looking, paled further. Levi’s gaze darted to Moblit over their shoulder and back again. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but no words would come. Blood pounded in his ears.

He never should have come. He had thought he was prepared for any eventuality, ready to accept that Hange might have found some happiness in somebody else. Ready to let them go. It would be painful, he knew; it’d suck, more than anything. But he had thought he was ready for that.

In front of Hange now, staring the prospect in the face, Levi realised he was terribly mistaken. He could not have anticipated how sick he would feel, how dizzy; his chest felt heavy, full and leaden and yet hollow all the same. The most painful kind of emptiness. He looked at Hange and tried to find something to say, but his mind was blank. He could think of nothing but Hange, and the man still standing a little way behind them, watching curiously out of the corner of his eye.

The silence was long, and dreadful. Neither Levi nor Hange spoke. Levi, for his part, couldn’t find words to say, and wouldn’t have been able to push them past the lump in his throat either way. Hange had tears welling in their eyes. They built up thick and heavy on their lash line, swimming in the light from the hallway, before spilling down their cheeks.

A terrible, bitter part of him thought that Hange had no right to cry.

And then, without any warning at all, hange launched themselves at him. Their weight hit him full in the chest, their arms winding around his back and squeezing tightly, punching the air from his lungs. Their face pressed into the side of Levi’s neck and he could feel wetness on his skin, an endless flow of tears as something wretched and agonising ripped from their throat; a sob, the heavy, desperate kind that bursts up from the gut and hacks out like a terrible cough. Again, and again, Hange sobbed, sucking jumpy, shaking breaths and crying them out again.

Instinctively, Levi’s arms came up around Hange, too. One hand carded into their hair—it felt limp and greasy and knotted between his fingers—and the other flattened against their back. Something twisted in his gut. Hange felt thin. Too thin. He could trace the knots of their spine and the ridges and valleys of their rib cage; their skin pulled taut over their shoulder blades; their hip bones dug into him where Hange had pressed themself impossibly close.

Levi’s pain was replaced abruptly by concern. He held Hange a little tighter, but they felt breakable in his arms now. Fragile. Hange had never felt so small before.

Moblit’s voice broke Levi out of his stupor. He had a kind smile on his face, though his eyes held the same worry Levi felt.

“Maybe you should come inside?” He suggested. Hange sniffled against Levi’s neck. They took a few big, gulping breaths to steady themself, pulling away, though still remaining close. Levi watched as Hange pulled the sleeve of their jumper over their hand and rubbed at their cheeks, at their eyes. Something in his chest ballooned, pressing hard against his ribs, his throat. Hange looked a complete mess. Levi felt concerned, and confused. Even still, looking at Hange now, he felt terribly certain of one thing: he loved them. Helplessly, hopelessly, he loved them.

He let Hange step out of his grip slowly. His hands lingered, slipping around their waist and down their arm, but before he could move too far away, Hange closed their fingers tight around his. Levi stared at their knotted hands, then at Hange, and wordlessly let them drag him inside.

Belatedly, Levi remembered he was drenched. He could see wet patches on Hange’s jumper where they had been pressed against him, and the chill of his wet clothes seemed to sink into his bones as he crossed over the entryway. They passed Moblit, who watched them with some intrigue, then wandered out into the hallway only to return with Levi’s luggage in tow.

Hange’s apartment was open plan, the kitchen separated from the sitting room only by a countertop. It was small, and cosy, cluttered in the way Hange’s spaces always tended to be. They kept plants on every available surface, but Levi could see that some were in desperate need of tending, with dry, shrivelling leaves and sagging stems. That wasn’t like Hange at all.

By the sofas, Hange stopped him.

“Give me your coat,” they said. Their voice still sounded thick and choked, and they sniffled pitifully, but they were no longer crying. Levi obliged them in a daze. Hange took his dripping coat and tossed it, uncaring, over one of the stools by the counter. Moblit quietly collected it and hung it on a hook on the back of the door.

“What are you even doing here?” Hange asked, sitting down and pulling on Levi’s sleeve until he dropped down beside them. “How did you get here? When?”

Levi’s eyes roved over Hange’s face. He couldn’t figure out how they felt. It was an uncomfortable realisation—Hange had always been an open book to him, easy to parse no matter what they were feeling. Now, they seemed...reserved. Subdued. Not the Hange he was used to.

“I had some savings,” Levi said slowly. He cleared his throat, debated on what level of honesty he was going to reply with, before saying, “I hadn’t heard from you in a while. Wanted to make sure you hadn’t up and died on me.”

At that, Hange’s expression grew somber. They grimaced, and Levi watched fresh tears well in their eyes. He reached for their hand without thought, and Hange gripped on tightly. Levi let his thumb brush lazily back and forth over their knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” Hange said. “I’m really sorry. I just—things have been—I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Hange rubbed a hand tiredly over their face, then let their head drop onto his shoulder. They felt warm, a welcome weight against him. Levi let his cheek rest against their head, felt the tickle of their hair against his skin. Hange pressed closer, and Levi turned to nudge a kiss to their hairline.

The sound a stool scraping the floor turned Levi’s attention to Moblit. Levi shot him a look that was probably a little more murderous than intended, but fought to relax his frown at Moblit’s wide-eyed expression. Moblit scratched a little awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“Would you--ah, would you like a drink of anything?”

“Tea,” Hange mumbled. “He likes tea. There’s early grey in the cupboard, I think.”

Moblit nodded, and turned quickly into the kitchen. Hange adjusted their grip on Levi’s hand, until they were palm to palm, fingers slotted loosely together. Levi could feel them taking long, measured breaths.

“I’m really sorry,” they said again. Levi half wanted to tell them to stop apologising, but—well, until he knew for certain what they were apologising for, he couldn't be sure if they really needed to say it. “I know I’ve been a little...distant, lately. I’m sorry. I kept—I wanted to get back to you, I promise I did. I wanted to talk to you more than anything, but everything is just—God, Levi. Everything is going wrong.”

Levi gave a quiet, questioning hum. He knew Hange; there was no need for him to prompt them. If Hange had something to say, they would say it whether he probed or not. He waited, and eventually, Hange let out a distressed little sound and turned their face fully into his neck.

“Everything’s...so much harder than I thought it would be. There’s so much work to do, all the time. I’m struggling to meet all the deadlines. I keep failing my tests. I’m so tired, Levi. I just want a break, but there’s no time.”

Levi unthreaded his fingers from theirs and looped his arm around their back instead. He ran his fingers lightly up and down Hange’s spine, settled his face into their hair.

This side of Hange wasn’t wholly new to him. He had seen Hange upset and overwhelmed a handful of times before, but it hurt all the same—and more still, when he considered the fact that Hange had been feeling like this for who knows how long, without him even being aware.

“You can tell me shit like this,” he said. Hange flinched a little.

“I know,” they said quietly. “I know I can. But I...you’re so far away. And I knew you’d want to help, if I told you, but travelling this far isn’t—I couldn’t ask that of you. I didn’t want you to worry.”

Levi knocked his knuckles gently to Hange’s head. “Stupid. Look how that turned out.”

Hange let out a wet laugh. “Yeah, it kinda backfired, huh? Or did it? Maybe it was a ploy to get you to come out here all along.”

Hange sounded tired. Drained. The joke was weak and hollow without the right injection of humour, but Hange, it seemed, didn’t even have the energy to pretend to sound amused. Levi gave a scoff of a laugh anyway.

“Congratulations,” he said, deadpan. “You got me.”

The conversation fell flat. He was so used to having Hange talk his ear off that the quiet between them felt awkward, stifling. Hange only breathed, long, measured breaths, while Levi held them loosely against him. Moblit pottered around in the kitchen. While Levi felt mostly certain that things between them, at least, were okay, he was still curious about Moblit’s presence—but it felt like the wrong time to ask.

As if they could read his mind, though, Hange said, “Moblit’s been helping me study for the catch-up exams.”

“Oh?”

Hange hummed. “He’s good. I think I’ll give him an aneurysm one day, though.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Oi,” Hange grumbled, digging their fingers weakly into his sides. Moblit chose that moment to come into the sitting room juggling three cups of tea. He looked a little apologetic as he handed one over to Levi, who took it with a mumbled thanks.

“I’ve been telling Hange they should speak to you,” he said. Hange made a quiet, affronted noise, lifting their head and sitting up straight to take the tea Moblit offered them. “I thought it might help if they had someone to actually talk to. I can help out with the academic stuff, but the rest…” he trailed away, and Levi caught his gaze flitting to Hange’s thin frame, then back up to Levi’s face.

“Moblit, you’re a whole traitor,” Hange said. 

In unison, Levi and Moblit rolled their eyes. Hange had settled their weight against Levi’s side again, feet tucked up on the sofa next to them, and was busy glaring at Moblit over their steaming tea cup. Levi laid his hand on Hange’s knee and gave it a small squeeze.

“I like him,” Levi said. “He’s got good ideas. You should listen to him more, Hange.”

Moblit looked pleased with himself, though there was nothing smug about it. He seemed like the kind, earnest type—pair that with his intellect, and Levi wasn’t surprised at all that Hange seemed fond of him. He felt a pang of jealousy at the thought, then considered their positions; Hange was nestled into his side, had cried on his shoulder, and was holding his hand. It was petty, but Levi took some small delight in it all the same.

Hange poked out their tongue at Moblit, who wasted no time in telling them he knew he had been right. Hange struggled to find a compelling argument against him, and resorted instead to more petulant, childish gestures. Moblit looked perfectly used to the behaviour and retaliated little, only reiterated his stance and pointed out rather happily that Levi agreed with him.

The atmosphere felt warm, calm. Hange seemed, for the moment at least, something close to content, with a soft smile that almost reached their eyes. Levi felt marginally more at ease than he had done prior to coming, though Hange's current state made him anxious—but at least he understood the problem, now. He could help in the coming days, and then continue to offer whatever support the distance would allow. He determined then that he wouldn't let Hange go silent on him, that they'd come to an agreement before he left, to ensure Hange would talk to him next time.

He listened as Moblit and Hange quietly bickered over their tea. Hange's usual energy was severely lacking, their tone less volatile. There was no indignant flush of colour to their cheeks and the shine in their eyes was dull, subdued. But they were no longer crying. No longer on the brink of breaking. Levi would take that, for now.

The three of them were startled suddenly by the loud crack and boom of fireworks outside. The sky lit up in vibrant colour, flashing and receding in tandem with each bang and pop and fizz that rent the air. For a moment, they all paused. Hange and Moblit turned to look out the window, while Levi—sappy, hopeless fool that he was, could only look at Hange. The light played across their pale face, glinting from their glasses, filling out the hollows of their cheeks and their sunken eyes until they looked almost whole again. Levi gave their hand a small squeeze. Hange's gaze remained glued to the sky, but they squeezed back just as hard.

Moblit was the first to speak, when the light show came to an end. He checked his watch, then looked up and smiled.

"Happy New Year."

Levi blinked. He had all but forgotten the day and the time, too wrapped up in his concern for Hange. He turned to look at them, and found Hange watching him already. Now, they had some colour—a light blush of pink on the apple of each cheek. Levi's heart stuttered in his chest. They'd been together for long enough, had years of sure kisses and even more stray ones, and yet, every damn time, the prospect of kissing Hange made his palms sweat, his chest tighten with giddy, childish excitement.

“Another year without breaking tradition,” Hange said, a little breathlessly. Levi felt gratified to know that Hange seemed just as affected as he did. “You made it right on time.” 

Hange kissed him as softly as ever. Levi's hand braced on their narrow waist as he kissed them back. Hange melted against him, their lips rough and dry but pliant, opening easily to the gentle press of his tongue. It took a concentrated effort to remember himself, remember their company, to keep the kiss somewhat chaste; to stop himself nudging Hange to lay back on the sofa and cover their body with his own.

He pulled away reluctantly, entirely too pleased when Hange chased him a little way, stealing another quick kiss or two before leaning against the back of the sofa and looking at him. The flush on their face was more prominent, now. Levi quietly delighted in it.

Moblit sighed, almost wistfully, and gathered up their empty cups. Hange cooed quietly at him.

"Don't worry, Moblit," they said. "You'll get your turn soon. When does Nifa get back again?"

Moblit's face flamed. Levi had never seen someone colour so quickly, bright red from his neck to his hairline.

He stormed through to the kitchen, and choked out, "Next week, I think. And it's not like that, Hange."

"Not yet," Hange corrected. "We'll get you there."

Hange let out a great yawn. The little light of life in them, the small pleasure of teasing, snuffed out as they sat up straighter, spine crunching in several places as they did.

"We should get back to work," they said. They sounded dull again—Levi could hear the strain of stress in their tone. Moblit looked a little torn. Levi shook his head.

"It can wait," Levi said. "I've had a long, shitty day, and you," he pinched the skin of their cheek, tugging a little, "need sleep. You look like shit."

Hange's face twisted. Levi could see the anxiety building in them, churning. He cut them off before they could say anything more. "A few hours, four-eyes. You're not gonna remember shit when you're tired anyway."  

"Levi's right, Hange," Moblit interjected. He looked tired, too. Levi felt a pang of sympathy for him—how many hours of sleep had he sacrificed trying to help Hange desperately prepare?

Levi tugged on their hand, pulling them in closer as he sunk back, reclining a little on the sofa.

"I'm tired," he said plainly. And then, embarrassed by the heat already flooding his cheeks, he added, "I've missed you. Just a few hours."

Levi was never blatantly vocal about his feelings. He considered himself very lucky that Hange knew him well, and could understand the intent behind his rude remarks. Right now, though, he felt desperate. And his honesty paid off.

Hange scrutinised him for a short moment, then said, "okay. But only a few hours."

"Deal."

"Just a nap."

"Fine."

Hange adjusted to tuck themself against his chest. They drew their knees up and curled into his side, dragging a throw from the back of the sofa and adjusting it to drape over them both. Moblit settled himself quietly on the other sofa.

Levi drew absent patterns over Hange's back with his fingertips. His touch bumped over their spine, bones even more pronounced with their back curled the way it was. How long had it been since they ate a proper meal? How regularly did they ingest something more substantial than a protein bar? He knew Hange was prone to fits of forgetfulness when they became too fixated on one task or another, easily bypassing meal times and leaving it too long between showers, but hunger always won out in the end. Hange had always been a little on the skinny side, but this, now; it scared him. They looked, and felt, unhealthy.

He dropped a harsh kiss to the top of their head. He wanted to say so many things, felt full with the weight of it all—I'm worried about you, you're scaring me, please look after yourself, I love you. Instead, he kissed them again, roughly, nuzzling his face into their hair, and hoped somehow they would understand.

Tomorrow, Levi will drag them for a shower. He will make them a good breakfast. He will make sure they drink water, and take small breaks during their studies, even just five minutes to breathe and regroup. Tomorrow, he will stand by as a silent support. He will let Moblit guide Hange through their studies, help where Levi cannot, and then, if things get too much, if Hange needs something to ground themself again, Levi will be right there.

Tomorrow.

But for now, Levi will make sure they rest.

[bikerjongho]

stradivarius in flames | kim hongjoong

genre: supernatural, action

character: violin demon hunter!hongjoong

description: Hongjoong is a demon hunter that specifically fights and kills demons trapped inside violins, and now he’s tasked with destroying a multi-million dollar Stradivarius violin.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: mentions of a gun, fire, demons

author’s note: inspired by this post. and hold onto your horses @scriptura-delirus​ >:)

The train that was taking Hongjoong to the orchestra concert was late. And dressed to the nine's in a black suit, buzzed hair flat and elegant, and gun tucked neatly in his coat pocket, Hongjoong couldn't have been angrier. He had a violin to steal and burn.

Hongjoong was slated to have arrived at the concert venue an hour before the concert. Now, with twenty minutes past the beginning of the concert and still a few more miles to go due to an accident on the tracks, it was an understatement to say that he felt robbed by the train's service. Never in his life had he had a more important job to do.

Had this been a normal violin, had this been a normal demon, Hongjoong would have dropped the gig as he sat. But this was no ordinary violin, and this was no ordinary demon. A Stradivarius violin, one of only hundreds made and made by what connoisseurs say was the greatest violin maker of all time, Antonio Stradivari, was Hongjoong's target for this night. Worth millions, any violin made by Stradivari was heavily coveted and admired. Hongjoong had to make sure this one burned in flame.

And the demon that had implanted itself into this violin, while not much different than other demons that inhabited violins, was worrisome on its own purely by its ability to get its demon hands on a Stradivarius. He had a theory that demons favored violins because Satan's instrument was violin.

Hongjoong didn't know how these demons managed to inhabit violins and cause trouble. But the simple fact was that they did, and Hongjoong was there to stop them.

He had been in the business of banishing demons from violins for years. The actual banishment of the demon was easy enough - he just had to throw the violin into a fire. The hard part was actually obtaining the violin.

And sometimes, even that part was easy. Over his years at this job, Hongjoong found that demons preferred to inhabit smaller violins. Thus, he would appear at elementary schools to steal and destroy tiny and monstrous violins from orchestra rooms. Sometimes he stole violas. Less often he stole cellos and basses because they were too large and bulky for a demon to ever inhabit. Hongjoong was grateful for their preference, their liking to Satan. It would be nearly impossible to steal a bass at any time of the day or night.

But most of the time, stealing violins was a painful and difficult job. He no longer felt regret as he stole stringed instruments from homes, from venues, from schools, because of the damage the demon worried him more than a sad violinist ever could. Nonetheless, it was still painful to watch students sob over their stolen violin. Many times, he stole them at night when the demons were most active, silently breaking in and swiping the violin before anyone could notice. But all the same, he had his fair share of chases, fights, and prices placed on his head.

If demons were left in the violins, their energies and mischief would disrupt the living world. Hongjoong knew of people that had lost family members from these violin demons, which motivated him to keep burning violins on days he hated his job. And although he himself had never lost any family members from these demons, every day he walked on a tightrope, afraid he was one step away from slipping and losing someone he loved.

Hongjoong had his balance, at least for tonight. But as the train slowly moved closer to the Stradivarius, he couldn't ignore the knot that was forming in the center of his chest.

In the meantime, Hongjoong mapped out a plan in his brain for nabbing the violin. Even if it was a Stradivarius, it would have been infinitely easier to steal while it sat unused in its case before the performance. The fact that it was now being played and security guards made sure no one else could get into the theater to see the performance was yet another hurdle for Hongjoong to jump over. He silently cursed the accident that had prolonged his ride.

Alongside the security guards, the demons tended to act up the most when the violin was being played. What mischief it did exactly varied from demon to demon, but black mist and objects moving on their own accord were a staple of violin demons. Hongjoong tried not to think about how impossible this task would be, even if the violin wasn't a Stradivarius. Though, he did have a few tricks up his sleeve - it came with being rather practiced at magic and the police of all things supernatural.

Hongjoong had a few sets of magic marbles lined in his coat pockets. To the unobservant eye, they looked like regular marbles, but upon closer inspection they shimmered with magic. If Hongjoong threw one onto the floor, the magic inside it opened. Some created roaring flames, while some were able to transport him a couple hundred feet from where he stood. Others created smoke, and others slowed time. He didn't have any time ones, those were harder to come by, but the other three he had in full stock and was fairly certain he'd use them for this case.

Hongjoong mulled more in his seat about the marbles and his plan on getting the Stradivarius while the rest of the passengers on the train chatted merrily to each other, their thoughts free of demonic violins and magic marbles.

His thoughts were just pulling together into a ridiculous, yet perhaps doable plan, as the train slowed and stopped before honking its loud whistle as an arrival. Hongjoong stood up immediately and felt around for the concert ticket in his pocket. It was still there, and that was his way in. He hoped they'd let him into the performance even if he was late, but he was also capable of breaking glass and violating a few security rules. He hoped it wouldn't have to come to that.

At last, Hongjoong was inside the concert venue, sweaty and tired after running continuously to reach it. He had considered using one of the magic balls to transport him to the venue faster while he lost his lungs running, but since the concert had started already, it didn't matter. He had already lost enough time.

His sweating and panting came in handy when he reached one of the workers that collected tickets. "I'm so sorry, my train was late," he gasped and handed over his ticket. "Pray that I can still watch the remainder of the concert?"

"It's no problem," said the worker, not unkindly, and led him to the entrance to the audience. Hongjoong adjusted the gun in his coat. He doubted he would need to use it, but he had it for protection. He was smirking, but gave a kind smile to the worker as she turned to let him into the auditorium.

As soon as he was let into the auditorium, he was hit with the repulsive and pungent scent of demon that he had grown so accustomed to. The black demon mist hung over the auditorium like a terrible omen. He was relieved to see that nothing else seemed disturbed, and no one else could smell hell itself or see the mist in the air. Everyone was too focused on the violinist that was playing her heart out on her awful violin.

Hongjoong had selected a seat directly above the violinist, just in case he had to watch the performance. The violinist's golden dress shimmered while she played, and to Hongjoong's horror, the demon was quite visible from the violin's f-holes. He had to get down to the stage immediately, even if it was going to cause a ruckus, even if it was going to scar everyone in the theater, even if the violinist was playing beautifully on a legendary violin.

One moment, he was sitting as a relaxed patron, watching the violinist perform. The next, he had swung himself over the safety railing and landed on the stage, smoke magic ball coming just before him and coating everything near with smoke and hiding Hongjoong.

"I'm sorry," Hongjoong whispered to the soloist underneath the screaming and gasps that had ensued from the crowd before kicking her feet out from under her and yanking the violin out of her hands. The bow clattered to the floor as the violinist screamed as she fell, but Hongjoong didn't need it.

And then he ran. He ran, carrying the violin that was worth more than his life and could pay off all of his debts tenfold. He ran off of the stage and into the backstage, where he quickly found an exit door after zooming by workers that were too startled to try and stop him. The screaming and thundering of multiple people close behind him made his heart jolt and his hands work faster. He thrusted open the door, and then the demon began hissing and screeching.

It would not stop hissing and growling, so Hongjoong held the violin close to his chest and pressed hard. He felt the wood crack and the bridge fall off, which quieted the demon. A shot rang out from behind him, making him run even faster into the night. He struggled in his pockets for the marble he needed, then threw it to the ground.

The transport marble - Hongjoong slipped away from the crowd of security guards without a trace, walking through the wavy air it created before it threw him a couple hundred feet forward. He could still hear and see the guards if he looked closely from where he had moved, but they'd never find him from here. Humans couldn't move that fast. And while Hongjoong was human, he had danced and gambled the line of supernatural for years. The screaming demon inside the Stradivarius he was holding was proof of that.

Even if Hongjoong was out of sight from the security officers, there was still a lot of running to be done. After all, the fire he was to create couldn't give away his location.

So Hongjoong ran. He ran through the forest, letting brambles and sticks scratch himself and the violin and his coat and his shoes and his pants while he ripped off the tuning pegs of the violin. Something about tearing apart the violin, breaking it and making it unplayable helped silence and weaken the demon. He pitched the pegs onto the ground as he ran and kept running, his legs burning like he had dropped a fire magic marble inside of them.

At last, Hongjoong couldn't hear the security guards anymore. He squeezed the violin against his body to crack it a bit more one last time to silence the demon's useless whining before pulling out a fire magic marble and throwing it onto the ground.

An inferno erupted from where the ball was, and Hongjoong was quick to toss the Stradivarius into the fire. Upon contact with it, the demon screamed turned to black steam steaming from the violin, and the violin's golden body turned black as the fire ate. The fire danced in Hongjoong's expressionless eyes as he watched the flames lick up the priceless wood and the demon that had tried to make a home in it. He had seen this exact scenario more times than he could count, but this one was different. The Stradivarius was an artifact, a treasure to the musical world, and he had destroyed it.

But the demon was a treasure from hell, sent to destroy and cause havoc on Earth. The orchestral snobs would simply have to get over their million dollar loss. As the flames licked up the last of the violin, Hongjoong gave a small smile. He was good at his job, he knew it, and the power that came with destroying demons was addicting. To know that he had the power of destroying otherworldly creatures in the blink of an eye made some deep and innate hunger blossom in the core of his stomach. The fire licked at the fiery strings in the flames and casted hellish figures on his skin. He savored this moment, for it would go away soon.

At the sudden noise of shouts, Hongjoong took one last look at the flames and took off, once again running but free from his task. It was evil, it felt evil, to ruin such a priceless artifact and to be a felon and menace, even if it was to destroy a demon.

But the feeling it gave Hongjoong ate at him like flames to kerosene. He'd never stop.

[stae-yong]

a dream in a bottle [j.jh]

genre: fluff, romance, fantasy word count: 11.4k

Year 2059.

Everyone has lost their minds finding solace in a world full of chaos. Dreams in a bottle are now being used like a drug in order to fulfill their wildest fantasies. Have you ever dreamt so good, you never wanted to wake up?

“You’re the dream I go to, every time I close my eyes.”

a/n: this is my first jaehyun fic, and the first fic i’ve written :> please understand if i’ve made any errors. i wanted to write this since i started stanning nct and i hope you guys enjoy!! oh and listen to this, it inspired me to write this story. hopefully it could set the mood as well.

“Happy birthday to me,” y/n said dully as she blew her candle. The smoke from her two and three candles went to her eyes which made her squint. For the past week, all she ever did was cry herself to sleep thinking how miserable she would spend her birthday this week ever since her boyfriend left her for ‘his future’ which she snorted at as she remembered how his arms were wrapped around her waist as he kissed this new girl and who just enrolled in his arts class.

She then started to arrange her gifts which mostly consisted of plain old birthday cards which her so called friends just gave to her at the last minute since her existence was forgotten due to the busy days of work. As she went through her gifts, she noticed another postcard from her parents that are probably touring around Europe. She scrunched her nose in disappointment, “What a good way to start my 23rd year of living on this planet,” she muttered. Y/N stood up pushing around all the teared pieces of gift wrap as she tried to navigate herself around the living room. As she moved, she accidentally kicked a box tas was buried under piles of garbage.

A white box with pink hearts decorated around it. On the side of a box, a sticky note was attached with a letter with handwriting that was too familiar.

Dear y/n

Happy Birthday! I’m sorry we can’t spend it together this year, you know how hard life is. But I do hope you enjoy the following days with my gift. I gave this to you to spice up your birthday. It’s definitely one of a kind, I hope you could forget your dickhead of a boyfriend with this. Call me once you try it ;)

Love,

Mei.

“If this is a box of lingerie or condoms, Mei can rot in hell,” Y/N grumbled. This definitely should be worth it. She peeled the sticky note, as a remembrance of the gift as she carefully opened the box. Inside were three small bottles of iridescent liquid that seemed like it had been mixed by a 10 year old playing with glitters and water. A small card was placed above the bottles with a note saying “The best dreams happen when you are wide awake,” with several instructions to only drink one bottle every night for good results. Y/N contemplated if she should drink from it now considering that its nearly 10pm. She spent her whole day moping around her room munching on junk food while thinking about how lonely and boring her life was. Maybe this potion is worth the try, and maybe, like what Mei said, it could spice up her life.

She took the bottle in her hands shaking it a bit as she watched the small pieces of glitter swirl around as if it was luring her to drink it. At first she tasted like vanilla, smooth and milky then suddenly it turned to taste like strawberry mixed with different other fruits. Soon after, Y/N fell on her bed as she drifted off.

————

Y/N felt as if she was thrown into a whirlpool as her head continued to spin. Bright light hit her face making her squint as she tried to slowly adjust to what she was seeing. Suddenly, people started to bump her as they made their way around the city. Y/N tried to make sense of where she was, it was a city that looked like it existed way back in the 1900s with the way people dressed. Women and men of all ages walked around the street as they clung unto their loved ones. Women were dressed in puffed blouses and below the knee skirts as they topped it with a trench coat to warm them from the cold. Men, on the other hand, were wearing top hand sand white button up with suspenders that were too old-fashioned for her liking as they paired it with trousers. As Y/N continued to make sense of what was happening, she passed by a shop where she saw her reflection, she was wearing the same thing everyone was wearing.

Great, how on Earth am I supposed to figure out what to do in this dream.

As she walked around, she noticed a long queue that led to a movie theater. Everyone seemed excited to watch this new ‘musical’ that only happens once every year and that is during the 23rd of Christmas, ‘The Impossible Dream’ was its title. She noticed that every poster posted on the streets had the same title written in cursive with a time, date, and location set. As she adjusted her coat that was wrapped around her, she noticed a ticket on her right pocket.  “The Impossible Dream, 6pm,” she muttered. “I drink a stupid bottle of dream and now I have to watch a boring musical,” she added as she pouted remembering to message Mei that she won’t be drinking anymore of her gift. Her eyes wandered from the people around her to the buildings, she knew no one in this dream and the faces she see are not even close to familiar. The place itself looks like a 90s movie setting with all the broadway and lampposts hanging around.

“Excuse me, this is the end of the line, right?” Y/N turned to look around at a man around her age with caramel brown hair and smiling as his dimples poked out. She stared at him longer as she admired his features, okay, this is definitely a dream because no one else in the real world would look as good as this fine man standing behind her. “U-um, yeah,” she cleared her throat as she gave tight smile embarrassed as she was caught staring.

“Come on, you gonna pretend like you don’t know me now?” He said as he pouted. Y/N looked at him confused, never in her life did she encounter him, maybe this is a preset of the dream but she decided to play dumb instead. “Hmmm, I don’t think I remember,” she said as she tried to think of a name that matches his face.

“It’s Jaehyun,” he said as he poked her cheek with his index finger as he shook his head disappointingly. “Are you my boyfriend?” Y/N blurted out as she felt her cheeks heat up at her sudden question. Jaehyun felt flustered as his ears turned red. “Um, well, I don’t know,” he said nervously chuckling. Y/N nodded as she turned to the front once again, boyfriend or not it doesn’t matter but for sure the handsome guy standing behind her played an important role in her dream. She tried to remember if she knew any Jaehyun in the real world but no one came close. Heck, no one even looks like him. Was she really that desperate on moving on, she literally dreamed of having a boyfriend way better than her ex? Okay, maybe.

The line started moving as people made their way towards the entrance of the theater. “I didn’t know you were interested in watching musicals,” Jaehyun said as he stood beside her as they both made their way in.

“Well, maybe you don’t know a lot about me then,” she shrugged as she gave him a teasing smile. “We’ve known each other for four years and you forget my name?” He teased back as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder to move her from the people that were constantly passing by to get to their seats. Y/N felt her heartbeat speed up at the intimacy feeling his chest pressed against her shoulder as she muttered apologies to those passing by.

“Watch where you’re going,” he muttered under his breath as he looked at her. Y/N blushed as she looked up to him. The lighting in the room giving his visuals more justice as it surrounded her head making him look like he has a built in halo.

As she made her way to her seat, Jaehyun followed closely behind as they both sat together. The play started as the lights dim but Y/N couldn’t care less about what was happening in the play as she felt bothered by Jaehyun’s presence. How did he have this effect on her when he doesn’t even exist? It was also their first time meeting. She slowly shifted on her seat to face Jaehyun in a discreet way as she tried to steal a glance at him. Jaehyun noticed her shifting taking it as a sign of uncomfortableness, placing a hand gently on the area above her knee squeezing it lightly and giving her a look of concern.

Y/N froze in her seat as she looked back at Jaehyun who was staring at her worriedly, eyebrows furrowed. She looked away quickly as she cleared her throat, nudging Jaehyun’s hand away by accident as she shifted to face forward. Jaehyun chuckled as he continued to watch the musical smiling to himself. “What’s so funny?” Y/N said as she crossed her arms trying to concentrate on the show but finding it difficult with Jaehyun seated right beside her. “You should take a picture, it would last longer,” he whispered in her ear as she felt his warm breath brush against her cheeks making it heat up. Thankfully, the lights were dim and Jaehyun wouldn’t be able to see how red her cheeks were from the constant display of affection he was showing to her. She wasn’t staring, she was just trying to capture his face on her mind so that when she wakes up from this dream she could finally move on from her ex.

“I still haven’t forgiven you for what you’ve done,” Jaehyun whispers again, Y/N looks at him in confusion to see him leaning slightly to her side with eyes still focused on the show. “What have I done?” She said raising a brow. She has only been inside her dream for 20min, she barely got to do anything except stare at the piece of art seated right beside her.

Jaehyun looked at her in disbelief as he flicked her forehead earning a smack on the shoulder. “You left me in the rain, I told you to call me but you didn’t,” he said as he looked at her again. Y/N frowned, not really knowing what to say. “Sorry, I was busy,” At this point, making up stories would only be the solution to questions as it was only a dream that she may forget when she wakes up. Jaehyun continues to stare at her with an unreadable expression. He nods anyway and she gives him a small smile.

“Are you really watching this?” Y/N asks bored out of her mind as the main lead in the musical continues to cry as she longs for her love one who she only meets inside her dream.

“No, I’m just here because I like sitting beside you,” Jaehyun replies shooting her a smile, his dimples making an appearance as they always seem present when she looks at him. She scrunched her nose in disapproval, definitely too good to be true. Prince Charming likes her in her dream, her love life must definitely be fucked up for her to be dreaming about these things.

“We can get out of here if you’re bored,” Jaehyun shrugs as he took her hand gently. He jutted his chin toward the exit raising a brow, “Okay fine, but I’m not spending any money,” she muttered making Jaehyun laugh as he pulled her from her seat. She didn’t even know how she would able to live in this dream.

As they walked around the streets, Y/N tried to ask more about herself so that she wouldn’t have to lie all the time she entered this dream. Never in her life did she experience a dream so realistic, lately, she had troubles sleeping and if she ever got to dream, it would be long forgotten the moment she woke up. A warm hand wrapped around her cold one pulling her out of her thoughts, her gaze shifted from the street to Jaehyun who was grinning at her.

“Do you remember how we met?” She asked as he swayed their hands playfully while walking. “Of course, it was definitely my favorite day,” he chuckled as he recalled how they first met. It was the first day of university and Jaehyun was late. It definitely wasn’t a good first impression to his professors considering how he got into the university because of a basketball scholarship, he used to be a star player back in high school which led him to many offers from big schools that wanted him as the ‘face’ of their team. Although, Jaehyun chose the one closest to his home as he didn’t want to stray farther away from his family, at the same time, his friends attended the same university as him. He tried to discreetly make his way inside the classroom as his professor continued to scribble on the board. Sitting down on the farthest seat as possible, he tried to catch up on the lesson they were having

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” He heard a small voice say as he shifted his gaze. There she stood in front of him, wearing a yellow dress with her brown hair softly framing her small face accentuating her brown eyes that seem to hold the stars. Jaehyun gulped nervously as he shifted on his seat.

“No, you can sit here whenever you want,” he said a bit too excitedly as he continued to stare at her. The girl gave him a small smile as she sat slid on the seat beside him taking out her notebook and pen.

“I’m Y/N, by the way,” she whispered extending her arm which Jaehyun stared at a bit for too long, “Not that it matte-“ before she could put down her hand Jaehyun grabbed her hand firmly with a smile. “Jaehyun,” he said smiling which made her flustered. “Care to share why you’re late?” He whispered as he tried to start a conversation without getting caught by the professor. He didn’t even understand what was being taught anymore as all his attention was occupied by the girl seated beside him. “The traffic was too bad, why are you late?” She shrugged as she leaned closer to him with a teasing smile. Jaehyun snorted as he slightly bumped his shoulder with hers. They were close already despite the small amount of time they knew each other, “You’re watching me?” He teased as he raised an amused brow at her. Her nose scrunched as she bopped his nose with her pen. “No, I saw you make your way through the door earlier and decided to seat beside you,” she chirped making Jaehyun’s heart flutter. “If I knew better, I would say you stalk me,” he replied trying to brush off the tremble in his voice caused by the amount of flips his heart was making. “Just interested,” she beamed and diverted her attention back to the board. Jaehyun took a glance at her shaking his head at their exchange, silently taking note that he should definitely get her number after this class.

Y/N looked at Jaehyun with an unamused expression as he shrugged, “It’s true though! You tried to hit on me on the first day,” he said earning a punch on the shoulder. “I don’t think that’s how it went though!” She retorted blushing as she didn’t even know if Jaehyun made everything up. It was her first time meeting him, yet in this dream it seems that she’s been in it for years already. She did, however, like how straight forward she was based on Jaehyun’s story, maybe she did like herself better in this dream.

“You asked for my number, so basically, you hit on me,” she stucked her tongue out as she harshly tugged Jaehyun in what she feels like the direction of her house is. Jaehyun pulled her back as they stopped under a lamp post with the light illuminating his face in all the right angles. He leaned close until they were eye-contact level as Y/N tried to keep a blank expression even if her heart was basically going to burst from how close Jaehyun’s face was from hers as she tried to remember all the small details of his face. “You said you were interested first, so I guess I win this argument,” he said smiling at her. Y/N brushed it off as he pushed his face away with her index finger. Jaehyun then wrapped his arms around her waist as he pulled her closer making her grab his forearms for support at the sudden action. “What are you doing?” She said nervously as he started to sway from side to side as he looked at her making her blush at the sudden attention he was giving her. There was no way he couldn’t see how red she was right now. “Dancing, we used to do this all the time,” he said as he continued to sway to some tune he was humming. “I don’t know how to dance,” she muttered as she looked down trying her hardest not to step on his feet. “It’s fine, I can lead,” he said confidently as he continued to stare down at her making her stare at his chest as she couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Hey Y/N,” he mentions when he noticed how quiet she has gone. “Hmmm?” She replies looking up to him as she stared at the area between his brows, his eyes too much for her to take, afraid that if she looks at him she might as well just kiss him there. “I really like dancing here with you but do you mind?” He says as he looked down. Y/N followed his gaze and saw her shoe lace untied itself probably because she kept stepping on them as they danced.

“Oh, let me-“ as she tried to bend down to tie it, Jaehyun pulled her up lightly by the arm as he kneeled before her making her flustered she looked around for people as he basically looked like he was proposing to her. “I can’t have you fall for anyone else,” he grinned as he tried to stifle a laugh. Y/N huffed as she nudged him strong enough for him to fall backwards catching himself with his arms as he tried to stand up.

She walked quickly as she tried to go to what seemed like her house, with Jaehyun following closely behind her as he jogged trying to keep up with her speed. “You’re welcome,” he winked making her flustered once again as she crossed her arms. “I’m home now, aren’t you going?” She said though she really didn’t want him to go yet. She didn’t even know if that was her house but it seemed like it, somehow it just felt right to be there at that moment. Jaehyun chuckled as he took a step back putting his hands in his pockets.

“I hope you had fun today,” he smiled as he ruffled her hair. Y/N nodded as she entered her ‘house’. “Stay safe, Jaehyun,” she said softly as she took one last look at him. Before she could close the door, she felt Jaehyun stop it.

“Wait, before you go,” he held the door with one hand and the other finding the back of her head as his lips lightly touched her forehead. Y/N felt her heartbeat speed up as she closed her eyes at the feeling of his soft lips on her forehead.

“Meet me in your dreams,” he said as he smiled at her before finally closing the door.

——

Y/N jolted awake as she heaved heavy breaths. She felt as if she ran a marathon with how fast her heart was beating. She was back in her bedroom as she looked around. Nothing seemed to change, except the small box that was on top of her bedside table with now only two bottles of dreams. She sighed as she checked the time, she was out for about twelve hours already, although, in her dream only a small amount of time has passed. As she made her way out her apartment, she received a call from Mei.

“So how was it?” Mei asked enthusiastically as y/n could feel her interest on the other end of the line. Sighing she continued to walk down the streets in boredom, wasting time on finding something that would catch her eye.

“I didn’t know a dream could be realistic,” she muttered back. “And there’s this guy,” she added as she thought of this is really a great time to mention a character from her dream, especially to Mei, she woulld probably think she’s gone crazy. “What guy? Are you seeing someone?” The other responded, desperate to know if her friend has finally moved on. “What? No, I mean yes,” Y/N defended.

“It’s not about my ex, actually, there was someone in my dream.” She said. “I don’t really know if I met him before, but his features are very new to me. And you know what they say, that our minds can’t make up images, and everyone in our dream is someone we have met or saw before,” she added. There was no way she saw Jaehyun, if she did then she would probably remember him judging by how good looking he was. “Really? Well, you probably saw him in streets before,” Mei reasoned as y/n could only nod in response even if Mei couldn’t see her. “Anyway, you should really make that worth it. I heard the manufacturer of the shop closed down,” she mentioned as you made your way into a small coffee shop you saw across the street which seemed quite popular judging by the amount of female customers in there.

“Well, I only have two bottles left. I’ll call you when I finish it. Thanks for the gift by the way,” y/n replied as she ended the call

The cafe she entered was small, yet had a homely feeling to it. There was an amount of middle schoolers who look like they just finished school lining up as they perked their heads towards the counter. Y/N squinted as she saw the cute cashier and barista taking their orders. The cashier with white hair that for some reason seemed to match his big intimidating eyes and sharp nose and jawline. He wasn’t as big as the barista, but his body complimented his features as he smiled towards the group of girls who tried to catch his attention. The barista, on the other hand, was tall and had broad shoulders. His hair was dyed black, but he seemed really friendly despite his strong aura.

When it was her turn to order, she now understood why a lot of women in this city practically visited this shop everyday. From afar, she noticed how good-looking the staff were in the cafe, but now looking at them up close made her throat dry.

“I would like one iced latte,” she said shyly as the cashier smiled at her. She squinted her eyes at his name tag, Taeyong. Cute. “Are you new here?” Taeyong said as he pressed numbers on his screen for her order.

“Umm, I live around here. But it’s my first time in this cafe,” she mentioned as she looked around trying to distract herself from meeting his eyes.

“Cool, may I have your name?” He chirped as he smiled again towards her raising his brow. Y/N furrowed her brows as she stared back at him, “A-are you trying to ask me out?” She stuttered bewildered at the sudden question. Taeyong laughed as the barista behind him accidentally knocked a cup off as he turned around to look at her stifling a laugh as well. “What? Um, you’re cute but I need it for the cup,” he gestured raising a cup in his hand making y/n embarrassed as she heard the girls from behind whisper about how assuming she was.

“Oh, sorry,” she said lowly as she muttered her name quickly and paying as she moved to get her order.

——

Y/N sat on her bed holding the box of two bottles. Taking one, she shook it again as she saw the swirl of iridescent liquid calling her in. The whole time she mentally prepared herself for what was to come. To say she was excited to meet Jaehyun again was an understatement, she wanted to take the bottle again as soon as she stepped home but she remembered that there was only two left.

She took one bottle out deeply breathing in and out as she downed it all feeling the familiar taste touch her lips as she entered her dream once again.

When she woke up again she was in a garden, sitting up right as she felt something on her lap shift. Looking around, she noticed she was still in the same setting as before only, it was day and everything seemed bright as people continued to walk around minding their own business.

“You look beautiful from this angle down here, but I would appreciate it if you would look at me too,” a voice says as she looked down only to see Jaehyun lying down on her lap staring up at her with a small smile on his face. She blushed once again when she saw him, last night she thought he was breathtaking under the lamp post but under the sun he looked so much better with freckles scattered on his cheeks his eyes a lighter shade of brown and his dimples, ever so present, poking out.

“You were saying?” She says as Jaehyun stood up from her lap. “I’m starting to think you don’t pay attention to anything I say,” he complained as he dusted himself. Y/N stared right at him, wondering what they would do next.

“I need you to accompany me. I have this project going on and Johnny’s too busy to go with me,” he said as he took her hand. She wasn’t sure who Johnny was but she assumed he was his friend. Though she didn’t mind what his character would mean in her dream as he hasn’t showed up yet. She noted to herself that later on she would figure out who Johnny was and probably make the most of the second bottle she took. As they neared a building that look somewhat like a huge library, Jaehyun pulled her in a hurry as they made their way through old books.

Y/N groaned as she watched Jaehyun scan through the book once again trying to find the right thing. It was her dream, why is nothing interesting happening. “Jaehyun, what am I to you?” She asked as Jaehyun’s attention quickly went to her. His ears reddened as he rubbed the back of his neck shyly, “You said you weren’t my boyfriend. And you kissed me on my forehead, so who are you?” She asked as she hesitated mentioning that kiss as she felt herself become shy as she remembered how she woke up right after. Jaehyun nervously chuckled, to be honest, he himself did not know what their stand was. All he knew was that he wanted to protect her, and that he wanted to be with her always. It was all he ever knew since he met her, it was as if it was a role given to him by the gods to stand by her side no matter what.

“I’m not sure y/n, what do you want us to be?” He asks unsurely afraid of the rejection he might receive. Silently praying she won’t say ‘friends’. Y/N was taken aback as the question was thrown back at her. She didn’t know what they were supposed to be, nor did she know Jaehyun as much as he claims to know her.

Seeing the hesitation on her face, Jaehyun felt disappointed but decided to brush off the thought. “It’s okay, you don’t have to think about it.” He said as he gave her a pained smile which wasn’t unnoticed by y/n. “I can wait,” he said under his breath as he looked at her. Y/N looked at him in surprise, it was her dream. She could say whatever she wants, “I like you,” she blurted out as she waited for his reaction. Jaehyun’s ears, if possible, became more red as he heard her confession. He tried to stop the smile forming on his lips as he put back the book on the shelf.

“Well, that’s great because,” he said taking a step near her as he held both of her hands in his. “I am absolutely smitten by you,” he added ash he wrapped his arms around her shoulders pulling her into a hug. Y/N smiled as her cheeks hurt. She hugged him back, now this is definitely one of her best dreams ever. “Does that mean we can go on dates now?” She said as she pulled back. If she could live in a dream, then she would want to live in this dream forever.

Jaehyun grinned, “Lucky for you I booked us a date,” he said as he winked.

“Okay, maybe I don’t like you anymore,” y/n said as she made her way out of the library with Jaehyun laughing a bit too loud behind her.

————

As they made their way out of the library, Y/N found her hand once again wrapped around Jaehyun as he intertwined their fingers together. She smiled at Jaehyun’s affection. It was as if his hand automatically finds hers wherever they go.

As you both walked hand in hand, Jaehyun led you to a planetarium. “Have you ever been?” Jaehyun asks as he navigates his way through the streets. Constantly pulling you aside as you try to avoid people walking the opposite direction.

“I’ve never been to one actually,” you say wondering if you’ve ever been to one with your ex. To think of it, you really didn’t have enough time in the real world to explore the city during your past relationship. You were either curled up in your apartment or burrying your head in books. The dates you had previously were just last minute decisions as if he was just forced to take you out because you were together. But this time, with Jaehyun, it seems as if you actually got what you deserve. It may seem cheesy, but your heart fluttered when Jaehyun mentioned that he actually planned this date. It could be a preset in the dream, but that didn’t matter to y/n, all that mattered was that someone took the time to care for her and remind her how special she is. Even if that someone doesn’t really exist, she chose to ignore the thought. If there was a person who would break your heart again, you would be honored to have your heart broken by Jaehyun. And even with a broken heart, you would choose to love Jaehyun with all those little pieces.

“You should see the stars, they shine as bright as you,” Jaehyun added as they made their way through the planetarium. There wasn’t much people walking through, and everyone was speaking in hushed voices. As they walked through the planetarium, they entered a dark room with only the ceiling illuminated by galaxies and small celestial beings. Jaehyun looked at you with a small smile playing on his lips. He was fascinated by the way your eyes seem to shine even in the dark, like your eyes held the most beautiful stars as you admired the projected ceiling of light. Y/N then looked at Jaehyun who was still staring at her in awe. “You should take a picture, it would last longer,” she beamed as he scoffed lightly.

“So you steal lines now?” he said with an amused brow lightly applauding her sarcastically as you shoved him on his shoulder. “What else do I steal?” she said as they made their way around the room. “Probably my heart,” Jaehyun shrugged as he felt his ears turn red. He quickly looked up inspecting the ceiling as Y/N shot him a look of disapproval.

“If I wish on that star,” Y/N said pointing to a projected shooting star, “will my wish count?” you asked as you stared at Jaehyun whose eyes are still trained towards the ceiling as he looked at the constellations.

Jaehyun laughed as he put his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Maybe,” he said as he looked up. Y/N closed her eyes as she clasped her hands together. She knew it was pathetic, to be making a wish in this dream. But her pleas and prayers didn’t seem enough to calm her desperate heart.

I wish I could live in this dream a little longer.

They both sat down in the middle as they continued to enjoy each other’s presence. No one was around anymore as it seemed like the whole planetarium closed. Y/N already lost track of time, she didn’t know what has already happened to her in the real world, but for sure she was sleeping for the whole day already. Jaehyun, on the other hand, was still deep in thought as he slowly laid down on the floor with an arm tucked behind his head as a pillow, the other resting on his stomach.

“Do you ever feel like somewhere out there, there’s another version of us doing the exact same thing we are doing now?” he mentions as he continues to stare into space. Y/N glances at him and copies his position as she adjusted herself to be laying down beside him. Not really knowing what to say, Jaehyun took it as a sign to continue.

“I feel like I’ve been living in a cycle. It sucks really cause everyone I know either forget me, or they space out. Or it was as if I never really know them to begin with,” he says, frustration clear in his voice. His eyebrows furrowed as he continued to stare into the black space displayed on the ceiling. “You know, the other day, Johnny acted as if he didn’t really know me. I don’t even know if he was playing with me but it was like it was his first time seeing me,” he added as he turned to meet your eyes that were just focused on him. “It’s like how we saw each other back in the theater, you both acted the same way,” he pushed himself up as he supported himself with his arms.

“It’s the same every fucking time. I meet someone knew, we get to know each other, then all of a sudden they forget who I am,”

“I feel like I’m a character in someone’s dream,” Y/N gulped nervously as she slowly sat up. Jaehyun still confused as he blankly stared at his lap. Y/N didn’t know what to say, she didn’t know how to tell him that he was right and he was just a figment of her imagination and that all of this was from a stupid bottle her friend gave her for her birthday. You were scared to say something, afraid that revealing the truth would mean that you would wake up and that meant that you only had one bottle left to be with Jaehyun. Y/N grabbed his hand and gave it a light squeeze with a smile, hopefully, assuring him that everything will be alright.

“Promise me one thing,” he says as he faced her seriously. You nodded in response as you waited. “Don’t forget me,” he says carefully watching her reaction. Y/N chuckled as she shook her head, “That’s easy to do, Jae,” she laughed as she shaked their intertwined hands playfully. “Promise me you’ll also stay,” he added seriously. Y/N froze when she heard his words. To forget him was hard, she could remember him everyday when she woke up. But to stay was another thing, how could she stay when she only had one bottle left? How could she stay when he was just a character in her dream? How could she stay with someone who only exists in her memory?

She looked back at him, and the moment she did, she quickly regretted her actions. He was looking at her with so much hope in his eyes. Noticing her silence, the hope in his eyes turned into grim acceptance as he felt her hesitation. Y/N squeezed his hand making him look back at her. She had no idea what came in her, but she decided if its for Jaehyun, she would try.

“I promise,” she said firmly, eyes burning with determination. After all, a broken promise is better than none at all.

——

Y/N felt dizzy as she tried to get up from her bed as she leaned towards the bed stand to get her phone. Her mouth fell dry, remembering the promise she made Jaehyun as she dialed Mei’s number. “Help, I need to do something,” she said as soon as the line was answered.

“What is it this time? Did you finish the bottles already?” Mei asked groaning in response as you called too early for her liking. “No, tell me where you bought the bottles,” she said as she tried to balance her phone between her shoulder and ear as she wore pants. “I need to find who made those bottles,” she added disappointed at the lack of response from the latter. “I’ll send them to you, but I don’t think they’re open,” Mei replied, y/n sighed. She didn’t know why she made that promise, or how she would fulfill it. Back in her dream, everything seemed possible but now, all that was left was empty words that she regrets saying. She didn’t even know why she had a need to keep the promise to Jaehyun, he didn’t even exist to her disappointment.

After she received Mei’s message, she quickly headed out to go to the said shop. Her heart pounded nervously as she drove to the address. It was in a secluded part of town, there was no residential area near it and it seemed like a place that no one frequented to judging by the lack of public transportation that went to the area. She had to take a cab, and the look the driver gave her meant that it wasn’t a place to be in in the first place. As she stared at the shop in front of her, she suddenly felt so alone as the cab quickly left blowing a gust of wind. The small bells tingled when she walked in. The store was small and cramped with only a small counter near the end as she tried her best not to step on any of the antique items that were for display. Ringing the small bell on the table, she tried to inspect the place a bit more.

Her eyes squinted as she spotted a familiar poster hanging on the wall between two large dream catchers. ‘The Impossible Dream’ it read as small details were printed around. Her eyes widened in shock. It was the same poster from her dream, could it be that the musical actually existed? Would that mean Jaehyun existed? Before she tried to move further to get a closer look a stern voice spoke from behind the counter.

“What brings you here? We are closed,” her head whipped to the direction of the voice. There stood an old woman who was smaller than her with her white hair tied neatly up in a bun, eyes narrowing towards Y/N.

“That poster, where did you get it?” You said pointing in the direction of it as you tried your best not to falter in front of her gaze that seemed too strong for you to handle.

“That poster was made years ago by my ancestors, does it look familiar to you?” The old lady replied. Y/N nodded in response still debating whether the possibility of Jaehyun existing was real or not. “You took the bottles, didn’t you?” The old lady pressed on as Y/N muttered a small yes. “That was a mistake, you should have never taken it in the first place. I suggest you go home and continue on with your life, dark magic is not to be played with,” she said as she made her way towards the door behind the counter.

“No! Wait, I have some questions,” Y/N protested as she tried to block the old lady from disappearing.

“Forget about it now, what you experienced is not real,” the old lady said as she tried to make her way around you. Y/N continued to block her way which made the old lady sigh. You really didn’t want to give her a hard time considering her age, but you didn’t want to leave without unanswered questions.

“You say the dream I had wasn’t real, but why does that poster exist?” Y/N said as she moved to grab the poster that was hanging on the wall. It was designed exactly like what she saw on her dream. “What is this? What is in those bottles?” She gestured desperately waiting for an answer. The old lady sighed, grabbing a small stool and sitting down. “Those are bottles of dreams, my grandmother and my mother used to make it when I was still a child, telling me that one day it would change the world and that people would go crazy to get a sip of what was in it,”

“These bottles allow people to live in their deepest desires, everything you see in your dream is just a figment of your imagination. The potion lets you have what you want,” she added as she gestured towards the poster. “Luckily for you, what you desire isn’t that bad. But for others, it became too much. I stopped selling the bottles because things could get out of hand,” she said sadly. Y/N felt like the weight of her promise was crashing down on her. There was too much information for her to handle, the fact that Jaehyun did not exist made her sick. “I know you’re sad, everyone does once they find out they can’t have what they desire. But if it makes you feel any better, I can tell you one secret,” the old lady says hesitating as she finds the hope in your eyes glint at her words. “This poster, I am guessing you have seen it before in one of your dreams?” She questions as she holds it up in the light. Y/N nodded, “I want to know if the person I see in my dreams is true, or perhaps, I am holding on to this impossibility that he is true,” she mutters as she remembers Jaehyun. She only had one bottle left, meaning it would be the last time she would see him.

“This poster appeared here two days ago, I don’t know how it got here but I assume it is something from a dream. Just like everything in this shop,” the old lady said gesturing towards the other antique items. Everything was so random, as if it was just dumped with whatever things people could find.

“I am not sure if your dreams are real, and if the people do exist. But judging from how everything keeps appearing in random, they might be somewhere out there,” she added. Y/N breathed deeply, there was no assurance of Jaehyun existing in this world, but the existence of the poster means that he would probably appear in this shop if he were to be created. The poster alone ignited her desire to find him. If he did exist, where was he?

“Thank you, if you see anyone appear here around my age. Tall, white, handsome, basically looks like a prince, please let me know,” Y/N says as she leaves her phone number. The old lady chuckled, “Isn’t that too childish for a woman like you?” She says amused at your desperation to find this boy. “He’s a dream come true, can’t let anyone get to him,” y/n replies as she made her way out.

When Y/N returned home, she felt exhausted. She didn’t want to take her last bottle just yet. It could be her last chance of seeing Jaehyun, if what the old lady said was false. But seeing how the poster showed up, as well as other things that were in the shop, it gave her hope that Jaehyun existed somewhere out there. Another thing that bothered her was the fact that if he was out there, where was he? She didn’t even know where to start finding him. She hoped that he lived in the same country for her, she didn’t have enough money to find him if he were abroad. Nor did she think she was willing to find a man who basically existed based on her imagination. Even if he did live under the same skies, it was still to difficult task to do.

What’s the most you would be willing to do for the person you love?

Y/N took the last bottle of dreams, determined to keep her promise to Jaehyun. Adjusting once again to the bright light, when she woke up, she was seated on a chair in what seems like her room in her dream. She was wearing a white maxi dress that hugged her figure in all the right places, long enough to pool on the floor while she sat down. Her hair flowed down her back with curls toward the ends as her face was dolled with light make up.

Taking a good look of herself, she was satisfied with how she looked. If this was the last thing Jaehyun would see, then she was happy that he would see her at her best. When the doorbell rang, she made her way towards the door with a heavy heart as she reminded herself that this was her last bottle. When she opened the door, she smiled as she took in the sight of Jaehyun infront of her. His hair was gelled back with a fringe curled infront of his forehead. He was wearing a plain black suit and tie with a white dress shirt under. He held up a bouquet of fresh daisies as his cheeks were lightly pink from the cold (he tried to convince himself). “For you,” he shyly said, dimples making an appearance once again, he handed over the daisies as he stared down on his feet shuffling as he felt flustered by your presence.

Y/N pouted, he was the man of her dreams. Literally. She hoped she only drank half of the bottle now, because she definitely wanted to see Jaehyun dressed up like this for the rest of her life.

“What’s the matter?” Jaehyun said worried as he saw your lack of response. Taking your hand lightly, he rubbed small circles in the back of your hand as his other took your chin beneath his thumb and point finger. “Stop frowning, you look beautiful in that dress,” he complimented.

“You’re too good looking, I don’t think I can go with you anymore,” you reply trying to play off the somber mood as you give him a reassuring smile. Jaehyun chuckled, “You should see yourself,”

Both entered the venue, to say that it was extravagant was an understatement. It looked like a greek god threw a party, out of a sudden, Y/N felt out of place with all the people passing by looking like they were raised with a golden spoon. Feeling Jaehyun’s arm snake around her waist pulling her closer towards him, she glance at him sending him a small smile as she tries to gain confidence. “It’s fine, we can leave once you feel uncomfortable,” he says as he guides her towards the entrance. “Who has the money to throw this party? It looks ethereal,” Y/N loudly whispers shooting a fake smile to the guards who welcome both of you. “Moon Taeil, he’s a friend of mine,” Jaehyun replies as he inspects the place. Y/N looks around as she admires the gold chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and tall white pillars around the place with gold vines wrapped around it.

“By the way, you look ethereal,” Jaehyun whispers close to her ear, his lips brushing against her earlobe making her flush. He leads her to their table and leaves to get the drinks which makes y/n snap back to her plan. Honestly, she really did not have a plan. She didn’t know how she should spend her last bottle, but for sure she had to act quickly. She thought of hugging Jaehyun or at least holding his hand tight enough for her to bring him to reality, but everything seems pathetic at this point. Looking around, she decided to go to the restroom to at least settle with a final plan. As she made her way through the hallways, she looks at the pictures hanging on the wall. It all looked like some portrait of a royal family, but one picture has caught her eye. Narrowing her gaze, she inspects a picture of a woman probably around her 20s with eyes set forward as if it was staring at her back.

“Where did I see this before?” Y/N mutters under her breath as she stared longer at the woman. Shit, it was the same woman from the shop, only a younger version. Her eyes widened, as she tried to find more pictures of the woman. Y/N slowly tried to reach for the frame, carefully touching it as she tried to find a trace of anything that could help her to bring Jaehyun to reality. Biting on her lip, she continues down the hall in desperation to find hints. As she neared the end, she felt a gust of wind blow towards her.

Turning around, she finds herself in the middle of the street. It was the same street where she met Jaehyun, the first time she appeared in her dream. She looks around and notices the same poster hanging around. Breathing deeply she turns around once again, “What the fuck is going on?” She asks herself.

“Excuse me, where am I?” She asked as she grabbed an arm of a woman who was walking down the street. The girl ignored her like a ghost as she shook her arm of and continued to walk as if nothing happened. Y/N tried asking different people but they all pretended as if they couldn’t hear her. She continued to walk down the streets, noticing a familiar building. The shop she visited, the one with the old lady.  Y/N tried opening the door, continuously pounding on it with her fists. “Hello! I need some help, I’m the girl from awhile ago!,” she pleaded as she continued to pound the door with her fists. “Please help me,” she cried out as she shook the door handle. After numerous attempts of trying to open the door, she decided to go back.

“Jaehyun, where are you,” she said feeling her eyes water as she ran around trying to find him in the crowd. Closing her eyes, she tried to control her dream. “I am in the party, I am with Jaehyun,” she chanted, eyes tightly shut as she clenched her fists. Her cheeks wet with streaks of tears that have escaped her eye.

Opening her eyes again, she finds herself in a bathroom. Heaving deep breaths, she looks around her cautiously, afraid that she would lose herself in her dream. After wiping her tears, she made her way towards the party. She finds Jaehyun in the corner talking to a woman around her age her hair long and straight. She looked smaller next to his bigger frame and her eyes were sparkling, y/n was not sure if it was from the light or was it just really her. The woman laughed lightly at what Jaehyun says as she gives him a charming smile. She matched the princess in fairy tales looking as regal as Jaehyun could be. This made y/n sad, it was her dream all along, but if she couldn’t bring Jaehyun to reality then he might as well just live his happily ever after with this woman.

But she might be able to bring him with her, and she wasn’t going to back down without a fight. Y/N clenched her fists, I was gone for a while and this idiot didn’t even try to find me, feeling the green monster in her heart rise she huffed out loud stomping over to the both of them.

“What happened to drinks?” She said making Jaehyun jolt at her sudden presence. “I was just about to get it,” Jaehyun answers as he glances at Y/N. “This is Naeun, a friend of mine, and this is Y/N,” he says gesturing to the both of you. Naeun gives her a small smile raising a hand, while Y/N continued to stare at her blankly.

“His girlfriend,” you scoff as you glared at Jaehyun. “I didn’t know it could take you fifteen minutes to get a drink,” she mocked as Jaehyun looked at her with an amused smile. “I just got here, what are you talking about?” He replied. Y/N raised her brow, “I went to the bathroom,” she argued back. Naeun looked at the two, excusing herself as she didn’t want to get caught up between them. “I just sat you down though,” Jaehyun pouted at her response not liking that she was upset with him. Y/N was confused, didn’t she just get lost in her dream? Or did time just stop and everything continued to flow for her? She decided to drop the topic, sitting down on the stool next to him.

“Doesn’t matter, who is she?” She questioned jutting her chin towards Naeun’s direction as she took a sip from the Andy Player Jaehyun ordered from her directing her attention towards the front avoiding his teasing eyes. “Just a friend from high school,” he said taking a seat as well as he took a sip of his drink, his smiling growing wider at her reaction. Y/N rolled her eyes as she played with the liquid in her glass, “Sure, you seem happy to be reunited,” she mocked, jealousy coating her words. “Hmmm, are you jealous?” Jaehyun asked as he leaned one arm on the counter looking at her with a teasing smile she would like to wipe off his face because not only did he irritatingly looked too good to be true, the veins in his arms were also distracting. Fuck Jaehyun and his rolled up sleeves, Y/N found it unfair, he looked like God’s favorite.

“No, why would I be jealous?” She said defensively taking another sip of her drink. “I don’t care who you mingle with,” she dragged on with a tone as she stuck her tongue out. Jaehyun laughed, “Really?  Cause I don’t remember asking me to be your boyfriend,” he added. Y/N chocked on her spit at his statement as she glared at him, “Forget I said that,” though she secretly liked how he seemed to be fine with that title. “To be honest, I really don’t want to,” he retorted. Y/N flushed as she felt herself shrink on her seat.

“I want to dance with my girlfriend, may I?” Jaehyun stated as he offered her a hand, smiling as he raised his brows making Y/N scoff. She really wanted him to stop, it wasn’t good for her heart that probably did a thousand of flips at every word he says.

She took his hand as they made their way towards the dance floor, Jaehyun’s arms wrapped around her waist as he pulled her closer, his other arm guarding each of her hand to wrap around his neck as they found themselves back to her waist. Y/N felt bittersweet, remembering the first time they saw each other and how they were in the exact same position just in a different setting. Jaehyun hummed with the slow song that was playing, lightly mumbling the lyrics with his baritone voice, as his smile never left his face, “This feels familiar,” he says lightly chuckling as he guided her once again through their dance. Y/N this time, only looked at him, no longer looking at her feet. “I think I could get used to this,” she replies making Jaehyun’s smile grow wider, his ears turning red.

“I may have not told you this earlier, but you look beautiful tonight,” he said face serious as they continued to sway to the music. “I mean, you look beautiful everyday, but you look extra pretty now,” he added. Y/N’s face scrunched up in disapproval, never fond of compliments but ever so receiving when it comes to Jaehyun.

“You look handsome as always, Jae,” she said sincerely, lips quirking up slightly at the new nickname she gave him.

Y/N glanced at Jaehyun once more as he continued to guide her carefully through the dance, her heart heavy as it seems that the thought of him not existing in reality would not leave her alone. Hesitating, she looks one more at the smile he has on his face, she really doesn’t want to hurt him. I don’t think I have it in me to hurt you, ever.

“I lo-“

“Jaehyun, I have to tell you something,” she says cutting him off as he was about to say something. Jaehyun looked at her surprise but smiled understandingly, this can wait, I can wait, l just a little bit more, he thought.

They went to the garden, there were still people walking around but less compared to those inside. Y/N’s heart was beating too loud she could hear it in her dream, she has to risk it. She needed to tell him, she had to tell him. “Just let me speak, and I’ll answer all your questions later,” she says as he looked at her curiously. Jaehyun nodded in response, encouraging her to continue as he grabbed both her hands to help her calm down.

“You don’t exist, you’re a part of my dream,” she said as she looked at Jaehyun whose eyebrows just furrowed, pursing his lips as to stop him from asking questions.

“It was my 23rd birthday two days ago, my friend gave me a gift of bottles that contained dreams. I thought it was bullshit at first, but the moment I drank the first bottle, I met you. And I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’re just a part of my imagination. It pains me to say it, but I don’t think I could hide the truth from you anymore. The next time I met you, it was when we were at the park, I remember you asking me how I spaced out and how I seem not to pay attention. It was because I wasn’t mentally present when you were speaking to me. All those times I met you, I fell in love with you because you were all I ever wanted, and it hurts me to think that I can’t even have you in my life,”

  Y/N’s tears continued to roll down her face as she sobbed trying to gather her thoughts as Jaehyun looked at her with a mix of confusion and frustration. “This night, I drank my last bottle,” she says voice shaking as she felt Jaehyun’s hands stiffen under her hold.

“Remember when we made our wishes? I wished to live longer in this dream,” she says as he hugged her. Her tears drenching his suit, but that didn’t matter. This maybe her last moments with him, and her heart was hurting too much for her to take.

“Jaehyun, I love you,” she sobbed. She said it, without hesitation as she looked at Jaehyun with teary eyes. Jaehyun bit his lip, he didn’t even know where to start asking. He hugged her tightly as he felt his tears touch his lips, the taste salty as it continued to flow down his face. “I won’t tell you mine, because it won’t come true if I do,” he says as he puts a hand on his shoulder his face bending down to meet her eyes. His other hand brushed the stray strands against her face as she continued to cry.

“I shouldn’t be crying like this, we shouldn’t be doing this,” she said as she wiped her tears away trying to think of happy thoughts.

“Y/N, look at me,” Jaehyun said seriously. His hands with a firm grip on his shoulder. Y/N tried to hold back her tears as she saw the pain on his eyes, long gone the smiles he gave her earlier.

“Promise me, you’ll try,”  Y/N nodded as she grabbed his face and pressed a firm kiss on his lips.

“Don’t leave me, please,”

“I won’t, I swear,”

—————

Y/N woke up, her cheeks still wet as she felt tears stream down her face. Everything felt so real, the kiss, the confession, the promises. Jaehyun’s words still echoing in her mind as if she could hear his deep voice whispering beside her.

The moment she got up she tried contacting the old woman, and going back to the shop only to find that it was closed already and was going to be demolished soon. It has been a week since she last saw Jaehyun, a week since she has drank her last dream in a bottle. However, the heartache she went through was still as fresh as it was when she woke up. She tried her best to find him. She visited different libraries, reading on books about what happened to her and if there was a way to reverse it. She even tried going to a planetarium in hopes of finding Jaehyun there, but all found nothing. Some people thought she was crazy, and that she was hallucinating everything, but they didn’t know her story.

She even found the same venue where they had the ball, but to her disappointment, she never found anything that could lead her to Jaehyun or vice versa. It was if he was just a memory she was to forget. But that was the problem, she couldn’t forget him. She promised him she would try, and she didn’t want to let him down. Sometimes, she wondered what he was doing. Was he also trying to escape her mind? Was he with Naeun now that she was gone? Does she get those cheesy pickup lines he tells her? What was he doing now? Did he love her?

There were times when she tried to dream of him, but it wasn’t real. All she got was an image of him, but it didn’t feel like how she dreamt of him when she had the bottle. She tried to widen her imagination, and picture him with her. But it was too tiring for her, after all, she only had three nights of dreams.

As she made her way down the busy streets, she walked quickly as she navigated her way towards the central park as she continued to avoid the people bumping her while they were walking the opposite direction. She stopped in front of the cafe, heaving deep breaths. As she made her way in she walked towards the table in the corner, her lips forming into a smile as she saw the familiar face.

“It’s been a while,” she said hugging Mei. Mei grinned back at her and gestured her to sit down.

“So, how’s life so far?” Mei asked enthusiastically as she sipped on her tea, crossing her legs as she leaned forward. Y/N shrugged as she took a bite of her banana cake, “Nothing much, it’s been boring lately,” she said as she stabbed the banana cake and stuffing another piece into her mouth. “You know you never called me after the second bottle,” Mei huffed.

“Nothing happened, I tried to find the manufacturer because I needed more but the building was demolished,” she replied bitterly. “Ohh yeah, but the dreams were good right?” Mei responded.

“Yeah, too good to be true,” Y/N replied dejectedly. “Do you ever like, want your dreams to come true?” She asked Mei curiously as she bit her fork. “Of course, why the sudden question?” Mei retorted. “I dreamt about this guy, and he’s wonderful. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted, and I just wished he was true,” she replies sighing remembering Jaehyun once again which made her feel bittersweet. It was like she was the only one who knew him inside out, he literally was the man of her dreams.

“I don’t know what you dreamt about but whatever it is, I guess those bottles really work then,” Mei shrugged. “Besides, attachment is the root of suffering,” she adds taking a bite of the banana cake and wiggling her brows.

As she navigated her way home, Y/N sighs once again. Was it really that hard to forget Jaehyun? He didn’t even exist yet here she is feeling broken hearted as if she was cheated on once again by her ex boyfriend. Moving towards a crowd she felt people bump against her making her scrunch up her nose in irritation, “Damn, can’t people watch where they’re going?” She muttered under her breath as she made hurried strides towards her apartment.

Before she could take a turn, she felt a body bump against her as she fell on her butt looking up squinting. Pair of hands helped her stand up as she dusted herself, flustered that she caused a scene in public.

“Thank you,” she muttered quietly to the stranger who didn’t seem to budge as she tried to make her way.

“You should really watch where you’re going,” a deep voice said. Looking up, her jaw slacked. There he stood in front of her, with a light smile in his face his hair still swept back as he was dressed in a plain white tee with denim jeans and white sneakers. Jaehyun. If he looked ethereal in her dream, then she didn’t even know how to describe how he looked as he stood in front of her as she continued to stare at him in awe.

“I didn’t know you were this clumsy, I think you need to get used to me guiding you everywhere,” he added shaking his head as he took her hand in his as his smile radiated. He chuckled at her noticing her lack of response. He placed a small kiss on her forehead as his arm wrapped around her shoulder as he pulled her towards the direction of her apartment.

“How did you find me? How are you here? Are you real?” Y/N asked hurriedly as she stared at him in shock. Everyone was looking at Jaehyun, who wouldn’t really? The girls around continued to stare at him with heart eyes but they didn’t matter to him as his arm tightly wrapped around your shoulder. They didn’t matter cause they weren’t you. Y/N was too bewildered to even glare at those girls as her mind started thinking of all the possibilities on how he appeared.

“My wish came true,” Jaehyun stated as he faced her grinning at her amazed state. “What did you wish for?” Y/N asked curiously as she looked at Jaehyun who was still smiling at her softly.

“I wished I could spend the rest of my life loving you,”

Y/N stopped walking as Jaehyun grabbed her shoulders and faced her towards him. “Why did you say that? Now it won’t come true,” she scolded him as she pouted. Jaehyun laughed at her response. “I’m not going anywhere though, you got me, you got me good,” he winked making her blush just like in her dream.

“Oh and Y/N,” he added as he bent down meeting her eyes as she looked at him with flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

“I love you too,”  

[luluwquidprocrow]

echoing, echoing

ellington feint

teen

2,968 words

the only way out of town is by train.

unless you’re ellington feint.

ellington feint has a really hard time in a train station, the fic: featuring big trauma vibes/denial/identity issues 

“That can’t have been the last bus,” Ellington insists, leaning forward. “It just—”

The short, round-faced man behind the station ticket counter smiles apologetically. “I’m sorry, miss,” he says in a hoarse whisper. “There seems to be a problem with the other engines, and they’re not up to—”

“They were fine earlier,” Ellington says. They were. She checks the buses in every town, frequently, throughout the day, and these buses had been fine.

“Well, buses, miss, they’re, they’re finicky things,” the man continues. He breathes through his smile as he talks, and Ellington’s hands clench together on top of the counter between them, twisting tight. “But, you know, I think they should be up and running by morning.”

Morning.

The smile slips off the man’s face. Sweat beads on his forehead, a terrible shine in the yellow overhead lights. “But, the train,” he tries, fumbling through the papers on his desk and pulling out a folded schedule, holding it out for her, “the train, that comes in in just an—”

“No, thank you.” Ellington pushes away from the counter, stalking the short length of the bus station. She has to get out of town, as soon as possible. She’s spent too long here as it is. Three years on her own has been more than enough to teach her that the less time she stays in one place, the better. A few days in some small nameless town with too much empty space is certainly enough. She isn’t going to stop now because some bus isn’t running. She’ll figure out something. Ellington always figures out something.

She makes her way behind the two little rows of metal benches and over to the coffee machine by the window, a shade drawn down against the night. She’s not hungry, she’s never hungry, but a cup of coffee would be nice. It always helps.

Ellington pushes the buttons with more force than she really needs, and the machine whirs and thuds in return. She takes a styrofoam cup from the stacks on the nearby table and slides it under the tap and watches the coffee drip impossibly slow into it. She tries to time her breathing to the drip so she can calm down. It only makes her start thinking again. The old thought comes back, a jagged, angry line shaking through her, her nails digging into her palms, her back teeth grinding. That boy took everything Ellington had, didn’t he, including her French press. She never got it off the train. But he didn’t take this. She still has this.

A reflection slides up and over the smooth surface of the coffee machine.

No, Ellington thinks. Not here.

The long, distorted figure creeps behind her, an impenetrable blur for a face. It gets simultaneously smaller and larger as it moves, disappearing and reappearing in bursts, cutting around the curve of the buttons and along the silver body of the machine.

Ellington whips around, her hair flying.

No one’s there.

The machine gives a harsh click. The coffee stops dripping.

For bus station coffee, it’s not terrible. Ellington’s tasted worse. She drinks it quickly, her back flat against the wall, her eyes on the ticket man as he shifts papers from one side of his desk to the other. She really can’t stay here. If he’s already found her—she doesn’t have much chance if she takes off on foot. She doesn’t know enough to hotwire a car. She could break into a shed and steal a bike, but how much faster is that than running? But she will not get on that train.

She takes the last sip and turns her head to look at the doorway she’s been avoiding. The bus station connects to the train station next door through a set of wooden double-doors on the wall across from the coffee machine. She’s not taking the train. But there has to be someplace to hide in there. There’s barely any space in the bus station, just the benches and the ticket window counter, the coffee machine and a utility closet. And if he’s been in here once, it’s only a matter of time before he shows up again. What’ll she do then? The ticket man certainly can’t do anything about him. He probably doesn’t even realize she’s still in the room. If she keeps moving, at least she can look. She can get somewhere else, if only for a moment. Keep going, she thinks. Keep going, Ellington. She can’t stand there forever.

She casts another look around the room. Then she throws away the cup and walks to the double-doors, nudging them open slowly.

It is bigger. The train station expands out in front of her, a high, domed room where the light must pour in during the day, quiet and alone now in the dark, barely illuminated by flickering little sconces on the tall wooden beams lining the walls. More seats, collecting in the space between her and the empty ticket counter on the far wall. If it wasn’t a train station, she thinks, maybe it would be nice. But it is, so it sets off a nervous ache under her skin, vibrating through her bones. Ellington grips the strap of her purse. At least, at least there are definitely more places to hide here. Just for that, she feels slightly more at ease.

Once, she’d caught a look at the man. It hadn’t been that long after she left Stain’d-by-the-Sea. He showed up in one town, then another, then another, not long after she would. Always a step behind her. The same tall figure, in his same dark hat and coat, with the same straightforward, calculated gait. He would be across the street at a payphone, behind a newspaper on the corner, a few seats behind her on a bus. That was when she saw him head-on, when he got on the bus after her.

She recognized him. He’d been on the train that night. So then she had to be two steps ahead of him.

It’s good, though, to have seen him that time, to know the face that’s after her. To know what he looks like, to have a solid image of him, to see a young but drawn face with a short beard, makes him more real and less of a mystery. Otherwise, from behind, sometimes she thinks he almost looks like—

Don’t, Ellington tells herself firmly. Her lips press together. That wasn’t him. She shakes her head and reminds herself. Her father in the kitchen at home in Killdeer Fields, making her breakfast with the morning sun at his back. Her father in the library across the street from their house, reading to her. Her father, alive and next to her, telling her a story about birds, his voice calm. Armstrong Feint. Nobody else. My father was a wonderful man.

She keeps close to the walls as she walks. One of the local maps framed between the beams catches her eye, and she draws near, moving her finger over the glass until she finds the name of the town. She’s a lot closer to the city than she thought. She hasn’t been traveling with any specific aim, just to get farther and farther from where she’d started, but Ellington figures that the city might be better than a million small towns. There’s a lot of things she can do there. It’s big enough for anyone to get lost in. She can disappear in there and get a job, find a place to live, she can be anybody. Or maybe she can be Ellington Feint there.

She takes a step back, her stomach seizing up into her lungs in an instant. No. Somehow that’s the last thing she wants to be. It’s so stupid, it’s her own name, it’s the person she is—Cleo Knight was easier, something in her says. Filene N. Gottlin was easier. Anyone was easier. She shakes her head again, trying to rattle the thoughts out. What she needs is to get out of this town, out of this train station. How long until morning? She should’ve bought a watch somewhere along the line. There has to be a clock in here somewhere. She tears her eyes from the wall and looks around through the gray shadows.

Creak.

Ellington stays rooted to the spot. She can’t see anyone else, but that doesn’t mean much, with all the darkness. The noise splits through the room a second time, a floorboard bowing from weight. She listens. She moves closer to the center of the room and out from any light cast from the sconces. Nothing. No sound at all. She holds her breath and doesn’t hear anyone else breathing. Not the whistle of the ticket man, not the heavy breathing of the man in the dark coat. Not a single thing.

But there, again. It sounds like it’s coming from the opposite corner, on the other side of the ticket counter. One footstep, and then another. Another. Another.

Ellington shoots across the station, towards a door at the back. She grabs the handle and pulls, but it sticks, stutters under her hand. The footsteps pick up. Please, she thinks, pushing her shoulder against the door.

It gives. Ellington falls inside and slams the door behind her. The handle can’t possibly deter him for long. She gropes through the dark, feeling for a light switch, and knocks against one by the door jamb. It’s another utility closet, cramped and close, barely stocked. She looks around—a mop, a stool, a little box of light bulbs, a door wedge. She snatches it up and jams it into the slit of space under the door. She’s not sure if it’s enough, but it’s going to have to be. At least for a while. But for now, there’s a door between her and the man in the coat. More than usual. That helps.

Ellington slides herself down to the floor between the box of light bulbs and the stool. She takes a long, deep breath. It’ll be fine. She’s safe in here. The man is out there, and she’s in here. She’s safe.

You’re safe, Ellington thinks. You’re safe, Ellington. She repeats it, and it echoes in her head until it almost starts to sound like someone else, distorted by memory. She frowns. She hears a rumble in the distance, low in the floor, the train pulling into the station. Someone else used to tell her that. Someone had taken her hand, said it softly in her ear, like—

You’re safe, Ellington. Her father had told her, a long time ago, when Ellington was six and scared of the shadows on her bedroom wall. He had smiled at her. In the darkness of a train, he turned around and smiled at her. He sat beside her on the edge of her bed and smiled at her. He pointed out the silhouettes, her sweater curled on her chair by her bed, her record player, in the corner of Handkerchief Heights, he pointed them out to her, picked them up and held them close in his arms like a child and turned to her and smiled at her. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

She was six and her father was smiling. She was thirteen and Hangfire was taking off his mask and he was smiling. She’s sixteen and trapped in the utility closet of a train station, hearing an engine roar, watching him turn and look at her.

It hits her in the chest, a hollow thud against her ribs, knocking everything off center. A delayed drop rippling through her. Armstrong Feint; Hangfire; her father.

You lied to me, Ellington thinks, her whole body shaking. That whole time, you lied to me. 

Why would I lie to you, Ellington? Her father had asked. His face is in shadow, then and now. The train clatters in the distance. Ellington can’t breathe. You’re my daughter.

Ellington pushes the heels of her palms into her eyes. Stars burst in the black and turn into that sweater on the chair, Hangfire holding the Bombinating Beast statue, her bedroom, a smile that looked nothing like the one she remembered, the lines between them all blurring. “Stop,” she whispers, “stop, stop—”

Don’t be unreasonable, her father said gently.

I never forced her, Hangfire said.

Nothing can hurt you.

No one can force Ellington Feint to do anything.

Nothing will hurt you.

A human being is like any other animal. If it wants something enough, it will do anything at all.

She’s there too, splayed out on the floor of the train car, playing dead, doing anything and everything. She has to be dead now, that’s the only explanation for the roar getting louder in her head and all of this and to think of the two of them together as the same person, a father, a murderer, a human being, a monster, someone who knew her and had her under his thumb the whole entire time, hands around her throat, firing a poison dart right at her and knowing he could’ve landed the hit, he could’ve tossed her aside the second he didn’t need her anymore, what else would he have needed—

Hangfire could’ve killed me. He could’ve killed me for real. The Armstrong Feint in her memory frowns. The Hangfire burned behind her eyes flickers in and out of sight, behind flashing lights in a train car, his back turned away from her. He can’t even look at her. He didn’t even look at her, the second he had his hands on that statue. Would you have killed me?

I didn’t want to kill her, you know, Hangfire had said on that train.

But you were lying to him, Ellington thinks. We were lying to him. Were you lying to me?

What kind of father would do that? What sort of daughter was she to do that? When would it have ended? What would he have asked her to do, how much more would she have done? She’s terrible; she’s sick; she’s twisted—she is a Feint, through and through, and she will wind up just like him—

Maybe there are more important things. That boy’s voice cuts through everything, like it always did, and the anger bursts inside her, fear and disgust and hate boiling—

It’s all I have, she’d said. Even now, it’s true, isn’t it? She isn’t capable of anything else—

“No!”

Something shatters against the wall. All the noise stops. Ellington looks up, blinking, her right hand on the floor. Shards glint dully at her feet. She must’ve grabbed a light bulb from the box nearby and thrown it.

She breaths carefully, letting the sound fill up the space of the closet, until her fingertips start to tingle and she feels lightheaded, so Ellington pushes her back against the wall and closes her eyes. She curls her hands together. Okay. Okay, okay. It’s not okay. But she doesn’t know what else to do. If she starts crying now, she’s never going to stop, and she can’t.

She thinks of black turtlenecks. Jazz music. Coffee. Cats. Saxophones. Short nights. Cold, brisk mornings. No masks. No lies from anyone. Worlds without trains.

Ellington jerks awake to the handle on the door turning. Immediately alert, she shoves back against the wall, but when the door opens, that short ticket man stands there, looking mildly perplexed. He smiles, gives the handle a little jiggle and points at it.

“Been meaning to fix that,” he says apologetically, his voice still whisper-thin and high. Ellington’s almost relieved to hear it now.

“What time is it?” she asks.

“Just past ten,” he says. “The bus, if you wanted to catch it, it leaves in about twenty minutes—I’ll, I’ll go get a ticket for you—”

Ellington stands up. “Thank you.”

Back in the bus station, he presses a small ticket into the palm of her hand, and smiles one last time. Ellington tries to manage one back, but he’s already turned towards his desk.

Barely anyone stands on the concrete square strip outside the station. A couple, an old woman, a kid in a hat watching the road with his back to her. The man in the coat is nowhere to be seen, for now. She rubs her thumb over her ticket. She’ll go to the city, and, figure something out. She always figures something out. She’ll—she’ll figure something out.

A flash of brown catches her eye, someone moving quickly along the platform. Ellington turns out of habit to look.

The whole world slows to a stop around her. She feels each breath like inhaling water, dragging heavy through her lungs. That kid, that boy, older now, almost her height, walking off the concrete, a thin, fraying brown jacket draped over his arm. He pulls his hat down low over his eyes, a too-familiar gesture.

Ellington runs.

She pushes someone out of the way, careening over the platform, her heart pounding in her chest, her hands, her ears. He’s here. He’s here and Ellington is going to grab him. She darts after him, a blur moving faster and faster, over the grass, beyond the station building. Lemony Snicket. She’s going to shake the answers out of him, she’s going to kill him. Lemony Snicket, dead. Lemony Snicket, swallowed whole. Lemony Snicket, snapped up by a narrow, endless jaw, too many teeth, so many bones, what he deserves—she’s so close—his jacket flickers in front of her—

Through and through.

She stops, just for a moment—she stumbles against the wall—a noise catches in her throat and she keeps going—no, something, anything else, anything—she keeps going—she rounds the corner of the station—

She’s alone.

[sandersstudies]

Espressoly for You - Chapter One

Coffeeshop AU, you all wanted it, and I delivered. Hope there’s more coming but you guys know I’m historically unreliable with regular updates so here’s hoping! No trigger warnings for the chapter, just good clean coffee. 

***

Virgil was halfway inside the fridge when he heard the bell on the front entrance ring. He scooped a jug of milk under each arm, slammed the fridge door with his foot, and shuffled awkwardly back into the cafe. 

Logan was at the register, making small-talk with Wendy as she ordered her two usual black coffees. He glanced up with a split-second smirk as Virgil emerged from the storeroom. 

“Will that be all for you, today?” Logan asked.

“Yes, thank you, dear,” Wendy said, fumbling in her change purse. “Oh, wait, I’m so sorry, do you have the blueberry muffins today?”

“We do,” Logan said. “They only came out of the oven an hour ago.”

“I’ll take two,” Wendy said. “My grandkids love your muffins.” 

Logan turned around to wrap the muffins and stole another stare at Virgil, who ducked to hide his face in the mini-fridge as he put away the milk. He made a show of rearranging every jug inside so the labels faced out, and Wendy was toddling out of the cafe by the time he stood back up.

“You sure were in a rush to put away the milk,” Logan said.

“Just trying to get stocking out of the way,” Virgil said. 

“I don’t think so.”

“Think what you want.”

“You’re waiting for your boyfriend to come back.”

Virgil felt his face flush hot, and ducked back down to rearrange the milk all over again. “He is not my boyfriend, and if you ever suggest anything like that…” He hoped his glare, flashed over the top of the fridge door, finished the sentence for him. 

“Okay, okay,” Logan said, turning to stare out the front windows. “Oh, there he is now!” 

Virgil winced as he thumped the back of his head against the inside of the fridge. He rubbed his scalp as he stood up more slowly and saw that there was no-one in front of the store at all. Logan had a self-satisfied grin on his face that Virgil would have liked to wipe off. 

“It’s perfectly alright to like someone,” Logan said. “Have you finished sorting the fridge by the Dewey decimal system?

“I’ve never said one thing about that guy,” Virgil retorted, ignoring the sarcasm of the question. 

“And that’s exactly why I know you like him,” Logan said. “You love to gossip about customers but every time he’s in here you get awfully quiet. And you can’t ring in his order without stuttering.”

Virgil was guilty of that. Of course, it didn’t matter. That was one order he had memorized by heart. Large cinnamon oat milk latte with extra cinnamon-sugar on top. 

Logan strolled to the espresso machine and started steaming the milk for his usual café au lait. 

“I’m going on my break,” he said. “Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”

Virgil couldn’t think of a retort as Logan finished his drink and vanished into the storeroom. The door swung shut behind him. Virgil took a cloth and began to wipe down the counters, and kept one eye on the windows. He’d finished half the cafe when Terry, a regular, appeared in the door of his office building across the street. Virgil was already pulling the espresso for Terry’s usual americano by the time the bell at the front of the cafe chimed. It felt good knowing the regulars and being confident with the espresso machine. It had taken weeks before Logan trusted him in the cafe alone, and months before Virgil trusted himself. Now, everything was second-nature. Virgil handed Terry his drink and, when Terry swiped his card, Virgil reminded him that with only three more visits he’d have another free drink.

“And that should be about this time tomorrow,” Terry joked. Virgil mustered an authentic smile as Terry chuckled himself out the door, americano in hand. Terry could be counted on to visit two, sometimes three times a day, morning and lunchtime, and often as he left work just before the cafe closed. 

Virgil’s cinnamon-latte visitor was, unfortunately, not so reliable. Virgil didn’t work on Mondays or Tuesdays, and Cinnamon Boy

Oh no, I can’t start calling him that.

Cinnamon Guy never came in on weekends. He and his posse dropped by after afternoon class during the week before taking the bus back home, or at least Virgil had picked up that much from “accidentally” overheard conversations while sweeping. At least one of the group was almost always wearing the local university’s swag, so he knew which college they attended too. Sometimes they propped up study sessions on one of the cafe tables, notebooks sprawling. At least one of them was studying science, judging from the textbooks, but Virgil wasn’t sure which one. 

Over the past year of working in the cafe, he’d gotten better at starting small-talk at the register and over the espresso machine, but he always seemed to clam up when that group was around, only managing to stutter out a greeting and a total, if that. The three boys were almost always wrapped up in their own conversation, though, so it didn’t matter much. 

It was Wednesday now. Logan said he’d seen them on Monday, but there was no sign of them yet. A pair of girls, one of them wearing a university sweatshirt, appeared outside the window and came inside. The bell jingled and Virgil found himself spacing out as he rang up and made their lattes.  One of the girls tipped a dollar, and they both left. 

The lull between the lunch rush and after-school rush was dragging on, and Virgil realized he couldn’t wait for the unpredictability of spring break. Next Friday, university classes took a week off, and students in town with no class filled coffee shops during the day, and house parties at night. Virgil poured himself a black coffee. This job was giving him caffeine tolerance the likes of which he’d never imagined. The largest cup the cafe offered, filled to the brim with strong french-pressed coffee, barely lifted his eyelids anymore. During lulls, he and Logan had been known to take shots of espresso like liquor as a daily ritual. 

Virgil sipped his coffee absentmindedly, and hunched behind the register to begin a doodle on the side of an empty coffee cup. The curvature made clean lines impossible, but he managed a rough sketch of the building across the street, and was just beginning to outline windows when the cafe bell chimed. Virgil straightened.

“I told him I don’t care anyway, spring break starts next week.” 

“You’ll care when finals week creeps up on you.” 

“Well, it’s not finals week now, is it?”

Virgil fumbled for something to do so he wouldn’t seem to be spying on the conversation, and turned to the coffee pot immediately behind the register to press buttons that did nothing. 

“It’s a difficult class, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I took it last semester, it wasn’t that hard.”

When the three boys approached the register Virgil pretended to have just noticed them.

“Oh, hello, what can I get started for you guys?”

The first boy, clad in a leather jacket despite the growing spring warmth, didn’t even have to look at the menu. 

“Large iced coffee with light caramel, light cream, please.” He was already sliding his card into the reader, having heard his total many times before.

“Great, and looks like you only need one more visit before you’ll have a free coffee reward!” Interacting with customers using canned lines sure had gotten easier with time. It was only difficult when a customer tripped him up… Virgil made direct eye contact with the second boy to avoid looking at the first one.

“These two will both be on one ticket,” the boy said. He was dressed more practically in a university t-shirt of white and red, with clashing oversized athletic shorts in black and green, and the logo of a local high school. “I’ll have a black coffee with five sugars.” He extended his fist and dropped a wadded-up five and what seemed like a pound of coins into Virgil’s outstretched hand. “And whatever he’s having. Keep the change, bro,” he said, slapping the other boy on the shoulder before he strode away. He took a sugar packet from the condiment station. 

“Large cinnamon oat milk latte with extra cinnamon-sugar on top,” the other boy said as Virgil kept his gaze affixed to the register screen.

“Eight-fifty,” Virgil muttered, unfolding the five and beginning to count out the coins. He felt the customer’s eyes on him, tried to count faster, lost his place, and started over. He tried to muster a haphazard comment about the nice weather, failed, and swallowed.

Thankfully, most of the coins were quarters, and there were still almost two dollars left over afterward, what seemed like an hour later, though it was really less than a minute. Virgil extended them and tried to drop them into the other boy’s hand neatly, but two quarters clanged onto the counter, and one went rolling in a dramatic run for escape.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” Virgil said, trying to slap the quarters under his hands. The other boy moved at the same time, and Virgil felt their hands brush together on the counter.

“No, no, it’s cool,” he said. “I was just going to make it a tip, anyway.” He let the coins clink into the jar.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s my brother’s money anyway. Thanks!” He raised his hand in a friendly salute before hoisting his backpack higher onto his shoulder and striding toward the table with the other two boys.

“Gosh, Roman, embarrassing the barista by dropping shit everywhere,” the brother said  before emptying his sugar packet directly onto his tongue. Roman. Virgil would file that away. He started steaming the milk and pulling the espresso shots for Roman’s latte. It was a strange name, but better than thinking of “Cinnamon Guy.” Waiting for the shots, he poured coffee for the other two boys and set them on the counter, where they retrieved them. 

He constructed the latte a little slower than usual, and noticed when he set the cup on the counter that Roman was facing away from him. Virgil mustered his voice and said, “Hey, I’ve got that latte here for you.”

Roman turned around. “Hey, thanks.”

“No problem.”

Roman turned away again, and as Virgil began searching for something to do with his hands, Logan emerged from the door to the back room.

“Busy?” he asked with a knowing grin. “Anything interesting while I was gone?”

“I’m going to brew fresh coffee.”

Logan smiled knowingly.

[tiffdawg]

Shift This Weight | Javier Peña x Reader

Gif: @bestintheparsec

Series: Confessions | Part 1 of 3

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (fem;no y/n)

Word Count: 1.8k

Rating: E | Warnings: Angst. NSFW - smut, oral (male receiving), sexual language, mild cursing. 18+ only.

A/N: I set out to write some soft!Javi, but this ended up kinda sad and much smuttier than I originally intended. This is going to be a three-part series I’ll be posting over the next week or so and I promise you, soft Javi is coming after this. I suppose a little angst is unavoidable when Javi’s in love. smh. 

My Masterlist

Read on AO3

... . ...

Shift This Weight

You’d known Javier Peña for years. Your stints at Quantico had overlapped however briefly, but it was more than enough time to strike up a casual flirtation with no expectations.

While it never amounted to anything, you’d enjoyed his game of cat and mouse in between classes and training sessions in the weeks leading up to your graduation and subsequent departure. You’d been assigned to a post as a field agent on the other side of the country, and, you jumped at the rare opportunity, more than eager to prove yourself.

Looking back, you realized the two of you never said a proper goodbye. There was just that one stolen kiss and a softly muttered congratulations in a deserted hallway after your commencement ceremony. You felt the brush of lips against yours even days later as you boarded a plane bound for Los Angeles, one-way ticket in hand. You’d thought you’d never see him again, but perhaps you some small part of you knew even then it wouldn’t be the last you crossed paths with the young hotshot from Texas.

… . ...

The City of Angels was good to you. The ridiculous traffic was a small price to pay for the gorgeous weather and endless coastline and despite a few missteps at the beginning you settled nicely into your new role as a DEA agent. But even though work was steady and you had a close circle of friends, you couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. When you were offered a position at the US embassy in Colombia, you shocked everyone, yourself included, when you took the position without a moment’s hesitation. 

You were only half surprised when you walked into the embassy building on your first official day and crashed right into Javier, literally colliding with the man from your past as you scrambled to find your new office.

“I heard you might be coming down,” he said with a smirk and without missing a beat, “Happy to see the rumors were true.”

You couldn’t help but return the smile, happy to find a familiar face amongst unfamiliar surroundings. You were both older and it showed; you could see it etched into his handsome features, felt it in your tired bones. The realities of the job had worn down the bright-eyed kids you were at the academy into hardened agents.

“Happy to be here, Agent Peña,” you shot back with a wink, suddenly feeling much more confident despite your disorientation.

“Follow me, chiquita.”

How could you resist?

… . ... 

Javier resumed his flirting with you as if no time had passed, as if you weren’t his colleague and partner, as if he wasn’t sleeping with half the available women in Bogota. You played along with his game even as you felt your feelings for the man blossom into something new and dangerous.

Still, the professional in you had managed to hold yourself together well enough. At least you did until everything came to an unavoidable crescendo one fateful night almost a year after your arrival in Colombia. You’d had a frightfully close call during a raid on some low-level sicarios hiding out in Medellin. The kind of near miss that made your whole past flash before your eyes and made you rethink your present and future.

Javi was standing close to you, the rise and fall of his chest matching yours as you both fought to steady your breathing post-shoot out. He scanned you for injuries with his deep brown eyes, closely inspecting the cut on your cheek with a gentle prodding fingertip. He was remarkably unscathed save for the mental scarring of narrowly missing a bullet meant for his skull. 

You weren’t sure whether it was the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins or the thought of him almost dying that propelled you forward as you cupped his face between your still shaking hands and kissed him. It wasn’t some chaste, teasing peck like before. It was a needy, messy melding of mouths. He reciprocated immediately and eagerly, pulling you flush against him despite the awkwardness of your bullet proof vests. It was everything you didn’t know you’d been waiting for all those years.

... . ...

A few months later, you found yourself sitting in a dimly lit bar not far from the embassy. That day had been stressful, to say the very least. Murphy, ever the optimist, at least when compared to Peña’s special brand of skepticism, had suggested drinks after leaving the office, inviting both you and Javier. While your illicit office romance was still very much a secret, Murphy definitely knew. Javi wasn’t shy about undressing you with his eyes from his desk across from yours, especially now that he knew what was underneath your pantsuits, and your witty remarks to his advances held a lot less bite than they did before.

You tried but failed to drown your frustrations with tequila and polite conversation with Steve and Connie, but by your third drink it was clear you needed something stronger. And from the way Javier’s dark eyes found yours over the rim of his glass and across the bar top, he shared your sentiment.

If you couldn’t drink away your problems, maybe you could fuck them out of your system.

Which is how you ended up back at your apartment an hour later, stark naked and straddling Javier’s lap as you rode him as fast and hard as your shaking legs would allow. 

The closer you got to your climax, the more your steady rhythm faltered. “Hey, I got you, hermosa,” he said, and your eyes snapped open. He started to thrust up, taking over for you. “Touch yourself. Cum all over this cock.”

Your fingers found your clit, just as he’d told you to, and with a few well-timed strokes you were coming hard, unraveling on top of him. Your body went completely limp, with only his hands, one on your hip and the other grabbing at your breast, to hold you upright. You felt yourself clenching around his thick length as you rode out your orgasm and he spat out a string of intelligible curses in Spanish.

“Where? Where, baby?” he said through gritted teeth.

You released yourself from his grasp and knelt between his legs, taking him into your mouth completely. A few more errant thrusts and you were swallowing around him, taking every drop he gave you. When you pulled off, you opened your mouth to show him it was all gone.

“Fuck you’re perfect,” he mumbled, taking your face between his hands and kissing you obscenely. He pulled you back up his body, never breaking the kiss, to lay next to him. You giggled as he continued to kiss you through ragged breaths while he came down from his own release. His greedy hands still roamed your body, kneading the soft flesh of your thighs and ass. “So fucking perfect, hermosa.”

You smiled into his kiss, basking in the afterglow and feeling something akin to actual happiness. Something you’d long thought was out of reach for someone in your line of work. Everything just felt better with Javi. He made your life better, made you better. Even when the world seemed to be crashing down around you. Even when catching Escobar seemed like an impossible task.  

You wanted to come home to this, to him, every damn day and he deserved to know just how much he meant to you after all these years. Those very words were overwhelming you, begging to be spoken into existence.

“I’m in love with you,” you said against his lips. You felt him still beneath you and you pulled away just enough to look him in the eye, wanting him to see that you truly mean what you were saying. You needed him to know it wasn’t some post-orgasmic slip of the tongue. It was real. “You don’t have to say it back. I know you probably don’t even want to hear it, I just- I needed to tell you. It was suffocating me not to tell you. I love you, Javi.”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t so much as blink. Usually you could read him easily, his ever-expressive eyes always betrayed his emotions, but that night his face gave nothing away. The only indication that he heard you and was contemplating your words was the gnashing of his jaw as he ground his teeth.

Finally, he placed a firm hand on your cheek, bringing you closer so he could press his lips to your temple. He forwent his usual cigarette to lay with you, settling you firmly against his chest. 

His reaction startled you; it certainly wasn’t what you were expecting. You doubted he felt the same, and part of you thought he might run out of the apartment or even throw a few curses your way for shattering what was supposed to be a casual arrangement. His silence and the way he cradled you to his chest was more than a little confusing.

Eventually your racing thoughts lulled, and you started to drift off to sleep, allowing yourself to fantasize that he might stay the whole night with you. That you might at least get the luxury of waking up next to him in the morning, warm golden sunlight streaming in through your thin curtains to bathe his tanned skin like you’d always imagined. 

Instead, he slipped out from beneath your sheets, gathered his clothes strewn about your room, and quietly left.

You laid there for a while after that, stomach turning as you watched the red numbers of your alarm clock rise steadily, signaling the coming dawn, and you replayed the night in your mind. You didn’t regret what you said. No, you’d learned from your past heartbreaks that being open and vulnerable was the only way to be true to yourself. As hard as that was sometimes. You knew you were taking things in a direction he never wanted to go, but it was stifling to remain standing at the proverbial crossroads of loving him silently or never speaking your truth. It was a relief to say those three little, weighty words out loud. Still, you wracked your brain trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his actions. He hadn’t said another word the rest of the night, but he’d stayed.

Until he hadn’t. In the end he left you without so much as a goodbye. As you frustratedly buried your face into your pillow and willed yourself to fall asleep, you wondered if that was the last night you’d ever spend with him, if your confession would drive him away forever.

... . ...

Spanish Translations

Chiquita: little girl

Hermosa: beautiful

… . ...

Thanks for reading!

[red-becca]

Can I Have This Dance?

This is how Kevin got Red to go with him to prom. Change my mind. Jk, you can have opinions too on how he did it, I would love to hear them-

And also, I tried my best with the dancing. I really did but it's hard for me to describe something like that.

Last thing, I just used translators for the Klingon bits. I don't know Klingon bc I am not a Star Trek fan myself, so yeah.

---

This was it. This was the day Kevin was going to ask Red out. Not to be his girlfriend, no. He has yet to do that. What he's really nervous for is asking Red out to prom. He has never done any form of asking a girl to be his partner for any type of event, so he was very nervous.

But he was very determined to ask Red to be his date to prom. Sure, it was a bit subtle with him simply giving her a text to come over to his house to help him with something but it worked and now the girl was heading over to his house.

He was super thankful that his mother wasn't around because she's usually pretty nosey whenever the two were together. Her and the rest of his family were out helping his twin sister Esther with buying a dress.

After a few more minutes of waiting, Kevin heard a knock on the door and was quick to open it, knowing who it was already. He couldn't help but smile as he opened the door. "Hey, Red... Glad you could make it..." He said softly.

The girl happily smiled back at him. "Of course I could make it! I'll always come over whenever my best friend needs help with something! So, can I come in already?"

Kevin lost his train of thought as soon as she started talking, completely getting dazed as he stared at her lovingly which made him jump slightly when she asked if she could come into his house. "Huh? Oh, sure! Of course! Right this way!" He moved to the side and motioned with his hand for her to enter.

Red happily entered his house with a smile, Kevin closing the door behind her. "Alright! I'm in no rush but I need to know immediately. Just what did you need help with that you needed me for it?"

"Okay!" Kevin nervously clapped his hands together then lightly ran to his couch where he had three coats laid on top. "So, which one do you think I should wear?" He brought up the options for her to see.

"Oh! You need help with something for prom! I see now! It makes sense with it coming up soon..." She giggled as she walked towards him, making his heart skip a beat. "And you need my help with this specifically because?"

"Well, isn't it obvious? You're my best friend and the only girl I can trust with this..." Then he gave her a soft smile. "Plus, you're gonna have a pretty dress, so I wanna look right along with my best friend..."

Red couldn't help but blush at his words, looking at the options she had. "Pretty dress, huh? I'll just be wearing a simple black dress, really. Much like the black sundress I'm wearing. Only with more sleeves and minus the purple cardigan. Nothing that exciting..." She shrugged. "Also, never been asked to a prom... Not yet, at least." Then she proceeded to pick the light blue color tux that looked like the same color as his usual blue jacket. "Because I know you look good in this shade of blue, I choose this one!"

Kevin quickly shook his head at her first sentence. "Are you kidding me? You can make any plain dress work because of how beautiful you are!" His words just made her blush more. "Also, what? No way! Not one person has asked you out yet?" Red shook her head along with saying a nope. "That's impossible!" Kevin widened his eyes at the revelation. Sure, he was beyond relieved to hear the news because he gets to ask her out but it was still a shock to him.

"Uh... And why is that impossible considering I don't even have a boyfriend right now either?" She asked with a raised eyebrow as she took off the tux from it's hanger.

Kevin opened his mouth and quickly shut it. "Note to self: Maybe ask her to be your girlfriend right after asking her to be your date to prom." He thought to himself before speaking up again. "Heh, okay. You make a good point but like you're the third most popular girl in our school, Rebecca McArthur! I mean, Red! Sorry about that..."

Red let out a small giggle along with shaking her head as she helps him wear the tux. "Pft, it's fine. Anyway, I need you to go on because I am not getting your point. Like I said before, don't have a boyfriend."

"What's not to get? A lot of guys find you really pretty hence why it's shocking to find out you don't have a date yet to prom... And why you don't have a boyfriend but I might change that soon..." Kevin quickly added his last sentence quietly as he slipped on the tux, buttoning it up before looking back at Red.

"Uhh, Kev? What was that last sentence?" She asked with a raised eyebrow. "I could have sworn I heard you say something..."

"Never mind it." He waved his hand dismissively, hoping she would drop it which she did. "Let's just change the topic. Starting with what do you think of the tux? Do I look good with it on?"

Red was quick to respond with a nod. "Yeah, of course. Kevin, you always look so handsome..." She said with a smile as she got closer to him, making him blush. "Though maybe it can help if you fix you hair a bit..." The blush on his face got even more prominent as the red head started messing with his hair.

"Maybe?" He chuckled then took a deep breathe in, getting ready for the big question. Well, one of many big questions he plans to ask her. "So, umm... I know you've never been asked to a prom nor have I ever been to a dance. Much less a prom, either..." He then started grabbing something from his pockets. "But I'm hoping these can be a good start for the both of us?"

Red stopped with fixing his hair as she raised an eyebrow while Kevin reached into his pockets then letting out a small gasp once she saw him pull out two tickets for prom. "I... Kevin, are you?" She looked up at him with wide eyes, not wanting to assume anything.

He gave a nod, smiling softly at her which she returned. "Yeah, there's no one else I'd rather go to prom with than you, Red." After he said that, the both of them started to blush. "So, umm... You think we're gonna have to waltz? Or anything involving us dancing together? Because uh... I don't really know how to do that..." He let out a small chuckle while rubbing the back of his neck.

Red couldn't help but giggle a little at his dilemma, making his heart race again. "All I really know is that when I was a little girl, my dad would love to dance me around the living room with me on his toes. That's the closest thing to a waltz I've ever done in my entire life..." Then she grabbed hold of his hand. "But don't worry, I can teach you how it's done!"

"Wait, now?! You're gonna teach me how to do a waltz now?!" He nervously asked as he followed the girl, who had both his hand and heart, outside to his backyard.

"Well, yeah! I did say I would help my best friend with anything, right?" Red giggled, stopping as soon as they got outside. "Plus, I'm more than happy to teach you!"

"Yeah, but... Why did we need go outside for it? Wouldn't practicing inside be better?" He asked as he was still standing pretty close to his house unlike the redhead who happily spun around in the middle of his backyard.

"Aww, come on! I just know you'll love it, so come here already!" She giggled, finally stopping from spinning around then putting a hand on her head. "Oh, God... I probably shouldn't have spun that much..."

Kevin shook his head, letting out a few small laughs as he walked towards the girl. "Pft. Yeah, you probably shouldn't have. How are you supposed to teach me now that you're dizzy?"

Red had on a big grin as she turned to face Kevin, making him confused. "Simple! With the power of music! Remember the dancing rooftop scene from High School Musical 3?" She pulled her phone out of her pockets.

He let out a scoff, rolling his eyes. "Remember it? I practically have it memorized with how many times me and my friends have watch those damn movies back in fourth grade..."

"Then I guess that means you'll have no problem following along to this song, right?" She started to play the song on her phone.

"No way! You have that song in your phone?" Kevin looked at the girl in bewilderment as she cranked up the volume and set it down on the grass.

She simply gave him a playful eyeroll at his question. "I have all the songs from all three movies, I am still that obsessed with just the songs, really. Now, hush and..." She cleared her throat. "Take my hand... " She started to sing along with the song, putting her hand out which Kevin happily took.

"Take a breath... " Kevin continued to do what the song said. "Pull me close..." However, he got a bit flustered when he got pulled Red close to him, making him nervously look away. "And take one step..."

Red noticed how nervous he was being, making her move his face to look into her eyes. The look in her eyes were telling him that it was okay and that she'll help him the best she could. "Keep your eyes locked to mine... And let the music be your guide..." She put one of his hands on her waist and her hands on his shoulder, their free hands intertwined with the others.

"Won't you promise me?" Kevin eventually joined in on the singing along with Red which made the two of them smile as they began spin around. "Now won't you promise me? That you'll never forget..."

We'll keep dancing To keep dancing wherever we go next

"It's like catching lightning..." Soon, it was like muscle memory to Kevin as he effortlessly lifted the girl up and twirled her around much like in the movie. "The chances of finding someone like you..." They were practically Troy and Gabriella with how accurate they were doing the same dance in the movie.

As their dance was nearly coming to an end, the sprinklers on Kevin's backyard turned on but the two simply continued to dance and sing despite getting wet.

"So can I have this dance? Can I have this dance? Can I have this dance?" They didn't have a care in the world as they continued to dance, a wide smile on both of their faces and laughs could be heard from them as Kevin started to spin the girl around. "Can I have this dance? Can I have this dance?" Soon, they started to slow down as the song was finished, their eyes completely locked together.

Red started to giggle once she let the water flow down her face. "Mmm~ This dance we just did has got to be the most amazing dance I have ever done... And it's only our first one..."

Kevin gave her a soft look as he gently pushed her wet hair back. "So, I just realized... I never got a confirmation from you for prom... Is it a yes? Are you going to prom with me?"

She giggled some more, playfully shaking her head as she rested her forehead against his. "HIjá, Kevin... HIjá..."

This made the male let out a loud gasp, giving her an amazed look. "That's Klingon! You know Klingon?!"

She shook her head some more. "Only a bit, really. So, I'll just let my actions speak for me if that's okay with you..." She leaned closer to him, cupped his cheek then gently pressed her lips onto his.

Kevin, not expecting it at all, froze for a bit but soon found himself relaxing into the kiss. After just a few seconds though, he pulled away from her. "Oh, geez! We just kissed!"

"Yeah, our first kiss... And it was so romantic..." She said softly as she hugged him tightly. "QaparHa'qu', Kevin..."

Kevin opened his mouth but quickly shut it as he hugged her back. "I love you too, Red..."

She hummed happily once she heard the words come out of his mouth. "And just so you don't have to struggle to ask me later, I say yes to being your girlfriend too..."

"Perfect... Can I have another dance then?" He smiled softly at her as he offered her a hand this time.

Red smiled back at him as she took his hand. "It would be my pleasure..."

[florenceandthemachine]

that original lifeline

chapter 4 / 5 - “you deserve what you are given” - 2.2k

in which Eddie has a chance at some closure—but not in the way you might think. 

note the update to the chapter count—it didn't feel right wrapping up everything in one last chapter. the beautiful, wonderful @buckleydiazs inspired a totally new ending with one of her recent works and honestly you should all be reading everything she’s ever written.

that all said and done, I won't keep you waiting too long. the last chapter will be up tomorrow, and I love all of you forever and ever.

read on AO3

For all intents and purposes, Eddie Diaz felt like a dead man walking. 

He had been swallowed up by the Earth and spit back out, in once piece, but that didn’t mean that he was whole. 

For the first month, he seemed to fluctuate wildly between the first three stages of grief, but honestly, he attributed a good portion of that to the mandatory leave of absence he had been given from the 118. He had already lost an eternal being, so sure, absolutely, losing the one routine he had going for him was great!

As ashamed as he was to admit it, his denial spiked the highest whenever he was around Christopher. His son was so good, so fucking kind, and sweet, and it just didn’t feel fair for Eddie to do anything other than smile with him and support him in any way that he could. He had to admit, that was the only shred of silver lining he could see in his mandatory leave—he got to wake up with Chris every morning, he got to take him to school and pick him up after, and he got to give Carla a very, very well deserved vacation. 

If he spent the hours that Chris was out of the house begging to a God that he figured hated him, well, that was his own business. 

When he did get angry, Eddie made damn sure to do it on his own time, in his own house, in his own state of being—he would sooner jump back under an exploding fire truck than allow any of his anger leak through to Chris, and besides, the only person that he was really angry with was himself. He still didn’t know why he had volunteered to go down in the first place—Chim would have been the much more logical choice, he was smaller, he was lighter, and he could move faster, all of that proven when Chim had successfully pulled the kid out of the muddy hole in record time. Unfortunately, there was one thing he didn’t have—the heaps of fucked up brainpower that Eddie seemed to tap into whenever he was out on a call that involved a kid. 

Somewhere around the six week mark, Eddie’s brain had finally given up on bouncing back and forth between denial, bargaining, and anger, and instead slipped right into stage four—a deep, comfortable, whole body depression—one that felt impossible to shake, one that felt like a thick, weighted blanket, wrapped around his body, layering guilt, sadness, shame….

…well. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone that he wasn’t in a great place. But what the hell else was he supposed to do, go to therapy?

“Hi, I’m Eddie, I’m sad because my guardian angel died. I haven’t been able to sleep in weeks without nightmares about being buried alive. Why yes, I am still on active duty as a firefighter.”

Yeah, that was going to go over so well.

One of the many fucked up surprises this newer, nihilistic state of being brought him were the rare moments when he managed to break out of the shell he used to call a personality. He would snort with a sudden spike of laughter at something a comic on television said, or feel a pulse of genuine sadness when he was reading Chris his bedtime story. The moments were few and far between, and they were never more than a few seconds long. 

So, the surge of resignation he felt when he saw red and blue lights erupt in his rearview mirror came as something of a surprise, in and of itself… and then he realized he was going ten over the limit, and resigned this entire day to another page in the Eddie Diaz book. 

It was one of his rare days off—rare, because he had been picking up every extra shift he could to help keep his mind busy—and Chris had been overjoyed at the idea of spending a day with Abuela, a rare treat for both of them once Carla entered their lives. Eddie had swung by after work, had an early dinner with his family, kissed Abuela and Pepa goodbye while dodging all of their questions about what was wrong, and why he looked so sad, and if you would just talk to us, Eddito. He had ignored it all, skillfully loaded Chris into the back of his truck, pretended not to feel a little envious when his son passed out within minutes, and—

—and now he was getting pulled over for speeding.

Eddie allowed himself all of five seconds to rest his head against the steering wheel, the urge to scream only lessened by the knowledge that Chris was asleep in the back of his truck, before he pulled out his wallet and fished his license and registration out. He rolled his window down as the officer started to walk toward the truck, unable to even entertain the idea that he was going to drive away with less than a ticket for whatever it was he had done wrong.

“You can go ahead and put those away.” 

Eddie blinked in confusion as the officer approached his window, his hand hesitating awkwardly before he slowly pulled his arm back inside his truck, the cards tossed absentmindedly onto the passengers seat of the truck.

“I don’t need your license to know who you are, Edmundo. It’s good to finally meet you. I’m sorry it had to be like this, but I had to ensure we wouldn’t be interrupted.”

Typically, an announcement like that usually would have set off every siren in Eddie’s head, but he hadn’t had the energy for something like that for weeks now. Instead, he shifted in his seat, not quite leaning out the window but definitely getting a better look at the officer standing just outside his truck, the lights from her squad car still blinking in his side view mirror. 

“How do you know who I am?”

She smiled, expression sharp and calculating, and Eddie didn’t need her to take off her sunglasses to know that she was looking him over, staring right through him. He didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt desperate that she would approve of whatever it was that she saw. 

“My name is Athena.”

Suddenly, things clicked in his brain, and it wasn’t just in the sharp smile of the officer—or, not officer—standing in front of him. He was knocked back, almost violently, sitting outside of a shitty shake shack with Buck, ankles knocked together under the table, laughing about whatever.

He almost choked as a surge of emotion shot through him, rattling the very shell of his empty being, a sadness and a guilt so strong, so overwhelming, that it threatened to spill out of him in a moments notice. He gripped the steering wheel so hard he wouldn’t have been surprised if he bent it, face going through a flurry of emotions, not trusting himself to speak when he couldn’t even breathe. 

Fuck, here Eddie was supposed to be strong, for his kid, for his teammates, and four words had him blinking back tears in the drivers seat of his truck. “Athena, I—I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what he was going to do, I wouldn’t have let him, I promise, this is all my—“

“Hey, hey, stop that.” She took a small step forward as Eddie felt his jaw click shut, tucking her sunglasses into her uniform pocket. “I don’t blame you for anything, and you shouldn’t be blaming yourself. Buck told you about our relationship with free will, right? Well, he had it, too. Everything he did was by choice. His energy was his own to give, and you can’t beat yourself up for him choosing to use it on you. He wouldn’t want that.”

Her smile had softened into something more genuine, something more understanding, and as much as Eddie wanted to let it calm him down, wanted to trust it, he… couldn’t.

Eddie felt another wave of emotion surge forward, dangerously close to the edge—anger this time, hot and sticky in the back of his throat. Here this perfect stranger was telling him what to think, what to believe, what Buck would want, and the worst part of it all was that Eddie had no reason to doubt her. All in all, he really, really didn’t know Buck—not as well as he thought he did, certainly. But maybe not even at all.

No sooner did that thought enter his mind did his anger die down, leaving him feeling nauseous, guilty, and as gross as it was to admit it—a little pleased. He hadn’t felt genuine emotion in so long, he had been beginning to think he couldn’t anymore. 

Eddie let out a rattling breath as he leaned forward to rest his head on the steering wheel once again, only now, Athena looked mostly sympathetic, arms loosely at her sides, thumbs tucked into her utility belt as she waited for Eddie to get his bearings again. 

“I miss him.”

Athena let out a little laugh as she nodded her head, her smile wide again, looking at Eddie with something between fondness and exasperation. It was a look he had grown very used to, spending more time with Abuela.

“I know, Eddie. I do too.”

They shared another moment of silence while Eddie counted his breaths, interrupted only when Athena cleared her throat and looked down, kicking at the ground near Eddie’s front tire.

“I’m not going to stand here and try to placate you with promises, or niceties, because this world is already unstable enough, and I am not going to waste either of our time. I’m here to offer you a choice, Eddie. I’m here to offer you a chance of… closure, of sorts.” 

Eddie felt his pulse start to quicken as she spoke, not because of the words she said, but because Eddie could already feel it—the same warmth, the energy that used to dance around Buck, was already beginning to swirl around Athena’s narrow frame, making Eddie homesick for a place he didn’t think he would ever be able to return to. 

“What, um…” He had to swallow, taking a moment to look at Chris in the rear view mirror, still conked out against his doorframe. “What exactly are you offering me?”

Athena’s jaw was squared again, slowly lifting her hand up from her belt, fingers splayed before her. If it was a little darker out—if Eddie closed his eyes—he could almost swear they were luminous.

“Buck was under my care, he was my responsibility, and that means you were too, even if it was in an indirect way. Eddie, I didn’t know what was going to happen, before or after you went down that hole, but I hope you believe me when I tell you how sorry I am that you had to go through that. No human should ever have to deal with… with a loss of that magnitude.”

And there it was, the unbreakable truth that Athena had been dancing around since she pulled him over. Loss. It was a loss, Buck really was gone. Not an angel, not a guardian, not anymore. Eddie had to swallow again. 

“I can’t lessen that pain. Only time can do that, and to what extent, even I don’t know. But what I can do is take it away from you, make you forget. Your life will still be your own, but the moments where Buck shone through will be altered, so you’ll have seen the situations just like any other human would have.”

Eddie took in a deep breath, letting it out between loose lips, taking in a few more before he could speak. “So it’ll be like I never saw him in the first place. Like I never knew what was protecting me.”

Athena nodded her head, moving her fingers slowly, focusing on them as much as she was on him. “It’s important to me that you understand I won’t force you to do anything here—this is all your choice. And I’m sorry to say it’s a choice you have to make relatively quickly, I’m already breaking enough protocols being here right now.”

Eddie laughed—he couldn’t help himself, the sound pulled from his throat without him expecting it. “So I guess you’re where Buck got his strict adherence to the rules, huh?”

Athena clicked her tongue and leaned in to smack his arm with her free hand, but the smile on her face was genuine, the touch feather light compared to what Eddie knew she could do.

“His presence has been a bright spot in your life, and I’m glad for that, but I know it can get awful dark without that light. So, it’s up to you. Do you want to keep living, having had this experience, but knowing that no one can relate to it, can help you past it now that it’s over? Or do you want to forget you ever saw his light, to be able to move forward without this darkness weighing on your heart?”

-

For the first time in months, Eddie was able to sleep through the night. 

[avaantares]

My New Ventilated Social-Distancing Movie Theatre

(or, how I bought a 2020-proof social life for less than $100)

So the USA is (still) a hot mess in terms of pandemic response. Because both my father and I are at increased risk for complications from COVID-19, and my sister and I have to work together in person to run our workshops, my entire family has been in a state of self-quarantine for six months straight (with no end in sight). But it’s hard being in constant isolation, so the four households that comprise my local family have been doing weekly outdoor gatherings -- with plenty of hand sanitizer and safely-spaced tables -- so we can see each other and socialize at a distance. However, that’s only feasible when the weather cooperates.

I’ve also really missed watching movies with friends, which prior to the pandemic had been a regular activity. I have a 70-year-old tripod screen I inherited from my grandfather and a projector I use for running panels at conventions, so we’ve watched occasional DVDs outdoors, but we could only do that on evenings without wind (which could tear the brittle screen) or rain (which would damage the projector), and we have to be careful not to have the sound too loud because it might disturb the neighbors.

A couple weeks ago, when our city delayed reopening again due to rising COVID-19 case numbers, I decided to convert half of my garage into an outdoor movie theatre. It turned out pretty well, and it only cost about what I would spend on movie tickets in an average year (and since I’m not going to any movies in 2020, it’s pretty much a wash). I’m sharing the details in case it gives anyone else ideas for making a health-conscious social hangout!

Obviously YMMV, and in areas with higher case numbers (hi, FL & AZ), this still might be too much contact. Be safe and follow official recommendations to prevent viral spread, folks!

The Space

Before I settled on the garage, I considered building a movie space under a tent canopy (nixed because they’re almost impossible to anchor through Midwest storm winds) or carport kit (too expensive and high-maintenance for me), so there are definitely other options depending on where you live, your typical weather, and what space you have available!

My garage has an unusual layout that allows for better-than-average ventilation. When it was first built, it was a 2 1/2-car garage with the doors facing the street and windows on the side. About 40 years later, the owners decided to move the driveway to the other side of the house, so they built a second garage attached to the drive-door side and knocked out an end wall to put in a new overhead door. This means that by square footage, the garage could hold four cars, but the way the drive doors are situated, it’s a divided two-car garage with a bunch of extra space at the far end. The two sides are connected by one of the original overhead doors, which means that three of the four walls have openings that allow for air movement. (More on that below.)

Normally there’s a car in each side of the garage, but I decided I was willing to park outside all summer for the sake of having a social life. Over the course of a week, I emptied and thoroughly cleaned the half of the garage that has the windows.

Air Flow

Constant fresh air flow is critical to flushing aerosolized particles that can spread the virus, so in order to make a safe indoor space, I had to simulate outdoor air movement. I opened all three overhead doors and both windows, then placed several fans to draw air through the building: One in each window, one along the side wall, and a box fan in the connecting door between the two sides of the garage to pull more air in from the outside. To make sure air was actually moving through the building and not just circulating within it, I turned on all the fans while I was sweeping the (very dusty) floor and walls, and adjusted the fan angles until the dust blew straight out the overhead door, rather hanging in the air or gathering in the corners. (Experts recommend that to prevent virus transmission, indoor spaces should have 100% air turnover every 10 minutes; obviously I have no way of testing that in a garage, but there is a constant light breeze through the building and stuff seems to be blowing out, so I feel pretty good about it.)

Projection Setup

I already had the projector and DVD player (I took the one out of my living room, since I usually just watch DVDs on my game console anyway), but I wanted a larger wall-mounted screen, since my grandfather’s 1950s screen was designed for showing vacation slides in a living room, not wide-screen films. Hanging fabric screens are very cheap, but I opted for a 120″ retractable screen so it would stay clean in the dusty garage. I also have an old set of monitor speakers that provide nice stereo sound.

Seating

The beauty of setting up in a garage is that it’s basically outdoors, so you can use lawn furniture or bean bags or old chairs you pulled out of someone’s trash (I do this regularly; it’s how I got my entire patio set). Measuring out at least 6 feet between each table and staggering their positions so nobody was directly downwind of another table, I set up all the card tables and folding tables I owned, and put a pair of chairs by each one so that couples from the same household could share a table but not be in close contact with any other groups. I put my largest folding table (which was also salvaged from the trash -- seriously, it’s the best way to get stuff!) against the wall right by the open door to serve as a snack table, so it’s on the opposite wall from the seating and nobody would be breathing on the food. I covered all the tables with decorative heavy-duty vinyl tablecloths (mostly for sanitation purposes, because those tables have been sitting out in my garage and I know I’ve had raccoons and opossums out there -- not to mention the colony of bats that lives in the loft off the back of the garage).

This setup can seat up to eight people, and even provides a place for serving food. (I put pump bottles of hand sanitizer on each table and on the food table, and people wear face masks when they’re loading up their plates, so there’s minimal contamination risk there.)

Total Cost

My out-of-pocket cost for this whole project was only about $83, though that’s because I already had a lot of stuff lying around. Here’s a more complete breakdown:

Fans: I already owned the box fan ($25 new) and a couple other fans that I’d picked up super cheap at garage sales ($5 or so), because my house is old and the HVAC is not very efficient. The only new fan I bought for this project was a refurbished air circulator from Amazon ($14), because I needed a small but high-velocity fan to fit in a window.

Projection setup: The only new thing I bought was the screen, which was $65 including shipping (though non-retractable fabric screens start around $10-15, so if you’re on a budget you can get one very cheap). I bought the projector used on eBay about eight years ago. I think I paid around $40 for it then, but prices have come down since; I’ve seen discount projectors for as low as $20. The DVD player is a cheapo region free model, which I got a decade ago for maybe $30. The speakers were secondhand; I’ve also used an old set of external PC speakers ($10 from Goodwill) when running video off my laptop, and they worked well enough in the indoor space.

Seating: Almost all the outdoor furniture I own came from other people’s trash, so I didn’t pay anything for it! Any kind of seating or tables will work, though. I did invest about $4 for new tablecloths, which I got on seasonal clearance.

Bonus Perks

I’ve discovered that the garage walls block a LOT of light and sound unless you’re standing directly outside the drive doors, so we can watch movies for half the night or stay up late chatting and we aren’t disturbing the neighbors! We couldn’t run movies out on the patio late at night because the sound would carry to neighboring houses.

Also, when we’re watching a film in the evening, we get to watch my bats fly through the garage on their way to and from dinner! (Which might be an annoyance to the bats if we were out there all the time, but we try to keep our volume low and we’re only out there about once a week, so I don’t think we’re disturbing them too much.) Bats are protected in my state, as some of the native species are critically endangered, and we try to encourage nesting as they’re essential to pest insect control. I love watching them fly around!

The setup also works well for video games. A local friend and I had been playing online, late at night because it was the only time we could get enough bandwidth to maintain connection (the ISP in my area is not super reliable), but now we can sit on opposite sides of the garage and play local co-op with no lag:

So, in summary, my “movie theatre” is by no means a luxurious setup, but it was cheap :) and it’s a great way for my small pandemic social bubble to get together and chat, have a movie night, or play games without risking being in a closed room together.

[echodrops]

Why You Should Be Shipping Shigaraki/Ochako

No, no, hang on a second--I see that side-eye you are throwing hard enough to ruin your peripheral vision. I feel the shade you’re casting like a thundercloud rolling in. But you didn’t read wrong. I meant what I said.

I’ve never made a secret of my love for rare pairs, but for once in my damn lonely shipper’s hellscape of a life I would love it if my favorite crack ship in a fandom had more than two fics (I’m NOT JOKING) to its name.

What can I do to correct this egregious oversight before the entire summer passes with nary a whisper of the most romantic ship since Juliet wherefore art thou’d Romeo?

Well, what else? I was forged in the fires of early 2000s’ fandom, and I know that desperate times call for desperate measures meticulously researched and extremely rose-tinted

Shipping Manifestos.

Fam, I am about to blow your minds, align your chakras, open your third eyes--because Shigaraki and Ochako is the most slept on ship in the entire BNHA fandom, and if you give me ten minutes like an hour (holy shit, this is long), I can prove it.

Disclaimer: @mistystarshine is the enabler who convinced me to write this but we were both enabled by @ohmytheon’s Reconfigure (on AO3) so you know who’s really responsible.

Spoilers to Chapter 231, watch out.

First off, I know what you’re thinking. Maybe you’re still reading from pure shock. Maybe you’re doubt-reading to get your daily fix of internet skepticism. Maybe you’re waiting for me to say these two characters are meant to be because she wears pink and his hair is blue. Maybe you’re already freaking out about age gaps but like that is what future fics and AUs are actually for!!!

I’m not telling you to give up your IzuOcha or Kacchako. I’m not gonna pry ShigaDabi out of your eager little villain stan hands. But if you’ve never considered multi-shipping, now is the time my friends, because I’m totally serious heartfelt here! I’ve got VALID reasons for shipping Shigako--ten of them, in fact:

1) Midoriya is taken for granted as Uraraka’s love interest--but Shigaraki is incredibly similar to him.

There are reams of meta on the parallels between Midoriya and Shigaraki, with plenty people noting how Horikoshi specifically set the two up as foils to examine similar character development despite their drastically different circumstances. Yet for all the meta pointing out that Shigaraki and Midoriya are basically the same character through a mirror darkly, I’ve never seen anyone bear that thought out to its logical conclusion: there are traits Uraraka admires in Midoriya that are extremely apparent in Shigaraki too.

Multiple times in the manga, Uraraka expresses admiration for Deku’s resolve and refusal to give up. His determination in the face of impossible odds and his sense of dedication to his cause are powerful motivating factors in Ochako’s storyline, and Deku’s behavior--his willingness to charge straight into danger and his unflinching pursuit of his goal to be #1--have basically become the standard to which Uraraka holds herself.

Her crush is literally founded on an appreciation for Midoriya’s drive, earnestness, and constant growth as a person.

But these are all traits that Shigaraki also explicitly possesses. Shigaraki’s unwavering resolve is so strong that even though everyone around him says dream is unattainable... they follow him anyway.

Ujiko flat out tells Shigaraki he’s chasing a pipe dream, but he’s willing to come along for the ride strictly because of how committed Shigaraki is to making that dream a reality. The strength of Tomura’s conviction alone persuaded a collection of the most volatile and difficult personalities in the manga to band together and become found family the most well-known anti-establishment organization in all of Japan.

Shigaraki never, even in the face of overwhelming threat, backs down from a challenge, and he approaches each impossible task with absolutely as much effort, ferocity, and refusal to quit as Deku. He is just as dedicated, just as much of a shounen protagonist main character, and just as willing to push himself above and beyond as Deku.

The traits that motivated Uraraka to become the character she is today, many of the exact same traits that formed her crush on Midoriya, are all there in Shigaraki. In another world, the person who inspired Uraraka to go “Plus Ultra” could be Tomura himself, and if 1) no sense of self-preservation, 2) ZERO CHILL, and 3) dogged obsession are what Uraraka finds attractive, Shigaraki clearly has 'em covered. Oh no, he’s meeting all my standards.

2) Being serious though, Ochako’s role in the plot would be vastly improved by more meaningful interactions with the antagonists, even if just in battle.

I’ve written before about how badly the writing of BNHA treats Ochako, and why her constantly being out-of-focus is a hallmark of the genre’s crippling inability to handle dynamic female characters, but it bears repeating: in her current position in the story, Uraraka’s character has minimal agency. She exists to fill the role of Deku’s love interest (at worst) and an emotional crutch (at best). Again, absolutely no hate on the IzuOcha ship--it’s clearly canon endgame and “wholesome” I guess is what they’re calling it nowadays. But the way IzuOcha’s being written in canon is actually the worst possible thing that could happen to Uraraka’s individual character, because Ochako’s crush on Deku has been given virtually no bearing on the story’s main plot and allows Horikoshi to consistently reduce Uraraka’s personal accomplishments to “inspirations from Deku” (in order to, likely, fulfill young male readers’ fantasy of having a girl fixated on them).

Is Uraraka about to do something cool in the manga? Wait for her comment about being motivated by Deku.

Does Uraraka actually get to see some action and get involved in a fight? Wait for someone to bring up her feelings for Deku.

Is Deku about to have a dramatic clash with the story’s villains to advance the main plotline? Wait for Ochako to entirely vanish (at worst) or get sidelined into a three panel clip where she’ll use the same martial art move she’s been using since like chapter 10 (at best).

If I have to read “Gunhead Martial Arts” one more fucking time... Give Ochako her OWN supermoves goddammit!!

The story of the comic itself continually pushes Ochako out of any position of relevance. She’s not one of UA’s strongest fighters (despite having a quirk that, if applied like ANY of the male characters, has incredible potential), she’s not given half the emotional depth or attention even side characters like Kirishima get, and her backstory lacks the development many of the male characters’ get (I’m looking at you, Todoroki).

As a “good girl,” she isn’t allowed to get her hands dirty like Toga, she isn’t allowed to get as bloodied or ugly as any of the boys, and she can never be allowed to surpass the main male characters in coolness or plot relevance because girls can be “heroes” but they can’t be The Hero™. (I’m literally gagging, guys.)

Which is EXACTLY why a plot involving Shigaraki and Ochako--in ANY capacity, even just a flat out fight against each other!--would actually be a fan-fucking-tastic addition to BNHA.

Skip the token Toga vs. Ochako chick fight where they squabble over who loves Izuku more. Let Toga talk to Izuku as herself for once. Let Uraraka throw down with the League’s leader. At least once, Horikoshi? Just once?

Literally any form of plot that puts Shigaraki and Ochako into contact would mean moving Uraraka into a more central position within the manga’s plot, would boost her screen-time, increase the likelihood of her contributing to the story’s primary conflict, and would give her more to do and emotionally engage with than just repeating the same lines about Deku being amazing on an endless loop. There is untapped character development potential in spades here if Uraraka was given chance to genuinely interact with the other half of the story’s cast!

Give👏 Uraraka👏 something👏 meaningful👏 to do!👏

Putting the story’s foremost female character on out there on the frontlines with the manga’s actual main character antagonist would finally break her out of the mold she’s been forced into by genre stereotypes and set her on an even playing field with the male heroes at last.

A meaningful encounter with Shigaraki could be Ochako’s ticket to being treated respectfully by the story itself (and hell if giving underappreciated characters a real place in the world isn’t Tomura’s freakin’ calling card already).

3) Okay, I know the words “subverting expectations” leave a bad taste in everyone’s mouth nowadays, but there is a huge difference between “throwing inexplicable plot twists at the audience just for shock factor” and “averting stale cliches in an emotionally rewarding manner.” Sure, cliches do exist for a reason, but there are still many instances where actively avoiding a cliche plotline is a great choice. A shounen manga’s token love interest ending up with someone other than the hero--namely with a (reformed) villain--would be an interesting flip on the trite “hero gets the girl” script.

Look, we all know how it goes: Hero clashes with Bad Guy. They duke it out all over Kingdom Come. RIP like fifty square city blocks. The Hero wins, heads home triumphant, sweeps his Princess off her feet, and sails off into the hero rankings sunset. End of the same story we’ve seen a million times. Sometimes it’s done well and the audience is left satisfied. Other times, the heroine involved is reduced to the hero’s reward, less person than wish fulfillment. In either case, tying up a romantic subplot with a hero is the go-to way of resolving female characters’ storylines and, at this point, pretty much a given in manga, even when the romantic subplot is never given the development it deserves, leaving audiences bewildered at how and why the hook-up actually happened.

I’m not saying every comic should “subvert expectations” and cancel its romantic subplot between the hero and heroine, of course not. But I am saying that it would be pretty refreshing to see something else for once.

By virtue of their role, villains don’t usually “get the girl.” Even redeemed villains rarely end up in happy, healthy, well-written relationships. It’s not impossible but it is unlikely that a series’ designated female lead ever wavers in her attentions from the main hero to a new romantic target.

So it would be pretty cool if one did, if the moral of the story’s romantic subplot wasn’t just "token love interest completes painfully shoehorned romantic gestures.” A good romance with a redeemed ex-villain instead of a hero would take a lot more explanation. It would demand, by its very nature, more work on the author’s part to suspend disbelief. The characters would have to develop an entirely different rapport from the normal interactions between designated love interests, and, to a certain extent, strong character growth would be required in order for such a romance to even get started. There’s more moral complexity and conflict to a subplot like this, and a greater sensation of choice--if the heroine doesn’t have to end with the hero by the end of the story, well hey... That means she could end up with just about anyone. Whoa.

Even more so, in the specific case of Shigaraki, who has lived a life of misery and manipulation, the idea that he could come out on the other side, grow as a person, redeem himself, and eventually enter a healthy relationship with someone who isn’t going to hurt him is an idea I find deeply appealing. I think there are a lot of villain stans, myself included, who see parts of themselves in Shigaraki. If a character who has been so severely impacted by abuse can still heal and ultimately end up happy, to me, that’s a far more hopeful and heart-warming conclusion than the alternatives. I did warn you this manifesto would be rose-tinted, didn’t I?

I want storylines that prove that none of us are beyond saving. That people who make bad choices can still change. That romance isn’t a reward for playing the “right” role. That heroines have options. That there are still pleasant surprises to be found in romance plots.

4) But why Shigaraki and Ochako, in particular? It’s not like they have any remotely shared life experiences--

Oops. Friendly reminder: Ochako is the only major character in the manga besides the villains who is overtly described as, I quote, “poorer than poor.” Todoroki, Yaomomo, and Iida can all make it rain; Kaminari, Mina, and Jirou can afford stylish clothes; Kirishima can drop a stupid amount on night vision googles... Even Midoriya, whose father “works overseas,“ can afford plenty of All Might merchandise. One of the popular fandom theories for a while was that Ochako could be U.A.’s traitor specifically because of her desire to help her parents financially, and I think that most readers at this point can discern a clear divide in BNHA’s society: heroes are the “haves” and villains are the “have nots.” To be a hero in this story is to attend a prestigious school, have access to expensive support items, gear, insurance, fame and glory, etc.

Meanwhile, with the exception of All For One, to be a villain in BNHA’s story is to be marginalized, live in unfit conditions, lack access to basic safety and nutritional resources, and struggle to make ends meet. When ability to thrive in a hero-centric society is synonymous with being a good and worthwhile person, anyone who doesn’t just naturally excel in the hero-driven economy is treated as flawed at best and suspect at worst. Poor characters in the story are ignored, and, as demonstrated with people like Twice, left essentially to fend for themselves.

Uraraka’s status as lower income is mostly played for laughs. She’s still a privileged character in that she can attend U.A., receive hero items for free, has a safe place to live, etc. But it is important that the story acknowledges her family’s situation, because her financial status does set her apart from her classmates.

She is less privileged than the others. Being “the poor character” situates Uraraka in the interesting divide between those who couldn’t cope and chose to rebel against hero society instead, versus those who conformed to the hero system in an attempt to improve their situations. In different circumstances, if Uraraka’s family was just even the tiniest bit worse off, we might be seeing a very different character here, one who had to make some much harder choices to keep her family afloat.

Having been in the position of "going without,” Uraraka also has a unique understanding of the “real world” that many of her heroics classmates might lack. She understands what it is like to go hungry, to not be able to afford to keep up with the newest trends, to be constantly anxious about the future--to feel unsuccessful, overlooked, and under constant pressure to perform. As someone who wasn’t raised in the lap of luxury or even really a middle-class home, Uraraka has more insight into--and would likely have more empathy for--the plight of the downtrodden daily criminals of the BNHA world. Just based on her own life experiences, Ochako is more likely than her classmates to recognize how harsh reality can be, and understand the temptations that lead people to make terrible decisions.

This makes Ochako an especially interesting character in terms of her pro hero future. Would she be able to sympathize and reach out to struggling "villains” more effectively than others from her class, who lack her humble background? Would she be able to better see the big picture of BNHA’s society, and the way it actively creates villains from its marginalized populations? Would she be able to look at the League not just as criminals, but also as people who never stood a chance within the confines of a rigged social structure?

Uraraka’s background shifts her closer to the story’s villains than many of the other hero characters, and puts her in a unique place to both empathize and become motivated to change the flawed system that produced people like Shigaraki and the League in the first place.

5) Likewise, Uraraka’s background actually makes her more palatable to Shigaraki than other heroes. At least at the beginning of the comic, Uraraka isn’t shy about admitting that one of her reasons for becoming a hero is to help her parents financially. Ochako’s original motivation for heroism isn’t portrayed as nobly as others’ like Deku--Deku has no ulterior motives for being a hero; he just wants to save people and wouldn’t care about personally benefiting.

Instead, Ochako is presented as someone who (initially) sees heroism as a means to an end. It’s not that she doesn’t want to save people, but that she’s not doing so only for the intrinsic worth... the hefty paycheck that comes from heroism is a big draw.

Over time the manga has shown her shifting away from this (which actually makes her character less unique, unfortunately), but I’m sure it’s still a thought for her, and she’s definitely going to send paychecks to her parents in the future. At the end of the day, heroism is still going to be Uraraka’s ticket to a better lifestyle, even if she’s committed herself to it honestly by the time she leaves U.A.

But it’s this exact form of personal motivation that Shigaraki is much more likely to understand than the “goody-two-shoes” motivations of people like Deku. Multiple times in the comic Shigaraki has expressed confusion with society’s habit of clinging mindlessly to symbols, of their blind faith in the virtues of heroism, and their ability to simply overlook suffering because “surely a hero will do something about it.” Stain’s ideals about “true heroes” go straight past Shigaraki, who seems to hate heroes who are earnest (All Might, I’m talking about All Might) far more than those who are simply faking their way through for fame. 

Shigaraki understands humans who are driven by personal gain. He respects the individual desires of people he cares about. Someone in the hero industry explicitly seeking tangible benefits would likely, to Shigaraki at least, come across as more genuine than someone who claims they have no ulterior motives, and a person who is blunt about their needs and grounded in the reality of BNHA’s world would likely be much more acceptable to Tomura than someone who spews trite lines about peace and justice.

Shigaraki’s feelings for heroes have been irreparably damaged by his conditioning from All For One, but there are certainly some heroes that he would find less loathsome than others. He will probably never understand Deku’s selflessness. All Might’s saccharine symbolism actively infuriates him. But a person who became a hero to put food on the table? To provide for her parents (maybe especially because it is her parents she’s trying to provide for)? That’s at least understandable. If the manga’s future does see Shigaraki redeemed, my thought is that the only type of heroes we’ll ever see him willingly interact with would still be heroes just like Ochako, with more “down to earth” personal motivations. Uraraka, your codename is “If I had to date a hero”...

6) While we’re talking about shared life experiences, there’s another very obvious similarity between Shigaraki and Ochako: neither one of them can touch things with all five fingers.

Cute/fridge horror observation: Shigaraki is even daintier about touching things than Uraraka is; Uraraka usually lifts just her pinkies, but Shigaraki frequently uses as few fingers as possible.

Yeah, yeah, they both have to be dainty and careful with everything they hold. It’d be cute to watch them eat together. They could mutually gripe about the annoyance of video game consoles not designed for four-finger use. More than that though, neither one of them can touch other human beings without the risk of causing death.

Uraraka, as a hero, has the more privileged quirk design (she can turn her quirk off, while Shigaraki can’t) and until recently, the comic was always very careful to portray Uraraka’s quirk in a way that no one was endangered by it. But dropping Zero Gravity into the hands of a villain for a single chapter reveals the truth: Uraraka’s quirk has just as much lethal potential as Shigaraki’s.

Like Shigaraki, Uraraka has to face the reality that her touch alone could jeopardize the safety of anyone she comes into contact with, in her daily life and in her hero work. Drop some debris without looking twice? Just crushed a civilian. Release your quirk without thinking? Now the villain you floated is paste on the sidewalk. Thought that it was safe to float away the building? Oops, you crushed someone still trapped inside. Yikes. In a one-on-one battle, Uraraka is actually at a disadvantage not because her quirk is weak, but the dead opposite--in an outdoor fight, she would have to actively work not to accidentally send people off into outer space.

Having an auto-activate touch quirk means that both Shigaraki and Ochako have to be conscious of every single thing they touch all the time. Both of their quirks require constant bodily awareness, and both come with the lurking knowledge that “My touch causes problems.” Even for Ochako, who would merely be a nuisance if she accidentally floated objects indoors, it’s easy to internalize frustration and negative associations with one’s own body. Every day, Ochako has to be careful with herself in a way that few of her peers do, another factor that sets her apart.

One of the story’s overarching themes is the idea of “self-acceptance” and what it even means to “accept yourself” in a world where (almost) every human being possesses a distinguishing feature, often built into their bodies at the expense of standard human functioning. For people with limited control over their quirks, who can’t choose when the effect activates, a quirk is a constant burden and facet of their identity that entirely re-shapes how they interact with the world. Both Shigaraki and Uraraka face the practicality of having burdensome, even lethal, auto-activate quirks that require constant self-awareness. This is a similarity that, of the major characters, only Shigaraki and Ochako possess so far. (Even other major characters with touch-based quirks like Overhaul appear to be able to choose when to activate their quirks).

The “funny” way Shigaraki and Ochako hold things seems like just a small similarity until you remember the amount of practice and frustration it must have taken to internalize a four-fingered touch. Until you remember that this similarity marks them both as very careful and self-conscious characters. Until you remember that Shigaraki’s got a one-touch instakill... but so does Uraraka Ochako.

7) Okay, similarities are cool and all, but you know what they say: opposites attract. And if we’re talking character motivation, there are no cleaner opposites in the entire series. Shigaraki and Ochako are actually even better emotional foils than Shigaraki and Deku, because Ochako’s central motivation is “Make as many people smile as possible” and Shigaraki’s is, literally, “Make it so no one can ever smile again.”

I know I ragged on it earlier, but now I’m going to use it to my full advantage: as the story evolved and characters grew, Ochako’s “true” motivation to become a hero revealed itself: she feels a deep, intrinsic happiness when witnessing the happiness of others. Her desire as a hero is to spread relief, the sense of security that allows people to go about their days smiling. She literally feels happiest when everyone around her is happy.

Even more so than Deku, this casts Uraraka as Shigaraki’s diametric opposite in the story, because Shigaraki’s entire pipe dream goal also hinges on the smiles of others--and how absolutely much he hates them. Shigaraki’s goal is total world destruction because he just resents the happiness of others that fucking much.

On the surface alone it’s more fascinating than the story will probably ever live up to: Ochako, the heroine who wants to spread smiles; Shigaraki, the villain who wants to destroy them. Even if we’re just talking canon, zero romance involved, that would still be an interesting conflict to explore. The story could cover a lot of deeper ground by drawing the comparison between these two characters more directly. It would definitely validate Uraraka being involved in more major plot events, at the very least.

BUT this was supposed to be about shipping, so of course I can’t leave it there, and leaving it there would only be half the story anyway, because nobody is born hating smiles. Everything we’ve seen of Shigaraki’s past so far indicates that he was a kid with a cute dog, a warm relationship with his sister, and an interest in heroes--i.e., a decent life that probably included his own fair share of smiles. Shigaraki’s hatred and resentment are direct products of the traumatic manipulation he suffered at AFO’s hands. He despises the idea that people around him can smile and act upbeat, even when they objectively know villains are lurking all around them. He is actually sick to his stomach at the idea of people blindly putting their faith in heroes, knowing what he does: that heroes often fail, that there are many people who desperately need to be rescued and are instead overlooked. The world failed Shimura Tenko and then had the nerve to keep on smiling without him.

Other people’s smiles represent nothing but the joy, security, love, and peace that Shigaraki Tomura hasn’t experienced since the day his quirk manifested. The sight of any living thing fills Shigaraki with rage because everything bright and beautiful, everything good and calm and kind and soft and warm, is everything that Shigaraki has lost and believes he will never, ever get to experience again.

Shigaraki doesn’t really hate the pure happy smiles of others; he hates the fact that the world has taken away every single thing he ever had to smile about.

It is my belief that Horikoshi is hinting at a redemption arc for Shigaraki, especially as we see the League become closer allies. But Shigaraki can’t be completely redeemed, can’t be persuaded to give up his world-destruction plan, until he can look at the smiles of others without scorn. Until the bright, upbeat attitudes of heroes other people no longer feel like a personal attack. Until he’s happy enough that the happiness of others no longer hurts. Until the weight is lifted.

And I can’t think of any character more obviously suited to helping lift an immense weight than Uraraka, the zero gravity hero who wants nothing more than to spread smiles.

8) Speaking of lifting weights... Kacchako is a popular ship stemming in large part from Bakugou’s refusal to treat Uraraka with kid gloves. He faces her head-on as a real opponent and views her like any other hero hopeful.

As I’ve said before, this is pretty much the most respectfully the series itself has ever treated Uraraka Ochako, and it caught a lot of attention because it was one of the rare occasions that a female pro hero-in-training was really treated as an equal to the male characters. Kacchako shippers had something awesome to work with.

But... You know who else treats women as equals? (Hell, you know who treats literally everyone as equals, from those with mutant quirks to trans people to those with severe mental health issues?) You can say what you want about Shigaraki’s habit of, you know, mass murder, but in terms of viewing others equally and respecting (okay, let’s be real, it’s probably closer to just ignoring) differences, Tomura is about as open-minded as BNHA characters come. The League is an equal opportunity employer.

Unlike actual hero characters, Shigaraki has never once suggested that Toga is incapable of keeping up with any of the male members of the League, and in fact has entrusted her with many of the League’s most dangerous and crucial missions. He explicitly has faith in her ability and skill.

Toga’s right there in the fight against Gigantomachia and the QLA, as much an equal member of the League as anyone else. In terms of gender equality, the villains seem to be light-years ahead of their hero counterparts, and Shigaraki in particular doesn’t discriminate, among his allies or his opponents either. He’s not a “spare the women and children” kind of guy; every hero and villain challenger is treated with equal violence (and equal snark), whether they’re male, female, a long-time pro or a student in training.

In whatever context--canon opponent, AU ally, or a future romantic interest--Shigaraki would take Ochako just as seriously as Bakugou did. If you like Kacchako because Bakugou doesn’t dismiss Uraraka, that same dynamic would be present in Shigako too.

9) And on the topic of Shigaraki and women... It doesn’t feel accidental that every single female character who ever had love for Shigaraki has been taken away from him. A distinct part of Shigaraki’s storyline is that all positive female role models have been systematically removed from his life. He lost his grandmother, a hero he could have looked up to; he lost his mother, who he now has no memory of; he lost the older sister he clearly held dear... All For One’s control over Tomura has always been total, but this particular detail feels especially insidious: was All For One’s spite for Nana so strong that he delighted in deliberately destroying every single relationship Tenko had with women connected to Nana’s legacy? (Or is AFO perhaps just a raging misogynist? Every single one of his known associates is male and he seemed to despise and mock Nana particularly hard...)

In any case, the point I’m trying to make here is that, even ruling love interests out, Shigaraki’s storyline would be enriched by forging a meaningful connection with a female character like Ochako. Acceptance--maybe even some grudging admiration--for a female hero? A fantastic opportunity to show just how different the “villains” are from the discriminatory society that produced them. Supporting friendship while he’s on the road to recovery? A+ way to diversify interactions between the male and female cast. Send a tough girl to Tartarus to question his motives? Nice chance for tense dialogue and some good old noire-esque foe yay. Hostage situation that takes a turn for the surprisingly cordial? Fun way to explore different dynamics and humanize the villains because hey, they treated the “damsel” to dinner shortbread cookies. My god, Shigaraki could even develop some positive sense of rivalry with a woman, for example! The possibilities are endless if you’re actually willing to give female characters a shot!

Being more serious, Tomura’s life has been dramatically marked by the loss of his female family members, and--at least from what we know so far--his entire youth was spent without the presence of reliable friendships, let alone any form of “love” that wasn’t disturbingly fake. Beyond his fragmented memories, he has no models for healthy relationships, romantic or otherwise.

Letting Shigaraki develop to the point that he could form a mutually positive relationship with a female hero character would be extremely cathartic for me as a reader. I don’t mean “rewarding redemption with a last-minute happy ending romance”--I mean actually getting the opportunity to watch Tomura rediscover what it means to be genuinely loved and realize he has the capacity to give love and be happy in return...

Reaching that level of mutual support and closeness--especially with a female pro hero--would be the biggest “FUCK YOU” that Shigaraki could give to All For One, short of, you know, actually killing him.

Shigaraki Tomura has a critical (and deliberate) lack of healthy connections to women. BNHA, coincidentally, has a criminally under-utilized female lead just twiddling her thumbs over here, waiting for a meaningful plotline to be thrown her way.

Sure, putting AFO in prison is cool and all, but have you considered... crushing his pride and legacy of evil by helping the boy he tortured for years learn to love again? I’m just sayin’!

Uraraka Ochako, snatching Shigaraki right the fuck out of AFO’s hands:

10) Basically what the whole thing boils down to is this: Shigaraki Tomura needs a hero.

Don’t mistake my meaning. A lot of “girl meets bad boy” plots end up amounting to “girl becomes emotionally responsible for fixing bad boy’s issues,” and that’s not what I’m gunning for--Shigaraki has to redeem himself because redemption is only meaningful when it stems from the character’s own inner desire to change; I’m not quite rose-tinted enough to buy into the Love Redeems trope myself. I’m definitely not advocating anyone dump Shigaraki Tomura as he is now into Uraraka Ochako’s lap and expect her to turn him from a beast to a beauty. It’s not an unrelated woman’s responsibility to fix a broken man.

But! From a reader’s perspective, I think we can agree: Shigaraki’s redemption cannot be complete until he learns to believe in real heroes. He doesn’t have to like them. He doesn’t have to support hero society. But he has to be able to look at real heroes like Izuku and Ochako and admit that they are doing what’s right--that society is a better place because they are here. Shigaraki’s path to recovery can’t even begin until he’s capable of at least acknowledging that the world has things worth saving in it.

If Horikoshi moves forward with a redemption arc for Shigaraki, it will probably be Deku who Detroit Smashes the message of truly noble heroes into Shigaraki’s head. That’s his job as the resident Warrior Therapist, I suppose. But you know... to me, it might be even more meaningful if Shigaraki’s hero--if the hand that reaches out to rescue him--isn’t The Hero’s™ but just a hero’s. We all know Deku is selfless and good to the core. As All Might’s perfect successor, he really has nothing to prove. It’s everyone else who is in question. It’s the whole rest of hero society that owes Shigaraki Tomura an explanation for the suffering of people like the League’s members. It’s everyone else who needs to prove they can do better--that in the future, there will be no bloody children left abandoned in back alleyways.

Uraraka Ochako’s conviction is to save people. As a female hero who hasn’t lived a privileged life, she’s uniquely situated to think about those who are most often overlooked. In a world where violence begets violence, where only those with strength and flash excel, what a powerful message it would send for the terrifying antagonist to effectively be rescued by someone the story itself has called “a frail girl.” At the end of the day, heroics isn’t supposed to be about mountain-destroying explosions and mach punches--heroics is supposed to be about heart, about reaching out a gentle helping hand, about spreading smiles to those who need them most.

Tomura’s faith in heroes has been brutally stripped from him, and every part of his conflict is tied up intimately with his misdirected hatred: it wasn’t actually heroes who isolated and hurt him--it was villains. In order to move forward, he will have to come to that horrible realization, deal with that means for himself and his place in the world, and recognize the truth: there are goodness and good people in the world. Selfless heroes, those who wouldn’t turn their backs on a crying child, do exist. There are people, even now, who would extend a kind hand to Shigaraki Tomura and do their best to bring a real smile to his face. Because that’s what’s really going on, after all.

Shimura Tenko is still waiting to be saved.

And I know just the person to do it.

[wilccard]

pain: your muse looks after mine when they have a headache

( cont. from here. )

This is exactly what he expected, and it’s this which somehow makes it worse. Vladimir stares at him, face blank and bordered by light, trying to set his world right again. For a second, one eyebrow twitches slightly at the disease-riddled penguin, because God, what an August thing to say, and God, how he missed him. He verges between bursting into laughter and lashing out. For the span of a second, he teeters over into both of these possibilities, these realms of no return - and then the last sentence comes.

No: he expected this brand of venom. He didn’t expect the wound that comes with it - the wound it comes from. As though the last available defense to mount, the last rule in the book, was biting as hard as you can as you go down. Never August’s way before, was it? But he supposes we all must learn.

“Augustus. I returned because the year was over; now, what I came back to is a whole other matter than what I came back for.”

He doesn’t know where it comes from, this rigid calm in his voice. It’s not religion and it’s not spiritualism; he didn’t meditate his way into it, didn’t have some Western change of heart as he bandaged a ten year old in Tibet. It simply came to him one morning, a flurry of swallows, a large absence he lived with all his life until then. Nothing poured into it, nothing seeped in - the hole itself closed up, evaporated. He spent the next months of his volunteering internship in that fugue state, that bliss, not selflessness, but not self-possession, either - a state where the self is relegated to the background, a stage prop, a spectator. He didn’t think; he didn’t want. If he would’ve thought, he would’ve seen it for the intermittence it was, a temporary boon from whatever God deigned to make him the way he was, to make him this thing that craves, that doubts. He accepted the boon without seeing it, so that by the time the internship ended and he began backpacking through East Asia, he already felt it begin to disintegrate. It slipped through his fingers the moment they turned real again; the moment they touched objects and memory. By the time he crossed the border from the plains into towns and cities, it was almost all gone. Still, traces of it remained. They settled onto him sometimes, like ashes from a bonfire that cleansed something raw a hundred years ago, a thousand years ago - a bonfire that burns and burns and sends its dragonflies of char to reach you. It showed him, beyond any written word and feat of heroics, that the world is neither him nor his. That their world as they know it is just this bunched-up cloak in a vast and unopened wardrobe. He could still call onto this realization at times ( he called onto it quite a bunch of times, actually, the closest thing he’s ever had to a better nature, to an internal voice that did not call for self-annihilation ) like that night he got robbed blind in an alley in Lanzhou. Like that night he sat down with a strange boy in Tokyo, and spoke in ridiculous Japanese, which he still couldn’t learn properly because of how much it reminded him of his father, may the nameless stay nameless. Or tried to speak - to explain, to give a coherent sense to it. Who was it that said the personal never comes into question until it must be relayed to others; until it becomes personal for others? He told that boy, through quick and purposeless kisses, his name is Augustus, no, his name is August and I have no idea how to get back to him, who I’ll be if I do, what he’ll make me into. Stop touching me unless you can tell me how. Stop touching me unless you somehow become him. Like that day he bought a payphone for the first time in months, with a bloody flip and everything, and inserted the scratched SIM card he’d kept in a wallet. Like the deluge of messages on August’s number, ranging from unhinged to waspish to utterly, heartrendingly lovely, August’s sweet, imperious boy-king tone somehow reaching him through the screen. And then his mother’s texts, Rose’s, Roi’s, Snow’s, all the people in his life he somehow wanted to get away from, not to find himself - precisely to leave himself behind, an alchemy of fear. The farce of it. Oh, the farce of it. He told them this on the first day: it’s not goodness that moves me. It’s not others I want to save. I’ll lose my mind, mama, I’ll lose my mind if I spend one more week in this city. He told them, didn’t he? But there’s no way to make people who love you understand: you had to see if there was a world without them. It’s the only thing closest to death I could bear doing. You had to see. You saw.

He’d texted August a long string of messages in return, hating every single one, hating himself for the first time in months. And then, composure somehow restored, pulling the strings of his mind and heart together as though into a braid, he bought tickets home. He also cracked the payphone. The thought of not hearing back was impossible to cope with. The thought of hearing back and being told to stay the fuck off even more so.

That’s the way of primordial calm, isn’t it? Sometimes it just comes to us as cowardice.

He runs both hands through his hair, uprooting the grimy, dust-speckled strands. A physical testimony, his hair must’ve gathered the dust of three continents, mountain crags and steppe and neon airport terminal before it fell here - in this pristine two-storey from a fallen empire. His fingers rest on the tips, tug at them until it sends fire across his scalp. Pain lends clarity - another lesson they both learned.

“You’re in such a state”, he speaks before August can break anything else. “I’ll come see you tomorrow.”

On the other side of the door, his legs slump. He inhales so hard it sends something sparking on the off-center of his vision. His body, whole and entire, gives way into the frame. The door stays open, sweetheart, August’s mother begins to tell him from the corridor, but she stops dead at the sight of his face, his doubled-over position, inches away from kneeling. Perfect manicured fingers, even now, Christ, reach to him into a mauve lanyard. Lifeline. Get up. Come back tomorrow. You have to. You have to.

He follows her to the end of the corridor and picks up his bags. Before he’s fully out into the front lane, he can hear his mother scrambling to reach August’s room and open the door.

                                                                        ——

London is an uncanny valley - he hasn’t registered it on the taxi ride to the central neighborhood, headed to August’s house, when all he did was flip through his airport phone and send customary messages of Safe landing x. The cabby tried to ask him questions about the journey and he had to lie about being motion sick just to stay alone with his fucking thoughts. One thought: how is he, how is he, how is he, how does he look will he want to see me is there someone to see me at all. As the ugly communal blocks morphed into marble columns, into Huxley-esque car gates and alarm systems, he pressed his forehead against the window with small, shallow breaths. Suddenly, feeling close to throwing up was the furthest thing from a lie he’s ever said in this timezone.

He registers it now, though, the strangeness. He tries to hitch another cab from August’s street but nearly runs into the bike lane instead ( daft tosser, comes the scream, which he supposes it’s only fitting enough ). London was never a part of him, and it never went to great pains to give him any sense of belonging, a great and foreign body that rejects the transplant. Even so, he mourns for what he lost - London was the only thing he’d known, and that’s irreplaceable. The unfamiliarity of it batters against him until it’s almost as painful as the visit. Several degrees off, though; he still carries the shards in his body somewhere, so that when he finally reaches his flat he has to cover the wounds from his mum as though he came from Ypres. The bags are heavy, leaden. The strap bites into his shoulder with every step. One of them got lost or nicked at the airport, but he could care less - there’s nothing he could care less about, at that. Whatever he brought as gifts, he still tucked neatly into his cabin bag - they were purchases spaced out over the course of a year, evolving from bizarre memorabilia to enthusiastic keepsakes to dull, compulsory duty-frees in the last run.

His mum is on him in a split-second. She throws her tiny arms around his neck as though happiness made an acrobat out of her - he returns the hug, breathes in the tangerine tint of her hair, tries to keep his knees from buckling.

Dorogaya mama, ostanovit’! He laughs, and it’s not familiar to his ears, it won’t be to hers either, but he pulls her closer, diverts the moment. Stop it, you’re going to make me fall over. He seats the bags down, gently, begins to speak about his journey over whatever she’s saying to him, his leveled voice leveling hers down in turn. Vladimir thinks, well, if he speaks quick enough, expansive enough, he can drown out her questions, her exclamations, her prodding which will only serve to lay him open - touch one seam and everything will spill out.

“Look, I have to wash my hands, I’ve been in more cabs in the last hour than in my entire life. Dropped in to August’s for a moment on my way here—”

Her touches slow down, brought to a half - she only moves one hand to cup his cheek, a perfect, eerie stillness descending. “You went straight there. You landed and you went to see him”, she says. Not a question anymore. “Oh, Vladya. Malchik, malchik.”

“Yeah.” He’s at the sink, zipping through the small living room. “Yeah.” He scrubs in between his fingers, lathers everything with so much soap it stings his skin. His own nails scrape against it, back and forth, and is this fucking sink broken, because Vladimir feels water splattering him from somewhere. It’s one more minute until he realizes he’s crying. His mother lays an arm around him, and it’s then it turns into great, racking sobs, sounds that leave him gasping and grasping for air. They can’t be drowned by the tap. He still turns it higher.

                                                                         ——

He’s there the next morning. He hasn’t slept, not really, and he’d like to blame the jet lag but he knows that doesn’t cover it, not fully. He hasn’t eaten, either - he nitpicked at some stew his mother put together, long enough so that she won’t begin to sob, and then he thought of how everything gets to her so intensely and how he’s all she has and how can he carry all this love, this burden she breathed into him? If he came home from Nepal injured, sick? If he didn’t come home at all? If, and this was the scar, this was the boiling wound, he was the addict? And then a mudslide of rage went through him, over him at the thought that sure, it suits August just fine to up and do this, with a fucking family tree serving at his heel, some bloody Bilbo Baggins genealogy ready to nurse him into health. And then guilt, opening up in patches like craters in the earth. Sickness at thinking this without believing it; at believing it without thinking it. So he just pushed the bowl away and went to lie down.

But he’s there. A part of him is shocked at it. He thought ( it wasn’t until the last second that he admits this, until he rings the doorbell and waits for the grand mansion to open, and there is no way to back off, no way to slip into the comfortable hide of the coward and the runaway ) that he might not show up. That he was at the crossroads of it, as he’d been with everything else, as he’d been since birth or conception or whatever design cut him out like this.

But then Mrs. Sutherland opens, and her smile is August’s smile, and her eyes are August’s eyes, and Vladimir realizes something infinitely more terrifying: he would’ve come here anyway. He would’ve come to him always. In any timeline, in any scenario, in any of the horrific universes he thought up, and which are still not out of the question. He would’ve been at this door day and night.

His room is just as still as it was yesterday. This time, he comes prepared: a pail of water, lukewarm, a set of blades, shaving foam. He wanted the blades there, insisted on it; nearly came to blows with Valeria over the fact. I trust him with his own life as much as I trust him with mine, Valeria. I know who he is.

He brandishes them like weapons, or reliquaries, or whatever you carry when you go to meet a saint turned feral, a messiah fallen.

August rolls his eyes at him, or perhaps he imagines it. “Please, would you not? I have an awful headache.” Vladimir would call bullshit, and he almost does, but then he sees the way his friend winces at the slightest sound of him closing the door a little too hard. He also smells, through the antiseptic and 300-quid cleaning supplies, the faint traces of vomit, the blade-point acid of it. He’s worked hospitals, he’s worked bars - he knows how to tell it apart.

“Frankly, my dear”, is all he says, “I would be surprised if you didn’t.” He tries to keep his voice low - the words are equal parts cheer and restraint, modulated to fit the shut-blinds darkness. Through the drapes and valences, tendrils of morning sun reach Vladimir’s tense body, and August’s curled form on the bed. It paints gold-leafs over both of them.

He takes his shoes off, leaves them at the door. He rolls up the sleeve of his shirt, a worn-down thing he hasn’t worn since sixth form, and approaches the bed. He settles down on one knee onto the mattress, fully behind the other, water pail balanced carefully next to his thigh. “Up you go.” He can feel August readying his forces to hiss a barbed remark, can feel it in the tight coiling of the other's body rather than through any sound. Like a small, wounded animal, a former predator shunned to the edges of his own kingdom—his own mind.

“Shut up”, Vladimir intercepts him. He wants to say, is on the cusp of it: listen to me or I’ll give you the fistfight you’re itching to have, but then he reckons August has half a mind to take him up on the offer. And how will he ever explain that to their mothers? “Sit up and scoot closer to me, eyes to the wall. I’m either the one doing this or your mom is.”

Somehow, August obeys; whatever he read in Vladimir’s voice, he recognized it for what it was. Not power, not as they were both taught to define it, but deeper and darker than that - a force that precedes the names men gave to power.

He sinks his hands in the water, and, gently, lays them on August’s temples. He doesn’t think that this is the first time touching him in over a year. Doesn’t think that all the people he’s touched, all the people he felt, were just stepping stones until this moment, less than placeholders, less than even tokens or symbols for this moment, this warmth, this boy. He doesn’t think - maybe that’s the only thing it was, that calm, that ancient and bloodless acceptance. Just the ability to finally quiet your mind.

In circling motions, pressing just hard enough, he massages a line across the crown. Starting from the forehead, his touches advance, moving in half-moons until his hands meet at the nape of his neck once more. He lays two fingers into each side: the junction of nerve and vein. And then he presses it until he can feel the tension jolting back, can feel it roping and fluttering and then easing at last. He shudders under the other’s pulse - August shudders in turn. A sound escapes from August, broken, unwound. It crashes into the silence, a heat source, the proof of a taming, and splits it into pieces. Vladimir, too, sees it for what it is.

He takes off August’s sweater, pulls it over his head with care. Underneath, the bones of his spine poke out like knolls in the grass, like the grave-mounds of dead kings. He presses his lips to the first one, then the second, then the third. Against his cheek, the boy’s skin is feverish warm. It’s sickly, yes, it relays a tight-called battle, a losing or a winning, with both at painful, inestimable costs. A pain he’ll have no way of knowing, no words to ask about. There’s no mistake about it. Not even the rising ebb of desire can stave that understanding off, and it scares him so much his breath catches. But beneath the bones, beneath the shakiness of it, August’s heart is still loud enough to rattle the very stars. Vladimir presses his ear to it. thank god thank god thank god thank god.

They can work their way back from this. It’s there. Everything that needs to be is there.

“I'm going to say this once, and one time only.” He murmurs, soft, dazed. He can hardly feel his lips moving, still tenderly ghosting against August’s back. Not planting kisses - not appraising scars, either. Let me finish, his breath says, half caress and half vigil over the skin.

“This shit? It's not on me, and I refuse to carry it. If I did... August, love, if I pick this up, if you make me pick this up and claim it, it’s over for us. Not because I want it to be, not because it should be. But because there’s no other way. I never learned to love my way through guilt, and you deserve more than someone who comes to you as to a flame they have to shelter. A lonely artifact they’re responsible for.” At their side, Vladimir’s hand roams over the tangled bed-sheets, still warm with water, and seeks August’s fingers. The same quiet desperation of dorm nights and summer camps. He wills his voice not to break, and if he can touch him, if he touches him back, he will manage it. He will manage everything.

“ So... no. This is not on me. And you have to understand that. But the rest of it - what led to this, ultimately, but what could’ve led to a million other places - is on me. I should've come sooner. Stayed in touch. Should have explained to you that me leaving was never… meant to be permanent. That it never could be. There is nothing else but this - not because we’re doomed, or we doomed ourselves, but because I choose it. Or perhaps I don’t, okay, perhaps a thousand centuries made this choice for me, but what difference does it make? If everything is timeless and you’re the only thing I want? Does it matter if the purpose comes from inside out or from outside in? It’s you, August, it’s always been you.”

Someone is gasping for air. It could be both - knowing them, it probably is. Outside the window, the sun turns mellow, half-burnt, half on its way to a great and glorious grave.

“Turn around. Turn to me.”

August does.

[dollsorwhatever]

Disney Bloodbath

Today was a very, very exhausting day lmfao  Long semi-interesting doll story and pictures of the new LE Ariel under the cut!

I stayed up all night waiting for Disney Store to list the new Limited Edition Ariel doll online, which usually happens at midnight PST (3am my time), but she never showed up lmfao. I guess they’ve recently changed the launch time to 7am PST (10am my time) for the newer dolls, but rather than risking the chance of losing her online (and worried about defects) I decided I didn’t need to sleep and instead would go to the mall at seven AM with my mom, wait for them to open the doors, and then sit outside of the Disney Store until they opened at ten. So... three hours of literally standing there doing basically nothing but waiting for Disney to open the door lmfao.  I actually snuck into the mall through the service entrance but was caught by security, and they had me wait outside of the mall until they actually opened the doors, then I could go wait at DS until they opened lol I’d never actually purchased an LE doll directly from a Disney Store location so I was really confused about how to do everything, but the 3 people waiting with me were pretty helpful-basically you go to the front of the closed-up Disney Store and line up, then once the store opens the employee will tell you what they have in stock and then give each person a ticket, reserving their items for them (starting at the front of the line, so first come first serve), and then you just go to the register once the store opens, give them the ticket and they sell you the doll. Apparently it’s sometimes different for Designer Dolls (they’ve done right-to-buy lotteries a few times) but the ticket system is always done with the 17′‘ dolls.  Ofc I didn’t know about the line thing until after two people had already started the line, putting me in third place and...wow, what luck lmfao.  Lady finally comes out after two hours of standing at the entrance to tell us how many they have of each doll. They had two Vanessa dolls, and the two people in front of me just happened to want her as well lol so I was fucked with Vanessa (they only made 2000 of her, half of which were for Europe, meaning the US only got 1000 dolls for the entire country-yikes), but they had eight Ariel dolls and one was reserved for me (I almost had my mom get another one for me too but I didn’t want to be greedy, there were like ten other people behind us by the time the store opened) I was a little sad about Vanessa, but I only decided I wanted her, like, yesterday, so I wasn’t invested in her enough yet to really care so I laughed it off and took my Ariel. Plus I already had a list of other dolls I wanted from the DS so I knew I’d end up with a pretty good haul lol. I’ve decided to just pay the scalper prices for Vanessa for Christmas since I really do want her, but she can wait! After picking and purchasing my Ariel I decided to go with the new Ariel and Her Sisters mini doll set because they’re soooo well designed and detailed, and I have a huge thing for both mini dolls and mermaids. Also I still regret never getting the Wreck it Ralph Princess set when ti wasn’t 300$ and figured this would soften the blow lol And then I looked around at the Animators dolls, since I had Moana and the new Rapunzel and Ariel dolls on my list, but Ariel looked crosseyed in person and all of the Rapunzels had really thin hair, so I passed on them and went with something else that I’d been eyeing for a little bit.  Don’t laugh at me it’s SUCH a silly purchase lol

Baby Rapunzel!! Okay, it’s not really that dumb, because she’s fucking adorable but I really have no use for a literal baby doll and a crib, logically speaking lol. But I’ve wanted a doll of this scene since Tangled had first come out, and this is the best baby Rapunzel ever done. Look at her lively little face! And her thick shiny hair!! The detailed little crib! UGH she’s even cuter than in the movie. HER EARS ARE BLUSHED TOO OMG

Oh also she was 80$ so...yeah SILLY My only disappointment with her is that she’s like a baby doll baby doll, like her body is plush with a vinyl head, arms and legs, when I assumed she was all vinyl. Kind of weird and makes it really hard to style her hair when she’s flopping around, but she’s fucking adorable sooooo idgaf But back to the doll that has now deprived me of 42 hours of sleep, Ariel!

I love her so much, I’ve been impatiently waiting for Disney to replace her old 17′’ head sculpt with something new, with a new screening, and they finally delivered this year! I took like, two pictures of her freshly deboxed and mint before I did my usual blasphemy and stripped her down for some hair styling:

Miss Fish, who do you think you are, coming into MY HOUSE with crunchy ass hair like that?? Some tidbits about her outfit- the jewelry is all metal, you need to remove her hands to get off the (gorgeous) bracelets, and the halter on her bra doesn’t have a clasp- I had to undo the chain to remove it, but the connector rings are pretty large so it was easy as hell and I put it right back together once I took it off. The back of the actual bra fastens with velcro, though.  And the flower ornament? demonic. It has strings of pearls hanging down, done with clear thread to make the pearls look like they’re just stuck in her hair I guess. Whatever, it was tied into her hair in several sections and I literally pulled off all of the pearls to remove it, and I’m gonna add a clip to the flower to use on it’s own. They also did some tweaks to the 17′’ body, though I’m not sure when this happened- the elbows have improved articulation as a result of them shaving off the back of the elbows a little more, making them less like Barbie Fashionista arms and more like Pivotal or FR arms. I’ve also noticed this change on the 12′’ dolls, so that’s great.  The upper leg joints look slightly different too, but Idk if that’ss my imagination. I haven’t tried to make her sit so I truly don’t know.  And I really really need to talk about these HANDS. They’re so beautiful. Gone are the ugly graceless hands of the old dolls, say hello to these beautifully sculpted hands (though Vanessa still annoyingly has the old hands lol):

Now all they need to do is get rid of those HIDEOUS hinged knees, replace them with pivotal knees and give the body some better feet- I hate the articulated feet on this body, they’re MINISCULE and have the ugliest shape. Please Disney save the lower half of this body!! After about five seconds of enjoying her stock look, I stripped her down and washed her hair:

I really need to know how they made her hair so crinkly and frizzy, because the natural texture is clearly a smooth, soft wave. I don’t know if this makes me a fake fan, but I actually despise Ariel’s bangs, especially on dolls. They’re IMPOSSIBLE to keep organized, especially with nylon hair, and I wish they left it all long instead of doing the bangs.  Luckily, they actually do look pretty nice on this doll and I’m certain I can make them look good even when they’re dry.  This is how she’s looking right now, while I’m letting her hair dry. Will likely flat iron it some but I’m really shocked and pleased with how nicely it washed out:

And once again showing off those stunning hands. I love them so much.  I’m tired, I’m hungry and I am very broke now, but I’m very happy and proud of myself for pushing so hard to get this doll and the adorable baby Rapunzel, along with the Ariel And Her Sisters set.   Definitely need one of the Vanessa dolls next month, and perhaps even the D23 Ariel because I hate myself lol.  Hope ya’ll enjoyed the longest post in the history of mankind!

[puckinghell]

Please (don’t) say you love me | Auston Matthews

Plot: Those three little words might be the scariest of all Word count: 1.6k Note: I don’t even really like this myself but I’m gonna post it anyway. Based on a Gabriella Aplin song that I’m obsessed with. Also, why can’t I ever seem to write anything but angst for Auston? 

You didn’t say it back.

Instead, you said: “Please don’t say that.”

You knew your words had hit him harder than anyone on the ice ever had, saw your words cut through him like a knife, saw his face fall as he stuttered: “Say what?”

The situation had gotten out of hand so quick. Auston had a busy week and so you’d decided to cook him some dinner after practice. You’d let yourself in with the key that he hit under the mat (no matter how many times you’d told him that anyone would know to look under the mat), brought your own groceries because lord knew he wouldn’t have anything in his fridge, and then you’d started on your mom’s lasagne recipe.

If only you’d realized his oven was a little bit different from yours, and you’d accidentally put it on grill. When he finally came home, after a long day, he came home to his kitchen filled with smoke.

“I tried to cook,” you’d pouted, “but I burned it and now it smells like fire in here.”

He’d simply chuckled and kissed your forehead. “You’re lucky I love you,” he’d mumbled, and that’s when it had all gone to shit.

It wasn’t that you didn’t care about him. In fact, he was the first guy you dated that you could actually see a future with. That you believed in a future with. But the past had left you scarred and many bad experiences had taught you to fear that belief, fear that feeling of comfort and warmth and, well, love.

Love absolutely terrified you.

It didn’t mean that your heart didn’t skip when he looked at you, it was just that things were going great between you without that pressure, and why would you want to change that?

Why did he have to change that?

And now he was looking at you with confusion in his dark eyes, eyebrows knit together. He didn’t look mad, he looked hurt. And that was so much worse.

“Just, please don’t say you love me,” you said, your voice small.

“I didn’t… I… Oh.” Realization dawned on Auston’s face. He hadn’t even realized he’d said it, those words he knew you were so scared of hearing. It had just slipped out, as he’d known was only a matter of time. When someone felt the way he felt about you, it was simply impossible to keep it to yourself.

He’d tried so hard, had listened to your stories about your past, about how your parents had never loved each other, even though they said it every day, about how your ex had broken up with you only a few nights after he first told you those three little words. He’d listened and he’d understood, back then, that it was going to take a lot for you to open yourself up to him like that. But you’d been dating for months and how was he supposed to hide his feelings for you? Hide how his heart fluttered when you laughed, how warmth spread through his stomach when he touched you, how his mind seemed to be focused on you 24/7?

“I would apologize,” he said, his voice tight, “but I shouldn’t have to apologize for loving my girlfriend.”

There was that word again. Your stomach clenched and it felt like your heart had made its way to your throat.

“Auston…”

“No, you know what?” Auston interrupted, and now he was angry. Angry and hurt. “This is ridiculous.” He turned around and stalked through the kitchen, to the hallway. You followed him, but didn’t speak. Anything you would say would make it worse, right now.

Tears were welling up in your eyes. You didn’t want to hurt him, never wanted to hurt him. But at the same time, every fiber in your being was screaming at you that in the end, you’d be the one to get hurt.

“I know you don’t want to hear it,” he growled, while yanking his coat off the coat rack, “but it’s how I feel, and I feel like I’m lying to you every time I stop myself from telling you. So you can decide what you want to do with this, you can decide if you want to run. But, Y/N, I love you. And I’m all in here.” He paused. “Are you?”

Tears spilled over your cheeks as the door slammed behind him.

You went home crying that night, and didn’t sleep for even a minute. Your mind kept wandering to Auston. Would he be home yet? Was he sleeping? Did he hate you?

You wouldn’t blame him if he did.

You thought about everything that had happened to you before you met him, thought about those three little words. I love you. Such a short sentence, took not even two seconds to say it, and yet it changed everything.

But did it?

All you knew was that last time, you’d rushed in, rushed in like a fool, jumped in head first ignoring all the warning signs your gut was throwing your way, and you got burned.

And this time, this time it was even more scary. Cause with Auston, it was something that you’d never felt before. This time, you felt like maybe, it could be the real thing. So if you rushed in again, would you force the same ending?

Maybe Auston didn’t even want to see you anymore. Maybe by not saying it back, you’d already forced your own ending. You weren’t so sure if that hurt any less.

You went on autopilot when your alarm clock finally rang; didn’t register the taste of breakfast or the clothes you picked out, didn’t remember how you got to work or how you managed to get through the day. All you knew was that every time you checked your phone, you were met with the same empty lock screen.

No messages.  

It was nearly 4 pm when your phone pinged. You reached for it so quick you nearly knocked over your colleague’s coffee cup. She huffed in annoyance, but you didn’t even hear her. However, the text wasn’t from Auston. Instead, it was from Mitch.

Is Matts with you? He didn’t show up for practice

It was like all the blood in your veins ran cold. Auston would never voluntarily miss practice, no matter what was going on between you two. He’d gone to practice with a high fever, he’d go to practice with a broken heart.

You texted Mitch back, that you didn’t know where he was but that you would go check his apartment. Your shift didn’t end until 6, but you couldn’t force yourself to care, as you ran to your car.

If Auston skipped practice, something was seriously wrong.

You reached his apartment in record speed; you might be expecting a speeding ticket, but it was worth it. However, when you lifted the mat, there was no key there. That’s when you remembered. You’d left it inside his apartment yesterday.

You banged on the door, rang the doorbell, begged him to open up, but were met with nothing. No sound, no movement, and finally, you accepted that he wasn’t home.

A million scenarios running through your head, ranging from bad to worse, you sank down against the door of his apartment, sitting on the floor. You hid your face in your hands as you tried to swallow away the lump in your throat.

It didn’t happen to you often, but at that moment, you had absolutely no idea what to do. As far as you knew, your boyfriend was dead in a ditch somewhere, and the last thing you’d ever told him was to stop loving you. Well, to stop saying that he loved you, but wasn’t that kind of the same thing?

“Y/N?”

It took a few seconds for your brain to register the familiar voice, to connect the dots and understand the implications, but then your head snapped up.

“Aus.” It came out more as a whimper as suddenly, it was impossible to stop the tears from falling, and you jumped up and catapulted yourself towards him, momentarily forgetting all about the past 24 hours. Auston caught you, wrapped his arms around you as he pulled you close, letting you bury your face in his shirt.

“Shh, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked. And you almost laughed. Instead, you cried more. He didn’t let go of you, just softly moved you towards his front door. You heard the click of the key in the lock but didn’t see it, your nose still pressed against his neck, his heartbeat against your chest. He was there, he was fine, and that’s all that mattered.

You were maneuvered inside and the door shut behind you, and then Auston just held you.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, “I’m here.”

When you finally calmed down enough, you pulled away. “You missed practice.”

It was a silly way to explain your mental breakdown, but as always, Auston knew exactly what you meant.

“I overslept, forgot to set my alarm. When I woke up practice was half over, so I just went on a run instead.” He motioned to the workout gear he was currently wearing. “I already texted Mitchy. Did he send you?”

“Not really, he just said you weren’t there, and I was worried.” You sighed, reaching forward to take his hands in yours. You half expected him to pull them away, half expected him to tell you to just get out, but he didn’t. Instead, he squeezed your hands.

You pulled your lip between your teeth, your heart hammering in your chest.

“Aus, I’m so sorry about yesterday.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to say sorry. I knew you weren’t ready for that. I shouldn’t have pushed it.” He looked at you, studied your face, as if he was looking for signs that he was crossing the line, going too far again, as he continued. “I know you care about me. That’s all I need to know.”

And you knew that was true; you cared, you cared so much that the thought of him being hurt had sent you into a crazy fit.

The thing was, when you cared that much, if anything went wrong, it was going to hurt anyway. It didn’t matter whether those words had been spoken, you were already there, already in the territory of hurt.

And that realization washed a wave of relief over you like no other.

“What are you thinking about?” Auston asked, and you only now saw that he was nervous.

“That I’m so stupid,” you answered, and his grip on you tightened.

“You’re not stupid.”

“But I am. Aus, if this ends between us, it’s going to hurt like hell.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I know that.”

“But I didn’t. I thought if only I didn’t say those words, it meant I didn’t feel it. But that’s not how that works. I can say it, or not say it, but it doesn’t change the truth, and it doesn’t change the outcome.”

With your words, he started to understand where you were going, and a careful smile appeared on his face.

“That’s true.” He paused. “Are you still scared?”

“Terrified,” you admitted. “You?”

“Yeah, me too.”  

You took a deep breath, leaned in a bit closer. “Say it again.”

“Say what again?” There was a teasing edge to his voice now, but you ignored it.

“Please say you love me.” The vulnerability was clear in your voice and it made Auston want to wrap you up in his arms and never let go, never let anything hurt you, never let anything made you feel that insecure about love again. Instead, he pressed his lips against your cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered against your skin.

Your heart jumped, but you ignored it. Instead, you reached for his cheek, turning his face so he was looking right at you.

“I love you too.”

[hanniiesuckle17]

Bend Over Backwards

A/n: not requested but I recently was watching old cirque videos and thought of a cute idea so here ya go my lovelies.

Member: Seo Changbin ft. StrayKids

WARNINGS: Partial nudity, swearing, uwuing Binnie

Summary: You started dating Changbin six months ago and he recently started staying over at your place. You haven't been exactly open about your job with him as it can be a little intimidating. All he knows is that you are a performer as well and are always home later than him........which says a whole fucking lot and that you come home with glitter in your hair sometimes. What happens when he starts to ask questions?

GENRE: Acrobat! au Reader, Cirque de Soleil!reader

I could tell I made Changbin nervous. But nervous in a good way. (OMG SHE IS SO PRECIOUS AND HOT AND UWU LITERALLY ALL THE FREAKING TIME MATROSHYKA WHAT?)

But, lately he was anxious for another reason. It was the eighth night in a row you saw his shoes by your front door. At this point he was probably only dating me because my apartment was closer to the studio than the dorms. My watch read 3 AM. All the lights were off so I knew he was in bed already. I knew he would abuse it if I gave him a key. (Though I didn't think it would be this way.)

I took off my shoes and changed into one of Bin's big fluffy shirts. I climbed into bed with him and started to fall asleep until he instinctively pulled me into his chest. "Five." He mumbled. I hummed back in question.

"This is the fifth time you've come home late and with glitter in your hair and on your face." He stroked a piece off my cheek sleepily and held it up for me. "Is there something I need to know, Y/n?"

When I stayed quiet he sat up in bed and turned on the light on the bedside table. "I'm not dating a stripper right....I mean not that I would mind- I mean I would mind-but that's not the point." I sat up tiredly holding his face in my hands. "No. I'm not a stripper." Laying back down, I tried to go back to sleep.

"So, what do you do?" I gave Changbin a look and he just shrugged his shoulders cutely. "Bin we talked about this! I'm a performer that's all you need to know." He didn't look satisfied.

"What I WANT to know more? Why don't you want to tell me?" Frustrated, I sat up looking tiredly into his eyes. "It's intimidating, okay! The work hours are long and rigorous and my shows are a little intimidating to someone seeing it the first time."

He started playing with my fingers, which he knew calmed me down a little, before looking back up at me.

"Yeah, but what do you do?"

"You are impossible."

"Thanks."

"Not a compliment, Bin."

"Y/n! Just tell me what you do already!"

"Fine! You can come to my show this weekend. I have a couple extra tickets. Now can we please go to sleep?" I pleaded pulling on his sleeve. With a big smile he nodded pulled me back down into his chest. There was a moment of silence as he stroked my hair lulling me back to sleep.

"You being a stripper would make sex make so much more sense." There was silence after I slapped his shoulder, quite hard I might add.

I didn't hear a word about my job from Changbin for the rest of the week. Which was surprising. He didn't even say anything when I climbed into bed at 4 AM. He just kissed my forehead and went back to sleep.

Saturday had finally rolled around and Changbin and the rest of the boys had taken the day off. He insisted I get more tickets for them the day before. What he didn't realize is that we technically sold out tickets three weeks ago. I managed to scramble together seven other tickets and gave them to him before I left that morning.

Placing a soft kiss on my lips he ushered me out the door. "Go! Go! I want you to do you best today!" Changbin said essentially shoving me down the hall to the elevator. Laughing, I waved goodbye to him and then headed off to the stadium my show was performing in. Cast members greeted me with smiles and kisses on the cheek and I dropped my stuff on backstage before going out and stretching thoroughly.

Lifts and rigging were being hauled up into the ceiling for safety check and in a couple hours our large cast would go into costume and makeup.

House lights had been down for at least an hour and the show was about half way done. I stood backstage in the wings prepping for my act which came on shortly. I stood in my flesh colored bodysuit which sparkled at certain angles in the light. The harsh lines of the makeup accentuated my facial structure in the show's desired aesthetic. I climbed the stairs quietly up to the cat walk where my friend held my silks for me. Briefly stretching my head, ankles, and neck before he helped me into the starting position wrapped in the bright red fabrics.

He counted me down before moving the silks away from the catwalk so that I was hanging above the stage itself almost completely upside down. This was my favorite part. No one in the audience could see me yet, but I could see everything from up here. I loved the feeling of my muscles working to hold my body up with the help of the soft fabric.

Soon my cue came on and I was slowly lowered on stage. I was ready to perform.

START CLIP AT 3:52

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The feeling of only my body being in control was thrilling and the fact that millions of eye were watching only added to the rush. This was what I lived for. To perform. Slowly my feet lowered to the ground and my heartbeat began to climb down from its high. The applause was deafening as I left the stage.

Once in the wings, I was handed water and rushed to change into my next costume for the aerial bar act. The shoe proceeded as normal and soon it was finished. The cast came out and did curtain call and then I could go and remove all of the harsh makeup. Looking down at my phone I saw multiple notifications. One from Dispatch news with a picture of the boys walking into the show. The others were texts from the boys who were completely shocked. It brought a smile to my face and I quickly removed the rest of the stage makeup.

Waving goodbye to my friends as they left I raced back out onstage. I searched for the boys who said they would wait for me and so that they wouldn't get more pictures. The stadium was empty though as I stood center stage. The feeling was weird since I was always up in the air.

Suddenly, I heard applause coming from the aisles. I squinted to see the familiar form of my boyfriend walking towards me. Laughing, I climbed off the stage and ran to him. His embrace felt better than any rush from the stage ever could. Changbin spun me around telling me how proud he was.

"You aren't intimidated?" He shook his head with a laugh, pulling away from me. "What? No! This is so cool!" He swung out hands back and forth a huge smile on his cute face. "Your everyday office is fifty feet in the air! That's so cool!" "Sixty actually but whose counting." He wrapped me in another hug planting kisses all around my face.

"So.....you want to try it?" I said motioning my head to the stage. Before crew left they had set up for the first act which was multi trapeze. "Is it safe? I thought everybody left?" I nodded pulling him to the stage. "It's safe as long as you're with me, babe."

He looked up warily at the high bars. "First, while you look very handsome in your blazer, that has to come off. Loose fabric could get caught in the rigging." I started playfully unbuttoning his shirt. "Y/n, if you wanted me to strip just ask." He retorted with a smirk.

"Come on then. Hurry up." I called over my shoulder as I climbed the ladder up to the highest platform. Soon, I heard him coming up behind me. I turned to see him clutching the small railing we had on the pole. "You afraid of heights, Bin?" I stroked his cheek which calmed him down a little bit. "Not usually." He looked down and his eyes went wide.

"Isn't there supposed to be a net!" I laughed seeing him panic. "This is Cirque. We live without nets to catch us." I jumped off the platform grabbing a farther out bar at the last moment before swinging to the other platform and landing gracefully. "Y/N I'M GOING TO DIE!"

Changbin now clung to the pole like a koala bear. "It's fine! You see down there? Those are trampolines embedded in the floor! It's how we do most of our stunts! If you fall they'll catch you!"

Pointing the the lighter black strips on the floor that were strategically placed on the stage. "MY GIRLFRIEND IS TRYING TO KILL ME!" Bursting out laughing I tried to catch my breath. I swung back out and positioned myself so I was hanging from the bar by my legs.

"Just grip the bar and don't let go. Push off from the platform!" Motioning with my hands, I tried to slowly usher Bin to the trapeze. Hesistantly he gripped the bar until his knuckles went white. "One." I counted. "Two." He said with an inhale. "Three!"

Screaming he pushed off from the platform and swung through the air. "Look at you! You're doing it.....sort of!" His legs were flailing in the air like a cartoon character. "You wanna try something else?" Hesistantly he nodded. Moving my torso I made it so out swings matched up. "On the count of three I want you to let go okay!"

"Y/N YOU ARE THE MOST INSANE BITCH EVER!" I laughed and kept the motion going. "You love me though."

"Yes."

"You trust me?"

"NOT AT THE MOMENT!"

"Trust me, Binnie. I won't let you fall."

He nodded and took a deep breath. On the count of three he let go and shut his eyes screaming in the process. He stopped when he felt my hands latch onto his wrists holding him up. He looked up at me and smiled. I talked him through how to reach the bar and I pushed myself up to balance on the small thing. Changbin sat on the trapeze gripping the rope for dear life while I stood next to him.

Moving to sit one leg on either side of the trapeze I looked over at him. "Thank you for coming." The motion of the bar blew his hair out of his face slightly. He seemed less scared and had a smile on his face now. "I wouldn't have missed it for the world." He gave me the largest smile I had ever seen. True happiness and love could be seen in his eyes. My hand came to his cheek and brought him into a kiss.

To be honest, kissing Changbin had always been my favorite thing. But, I would always remember this one, when he shared something I loved with me. I couldn't have been happier. We both smiled into the kiss and it felt even more that we were the only ones in the entire space.

He pulled away with a smile and the looked around the stadium. "I love you." He turned his head at my voice. We had said it jokingly before, but something about this time made it different. "I love you. More than anything in this world. More than anyone had ever loved before." He always had a way with words, but Changbin never failed to make me feel this way. We sat together for a moment, enjoying the sway of the bar and each others company.

"So.....how do we get down?" "We jump."

"Y/N!!! ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?"