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snezfics-n-shit · 1 year

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yhnrmt - 3 boyfriends 0 braincells

First I want to thank @fluziska for being my rubber duck and putting up with me, I couldn't have shaped the antics of these three without their help.

Lar.ry returns from touring overseas. Mil.es has too much pride and Pho.eni.x accidentally enables him. Gu.msh.oe is a real pal. This story of sorts went through so many rewrites I cannot stress this enough.

Larry had a habit of not telling his boyfriends when he’d be back in the country. He liked to surprise them as much as possible, even if it meant walking in on the two being intimate. He’s seen worse, he reasoned. Besides, what better time to surprise the couple than after a year in Europe? It’s not like Miles hadn’t done the exact same thing. Sure, that was prompted by a call Larry made, but other than that, it was the same.

Without thinking about how he would announce his return, Larry enthusiastically unlocked the front door and was greeted not by a human, but a large, very fluffy, white dog.

“Pess!” He cheered, happily accepting the dog’s wet kisses on his cheeks. What a lovebug she was!

“It’s a good thing you’re not a burglar, Larry.” Phoenix observed as he stepped into the living room to spot him. “I wish you would’ve told us you were coming back so soon. We haven’t had time to straighten up the house.”

“A little surprise never hurt anyone, has it? Besides, I’m perfectly capable of cleaning up if you need me to.” Larry stood up straight with a final good pet on the top of Pess’s head. “So,” he cleared his throat, “what have you guys been up to while I was gone? It’s actually been pretty lonely at Franzy and her wife’s place. Our schedules kept missing each other, we hardly had time to talk about another book deal. She agreed on it, by the way.”

“That’s great, Larry!” Phoenix smiled in pride before kissing Larry on the cheek. “Maya managed to get in another incident a few months ago, but as usual, I defended her and she’s off the hook. Here’s hoping she stays that way.”

“Heh, that’s Maya for- for yhh–!!” Larry was caught off guard by a powerful tickle in the back of his nose; Phoenix also seemed a bit unprepared for what was coming. “Hh’ggtish! Hn’KKSHiu!” Larry made a small gasp and turned away, keeping his head down. “Hhg’tisHHu!! Kk’tshiiu! K’kCHIUU!!”

“Wow, bless you. You’re not getting sick, are you?”

Larry didn’t even have to look at Phoenix to know he was turning red from watching the display.

“No, no.” Larry insisted. “I feel completely fine.” He sniffled. “I promise!”

“For heaven’s sake…” Another voice joined the conversation: Miles. “You didn’t use any of the hand sanitizer I packed in your bag. You’ve been signing books in libraries filled with preschoolers, and who knows what everyone’s touched before boarding your flights…”

“Edgey, calm down!” Larry set down his bag and opened it to dig up an empty hand sanitizer bottle. “See? I used the whole thing! Used up the last little bit as soon as I was dropped off in front of the house.”

“Hmm…” Miles tapped his elbow with his index finger, sighing through his nose as he evaluated the situation. “Nothing wrong with some extra precaution.” He held his hand out to Larry. “Come on, love. Let’s get some Vitamin C in you.”

“Like orange juice or is this an innuendo?” Larry smirked.

“Orange juice.” Miles corrected quickly. He was unaffected when Larry groaned in disappointment and simply led him to the dining room table so he could serve him a tall glass of juice.

Larry downed the juice quickly. If any cold was even thinking of settling in his system, he had surely just given it a run for its money. After all, last time he checked, Miles always bought the fancy vitamin-enriched orange juice, just like the kind Larry had seen in Franziska’s fridge.

“Done!” He beamed. “I feel better already! Picture of health!”

“Are you sure you’re alright? Cold or no cold, wouldn’t you rather get some rest after such an exhausting tour?” Miles asked. “We could draw you a hot bath, give you a massage…”

“I mean, if you want to skip to what I got you guys as souvenirs, that’s okay too!”

“You brought souvenirs? You know you didn’t have to do that.” Phoenix said that as if he wasn’t immediately curious about what Larry had gotten the married couple.

“Of course I brought souvenirs! You don’t just visit three countries in Europe without buying something to bring back home. I mean, who would do that?” Larry shot a teasing glance at Miles. “I wasn’t sure how long the trip back home was gonna be, and Franzy’s place was packed to the brim with kombucha and stuff from her last health kick, so no snacks this time. Sorry about that.”

Miles couldn’t help but sigh, making a mental note to ask Franziska just what purpose a fridge stuffed with kombucha would serve, besides to give him a headache when she inevitably urges him to try it too.

“Okay, guys, I think you’re going to love these!” Larry made his way back into the living room for his bags, and Pess seemed curious enough to follow him there. “Don’t worry, girl,” he chuckled as he pressed a fist under his nose, “I got something for you, too.” He dug out three boxes from one of his suitcases, all cutlery from the countries he visited. “Ta da!”

Phoenix and Miles admired the images on the boxes; Phoenix couldn’t understand a word any of them said, but he knew enough about Larry’s taste in cookware to get the idea that these had to be high quality.

“You bought three sets?” Miles’s eyes widened as he mentally calculated what must have been the cost. “I hope you were able to keep yourself fed.”

“I promise that was not a problem!” Larry assured him, sniffling. “Remember?” He sniffled again. “I was stayi’g with Fradzy!”

Phoenix’s expression fell from a fascinated one to one of concern.

“Are you, uh, doing okay?”

“Yeah! Just gotta grab a tissue.” Larry yanked one of the soft tissues from a cravat themed tissue box Phoenix had bought as a joke. He took his sweet time blowing his nose, leaving Phoenix and Miles wondering if he really needed to take that long or he just liked the brand. He finally successfully tossed the tissue into the nearest trash bin and continued on with the souvenir gifting.

“Larry, you sound awful–” Miles tried to add, but Larry had already shifted his focus elsewhere.

“Now, it’s Pess’s turn!” He grabbed a different bag and pulled out a large collection of premium dog treats; as he did so, he could hear Edgeworth muttering something about ‘spoiling her rotten,’ which Pess absolutely deserved to be! “I got to meet Shoe’s nutritionist and she set me up with all these!”

“Shoe?” Phoenix blinked. “The cat?”

“The cat has a nutritionist…” Miles processed the words slowly as they left his lips.

“Yeah, I mean, why not? Cats gotta eat well, too.” Larry shrugged with a grin before turning to the gift’s recipient. “So, what do you think, girl?”

Pess responded by nuzzling against Larry’s cheek and then promptly shoving her nose onto the treat bag in hopes of digging right into its contents.

“Looks like she likes it.” Miles observed, chuckling. “Unfortunately, it’s much too late for her to be eating more treats.”

Larry and Pess both looked at Miles’s face with nearly matching pouts.

“You want me to starve her?” Larry accused. “So mean, Edgey. I can’t believe– Hh! Kk'sshhnn!! Kk’tshu!” Larry prematurely ended his complaints with a small groan, scrubbing his nose with his hands. “Gghhh… it itches…” He mumbled to himself.

“Larry… Maybe you should get some sleep.” Phoenix suggested very delicately.

“You sure?” Larry sniffled. “I guess it is pretty late…” He conceded before yawning.

“We’ll see you in the morning.” Miles kissed the top of Larry’s head to send him on his way to the guest bedroom.

Phoenix and Miles watched quietly as Larry headed to get some sleep, and once the door had closed, the two looked at each other.

“You don’t think…” Phoenix started.

“Absolutely not!” Miles scoffed. He knew where Phoenix was going and he was not going to have any of it.

Miles and Phoenix weren’t aware of it, but Miles’s response managed to carry across the hallway, enough for Larry to hear bits and pieces of the conversation.

Eventually, the sounds of disagreements and Miles’s flair for the dramatic coming out in full force grabbed Larry’s attention enough for him to want to listen in. He peeked his head out the guest bedroom door. While it was easier to hear the conversation continuing in the living room, he couldn’t grasp the entire context of what his boyfriends were discussing.

“I have her papers kept in my office if you’re doubting me!” Miles huffed.

“I never doubted that for a second, just you’re forgetting one thing…” Phoenix’s voice got infuriatingly softer, saying something that made Miles gasp in offense.

“She is a lady, Phoenix!”

“I never doubted that either!”

Ladies? Papers? Were they so sick of Larry they were setting him up with a woman? At least Nicky might be vouching for him.

“If she is causing issues, it has to be something else.” Miles said adamantly.

“Like what?”

“Well, there are…” Miles’s list was hard to hear from afar, but Larry noticed it was rather long.

Phoenix lowered his head and sighed. Was this when he would finally talk some sense into Miles? When he’d say ‘Larry’s a great guy and we should keep him forever!’

“We could send him over to Gumshoe, maybe? See how he is there?”

What!?

So Larry was wrong. Nick was voting for sending him away to Gumshoe, now. Gumshoe seemed happily married to Maggey, though… Was this Nick’s way of saying ‘go wreck someone else’s marriage?’

“And then you’ll see he’ll be just fine, I’m sure of it!” Miles assured with a grin.

Larry didn’t think he was going to be just fine at all. Being sent away, after all he’s done. He wondered if tomorrow, this will all have blown over and his boyfriends will have forgotten this awful plan of theirs. That’s it, he was going to go to bed and in the morning, no one would mention sending him away to Gumshoe or anything!

Perfect.

. . .

“Good morning, love!” Miles greeted Larry from the kitchen, carrying a large plate of pancakes. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, actually.”

It looked like Miles and Phoenix had a good night’s sleep as well, given neither of them looked like they were intending on sending Larry to go bother Gumshoe like he had feared.

“Are you feeling any better?” Phoenix asked, genuinely concerned and lacking that purr he had when asking such things out of pure lust.

“Yup!” Larry confirmed with a nod. “I guess I was just beat from all the travel yesterday.” He looked around. “Where’s Pess?”

“Out basking in the sun as usual.” Miles answered. “Best to not disturb her nap,” he advised. “Speaking of Pess, I wanted to get your opinion on something, Larry.”

“Well, my opinion is she’s a very good girl!” Larry beamed.

“No, no.” Miles looked at Phoenix for a quick second before returning his attention to Larry. “Her groomer recommended a spectacular new shampoo, and I’d like to know what you thought about it. You did see a lot of pet experts while you were abroad, did you not?”

“Oh, yeah! Cat experts, mostly, but I probably picked up some knowledge on grooming products for dogs, too, without knowing…”

“Perfect!”

Miles ran off to the special bathroom almost entirely dedicated to Pess; anyone else might have said that such a room would be excessive, but Miles would insist those people were completely wrong.

“What’s got him so happy?” Larry tilted his head.

“He’s just being… Miles again.” Phoenix sighed. “Just humor him.”

“I’ve never had any objections to that.” Larry shrugged. “Except maybe when he wanted me to bring that heavy Steel Samurai suit home and into the bedroom…”

Phoenix blinked in surprise. Miles never told him about that particular encounter; he couldn’t believe they had been married for years and Miles was still such a mystery sometimes.

“I found it!” Miles presented the pink shampoo bottle that looked better taken care of than most bottles he owned meant for human use. “What do you think, love?”

“Well, uh,” Larry sniffed the bottle, “there are definitely notes of… peanut butter?” He raised a brow. “You know, I was kind of expecting something a little fancier.”

Miles frowned; Larry took that to mean he might have been offended at the implication Pess wasn’t fancy.

“Dogs just like peanut butter.” Phoenix explained, hoping to draw attention away from the confusion and disappointment he could feel radiating from his husband. “I grew up with cats, so that fact was new to me, too, when Miles and I started living together.” He was only half lying, since he had seen plenty of dogs enjoy the creamy treat before even befriending Miles, but it made for a much less tense conversation while Miles collected himself.

“Well then,” Miles cleared his throat, “we were wondering if you could drop this off at the Gumshoe residence this morning while we ran some errands. The detective has been dying to try this on Missile.”

There it was, Larry being sent off to Gumshoe’s, but— for an errand? That wasn’t half as bad as he thought!

"I can absolutely do that!" Larry accepted the request with glee, puzzling his boyfriends with this reaction. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear you just wanted to share Pess's beauty routine."

Phoenix and Miles looked at each other, both shrugging. As long as Larry was willing, everything would go smoothly… or, well, about as smoothly as their plan could possibly go.

As soon as Larry was out the door, much sooner than his boyfriends predicted, the two lawyers began to discuss their intentions for this errand.

"Do you really think this was the best way we could've done this?" Phoenix asked.

"I'm not going to just let Pess's qualifications as a hypoallergenic dog be questioned. Larry will be fine with a common dog like Missile who lacks access to all the high end grooming products Pess does, and then we can narrow things down from there." Miles proudly insisted that was the only way this could possibly turn out. "Pess is a very special and clean young lady, you know!"

"Yeah, I know, babe, you told me that when you first got the idea last night. But what are you going to do if he isn't fine with Missile?"

"... That won't happen. I can assure you!"

…

It happened. It was evident the moment Miles opened the door to greet Detective Gumshoe, who was resting his hand on the shoulder of a very pink-faced (and wet) Larry.

"I don't think your boyfriend's feeling too good, pal." The detective observed softly.

“I’b fide.” Larry didn’t sound all too convincing there. “It’s dot a big deal.” He sniffled. “I just– H’kksshh!! H'hggshhi! Hhg’tisHHu!!”

“Bless you! You look awful.” Phoenix pulled Larry into a hug. “It’s our fault, putting you through this.”

“No, it’s mine.” Miles spoke up. “I was caught up in my pride, and because of that–”

“What are you talki’g about? I bade the choice to play with Bissile.” Larry shrugged, completely unaware of the bomb he had just dropped.

“You… You–!!” Miles stammered.

“I forgot to tell you guys, huh. Fradzy got pretty bad at be for that, too, actually… I guess I did’t wadt you guys to be weird about it, which you, uh, sorta did.”

“Miles was the most weird about it.” Phoenix added with a smirk.

“Well, isn’t this nice!” Gumshoe commented, seeming relieved to see the three come to as close to an understanding as they could get. “Are you gonna be okay now, pal?” He asked Larry.

“Yeah! I got the best boyfriehds id the world!”

“Awww,” Phoenix couldn’t help himself.

“And we have the best source of headaches in the world.” Miles kissed Larry on the cheek.

“Yup,” Larry beamed, “that would be— hey!!”

In all fairness, the three gave each other an equal share of headaches, and were sure to give each other plenty more.

#snez attorney #yhnrmt brainrot time #my writing #my fics

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kythed · 3 years

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“you can hear it in the silence” - a collection of conversations between you and futakuchi kenji.

1. april 14th, 7:56pm.

“it’s terribly boring, isn’t it?” the voice comes from right near your ear. you start, turning to see a young guy dressed in jeans, a tee, and a baseball cap, slouchy and messy in the most attractive and purposeful way. “the movie, I mean.”

you turn your eyes back towards the screen — some spanish neo-noir retelling of the same old “sexpot femme fatale turned domestic by a dashing hero with a horse” plotline. “yeah, it is. I only came so my film major friends would finally respect me.”

“that’s valid,” he whispers with a snort. an older man sitting beside him shushes him. “I only came so I could make fun of the people who only came to impress their film major friends.”

“oh, ouch,” you say, grinning. “way to attack like 90% of the foreign film audience.”

“I’d say it’s something more like 97%, actually,” he says, briefly glancing at the movie. the dark haired, sultry love interest is batting her lashes at the brooding protagonist, nightgown slipping off her shoulder. “the remaining 3% is horny teenagers who can’t yet figure out how to erase their search history.”

despite being in the middle of a crowded theater, you laugh, giggle echoing off the walls. several people turn around to shoot you dirty looks, and you immediately clap an apologetic over your mouth. oops.

“I’m kenji futakuchi,” your seat-neighbor whispers, extending a hand. “unprofessional film critic, engineering major, and thai tea hater. I’m willing to take you out for boba on our first date, but if you order thai tea it will also be our last.”

“bold of you to assume we’ll even have a first date,” you say, shaking his hand with another quiet laugh.

“oh, we will,” he says with what can only be described as a bona fide smirk. “I saw the way you were looking at me earlier.”

before you can respond, the curmudgeonly old man beside kenji leans over and scowls. “if you kids want to keep flirting, do so outside. some of us are here for cultural enrichment.”

kenji glances at you, face spelling out mischief. “you heard the man. shall we?”

for a moment, you consider saying no. but then reason kicks into gear and you stand up, dusting popcorn off your lap. “we shall.”

(discovery number one: your hand fits perfectly in his.)

2. may 2nd, 11:17am.

“you know, this actually isn’t so bad.” kenji takes another cautious sip. “still can’t hold a candle to jasmine.”

“I respect that,” you say, offering him a taste of your drink. “I feel like everyone who hates thai tea is just jumping on the bandwagon. it’s pretty decent.”

“you’re pretty decent,” he says petulantly, snatching your tea and replacing it with his own.

you roll your eyes. “your comebacks suck. still can’t believe I agreed to go out with you.”

kenji feigns a look of surprise. “oh, are we going out? I thought this was a platonic thing.”

you send a pointed look at his hand resting on your thigh, his thumb rubbing light circles in your skin.

kenji follows your gaze and suppresses a smile, shrugging. “friends do that.”

it’s a cool spring day, the air smelling of his cologne — vanilla, coffee, and burnt orange — and the eucalyptus growing in front of the cafe. the sunshine is fresh and pale, casting a glowy halo over kenji’s brunette mess of hair. he smiles rather angelically, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“and do friends do this?” you say softly, leaning forward so your nose is just centimeters from his.

kenji gulps, adam’s apple bobbing painfully in his throat. his voice cracks with his next words. “y-yeah. I do this with my buddies all the time. no homo.”

you slowly bring your hand up to cup his jaw, letting your eyes linger on his lips before glancing back up and smiling. “oh, good. ‘cause I do this with my girls all the time, too. full homo.”

“yeah?”

“mhm,” you purr, trying to channel some of that femme fatale energy, leaning even closer so you can feel his warm breath on your mouth — and then you pull away with a cackle, leaving kenji blinking down at you with reproach.

“women are so cruel,” he sighs wistfully, fanning his shirt and running a hand through his hair.

“sorry,” you chirp, not sorry at all. “I don’t kiss on the first date.”

“you don’t kiss on the first date?” kenji repeats. “so what’s the timeline — we hold hands today, and then you let me hug you next week, and then we kiss in a month, and then in like fifty years we finally fu—”

“kenji!” you say, whipping around. you’re scandalized. there’s a family with primary school aged kids sitting at the other table, shrieking with laughter and bouncing around like pinballs on a boba-fueled sugar high. “keep it PG.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything bad,” kenji complains. “I was just gonna say that in fifty years we finally, uh… furbish the condo we purchase together.”

“sure you were,” you say, and kenji just laughs. there’s something in the way he looks at you… something soft and affectionate that makes you think he might actually intend to stick around for fifty years. it scares you a little — but in a good way.

later that day, when kenji drops you off at your front porch, you lean forward again. usually you keep your word, but today’s an exception.

(discovery number two: he tastes like colgate and thai tea.)

3. august 21st, 8:02am.

“what the hell,” you cough, squinting through the smoke. you can barely hear yourself over the shrill beeping of the fire alarm resounding around your apartment. “kenji?”

kenji emerges from behind the fridge, nonchalantly leaning on the wall with a nervous smile. “hey, baby. sleep well?”

“don’t you ‘hey, baby’ me, mister,” you say, marching forward, fanning the smoke away with your oversized sleep shirt. (well, technically it’s his shirt, and that’s why it’s oversized. it fits perfectly fine on him.) “what in the world did you do?”

“why is it that when something goes wrong you always automatically blame me?” he complains, coughing.

“because it’s always your fault,” you say, gently but firmly pushing him aside to reveal, sitting innocently on the counter… a smoking toaster with two pieces of bread (burnt nearly completely black) resting in the slots. oh lord. “kenji. babe. darling.”

“ooh, keep going, please,” kenji coos, yelping when you lightly pinch his elbow. “hey!”

he’s about to retaliate before you double over in laughter, holding onto the edge of the kitchen counter for support. you choke out giggles between breaths, hardly able to keep balance. “you — (wheeze) — you nearly burnt down the kitchen — (wheeze) — trying to make toast?”

“it’s not as easy as it looks,” kenji insists, gingerly picking the slices of bread (although they’re more like crackers now) out from the toaster. “I’m sorry that I wanted to do something nice for my beautiful girlfriend. and I’m sorry that the only thing I could handle was toast and coffee. well, technically just coffee, I guess.”

he picks up a mug from the counter and offers it to you. “it might be kinda cold now. sorry. I tried.”

he’s so earnest and adorable and lovely in that moment — standing in the middle of the clouded kitchen in just mismatched socks and an old pair of boxers, holding the coffee out for you to see — that you can hardly contain yourself.

“god, I love you,” you say without thinking, the last word catching in your throat as you look up. oh. oops. kenji’s staring at you, unblinking, big brown eyes filled with… surprise? “I mean, I meant —”

“you love me?”

“I, uh,” you falter. this isn’t you; you’re supposed to be the calm and collected one. “this isn’t how I wanted to say it, but—”

“but you do, right? you love me?” kenji sets the mug back down and pulls you in by the waist, grinning broadly and resting his forehead against yours. your heart is pulsing erratically, but a smile big enough to match his somehow finds its way onto your face. you nod, and kenji immediately kisses you hard, tangling his fingers in the back of your hair.

“I love you,” he says breathlessly after finally parting. you feel the uncomfortable warmth of your face and the swollenness of your lips... but you can’t quite bring yourself to care. “I love you a lot.”

“you love me so much that you even tried to make me toast,” you laugh. “and you brought me cold coffee in my second favorite mug.”

“no, wait,” says kenji, glancing back towards said mug. “that’s your favorite mug.”

“no, my favorite is the green one with the—”

“—with the orange flowers,” kenji groans in realization, slapping a limp, penitent hand to his cheek. “I’m a failure of a boyfriend. I deserve to go to boyfriend jail.”

“you do,” you agree, nodding solemnly. “but lucky for you, I have a get-out-of-jail-free card right here.”

“oh?” says kenji, a devilish smile quirking up the corners of his lips.

you hum and offer him your clenched fist, like you’re about to place something in his palm. but when he extends his own outstretched hand, you interlace your fingers with his instead. “yep. right here.”

“you think you’re so clever,” kenji sighs, nonetheless bringing your hand up to press a brief kiss to your knuckles.

“I do.” you shuffle towards the counter to take a sip of the coffee — sure enough, it’s cold. (but he still made it exactly the way you like it.) “c’mon. breakfast.”

(discovery number three: burnt toast doesn’t taste so bad when you eat it with someone you love.)

4. november 1st, 10:38pm.

the commute across town from your university to your apartment is on the longer side, around forty minutes. it feels even longer late at night, though, on your way home from your part time job.

the subway rattles on its tracks as it slows to rest at a stop (but not yours) and a handful of sleepy passengers stumble out, swinging briefcases and pulling their scarves a little tighter. you stifle a yawn, slumping back into your seat.

“you okay?”

you smile. ever since you got hired a couple months ago, kenji’s insisted on coming to “pick you up” from work to take the train back with you, even though he works all the way across town. (he’ll probably stay the night — he has a drawer full of his things at your place these days, complete with a dozen wrinkled t-shirts, old soccer shorts, and a bundle of irreparably tangled chargers. he hasn’t bothered to bring his own shampoo over yet, though, claiming that “yours smells so nice and fruity” and “men’s shampoo just smells like nondescript testosterone and insecurity.” he’s right of course, but all the same, you’d rather he not use up all of yours.)

“yeah, I’m okay,” you sigh, taking his hand and feeling him begin to rub circles on your palm. you close your eyes. “just tired.”

“hi ‘okay-just-tired,’ I’m dad,” kenji says slyly, and you open one incredulous eye.

“did you really…?”

“I really did,” kenji says, puffing up his chest. “you walked right into it.”

you groan and fall on top of him dramatically, burying your face in his thick fleece jacket. “I’m too dead for this. I’m like frankenstein before he was reanimated — just a bunch of limbs and organs in a useless, fleshy pile.”

“technically, he’s frankenstein’s monster,” says kenji, petting your hair absentmindedly. “frankenstein’s the name of the doctor. cute literary allusion, though.”

“do you ever shut up?” your voice comes out muffled by kenji’s coat, but not at all devoid of its intended irritation.

“occasionally,” he says as you lift your head. he pulls you closer with one arm until you’re practically sharing a seat, legs interlocked, your temple resting on his shoulder and his chin nestled in your hair. “when I’m sleeping. when I’m eating — well, sometimes. sometimes I talk with my mouth full.”

“yeah, I’ve borne witness to that,” you say, wrinkling your nose. you’ve tried to improve kenji’s table manners countless times (especially in light of your family’s thanksgiving dinner soon approaching), but it’s all been in vain. most likely because he enjoys seeing you get worked up about his not using a coaster, etc. “disgusting.��

“when I’m concentrating on physics,” he continues, as if he hadn’t heard you. “when I’m in the library. when I’m kissing pretty girls.”

he bends down and tries to give you a peck, but you gasp and dodge it. “girls? plural? you’re out here kissing pretty girls other than me?”

“when I’m kissing one specific pretty girl,” kenji corrects himself, grinning.

you feel your own grin stretch across your face. “and which pretty girl is that?”

“my pretty girl,” he says smugly, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

you scoff. “corny.”

“you like it.”

you chew on your inner cheek, trying and failing to suppress your smile. “you know I do.”

the train’s speakers crackle alive, a cool automated voice emanating from their unseen perches: “approaching hiwamari station. projected arrival in: 1 minute.”

“alright, time to wake up, sleeping beauty,” kenji huffs, lugging you onto your feet. you hang limp in his arms like a rag doll, unwilling to bear your own weight. “you are perfectly capable of standing. shape up before I alert the authorities, you hooligan.”

“hmm,” you groan, finally arighting yourself with some difficulty. you want to ask where in the world he learned the word ‘hooligan,’ but your brain can hardly afford you even the most basic cognition right now. “it’s too late, and my knees hurt, and I’m tired, and I saw an ad for that new vietnamese place at the last station, and now I want banh mi. but I can’t have banh mi because there’s none on this side of town, and that irritates me.” you take a deep breath. “also, I’m cold.”

kenji laughs and slips a loose arm around your waist as the doors slide open, gently guiding you down onto the platform. the night air bites at your skin, painting goosebumps in its wake. you’re about ready to just sit down on the ground and curl into a frustrated, exhausted ball when he crouches down, fingers straightening and smoothing the lapels of your coat. “well, I can’t really help with the sore knees and the hankering for banh mi part, but I’m pretty sure you’re cold because you’ve had your buttons undone this entire time. dummy.”

he buttons your jacket quickly and deftly, careful to avoid pinching you in the process. a particular kind of warmth bubbles up in your chest at his concentrated expression — kenji likes to maintain his effortless, reckless reputation, but when it comes down to the bare bones of it all, he’s still the type of guy who’ll button his girlfriend’s coat for her. on the walk from the subway to your apartment, his arm doesn’t leave your body once, keeping you close to his side and shielded from the wind.

“I’m not a dummy.”

“sure, dummy.”

(discovery number four: body heat — specifically, kenji futakuchi’s body heat — is by far the most effective way to stay warm.)

5. december 23rd, 12:01pm.

“who’s your best friend?” the question pops into your mind and out of your mouth almost instantaneously. kenji, who’s lounging on the sofa next to you, turns, eyebrows furrowed. there’s a small douglas fir in the corner of the room, minimally decked with what ornaments you could “diy” from around the house: snowflakes made of sticky notes, bedazzled plastic utensils, etc. several small packages have been haphazardly tossed around the tree’s base, yours neatly wrapped in red tissue paper and string, kenji’s covered in newspaper and excessive scotch tape. (he tried. maybe not his best, but he tried.)

“depends,” he says, turning off his phone and tossing it onto the carpet. “what’s your definition of best friend?”

“you know,” you say, helplessly splaying your fingers. “monica and rachel. frodo and sam. taylor swift and karlie kloss.”

“hold on,” kenji says, holding up a hand. “didn’t taylor swift and karlie kloss have a falling out?”

“yeah, but for the sake of the argument,” you insist. you narrow your eyes. “wait. how do you know about that?”

“you talk about it every time you listen to that one album, which is at least once a month,” kenji says with a grin. “probably more like twice, actually.”

“oh.” you flush, making a mental note to use earbuds more often. “anyways. answer the question.”

“wait, but you just gave me a bunch of examples,” kenji complains. he glances briefly out the window, which is iced over like a sugar cookie, obscuring the snowscape outside. mariah plays faintly in the background, jingling and whistle tones echoing through the halls. “you didn’t define anything.”

“a best friend,” you begin, faltering and taking a moment to think. a best friend… what is a best friend, really? you frown for a moment before smiling brightly. “a best friend is a commitment. it’s when you commit to being there for somebody when they need you. and it’s when you commit to finding that person when you need them, too.”

kenji lets out a low whistle. “okay then, socrates.”

“it wasn’t that deep,” you say with a laugh. “so. who’s yours?”

kenji grins boyishly, face lighting up like a christmas tree topper. “easy. you’re my best friend.”

oh. you weren’t expecting that. your chest gives an involuntary little thump of pleasure. “me? what about kamasaki?”

“mmm,” kenji muses, counting on his fingers. “he’s, like, my fourth best friend. maybe third on a good day. but you’re the one I go to first.”

you have the sudden urge to wrap your limbs around him like a koala and never let go; only your dignity keeps you from tackling him right then and there. you clear your throat, praying he can’t hear your thoughts — he’d never let you live it down. “you’re mine, too.”

kenji doesn’t respond, just smiles and rolls off the couch onto the floor with a thud, spreading out on the carpet like a seastar. the silence doesn’t bother you, though — silence (what little you can get of it) is comfortable with you two. plus, it’s never really silent. there’s always something there, something very undefinable but very real.

(discovery number five: you are in love.)

#you guys seemed to really like the last of these so I might make it a series??#cackles #also ly if you see this the last one was supposed to be for the event #I'm sorry it's so late #also I got carried away and made it a whole thing #I hope it still counts T-T #futakuchi kenji #futakuchi kenji x reader #futakuchi #futakuchi x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu drabbles #hqcorenet

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darlington-v · 3 years

Note

I know different interpretations of a work are generally enriching and cool... but c!dream villan interpretations is like how to tell me you only watch Tommy without saying you only watch tommy.... which would be fine but its not a great place to be making statements about the whole nature of the dsmp lol

Wild speculation, but sometimes I wonder if like, because the dsmp didn't really start as a narrative, and a lot of fans don't nessecarily enter it expecting a narrative, but then there is one and the fandom is really discourse heavy and everyone is sort of excpeted to have an opinion while maybe not expecting to form one from the begining or not having a ton of experience with narrative in a way that would "expect" them to have an opinion or not take things at face value??, I don't know if I explained that well at all... and I don't really even think thats right nessecarily... but like wow sometimes some of the takes about power and government and villany...

Honestly, it makes sense!!!

I think something interesting is like.... looking at how animatics have shaped the like tone and culture of the fandom essentially. Like, an interesting fact that I didn't really fully grasp until SUPER recently is like...

c!Wilbur out the gate admits he is manipulating c!Tommy. Like his first youtube video on the Dream SMP he admits his goal is to manipulate c!Tommy and people like c!Tommy into helping him achieve a potion ("drug") empire to monopolize on potions because there were a lot of people on the server who like to min-max, which is to put all of your effort into this one specific skill essentially. so like... i know minecraft doesnt have a skill tree but if it did, it would be putting all your points into that one specific branch of a skill tree. So he wanted to exploit the labor of all the TommyInnits to.... maintain a Potion Empire.

THIS IS A LONG POST BC I GOT CARRIED AWAY SO BUCKLE UP

And I don't think a lot of the fandom who joined later on knows this. I certainly didn't until like a week or so ago? Like... I knew c!Wilbur had been manipulative from the start because I'm a mod of (shameless self promo incoming) @dsmpanalysis and we have a lot of different POVs in that mod team and discord and we talk about it really frequently. I joined the fandom as someone who was really big on L'manburg ESPECIALLY crimeboys, and have turned into.... *gestures vaguely to my blog*

And ngl I owe a lot of it to @1-michibiki-1 in terms of c!Dream "Apologism" but all of the mods there have expanded my thoughts and views on the storylines of this narrative.

My application consisted of like largely essays about like... how I think Dream was the villain but he was meant to be the villain because you don't get any insight into his character WHICH.... IS A FAIR ASSUMPTION AT FIRST GLANCE. People are easily villainized when you cannot get a glimpse into their thought process. It's easy to dwindle someone down into this flat character and starting out I knew Dream didn't stream the SMP on purpose.

And I personally came to the conclusion of "Oh! So Dream is supposed to be the villain." However as the story continued and I learned more about what Dream went through I began to realize that... it's more than likely a form of a red herring. My opinions on this were immediately solidified when I watched Ranboo's 2 MIL stream because both Ranboo AND Dream agree on enjoying red herrings.

There have been MANY times were Dream has said that c!Dream is a complex character and he's not a wholly evil guy and there have been times where the narrative has honestly just proved that.

Anyways, what's important though was that... I learned most of this from other people who were more focused on c!Dream rather than myself. Eventually I shifted from c!Tommy to c!Ranboo and c!Techno after c!Tommy betrayed c!Techno and I began to realize.... everything I learned before hopping in wasn't exactly what it seemed.

Part of this is because I'm older, I heavily identify with c!Techno's sense of loyalty and philosophies on government, but I especially identify with the anguish c!Techno voiced in... a lot of lore but especially the lore around Doomsday.

I'm not 16 anymore. I don't always feel wronged by adults, or older people in my case, whenever they absolutely have done something wrong by me, but I do feel wronged by my close friends. I also felt like c!Tommy's sense of loyalty didn't line up with mine after what felt like him constantly flip-flopping and refusing to understand c!Techno's morals on government didn't line up with his.

In short, it was easier to identify with Tommy in these animatics versus in the actual stream content because c!Tommy is played by a 16 year old. I'm not a teenager and my line of thinking doesn't entirely line up with people that age anymore. It's harder to place myself in the same shoes of someone's OC who is played closer to their actual age, because I'm not that age.

Regardless, I was still on the c!Dream is a villain train. I wasn't ever like... c!Dream is repulsive I hate him, but I was like omg hot villain lad go brrr.

Even when the first like... mellohi, panic room, Ranboo lore stream popped up I thought "Oh! c!Ranboo corruption arc?"

And I was excited because I really wanted this shy, nervous character to turn into villain buddies with his good pal c!Dream. I'm a total sucker for villains and corruption arcs and all that good shit.

SO I STARTED GETTING REALLY INTERESTED IN ENDERSMILE. I'VE BEEN ON ENDERSMILE SQUAD OUT THE GATE. NOT THE SAME WAY I AM NOW, BUT I'VE ALWAYS WANTED THEM TO TEAM UP.

So... upon not really keeping up with c!Dream and being relatively??? indifferent? I don't think I started arguments on c!Dream back then, but I might have. But I remember like... starting to participate more whenever c!Dream came up and looking more into Dream's character BUT ESPECIALLY TALKING WITH OUR SERVER'S C!DREAM SPECIALIST MICHI ABOUT DREAM A LOT MORE.

And because Michi has been a watcher since day one and was a DTeam fan rather than a SBI fan, she was able to provide me with more information on how the server worked pre-Tommy but especially pre-Wilbur.

Now, you could definitely argue well Michi probably has clear bias but it made sense to me when I looked back on how the storyline had been constructed and was going along, and everyone in the server talks a lot about our own biases and how we want people to maybe not lean so hard on them. Michi would also provide like anecdotes on what had happened and I'm sure links were probably provided at one point but the point was I felt like Michi had no reason to lie or manipulate how the story was told and if she did, eventually someone would have pointed it out because... Group of like... right now it's around 20 or more analysts but I don't remember how many at the time there were. POINT BEING, WE'VE ALL GOT POINTS TO PROVE AND IN MY EXPERIENCE NOT MANY OF US HAVE BEEN SHY TO PROVE THEM.

So if anyone ever had any differing opinions they would be talked about and we literally had and still have discussions.

REGARDLESS.... I DIDN'T FACT CHECK IN DEPTH BECAUSE I THOUGHT PEER REVIEW WAS ENOUGH WHEN YOU HAVE LIKE HOURS UPON HOURS OF STREAMS TO WATCH.

Anyways. Eventually I started paying closer attention and looking more into c!Dream lore but only recently have I started to triple check before speaking about c!Wilbur lore because I know everyone has biases and while I did trust everyone's thoughts and analysis in the discord, whenever I make essays I typically like it to be largely air tight and if theres a mistake, I want it to be because I forgot not because I just trusted what was said. Plus, I wanted to get down to the specifics of how Wilbur had always started with manipulation on the mind.

SO I WATCHED HIS FIRST VIDEO ON THE DREAM SMP.

AND WHAT I WAS NOT BY ANY MEANS EXPECTING WAS WILBUR TO SAY WORD FOR WORD, VERBATIM,

"SO WHY DON'T I START AN INDUSTRY WHERE I USE THE TOMMYINNITS OF THE WORLD TO WORK FOR ME, TO CREATE THINGS THAT THE MIN-MAXERS OF THE WORLD WILL WANT."

Like... this is in no way an attempt to like hardcore villainize c!Wilbur like everyone does Dream, it's just more so to like REALLY outline how far off a lot of fandom interpretation of c!Wilbur is....

Because of SBI focused animatics.

Now, when I joined I watched A LOT of animatics that really highlighted like... Wilbur being this self-loathing JD-esque, "I destroyed it because I had to because the world was against me because no one loved us, Tommy" type of character. At least... that's what it came across as.

And it definitely highlighted the fact that Tommy was a victim, which he is. He is undoubtedly a victim and no not even any dream apologist can change my mind otherwise. Tommy, despite being an instigator sometimes, didn't deserve the abuse he received.

But these animatics never shown the fact that c!Wilbur started L'manburg as a shady ploy to exploit people like c!Tommy and vilify c!Dream so he could have power.

And that was easy because Dream and Tommy had wars before. They had spars and pranks and here's the plan to take back my disks and here's the plan to out smart the thieving little child etc etc.

And all of the animatics I watched never mentioned this. Neither did the recaps though. The recaps gave the events flat out, there didn't sound like there was bias, and honestly I don't really know if there was rather than like... a lack of nuance. And it's hard to provide a recap with that much nuance in a short period of time for a youtube video, to be perfectly fair.

However, this creates a perfect formula for entirely rewriting the history of a server. c!Wilbur quite literally fucking succeeded TO A META LEVEL. He slandered and ran smear campaigns against Dream and like he even does that with Sapnap in the beginning. But what's crazy is that it transferred over into the meta! Most of this fandom understands Wilbur as a victim of mental illness, and yeah maybe? He definitely wasn't mentally well by the end of pogtopia, but he never started out with honorable intentions. L'manburg was never a victim, only its citizens. The TommyInnits of the world.

I just think it's like... such an interesting case study. Because this is like... an opinion like shared by at least half of the fandom, but the vilifying of c!Dream is shared by MOST of the fandom I would argue. Which is like even more crazy for me because that was c!Wilbur's goal!!!

LIKE I GO INSANE WHEN I THINK OF THIS BECAUSE HIS REACH IS JUST TOO POWERFUL. HE'S NOT EVEN ENTIRELY REAL, JUST A MANIPULATIVE PERSONA OF SOME BRITISH GUY.

And I mean... maybe people who have watched Wilbur's video on the SMP still maintain this idea that Wilbur wasn't always the bad guy, but honestly... I wouldn't be surprised if their introduction was still an animatic. Like bias is hard to check and I'm not going to lie I could have sworn I watched both Wilbur's AND Tommy's video on the SMP in the beginning and yet I STILL was a ride or die for tragic yet on some level still honorable Wilbur and a resilient Tommy.

Like... upon watching Wilbur's first video... possibly again I was surprised because I thought I did watch it like right before I even started watching the streams and yet I was still so invested in c!Wilbur as this tortured anti-hero.

It took 6 months of... not being in an echo chamber, full of multiple different people of different ages, different stream POVS, and people who joined the fandom at different points in time.

IDK IF THIS WAS EVEN ENTIRELY RELEVANT IT JUST FELT TANGENTIALLY RELEVANT AND THIS WAS SOMETHING I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT FOR A HOT MINUTE AFTER LIKE WATCHING WILBUR'S FIRST VIDEO AGAIN.

TLDR;

SBI CENTRIC ANIMATICS HAD A LASTING AFFECT ON THIS FANDOM AS IT'S HARD TO GO BACK AND ACTUALLY CHECK THE NARRATIVE FOR SOLID FACTS FOR YOUR OWN INTERPRETATION BASED ON THE FACT THAT THIS NARRATIVE SPANS OVER HUNDREDS OF HOURS WORTH OF TWITCH STREAMS.

#asks #anon #dream smp #dsmp #dsmp analysis #dream smp analysis #dsmp meta #dream smp meta #my analysis #long post

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binniesthighs · 3 years

Text

call me babydoll | reader x chan

a/n: ahhhhh holy holy heck this chapter is SO DAMN EXCITING hehehe I had sosososo much writing and doing all the research!! please let me know if there is anything factual/cultural that I need to fix! I tried the best I could although I most def am not an expert in Egyptian culture so I appreciate it a lot :) hehe i hope ya have fun reading this chapter teehee oh! also I love hearing what you thought of it too! :D

Four

Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan

Genre: action, mystery and suspense, fluff, smut, angst

Tags: (of this part) bodyguard au, secret agent au, royal au, moderndayprince!chan, secretagent!reader, secretagent!jeongin, secretagent!jisung, collegestudent!seungmin, royal!minho, skz side characters, adventure and mystery, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, sexual tension, explicit language, several mentions of food and alcohol as well as getting tipsy/drunk that good, good making out, suggestive themes

CWs: mentions of guns, mentions of knives, themes of jealousy (expressed by the reader)

Word count: 7.5k

Parts

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE

“Well, we’re in Cairo alright.”

Two tugged the amazed young stow-away-student, Seungmin, by the hand of his backpack to keep him from running into one of the palm tree planters decorating the terminal. The young man had nearly slept the whole flight due to the length as well as the exasperation that he had just been through. While his eyes were still darkened from his nap, his glossy pupils still wondered all around him.

“I take it back. I’m so glad that I almost died so I could end up here with you guys.”

Jeongin slapped him from the backside of his head. “Never be thankful for almost dying. Life is a lot more fucking fragile than you think. This isn’t just some joyride--”

“--Ease up F.” You interrupted your partner as you shouldered your bag. The kid had already been through enough already: he didn’t need accosting on top of it all.

The dashing prince sighed out and stretched his arms. “Ahhhh Cairo. It’s been a while; too long actually.”

The airport was humid: the kind of sticky warmth that dripped down your neck in a matter of seconds to then get caught above your lip. It wasn’t much help to the anxiety that already had seeped into your veins. The closer you got to a gun the more comfortable you would be. You and the other two guards created a formation around the prince with two in the front and the other in the flank. While each of you were dressed in regular street clothes, your responsibility of his detail still hung over your head with a severe air.

Chan threw his arm over the young student with an obscene grin. His hair had become a little disheveled from the plane seat and his hoodie, but he didn’t appear to mind. Seeing him so normal was somewhat of an odd change to your previous unbreakable impression of him.

“Seungmin my friend, you’ve never lived until you’ve been to Cairo. I’ve never seen another place so enriched in history in my whole life...it puts my kingdom to shame. It’s almost like...you can just feel the time here: hundreds of thousands of years...beauty, art, food, industry...I’ve got a thing or two to learn.”

Seungmin nodded at the prince’s grandiose gestures in the terminal with an enamored smile. “I can’t wait to see it!”

Your partner put a firm hand on the prince’s back to guide him to the baggage claim. “We won’t be here for long, so, don’t get too excited. We’ve come here for one reason and we shouldn’t dally otherwise.”

The young boy appeared to frown, and Two bit his lip with a little chuckle. “Way to crush the kids dreams F.”

“You know the mission, J.” Jeongin gritted his teeth with the words. “Everything is set, there will be a car waiting for us in the garage, and at the hotel we’ll have anything we need.”

Prince Chan lulled his head back with heels clicking on the flooring. Rogue strands of his hair hung over his sunglasses where he threw a look back at you while pulling them down.

“Don’t forget our little deal Bee? We’ll have time for a little pleasure.”

The white haired agent rolled his eyes with gusto then adjusted the royal’s glasses over his face. “We’ve still got to be careful, you Highness. We never know where they could have eyes.”

“I know where I’ve got mine...” He turned back once more to throw his cockiness in your general direction.

“Listen to F, your Highness...if you want to live.”

“Oooo. Feisty as ever, Bee. I love it when you bite back.” Chan turned to his new pet, Seungmin, “She’s really something isn’t she?”

The young man nodded, but not necessarily because he agreed, but it just seemed like it better to agree with a prince than to disagree with him.

The air appeared to turn even thicker in the summery and arid city and your group approached the parking lot half shaded. Outside of the cement lot, iridescent waves of heat wiggled on the horizon, and further, the astonishing urban sprawl of Cairo, and just over it, the stretch of the Nile and Giza. Palms and other varieties of plants spotted the landscape and above it all, a perfectly crystal blue sky streaked with thin clouds. Had the circumstances been different, you really would have wished to have been there for pleasure.

“This one. Right here.” Jeongin announced upon spotting the black armored sedan. It wasn’t the most inconspicuous vehicle, but you were prioritizing safety over aesthetics. Your partner touched his index fingerprint to the car door’s invisible panel, and it flashed blue just as the lock had at the safehouse with the ticking clock insignia.

Two whipped his head around to make one last check of the surroundings before taking off his sunglasses and reddened eye. “Get in. Both of you.” He urged the prince and the student. He popped the drivers side open to find a different pair of glasses in the storage compartment: gold framed aviators.

“Huh,” He said happily while putting them on. ��This is more my style.” He rummaged around a bit more to find a new pair of black framed glasses there too. “Fox! Think fast!” He threw them over to your partner who sighed out with relief.

“Thank god.”

The trunk opened with a mechanical sounding creek, and you lifted up the trunk bed to find your whole arsenal: Heckler & Koch MP5′s submachines, Remington 870 shotguns, and Glocks complete with thigh holsters. Among the pile of metal, various knives and other weapons were held in foam holders.

“They’ve got knives back there?” Two asked while pulling the rearview mirror to see.

“Oh yeah. What? You more of a knife guy?” You teased while looping your thigh holster over your cargo pants. It fit just right.

The illusive man popped his gum with a shiny smile. “‘Don’t ever have to reload them...that’s what I’m saying.”

“Thank you Carroll.” Jeongin sighed upon seeing the thick laptop among the weapons. “Finally I can do some real work. That kid’s damn Chromebook was killing me. I nearly short circuited it trying to connect to our network.”

“You what?!” Seungmin was suddenly much more interested.

“Dont worry yourself too much, its still fine.”

“Are there cameras in here?” You quickly asked your partner.

“Agency should’ve fried them a long time ago. Why?”

From the trunk bed you sized up the Glock to feel its weight and how cool it settled into your sweating hand. You unloaded the magazine to see that it had already been filled.

“Carroll. She really is too kind to us.” You slid the magazine back in then, pulled back the slider to lock it once more, catching Chan’s adoring glance.

“Something interesting pretty boy?”

The prince appeared to shiver a little, but brushed it off sighing, “Oh, nothing.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

Either it was Carroll or the King, but someone had spared no expense on the young prince. The sun set upon the sparking Nile where you had arrived at the Four Seasons Hotel Cairo at Nile Plaza.

Anything for His Royal Highness The Prince.

The towering and gleaming building was a sight to behold in and of itself. It was nestled right into the riverside anchored with several leisurely sailboats bopping in the evening breeze. As day crept into night, the city grew with a swell of lights washing as far as you could see. Extensive bridges and roadways glowed with headlights and every building appeared to be illuminated along with more boats strolling down the river in a rainbow of colors and music.

The prince craned his head as close to the window as he could and rubbed together his hands excitedly. He looked from you to your partners, finally making a disapproving scoff.

“Come on. You’re not just a little excited to be here?”

“We’re here on business, how many times do we have to explain?” Jeongin typed away at his computer from the front seat.

“Bee?” He looked back to you with a hopeful little glint to his eye.

“Like Fox said...tomorrow is our appointment with White Rabbit, then we’re on the first flight back home for you.”

The young prince frowned, but this quickly faded once he had seen the golden brass doors to the magnificent hotel. Seeing the state that the four of you were in, it was a bit comical that you had rolled up to a place such as this. Immediately a valet and bellhop jogged up to the car wearing perfectly pressed uniforms and spotless shined shoes. Little did they know you had no belongings to your name...the rest was waiting in your suite: the royal kind.

Seungmin cranked his neck to take in the scale of the building in all of it’s regal glory and let out an airy laugh his with his backpack straps snapped tight.

“Holy shit.” He exclaimed with a giant smile

Two rose a “no thank you” hand to the valet, and asked him where the garage was in perfect Arabic. The gesture surprised you...as many things did with that man. Jeongin gave a little nod in appreciation to the bellhop and expressed with his own broken version of Arabic that you group had no luggage. The young man was confused, but still gladly took the bills that Jeongin had slipped into his hand for the inconvenience.

“We’re staying here?” Seungmin wondered while he followed you in.

“When you travel with The Prince, it comes with some perks.” Chan tore off his glasses with a particularly prideful grin.

“I feel like I need to pay for just...breathing in here.”

Indeed, it was a luxurious and grand place. The atrium was patterned with various plush lounge chairs and benches and the path was made of emerald green marble tiles with swirling designs of beige loops. Thick, round columns also supported the ceilings in the lobby, and crystal glass chandeliers sparkled. On several tables, massive floral arrangements had been freshly placed, and you wondered how much the hotel must've paid for them to look that good just to have them replaced the next day.

A couple formalities were exchanged with the worker at the front desk, and soon the keycards to the royal suite were placed into your hands. Seungmin held his piece of plastic as if it were a gold bar in his hands whereas Chan shoved it right into his front pocket.

“Everything that we should need should be up in the room.” You told the group who were too distracted to hear what you had just said.

Just before you had entered the elevator, a tug at your sleeve stopped you in your tracks. Jeongin pulled you back, nodding at Two to go with the others up first.

“Remember what we talked about before?” He muttered in the hollow and stone corridor. “About the prince?”

“I need to stay beside him?”

Your partner nodded with a furrowing brow. “We’re out in the open here, it’s a big city...anyone could be watching us. No distractions, no messing around, no anything. We see White Rabbit and we leave. Hell, I’m even inclined to make sure he doesn’t leave the room...”

“Jeongin...” You squeezed your partner’s shoulder which felt stringy and tense under your fingertips. “I got it. Trust me. He won’t leave my sight. I promise.”

“..Okay.” He said with a nervous brush to his hair, then he pressed the elevator button with his knuckle.

“You...okay?”

The young man appeared to snap out of a trance. “What? ...Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m keeping it together fine. It’s just...there’s a lot riding on this mission. I don’t...”

The gold and reflective elevator dinged to the ground floor.

“We can’t disappoint Carroll with this one. There’s too much riding on it...I can’t disappoint Carroll.”

You invited your partner into the marbled and mirrored interior of the small space.

“Don’t worry, we won’t.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

Even without the help of his royal helpers, Chan managed to clean himself up nice...provided, only the finest clothes had been sent for him to wear. While they weren’t the usual designer labels that he was used to, it was clear that they had been picked out from the finest markets and boutiques in the area. Chan, as he always was, was a prince to the full extent of the word. After a shower and some perfume to his chest, he was the same man that you had been introduced to.

A loose linen shirt swayed from his frame with little regard for the usage of buttons. He wore slacks that had been pressed made of a kind of fabric that you had never seen before, but looked airy and comfortable. As always, there was a small assortment of shoes for him to choose from as well. He picked brown leather loafers, then tucked up his sleeves to reveal his arms; scratched as they were, but still strong and spiderwebbed with thick veins.

Arrangements had been made for you to share one of the bedrooms with him--as much as you had fought it at first. Chan was thrilled with the idea, and gladly let you settle into his room with your small assortment of sidepieces and modest set of clothes by regulation of The Agency. While it had mostly been denim button downs and several kinds of functional trousers, they had sent an evening gown.

The silky white fabric was not unlike the dress that had worn for the gala, but it appeared to be even more sultry once you held it to your frame. The thin spaghetti straps barely held to your shoulders and the back dipped nearly halfway down your back.

Knowing the man that you had an appointment with, you figured the dress would make it just a little bit easier to talk to him. Along with it, there was a matching set of diamond earrings and a necklace that glinted with the same sheen of the sea.

“You’ll look gorgeous in that.” Chan said while slipping on a wristwatch. “I’m sure that it will suit you perfectly.”

The wooden bedside nightstand creaked when you put your holster and Glock in with a matching matte black knife. You had to be careful with that one, as it had nearly cut your finger upon inspection earlier.

“Hm. I think the both of us know that you’d prefer it on these lovely marble floors rather than on me. Correct?”

The confident prince strode across the room in the dim lighting of a couple lamps with stained glass shades. Outside of the balcony attached to your room, the sheer curtains blew in the night air and distorted the city lights across the river. Further, Cairo Tower surged with a pink light wrapping around the length were the cylinder pierced the sky.

“Maybe.” He tutted, then crinkled the king-sized bed where he sat. The prince’s disposition was alluring, there was no denying. He tiled his head to inspect you further, jaw clenching with a sharp angle and a testing glare to his brown pupils. The man smiled slightly while rubbing his index and ring finger down the sleeve of your considerably less scratchy blouse.

“I hope that during our time here Bee, I’ll get to know you a little better. I’m...really looking forward to our drink later. I made reservations for us.”

“Reservations? When did you do that?”

“Oh. When you were showering.” He smirked at his sneaky plans unbeknownst to you.

“If you think that I’m letting you go anywhere else besides this hotel--”

“--Bee?” The young royal grew quieter, softer, careful even. His hand cascaded from your arm down to your waist where he tentatively went to grab at your hip and squeeze lightly there.

While your first reaction was to swat him away, your second crept up on you unexpectedly, and swelled with a kind of confused euphoria feeling the pressure of him on your body. You let his hand linger there, thumb pressed into your hipbone.

“You don’t need that dress to be beautiful.”

His words snapped you back; sickly sweet, and sticky in your chest. You cast his hand off of you.

“You’re crossing the line, your Highness. Don’t...don’t touch me again.”

The royal sighed as he rose, then inspected his face in the sizeable mirror. Each of his cuts and scars had been skillfully covered with makeup the best he could manage.

“Bee, I’d cross multiple lines for you. I thought you knew?”

“THIS BED IS FUCKIN’ AMAZING!!” Seungmin called from the opposite of the suite.

The prince smiled, then followed you to the door.

“I’ve already got enough on my hands, your Highness. I ask that you not distract me.”

“Distract you?”

As soon as you had said it, regret bit at the tips of your ears. You couldn’t meet his teasing glances, but rather slid one of your more discrete sidepieces into your crossbody bag--as if guns as such could be such a thing.

“I-I...I’ll sleep on the couch.” You then resolved out loud, however the prince chuckled at your sudden break.

“As you wish Bee.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

“I think that this is the best meal that I’ve ever eaten in my entire life!!”

Seungmin kicked his legs under the table to the embarrassed glances of both Jeongin and Chan. Before you, the prince had ordered a variety of both cold and hot mezzah dishes with a couple main entrees for you to share. While he was the only one to drink, he indulged in the most expensive wine that the hotel had to offer. Granted, everything would be paid for in cash from The Agency, however the Prince swore up and down that anyone could order anything that they wanted and that The Agency would be paid back in full. You and your partners ate modestly, however the young student didn’t hold back. As the boy shoved his face, it appeared to make the prince happy to see him eating so well.

You were still an odd group, and garnered curious glances from other restaurant guests. While they were only glances in passing, they still didn’t make you feel any better. You had already drawn enough attention to yourself with you being an odd mix of foreigners who each held themselves differently. You could sense that you partner felt it too while he sipped at his seasonal soup with eyes up to scan the room as he did so.

Chan threw his arm behind your chair to take in the rest of the room: perfectly decorated with jade green chandeliers and perfectly symmetrical wallpaper and furnishings. It was as if he felt somehow content with your strange little group; like he was the ringleader of it all or some king of the round table. For a moment, he paused to watch the way that the boats passed by on the river from the window nearest to him and sighed. Knowing him, he was probably enjoying running for his life in this way.

Two cleared his throat and unbuttoned his fashionable suit jacket as the waiters came to clear the table for dessert.

“So. What are the specs for tomorrow?”

Jeongin fiddled with his glasses, then dabbed away at the corners of his mouth. “He’s invited us to come around 11pm. He wants us to dress up too--as I’m sure you’ve all seen the clothes that have been provided for us. He apparently loves his formalities, but, anything to make him feel more comfortable I suppose. His men will meet us in the front and take us to him, then we try our best not to fuck it up.”

“--Which we won’t.” You soothed your partner.

Seungmin perked up, “I’m coming too?”

“How else are we going to look after ya, kid?” Two ruffled up the young man’s hair.

“W-wait. Didn’t you say that it’s a club? Will they even let me in? I’m not like, 21 yet? I mean, I will be in a couple months--”

“--Ahhh you’re so cute.” Chan beamed. “If you’re rolling with us that doesn’t matter.”

Seungmin blushed and played with the condensation of his water glass. “Oh.”

Your partner shifted in his seat. “Speaking of. Considering that you’re “one of us” now. We need to discuss something important with you. Your identity.” He looked over to you to finish the rest of the speech that had been pushed off for just a bit too long.

“Your name...is your most valuable asset. It’s the only thing about yourself that you can keep for yourself. No one else should know it besides you...and, well, us. If they know your name, they know your family, they know where you live, where you go to school, even that girl that you had a crush on in the fourth grade. Got it?”

Seungmin gulped dry with blown out eyes. “I-I think that I understand.”

“What do you want us to call you from now on?”

He paused, considering towards the ceiling. ”Well...if you’re B, and he’s F...and he’s J...I could be S? Simple enough right?”

“S it is then.”

The waiters arrived with every dessert possible: chocolate cake, Crème Brule, fruit cheesecake garnished with mint, as well as traditional desserts like Om Ali and Mehalabiya--a type of milk pudding dressed with delicate, pink, edible flowers.

Seungmin--now dubbed S--made happy little eating sounds while he tried a little bit of everything.

“Thank you.” You finally spoke to the prince, who now smelled strongly of Lotus and Jasmine.

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind treating my friends.”

The word hung in the air, and you didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Friends.

“Where is this reservation that you mentioned?”

He took a swing from his crystal glass with finesse. “Hm. That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Jeongin told me that I need to keep an eye on you, you know that? It would be best if we didn’t leave the hotel at all--”

“--But what would be the fun in that?” The prince nearly pouted.

From the others side of the table, Two in his aviators brushed off his lap before standing. “I’m going to get some sleep, if that’s alright with you? I’m feeling pretty jetlagged and I want to be prepared for tomorrow. Excuse me.”

The slender man bowed to you at the table, then even deeper to the prince.

“What was that about?” Jeongin muttered while he poked at the thin caramel layer of his French dessert.

“Actually, I think I want to head to bed too, I’m stuffed.” Seungmin rubbed his belly in his contentment. “Also...I think I might have homework due...heh. I don’t know...I’ve got to figure out all these all these time differences and stuff.” He pushed in his chair then gave the prince a deep bow. “Thank you, your Highness.”

“My pleasure.” Chan said with a tiny bow back. “Rest up, kid.”

With the empty holes at the table, the silence was deafening.

“And then there were three.” Jeongin yawned. “Bee? Wanna do some laps in the morning? I saw that they had a pool? Wanna see if you can beat my record...again?”

“Psh. I was coming off that biochemical cocktail the last time we tired. You had an advantage.”

“Then you’ll beat me? Hm! I look forward to that.” Your adorable partner flashed the first smile that you’d seen in a couple days. You missed it, you realized.

“Sleep tight Bee. Goodnight your Highness.”

“Thank you Fox.” The prince mirrored his warm smile.

Knives and forks clinked on china in the dining room, and music softly payed the soundtrack of the evening. A low hum filled the space where the tourists and patrons chatted among themselves. It was peaceful and normal amidst everything that had been pricking your skin and plaguing worry over your mind. The prince merely sighed, sparking eyes reflecting the candles dying out on the table.

“And now it’s just the two of us.”

“Seems like it.”

“Can I whisk you away now?”

“Whisk? Who said that I would allow any whisking?”

“Come on...Bee. Just this one time? I promise to be on my best behavior.”

You laughed out incredulously at the comment. “You out of all people can’t promise something like that.”

“I guess you’re right about that. But...still, I won’t try to make a scene or anything.”

The royal placed his napkin on the table with his knife and fork respectfully tilted off the edge of his plate.

“Follow me?”

Chan held out his hand. It was pink with heat and scraped a little from the glass that had pierced the fragile flesh. In some way, you had felt a twinge of guilt seeing the small injury knowing that you couldn’t have protected him well enough then. You allowed him to lace your fingers with yours, and felt the rough cuts of his scars in your palm.

You had promised to yourself that he would never know such pain again.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

“Annnd...this is it!”

You had taken all of twenty paces outside of the hotel when Chan gestured with open arms to the riverfront. Just at the riverbank, a steamboat was anchored with open doors for hotel guests to enter. The massive, multideck, white steamboat shone like the moon peaking at the ocean’s horizon. Each of the semi-circle windows were lined with white lights and from the inside, the delightful sound of laugher and live music spilled out to the glossy water of the Nile.

“W-what is this?”

“Well…it’s a dinner cruise but I just signed us up for the bar part. Are you...surprised? I thought that it must be pretty safe considering that we’re on the water and no one can drive up and shoot at us.”

“I mean...it’s a bit closed off, but nothing that I can’t handle.”

The prince held out his arm for you to lead the way, then took your hand to help you watch your step down the stairs. Chan provided his name to the conductor in elegant sounding Arabic, leaving you shocked.

“Y-you speak Arabic too?”

Chan chuckled once more, taking your hand in his to bring you down the creaking wood deck with swinging with lanterns above your heads.

“As a royal and diplomat, it’s best for me to know how to communicate if I might need to.”

“I must say your Highness, I am definitely impressed.”

“What? You thought I was just another pretty face?” The charming prince escorted you to a room within the steamboat that was lined with red velvet carpets and small bar tables with tea candles and water lilies floating in a shallow dish. He pulled out your chair before his own, then settled with hands folded in his lap. “I’m trained in hand-to-hand too, although I could use a refresher; that was so long ago, back when I went to school.”

“Hand-to-hand? Well! You really are full of surprises.”

The prince appeared smug and faintly amused by the compliment as he crossed his legs under the table and leaned in with his dizzying floral scent.

The waitress appeared and Chan flexed his language skills once more while he ordered a Hemmingway Daiquiri for himself and a French 75 for you. Somewhere off in the distance or perhaps a different part of the boat, louder and more excitable music played along with the echoing claps of those who listened along. Here, it was much quieter, and the loud sound was replaced with a jazz song that you had heard before--likely from your more formative years.

“It’s a beautiful night.” Chan began, “Thank you for agreeing to do this with me. I know that I’ve been a bit forward, but, I appreciate you entertaining me.”

“If I had said no, what would’ve happened then?”

“Well, maybe I would’ve dropped it, but...knowing you...I don’t think that I would’ve given up easily.”

The waitress returned with the drinks on a silver platter: his grapefruit pink and yours the color of a lemon drop.

The royal rose his glass for you to clink with yours, “To...adventures.”

“To adventures.”

With a resounding sound, the glasses met, and you watched the way that the shimmering liquid ripped across the prince’s nose.

The two of you sat for several moments more, saying nothing, but sipping and soaking in the night breeze and the humidity that made your whole body feel blanketed with a sense of calm. You had felt this way before back at the safe house, and it snuck up on you once more. Simply exisiting with the prince provided you with a sense of solace that had long since faded from your life. The sense of responsibility that you felt for the man was noticeable, but you couldn’t help but notice how he provided for you the same sense of safety that you did for him.

Perhaps it was the loneliness of the job and the solitude that came along with it. Was that you craved to be touched? Listened to? Admired? You had distanced yourself from irrational things such as love and other feelings of attachment. In your line of work, people died often, and you had to move on just as fast as their lives had been taken from them. You supposed that you had become unfeeling at this point...but this prince, so full of himself and focused on the material...there was something about him that reminded you how to feel.

“Bee? What are you thinking about?” He asked carefully.

“Oh...nothing.”

“You looked kind of lost here.”

“Was I?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah...yeah. I’m fine. Maybe the drink is just...getting to me.”

“Just one drink?” Chan giggled a bit, “I didn’t take you for being a lightweight Bee. I thought that they gave you like, drinking lessons or something back at that agency of yours.”

“I’m fine. I shouldn’t have more than one drink anyway.”

The prince nodded, understanding. “So, what will you tell me about yourself? Is there anything that you’re allowed to tell me? Or...will you always be this mysterious, beautiful, enigma?”

“Me? Enigmatic? Ha! Hardly.”

“Well? What then?” The prince sucked at the lime garnishing his glass. “Since I don’t have the pleasure of knowing your real name, I’d love it if you could tell me something.”

Over the stereo, the muted trumpet played along with the twang of thick upright bass strings,

“I suppose I could tell you how...” Chan leaned in, “I didn’t want to join The Agency. At first.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“It felt like a bit of a last resort and anything that is a last resort is something that can’t come easy.”

Chan titled his head as if to say, I’m listening.

“Life...fucking sucks sometimes. Sometimes...you’re left...living with your sleazy uncle with a letter addressed to you post mortem telling you to carry on the family name if you want to feel some connection to the parents that you never knew.”

The royal cast his eyes down, “I-I’m so sorry.”

“The Agency has been everything I’ve known since I was a teenager. This life...it’s everything. I think in a way I feel obligated to it...since it was what took my parents from me...I owe it to them to do a job that they spent so much energy on so that it wasn’t in vain.”

You stopped, realizing the weight of your words in the air and how they cut like the blade of the knife that you kept tucked in your waistband sheathed in a leather cover. Once the sharp metal was taken from it’s confines, there was nothing to protect those from the damage it could do.

“Bee...I don’t know what to say besides I’m sorry. That’s terrible. I can’t imagine what it must be like to loose your parents and have been thrown into this life...no one deserves that.”

“Its okay.” You sighed. “I did it to myself. Now, it’s of no concern. I can take care of my own, and I have a new family. I try not to look back.”

As he had done numerous times before that night, Chan’s hand reached out for yours under the table, brushing up against the white cloth.

“I can’t say how much I appreciate you enough for what you do; risking your life for me...I owe you everything Bee.” The prince softened, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand.

The chug of the steamboat hissed softly behind you in that back bar room, and just through the windows, you could see the stars dotting the sky just as they did in any corner of the world. They were a reminder that while some things changed, others didn’t.

The echo of footsteps on the deck clicked, causing you to turn a careful glance back to the direction of the sound. The man who entered was dressed in a casual cotton button up and navy slacks. On the white of his breast, he wore a pin holding the symbol of a crest.

“Lee Minho?” Chan gasped.

“Your Highness!” The handsome man bowed immediately with a startled little smile.

The friendly prince stood immediately upon seeing the other royal to shake his hand. “What a coincidence that we meet again!”

Lee Minho shied with a polite smile while fiddling with his hair that looked to be masterfully styled. “Must be...fated. Or something like that.”

“Are you alright? Last I saw you was at the shooting at the gala. I’m so glad to see that you’re safe. You didn’t get injured I hope?”

This close, Lee Minho had oddly cat-like eyes that were as intense as they were alluring. He was just as you had remembered him to be--put together and polished like a true royal, dastardly handsome with all the right curves to his body, and just enough mystery to him to pique the interest of anyone who had sensed his air--just as the prince had.

“What are you doing in Cairo?” Chan asked, gesturing for the stranger to pull up a chair.

Lee Minho swatted away the question with an annoyed cringe. “Royal stuff, you know how it goes. Everyone is always trying to poke their noses in places where they shouldn’t be...unless they’re looking to get themselves killed. That's why they send me. I’m dispensable.”

“Oh, I’d hardly say that.”

In seconds the prince’s entire body had shifted towards the direction of the other man, and hung onto each of his words as if they were a siren song.

“When you’re not as high up in the ranks as you are your Highness, royalty starts to feel more like servitude than a legitimate position.”

“So, where are you poking your nose?”

Lee Minho’s eyes nervously flicked to you, and Chan realized that he had skipped right over introductions.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce the two of you. Minho, this is Bee, my--”

“--I’m a member of his detail.” You spoke for him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you formally Lee Minho. I recall seeing you at the gala.”

Minho bowed slightly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you too.”

It was obvious that you had made the man uncomfortable, just as you had liked it to be. While you could see what the prince had seen in him, you had the disposition to be much less trusting than his Highness.

“Which royals are employing you? I’d love to know! It’s always exciting for me to learn about who is plotting what. The royal drama keeps me really entertained.”

Minho sat up straighter, then waved a hand for the waitress to come scuttling over.

“Some of my family members. You wouldn’t know them, we’re all dreadfully insignificant to be honest. They heard all this business about those men with the red crests and they’re starting to get scared. After they targeted...you, they’re wondering which royal family might be next...if any. I’m here to find out who they are, their whereabouts, anything else.”

“Wow! That’s actually what we--”

“--And where are you planning on getting this information if I may ask?” You hushed the prince’s loose lips as quickly as you could.

Minho leaned in over the flickering candle to lower his tone, “I heard that there’s an informant here in the city who might now something about this group. They’ve been popping up on national news too as of late. I’m looking to talk to him tomorrow evening. Luckily, I was able to make an appointment but it was no small feat. I had to bribe him to high hell to get him to speak with me.”

“Hm. Sounds familiar.” You mumbled.

Chan’s eyes widened, then he looked back to you to ask for permission. You gave him a nod.

“It seems like we’re here for a common purpose my friend.” The prince leaned in to bridge the gap between them, his hand notably reaching to rest on the other man’s thigh below the table’s surface. “We’re seeking similar information and I think we might be speaking of the same informant.”

“But your Highness, isn’t it dangerous it you to do something like this?”

“Not when I’ve got her around.” Chan threw a sly grin to you across the table. “I’m well protected. And you? Where’s your detail?”

“I’m afraid that I’m out here alone. Like I said, when you’re as low in the ranks as I am...”

“What? That’s terrible!! They aren’t even protecting their own? Bee!!”

“Yes, your Highness?” You already knew where this was going.

“Let’s bring Minho along with us tomorrow! We know that there’s safety in numbers--”

“Your Highness, in case you haven’t noticed, our hands are already a bit full...”

“I can fend for myself.” Lee Minho suddenly piped. “Travelling alone, I’ve picked up a few things about protecting myself. You don’t have to protect me, but, I appreciate the offer.”

“Nonsense! You should come with us! I would feel more comfortable if you did rather than went by yourself.”

Lee Minho gave the royal a smile in his thanks, it was pure and a little adorable you had considered...but that was likely the champagne going to your head.

“Really? I appreciate it, your Highness.”

While you were distanced, you nearly could’ve sworn that the prince had squeezed the other’s leg reassuringly, and you were willing to bet he had rubbed it with his thumb too just as he had done to you.

After long, the waitress returned with Lee Minho’s drink, and the two men chatted like old college buddies while you slipped away at your drink in an attempt to make it last as long as you could. While Chan did try to engage you in conversation, it would never last for long until he would become puppy-eyed over the stranger again. In the end, you wondered if the tipsy prince would’ve also confessed to this man if he had one too many drinks.

The table bumped with their jovial and restless legs, and you could only imagine what wandering hands sought to discover.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

The hotel was quiet save for the click of heels on the marble floors from ladies who had just gotten off the steamboat and clung to their husbands in their drunken stupor. They cackled in the empty and golden lobby, then pressed hasty kisses into the stuttering mouths of their husbands who’s mouths then smeared with hot pick lipstick. Chan giggled at the sight while he tripped over his own feet too.

“Ahhhh. Being in love is so cute.” He adored them once you had entered the elevator.

“You’re not going to throw up on me, are you?”

The prince hiccupped, then shook his head. “Unlike you I know how to hold my liquor. I’m fine. Just a bit sleepy I think. Must be the jet lag.”

The tones for each floor beeped in the compartment, and Chan lulled his head back and forth.

“So. Lee Minho huh?” You said, not even able to help yourself. The alcohol had brought you a bit of an edge...so you thought.

“Lee. Minho.” He sighed out dreamily. “What do you think of him?”

“I think I can’t trust anyone as long as I haven’t ran at least three background checks on them.”

“Awww, Bee, you’re so thoughtful of me.”

In the empty hallway, the prince with squinting eyes leaned against the doorframe to the royal suite, reaching out to brush up against your blouse once more. You let him, excusing his drunken state. After he did so, his eyes hazed over with something much different, while he looked exhausted, it was laced with something else: something much more longing.

“Bee...fuck, I really want to kiss you again.”

“Hm. That’s ripe coming from you who was just viciously flirting with Lee Minho.”

You could see his head spinning in his dilated pupils. “What?”

The door clicked open and you less than gracefully lead the prince through the dark to your shared bedroom.

“B-Bee, what are you talking about?”

You scoffed, “I’m not blind, you know.”

“A-are you...jealous?”

“W-what? Fuck no. I’m just...you can’t just...toss people around thinking that they’ll all bend to you.”

Chan sat at the edge of the bed and rubbed at his temples when you turned one of the lamps on.

“I-I was doing that?”

You tore a pillow from the bed as well as the throw blanket at the end. “I’m sleeping on the couch. Good evening, your Highness.”

“Wait! Bee!” The young prince stumbled after you, stubbing his toe against the bedpost in the process. “Ah-FUCK!” He grunted.

“What?” You growled back to him, half shrouded in the darkness of the suite living room.

The royal stumbled out, eyes blank and backlit from the bedroom. While you couldn’t see him fully, you later could assume that there was something in him terribly torn and ripped in that moment that made little sense to him, as it did to you to.

Arms reached out, bodies softly illuminated by the lights of the city, and the prince leaned himself fully into you, pressing bitter tasting lips to yours with a heat and desire that only seemed amplified the breather he had gotten. While he tasted of lime and grapefruits, with a twinge of alcohol. He was just as addictive as any vice. You wanted to feel him. As infuriating as he was, and oblivious, your abhorrence to him was just as strong as your attraction.

“Mm, Bee--” He moaned directly into your mouth while shuffling both of you back to the bedroom.

The prince’s trembling breath floated from his mouth to yours where he used both of his large hands to pull your face closer to his. You knew that in some way, there must have been something ingenuine about the whole scenario, but you didn’t care too much, not when kissing him felt like something. Maybe he had kissed you out of pity, or because he really had wanted to kiss you. You broke for seconds before both of your tangled limbs hit the bed.

“Before...you said that you wouldn’t kiss me.”

“I didn’t make any promises...but, how come...you said that you wouldn’t hesitate...? But you kissed ba--”

You silenced the prince’s words with your own heated kisses that made little sense, only that kissing him as such felt good. You straddled the man while his hungry fingers traced all the way down your back. The prince’s hips sunk into the cushiony mattress, and you screwed him down even harder into it with your own heated hips grinding into him with as much pressure as you could muster.

“This is what you want, right?” You pulled at his lip with your teeth to hear him groan from it.

“Is it...what you want?” Chan got out between more kisses.

You could blame it on loneliness or lack of touch all that you wanted, but it wasn’t even close.

“Wait. Wait.” Chan suddenly interjected.

“What? What is it?”

The prince looked up at you, that haze in his eyes now fading to something much different that wasn’t covered in the lust that he held before.

“Bee...I-I don’t know if I want it to happen this way. It feels...it’s not...”

“Not what?”

He brushed his hand upward now to caress your face, lingering on the side of the peach fuzz on your cheek. “You deserve better than whatever the hell this is.”

“Oh, so when I finally want to fuck you, you’re saying it isn’t right?”

“I’m saying, I’m drunk, it’s late, clearly there’s something that’s upsetting you, and I want to know what it is before we do anything else. Tell me, what’s wrong?”

It might’ve been Lee fucking Minho, or it might’ve been something else much stickier for you to admit, but seeing the prince like this, it was too much. He was gorgeous under you, practically angelic looking.

“I-I’m...complicating things.” You whispered out, and the prince softened even further.

“That’s what it is? Bee, I told that you don’t have to worry about--”

“--Yes. Yes I do...your Highness. I-I can’t feel...”

“Bee--let’s just talk about--”

The prince might’ve said more, but his words faded into murmurs once you closed his door behind you, then crawled onto the couch in Jeongin and Seungmin’s room, locking their door too.

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @lunarskzzz

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m-y-fandoms · 4 years

Text

Korekiyo Shinguuji x reader fluff

Request: Hello!! ✨ Can i request something fluffy with Korekiyo (it would be nice if it would be with his pregame version (but original is okay, too))? Maybe he's having a sleepover with reader? Thank you in advance ✨ I really like your writing. Your oneshots and imagines make my day!!

Okay I’m gonna de pregame Korekiyo like you asked! So just a tall, lanky, beautiful man with a face mask. No incest and lipstick or killing game lmao. Also I’ll make him interested in anthropology but not the Ultimate/SHSL - Admin Kokichi

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to impose…” your best friend, Korekiyo Shinguuji, stares at you from behind his black dust mask with a concerned gaze. His brows are furrowed deeply in the center.

Korekiyo had gotten into a fight last night with his legal guardian, his older sister. Apparently, it had been a nasty one, unlike anything that’s happened between them before. It gotten so bad that she kicked him out of the house, with no word of when he would be allowed back in.

“Yeah, of course, Kiyo! We are buds right? You’re my bestie! I can’t let my bestie just spend the. night alone in some hotel or sleep out in the street, now can I?”

“But Y/N-”

“Would you let me go sleep in the street if it were me?”

“No, I suppose not, but-”

“Then any argument you have in invalid. Case closed!” You closed your notebook on your desk haughtily as if to signify the end of the conversation. Korekiyo sighed, a slight blush on his cheeks as he placed his head down on his desk with anxiety.

“You’re sure your parents are okay with it?” He mumbled, his black hair cascading down his back and shoulders and splaying out around his desk.

“Well…”

“Y/N…” he warned, scolding you like a mad mother.

“They will be out of town this entire week. My dad always travels for work and my bitch of a stepmother has to stay attached to his hip like a leech at all times so-”

“Then me staying over seems highly inappropriate. I’m sure your father would-”

“Don’t make me guilt you into coming over. You’re my friend. You’re in need, and I love spending time with you! Please?” You reached over and pulled on the sleeve of his exorbitantly-priced sweater with eyes wide like a puppy dog.

“You win this time, Y/N, but if your father finds out and becomes hostile toward me, I’m going to blame you…” he joked breathily, shaking his head at his stubborn best friend. He couldn’t help but give into your every want and desire, and you often pulled him into your schemes and plans. Well...he called them schemes, but he was just a goody-two-shoes, so anything not morally immaculate or life-enriching was considered foolish to him.

“Then it’s settled.” You nearly squealed. You’d been waiting forever to have him over to your house, but he’d always declined. You’d known him for about a year, and still your humble abode had remained a mystery to him. He lived with his older sister who took care of him after their parents died, and she was extremely strict with him. He was never allowed to come over after school. You’d been to his place once or twice, but always with supervision and strictly for studying or some other educational activity. If you wanted to spend time after school, he had to lie to her about where he was going and why. Finally, you’d have your crush, your best friend over to your home.

You had to admit to yourself, you did feel a little guilty about the whole situation. You were inviting him over for mainly selfish reasons. Yes, he was your best friend and you’d never let him go without a place to stay, but there was a large part of you that just wanted the boy you liked alone and to yourself for a night or...maybe two, if this first sleepover went well. Unfortunately though, your crush on him weighed heavily on you. You felt horrible for keeping this secret of your feelings from him, because he trusted you with everything. You were so scared that letting him know that you wanted to be more than friends would ruin the close bond you two had. Yeah...it would be way too awkward to remain friends afterward if he rejected your feelings.

You both were let out after the last class of the day. Korekiyo walked you back home every single day since you’d become friends. At first, you found it a bit embarrassing, seeing as he was one of the kids from the rich neighborhoods around your school and you lived in a middle-class suburb a bit further away. Your fears about your class-difference with your best friend quickly faded as you got to know him. It became clear within weeks of hanging out that he would never judge you based on financial status, whether you lived in a trailer or a palace. That was just one of the many things you loved about him. And boy could you list a bunch…

He was intelligent, a straight-A student and teacher’s pet. He had endless wisdom and knowledge of both practical things and useless trivia. He gave the best advice, and was so passionate about both his hobbies and yours. You could talk with him forever without the topic getting dry.

His looks only enamored you to him further. He was tall and slender, with a perfectly built frame. Unlike your peers, he never got acne, and his complexion was pore-less and smooth like marble. He was pale, and his eyes stood out like flecks of gold against an ivory surface. His hair was healthier and more majestic than any female you knew. It was long, all the way down his back, and was the deepest, darkest shade of black with delicate bangs that fell across his forehead. He was absolutely gorgeous, but for some reason he still had self-esteem issues. For this reason, he always wore a dust mask over his mouth and nose that concealed his entire lower face. You could never understand why. Everyone at school either liked him or was jealous of him, and he had nothing to hide from anyone.

He tried to lie to you at first, stating that he had a weaker constitution and because of frequent illness and hospital visits, his sister made him wear it, but once you got closer, he admitted he liked hiding his face and it made him feel comfortable. He customized his masks, or commissioned them to be specially made, having embroidery on them or patchwork and sometimes shelling out for the more expensive leather or designer masks...which you didn’t even know existed until you met him.

You’d tried to convince him multiple times that he was beautiful and had nothing worth covering up, but he insisted upon wearing the masks in public at least. After knowing him for a few months, he let you see his bare face, but only at his house. And man...were you blown away. He almost...looked like a woman without the mask. But not? It was hard to explain. He was like some kind of gender-less, androgynous deity. He certainly had a strong, masculine brow and jaw, but then his lips were pert and plump and soft...soft-looking at least. They were gentle and the cupid’s bow dipped down low and rounded out. He had a wide, manly chest and slender waist, but long eyelashes. Large, veiny hands, but delicate skin and hair. He was absolutely heavenly to look at. That first time, when you’d seen him without his mask, you knew you were falling hard, and it made you sweat and your heart speed up. You were always so scared that you’d go too far or flirt by accident and he’d catch on and pull away from your friendship. It hadn’t happened yet, thankfully.

It was raining, pouring down actually, and you two rushed down the street side by side, backpacks over your heads for protection from the downpour.

“I apologize. As you know, I would usually have an umbrella but after she kicked me out last night, Miyadera has refused to let me go in and get anything that I didn’t have on my person at the time.” He was right, he was always prepared for any possibility, and his sister had now made that impossible.

“It’s fine. I read the forecast this morning. I should’ve brought one as well,” you yelled, the rain pelting you both loudly. “We really should get a car or something. We’re seniors for fuck’s sake.” We? You didn’t know why you’d said that. He was his own person and probably could afford to buy you both cars with his own pocket money.

Why did you even say that?

“Ah, but walking is better exercise! It’s good for us! Besides...Miya won’t let me buy one... you know that. She practically controls all of my funds.”

“Kiyo, you’re 18 now, get your damn money back!”

“I’m scared…” he chuckled, only half-joking. It was true, you both had turned 18 recently and were about to graduate, but his sister still treated him like a little kid. Pretty ironic, as you wouldn’t kick a little kid out onto the street on their own.

You passed his neighborhood, and he looked up at it longingly, raindrops substituting tears dripping down his cheeks. You could tell this was weighing on him. He loved his home, it was where he felt safe, and he hated fighting with his sister. She was a tough guardian, yes, but she gave up her life as a young woman in her prime to raise him.

You were approaching your street now, both of you soaked down to your socks and hoping your bags didn’t also soak through. You both had many folders of homework and electronics inside that would all be ruined if so. You reached the curb, waiting to cross into your neighborhood, when an unruly teen in his beaten-up sedan screeched by, speeding past you two carelessly. You grabbed Korekiyo’s pale, cold hand, startled by the sudden volume of the law-breaking vehicle, and you both gasped as its wheels dug into the puddle in front of you just below the curb, and splashed onto you both like a tidal wave.

“Fuckin’ asshole!” You yelled, charging forward after the car until a hand landed firmly on your shoulder, holding you back. You swore the rain would begin to evaporate and steam up into the air with how hot your skin was right now. You were royally pissed off.

“Y/N if he’s the type of man to do that, what do you think talking to him would accomplish? Also, do you really think it’s possible to catch up to a speeding vehicle on foot?” Always the voice of reason. Always so calm and mature. You usually admired that in him, but right now you were seeing red, and his dismissal of your mood made you a bit ticked off at him as well.

“But! I-gah! Aren’t you pissed? He just-”

“Got us wet? We were already wet.”

“But he did that on purpose!”

“I know. Being irate changes nothing. Come on, once we are inside I’m sure we can get warm and dry off. I’ll keep you warm,” he smiled gently behind his mask, his eyes crinkling. Your cheeks would’ve heated up had your body not already been aflame from rage. You didn’t know why you were always so flustered when he was caring toward you or touched you or even mentioned touching you. You felt gross reveling in his platonic intimacy so much. It felt like you were taking advantage of his kindness. Yes, he could keep you warm once you got home. That was normal. You two always cuddled or held hands or leaned on each other. You were just that close. But it was all just casual, as friends...right?

“Y-yeah. You can shower and I have some baggier, more comfortable clothes you can wear to hang out and sleep in. I think those should fit.” Korekiyo was taller than you and awfully skinny but you had some general sweatpants and oversized t-shirts that you were sure would fit anyone comfortably. You knew Korekiyo was used to the best and most expensive textiles and fashion, but for just hanging out at your house? It should be fine.

“That’s very kind of you, thanks.” You were sure he was thinking: how could you put me in peasant-wear, but he would never say that aloud to you. “Why do you have that awful look on your face? Did I say something to offend you, Y/N?” He took your hand in his as you reached your front door and rummaged through your bag for your house keys, Korekiyo holding his phone’s flashlight over your bag to assist you.

“No, I’m fine, Kiyo, why?” The keys jingled in the lock and you opened the door.

“You know you can’t lie to me, Y/N,” his voice dropped into a low rumble, and you got chills down your spine. He was just so...sexy without even trying.

“I just...sometimes I feel bad that you spend so much time with me or like I’m not enough, like the rest of our classmates who live in that bougie housing plan of yours...like with the clothes I’m giving you tonight. I feel like you deserve better or like...like what if those kids start to judge you one day because you’re hanging out with people that are beneath you.”

“Y/N,” he stopped you, rolling his eyes as you both dropped your soaking bags and overcoats on the floor on your living room, “You’re my ‘bestie’ as you always say,” he chuckled dryly. “Do you really think I care what clothes I’m wearing when we are alone or what any of our peers think of my friendship with you? I know you know me far better than that… where is this all coming from? You’re unusually… emotional today,” he took your hand once again, leading you to the couch, but pausing before sitting down with you. “I do not wish to soak your couch. That shower would be nice about now,” you could see the pallor of his skin, coated like wet porcelain as he shook slightly.

“Y-yes! Well okay, we have a bathroom in my parent’s master bedroom and one just in the hallway for guests and myself. You can take the master bedroom one, it’s much nicer,” you stuttered.

“Why do you insist on babying me and always thinking I need pampered or require only the finer things in life? I was born wealthy, I don’t need all of those things. I think your house is wonderful,” he gestured around him, “just like you!” He encouraged you before letting you lead him upstairs. You ran to the bathroom closet then to your room, leaving him in the dark hallway alone for just a moment. He observed the photos on your wall, the paint, the carpet. Why would he judge you for any of this?

You returned with the sleep-wear you promised and a fresh towel.

“You can go ahead and use anything in there. My dad won’t even notice. B-but... if you don’t like his soaps and shampoos let me know. I have quite the skincare and bathing collection!” You were a little proud of that fact, and he smiled at the happiness finally leaking back into your attitude.

“I’m sure it will all be fine. Thank you, Y/N.” He nodded, taking the towel and clothes from you before heading into your father’s room. You turned on your heel, fetching what you needed before taking a shower of your own in the hallway’s smaller bathroom.

You sighed, but not in relief or relaxation, letting the hot water fall over you and loosen your tense muscles. You felt just so...fucked up. Conflicted. Confused. Guilty...love-struck. You didn’t know what to do and felt extremely overwhelmed.

Tonight would be the best opportunity to tell him how you feel: alone, private, cozy and warm, cuddling up together? Yes, that was perfect...but at the same time, if he rejects you, then what? He leaves immediately and has nowhere to go? Or maybe he stays the night to be polite and there’s an awkward silence between you for the rest of your lives...what if he avoids you after school and no longer wants to go to the same university as you?! Your head was spinning.

Why am I such a coward...you thought to yourself, tears mingling with the shower water.

When you finally dried off and got dressed, Korekiyo was already waiting for you in your room, having turned on your electric blanket on your bed and sitting patiently waiting for you underneath it. His hair was damp and his mask was on your night stand. He acknowledged your entrance with a warm grin and patted the bed next to him.

“Why are you in bed? It’s only like five, I was thinking we would go downstairs and cuddle on the couch and eat something-” you approached him slowly and he cut you off.

“Goodness, Y/N, what’s wrong?” He stood to meet you, inches away and towering over you.

“Huh?” He took your chin in his hands and tilted it upwards to meet his dandelion-colored eyes.

“Your eyes are all puffed up. You’ve been crying? Why?” Wow…

“You never miss a thing, huh, Kiyo?” You tried to change the subject or lighten the mood or...anything!

“Only when it comes to you~” he hummed before leading you down the stairs and onto your couch. You dragged along behind him like a child being forced to the dentist. “Now, what’s upsetting you? You can tell me anything, you know that…” his eyes were full of concern and he but his lower lip, apprehensive.

“Kiyo, I- well….it’s just...nothing’s wrong. Let’s go get some snacks. I know you love soup dumplings with white rice~” You smiled weakly.

“First of all, that’s more of a meal than a snack, but anyway, you know you can’t lie to me, Y/N.”

“I just...I just want...this is so hard.” You sighed, voice faltering.

“What’s so hard? Me sleeping over, or your dad being gone? The rain earlier?”

“No no.... I want you here and you know I don’t miss my dad...a-and I feel much better after washing up…” your voice trailed off. He took your hand one final time that night.

And then...

“May I kiss you?” Kiyo spoke so gently, so scared and soft, like he couldn’t even believe his own words. Your eyes widened in shock.

“W-what?!” You pulled away from him, incredulous.

“I want to kiss you, Y/N. Will you allow me?” You paused for a moment, your mind reeling, but then you nodded slowly, your brain taking over and deciding it knew what was best for you.

Korekiyo leaned in, the couch squeaking a bit at the shift of weight. He clasped your chin with one hand, and guided you to him. His lips pressed gently into yours, as if he thought he might break you if he went any further. His lips were plush, surging with warmth, exactly how you’d always imagined them. After pecking you, he pulled back, looking for consent, looking for a sign that you enjoyed that, too. You nodded, getting the hint, and he pressed back onto you, a bit more liberal with his affection this time around.

“Mmm…” you moaned into the kiss as you both tilted your heads at an angle to reach deeper, and his mouth slid open. His tongue trailed against your bottom lip and you opened up without hesitation, your heart going a mile a minute. His tongue massaged yours carefully for a long moment that seemed frozen in time, and then he pulled back. You both sat staring at each other, panting a bit, until a smirk teased across the corner of his lips, and a blush appeared on his normally-concealed face. “H-how...how did you know?”

“I’ve always known…” you felt a wave of embarrassment and shame wash over you. “You’re not good at hiding it.”

“Kiyo...I’m so sorry. I know we are just friends and I shouldn’t feel this way. I just- you are...I can’t stop feeling this way.”

“Y/N...did you think I asked to kiss you out of pity…?” He saw something like realization register in your expression, and he reached out, pulling you into his chest.

“You...you feel the same?”

“Exactly the same.” You didn’t feel so guilty anymore. “And I suppose we both were just too afraid of rejection to say anything. But knowing you, I knew I would have to make the first move if I ever wanted you to myself…” he hugged you tighter with those words.

“Y-yeah, I’m sorry about that...Kiyo, I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you.”

“And I should’ve told you, but there’s no use feeling guilty. We both want this.”

“Kiyo, will you...be my boyfriend…?” You now knew his true feelings, but still felt a lump in your throat. What if he didn’t want a committed, serious relationship right now, or his sister wouldn’t allow it...?

“I want that more than anything.”

You spent the rest of the night cooking soup dumplings, then shoving your faces with the greasiest snacks money could buy and watching documentaries while snuggled into his lap on the couch. He pointed out little facts and trivia along with each documentary, his obsession for culture and anthropology unabashedly taking over.

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years

Text

Yellow Bells

Pairing: Kim Yugyeom x reader

Genre: florist au / fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: this is for the lovely @mrkimyugyeom for her birthday today. Thanks to the anon the other day who mentioned the florist! concept, I realised it fits this present for my dear friend perfectly. Thank you for everything you have done for me over the last year, Nora! I’m so grateful for our friendship Xxx

Word count: 2136

“Are you sure you can manage on your own, Yugyeom?”

He nodded, ushering his parents eagerly to the exit of the store. “Mum, I’ve grown up in this shop. I’m pretty sure I know every type of flower in here from your little songs you sing as you care for them. Go, I can handle it for a week.”

“He’s right, darling. The florist will be here when we return from our vacation,” Yugyeom’s father assured, tugging his wife outside. She turned to look forlornly at Yugyeom.

Or, probably the row of baby azaleas behind him.

“Make sure you water-”

“I will and I’ll feed those in the tropical part and check the temperature for the lilies and honestly Mum, I can handle this.”

She reluctantly nodded, stretching to place a kiss on his cheek as she hugged him. He waved his parents off as they drove away for their first vacation alone since he was born over twenty years ago. And as soon as they were out of sight, he stepped back into the house of flora and slumped visibly.

Sure, he wanted his parents to have a good time. And he wasn’t exactly lying; he had spent more time within this florist growing up than in the apartment above it.

But Yugyeom wasn’t born possessing a green thumb like his parents. He was even somewhat affected by pollen and since his mother was deeply attached to her flower children, he had only minded the store a handful of times.

“I can do this,” he reaffirmed, nodding his head and slipping his hands deep within his pockets, eying the succulents’ table carefully. “We’ll do this together, right guys?”

He then grimaced, wondering how his mother could speak so fondly to everything in here without any problem. So, maybe he wouldn’t be singing the bushes down the back to sleep as he locked up later on.

But he’d at least be able to keep the store running for the next five days.

Hopefully.

The first day started well. Yugyeom followed the pages of instructions his mother left behind for him to follow, the step by step guide foolproof. He managed to serve a couple of customers and take an order for next week for an event when his mother would be back to make new intricate arrangements.

But that was where he was failing the most. Staring down at the stack of cut-offs lying on the decorative paper he had chosen, Yugyeom groaned out loud. There was no charm to the arrangement he had made. They all clashed and he knew even he wouldn’t buy this to give to anyone.

“You need a different colour palette to balance out all this pink,” you called and he glanced up, his breath getting caught in his throat.

You smiled politely and pointed to the flowers. “You have pink roses, pink tulips and pink carnations. Monochrome is nice but I think if you changed the carnations for a white, it would make the arrangement more interesting.”

“I can do white,” he slowly replied, soon grinning at you. “Thanks!”

“Anytime. I have an order to pick up under the name Y/N,” you stated and Yugyeom nodded, turning to the computer to look up the details, keeping you in his peripheral as he did so.

You glanced around mindlessly. “Mrs Kim isn’t around?”

“Nope, she’s on vacation this week.”

“Oh so you’re Yugyeom then,” you commented and he stopped looking up your order details, blinking rapidly at the fact that you knew his name. You chuckled. “Your Mum talks about you a lot.”

“Really? Are you sure you didn’t hear her say Yellow bells instead?”

You grinned. “I sense some jealousy here. The plants will be offended.”

“You really do know my mother,” he retorted with a breathy chuckle, hiking his thumb in the direction of the storeroom. “I’ll just get your order.”

He returned with a bag of fertiliser and some seeds, sliding them up onto the top of the free counter space. After ringing up your order and accepting your card, Yugyeom then held onto it a little longer than he should. You eyed his lack of action curiously.

“So white?”

You nodded. “White. Don’t stress too much, someone will buy them.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one jealous of flowers,” he teased when he handed back your card.

“Who knows, if it’s still here tomorrow, I might buy it.”

“You’ll be back tomorrow?”

Shrugging, you reached for your purchases. “Perhaps.”

Yugyeom waited for your return the following day. He had managed to empty out the clearance table to a kind elderly couple, stacked the new batch of supplies that arrived just before lunch and even got a start on another mediocre bouquet of flowers when the jingle of the bell over the door made him look up and find you walking inside. He dropped the roll of ribbon he had been fumbling with and then yelped when it landed on his foot.

You laughed. “And a hello to you as well, Yellow bells.”

“I’m going to regret saying that to you yesterday, aren’t I?” he grumbled, bending down to retrieve the ribbon. When he stood back up, you were holding his first arrangement. Yugyeom sighed. “You don’t have to.”

“Why not? I want to be the first person to have one of Yellow-”

“I swear, Y/N if you keep it up!” he cut in with a hearty laugh, your own soon joining his. When the moment was over, Yugyeom then waved you off. “You can have it.”

“Well, I plan on that.”

“No, I mean, for free.”

You grew curious. “Don’t businesses require financial backing?”

“They also require creativity and some sense of pride in their work. That sad bunch has neither. I can’t expect you to buy it.”

“I will. And I will continue to keep buying them until you have just that!”

“What did you say?”

“Ring it up for me, Yellow bells.”

By the fourth day of your regular appearances to the florist, Yugyeom was certain of two things. One, he really liked you. There was just something about you that captivated him and he wanted to talk to you endlessly. Even if it was all about the species of one plant family, he was certain he would listen to every word you said.

Secondly, he knew his mother was behind all this.

“She told you to come and check on her babies, didn’t she?” he asked pointedly when you appeared, looking rather inconspicuously at the indoor houseplants section.

“Who?”

“My mother,” he said and you smiled. “I knew she didn’t trust me!”

“She does actually, like I said, all she talks about is you, Yellow bells.”

He clamped his eyes closed momentarily to clear out the nickname that he was growing rather attached to and then rounded the counter, coming over to your side. “Then why are you turning up every day?”

“Have you made another arrangement yet?” you wondered and Yugyeom rubbed the back of his neck, nodding shyly. “Where is it?”

“It uh, it sold.”

You almost looked upset. “You’re kidding me! Then you’ve done it!”

“I think the old lady felt sorry for me. Something about going home to pretty it up in one of her fine vases.”

“Well, your colour choices are improving so you never know.”

“What’s the deal about you anyway? You always talk about colour.”

You grinned. “I study colour theory at the local university.”

“Huh.” Yugyeom moved over to look at a baby fern, inspecting its leaves. “You’re majoring in art?”

“Business management. I just take it as an extra paper.”

“What’s the end goal for you then?”

“Really?” you asked, biting at your bottom lip as you grinned. “Is Yellow bells interested in where I end up?”

“I’d laugh if it was a florist.” Your eyes sparkled as your lips twitched and Yugyeom gaped at you. “A florist?!”

“I’ve been helping your mother make changes to the business marketing part of the shop for three months now. So it would be this florist.”

“I’ve never seen you before.”

“You moved out, remember.”

“You know too much,” he breathed and you nudged him.

“Not everything.”

“Enough,” he lamented and moved back to the counter in a slump. “You’ll come and work for the family and then you’ll not see me for anything more than Yellow bells then.”

“Were you hoping I’d see you for more than that?” you questioned, unable to hide your intrigue.

“I’m glad the old lady bought the bouquet now.”

“You’ll just have to make me another one,” you concluded, heading towards the door. You stepped out, only to stick your head back around the corner. “Make sure it doesn’t sell before I get here again tomorrow.”

Yugyeom was discouraged. With the knowledge that you were being primed to join the family business, he couldn’t see how this would separate him enough from the son of your future employer. He barely said a word to any of the plants as he locked up that night and grunted in greeting the following morning. He only had to get through today. Tomorrow, his parents would be back and he would be able to return to his apartment downtown and forget all about the way you smiled whenever you called him your preferred nickname.

The day felt like it was dragging. He completed all the morning chores, ensuring the plants that needed watering or fed an enrichment mixture had been checked off his list before he approached the arrangement station. Yugyeom had gathered an assorted bunch of flowers earlier in the morning. There was nothing special to them, just cut-offs that didn’t seem to fit in with others. Together, however, they seemed aesthetically pleasing. Choosing to wrap them in simple brown paper to enhance their beauty, he placed the bouquet into the front stand, going back to working on some multi-coloured roses.

The doorbell jingled and he didn’t even look up. He knew it was you.

“Afternoon flower babies,” you called out, sounding just like his mother. He huffed petulantly, trimming off the excess stem of the rose he was readying for the arrangement. You were soon in front of him. But instead of greeting him with his nickname, you didn’t say anything.

Yugyeom looked up to see what was wrong, his eyes narrowing when he found you staring at something in awe. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You made this?”

“Oh them? Yeah, I felt sorry for them since they didn’t match with their other batches so I put them all together. It’s a bit wild, huh?”

“I love it,” you confessed shakily, blinking a few times. You then glanced up at him and he could see how moved you were. “It’s beautiful, Yugyeom.”

He was overwhelmed. He hadn’t expected this reaction to the bouquet, or within himself. Your words bounced around his insides, shooting off spikes of warmth. He was certain he was madly blushing and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Oh uh, well.”

“I can’t buy this,” you murmured, still clutching the bouquet despite your statement. Your eyes searched his and Yugyeom eventually grinned bashfully.

“Good, I can finally gift you some flowers, Y/N.”

“One of many bunches, I hope.”

“You forget, today’s my last day here.”

You faltered. “You don’t plan to visit?”

“Well, yeah I come and see my parents most weekends.”

“Then you can make me some flowers then.”

“You won’t be here every day, will you?” he wondered, trying not to stare at you too much. He felt there was more to what you were expressing and his palms started to sweat as he thought over what next to say. “You… you wouldn’t come here looking for me, would you?”

“I have every day this week, haven’t I?”

Yugyeom frowned. “That’s because of my mother’s-”

“Actually, she just asked me to come in on Wednesday. I was curious and couldn’t wait until then.”

“Curious about what?”

“You,” you confessed, burying your face into the flowers you held to hide your expression. You then gazed up at him once more at ease. “You’re kind of handsome, Yellow bells.”

He sighed heavily. “It was going so well.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t like it,” you mused and Yugyeom laughed.

“I’ll need to come up with a nickname for you then too,” he announced and you tilted your head to the side.

“You seemed so sure we wouldn’t be crossing paths after today.”

He grinned. “Didn’t you say I needed to make more flower arrangements?”

“I did.”

“Well, I’ve got some new ideas. I need to try them out when I come by. Since you’ll be here, after all.”

You seemed to bloom then, brightening up entirely. “Well Yellow bells, I can’t wait to see what you come up with next.”

_________________

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 3 years

Text

I Taste Honey but I Haven’t Seen the Hive - Chapter Four

Ao3, Masterpost, C.1 C.2 C.3

Relationships: eventual queer-platonic intruality, mentioned platonic relationships

tumblr edits out my italics when i copy/paste, and its midnight on a school night, so. italics arent in the tumblr version of this chapter cuz im not manually replacing them rn :P

Warnings: Taxidermy, swearing, fights (verbally, not physically), mentions of death, sexual innuedo (thanks remus), sympathetic everyone but there is Conflict.

Word Count: 2,645

Patton had learned, in his many years of emotion-filled life, that every person interacted with others uniquely. An obvious thing to learn, maybe, but in his younger years he felt like it really wasn’t made clear enough.

When it finally hit Patton that other people didn’t feel things in just the same way he did, it came with slow disbelief. Shocked was he to learn that not only were people so vastly different inside, but that he might’ve been one of the most different of all- even with the other sides. After all, each of them had seemed to understand all their differences like it was second nature, while Patton tried to come to terms with the information.

And come to terms with it he had, throughout Thomas’ late teens to early twenties. It was just Patton’s nature to try and learn about his friends, and that didn’t change when the task got harder. If anything, he’d become furiously determined to know how to care for all his family better than anyone, even if it more than once sent him spiralling in thought.

Logan, for example, was at his best when he was around other people; calmly talking, debating, doing work in the same space, anything that amounted to time spent together. So, even when Patton didn’t know what he was going on about, he did his best to at least be someone Logan could talk at. Which must’ve have worked somehow, because Patton couldn’t even count the times anymore he’d realized it had been hours after starting a conversation with his best friend, the both of them grinning and talking and enjoying each other’s company. Color Logan understood!

Roman, an even easier case to crack, didn’t really care what kind of attention he got- as long as it was positive. Which Patton was of course happy to provide! Though Roman became easily suspicious of any signs of friendship, Patton liked to think he’d weaseled his way into being a close companion, if the amount of times Roman dragged him off on adventures was any indication. Roman, too, was a check!

Virgil had been harder to figure out; not enough support and he got nervous, too much and he’d get overwhelmed. Fine balances did not come easily to Patton, so there had been more than a little trial and error. He’d eventually landed on treating him not unlike a wild cat: to just exist in the same space and let Virgil do whatever he wanted in his own time (a method that had found resounding success!). Virgil, much as he wanted to seem mysterious, was also marked off the list of understanding.

Janus was deceptively easy to work out. He just needed someone to challenge him, all in good sport, to be friendly and frustrating at the same time. Call it environmental enrichment, but with people! Patton was more than happy to be one of those people, pushing and pulling in equal parts banter and genuine conversation. Janus, surprisingly, was clear as well.

Patton wondered if it was weird to think about it so much. He thought about all of them, and he wondered if they took time to decode him, too. Or maybe they just knew already- they saw the heart on his sleeve (or chest, as it were) and had him all figured out right then.

He liked to believe they did spend time thinking about it, though. It was nice to think he wasn’t the only one that cared enough to take the time, and he knew that they cared about him already! Even if they didn’t say it as much as he did, even if they showed it all differently, and even if sometimes it felt like they didn’t understand him…

They still cared. The hoodie around his shoulders said so. The card framed on his wall said so. The stray dog dander on his clothes said so. So long as he had that, who needed the luxury of understanding?

Patton shook his head, no, he wasn’t worrying about all them right now. Right now, there was someone else to worry about.

Remus. Remus, who always chatted on and on, but sometimes went dead quiet for no reason at all; whose expression never seemed to match his words, who laughed when he was happy and when he was angry, who yelled when he was bored and when he was overwhelmed. Remus, who threw himself around a corner for a cheap jumpscare every five minutes, limbs broken and wrapped in ragged, punk-style clothes. Who would also drape himself all the way across Patton gently and calmly, wearing something baggy and impossibly soft (but still neon as ever), talking and talking and acting like it was all perfectly normal. Remus, who Patton wasn’t even sure was officially his friend yet.

Patton wanted him to be. But there was still… something in the way. Some kind of frustrating, tense, unknowable barrier that left him on edge around the trait. If Remus could just tell him something, anything, or give him any hints at all about what Patton was supposed to make of him, then it wouldn’t be so downright impossible. But he was inscrutable, an open book written in a language Patton didn’t know.

Whenever Remus walked into the room, it was almost like nothing had even changed since his acceptance.

Speaking of-

Patton barely had time to dodge out of the way as Remus leapt onto the couch, landing in a sprawl and taking up as much space as possible. He looked out of breath, so he’d probably booked it down the hallway and stairs, too. Just as probable was him having no reason for doing so at all.

“Hello,” Patton said.

Remus, from his laid down position, arched his neck up until he was peering upside-down at Morality. He had a reserved look in his eyes, but it was obvious he was fighting not to grin.

“Guess what I did.”

Patton paused. There were… a lot of ways that could go. Most of them weird.

“Um-”

Remus made a disturbingly accurate buzzer noise, exclaiming, “Took too long!”. He flipped over onto his stomach and propped himself up on his palms, his legs draped over the arm of the couch, and rocked back and forth excitedly. “I made you something!”

The worry slipped out of Patton’s mind, replaced by curiosity. He hummed, smiling, and asked:

“Like a gift?”

Remus beamed.

“Something like that!”

As Patton laughed by response, he ran his thumb compulsively over his bead bracelet (that he hadn’t taken off even once since getting, of course).

“That’s so sweet!” he chirped, “You didn’t have to do that.”

The Duke puffed out a breath, ruffling the white section of his hair. He rolled his eyes and shifted around, pushing up until he sat upright.

“Yeah, I know. Haven’t we done this dance before, Morey?”

“Okay, okay, I know,” Patton shrugged, his expression turning sheepish, “What is it, then?”

Remus’ grin widened in that almost impossibly way of his, and something about the glint of his teeth was distinctly threatening. It probably wasn’t intentional, but Patton could never really tell, when his claws tapped impatiently against his leg and something mischievous wormed into his expression.

“Well, you have to close your eyes, first!” Remus clapped his hands together, and there that glint seemed to get brighter.

“Oh, uh-”

“It’s not gonna be my dick, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Patton yelped, covering his face with his hands in embarrassment.

“Well I wasn’t worried before you said that!”

Remus shrieked with laughter. Patton didn’t move his hands from his cheeks, a flush of discomfort starting at his ears and pricking his skin.

“You’re hilarious, but no- not this time, at least,” -Remus winked- “But just close your eyes, okay?”

Patton took a couple deep breaths, glancing up to give Remus his best approximation of a stern glare. He then let his hands drop to his lap, palms up, and squeezed his eyes shut.

There was a soft whoosh, and something small was dropped into Patton’s waiting hands. He ran the pad of his thumb over its surface, tracing something like fur. Soft, short fur, but when he pressed it was far too stiff to be a plush animal.

“Remus,” Patton felt along the object with both hands, jolting when he felt something scaly at the end, “What-”

“You can look now!”

Patton did as told, staring down at his lap.

There laid a rat.

A dead one, to be precise. A dead, taxidermized rat, posed up on its hind legs like some goofy little cartoon character. It’s eyes were impersonal glass orbs, but its skin was perfectly, horribly real.

Patton looked up, his eyes wide with disgust, to see unfiltered excitement shining on Remus’ face.

“I made it myself!” His pride echoed in the words, that grin stretching his lips looking all the more unnatural.

It was then that Patton’s body caught up with his brain, and he realized what exactly he was holding. He dropped it- all but threw it, actually- kicked it and scrambled back and anything to just get away.

The gift fell to the floor with a dull thump, toppling under the coffee table and out of sight. Patton pressed his hand against his mouth, the other one tightly fisted in his lap. He felt sick- sick enough that his brain was leagues away from rationality. Because he’d really touched- held- that corpse, that thing that used to be a cute little critter, what was now a homemade trinket of horror.

He turned his attention back to Remus, and a million thoughts and feelings rushed him. Betrayal, horror, fear- and weirdest of all was surprise.

Remus’ smile twitched, and he tipped his head from side to side.

“You dropped it,” he pointed out, “I thought you liked rats?”

The noise Patton made was something between a gasp and a cry.

“I like alive ones!” He exclaimed, pushing himself back until there was a good cushion’s distance between himself and Remus.

Remus’ smile dipped lower.

“Well, this way you don’t have to take care of it! It’s all of the cute with none of the trouble!”

“You think this is cute?!”

He couldn’t believe this was happening, after everything- he hadn’t gotten through to Remus even a little? It was all still a game for him to terrorize Patton? To shove dead things into his lap and laugh about it?

But Remus wasn’t laughing, strangely. In fact, he was very still.

“You don’t like it?”

In hindsight, Patton would look back on what he said with remorse so strong it gave him headaches. He had scores of memories like that, of course, but this one’s sting would never fade, not even long after they’d moved on from it. But in that moment of fear, of revile, he could not think about anything else but the feeling of being tricked by his almost-friend laying heavy in his stomach.

“Like it? Is this- are you joking? Remus, you made me touch a dead animal! I thought we were starting to be friends, but- oh my God, what is wrong with you?!”

Patton was sure he stopped breathing right after he said that, his voice choking out. In the silence that followed, you could’ve heard a pin drop.

Remus stood up, and everything about the way he moved showed a woundedness that didn’t suit him. He looked at Patton with an awful intensity, his ruby-red eyes practically glowing. There was nothing vulnerable about him when he was hurt, nothing at all like how Patton would respond to something like an argument. There was only anger and tension.

He didn’t smile, but his voice stayed pitchy. Gleeful.

“Everything,” Remus hissed, “I thought you’d catch on before now, but.”

Remus spun on his heel, and the floor beneath him bubbled with oil and acid and plague as he sank into the ground and out of the living room. The carpet shriveled, sick-green, in his wake.

That was when the understanding hit him. A lot like a train.

“Oh, no,” whispered Patton, “Oh, no.”

Patton struggled to his feet, as if on autopilot. Was he going to go after Remus? No, no, that definitely wouldn’t go over well. He was probably halfway into the Imagination by then, anyway, ready to take his anger out on his creations and not do any talking at all.

Patton tore his eyes away from the spot where Remus had sunk out, stumbling over to the coffee table instead. He crouched, reached his hand under it, and let his fingers touch the fur of his discarded present. He grabbed it, looked down at it. The wave of nausea when he saw the little rat was now less disgust, and much more regret.

He cradled the preserved creature in his hands with all the gentleness he could. There was a slip of thick, yellowish paper attached to it, that in all the upset had gone completely unnoticed. It was folded in half, tied with twine to the rat’s neck.

Patton looked into the rat’s shiny, empty eyes for far too long, watching his reflection be distorted by the spheres. He took a shuddering breath, then, and thumbed the edge of the paper, felt its grain, and flipped it open.

“This is Jenner. You can have him, because even if you’re a priss, if you can handle me you can handle having cool shit like this. Plus, you’re weirdly nice to me, so I guess I don’t mind being nicely weird to you.

-R (the funnier one <3)”

Patton read the note once. Twice. Three, four, maybe six times the words ran over each other in his head.

The paper slipped from his fingers. He held his rat in both hands and stared down its coffee-brown snout. Patton couldn’t help bringing the figurine to his chest and hugging it tightly, like it was the thing he’d hurt so badly, serving as surrogate. Its sharp fingers and tail poked through his shirt like needles, but he ignored it, holding the irrational hope that the inanimate object could forgive him somehow.

Jenner was creepy, that was probably intentional; his proportions and pose were so uncanny it couldn’t have been an accident. And it was so, so very Remus of a thing that Patton couldn’t stand to hate it. His shift in view was so sudden, and in some sad way he realized that the conflict had been the final piece he’d needed. What let that understanding crash into Patton’s mind, painting the picture of somebody layered.

The picture of Remus, who he was, had finally clicked into place- and at the exact worst time for it to do so.

Patton had fucked up. Massively.

He didn’t react how he thought he would when he realized it. He didn’t grow weary and exhausted, desperate to apologize and then collapse into unthinking sleep for days. Gone was the emptiness of making promises that he hoped he could hold true on, just wanting to have gotten it right the first time. No, Patton felt something burning under his skin, something itching him to take action because he’d learned from a mistake. He knew exactly what he’d done, and he was ready to do better right damn now.

Patton breathed in deep and exhaled sharp, because first…

He sunk out to his room, Jenner tucked into the crook of his elbow. He rose up at his bedside and shoved a handful of knickknacks off the nightstand. With enough space cleared, Patton set his rat down on the table and stood it up on his alarm clock, facing the bed. And then, as just a final touch, he smoothed back the fur of its head and gave it a peck on the forehead.

Now, he had some planning to do.

Chapter Five

Taglist: @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob

#sanders sides #ts #intruality #my writing #fanfiction #fanfic #platonic intruality #qpr intruality #patton #remus #ts fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction

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valdomarx · 5 years

Note

If you’re taking prompts??? Captain Stevens and Doctor Potts + undercover missions that make them realize something unexpected about each other. (:

They’re in a bank vault in Switzerland; one of those places where very rich people can store just about anything with no questions asked as long as they have enough money.

And right now they’re pretty sure someone is hiding enriched plutonium down here, based on the insistent pinging of the Geiger counter watch Potts designed for Stevens.

Potts is distracting the guard with his charms, because of course his French is better than Stevens’. He makes sure the guard is facing him and they chat about movies while Stevens sneaks down to the basement sublevels below. Even over here in Europe they love Jaws, it turns out.

Everything seems fine until Potts hears a crackling message over his earpiece. “Potts. Bit of a problem. One of the doors down here has an electronic lock.”

Potts swears under his breath. He’s currently occupied and there’s no way Stevens will be able to hack the electronics by himself.

He thinks fast. He persuades the guard to go fetch them both a cup of coffee and hurries down to the sublevels to help.

“Alright, Stevens, try to hold on. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he hisses under his breath.

But when he reaches the basement a few minutes later, he finds Stevens has taken off the panel and is up to his elbows in wiring.

“Just a second,” Stevens calls, and then he smiles triumphantly when he touches two wires together and the door slides open.

Potts stares in astonishment. “How did you know how to do that?”

Stevens winks at him. “I picked up a few things here and there.”

“But you’re terrible with technology. Everyone knows that.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m a man of many skills,” Stevens says, giving him a look of mock offense. Then his face softens. “I learned it from watching you.”

–

They’re at a gala ball, of all things. They’ve been sent to locate and surveil the Ukrainian ambassador, who SHIELD believes is working with AIM operatives.

But the ballroom is large and the guestlist was extensive, so it’s hard to find anyone in the crowd.

Potts gets tired of trying to squeeze between guests at the buffet and suggests they move to the center of the dance floor for a better view.

Stevens frowns and indicates the well-dressed attendees around them. “I think all these people might notice if we tread on each other’s toes while dancing. I doubt we could fit in with this lot.”

Potts shrugs one shoulder. “Speak for yourself. I know how to waltz.”

“Potts, you can dance?”

Stevens looks bizarrely overjoyed at that discovery.

“Yes?” Potts offers, not quite seeing what the fuss is about. “My mother was very keen that I learned what she called ‘all the essential comportments of a young man.’”

Stevens tilts his head to one side. “You are full of surprises.”

Potts isn’t sure what to make of that, but he doesn’t have to think of a reply as Stevens hustles him towards the dance floor.

“Come on then,” Stevens says, cheerfully taking his hand. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

Potts can’t imagine Stevens following anyone, least of all him, but they make their way onto the floor anyway. Stevens is scanning the crowd, looking for their target. They need to blend in, so he puts one hand on Stevens’ waist and clasps the other at shoulder level.

It feels sort of nice, actually. Stevens’ hand is calloused and warm in his and he’s smiling unguardedly.

When the music starts they move together, and it’s smoother than Potts would have thought possible. The slightest pressure from his hand and Stevens responds, swaying back and forth in perfect time, the two of them moving as one.

He feels daring and drops Stevens into a dip. Stevens grins wildly as he leans back, trusting Potts to hold him up. When Potts pulls him upright again and into a twist, there’s a moment where their bodies align perfectly and Potts can feel every inch of Stevens from head to toe.

He feels Stevens breathing heavily, and he’s sure the dancing can’t be that exerting for a man who runs marathons at the weekends for fun.

Potts surreptitiously looks around the pairs of dancers, searching for the ambassador. Still no sign of him in the crowd.

The music is reaching its peak, so he leads Stevens into a spin. Stevens takes the move with grace, unfurling his arms with a flourish before rolling back in. Potts takes hold of him and drops him into a final dip as the music ends.

They stay frozen in place for a moment, Stevens leaned back in Potts arms, the two of them looking at each other, neither quite ready to be done even though the music has finished and all the other dancers are returning to their seats or to the bar.

“You really are full of surprises,” Stevens says, and it comes out breathy.

They never do find the ambassador that night.

–

They’re on the cold docks of Rotterdam, and in the dark of the night the city lights are reflected in the dirty water below.

It’s quiet as they sneak between the shipping containers, piled high up into the sky. After days of tedious recon work posing as dock workers, they’ve found the name of the ship that’s been smuggling in heroin. Now they just have to find the right container in the darkness.

Potts has already slipped a locating beacon into one of the containers which he should be able to track with his handheld receiver. But the receiver is playing up, the signal fading in and out, and he smacks the side of it to try and reset it.

What happens next is Potts’ own fault, really. Stevens is checking the perimeter and Potts is so focused on the device in front of him that he’s not paying attention to his surroundings.

So it’s on him when he hears a soft click and feels the cold, hard weight of a gun muzzle pressed to the back of his head.

“Don’t move,” a gruff voice says.

Potts sighs and holds up his hands, knowing when he’s beat.

“Stevens!” the voice calls. “We know you’re out there. Give yourself up now or the nerd gets it!”

Potts is pushed out into the open, gun still at his head. It’s not very dignified.

He hears Stevens’ footsteps hurrying toward their location. And then, across the gap between two containers, he sees Stevens approaching, vibrating with fury. “If you lay a finger on him,” Stevens warns, voice cold as ice, “I’ll kill you.”

The man holding the gun sniggers, an ugly, guttural sound. “I’m the one in control here, klootzak!”

Potts sees the plan forming in Stevens’ head. He sees Stevens look at him, look at the man holding the gun, look down at the trash can he’s standing beside. He sees Stevens make the calculations.

Please tell me he’s not doing what I think he’s doing, Potts thinks, but he learned long ago that no plan is too stupid or too dangerous for Stevens to consider.

Stevens grabs the lid off the trash can and holds it in front of him. Potts is almost certain the flimsy metal is too thin to stop a bullet.

“Let him go and I’ll let you leave here in one piece,” Stevens snarls.

The man keeps his arm clamped around Potts’ neck but turns so the gun aimed at Stevens rather than Potts. Stevens smirks like that was just what he wanted.

“I’m right here if you think you can take me,” Stevens says, because of course he has to antagonize the man further.

“You would risk your own life for this -” the man looks Potts up and down and sneers, “for this loser?”

Harsh, thinks Potts. Possibly true, but still harsh.

“In a heartbeat,” Stevens says. And that makes Potts’ head spin around, because Stevens had sounded entirely earnest and one hundred percent sure.

“You would?” Potts asks, even though now is clearly not the time.

Stevens smiles at him very gently. “You ought to know by now, Potts,” he says, “there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

Potts’ heart does something funny at that.

“For heavens’ sake,” the man interrupts. “I’m in the middle of threatening your lives here.”

Stevens’ attention snaps back to the gun. “I’m not worried,” he says coolly, and Potts is glad about that because he sure is. “Potts knows what to do.”

Potts opens his mouth to object, because he really doesn’t know what to do, but then he catches Stevens’ eye and he understands. Stevens gives him the most minute nod.

“You back off or I’ll shoot -” the man starts.

But Stevens is already moving, leaping toward a crate with the trash bin lid held in front of him like a shield.

The man starts shooting, wild and inaccurate, and Potts takes his opportunity and elbows him as hard as he can in the ribs.

He gives a surprised oof and he’s turning round to point the gun at Potts again, but then Stevens curls and unravels and sends the trash can lid sailing towards them at tremendous speed. The edge of the metal hits the man in the head with a very satisfying whack and he drops to his knees.

“Good shot, Stevens!” Potts cheers, and Stevens is at his side in an instant, finishing the guy with a vicious uppercut that knocks him clean out.

He falls to the ground with a thud. Stevens kicks the gun away from the unconscious man and then his hands are all over Potts: on his face, running through his hair, up and down his shoulders.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, thanks to you.” Potts beams at Stevens. “My hero,” he says, a little more syrupy than he intended.

Stevens puts an arm around his shoulder and pulls him into a one-armed hug. “My idiot,” he says, dropping a kiss onto Potts’ ruffled hair.

#tony starkrogers #stevetony #stony #doctor potts & captain stevens #replies #my writing #toot toot i'm still on this AU train

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eno-shima-jot · 4 years

Text

YELLOW || homare arisugawa

a/n: this is an old songfic i had from yoh kamiyama’s song “yellow” and i listened to it and i was like “ITS LITERALLY HOMARE ITS HOMARE!!” so uh here it is my boys and girls and everything that lie outside and in betwixt !!

In other words I was trapped in curiosity Breaking through anything precious A whole cake with no radiance I was dancing with a wooden puppet of you

Homare wasn't quite sure if he had always been like this, or if it was some inadequacy of his that had developed somehow like a cancerous tumor. It was a hindrance to his personality, it made him feel so incomprehensibly alienated, and also caused him to alienate others without meaning to. He sometimes found himself wishing that he had discovered some other art, anything that may have lead him to become someone different. A zeal for life inspired him, but his inability to properly care for the lives surrounding him left him sitting at a desk writing outlandish rhymes.

It was silly. He knew it may be a slight issue, but it exploded in his face so suddenly with his previous romantic partner. Romance was... Something else. It was a spice to life, and a relationship was a labour of love. So why had his partner cried so much during their time with him? On worse nights, he recited the conversations he had with them and tried to pin what things he had done wrong. Tsumugi's words echoed in his head sometimes. 'I know you mean well, but sometimes there's a line you just don't cross.'

Once again, in the closet Huddling our small bodies inside We'll sleep, we'll change It's safer to think that way

Homare had lived an entire twenty-seven years observing others. It wasn't something he would call a guilty habit. He couldn't find anything wrong with people-watching. It was simple, impassive, and he got to see life continuing on right before him without him setting anything off. In all of those twenty-seven years, a slow realisation crept up on him. It was cold and lonely, icy tendrils that infiltrated through all physical barriers and wrapped around his very soul. The things he saw were irreplaceable memories, commonplace and fleeting, but never the same. The joy he felt from seeing a child blowing a dandelion at the park, the tenderness in his chest when he witnessed an old couple feeding pigeons, the determined energy he traced off of people who jogged at the edge of grass that was barely dried of morning dew, it was all going to fade away and never be acknowledged again. Maybe they'd be reclaimed in deep dreams, but that had to be a rare occurrence. So he began to journal, filling pages up with the wonderful things he saw in scratchy handwriting by junior high. All of those disorganised thoughts began to refine themselves into flowing lilts in his mind by the time he was in high school, and his handwriting became easier on the eyes and on the wrist from frequency and practise. He people-watched when he could, finding a routine spot to sit and view the sights without thinking much to actually interact with the world stretching in front of him. It was the first day of third year when he found a girl sitting where he normally sat during lunch. He had quietly sat next to her and made no statements when a small group of girls joined her and they all began to talk. He wrote in his journal quietly, a small poem about a flock of birds that gathered to relay messages that were decreed late at night. "Hey, you there." a slightly rough voice called to him and one of the girls leveled him with a mild glare. "What are you writing in that diary of yours? Nothing weird, right?" she challenged. Homare blinked at her a few times and then grinned broadly, sliding his notebook into the crowd of curious underclassmen with a hint of pride. He watched the girls scan it with interest, sharing looks with each other that he couldn't quite place. The girl who questioned him slid the notebook back to him and eyed him dubiously. "Man, what the hell is that stuff? Are you in lala land?" she scoffed a little. An unfamiliar feeling had hit Homare at that moment, one that he would later come to describe as humiliation. "That's too harsh!" the girl who had originally sat at the table gasped, returning Homare's notebook quickly. Like a lagging robot, Homare took a few seconds to actually grab it. He was stunned by one of his first in depth social interactions. "I think your writing's really interesting." she tacked on. He wasn't sure if she was trying to be nice, or if it was a sincere compliment with unfortunate timing. He grabbed his notebook, bowed to the group of girls, and left. For the rest of the year, he spent lunch bouncing around locations to people-watch, but he didn't go to that same bench again. He could still remember it perfectly years after he graduated though. It was a fond setting he sewed together in fragments to send himself off into sleep. Sometimes he'd jolt awake at the faint muttering of a gruff female voice, but it wasn't so hard to return to sleep after that.

"Don't abandon me, for I'm just a foolish child" Awaken your naive eyes before my muddled identity All the toys were put away last night I still want to stay as innocent as ever...

Homare's small taste of companionship from that one underclassman had him intrigued. It wrapped a string around his heart that tugged him towards more interactions until he had found that people-watching turned into true socialisation. He wrote a lot less at school. It should have bothered him that it took until his last year of his school youth to actually seriously partake in social events, but he still felt that people-watching was never a waste. He learned about others through that, after all. Now he was just taking a more hands on approach. Learning people though; it wasn't something that split between learning types where you could find the one you were best at and capitalise on it. Homare had originally thought that the gateway to people and their souls was philosophy, a careful exposing of the human condition that so many could drone on about for hours, but people had a tendency to turn their nose up at it and call him just a little bit pretentious when he brought it up to spark conversations. It wasn't that Homare hated it, but mundane conversation felt like pulling teeth for him. Hearing it and listening had brought him a bit of joy when it was two other people, but the magic was sucked out as soon as he tried. "Good morning, Akito. How are you today?" Homare cast another line out into the sea of people and waited for a tug. The boy in question looked up with defeated slumping shoulders and dark circles under his eyes. "I'm alright." Akito said halfheartedly. Homare could see the lie from a mile away. He wanted to help, to see order restored to that little slice of life in front of him. "You don't look alright. Your girlfriend broke up with you, so of course you'd be upset since she did it at a festival." Homare pointed out. Akito's shoulders tensed at Homare's words. "You have the right to be upset. We can talk about it, if it makes you feel any better." "Leave me alone, Arisugawa." Akito requested quietly. His eyes narrowed and his face soured even further like a sheet of paper being scrunched up after water spilled over it. The distant use of last names made Homare pull back and disengage. He knew he messed up. It wasn't the first time, but it always felt awful. After some bad encounters, he had learned to relent when people said something. "Have a good day, Akito." Homare excused himself quietly, turning his face towards the front of the room to wait for homeroom to begin. Akito didn't talk to Homare much after that, cold and curt and always itching to start a conversation with anyone else in the mornings. Homare found himself wishing that he could have just stayed in his little box on the map, people-watching forever without consequence.

Affections are just 'high' to throw away Skinning away that precious memory But if you regret this 'low-life' Shall a summer with a hopeless wish come

Love was a sacred thing to Homare, even if it was something that he wanted to give out freely and without restraint. It was an infinite resource meant to be tapped into to enrich the lives of everyone. That why he felt so betrayed by society when he found out that the people who buzzed like bees around him hadn't acknowledged its sanctity. Betrayed was a harsh word. It wasn't quite that he had felt betrayed; he never asked for anything in the first place. He was disappointed by how trivial love had become in a modern setting. There was no longer the grand exclamations, unashamed and passionate, or the gentleness of courtship. Love itself had become one of those things that fell away from the extremities of aesthetics. Homare was infinitely disappointed in those sorts of things. The world had become less aesthetic about the things that mattered and the childlike wonder that Homare got from people-watching fell away quickly when he became an adult going to bars to see what happened. So he developed a new intense love for pragmatism. A new world for him to be inspired and moved by the world around him. How compact paint bottles became! How economic apartments were! How sleek and streamlined vehicles got! But he missed the sight of people ducking their top halves under the hoods of cars when it wouldn't start. He missed the charm of a bulky disconnected refrigerator. He missed the ugliness of old paint bottles, tin caps crusted shut from a person's earlier artistic ventures. He missed aestheticism. A part of him screamed at him to continue being a romantic about life, but it was so much effort to put into such a wishy-washy world that used extremes for mundane and useless things.

It seems like he was killed by curiosity Testing it with sly means Nothing will raise from such independence, I sang with a wholehearted smile

Had he learned the art of compromise and nuance, Homare would have been fine when he entered his first relationship. It wasn't so dispassionate, but he had mostly done it out of curiosity without realising how strongly his partner felt about it. If he had watched himself from a third person view at the same time that he was engaging with the relationship, he would have felt the same bitter disappointment of the pure despondence of love on his side. He had come to love them, of course. There was no question about that. He had loved them, but there was a ravine between them that he always failed to cross. Whenever certain things came up, he hopped onto the tightrope in an attempt to make it to their side, but every time he would become stuck. As a result, his partner would try to meet him halfway, but they always suffered and lost their balance before they could help him. Was it his fault? He had trouble figuring out what he did wrong to cause them to hurt so much. He was hardly ever angry or resentful of them. He couldn't imagine snapping at them or raising voice or hand to them. They were younger than him, but something made them much wiser and they became the leader of the relationship until they just... Stopped. Perhaps it was because they were so tired of falling into the deep dark ravine so many times. Homare couldn't blame them for being tired. All of his efforts to find a different approach were always wrong.

Once again, in the closet Waiting alone is always like this it'll change, it'll end, it's confirmed Continue to seek that worth, worth, worth

Without anyone at the wheel of the relationship, it very quickly swerved off of the road and crashed in a blazing fire. Homare watched it veer sharply, but he didn't find any courage within himself to reach out and redirect it, to save it. His partner had sad obsolete and empty, curled up like a hurt animal in the driver's seat. A relationship was a huge investment, but Homare had been unlucky enough to find within his first one that sometimes all that hard work lead to nowhere. The resentment bubbled over eventually, but Homare couldn't say it wasn't deserved. After making his partner cry so much, after burning out the light of passion that they had tried to extend to him, he could only listen to their words and seriously reconsider himself as a human being. By the time it had all come to pass, Homare found himself alone again. Looking at his notebook filled with strange musings, he was terrified to find that all of his words sounded shallow. Any poems dedicated to his partner were so abstract that he couldn't help but wonder if they had smiled and thanked him for them out of pity. He knew love. He knew it from seeing it everywhere, but he had failed to execute it. He didn't know what the problem was called until it was pointed out to him directly by a bartender once. It was an issue of emotional maturity. Emotional intelligence. He had failed to grasp that in his formative years, and drifted so much that he was so terribly ill equipped by adulthood that he could see things exactly as they were and still manage to do the exact wrong thing. Homare became a pragmatist in his poetry after that. The different approach lead to a surreal style that fans ate up, but he sometimes worried about the state of mind of his fans if they accepted what he wrote without question.

As the second hand approaches Roll it up till it's deep Eventually, both Heaven and Earth goes upside down Why? How come? See it got all blurred and transparent "I still remember that scenery I saw out the window" The 'yellow' that is better off to disappear

It wasn't quite a renunciation of romance itself. Homare was not a bitter man who would dwell on such things. He still wholeheartedly believed in love and romance, but hearing the rest of the Winter Troupe discussing their love lives hit him with a certain tugging again. It bordered between that slight disappointment, but there was something else too. In hearing about the love lives of everyone around him, he had to wonder how it felt for them. Save Azuma, the descriptions had been fairly vague. Homare admired how calmly Tsumugi talked about breaking it off with his previous girlfriend just for acting. The weight of different sorts of love was another thing Homare couldn't fathom. He didn't understand the point of rejecting one sort of love for another because love was such an infinite source that he couldn't imagine having to turn any one type down. The conversation fell around him like comforting raindrops on a window until he was asked about his own love life. The memories of it flashed by him, blurring past with only a fragment of the emotions he had felt at the time. The camera roll violently turned and turned on different scenes, only offering him a glimpse, until he was looking his old partner in the eye again as they told him of all of his shortcomings. "I have nothing to discuss." Homare dug in his heels at the prospect of having to divulge any of his love life. "No romantic experience?" Tasuku prodded, not quite processing that Homare was avoiding eye contact. It was hard to believe, given that Homare was nearly thirty years old. "No type?" Tsumugi added with an encouraging smile. "Nothing." Homare confirmed, frowning sternly. "Really? No romantic opinions either?" Izumi asked, a little bit pleading really. "Nothing at all." as the speculation continued around him, without his input, he focused on trying to redirect the conversation away from such an ugly memory. He had broken through with a sudden poem, an empty poem that he had written in his youth when he had the dream of having a partner at all. The heavily romanticised words struck hollow and bounced off of the image of his previous lover like gravel on a car wheel. It was so superficial that he felt bad to think he may have subjected someone to such juvenile idealism.

You've purposely mistaken that; that day will not arrive Collapsed, divergence and disengagement There's no salvation within your reach Yet still, I recall your warmth...

At first, he had taken no interest in another new face who had dropped into the Mankai Company. There was nothing special about them and their affiliations at first, but then they started to speak. Speak about themselves, speak about the others, they just spoke about life. They had such an enthralling voice when they talked of normal everyday occurences that he felt like he was reading a long lost letter that never made it to its intended destination. He was quite clear about that fact as well, as soon as they had walked through the door and identified themselves. Homare had lost his belief in most superstition and idioms, but his heart was subtly set alight. He didn't even realise it was happening until it was completely on fire. The flame had licked at its base and then slowly engulfed and seared it. There was a sudden passion and love that he had forgotten existed within him. It was different from his inspired moments from life, something that tugged at his ribcage and tangled it until it could constrict it at will. Inspiration would pick at his brain until he put it down on paper, and he did feel some upon becoming better acquainted with them. By the time he had written a poem dedicated to them as a gift for becoming his friend, he remembered very suddenly those feelings. What he felt had slipped between pragmatism and aestheticism, but he jumped down into the gutters of that place along with the rest of those proclaimed 'plebeians' just to grab it again. It was a dark and confusing swarm and he felt like he was drowning in molasses, a sea bird caught in an oil spill. He tried to imagine it, a romantic future with them, and his hand tingled at the thought of intertwining fingers. A ghost of a touch had latched on and dragged him back to land before he could completely drown, but he exited that place feeling heavy and weighed down.

Affections are just 'high' to throw away Skinning away that precious memory But if you regret this 'low-life' Shall a summer with a hopeless wish come

Who was Homare to compete? He hardly competed for anything in his life. He never competed in the publishing industry. He had rolled with the initial punches and suddenly found himself with a following without much effort. Of course, it was a far cry from Banri's effortless life, but it was still considerable when he had realised that it seemed that the arrival, his new friend and flame, had him completely beat out in the books of love and its vastness. They weren't particularly open about it, but Homare was good at discerning people's emotions. He was almost as good as Azuma. But he was worse than everyone else at doing anything about it. It was not for lack of trying, but because he had never managed to find that emotional intelligence that was so essential to forming functioning relationships. Even now, he was still maturing with the help of the Mankai Company. Slowly but surely, he was starting to pick things up without having to use that Loupe as a crutch, but... Everyone else was always leaps and bounds ahead of him, especially outside of the Winter Troupe where mere children had solved deep issues within days. Homare wasn't an envious man. He stayed in his lane most of the time, and so he could accept that easily. What he couldn't accept was the possibility of repeating the same mistakes with someone else. The newcomer had dispensed love like an infinite fountain, but it seemed that his previous partner could do that too. What if he snuffed that flame too? What if he hadn't learned a single thing after all this time? His bonds in the Mankai Company had grown stronger, but romance was a different level of emotional awareness that Homare hadn't dipped his feet into since the fall of his previous relationship.

That's why he had quickly sidelined himself, giving the rest of the men wide berth and only interacting with them as if they were anyone else. Because if he treated them differently, wouldn't that just inevitably lead to the same kind of memories? Homare had felt upset at the world's inability to devote romance to any extremes, but he had learned the hard way that doing so was harmful. So he stood back and resolved to grow as much as he could. If they had left by the time he was ready, then it would be another regret to add onto his romantic life. But it was better, he felt, if things ended that way. There was a once touched upon path that lead to a much more painful alternative.

#a3! homare #a3!#homare arisugawa #idk if i could call this an x reader because i originally titled it its homare arisugawa's scheduled character assassination hour #mod bing #act! addict! actors!

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softmakoharus · 5 years

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makoharu fanfiction - extra ordinary

Summary: It's Makoto's birthday, and spending another day with Haru is all he needs. Words: 7720 Rating: Mature Additional tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Married Life, Frottage Link: AO3 The first thing Makoto notices is the sound of his own name. It’s quiet and distant, floating through the air and landing softly at the edge of his consciousness. A second time, louder with more force, but still retaining its delicate intent. Haru’s voice, he realizes happily. Concluding that it’s something worth waking up to, Makoto opens his eyes to darkness and can tell it’s much too early to be up. Some sort of mistake, then. A dream, perhaps. He closes his eyes to let his dream continue uninterrupted. But he swears he can sense the weight of Haru in bed beside him, his toes lightly grazing Makoto’s leg. And he swears he can hear him calling out his name a third time, more sternly and with just the smallest hint of impatience creeping in. And then he knows he feels Haru’s hand slide into his own, the two hands resting next to his sleeping face. They fit together perfectly, fingers intertwining naturally and predictably like a recurrent reflex. It’s a wonderful familiar warmth, the smallest touch that wraps around Makoto like an enormous blanket and makes his whole body tingle. It’s not a dream, after all. That touch is real. Makoto smiles just a little but refuses to open his eyes again. “Haru-chan,” he manages to sleepily mutter. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing. It’s your birthday,” Haru replies, as if that’s all the explanation he needs. “Mm… Happy Birthday,” Makoto mumbles.

The response elicits a surprised laugh from Haru. “I’m supposed to say that. Happy Birthday.” He leans closer to place a kiss on his forehead. When it’s met with little more than a confirming grunt from his tired and stubborn husband, he continues. “Don’t you want to wake up? Hm? I’ll make you pancakes.” “Now? But it’s nighttime,” Makoto slurs. He peeks through his eyes just to make sure. It’s definitely dark. Haru suppresses another laugh at his confusion. Ever since they were kids, it’s always taken Makoto a little while to become fully awake and aware of things. It’s a trait that has only gotten cuter as they’ve gotten older. He lightly kisses his forehead. “No, it’s just early. I’ll let you sleep a little longer.” Makoto smiles, tired but doing his best to show how happy he is waking next to Haru, and drifts back asleep.

It’s sunny. That’s Makoto’s first thought as he wakes up, warmed by the sun’s rays that sneak through the blinds and quietly keep him from sleeping in too late. Instinctively, he turns to face Haru, but Haru isn’t there. That’s right; he woke some uncertain time ago, which means it’s some uncertain time now, and smiled as he wished Makoto a happy birthday—of that, Makoto is certain. He turns back to the window and notices the blinds are open a little, concluding that Haru must have done it so that as the sun continued its morning ascent, the light might naturally wake Makoto. Or maybe he had just noticed what a beautiful day it was and wanted Makoto to see it first thing. He does love sunny days, and though the middle of November is just as easily full of cloudy ones, he feels lucky to see a clear blue sky today. His smile widens as he remembers that those big bedroom windows spanning across the bedroom wall were almost the reason he and Haru passed on buying this house. It hadn’t been an easy task to find a house that ticked every single deeply detailed box on Haru’s list of things he was looking for. “The windows in the bedroom are too big. They nearly take up the whole wall.” That had been his flimsy reasoning, and he left it with Makoto as he walked briskly through the living room on his way out the door. Makoto followed closely behind and told him to stop and close his eyes, wrapping his arms around him and speaking softly so as not to disturb the memories that still lived there in the emptiness. Haru grunted, annoyed, but kept his eyes shut, turning around in Makoto’s arms to face him. “What are you doing?” “Just forget about the house for a minute,” Makoto replied, closing his eyes, too. They stood still, holding each other in silence, until Makoto spoke again. “Do you remember when we were kids and I fell in the sandbox? We weren’t good friends yet, but you reached out to help me up.” It was one of Haru’s earliest memories of Makoto. The other kids had rushed off in excitement, none of them looking back to even notice Makoto had tripped and fallen. Haru considered it the starting point of their closeness. It wasn’t the first time they played together, but it was at that moment Haru was determined to protect Makoto in every way. He nodded against Makoto’s chest. “I remember.” “I think that was when I really started loving you. And I never stopped.” Although Haru couldn’t see him, he knew Makoto was smiling, just by the way his words left his mouth, light and fluttering. “The older we got, the more that love transformed. And now here we are, married, and on our way to growing old together. Haru—“ “Makoto,” Haru interjected, opening his eyes to look up at him. It was unusual for him to cut off Makoto’s words, but he needed him to know he arrived at the conclusion himself, albeit with some gentle prodding. “I get it. And I know. I would be happy living anywhere with you.” Makoto met his eyes and squeezed him a little tighter. “This is a perfect house, because we’ll be together. That’s what makes it special. So forget what’s missing, and just picture us sleeping in on weekends in that big bedroom with the light coming in through the windows, and painting those awful gray shutters a nice pale blue, and right here in the living room, we can dance—well, maybe after a couple glasses of wine.” To exemplify, Makoto swayed back and forth with Haru, both of them immediately breaking into laughter. Their laughter filled up the emptiness, enriching it with the start of many new wonderful memories they would make here. Makoto holds his hand up over his face, watching the silver band glint in the sunlight. The day he got this ring was even longer ago than that, and he never grows tired of seeing it shine. He smiles and throws back the covers, supposing it’s time to get out of bed. Though there’s nothing too concrete planned for today, wasting another minute in bed without Haru sounds entirely unbearable. He quickly slips on a pair of socks to combat the autumn chill before making a quick stop in the bathroom. It’s completely silent in the house except for the sound of running water flowing over the freshly picked broccoli from the garden. As he shuts off the sink, Haru feels Makoto’s arms circle around his waist. They fit so perfectly around him, they always have, warm and strong, gentle but protective, a fortress made of flowers. He gives the strainer a final shake to dispel as much water as he can and sets it on the counter beside him. “Good morning, Haru-chan,” Makoto says, pressing a kiss against his temple. “I’m ready for my pancakes.” Haru lightly elbows him in the stomach. “You’re too late for that. It’s almost lunch time.” He takes a piece of broccoli and brings it over his shoulder as a compromise, which Makoto happily accepts. “I was out in the garden while you were busy sleeping all day. I thought you might sleep through your entire birthday.” “I wouldn’t miss my birthday dinner!” “Who says I’m making you dinner?’ “You! You said it, exactly… nine years ago, actually,” Makoto laughs, knowing full well that Haru remembers but never letting the opportunity to relive it pass him by. “It was our first year in Tokyo. My first birthday dinner. We were eating and you got suddenly emotional—“ “Stop.” “You were so happy I complimented your food—“ “There’s no need to repeat it.” “As if I didn’t always compliment your food—“ “Go take a shower or something.” “You looked at me and quietly promised you’d cook for me every single year after that. You were so sincere and your face was bright red. We weren’t even dating yet, remember? You got up to go get some air on the balcony, and I came out with you, and we just stood there, looking out at that scenery we never thought we’d be able to get used to, but we did. A little bit. Over time. Together.” Makoto notices Haru has gone silent, his hands resting on the edge of the sink, and fears he embarrassed him too much with his sentimental remembrance, so he’s relieved when he sees the small smile on his face. He gives Haru a squeeze before removing his arms from his waist. “Fine,” Haru says, doing his best to keep his smile from growing but utterly failing, “I guess I’ll make you dinner. For tradition sake.” “Thank you, Haru-chan. I’m just going to take a quick shower.” As much as Makoto would like to stand there and talk more with Haru, it is late, almost noon, so he should be a little more productive. Sometimes it’s hard to figure out where their days together go, how the hours pass by so fast even when time itself seems to stop. “Oh, I’ll join you in a minute,” Haru replies, a combination of feeling a bit dirty from working out in the garden and a bit excited about the prospect of showering together. “I’m just going to put these in the fridge.” Makoto smiles in approval and gives him one more kiss on the cheek before heading back to their bedroom. Showering together isn’t entirely unusual for the two of them; seeing each other naked even less so. But no matter how long they’ve been married and how incredibly intimate they’ve been, Makoto can’t help but feel a rush of giddiness. Haru sets aside one head of broccoli for the fridge, while the rest go into a big bag in the freezer to join the strawberries and green beans that were left over from summer. Though neither of them had any experience growing fruits and vegetables, their garden had been successful—by their own standards, anyway—with its bright berries and lush greens. If nothing else, it at least looked nice, complementing the full blooms of blue and purple hydrangeas. When Haru’s finished cleaning up, he gives the sink a quick rinse and heads to the bedroom. Strangely, he doesn’t hear the running water of the shower. He smiles imagining Makoto, despite all the sleep he got this morning, being enticed by their bed and all its fluffy pillows. What he wasn’t expecting was to walk through the bedroom doorway and see Makoto sitting on the edge of their bed, typing on his phone, completely naked aside from his orange and white striped ankle socks. Makoto hadn’t noticed Haru’s footsteps, but he quickly turns to face him when he hears the small laugh, having forgotten that he got distracted while getting ready to shower. He makes no effort to cover himself; the only embarrassment he feels is from the old thin socks he’s wearing, ones that he promised to throw away a year ago. “What are you doing?” Haru asks, smile persevering, as he walks over and stands in front of Makoto. His own bare foot taps the top of Makoto’s to let him know that he absolutely notices those stupid socks. Makoto smiles and continues typing. He slides his foot out from underneath Haru’s and places it on top, as if to sheepishly acknowledge his acknowledgment. “My boss sent me an email about next week’s schedule. I just wanted to reply before I forgot.” “Ah. I thought maybe you were sending dirty pictures to someone,” Haru teases, taking off his shirt and tossing it behind Makoto on the bed. Makoto sets his phone down on the nightstand. “Maybe you should check your messages.” He leans back on his hands to stare up at Haru, doing his best to smirk flirtatiously, though there’s a strong chance the execution isn’t quite as good as it looks in his head. “Oh?” Haru raises his eyebrows, his own smile never wavering. Makoto is especially cute when he’s being flirty, and the playful grin on his face just makes it even better. He takes a step forward, nudging Makoto’s legs open with his knee so that he can stand between them. Blush tumbles down Makoto’s nose and across his cheeks, sliding all the way up to his ears. He moves his hands to Haru’s hips and leans forward, placing a light kiss just above his bellybutton. His thumbs hook the top of Haru’s pants and underwear, guiding them down his legs. The plan was to shower together, but maybe that can wait until a little later. Haru kicks the clothes away and then gets on his knees, making sure to maintain eye contact with Makoto. Makoto’s not really sure where this is going, but with both of them now naked, he’s glad to let it go wherever Haru wants to take it. Haru quickly removes Makoto’s socks and tosses them to the side. “I thought you threw those away,” he says, eyes narrowing in playful admonishment. Makoto laughs; he wasn’t expecting to be reprimanded for that right now, but he’s willing to do absolutely anything Haru asks in this moment. “I will! I’ll throw them away! Whatever you want.” “I don’t believe you,” Haru says, kissing Makoto’s inner thigh just once before standing up. He leans close, taking notice of Makoto’s accelerating breaths, supposing his heart is reacting the same. “Makoto,” he says quietly, slowly closing the distance between their lips. Makoto somehow suppresses his urge to move forward and kiss him. It very much feels like Haru’s in control right now, and he’s going to give complete compliance. “Yes, Haru?” Haru keeps his voice low, moving to whisper directly into Makoto’s ear. “First one to the shower gets to set the water temperature.” And just like that, Haru turns and runs to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. By the time Makoto is able to process what just happened, it seems like Haru has completely vanished into thin air. “Wha—Haru!” He blushes even more, feeling his whole body get warm as it releases the excitement that was building up inside of him. He races to the door and can’t help but laugh. Just as Makoto enters and closes the glass door behind him, Haru turns on the shower. Water pours out from the shower head, and even though it looks inviting, Makoto is hesitant to step under it, knowing that Haru prefers his showers way too cool. “That was unfair!” “Maybe. But you always set the temperature too hot.” Makoto smiles and lets his shoulders slump. “Haru… it’s my birthday.” “You seemed pretty warmed up a few minutes ago. I think a cold shower is exactly what you need.” “Fine,” he says, stubbornly folding his arms across his chest and refusing to admit that Haru is actually probably a little right. “I’ll just wait here until you’re finished.” Haru shrugs and moves underneath the water, closing his eyes and leaning his head back to wet his hair. When he opens his eyes again and sees Makoto still standing there, he starts to feel bad. Even though he knows he’s not really mad at him, he hadn’t intended for the teasing to go this far. He sighs and takes a step forward to grab Makoto’s arm, dragging him into the water. “Will you get under here?” Before he can protest, Makoto feels the warm water wash over him and laughs. “Haru! You set it hot for me?” “Did you really think I’d make you take a cold shower?” “Well, I knew you wouldn’t, but I thought you deserved some payback for teasing me.” Haru opens his mouth to let it fill up with water and spits out a stream directly into Makoto’s face. Their laughter surrounds them, taking shape as it mixes with the steam now emanating from the water. Haru steps aside for a moment, suffocating under the heat, and sits on the white plastic stool to let Makoto wash his hair. It’s not exactly necessary, of course; he’s more than capable of washing his own hair, but it feels good when Makoto does it. He works the shampoo into a lather, gently scratching Haru’s scalp, taking special notice of the goosebumps that appear on Haru’s arms when he starts to massage his neck and shoulders. One thing that Haru will always be grateful for is Makoto’s hands. They’re large and warm and surprisingly soft, with the ability to touch him as firmly or as gently as each particular situation requires. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall forward, succumbing easily to the warmth and relaxation. “I’ll give you a real massage tonight, ok?” Makoto says, removing his hands so he can gently rinse Haru’s hair under the detachable shower head. Haru leans his head back and smiles, looking up at Makoto. There isn’t a day that goes by that he doesn’t feel spoiled being with him. Whether it’s just a small glance or a kiss on the forehead, both of which are very abundant, his husband constantly indulges him. And as much as Makoto wants to spoil Haru, Haru wants to do the same, not just because it’s his birthday, but every day. When Makoto’s finished washing his own hair, Haru quickly grabs the orange bath sponge, pouring out a generous amount of Makoto’s apple-scented body wash. “You don’t have to do that,” Makoto chuckles, though he definitely appreciates the gesture. Completely ignoring him, Haru takes a step forward and moves the sponge over Makoto’s shoulders. “I want to,” he finally says, voice quiet, threatening to get drowned out by the sound of the water and the thumping of his heart. Makoto watches Haru as he rubs small soapy circles all over his wide chest and down his legs. The first night in this house, he remembers how exhausted they were from moving everything all day. They agreed to take a quick shower together before bed—a bath would have been nicer, but they agreed they’d probably end up falling asleep in the tub. It didn’t take long for things to escalate from kissing under the running water to Makoto with his hands on the wall and Haru thrusting into him, their moans echoing loudly around them in the enclosed space. But this isn’t the same. What Haru’s doing now makes Makoto feel good in a different way, to be taken care of and looked after. It’s a different kind of intimacy, one that he appreciates just as much. Being together so long, he’s lost count of how many ways they display their love and affection, each one equally precious. Haru directs Makoto under the water to rinse off all the soap. And after taking a much longer shower than originally intended, which usually happens when they decide to shower together, they step out to dry off before returning to their bedroom. Picking out clothes is easy for Haru. He likes to be comfortable, whether they’re going out or staying in. He really only dresses up for dates, rolling his eyes at the way Makoto marvels at him and tugs playfully at his tie or insists on being the one to put his belt around his waist. But really, Makoto thinks Haru looks good in whatever he wears, even something as simple as the black t-shirt, blue hoodie, and black joggers he pulls out of the dresser drawer. While he’s getting dressed, Haru peeks over at Makoto to see what outfit he’s chosen for himself. Just dark jeans and a white undershirt so far, as he stares into the closet with his hand thoughtfully on his chin. Honestly, he could stop right there and it would be fine with Haru, but it is a little chilly for just a t-shirt. Finally he pulls on an oversized turtleneck sweater, Haru’s favorite sweater, actually. It’s light gray and heavy, the knitting thick but soft, with sleeves that hang loosely down to a tight cuff. It’s more of a blanket than a sweater, especially when Haru puts it on, and it makes Makoto look extra cuddly. “What is it?” Makoto asks, when he sees Haru staring at him. Haru smiles, caught, and gives an unexpectedly honest answer. “I just like that sweater. It looks good on you.” Makoto’s eyes soften and he returns the smile, wrapping his arms around Haru to envelop him in his blanket-sweater and once again proving how perfectly he fits inside his arms. Instinctively, Haru inhales and is disappointed the sweater smells a little musty and unworn, having sat abandoned and untouched in the closet for the last ten months or so. It will take a few wears for it to pick up the familiar scent of Makoto, a wonderful mixture of fresh laundry and crisp apples. “Let’s make lunch,” Haru says. “And I’ll give you your present after.” The two of them head back into the kitchen where they started, while Makoto thinks about Haru’s words. “After lunch…” he repeats. They always wait until the end of the day to give birthday gifts, so he wonders if there’s some significance to moving the event up on this unofficial timeline. Pondering, he starts to open the fridge to see what food they have left over, but Haru stops him by practically throwing himself against the door. “I’m not allowed in the fridge?!” Makoto asks, laughing. “Don’t look in there,” Haru replies. Not only is Makoto’s homemade chocolate ganache cake sitting on the bottom shelf, but so are the ingredients for the dinner Haru’s making later on. “Just go stand over by the sink.” Makoto laughs again but does as instructed. Admittedly, he did quickly scan the kitchen earlier for any sign of his birthday cake. Haru has gotten sneakier and sneakier with it every year, mostly to prevent Makoto from chipping away at it throughout the day and completely spoiling his appetite. Haru starts pulling things out the fridge and sets them on the island behind him. “I was thinking soba noodles with that leftover shredded chicken from last night. I picked some broccoli and mushrooms from the garden this morning. And you can make your mom’s sesame-ginger dressing.” “That sounds good!” Makoto replies. “Are there carrots left?” “Ah.” He grabs them and closes the fridge to get started on the noodles while Makoto makes the dressing. “We could grow our own ginger, don’t you think?” “Sure, I think it’s supposed to be easy,” Haru replies, letting the noodles cook while he cuts up the vegetables. He can’t help but look at Makoto out of the corner of his eye every time they cook together. It’s cute how cautious he is about everything, muttering instructions to make sure he remembers what he’s doing. No matter how much his cooking improves, it doesn’t seem that he’ll ever fully trust himself. But when he does find a good rhythm, the mutterings turn into soft hums, gentle melodies that guide him. “I saw that,” Haru says, making Makoto stop what he’s doing. “What?” “That tiny pinch of cayenne.” Makoto laughs; he’ll never understand why people like spicy food. “I wasn’t done! I’ll add more.” “I’m kidding. I can always add more to my bowl. Do you need help? You seem to be taking longer than usual,” he teases. Without missing a beat, Makoto replies, “I just kept getting distracted thinking about how much I love you.” As Haru scoops the last of the cooked noodles into a separate bowl, the spoon falls out of his hand and clangs loudly on the counter. It doesn’t matter how often Makoto says those words. Every time he so casually slips them into a conversation, Haru finds himself completely flustered. “You’re distracting me.” “You mean, you’re also distracted by how much you love me?” “Just put these in the fridge to cool down,” he says firmly, gripping the bowl just as tightly as his words. Haru’s cheeks quickly redden. There’s no stopping it. Makoto kisses them both before taking the bowl and doing as instructed. He returns to clean up his area while sneaking small glances at Haru. He moves so easily in the kitchen, like he could do everything just as easily with his eyes closed. Though Makoto’s skill level will never quite get there, he’s happy he’s at least competent enough to cook with Haru. It’s nice and relaxing and though he never thought he’d say so about cooking, it’s fun. “Was it cold out?” Makoto asks, sitting down at their kitchen table. “The sun makes it seem kind of nice.” Haru looks outside. He didn’t think it was too cold out, but Makoto is more sensitive to the weather than he is. “It should be ok to eat on the patio, if that’s what you mean.” Makoto smiles. “I’m glad. This will probably be the last chance we’ll have this year.” The patio is one of his favorite things about the house, and he thinks it’s a shame they can’t use it year round. Haru pulls the noodles out of the fridge and adds them to the bowl of vegetables, pouring the dressing on top before mixing it all together. There was a time when Haru would taste everything Makoto had a hand in making, understandably with reservation that it was made correctly. It didn’t offend Makoto; he would have hated to ruin a meal with a mistake. But now, Haru trusts him enough not to check his work. “What are you smiling about?” Haru asks, feeling Makoto’s eyes on him. “Nothing. I’m just happy we can cook together.” Haru returns the smile and nods; he’s proud of how far Makoto has come, and he’s happy he helped him get there. Makoto opens the door to the patio for Haru while he carries their two bowls of food out to the small square table. He really did get lucky with a beautiful day, Makoto thinks. The sun shines directly on them, though they do get some shade from the overhead wooden trellis that casts latticed shadows onto the gray stone tiles beneath their feet. And although the in-ground pool looks a bit sad with its cover drawn over it, the large oak in the back of their yard is stunning with its autumn-tinged leaves stretching well above their roof. Makoto shovels the food into his mouth as he looks across the yard, stopping only when he hears Haru laugh across from him. “What is it?” “You know you can swallow before you take another bite.” Makoto looks at him like he still doesn’t understand what he means. “You’ve always eaten like that, like you’re afraid someone’s going to steal it if you don’t hurry up.” Makoto laughs; his parents did always used to tell him to slow down when he eats. “It just tastes good!” It’s the same excuse he would tell them. “Maybe you should savor it, then.” He picks up a single noodle and nibbles the end. “Like this? Is this how I’m supposed to eat?” “Ah,” Haru laughs. “That’s much more proper.” “Well, speaking of proper,” he starts, reaching across the table to swipe his thumb across Haru’s cheek, “somehow you always manage to get some food on your face.” “We’re a bit of a mess, aren’t we?” “Mm,” Makoto concurs. “Probably shouldn’t eat outside where people can see us.” Haru smiles and takes another bite. “I was thinking about going to the store after lunch to buy those stone tiles.” “You mean the ones for the path to the front door?” “Mm. I think I’ll get the darker ones.” “That will look nice. Oh, trash bags are on sale, too.” “I’ll pick some up.” “Do you want me to go with you?” “If you want to.” “Of course I want to!” Haru smiles. “Of course I want you to…” “Good! There’s an ice cream place near the store...” “We’ll have ice cream later with your cake.” “Oh?” Makoto asks, a small laugh escaping his mouth as he leans forward. “There’s a cake? Would it be in the fridge? Is it chocolate?” “Forget I said anything.” Well, there was one surprise discovered. Though, it wasn’t really hard to guess, as Haru makes Makoto a cake every year. Makoto doesn’t press any further. It’s not really that he wants the surprise to be ruined; he just enjoys teasing Haru about his efforts to keep things a secret. “Did you want to take a nap before we go to the store?” he asks, changing the subject as he takes the last bite of food left in his bowl. “Why?” Haru suddenly realizes how tired he is and swallows his yawn to keep it hidden from Makoto. He was up extra early today to prepare various things. A nap sounds nice, but he’d hate to waste the day with that. “You just look kind of tired.” “I’m not.” Once Haru catches up to finish the rest of his food, Makoto stretches his arms across the table to link their hands, slipping his fingers through Haru’s and giving a gentle squeeze. “You worked hard today. Just a little sleep,” he says. “I’ll lie with you in bed.” Haru gives a small smile and a small nod; of course Makoto could see right through him. They carry their bowls inside and place them in the dishwasher. Cleaning up everything else can wait until dinner tonight. Once they’re in their bedroom, Haru folds his blue hoodie on the top of the dresser along with his pants—he hates getting too hot—and quickly gets under the covers. “Leave it on,” he says to Makoto, as he starts to remove his sweater. “I don’t want it to get wrinkled from lying down!” he argues. He knows Haru finds it to be a nice cuddly sweater, but Makoto likes to think he’s just as cuddly in his white t-shirt. His pants are the next to go, and he starts to feel a little silly undressing so soon after getting dressed, not to mention that he won’t even be sleeping. But being in bed with jeans on is uncomfortable. Makoto closes the blinds as tightly as he can to darken the room, though it’s mostly futile against the intense sun and the huge windows. He slides under the cool covers and moves to the middle of their bed to meet Haru, smiling as their eyes meet. “What?” Haru asks, breaking their eye contact to set his phone’s timer. He doesn’t want to sleep too long, but he also wants to be well rested so that this detour wasn’t pointless. Makoto kisses his forehead. “Nothing. You’re just cute.” “Oh? What else?” Haru smiles. This could be a fun game. “I love you.” “What else?” “You’re amazing.” “What else?” Makoto giggles. It’s no struggle to come up with a million more words to describe him. “You’re beautiful.” “Ah, you already said that, though.” “I said you were cute!” “That’s the same.” “No, it’s not! I wouldn’t call myself beautiful.” “Did you just call yourself cute?” Makoto laughs. “That’s not the point!” “Well, anyway, you are beautiful.” “Haru…” “And cute. And amazing.” He lifts his head off his pillow to kiss Makoto, putting all his sincerity in it, from his lips that lock with Makoto's, to his fingertips that push through his soft hair. “And I love you. Now let me set my alarm.” Makoto takes Haru’s phone and drapes his arm over his waist. “Hmm, let’s just sleep till we wake up.” “I thought you weren’t sleeping. Anyway, last time we did that, we didn’t get out of bed until the sun started to set.” “Actually, first we cuddled and fooled around a bit. We didn’t get out of bed until much later.” Haru rolls his eyes. “The point is, we wasted the whole day. We can’t do that today.” It was a good day, though. The lazy ones always are. But then again, somehow, so are the ones where they have a million things to do. Makoto leans in for another kiss, but Haru is resistant, keeping his mouth firmly shut, trying not to budge. Makoto pulls his mouth away, discouraged but not defeated. If Haru’s going to be stubborn for some silly reason, Makoto will just have to try and pull him a little more to his side. “You’re right, Haru. Let’s not do that today,” he says, burying his face in Haru’s neck and smiling when Haru reacts to the feeling of his tongue against it. He’s playing dirty, he knows, cheating almost. He pulls away to meet his eyes. “This time we can fool around before we sleep.” It was hard enough not kissing Makoto just moments ago. There’s no way Haru can resist an invitation this deliberate. At least it will feel more productive than sleeping. And honestly, a part of him was starting to regret pulling away from Makoto before their shower when he so clearly wanted Haru to keep going. He shows his approval by returning the kiss from before, accompanying it with his hand sliding up Makoto’s muscled torso. Haru sits up and lightly pushes Makoto’s shoulder, urging him to lean onto his back, pleased when he gives in so easily. Together, they pull down the covers, and Haru grabs the bottom of Makoto’s shirt to pull it up over his head, tossing it to the floor, staring for a moment at the way his chest rises and falls quickly in anticipation. One thing that Makoto just couldn’t get used to when he was swimming was the feeling of people staring at his half-naked body. Even though they weren’t looking at him with any kind of unwarranted feelings, it made him embarrassed and uneasy. But he loves when Haru runs his eyes up and down his body. It’s the strangest feeling of vulnerability and security. To know that Haru will be the only one who sees this, and to know how much he also loves it. He lifts his hips to slide off his underwear, kicking it to the floor and opening his legs. He wants to be as exposed as he can, for Haru to see every bit of his naked body, for him to hurry up and touch him somewhere, anywhere. “As I was saying…” Haru smiles, kneeling next to him. “You’re beautiful.” They both immediately break into laughter, faces going equal shades of red, less because of the statement itself and more because Haru absolutely meant it with unbridled honesty. Haru leans down to hide his blushing face and places his mouth over Makoto’s nipple while his hand finds the other, his tongue and finger working in combination with those words to elicit soft moans from Makoto. Somehow for Haru, using his mouth like this is less embarrassing than saying things like “you’re beautiful.” Makoto settles for running his fingers through Haru’s hair, desperate to do something to make him give up his own small whines but unable to reach any more significant parts of his body. Makoto uncontrollably moves his hips more and more as Haru continues to lick and nibble his chest, disappointed when he pulls away much sooner than he was hoping. “Don’t stop. It feels good.” “I can make you feel better,” Haru replies, positioning himself between Makoto’s legs. He lies down, letting his head rest against Makoto’s shoulder, while slowly moving his hips against him. He’s in no rush to finish, just enjoying the sounds Makoto’s making and the way he's getting harder beneath him. Haru wraps his arms around Makoto’s neck, breath shuddering as his own cock pushes against his underwear. Makoto grabs Haru’s butt with both hands, guiding him to grind a little faster, to make them both a little wetter, to bring them both a little closer. “Makoto…” Haru whines, and that’s all he has to say. “Mm, ok.” As their breathing becomes more shuddered, Makoto gently rolls Haru onto his side and mirrors his position. Haru puts his hand on the back of Makoto’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss—finally, they both think—tongues meeting, muffling their moans when Makoto pulls down the front of Haru’s underwear to free his cock. He takes his and Haru’s both in his hand and slowly strokes, things quickly getting more slick between them. They break from their kiss to let their voices out, looking down between them just for a moment before letting their foreheads rest against each other. Makoto moves his attention to Haru, slowly pulling his foreskin up and then back down, wanting to ensure they come together. “You’re close?” he whispers, knowing that his long quiet whimpers mean exactly that. Haru nods. “Make us come… Mako… to…” Makoto opens his hand to take in both of them again, stroking faster. They repeatedly call out each other’s name, strained and barely audible, until they orgasm. “I love you. Haru, I love you.” Makoto is always so quick to say those words after they’ve been intimate with each other. “I love you,” Haru always quickly responds. They kiss again, tongues lazily circling each other while their heartbeats slowly return to normal. Makoto reaches over to grab some wet wipes out of the dresser drawer, cleaning off his hands first. “Did any get on you? Or the bed?” He looks down at his black t-shirt, but it looks clean, then looks at Makoto and has to resist laughing. “I think it all somehow ended up on you.” He takes one of the wipes and cleans off Makoto’s stomach and chest. “Eh, not all of it, sorry,” Makoto says, laughing a little as he uses his hand to wipe a bit off of Haru’s cheek. “Do not even make a joke about me getting food on my face.” He laughs harder at that. “I was absolutely thinking about it.” “I knew it.” Once thoroughly cleaned up, they lie back down and face each other, easily finding each other’s hand to hold. These moments after when they’re both still a little hazy and flushed are some of Makoto’s favorites. He feels lightheaded, tipsy almost, like they had too much wine, like they could dance for hours if he weren’t so exhausted. He wasn’t planning on napping with Haru; he just wanted to steal some cuddles. But now he’s starting to feel drowsy. He pulls Haru a little closer, letting go of his hand to wrap his arm around his back, and shuts his eyes. Napping does come with its own perks, Makoto considers. It means they get to fall asleep and wake up next to each other twice in one day. And falling asleep and waking up next to Haru are two of his favorite things to do. “Wait!” Haru sits up quickly. “I forgot your gift.” “Surely it can wait till after we sleep.” “No… it shouldn’t,” Haru says, further confusing Makoto with his peculiar choice of words. Makoto furrows his brow. “Let me guess what it is first! I haven’t had a chance to.” Would it be something that requires sunlight, maybe? A solar-powered object? No, what would something like that even be? Haru stands up and opens the blinds to let in some more light. “You won’t guess it.” Makoto tries every year but never does get it right. “Where are you going?” Makoto leans over the bed to grab his abandoned underwear, slipping it on and starting to follow Haru. “It’s in the other room. Sit back down. And stop pouting.” “I’m not pouting,” Makoto pouts. “Just wait! Is it a… new pillow?” “No.” “A candle?” “You’re just naming things you see in the room.” “It’s not something in the room, then? Is it headphones? New shoes! A… cat!” Haru stops in the bedroom doorway and turns around. Makoto’s jaw drops. “Is that it?! Did you get me a cat, Haru?! Is it a cat?” “Just stay there and close your eyes,” Haru sighs, smiling as soon as Makoto sits down with his legs crossed in the center of the bed and does as he says. Makoto listens, hearing Haru walk out of their room and across the house to their spare room. He hears the door open, a pause, and then Haru’s returning footsteps getting closer and closer. The bed creaks and shifts as Haru kneels closer. And then a sound that is definitely not Haru—the tiniest little meow. Without waiting for Haru’s instruction, Makoto opens his eyes to see Haru holding a small tan colored kitten. “Haru!” “Happy Birthday,” Haru says, transferring the kitten to Makoto’s open hands. The kitten mews again. “Oh my god, I love you so much,” Makoto tells her. And he does. “I love you so, so much.” He looks up to see Haru taking pictures of him with his phone, not even trying to conceal the huge smile that spreads across his face. “Haru, look, she fits in one hand.” He smiles wide and pets her soft little face with his finger. “Oh, what’s her name?” “Whatever you want.” “Honey,” Makoto says immediately. “Because of her color, and because she’s so sweet. Aren’t you just so sweet?” He brings his hand up to his face and kisses the top of her head, nearly fainting when she meows again in response. Considering he once named his fish Fish, Fishy, Mr. Fish, and Fish-Fish, Haru thinks Honey is actually a pretty good name. “Ah, I like it. Honey.” Haru reaches over to pet her. She is very sweet. “Welcome to the family.” Makoto smiles. He realizes that’s why Haru had to give him his present early; he felt bad leaving her locked up in a room, even though he’s sure she had food and water and probably spent most of the time sleeping. “Did she come from Manabe-san?” Haru nods. Over the summer, a lady down the street had taken in a stray cat who was pregnant. When Haru found out she gave birth a few months before Makoto’s birthday, he asked immediately if he could adopt one to give as a birthday surprise. She had been more than accommodating, promising to hold on to the one Haru picked out until today, and dropped her off that morning. “If you want to take her to the living room, I’ll just take a quick nap. Thirty minutes. Then we can go to the store.” Haru lies down and sets his alarm. Makoto holds Honey up in his hands, her eyes closed and purring, undoubtedly feeling like the happiest cat in the world right then. “Look, she’s tired, too. We’ll sleep as a family.” Makoto gets under the covers and sets the kitten down on his pillow, letting her get comfortable in the space between her new parents. She circles a couple times before plopping down, eyes closing as she continues to purr. “And make it forty-five minutes.” Haru gives her another little pet on the head, then moves past her to cup Makoto’s face, fondly rubbing his cheek. “You’re happy?” To say he’s happy is an understatement, but he’s not sure what word could adequately describe what he’s feeling right now, so he simply smiles and nods. “Haru, thank you. This is the best gift.” Haru returns his smile, feeling just as much whatever-it-is-Makoto’s-feeling. “I’m glad I could do something to make this day a little special for you.” He furrows his brow. “What do you mean?” “Well,” Haru explains, “it’s your birthday, but we’re pretty much spending it like any other day.” When they were kids, Makoto’s birthday was a big deal. His parents would always take him—and Haru, too, of course—to some place like the zoo or park or movies, sometimes even traveling to a different city. When he got older, he was allowed to do those things with his friends instead. But as he got older still, the importance of birthdays seemed to fade. Even his yearly birthday dinner with Haru had become completely routine. “I see,” Makoto says. “But you know, today absolutely feels special, because I get to be with you.” “We hardly even celebrated.” Makoto smiles. He gets what Haru is saying, even if he’s most definitely wrong. “I just think… you’re seeing this as a normal day, but our normal days are special. Just being with you every day, whether it’s in this house or at the park or on a romantic vacation… that’s what makes me happy. That you’re there. Really, there’s nothing better than that." It’s true, Haru realizes. He never really thought of it, but hearing it, he knows it’s exactly what he’s always thought, too. His fluttering heartbeat loudly sounds its affirmation. “We’re… wasting time for sleep.” He closes his eyes, hoping Makoto is doing the same so he doesn’t see the blush on his face. “Let’s buy some more wine, too.” “You want to dance with me that badly?” “Yes. I think we should dance more.” Haru opens his eyes to see Makoto looking at him, his green eyes glimmering with adoration. He can’t say no to that. He can’t say no to anything from Makoto, not really, not that he could even imagine wanting to. He nods and puts his hand over Makoto’s, holding on to it, momentarily mesmerized at the way the sun manages to make the silver band on his finger glow, thinking about that as he shuts his eyes. It’s sunny. Makoto feels the light behind him, sees it spreading over their bed. But even if the sun weren’t shining, if the sky were instead gray and cloudy, his day would be just as bright. He looks at Haru. He doesn’t think he’s stopped looking at him since the first day they met. He’s warmth and happiness and sunlight; he's extraordinary, and so is every day spent by his side. That’s the last thing Makoto thinks as he falls asleep. The same as usual.

#free!#makoharu #THIS IS THE VERY DEFINITION OF SELF-INDULGENT JALKJSLKDF #this is what goes on in my head all day #just... domestic fluff #kelly's makoharu fics #my posts

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wispon · 5 years

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mental state hc for shadow, tails, and sonic?

LMAO WHOOPS, i entirely forgot about these!!!

for shadow: shadow’s limiters are there entirely for mental reasons!! physically, his body is theoretically perfectly capable of handling his power, but that’s failing to take into account how responsive chaos energy is to thoughts and emotions. the biolizard also had this problem, but the professor misinterpreted chaos energy being power “enriched by the heart”/the biolizard’s explosive responses to fear and stress as the energy responding mechanically to its heightened heartbeat, and outfitted shadow with multiple support hearts and peristaltic blood vessels to take the load off of his main heart as a result... which is great bc his main heart can stop beating and he’ll be fine, but kind of fails to address the actual problem gjfkgfjkdlgd. so once the professor realized how chaos energy actually worked, he decided to give shadow power limiters instead of just, like, taking out his amygdala or teaching him to suppress his emotions. shadow’s not very expressive but he IS very sensitive so even with his, at this point very good, coping mechanisms, it’s a lot easier and safer just to leave the limiters on unless otherwise needed. and he also Knows it looks cool as fuck when he does get to take them off, so that’s a bonus

for tails: tails is doing really well at this point!!! he’s a lot more confident in general, and is enjoying figuring out who he actually is instead of just trying to be like sonic. but he’s also in that place in recovery where, like, problems that were buried under other problems are suddenly at the surface and can be blindsiding. tangential aspects to his low self esteem like the fact that he can’t take a compliment (even from sonic, bc it’s easy to brush off as Well, That’s Sonic, he’ll say nice things to Anyone), he doesn’t have a healthy work/life balance bc he still puts an unhealthy amount of his self-worth into his work, and that he still doesn’t really know how to ask for help because of a loop where he doesn’t feel like he deserves it but also like he should be above needing help at this point because he’s Grown Up are suddenly Real Problems now. that last one makes it kind of difficult for him to tackle them, but thankfully his close friends are all pretty perceptive/emotionally intelligent (aside from knuckles JKDGJFKLGJD) so he definitely has a support system in place

for sonic: this goes against popular fanon, but i truly don’t think he’s all that phased by things like danger or water! i straight up don’t think he knows how to feel fear in a lot of situations that he should. like when you have anxiety and your brain interprets any autonomic arousal as fear, but instead of fear it’s excitement. big robots or deep water or things that otherwise pose a mortal threat to him are just interesting challenges to him. a different kind of fun than the other things he experiences on his adventures, but still fun in the sense that he has to figure them out and work through them. i think the only times he feels fear is when he’s faced with a situation he truly can’t find any control in or work his way through, like in unleashed or colours. he knows when he’s beat! but otherwise he loves being challenged by things that push him off balance... honestly as long as innocent people aren’t in danger you can throw anything at him and he’ll love working it out

#do you like run on sentences bc i do!!!! twitter has destroyed my ability to type #no punctuation just breaking your thoughts into different tweets #asks #anon

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yvvaine · 6 years

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What do you think of Jon + Dany?

Well I’ve already answered what I think of the romantic pairing (Spoiler! Some pretty hot, scathing tea and a couple of fart noses sprinkled in)

So I’ll answer this question a bit differently - keep in mind my opinion is pretty much book-based (though I feel like the show is at least trying to give off this vibe, even if they fall short a bit with Jon’s characterization and are further along in portraying where I think Dany will eventually end up):

Both are grey characters straddling the line between light and dark. It’s prob why there are some interesting parallels on the surface - its when you get to the end of these parallels that they fork off a bit in their handling or their decisions. While there are better narrative examples of this i think a great metephor just to get the basic idea would be that wonderful image in the show of Dany and Jon holding out their hands in the White Walker battle, which seems a perfect parallel to when Ygritte did the same when the two were scaling the wall, but ends much differently; Jon grabbing Ygritte’s outstretched hand, and Jon rejecting Dany’s. A parallel that forks off with different, often opposite, decisions.

So Both are grey characters, however, if there is a line perfectly in the middle, I see Jon as off to the light side of that perfect 50/50 line, and Dany on the darker. Thats not to say they both haven’t had their problematic moments and what not (the show has been less effective in portraying Jon this way and tend to leave out a lot of these instances). Or their good moments either. And they’re both still firmly in the grey area. But i feel the image definitely sums the whole ‘hero of the other side’ thing. They’re foils, inverse of one another, two different sides of a coin. Which is why its so easy to mistake them as the same breed, for lack of a better term; a purposely misleading narrative that will most definitely be used to enrich and shock the story, especially toward the end. Its a plot device GRRM will surely use, considering how infamous it would make his stories, and he is definitely a good and well thought writer if nothing else.

And the further down the rabbit hole the two of them go, the further their decisions and world views cement and push them toward their roles as “hero” and “villian”. But neither term actually exemplifies their respective character because they’re still grey colored, and those terms are literally (and metephorically) black and white. And since they’re both sympathetic characters, whose POVs we see regularly, and their journeys takes place over many books and a long period of canon time, its harder and harder for the GA to not get invested (hence many’s shortsightedness) - which is less an indictment on say the audience’s intelligence or understanding of the story (esp for those that don’t see it; its only the people who purposefully refuse to respectively and openmindedly consider the theories and opinions of others that i think really merits the term ‘ignorant’), and more a mark of how compelling and amazing GRRM is as a writer to pull such a tricky thing off. I doubt many writers could do the same.

I sympathize immensely with Dany and her hard, often horrible journey. And for the most part she’s just trying to do the best she’s able under difficult circumstances. How i interpret her, however, is not as the heroine of the story, despite her good intentions, more as the anti-hero, or the tragic hero:

The tragic hero is a longstanding literary concept, a character with a Fatal Flaw (like Pride, for example)[or in Dany’s case ignorance, an easy temper, and shortsightedness] who is doomed to fail in search of their Tragic Dream [in the show its more the iron throne, for the sake of the IT, and Book!Dany is getting there for sure, but for the most part rn in the books its Westeros for the sake of this intangible dream of ‘home’] despite their best efforts or good intentions.

Concept wise, a tragic hero can be BOTH an antagonist and/or a protagonist, and even as the “villain” is usually recognized as the Tragic Hero by the audience’s sympathy toward them/their plight.

I looooove Dany’s character. She was originally my all time favorite, and though after the first book is no longer my first favorite, is still in my top five. She’s well fleshed, complicated, good, bad, and open to lots of different interpretation. I know some people absolutely hate her (more show fans I think), and while many consider me an “anti” esp. as I don’t think she’s a “hero”, or that she makes a good, effective queen, and I still believe she is doomed for darkness - that doesn’t mean I hate her. I still love her regardless of all this. I feel bad for her. And i think the story would severely suffer without her in it. I also think she’s a character right out of Homer or Shakespeare’s writing, or Tolkien’s, or a Greek tragedy.

If I had to choose which character I loved more: it would be Dany. If I had to choose a character i think will be closer to villian than a hero out of the two, it too would be Dany. The beliefs are not mutually exclusive.

And I can see how it seems I might be “picking” on Dany to some, as I dont mention or discuss Jon nearly as much, but honestly thats just because I find Dany wayyyyyyyyyyyy more interesting and thought-provoking of a character

There’s a lot of accusations that people who criticize Dany are ‘hating on her’ just because she’s a strong, powerful woman, esp. when they dont speak out about other characters as much, and Im sure that may be the case for some as this fandom does have a good amount of bad apples, but thats not why I criticize or appear to focus on her at ALL. For instance, I dislike and hate book!Tyrion (show Tyrion is fine) WAY more than I criticize Dany (who i like). Like vehemently dislike him. I just don’t feel the need to talk about it because the analysis is pretty straight-forward and doesn’t change much. But Dany always changes, at least for me, especially the more I read different theories or interpertations that either coincide or differ from my own. I never get tired of peeling her layers like an onion, or reevaluating my opinion of her. This ended up being way longer than I thought lmao.

#anti jonerys #daenerys targaryen #im a little on the fence about putting it in this tag but its not anti really ??? Still ill tag #anti daenerys #just in case and if any of you want me to take it down for some reason i will #jon snow #i dont want to be disrespectful #but its also an anlysis of her character and not like omg i hate her!! shes horrible!!#mine

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holden-norgorov · 6 years

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S01E01: Limbic Resonance.

Kalagang analyses per episode.

In the first episode of the show, we don’t get to see Wolfgang and Kala interacting yet, but we still gain a huge amount of details regarding their psychology and a pretty solid foundation for their character arcs. These retrospective, episode-by-episode analyses will not be only focused on their connection, but also on the individual transformation and path that both of them will face and overcome thanks to it. Full episode analysis is under the cut.

First of all, I want to begin with a bit of an introduction 1. by analyzing their names, the meaning behind them and what they suggest about the characters and 2. by pointing out their bond with water and what it represents to them.

Wolfgang: traditional German name made up of the words “wolf” (wolf) and “gang” (path, journey). It can be linked to the meaning “advancing at a stealthy pace” and to the image of a lone wolf preparing to storm into battle. Superficially, it refers to the closed, introverted nature of the character and the violent and dangerous environment he grew up in, which always forced him to conduct a solitary lifestyle. The “journey” he has to face is to learn how to have faith in himself and then open up and rely on others thanks to that. Kala is symbolically fundamental in making him understand that it’s not true that he “doesn’t need anyone” (2x05) and that he is unworthy of being loved. On a deeper level, though, it’s interesting to notice that the animal of the wolf has always been deeply misunderstood in cultural mythologies and depicted as a feral predator because of fear and superstitions, while in the totem tradition it actually symbolically embodies the traits of cordiality and generosity. This duality speaks also about the character very precisely: Wolfgang always gets easily judged solely regarding his external, apparent brutality, whereas his vulnerable and selfless inner nature always ends up being ignored or not acknowledged at all. Except for Kala, who can clearly see that he has “something good and beautiful” hidden inside of him that always becomes evident when they are together (2x01).

Kala: traditional Hindi name that possesses three different layers of interpretation fitting with the nature of the character. Its first meaning is “fine arts, lady, princess” and it obviously refers to the superficial display of Kala’s behavior and how she is commonly perceived by others. She has been taught her all life to behave nicely and pleasantly in order to evolve in a fine and proper Indian woman, even though this cultural indoctrination doesn’t provide her any happiness and undermines her self-worth. She constantly has to hide her true nature and conduct a life of fakeness by constructing the untrue image of an apparently perfect and socially-praiseworthy lady. “Fine arts” also gives the idea of her role in Wolfgang’s growth and gain of self-awareness: she becomes his emotional Muse. This concept is linked with the second meaning of her name: “sunlight”. Kala is often shown to be fundamental in restoring Wolfgang’s hope and appreciation for life. She enlightens his perspective and provides new colors and shades to his obscure and frightening world. In many occasions we can see her actively bringing him into the light, both physically (2x06; 2x10) and metaphorically (1x07). This lighthearted nature of her contrasts with what we learn with the third meaning, which is “dark blue, black”. Deep down, Kala doesn’t see herself as the kind of woman she pretends to be in public and has “something dark and wicked” hidden inside of her that can be freely and comfortably exposed only with Wolfgang (2x01).

Both Wolfgang and Kala also share a deep connection with water since their first breath. Water constantly brings them together. And since this trait of their connection is always present in their bond and recurring in many of their scenes in both seasons, I thought about giving a general explanation of what this element means to them at the very beginning of these analyses (so here) and then pointing out references every time water is involved in the future. This should save time and prevent unneeded repetitions from happening.

Water perfectly encapsulate the dualistic nature of their characters. It’s a transformative element that can be both clean, pure and soothing and dirty, destructive and devastating at the same time. It mirrors Kala and Wolfgang’s inner and outer personalities and reflects the contrast of “light” (limpidity: Kala’s outer and Wolfgang’s inner selves) and “dark” (turbidity: Kala’s inner and Wolfgang’s outer selves) that aesthetically and metaphorically concerns them throughout both seasons.

Water washes out the fake constructions and imperfections and reveals the true nature of things. It’s the source of a purification and healing process. Both Kala and Wolfgang are able to evoke their true essences only around each other; by triggering their connections, water symbolically leaves them naked of all their walls (cultural ones for Kala and emotional ones for Wolfgang) and destroys those fences with an uncontrolled flow. Water lets them create an intimate, genuine bond by connecting them while purified and exposed. It testifies the clean and transparent nature of their relationship.

Water is religiously associated to the gain of knowledge and wisdom. Both Kala and Wolfgang need each other in order to reach a new level of self-awareness because each of them provides the other of what they are lacking to evolve as people and characters. On many occasions they are shown to be thirsty of each other’s presence and of its empowering and enriching effect on them.

Water in many traditions symbolizes the moon. Both the water and the moon share a double face (always one side of the moon is illuminated and the other one is obscured). This is also interesting because the moon doesn’t have her own source of light but reflects the sun’s one. Which means that: the sun provides light to one side of the moon, and that side of the moon is the one that is traditionally believed to attract the howls of the wolves. The moon (water) acts as a mediator between the “sunlight” (Kala) and the howling “wolf” (Wolfgang) who develops a deep attraction to its bright side.

Water is also connected to fluidity and sexuality. This is very clear in a lot of interactions between Wolfgang and Kala where water is present in the form of sweat, snow or rain. They visit each other in the most intimate places and moments. They were both birthed in a water-filled environment and finally joined their bodies together in the same way. Also, as water, being a malleable element, can be prevented from flowing freely and be imprisoned by banks or canals, in the same way sexuality can be restrained by the nature of self or channeled in a precise direction. Kala’s demisexual nature provided a metaphorical drain through which water (sexual attraction) could be channeled towards Wolfgang only thanks to their connection.

Water grants eventually the access to a deep and mysterious underworld. The unknown and unconquerable nature of the ocean resembles Wolfgang and Kala’s impossibility of legitimately acting on their love. Their feelings are denied exposure and are conceived as a secret to be hidden in the abyss; their connection goes very deep and the more it escapes the surface, the more powerful and overwhelming it becomes, just as marine currents.

All that said, let’s finally dive into the episode (no pun intended).

We are firstly introduced to Kala when she is at her father’s restaurant. She briefly connects with Wolfgang and experiences thunder and rain. Their affinity to water is already established in this moment and will keep coming back in a lot of episodes. In Kala’s case, the actual external storm coming from Wolfgang’s sensations mirrors her internal struggle and unfavorable feelings regarding marrying a man she doesn’t love. Since, even if we don’t know that yet, she already unwillingly accepted Rajan’s hand, that storm becomes a metaphor for her emotional turmoil and the fear of letting her parents down on her hesitancy. So, Wolfgang’s physical rainy environment is symbolically conceived to have a deep access to Kala’s interiority and provide an accurate representation of her concealed, real thoughts about the marriage. From the very first moment, their connection is already intimate and self-revealing.

In this scene it’s also already clear that Kala loves her father so much that, in order for him to be really happy (since it’s clarified that this union to him is more satisfying and important than her work and studies), she’s willing to sacrifice her own happiness and keep this as a secret to him. This gesture creates a complicated dynamic in their relationship that will persist for all the two seasons. Kala behaves as it is expected from a “fine” Indian girl; by fulfilling a duty she doesn’t really desire just to provide happiness and pride to her family, she basically condemns herself to conduct a future life where her relationship with her parents will only be based on lies and dishonesty. This is why she ultimately finds comfort in visiting the Ganesha temple, because in this moment the Indian god is “the only one she can talk to”. This will be replaced in S2, where Kala won’t be able to access to the temple anymore and this role will be definitely taken by Wolfgang, “the only person she ever felt she could say anything to” (2x04). Kala’s fate, by accepting this unwanted marriage, is living a life where she constantly has to lie to everyone she physically knows. Wolfgang’s future sensate presence in her intimacy will be the only thing able to give her stability and the opportunity to give vent to her real feelings and free her real self from the chains of cultural indoctrination. In this moment, though, all she feels is that she is trapped and overtaken by both an actual and metaphorical storm.

In the next scene, we are introduced to Wolfgang, who is in the middle of a downpour. The funeral moment already highlights the contrasting essence of his bond with Kala. While she is willing to commit herself to huge sacrifices in order to ensure her dad’s happiness, he is shown to have had a horrible relationship with his own father, to the point that he has a pee on his grave. The look on his face in that moment is one of determination, fulfilment and challenge. What’s important to understand about Wolfgang is that he is living a kind of lifestyle he didn’t choose for himself. He needs to find a purpose capable of making him feel worthy and important, because he has been treated badly his entire life and therefore thinks he doesn’t deserve anything. He’s lost and trapped in a directionless and self-undermining life environment he can’t gain any happiness and satisfaction from. Kala will be the one finally providing him a purpose and a reason to truly appreciate life (this is why he will always treat her like the most important thing in the world, because to him she really is). But for now, the only thing he can do to prove himself that he has value and is not worthless is mastering what his father wasn’t able to accomplish. He wants to constantly show and testify that he is “not as stupid as my father” (1x05). This is why he feels the need to crack the same safe (S&D) his father couldn’t open on his own: 1. to remind himself that he didn’t turn out to be like him, but a better version and 2. in order for this brief success to fill the void of his pointless everyday life and make him feel as if he matters and his life has a meaning. He craves self-appreciation and proud because he was literally raised to believe he will never be enough or worth considering at all. It’s his coping mechanism.

The last Kala’s scene of the episode is set in the Ganesha temple. As I said before, it’s the only place where she can truly be herself, and this is why in S1 she will be seen here a lot. Ganesha, by being this silent and listening presence, provides her of assurance and understanding. It’s interesting to notice that, since the god himself clearly can’t answer and his statue is a projection of the character’s faith, Kala turns out to be not only her own moral persecutor, but also her own pressure valve. The process of conversing with Ganesha provides her the same venting, healing effect of writing on a secret diary. It’s her coping mechanism. Here she says that she is about to marry a very important man who everyone in her society thinks of as the perfect Indian husband, but that she actually doesn’t love. “How could I say no?” she asks nearly in tears, thinking about her parents “dancing around the house”. She develops an internal moral struggle that will be the source of her character’s essence for two seasons. She is not about to enter an arranged marriage, because the man who proposed to her wasn’t specifically chosen by her parents. This conscious decision on her (which is what led her family consider this as a “love union”, despite not being such) is not the result of an imposed coercion from the outside, but of an internal sacrifice that she experiences as a necessary burden thanks to the mentality she inherited from her culture. She is putting societal expectations and her parents’ happiness above her own because she believes that this is the kind of behavior that is excepted from her in order to be appreciated and judged as “proper” and “adequate”. It’s a matter of cultural indoctrination. She is consciously making a choice that she knows will only satisfy others. In this moment Kala is truly suffering and almost ends up crying: this is not a choice she’s making for herself. She is suffocating her real self and building a superficial, fake image of a lady she doesn’t feel comfortable being just because in her societal environment there’s only room for that lady.

The last Wolfgang’s scene of the episode features him performing a robbery. The really important moment here happens when he takes a break from trying to crack the S&D safe and turns on the tv. Despite knowing how uncomfortable he feels singing in public, he states that watching music competitions actually relaxes him (probably because, as we discover in the finale episode, he used to sing a lot with his mother when he was young, which likely was the only distraction they had from the violence of his father). Here, though, the singing competition becomes a metaphor for how Wolfgang feels internally, as suggested by the comparison between the girl’s performance and his own flashback. In this memory a young Wolfgang is shown being unable to perform on stage because of his father’s general presence ― that scares him, since he was constantly abused by him — and particular attitude in that moment — that makes him feel worthless and nullified. Felix’s comment about the girl being unable to win the competition not because of her singing talent but because of her physical aspect (i.e. something irrelevant to a fair and objective judgement) mirrors young Wolfgang’s feeling of being unable to sing not because of stage fright or failure worries (he actually enjoys singing) but because of the terror of being constantly ridiculed and put down by his father. He was traumatized. The fact that the girl in tv actually ends up losing the competition is a testament of Wolfgang’s permanent inability of recovering from his internalized childhood traumas that still torment him nowadays. This finale recognition is what ultimately forces him to fulfil the need of “cracking the uncrackable” and definitely release himself from his father’s mockeries. The satisfied look on his face, once he finally opens the safe, steams not only from the concrete opportunity of collecting the diamonds, but especially from the abstract gain of a new self-worth and praise that discredit what his father always accustomed him to think about himself. He finally proved his father wrong.

That’s all for the pilot. We’ll see in the next episode, where things start to get really interesting for Kalagang.

#sense8 #limbic resonance #kalagang #wolfgang bogdanow #kala dandekar #otp: thank god for gravity #analysis #long post

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