#i had to read ''the stranger'' for my literature class so i needed to scream with some lesbian angst to both channel/distract from my rage

[asksythe]

MXTX Interview with Risa Wataya for Subaru Magazine P.3

Risa Wataya: So that’s how it is. Although Lan WangJi is very quiet, he always uses practical actions to protect Wei WuXian's feelings. He’s a character that makes people feel sincere and earnest. I also really liked the scene where he couldn't beat the alcohol and drank until he lost self-control.

Mo Xiang: Lan Wangji is a cute person! Although he is stubborn and cold and not easy for strangers to approach on the outside, but when he loves someone, he is innocent (*) and sensitive, like a teenage girl. He will cry. He will be shy, jealous, and hesitant. He will worry and fret by himself... I like gong like this! The weakness to wine is to show this cute side of Lan Wangji. I think childish gongs are very cute.

(*: the word used here is chun de 纯的. It means ‘pure’ in the mental and emotional sense. As in his love and his feelings are pure and have no other motives or agendas. It’s not pure/innocent as in... well... we all know Lan Wangji’s sexual awakening involves a dream about him r***-ing Wei Wuxian so... It’s not that kind of innocent.)

Risa Wataya: On his forehead, he wears a forehead band, like a headband in Japan. The fact that the forehead band symbolizes self-restraint is also very interesting.

Mo Xiang: In reality, the forehead band also frequently appears on the costumes of classical Chinese literature. So I think it is a kind of ancient Chinese aristocratic jewelry, to emphasize Gusu Lan Shi's nobility (*) but without giving too much meaning at that time… However, later upon investigation, I found that in ancient China, there was a "ceremonial stoicism" (**) of ethics and etiquette, which is also reflected in clothing and jewelry. For example, "hairpin", which means "proper/virtuous posture"... When walking, if the hairpin makes a sound, you need to adjust your posture. Although the exposure of the forehead does not seem to have special meaning, "binding" is reminiscent of "self-restraint.” After considering the behavioral ethics of the ancient Chinese, I developed this “restraint oneself” setting.

(*: the wording here does not actually mean nobility as in a ranking or social class of the time, but in the feelings evoked by Gusu Lan Shi, in the way they conduct themselves, restrain themselves, deny themselves extreme power, in the goals and standards they set for themselves, in the ways they treat other common people in a time where China had an extremely rigid nine-ranked caste system and extensive slave class and slavery system. A sense of beyond the petty squabbles of common mortals. In other words, nobility from the bones)

(**: 礼服克己 Lifu Keji: an ancient manifested philosophy and a type of Asian ascetism where a practitioner must conduct his life, from the smallest, most insignificant details, with extreme restraint and control.) 

Risa Wataya: Ah, so that’s how it is. The plot related to the forehead band is quite interesting. Although looking at the full text, there are a lot of sorrowful, tragic parts, but after adding such interesting details, the mood becomes much lighter.

Mo Xiang: If it's all torture (*), my readers will run away. By the way, the “Aside from the destined person, other people cannot touch the forehead band” detail is something I suddenly thought of during the writing process. I often read classical Chinese martial arts novels (wuxia). The female characters often appear on screen and say: "You have seen my face. You must marry me." "Or "You touch my hand, you're responsible!" (**) But I thought, "Why do women always have to say this?"

(*: modern Chinese slang. It literally means ‘reverse/mistreat.’ It denotes ‘sad, sorrowful’ tones in stories that will make you cry buckets and run away screaming or require times in therapy (Ask the folks reading Erha. They will tell you all about it). Chinese stories are often marked with either ‘mistreat’ or ‘sweet’ to tell readers the tone of the stories. Alternative slangs are ‘glass shards’ and ‘candies.’ It’s a very popular modern Chinese writing technique to mix glass shards and candies, and it’s generally believed there are no great stories without ‘glass shards’ in them. The readers need to cry to remember the stories you are telling. So the vast majority of modern Chinese literature is of the ‘glass shards mixed in candies’ variety. Have fun!)  

(**: Common trope in Wuxia and Xianxia genre. This stems from the strict sexual segregation of ancient China and the rigid customs imposed on women. For thousands of years in China, up until the last one hundred years, it was very normal for daughters of wealthy families to never step foot outside their house, or even their personal wing inside their house, until the day of their wedding. And after their wedding, this process is repeated in their husband’s house.

The traditional saying is that there are only three places for women in this world: the ancestral hall, the kitchen, and the bedroom. This saying is even repeated by Jiang Cheng when talking about Jiang Yanli in the novel.

There’s a lot of emphasis on women maintaining extreme unstained virtue. So there used to be ridiculous things like if you see an unwed woman’s face, then you must take responsibility for her, and so forth. In particular dynasties, it also wasn’t strange for blood feuds or even all-out war to occur because some random dudes saw some particularly protected woman’s face… or touch her hair or that sort of thing.)

"So I wanted to try the same setup on the male character Lan Wangji, adding meaning to the forehead band. That moment when one’s ethics and ceremonial morality codes are broken. This feeling of hysterical panic and discombobulation applied to a male character might be very interesting indeed!” (*)

(*: tone / word choice is especially gleeful at seeing Lan Wangji metaphorically having his chastity slip being stolen by Wei Wuxian)    

Translator note: Hmm, this part the vocabulary is a bit more complex and needing extra explanations than the previous two. I worry that a lot of lingual concepts don’t match up to the English words, or that the same concepts don’t exist at all. Ergo, the abundance of notes. I hope it’s not too disruptive.

That said, after this part 3, I will have to stop for a few days. The reason is because... I have to wait (and beg) for the scan of the next page in the interview. You might not know this, but this interview with MXTX was rumored by Japanese fans for a long time. The result is when it was confirmed, the May-June edition of Subaru magazine was sold out in minutes! People queued up for hours and could not buy it. The magazine originally retails for about 10 USD. But now there are people reselling it for 70 USD and there are plenty of people queuing up to buy those too! So of course... even had I tried... I still would not be able to get even a finger nail on this edition. 

Luckily! I am in this Vietnamese MXTX fan group. A “rich sister” in there was able to acquire a copy and shared a scanned page with the rest of us. The magazine is something of a collector item now, much clout, very envy!! That kind! So the rest of us peons have to wait for the next scanned pages. 

To Be Continued (Pray for me...) 

[a-gay-bloodmage]

—Lavender—

Pairing: Sera x Female Trevelyan

Pairing Type: F/F

Words: 1,390

Warnings: Angst, Inability to Deal With Own Feelings, Bonding Between a Lesbian and a Very Small Cat, Hurt and Comfort, The Magic of Love and Actual Magic

Kiora was an idiot. She was a jerk, an ass, a terrible girlfriend. Sera threw another burnt cookie off the rooftop, watching it shatter into a million tiny crumbs on the cobblestones below and send birds scattering. She sniffled and threw another and another and another until the ground was covered in broken bits of cookies and she had nothing left to throw.

She wiped her nose, trying to ignore the stupid tears in her eyes. Why was she so upset over Kiora being a jerk? She should be angry, not sad. Well, she was angry, but she was sad, too. She was angry and sad and lonely and angry again.

She wanted to hit something, but there wasn't anything good enough to hit. She wanted to yell at someone, but nobody was around at this time of night. She stood up and walked back into her messy room, trying to ignore the bits of Kiora's stuff scattered among hers. She wanted so badly to gather it all up and throw it out her window, but she couldn't bring herself to.

Please, Sera, I don't want you to get hurt, she had said, in that stupid, weepy, whispery, adorable voice of hers. It'll just be two or three weeks, please understand, please, sunshine.

Sera had told her she didn't care. That if she didn't want her there she should just say so and stop making excuses. Kiora had told her that she was misunderstanding. That she was honestly just keeping her safe. Sera had called her stupid. Kiora had gotten such a sad look in her pretty violet eyes that Sera had wanted to apologize then and there. But she had been stubborn. She didn't apologize at all, and Kiora had just left, touching Sera's hand for just a gentle second before tugging on her satchel and walking out Sera's door. Sera had broken something in anger, but she couldn't remember what. It didn't really matter.

She fell into her small, messy windowsill bed, trying to ignore the fact that this was Kiora's favorite place to nap. It was Sera's bed, not Kiora's. She curled around a pillow, annoyed at how much comfort it brought. It was comfortable because it reminded her of Kiora, but she was supposed to be mad at Kiora, so it made her mad. But she wasn't all the way mad. And the longer she stayed curled up around that pillow in the dark, the more the loneliness overtook the anger. And then she was sniffling more, and then she was crying, and then she was burying her face in that stupid pillow that reminded her of Kiora, and she was sobbing all alone because she had driven Kiora away. Because she had been dumb and she had yelled at the only person who was ever only nice to her, and she had made the girl who was only ever kind and sleepy sad, and Kiora was never supposed to be sad. She was choking on her own tears and snot and it was gross and stupid and childish but she couldn't stop.

Only when she heard a faint scratching at the door did she lift her face from her snot and tear covered pillow. There was more scratching, and more, and a little more before the door was slowly pushed open an inch because she was too dumb to properly latch it. It was one of Kiora's dumb cats, the baby, Patches.

"Go away," she muttered, glaring at the kitten. "Stupid little bastard, go away."

The kitten just mewled sadly and jumped up onto the windowsill bed, shoving its stupid little face into Sera's. She didn't bother shoving it off. Patches seemed to understand she was upset, settling in beneath her chin and purring against her wet skin, trying to calm her. She took a minute before she sat up, picking the tiny little thing up in her hand like a doll. The kitten didn't mind, and actually seemed to like being held.

She held Patches to her chest as she walked back out onto the rooftop, sneaking along the ramparts and past any late-night guards as she made her way to the Inquisitor's chambers. She had to put the kitten in her sleep shirt's pocket for a little while as she scaled the wall to Kiora's balcony, but thankfully Patches knew not to move too much or try to escape her pocket. She made her way into Kiora's room, and slowly got up onto her big, too-soft bed.

Kiora had left a robe out on her quilt that she had probably started to pack but left behind because she didn't want to carry the extra weight and didn't mind wearing robes that were a little sweaty. Patches wiggled his way out of Sera's pocket, his tiny little claws poking her breast a little. She didn't have the energy to scold the dumb little bastard. He jumped down onto the robe, pawing at it and mewling up at Sera. He bit the black and dark purple fabric, attempting to drag it over to her, but not seeming to realize that he was not only far too weak to lift so much fabric, but that he was standing on it, too.

Sera picked him up with one hand, and the robe with the other. Kiora was kinda tall, and she was heavy, too, so there was a lot of fabric. Mages always wore impractical, flowy, decorative nonsense. She held the robes up to her face, and breathed in the smell of it. It smelled like the elfroot Kiora smoked, and the charms she wore that smelled like pomegranates. And it smelled like lavender, too, which was weird, because Kiora didn't usually smell like lavender. Sera took another deep breath in through her nose, and the lavender seemed to get stronger.

Her fists tightened up around the robe, and she heard a crinkle of paper. Patches was purring as he curled up in her lap, covered by the heavy fabric. She fished around in the mass of black and violet clothing. It was a little piece of yellowish parchment, covered with Kiora's soft, loopy handwriting.

My sunshine, it said. I'm sorry I had to leave you behind at Skyhold. I'm sure you'll be mad, and you deserve to be. I wouldn't be able to stand myself if I brought you along only to have you get hurt. I love you too much to put you in danger. Sera sniffled, wiping at her eyes. I knew you'd come to my room, and I only hope you find this note. I enchanted this robe to help you sleep in my absence. I love you, Sunshine. -Kiora.

Sera could hardly fathom what she could've ever done to deserve someone as fantastic as Kiora. Someone who took the time to make a robe smell like Orlesian flowers just so that Sera could fall asleep more easily while she was away. Sera fished Patches out from between her legs, holding him while she got under the thick, dark purple and black blankets. Everything Kiora owned seemed to be dark purple or black or both. She set Patches down on a pillow she pulled against her body, wrapping her arms and legs around it, the robe nestled between the pillow and her chest so that she could breathe in its scent. Patches was purring, his blue eyes gently shut as he fell asleep easily under the magic's influence. The magic probably only hardly touched his pink little nose before he was out for the night.

Her muscles began to relax, and she felt the warm, cozy, sleepy feeling of Kiora's magic wash over her. The pain in her back that had come from slumping over the edge of the roof and curling up into herself began to disappear, replaced by soothing warmth. She felt twice as heavy, her body sinking into the soft mattress.

As she dozed off, Kiora's wonderful magic running through her veins, she couldn't help but wonder if Kiora knew she was asleep in her bed. Because—however mad it would sound in the morning—she felt her blonde hair being smoothed and a kiss being planted on her forehead, and could hear—ever so faintly—a whispery goodnight as she breathed in the sweet scent of lavender.

[prose-for-hire]

UC Sunnyhell: Part Two

Hell is a place on Earth

Previous Part // Next Part

Pairing: Spike x reader

Request: College AU where Spike is the campus bad boy who secretly is a softie that writes poems and reader is the new transfer who just moved into Spike's apartment since it was the only available room on campus (no one wants to willingly live with Spike). Spike constantly having one night stands over, reader always trying to study. Things appear to go from bad to worse.

Originally requested by: @sunflower-stan​ 

Other tag: @fictionalhoomanofnowhere

Warning: Sex references. Swearing.

The first semester had been and gone by this point. You were settling into life at UC Sunnydale, found your friendship group in Buffy and the others. But one thing you still weren’t accustomed to, was living with Spike. He was hard to get along with at the best of times but living with him was a whole different thing.

He appeared to stay up most of the night and sleep well into the afternoon. He played loud punk music almost every waking hour and he smoked like a chimney. He never appeared to listen to a word you said and he pretty much did the opposite from whatever you said or thought anyway.

It was becoming really hard to live with him. Especially when he seemed to do everything he could to make you want to move out. He found it easier to live alone. To hide in the depths of what he knew than

Because of your current living situation you had started to branch out and pursue some of your interests. It beat staying in all the time and you really wanted to find someone that you could relate to.

You were a fan of musicals and the theatre. Poetry and literature. You liked reading and the way a writer could weave such intricate feelings. Scenes and spoken word able to explain your own feelings better than you ever could.

Your new friends didn’t really share your enthusiasm – even Willow was more into science and computers. Although your friend group were kind enough to listen to the way you spoke about your interests. They certainly didn’t make you feel bad about expressing your passions. But they just didn’t share your love and so you began to try to search out people that you could connect with. On some kind of deeper level.

You had been frequenting different bars that held open mic nights. Watching plays and listening to monologues. Letting the intricate wordplay wash over you. It could make you feel so many emotions. So many feelings were conjured.

Your favourite were the open mic nights. You pretty much never got up yourself, you usually would just listen. You were working yourself up to performing something of your own. You wrote things too it was just a matter of working on your performing skills. You were thinking of joining the clubs, maybe to improve your confidence in your writing. In your performing.

You walked back home from a play you had watched (and cried at) to find Spike sat there scribbling something. It was the first time you had ever seen him actually writing or appearing to do any work.

You were about to make a snide comment about it and then he noticed your presence. He almost jumped five feet in the air in surprise. He then hid the notebook behind his back and immediately got up to leave now you had returned. He left muttering something about you being a nosy bitch.

Spike had taken the opportunity, while he finally had time where he felt comfortable since you had actually left the house for once to write. This was something he didn’t like people knowing about. He wiped his eye as he stormed away. Hoping to God you hadn’t seen that. He couldn’t bear you knowing him that way. Laughing.

It was Friday evening and you had some friends over. There was a sudden knock at the front door. Spike had taken a baseball bat from his room and held it up as if he was ready to swing it.

Willow and Buffy’s eyes bulged at the object in his hand as they peaked from your bedroom doorway. Buffy was pleased they had convinced you to come to self-defence class now.

He walked slowly to the door, meeting you in the hallway skipping happily past him. He grabbed you back looking at you as if you were mad. He was expecting debt collectors. Again.

“Spike, it’s the pizza guy” You moved your shoulder from him before carrying on back to the door with the dollars in your hand, “What is wrong with you?” you muttered.

He scowled, jaw tensing as Buffy and Willow giggled at the way he had been so tense and he stormed away smacking the edge of the bat against the wall in his frustration. Leaving a small hole there.

You brought the pizzas back into your room (so you didn’t have to face spike again) and shared them out with your friends.

After you finished your meal and managed to calm yourselves down from whatever had just happened, talk of course turned back to Spike.

“So how is it… y’know…” Willow asked before mouthing “with Spike”. You hadn’t realised how much built up rage you had inside until you launched into your conversation.

“Well, I can tell you that Hell really is a place on Earth”

“That bad?”

“I can’t believe I’m stuck with him – if I even breath in his direction he has a problem with it!”

“Yeah, he’s always been a complete pig. Some people are just born evil” Buffy shrugged.

“Buffy! He’s not evil! He’s just… mean spirited”

“In the most evil way” Buffy added. She had never liked Spike. He was cruel and treated her as if she was dumb just because she was in a sorority and enjoyed cheerleading.

What you and the two girls didn’t realise, was that Spike was eavesdropping. You had all been laughing really loud and he was about to take his chance to kick Buffy and her little loser friend out. Until he found he was interested to hear what you all had to say about him.

You groaned, thinking about the way things had been. You needed to vent. So, you took the chance while you were in the company of your now closest friends.

“He’s inconsiderate and rude and also I’m pretty sure he never washes his clothes... but he always smells good. Weird”

“Totally weird”

“Well, we did like, warn you”

“And oh my God! He walks around naked all the time! There’s always some stranger he’s brought home and they are always so loud! He never studies and the plates are always piled high in the kitchen! It’s disgusting – he’s disgusting!”

“He’s always been so arrogant and gross”

“Hey, don’t wig, next year we can find a place. The four of us – right Buffy?” Willow offered, including her girlfriend. She comforted you as you caught your breath from your outburst. Willow rested her hand on your shoulder to reassure you.

“Really?” You asked with a smile as Buffy nodded. She was going to move out from her sorority so she wasn’t distracted for her last year she had already decided.

“Don’t worry, y/n. We’ll keep you sane” Buffy insisted.

Spike scoffed. The way Buffy acted as if she was saving you from him. As if he was a fate worse than death. You angered him. The way you had determined his character over a few fleeting conversations. The gossip your silly little friends told you.

You became enemy number one. Even more so than you had been before. He hated gossip and the way people would laugh behind his back. You reminded him of this every time he looked at you now, not that you knew this.

The annoyance for the other just kept growing. Yours had originally been fuelled by your friends rumours, but his actions were now getting worse. Spike was seething at your dismissive tone against your character. He didn’t even want a roommate, he only agreed the landlord to put the room up so he didn’t put up the rent again.

So he decided to try and make you leave. Properly this time. He didn’t care anymore, you reminded him of everyone out there. Everyone that he hid himself away from. Distanced himself from.

The tension rose uncomfortably. He was more rude. More gross. And he made sure to do everything he knew that he could to annoy you. It was petty, he knew it, but he knew it would get a rise out of you.

One afternoon, you had been scraping off some congealed red liquid that you had been concerned was blood. He hung out with a weird crowd, you only hoped some poor thing hadn’t been exploded in there. Although, upon further inspection it appeared to be tomato soup. But you would probably embellish the story a little to your friends.

You washed your hands and scowled at him. He had moved to lean against the doorway and just watch you clean.

“God, Spike, you’re so lazy”

“’Scuse me?”

“You don’t clean, you don’t study – what exactly do you do with your life?”

He was affronted by this. By the way you spoke to him. How he felt like you acted like you were better than him. In your frustration you didn’t care what he thought. He just didn’t care. You were trying to live your life.

He could hear Buffy or even Angel’s voice through your own. The way they had always berated him.

“And what? I should be like you? You’re not exactly making a proper go of it are you? Haven’t seen you do much of anything ‘cept follow them brainless bints around the shop. When you’re not doing that you sit in your room as life passes you by, livin’ through your little Musical shows rather than living in the real world - You’re boring. You’ll live your pathetic little life, stuck in your lame little ways until you die”

“Spike-”

“You’re all the same! You and your preppy little band of misfits looking down your noses at everyone and yet you can’t see the obvious, can you? You’re so bored with your pathetic, frigid little lives that you have to make it my bloody problem!”

You decided, seeing as that’s how he viewed you that you would treat him exactly like that. Like he treated you. Things got worse.

He started to invite people over all the time. You would call it a party but there was nothing celebratory about it. You were confined to your room most of the time as they all laughed and screamed along to their music. They were always drinking and playing music no matter what time of the day you saw them.

You usually avoided them, locking your door, but you had needed to slip out of your room for a moment.

“Who’s this?” One of the guests pointed you out as you tried to make it to the bathroom without anybody noticing you. Now everyone’s eyes were on you.

“Oh don’t mind them, they’re just for show hasn’t had an original thought their entire life” Spike shrugged.

“Aw, no, Spike. Another mindless automaton” One of his friends spoke up and he laughed. It was a cold laugh, there was no humour in it.

“Do you, like, want to-”

“Don’t, love. They’re nobody” Spike stopped the blonde girl from speaking to you more kindly than the rest. They all laughed at this and began to tease you.

You left, slamming the door and you heard them laughing, jeering at you for your reaction. It made tears sting the back of your eyes. You collected yourself, shrugging on your jacket. You walked to a place you knew you would be welcome.

You knew that you weren’t going to get on. But this was getting out of hand. You hated him. Hated the way he treated you. The way he judged you, despite him knowing exactly how that feels.

As you thought this, he appeared to be thinking the same thing. Which made Spike scoff and frown. Was he really better than any of the people he hated? He shook that thought away. Downing his beer and looking for another rather than reflect.

You had called Buffy on your way over and she had been quick to contact the entire group to tell them there had been a major incident. Everyone piled around to her dorm room so that they could support you. You had sounded upset on the phone.

You explained everything that had happened and they all comforted you the best that they could. Xander then showed you the stack of films he had brought to try to cheer you up. He had even found some Musicals just for you.

Buffy explained that she had called Angel but he says he’s sorry but he’s busy right now. Buffy appeared disappointed and when you asked her about it she explained. They used to date when they were seniors in college but they had broken up despite still both having feelings for each other.

She explained it had seemed the right thing to do at the time, but now she wished they were back together. You insisted that you would make it your mission to help them get back together which made Buffy grin at you. She really did value your friendship.

As the night wore on your friends began to discuss the idea of you taking your revenge on Spike. It had made you laugh as they suggested ridiculous pranks and ideas that wouldn’t bother him at all. But then they began to take it more seriously. Insisting that you should get even.

You said you weren’t sure. And left it at that. But they thought you had better do something or he wouldn’t stop.

You eventually went back to a trashed house after staying for the weekend with Buffy. You stared at the mess. Maybe you would have to do something.

It had been unusually quiet the few days prior and you should have known better than to hope he had stopped. You had heard a girl, one of Spike’s partners that came around more than most (Harmony but her sex noises were nothing close to harmonious). She explained that if they were to have a threesome it would have to be boy-boy-girl. Apparently, neither of them had been able to swing Charlize Theron.

You had overheard this conversation over breakfast one morning on. A rare occasion they were both awake (they hadn’t gone to sleep yet). You had immediately spat out your food in disgust of their blunt discussion.

It had been perhaps in slight exaggeration but you felt like you were allowed. You were fine with people having sex and having fun but you really didn’t want to have to hear about it over your breakfast. They could have at least let you rub the sleep from your eyes first.

He had scoffed at you at the time and now he had set this up seemingly just to rub you up the wrong way. As opposed to the right ways he was rubbing his partners.

He tried to push the thought down that this had been solely planned because of you. With you in mind. To get a reaction from you. Because that would start him questioning his intentions. His actions. How you made him so angry it was now near obsessive.

So, it appeared they had finally agreed on the logistics of it. And were now giving you a live audio performance. On some random Thursday afternoon just as you had settled down to study.

You swore they were doing it on purpose. Being as loud as possible just to get a rise out of you.

You pounded on the door. You could smell sex from where you were stood out on the landing. He opened the door and stale cigarette smoke appeared to pour out of the room with him. He had opened the door almost immediately. As if he had been waiting.

“Spike!”

“Problem, pet?”

“I don’t care that you’re having sex, the walls are just so thin – I have an exam coming up can you just be quiet? Or go to one of your, uh, friends’ houses…”

“Mm, someone’s jealous”

“I’m not-”

“Just ‘cause you’re not bloody gettin’ any” He prodded before he thought about it a moment, changing tac, “Oh no. I know what this is… You want me, you need me…” He teased, knowing it would make you flustered.

“I just- I just want to-”

“If you wanted a taste all you had to do was ask” He smirked, moving his hips slightly and moving his head smugly along with his words. Drawing your attention to his naked form. The people in his bed were calling him back and you were just staring at each other. All he was wearing was a single silver chain around his neck. He was attractive, you couldn’t deny this and he knew it too. 

You were both furious at each other. Silently trying to gain the upper hand.

“You’re a pig, Spike!” You suddenly screamed, stepping towards him angrily. Which made him smile and just close the door in your face. That was what he had wanted. To get such a big emotional response from you.

You were so angry you threw one of your precious book at his now slammed shut door. He winced at the name you had used, one often used against him by people like Buffy. She even managed to get to him in his own home. You angered him. You angered him.

But he turned back and the noises started up again and you knew for sure that they were doing it on purpose now. It was getting louder and louder. He couldn’t be that fucking good, you were sure of it.

You ran into your room and rummaged through the stack of CDs you had brought with you, selecting the perfect accompaniment. The soundtrack from your favourite musical. You turned the volume up fully and let the entire score play out.

You never wanted to see his stupid smug face again.

[harcourtholmesii]

In This Here, Beautiful World (Part 2)

Fandoms: Team Fortress 2

Pairings: Medic X Heavy / Scout X Miss Pauling / Scout’s Ma X Spy / Soldier X Zhanna / Engineer X Original Character / Saxton Hale X Maggie

Warnings: - Threats of Violence - Violence - Gore

Words: 1849

Summary: When the world goes to shit, in order to survive, you need to be ruthless, and you need to be prepared to do whatever it takes. When nine strangers and their families come together to fight back the zombie plague, tensions will rise between them all, threatening to pull them apart and kill them from the inside-out. It’s a shitty summary, I know. ^^

Enjoy!

The afternoon lecture had always been a slow trek to the day’s end. By this time, most students were far too exhausted and unmotivated to continue their work. Majority of them just wanted to return to their dorms or go out with friends; have some time to relax and recuperate from a long day of studying.

 Mikhail didn’t often sympathise with his class, but the sluggish pace of the day had weighed him down over the hours. He felt just as tired as his class appeared to be, and beneath his eyes, he could feel the stress sinking his expression and morphing his voice to a deep mutter. He was thankful none of the class seemed to care, as it would have been an embarrassing moment of weakness.

 He cleared his throat; only a few heads turning to pay attention.

 ‘Well, it seems the day has left us behind.’ A few of the students seemed sheepish, hiding their red faces behind their books or hands. ‘Perhaps, we will end this session early, and we can pick this up tomorrow.’ He offered the way out to his students with a tired smile.

 Those that were awake, eagerly accepted.

 Students hurried to gather their notes and books, tucking them away in their bags and beginning to dart with newfound energy to the exit. They offered Mikhail a hurried ‘thank you’ as they took off, or a wave if they were too lazy to speak.

 The Russian stood up and rounded his own desk, heading up the line of pitched desks, beginning to awaken those that had crashed. A few leapt up, fuelled by the fear or worry of being scolded, but were relieved when he allowed them leave. Others took their time to awaken, dragging their whole weight out the door with his prompting.

 It wasn’t long before the lecture hall was quiet and empty, save for Mikhail himself.

 He had some paperwork he needed to complete, but he could just as easily take it home with him. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, the one that had ticked by at a snail’s pace for the last hour at least. The hour alone had felt like 12; glaringly cruel whenever one had sought comfort that the day’s end was approaching.

 The time read 3:37pm.

 He still had plenty of time before his engagement with a friend.

 He pulled his phone out of his breast pocket; the electronic seemed frighteningly fragile in his hands. It reminded him of how his students had stared at him when they first attended his classes. His size, stature and gruff, accented voice seemed to intimidate most of them when they first met him. Many had stared at his hands in particular; scarred and calloused from Mikhail’s years of work and abuse.

 Despite being a professor of literature, Mikhail seemed more the part of a hardened war veteran. It had been commented on many a time, mostly behind his back when they thought he couldn’t hear. Apparently, he scared people. Mikhail didn’t necessarily mind the thought, as being feared meant he had a modicum of respect from his students and fellow staff members.

 He tapped carefully at the little buttons on his phone, watching as the screen was lit up with numbers. Finally, he pressed the call button and brought it to his ear. He waited.

 One ring…

 Two rings…

 ‘Misha!’ He felt the air in his lungs release with his relief. He was always scared of the potential that his mother or sisters would not answer the phone. Too much had happened in their family history that he was relieved when another day went by without hassle.

 ‘мама.’

 ‘It is so good to hear from you, and so soon!’ She seemed happy. That was good. ‘You don’t normally call until you are on your way home.’

 ‘да, well, I ended class early. Students too tired to continue.’

 ‘That is a shame.’ He could almost hear the pout from the other end of the line. ‘You are very smart, Misha, and I know how you love to discuss your passion.’

 ‘I am not upset, мама. Just frustrated. Day has been going on for far too long.’ He said, running two, thick fingers across his eyes. He could feel the dry tears in the corners of his eyes, and felt an itch as he attempted to rub the sleep away.

 ‘Hm… I can agree with that. Yana and Bronislava have been out all day and…’ She trailed off, his mother seemed hesitant to speak. He felt concern rise and clench deeply at his heart.

 ‘What happened?’

 ‘It’s Zhanna…’

 ‘Is she hurt?!’ He felt panic rising, not bothering to grab his classwork but making a move to the door so he might hurry home. Or to the hospital. Or to wherever his sister might be.

 ‘нет, she claims she is not hurt, my son. Not physically.’ He slowed a little, felt the panic lessening, but he kept moving. He didn’t bother to lock the lecture hall behind him, as he expected the janitors would notice in their nightly routine.

 ‘I’ll come home.’

 ‘нет. Misha… I don’t think she wants to see anyone right now.’ He stopped, and instead of worry, he felt fury beginning to boil his blood. He kept his voice low so he couldn’t be heard.

 ‘I will crush him.’

 ‘Ah, Misha, you know we cannot be doing that.’

 ‘He broke Zhanna��s heart.’ His eyes glanced about for any other sign of life. Apart from his own class, that he had released early, all other classrooms were still shut tight and not a soul was in the halls. ‘Little man will pay.’

 ‘да, he will. However, we cannot be the ones to make him pay. Zhanna loved him, and this is more than just him breaking it off with her. Mikhail…’

 When she used his full name, it never meant anything good was going to be said next. He prepared himself, expecting to hear what he had heard before. The man Zhanna had taken an interest in thought her too loud, perhaps too overbearing. Maybe he was intimidated by a woman just as strong as he was and potentially taller too. Maybe an insult had been hurled her way; not uncommon but still unforgivable.

 Zhanna had always been a hopeless romantic, and had sought out someone that suited her well. Instead, she tended to scare even the kindest men away, and Mikhail just didn’t understand it. She was beautiful, strong-willed and loyal to a fault.

 ‘She told me Peter had been feeling unwell. She had gone to see him, taking some borscht with her to liven him up.’ Always a good choice. ‘Oh Misha…’

 ‘What happened?’ He repeated again.

 ‘He hurt her… He attacked her, Misha.’

 ‘что?!’ He felt himself seething, clenching his free hand in rapid succession, as if squeezing an invisible stress toy. ‘He dare hurt sister?!’

 ‘He didn’t do much, but she came home with bruises on her arms. He even bit her hard on the hand when he grabbed her.’

 CRUNCH!

 He didn’t mean to break the phone in his grip, but how dare someone do something so cruel to Zhanna! She who wore her heart open, on her sleeve for all to see. She was a sensitive soul who didn’t deserve the cruelty that wicked men had lashed out with.

 He didn’t have the time, or the ability, to call Dell and let him know their afternoon coffee was off. Dell knew not to worry if Mikhail was unable to come, the Texan always patient with the ups and downs the Garin family had faced over the years. He was a constant kindness in Mikhail’s life, always polite enough to just sit and listen when he could afford it.

 Dell would have to wait.

 He stormed quickly and with purpose through the halls towards the exit; those rare students and staff that he passed parted ways for him quickly when they noticed the oxen man move towards them. By the time he was in the parking lot, he nearly tore the door off the car itself, taking a seat within the tiny vehicle.

 It creased his body and forced his spine into a hunched position. He filled up the front window almost comically, but the deathly glare in his eyes shut up any laughs from onlookers. He reversed, peeling out and into the middle of the lot, and then begun his drive home.

 Through it all, the radio was tuned to the classical station; the fine sound of an orchestra helped to soothe his anger, but not deplete it entirely. The violins, by far his favourite of the instruments, almost massaged the pulsing, burning ache in his head with their lulling choir. It helped, if only a little, and if only for a short time.

 As Mikhail continued his drive deeper and deeper into city streets, he started to notice an unusual hustle amongst the pedestrians. There was an unending ring of sirens as police cars and ambulances cut through the traffic, and officers attempted to redirect it down different streets.

 Through it all, there was a sudden cacophony of gunshots, and screams ripped through the pedestrians as they took to the road. They hurried between the crawling automobiles, banging on windows and attempting to open doors in their haste to escape whatever was happening. One woman had latched onto Mikhail’s own car, a large, red gash across her cheek. Her lip was bleeding and her hands were scratching at his passenger door desperately, creating a fine line of white scratches across the metal.

 He went to unlock the door, to allow her safety, when another person (man or woman, Mikhail couldn’t tell) half tackled her to the floor. He opened his own door, about to pull the figure off of her. That was, until they turned their head, revealing their chin and mouth stained with blood, teeth tight around a piece of flesh. The woman was still gasping, reaching out to him, eyes half-lidded as sleep threatened to take her.

 ‘Help…’ He could hardly hear her, especially after that creature suddenly turned on him. He leapt back, in time for the creature to miss planting its own teeth in his arm. He gripped the back of its head, large fingers tangled through its mess of hair, and planted its face to the concrete with as much force as he could muster. It was like a watermelon was crushed under his weight, as the head came apart with ease.

 Blood ran down his hand and wrist. He looked down at the woman, who now laid there, unmoving. Beyond the traffic, a crowd had formed of people racing to escape the chaos. More gunshots. More screaming.

 Mikhail didn’t return to his car. At the rate the traffic was moving, he wouldn’t be able to get out in time before more of those creatures came. He abandoned his vehicle, and turned to follow the road out of the city.

 He had to get home.

 And he had to get there soon!

[itsclydebitches]

Discredit Pt. 2: More Recommended Reviews For A.Z. Fell’s

Alright, folks. Some notes first: 

1. You all rock. I’m sending out 20k+ virtual hugs for all the notes I NEVER expected to get on this nonsense. 

2. This is probably the final section, just because I’m not sure I can adequately follow up part one and it might be foolish to attempt it here. Let alone twice. But for now, here we go. 

3. Kudos to the anon who reminded me of Aziraphale’s cash-only policy <3 

4. Nicole Y’s review is based off an actual comment I read years ago, but heaven only knows where online it was. I’ve got the memory of a goldfish. 

5. Trigger warning for the use of a queer slur in this. It’s the same review as above, number 5 if you want to avoid it. 

6. There’s a text-only version of just the reviews at the end, after all the images. I’ll upload that to my Sparse Clutter collection on AO3 in a bit. 

Bonus 7. People thinking this is a real shop deserve all the good things in this world. 

That’s all I’ve got. Hope you enjoy! 👍

****************************************************************************

I’m a simple guy who likes simple jokes. If there’s a whoopee cushion I plant it. I will call you up to ask if your refrigerator is running and then tell you to go catch it. (Actually that one died out so thoroughly it’s actually capable of a comeback now!). Yes, I’m a dad and yes, I have a t-shirt that says Dad Jokes? I Think You Mean Rad Jokes! which I wear un-ironically every Saturday. All of which is just to say that my wife was well prepared for my stupidity when I walked into Fell’s.

I? I was not.

You see the bibles when you walk in? The ones to the left? Let them be. Don’t even look at them. Definitely don’t pick out the fanciest one you can find and absolutely don’t walk up to the owner with it held in your pudgy little fingers, grinning like a loon, cheerfully asking whether this should be in the fiction section. Just don’t. Mark my words you’ll regret it. Though your wife won’t. She’ll get a great old laugh out of it all.

In conclusion: it’s quite possible that mama did raise a fool and he just got his ass verbally whooped by a guy in a bowtie.  

***

Shout-out to Mr. Fell for being the only decent bloke in this city. I’ve popped in and out of his store for years—including before I started transitioning. So he knew my dead name, dead look, whole shebang and I was definitely nervous to play the ‘You know me, but this is what’s changed and are you gonna throw a fit about it?’ game.

You know what he said? “Oh, Rose! What a lovely choice. Crowley dear, why aren’t you growing any roses? Some white ones would look splendid next to my Henredon chair.”

That’s it. He just went straight into dragging his partner for not giving him roses. So hey, Mom? Next time you’re snooping through my social media why don’t you explain to all these nice people why the 50+yo book seller accepts me in ways you won’t. Don’t go telling me age is an excuse or that you’re ‘Stuck in your ways.’ I’ve watched Fell dress in the same damn clothes since I was ten!!

Yeah. Sorry. Rant over. Fell’s a gem. That’s my take. Rose out.

***

Anyone else in the shop when that guy started yelling about buying pornography? And then got escorted into the back room for some ‘private conversation’? Well done, Mr. Fell! Didn’t know you had it in you.

***

Alright alright alright alright I am TOTALLY calm about this.

Went into A.Z. Fell’s last Thursday. Not because I knew anything about the place. Just because I’ve been hitting up every bookshop within a twenty-mile radius, asking if they’re hosting any book signings. Long story short I self-published my novel Blight last month—which you can get for a mere £5 here but I swear this isn’t a promotional thing I’m just BROKE—and have been looking for networking opportunities, tips, stuff like that. So the owner listened politely as I explained all this. Then said he didn’t do anything of that sort, which didn’t surprise me given the shop’s vibe.

But then? Then??? He offered to let me do a signing there??????

As said. Totally calm about this. This man either plans to kidnap me or is actually giving me my first shot at an audience outside my blog. AKA totally worth the risk.

Tuesday the 9th. 7:00pm. Just in case anyone’s interested ;)

***

holy sweet baby jesus i was tripping balls last week you tryin’ to tell me that kING KONG SIZED FANGED FUCK SNAKE IS REAL

***

Witnessed the most perfect exchange the other day:

Grumpy Dude With No Manners: “You. Boy. Where’s the man I spoke with over the phone?”

Mr. Fell’s Partner Who Knows Damn Well Only Two of Them Work There But Clearly Doesn’t Like This Guy’s Tone: “Did this man give you his name?”

Grumpy Dude: “Might have. Don’t remember. Sounded like a fairy though.”

Me: “....”

My girlfriend: “....”

This Poor Sweet Startled Kid On Our Left: “?!?!?!?”

Fell’s Partner In The Drollest Voice I’ve Ever Heard: “None of us have wings. Out!”

***

This shop gets full stars simply because every time I walk in they’re playing Queen.

I mean, I’ve walked in once, but once is enough when you’ve got Crazy Little Thing Called Love blasting full volume.

***

Okay, I’m still kind of shaken up but I needed to write this out somewhere and this seemed as good a place as any.

I spilled my latte on a book. Just tripped on thin air, popped the lid, and chucked a venti’s worth of coffee all over a very expensive looking text. I didn’t mean to, obviously, but it happened and I just started bawling on the spot. Full on sobs because this semester has been absolute hell, I ruined this guy’s antique, there’s no way I can pay for it, I can’t even sneak away because I’m drawing the whole store’s attention...just all the things all at once. I really was straight up panicking and was seconds away from pulling out my inhaler. I couldn’t breathe.

And then Mr. Fell showed up.

Jesus it’s embarrassing to admit but I think I hit him once or twice. On the arms I mean, because he was trying to touch me and I figured, I don’t know, it was a restraint or something. He was going to call the police and hold me until they got there. But then he managed to start rubbing my back and I lost it like I hadn’t already been bawling my eyes out in this shop. Ever cry into a perfect stranger’s chest? I have! But if Mr. Fell seemed to mind he definitely didn’t show it. Just kept holding me while I probably ruined his shirt and then took me into the back and made me a new coffee in this cute little angel mug. He let me stay there while I called my sister and waited for her to arrive.

She’s a good twenty minutes outside of Soho, so we talked for a while. It’s not like Mr. Fell could fix my shit roommate or bio classes, but I guess just talking about it all really helped. I was a lot calmer by the time my sis arrived and Mr. Fell insisted I come back any time I wanted—for browsing or more coffee.

Of course, sis offered to pay for the book herself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so surprised in my life. “Certainly not!” he said. “Contrary to popular belief, no one should pay for their mistakes. It’s what makes you all so wonderfully human.”

So yeah. Thanks, Mr. Fell.

***

This little shop must have started a book club for kids! Lately I’ve seen the same group of children hanging out at Fell’s. Three boys and a girl. They’re a bit rambunctious at times, but who isn’t at that age? So wonderful seeing literature passed down to the next generation. Even if some of it is rather questionable looking...

***

It’s an honest crime that more of you aren’t talking about what a wonderful bookstore this is.

I’m a book lover at heart and Fell’s always makes me feel like I’m coming home. I just arrived somewhere safe and familiar after a particularly harrowing day. I’ve slipped under the covers of my bed after dinner and a bubble bath. It’s something like that, but with an element of surprise too. One of the reasons why I adore private and used shops over chain stores is that little touch of chaos. You walk in and sure, there are general sections to browse, but everything is just a little bit disorganized from people leafing through books and then putting them back somewhere else. There’s no real record keeping, you’ve just gotta head to one particular corner and hope for the best. It’s not the sort of place you go to if you want something specific because the chances of them having it are slim—that’s just how the universe works—and even if they did no employee knows where it is anymore.

But if you wander the shelves for a while, crouch down low to get a look at everything on the bottom shelf, pay attention to the books that don’t have easy to read titles or any summaries to speak of... you just might find something you didn’t know you were looking for. That’s Fell’s: the comfort of the familiar and the excitement of the unknown.

*** A lot of people might assume that these stories are embellished or outright made up, but as a bookseller myself going on twenty years I believe every single one of them.

That being said, I accidentally moved a rug and found chalk sigils that look like they belong in a cult. Make of that what you will.

***

There’s a special place in hell for 21st century shop owners that only take cash. Who carries cash anymore? Not me! I haven’t bothered with that nonsense in years! You can get a card reader for 15 pounds on Amazon. Or you know what? Be stingy and pay 7 for the little attachment on your phone. This place is nuts if it thinks it’s going to survive much longer on a cash-only policy, especially with some books that look like they’re worth hundreds or thousands of pounds! Yeah, yeah, just let me pull out this giant wad of bills for you. I’ll carry them around a crime-laden city because there’s no ATM near you either.

I mean jesus, you’d think this guy didn’t want to sell anything.

***

I walked in. There was a man screaming at a fern while another threatened him with an umbrella. I walked out.

5 stars do recommend.

***

I once walked in on the same (?) guy yelling at a book for daring to fall on the owner’s head. I think that’s just a Thing over there.

***

Like a lot of people here I didn’t actually go to Fell’s for any books (flat tire, Angel Recovery taking forever) and ended up staying three hours (not because of Angel). No, I wandered towards the back and found this ancient CRT set propped on a table of books, the kind that my Dad used to watch Twilight Zone on. This lanky guy had a marathon of Gilmore Girls going... though how he was managing that with a broken antenna and no DVR, I really don’t know. But yeah. He told me to pull up a chair and I did. Guy gave me popcorn.

I wish I’d paid a little more attention to his name. Charlie? Curley? I really can’t remember, but thanks for the enjoyable afternoon, man.

***

I BOUGHT A BOOK HERE

Not sure how though. Just kinda happened. First edition of Just William. Frankly I didn’t even want the thing, but the owner basically shoved me out the door with it when I took two seconds to look at the spine. Odd that he was so willing to part with this one.

Update: ... hold up. I didn’t buy a book because I never actually paid the guy. ‘Basically shoved me out the door’ was literal. Do I go back??

***

This page has really gone feral the last couple of months so I’m just gonna bite the bullet and say it:

Anyone notice that Fell’s snake and Fell’s partner are never in the same room together?

***

I really don’t like the implications of this…

***

This is precisely why the Internet has turned into a cesspool. You all should be ashamed of some of the stuff you’re writing here. Can’t two men just be friends anymore? Two real life men? These guys aren’t some characters for you to ‘ship’ or whatever. Quit making outrageous assumptions about their sexualities and use this website for what it’s actually for: reviewing the bookshop. Honestly I’m so sick of this sort of this shit.

***

Dude. They run a queer-focused shop together with a flat on the second floor. Fell calls the guy ‘Dear’ and he’s always calling him ‘Angel.’ People have literally seen them kissing. If you want I can give you the number of my physician. He might be able to help you pull your head out of your ass.

***

What the hell is your problem? I’m literally just reminding people to stop making assumptions. It’s gross and insulting. These guys check their Yelp page. You really think they’re gonna be okay with this stuff?

Also: I’m not the five-year-old relying on insults, so.

***

Making an account purely to set the record straight: I’m the hot twink in question and I married that angel. Peace

[gyllenhaalstories]

SOUTHPAW, PART 1: HEADCANONS.

notes: dear anon: thank you for making me appreciate jake the rapper! also i know nothing about rap, so i’m sorry if this is pure trash! i never finished watching southpaw because it was too dark for me, but i took some very loose inspiration from it. warnings: mentions of dark past, mentions of sexual content... this got really long (2k words). gifs credits: alphalewolf. extras: if you want more informations about rapper!jake, please scroll through my blog. i have edited some older posts with the tag: topic: rapper!jake, so check it out if you’re interested. i have taken some ideas and put them in this list. (at the end of the list i provided some goodies!)

PART TWO WILL BE UPLOADED SOON, KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR IT!

attention, attention! please note i know absolutely nothing about rap. i very rarely enjoy listening to rap music, it’s simply not for me. this might be inaccurate and off compared to the actual world of hip hop and other similar genres. i apologize for my lack of knowledge! this is an au in which jake is not an actor or a producer or anything of the sort. his fame, he built it with his music. you must keep that in mind while reading these headcanons or else it will get confusing. also, i’ve taken some loose inspiration from jake’s actual work, but that’s just for the sake of backstory. are you ready to dive in this twisted fantasy?

Jake Gyllenhaal. Known as Hall. He exploded the charts after being picked up by one of the biggest record companies for his first album: Hall of Fame. He was a rookie, yet he was older than most of the rappers you can think of today. He worked his way up undercover. He started participating in poetry and slam nights at local cafés. He became a songwriter, through connections. He sold some songs that are absolute classics today, but he does not care. He did not feel like they fit him anyway.

Growing up, Jake had it rough. There was a lot of fighting at home. His older sister was the perfect angel and him? The absolute disaster child. It was not like he ran after danger and trouble, he seemed to always be at the wrong place in the wrong time, he hung out with the wrong crowd. He managed to avoid juvie on some miracle. What was the miracle, you might ask? He was caught robbing some local bank with his “friends” and the cops, at first, did not believe he was innocent. While his friends were screaming and threatening the innocent clients of the bank, Jake actually tried to help them out of the building safely. The cops arrived at the same moment and thought he was keeping the strangers hostage. He was arrested on the spot. The other guys played the victims, blamed it all on Jake but it was only when Jake wrote the whole story, from the beginning where his friends manipulated him and made of him their puppet to when he felt this adrenaline rush telling him he needed to save the strangers that night. His writing was too sincere, too raw to be a web of lies. The police released him, but they kept an eye on him.

His escape were writing and music. He impressed all of his teachers at school. Talented, gifted, magical. That was how they described Jake at every parent and teacher meeting. Writing dumb sentences that made very little sense and playing with a guitar after school, that did not make his parents very proud compared to his sister who was on top of all of her classes and working hard for a future of wealth and success.

Music was his entire life. He would come home from school and blast music until he was called out for dinner. Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, Black Sabbath, Heart, Pink Floyd, Metallica, name it. He liked it loud. He liked it weird. He liked it with a deeper message, with double meaning.

He worked all types of jobs, some legal and some not so much. He was saving money for college. He applied. He got in. He started his classes. He had big dreams, too, he had ambitions. Maybe he could his talent to good use? He wanted to study philosophy, literature, music, creative writing... Anything that required thought and depth. He made friends, there. He befriended the edgy punk guy, he had tattoos everywhere, he listened to the same bands, he was quiet but his essays spoke volumes.

Jake was disappointed, his illusions were broken. He hated the format of his classes, the feeling like his opinion and his inspiration did not matter, it was always about meeting some stupid requirements to please a rich professor who did not care about passion, about talent, about originality. Jake dropped out, soon followed by his friend. His friend was hired at a tattoo parlor and Jake hung out there all the time. He would stay up until 5 am, 6, 7, all night and all day long. He loved the clients there. He would write and read his writing out loud to the clients when they were tortured by the needle shooting the ink in their skin. Talented and gifted, they all the same thing.

He started to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

He wrote, not just stories and opinion pieces. He started writing songs, melody and lyrics. He started playing them, he started writing his own poetry too. He was introduced to freestyle battles. And as he fought against other talented thinkers, he noticed he spoke with a tempo, with a rhythm. He was rapping and he did not even realize it.

His career sky rocketed from the moment a music producer attended one of the rap battles. He was famous, he got quite the thick wallet and the connections. Jake was introduced to legends of hip hop. They all influenced him as his career grew to become something overwhelming and terrifying, yet thrilling and addictive.

Hall had a style of his own, though. It was romantic, yet absolutely disgusting and dark. It was aggressive, yet vulnerable and philosophical. He spoke of his trauma, of his hatred, of his envy, of his fears... He used his songs as an escape. He was becoming his own escape.

And his own prison. His family did not care about him, he was a shame, even. Aside from his old college friend, he never built strong friendships. They were all after him for fame and cash. He slept around, guys and gals, threesomes, foursomes... He did not care, anything for some genuine connection, even if it lasted for a very lazy and messy fifteen minutes in the trashy bathroom of a concert hall. Rumour had it he was a great lover, but he was so bad at loving.

Now it gets interesting...

Hall rapped alongsides Eminem, Drake, Kendrick Lamar, Travis Scott... The biggest pop stars were fighting just to get him to rap a line in their songs. Rihanna wishes he was the one singing Love the way you lie, does that give you an idea? He appeared on duets. He wrote more solo albums, sold them instantly. He never left the top of the billboard in weeks, months, if not years. It never really got to his head. He was still that sensitive boy writing about knights and princesses in his bedroom with walls covered by band posters. Fans did not care about this side of him, they loved him for his lyrics about snorting coke, drinking his pain away and fucking whoever wore the tiniest skirt around.

His latest album, Southpaw, was an even bigger hit. Pure filth. Pure gold. Imagine 13 tracks, Cardi’s and Megan’s WAP but reversed. He does not rap about how good he fucks people. He raps about how good they feel. That’s some real depth here, no pun intended.

You met him at one of his concerts. Your friend won VIP passes, so you were standing in the front and got to take a picture with him. You did not understand the hype around taking a photo with this guy, he just stood there and looked absolutely emotionless.

You hated rap, or perhaps you loved it. You did not care much for Jake, that was for sure. You thought he was just another lame rapper who thought he was the real deal because his lyrics were so explicit, even the clean versions made angels cry. The truth was, you did not know much a bout him. You found him too commercial, like he was scared of becoming irrelevant.

You saw right through him already.

But him? He already cared too much about you. You caught his attention as he rapped his songs. He could not take his eyes off you. You weighted heavy on his mind, caused him to stutter and forget lyricvs. Fans laughed, they said he was probably too drunk or too high too focus. Drunk in love, that’s what it was.

There was something about you. Maybe it was the Black Sabbath shirt you wore. Maybe it was the unimpressed look on your face. Maybe it was your plump lips he wanted to kiss. Maybe it was the sight of you laughing with your friend that made his heart skip a beat. Maybe it was the fact you treated him like a normal person even if you had not spoken to him first.

So, you met backstage.

Your friend was beaming from ear to ear, showering Jake in compliments.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Jake asked you.

“For someone who shows no emotion, sound dead inside and look like they wish they were doing anything but making dozens of thousands of dollars by singing a couple of semi mediocre tracks, yeah, it was not that horrible.”

He was up for a challenge.

You two exchanged insults like it was a boxing match. Each round was getting more and more intense. It was no longer insults, it was straight up flirting. You noticed when your bodies were so close you could smell the scent of watermelon chewing gum that escaped from his warm breath. You could hear the way his raced even faster than yours.

You were snapped out of this fantasy by his bodyguard, indicating other fans waited for him.

He remembered the name your friend called out, saying he needed to bring you home before something bad happened.

It was the most beautiful name he had ever heard.

He hung out around that concert hall for the next couple of days. At the bar nearby, at Starbucks, at McDonald’s, anything for the sake of seeing your face again.

And he did.

You were walking out of the record store with a vinyl of Heart squeezed under your arm. You looked so happy. You had paint stains all over your clothes. You were erasing the memories of a terrible relationship by decorating your tiny apartment, and you needed to set the right ambiance. You needed guidance, you found it in the strong minds of the ladies behind Heart, in Joan Jett, in Stevie Nicks. You found your silver lining in music.

Jake ran behind you, he pretended he was out jogging and he mysteriously bumped into you. He grabbed your vinyl before it could fall on the ground.

“Nice pick.”

“We finally agree on something.”

Another round of flirty insults...

... That ended in the two of you fucking like animals on the floor of your apartment.

And fucking on the couch the next day.

On the kitchen counter the morning after.

And finally, on the bed. That was a really special one. Jake was the first person to be on your bed since the departure of your ex. He could feel that you were not in the mood for a rough battle for dominance.

That night, he made love to you.

For, quite possibly, the first time in his life, he expressed his love directly to somebody. “Princess, baby girl, beautiful, gorgeous, amazing”, he showered you in compliments, and praises. The slow movement of his hips, the intense passion in his eyes and love in his heart spoke louder than the music you were playing in the background to set the mood.

You were not just another trophee to hang on the wall. You were special.

He was special too.

He bought you every record that reminded him of you. He bought you collector items of your favourite bands. From the silliest decoration to a new car to replace your crappy one, passing by tickets to exclusive and sold-out shows, Jake had never felt more famous in his life than when he was with you.

His fans noticed the change in his songs, in his lyrics. They were just as explicit, just as rotten and just as corrupted. However, they came from a place of light and love, not of darkness and rage.

He sang about how good your felt when you climaxed around him. How drenched he was whenever he made you squirt. How he loved to taste himnself on your lips. How he was full of love and of lust for you. How he would quit everything if it meant he would live a normal life, for once, and with you.

You inspired so many songs that became massive world-wide hits.

You travelled the world with him on tour. You helped him design his new merch and you wore his t-shirts with pride. You attended concerts in your freetime. You loved staying up all night, painting and drawing while he was writing about this mirage of a goddess, blessing his existence with a smile and a sparkle in her eyes.

He was addicted to you.

He was crazy for you.

And he went crazy on you.

for research purposes and not because i wasted my time hearing eminem talk about stuff i don’t understand so i could stare at jake’s thighs

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mP_cKP4OjsA

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whV5oQDvVWE

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UGqC9URTJIQ

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5imXD1LPnwo

and finally, for good measure :

@gyll-yee-haw​ ily

[raibebe]

Guardian

Genre: smut (!) Words: 5.822 Prompt: Guardian Demon Kihyun Warnings: Violence (he’s a demon, what did you expect), dirty talk, fingering, unsafe sex (please use protection, kids), light cumplay (I’m so sorry) 

A/N: The beginning is inspired by Clean eyes on AO3, I never finished reading it because it literally destroyed me several times, but if you are into that and into Chanki, I highly recommend it. Thanks to the lovely @im-a-special-bebe​ who made this beautiful moodboard. She posts those from time to time and they are awesome, so check her out. Also if anyone cares the working title was literally: Kihyun birthday demon, good job me. This is not part of my still unfinished Halloween promts, I just like supernatural concepts who am I kidding Not betaed because I’m a horrible person and because this is already late. So all mistakes are my own. Also I can’t believe I wrote this filth, I legit got possessed in the midst of writing this, I swear. Please feel free to sream at me about this once you’ve read it And most importantly: Happy belayed birthday, Kihyun. I hope your day was amazing and you will nerver read this 🖤

Demon: A vicious creature who is a subordinate to one of the rulers of hell and gifted with different supernatural powers. Some of them, especially the more powerful ones, once were angles before they became tainted by sin and fell from heaven.   Oddly enough their name originates from the Greek word Daimon translating to guardian spirit.

You usually weren’t one to go to shitty college parties at a random frat’s house, but your whole week had been fucked up and you really needed to get your mind off of the things that had happened. Not only had you managed to spill coffee on yourself twice but it also was in class in front of your crush. You also had tripped over nothing while running to catch your bus which had resulted in you scraping your knee open and missing the bus. You were also pretty sure a man casually walking the street had seen you fall and laughed at you. And if all of that wasn’t enough, you were pretty sure your crush had also seen you when you arrived late to class, drenched to the bone because it of course had not only started to rain but your umbrella had broken as soon as you had pulled it out of your bag.

So in conclusion your week hadn’t been going well. So what worse could happen if you went drinking alone at this random party because your best friend had cancelled last minute because she had to rush to the vet because her cat was hit by a car? Exactly: A lot of things. First your crush was also here which made you more nervous than it should have. But he was looking illegally good with his hair styled upwards and a neat button down with the sleeves rolled up. And second you had already been tugged away by one of the frat boys, who you shared some classes with, to join in a horrible drinking game which not only left you with a light buzz already but of course when you got up to catch some air outside you bumped into your crush resulting in him almost dumping his drink all over you.

This was what had led to your current situation which was simultaneously best and the worst that could have happened: You were standing in the empty kitchen with your crush, trying to make casual conversation while he was mixing himself a new drink because his old one had ended up all over the floor. “You look really hot today,” he said, letting his eyes roam your body, lips curling into a smirk behind his red plastic cup. Blushing you tried to hide behind your own cup, taking a long sip to calm your nerves. You did dress up a little bit, the dark blue dress showing off more skin than you usually showed and the black stockings hid your scraped knee while also looking cute. “We are in the same literature class, right? I never noticed how good you looked,” he kept flirting, raking his hand through his styled hair. You could just nod, silently sipping your drink until a stranger aggressively pushed past you in the kitchen, making you lose your balance, resulting in you almost falling if your crush hadn’t caught you. Blushing again you apologized for being so clumsy. “Well this isn’t too bad, is it?” Your crush asked, tightening the grip he had on your waist, pressing you against his chest.

Grinning and setting his cup down, he slowly closed the distance between you and him. Just seconds before your lips were touching his, the stranger who had shoved you on his way inside, loudly cleared his throat, making your crush stop and glare at him. “What’s your problem dude?” He asked while releasing you from his grip and walked over to the man, clearly irritated. Even though the stranger was a couple of centimetres shorter, he didn’t back down even in the slightest and stared directly into the other male’s eyes when he spoke. “I would rather not witness you tainting this kitchen or this girl right now,” he spoke calmly, pronouncing every syllable very carefully. “Tainting? What decade are you from dude?” Your crush asked, laughing at the very handsome stranger. His jaw seemed like it was chiselled out of marble, his pale skin just as flawless as his expensive looking black suit jacket and his dark eyes had a sharp edge to them, almost animalistic. When the stranger just raised one of his perfectly arched brows and didn’t give an answer, your crush huffed in anger. “So you ruin my chance to get laid tonight but don’t have the balls to talk back to me?” Hearing that almost made you choke on air. Who had said anything about you having sex with your crush tonight? Was that what he had planned on doing? Was he just after a quick fuck? Sure he already had a couple of girlfriends through the year but you had never taken him for the type to just be after that type of stuff. “I merely don’t want to descend down to your level of standards when it comes to conversations,” the stranger answered calmly, his face an expressionless mask and you couldn’t help the little laugh escaping your lips.

“You find that funny?” your crush snarled and turned back to you, face contorted with anger, making him look so unlike himself. “I... No, I jus-”, you stuttered trying to explain yourself. The way he looked at you really made you feel uncomfortable. “Hm, bitch, cat got your tongue now?” He continued to curse at you, taking a step towards you. “Don’t touch her again,” the stranger interfered, his tone carrying a strange weight that didn’t tolerate any misbehaviour. A wide grin was spreading on your crushes face when he slowly stretched his arm towards you, eyes on the stranger. Crowding your body against the kitchen counter you tried to bring as much space between you and your crush. Your heart was beating furiously, the blood rushing through your system drowning out the sounds of the party. “I’m giving you one last warning,” the stranger growled in response, eyes narrowed in anger. Before you could realize what was happening, the stranger had leapt forward and twisted the wrist of your crushes hand, that was about to touch your skin, making him wail in pain. “I don’t like being talked back to. I ordered you to not touch her and yet you chose to disobey,” the stranger spoke through gritted teeth, “You know what I do to those who disobey me?” When your crush didn’t answer, the stranger broke his expressionless mask and grinned. “I will show you exactly what I do, creature.” Taking the other’s wrist in both hands, the stranger quickly but pressure on the joint until you first could hear bones cracking before your crush screamed in pain, falling to his knees and clutching his hand which was now helplessly dangling off his arm.

Yanking your crush by his hair to make him look up, the stranger spoke dangerously calm: “Do not come near her again or I will take my time breaking all of your knuckles separately before I snap your wrist. I might not even stop there. Maybe I will take the time to dislocate your shoulder, break a couple of ribs or shatter the bones in your arms so you won’t even be able to touch anyone ever again. Did you understand?” Still whining in pain the other didn’t answer. “I asked a question, creature. I will not repeat myself.” “I understand, fallen one,” your crush whimpered, baring his throat to the stranger who immediately released his grip as if it was burning him. “Leave this place,” he spat out before looking at you for the first time tonight.

You didn’t even notice your ex-crush scrambling to get up and hurrying out of the kitchen when you felt the stranger’s gaze wandering over your body. To say you were terrified wasn’t even enough to describe the fear you felt. He had just broken this guy’s wrist just because he had tried to touch you again. “You have nothing to fear, girl. I can’t hurt you,” he said after a while. “I think you are perfectly capable of hurting me after what I saw,” you dared to say which earned you a grin from the man in front of you. “I didn’t say that I wasn’t capable of it. I just said that I couldn’t.” Swallowing around the lump that had formed in your throat, you willed your body to not shudder at his words. “We should leave this place. There are way too many disgusting creatures here and I don’t have the desire to let you witness any more violence today.” With that the stranger took your hand in his and led you out of the kitchen, through the mass of drunk people and out of the house.

When he began walking in the direction that your apartment was, your brain seemed to finally catch on to what had just happened and you shook off his hand. Stopping dead in his tracks, he looked down at your now separated hands before raising an eyebrow in question. Gaping at him with an open mouth you just managed to breathe out a “What the fuck” before the scene in the kitchen played again before your eyes. “You just broke that guy’s wrist.” “You just noticed?” He asked teasingly while running a hand through his messy dark brown hair. “He didn’t even do anything.” “He would have if I hadn’t stopped him. You heard him say it.” That knocked the wind out of your sails. He was right of course. But that didn’t mean that you had to admit it. “What if that’s what I wanted?” You asked, feigning confidence that you really didn’t have. For all that you knew this man was aggressive and did not shy away from using violence. “No.” “No? What do you mean no? Who are you anyways to patronise me like this?” You asked the stranger, getting angry. “You may call me Kiyhun,” he answered calmly, scanning the surroundings, probably for any passer-by that heard your shouting. “Oh, I may?” You asked, sarcasm dripping from your lips, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Listen up, princess,” Kiyhun began speaking while shedding his suit jacket, leaving him in a black turtleneck, before draping it across your bare shoulders, “I can sense that you are getting cold, scream at me all you want when I brought you back to your apartment but let me assure you: You did not want to go home and spend the night with that foul creature.” Blushing from his sudden gentle move, you pulled the jacket tighter around yourself, it was indeed getting chilly. When Kihyun began walking again, you hurried to fall into step with him again. You couldn’t quite make sense of him. First he was all violent towards that guy and now he acted all gentle towards you even though he was a stranger to you. You were pretty sure you had never even seen him even once on campus. A man like him stood out with his handsome features and sharp style. How did he know who you were and where you were living? “You still haven’t answered my question though,” you whispered after some time. “What question?” “I asked who you are.”

Wrinkling his nose, Kihyun almost nervously rubbed his neck. “That’s not an easy question to answer, princess. You weren’t supposed to ever meet me.” “What does that even mean?” You asked in confusion. “I was sent to protect you. In secret. From the shadows. It’s what I have been doing for a while now, trying to keep you away from foul creatures like that one at the party. But you are quite the stubborn person,” he chuckled darkly. “I didn’t think you would keep approaching him after you spilled coffee on yourself twice.” “You made me spill my coffee?” You didn’t believe him. How would he have done that if you had never seen him? “One of my many talents,” he only grinned and wiggled his fingers. Rolling your eyes at his innuendo, you groaned: “How are you any better than him?” “Never said I was. Technically speaking I’m worse than him but I already told you that I can’t hurt you, princess,” he told you with a wink before opening the door to your apartment complex for you, mind you without any key. Catching your surprised look he just cryptically said: “Told you those fingers had more talents.”

The walk up the stairs was quiet and before you could search for your keys, Kihyun had already opened the door to your apartment, holding it open for you with a sly grin. “After you, princess.” Blushing at the nickname, you stepped past him, toeing your shoes off and neatly hanging his jacket up. “What... What are we supposed to do now?” You asked him, unsure about what he had meant before when he had told you about how he was supposed to protect you. From what? It wasn’t like you lived in a terrible area of the city where you had to fear getting robbed or assaulted. “Whatever you want, princess,” Kihyun answered, slipping out of his shoes and making his way to your living room like he owned the place. Had he been in here before? Had he broken into your place? “I’m going to make a cup of tea, would you like anything?” You asked him, at a loss what you should do, too many questions filling your head. He just shook his head, inspecting the pictures you had put up on your wall. The little time it took for the water to boil was barely enough to sort out your thoughts. Who or what was the stranger? And what was that whole protecting thing about?

Now sitting on your couch with him, sipping your tea in silence you still weren’t sure what to make of everything that had happened today. “You look like you want to ask something,” Kihyun ripped you from your thoughts. “I don’t know where to start,” you admitted, searching for the right way to ask the question that had been in your mind for a long time now. “What exactly are you, Kihyun? You definitely aren’t human. Humans can’t cause accidents without even being in the same space or open doors without keys. Or tell people that they have been sent by someone to protect you from creatures, not men but creatures.” He chuckled and focused his wandering eyes back on your face. “I thought you would never ask, princess. I already told you part of my name. The rest of my title would be prince Kihyun, fallen angel, one of the 72 demons of Ars Goetia, tainted by lust, banned from heaven by the archangels themselves who used to call me their brother.”

Your mouth opened to reply something but your mind was wiped clean. What does one even reply to something like this? “That’s why he called you fallen one?” You decided to ask to fill the silence that had settled between you two. Kihyun just nodded, his eyes somehow seemed like he wasn’t with you, like he was lost in a memory or something. “And someone told you to protect me?” Another quick nod. “And who was that?” At that he just shrugged his shoulders. “They didn’t reveal themselves. But they needed to perform a powerful ritual to bind a prince of hell.”

“But why do I get a guardian demon? Everyone gets guardian angels.” That statement made Kihyun burst out in laughter. It was probably the most beautiful, melodic laughter you had ever heard. Not quite the laugh that made you laugh with them just for the sake of laughing but a laugh that made you smile softly and tinted your cheeks a rosy colour. “Angels wouldn’t even bat an eye at any human’s problems. They just don’t care. Everyone thinks they are these empathetic creatures who just want the best for everyone which is as far from the truth as it could be. They are cold-hearted, calculating beings with no desires other than keeping everything as it is and follow their orders without questioning them,” he lectured you, raking a hand through his messy hair again, causing a couple of dark strands to fall into his face. You had to grab your teacup harder to not give in to the need to push them back to feel if they were as silky as they seemed. “But what about demons? Aren’t they supposed to just follow their desires no matter what? And just mess with people just because it gives them joy? How does that make them any better?” “We aren’t. But we are different. Angles and demons or more specifically fallen angles are two sides of the same medal. One side cold and indifferent, the other only lead by their own desires. But both seem to only care about themselves,” he spoke calmly, stretching his arms out on the backrest of the couch, picking at a loose thread near your head.

“And what are you supposed to do now? Follow me everywhere like a stalker and keep embarrassing me in front of everyone when a creep is present?” “I suppose,” Kihyun sighed before he grinned at you, flashing his perfectly straight, white teeth, “But embarrassment doesn’t seem to quite work on you. You are quite persisting, princess.” You blushed but didn’t know whether it was because of the pet name so casually slipping over his plush lips or because of his teasing. “How long do you have to do this?” you asked after sipping the lost drop of your tea, gently setting the mug down. “Until the binding breaks I guess. Depends on whoever cast it in the first place. You don’t know anyone who would know how to summon and bind a demon by chance?” “I didn’t even know creatures like demons or angles were real until today. I still don’t really believe it,” you confessed, scared and fascinated by your guardian at the same time.

“Oh, I can show you just how real I am,” the demon grinned and scooted closer to you, your bare thigh touching his, the feeling of the rough denim making you shiver. “Sensitive, aren’t we, princess?” He grinned, placing one of his hands where your stocking met your bare skin, toying with the elastic, letting it snap against your skin in a playful manner. Taking a shaky breath, you tried to not let him affect you so much but he was really close to you and you could swear you could feel his breath ghosting over your lips. Getting bolder, Kihyun teasingly slipped one of the straps of your dress off your shoulder, kissing the skin gently before kissing his way up to your neck where he sucked harshly on your pulse point, leaving a purple bruise behind. Moaning in pleasure you bared your neck for him, granting him further access to your sensitive skin. You felt his chuckle more than you heard it, his teeth scraping against your skin making you whimper.

“I’ll give you one chance to tell me to stop, princess,” he spoke, his lips almost touching yours while his hand on your thigh slowly made its way to the hem of your dress. When he didn’t hear any words of complaint but only heavy breathing, he captured your lips in a heated kiss, claiming your mouth. Not wasting any time, he hiked your dress up and pushed your thighs apart to cup your panty clad sex, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit. Kihyun swallowed the moan that escaped your lips and let his tongue slip between your lips. Tangling your hands in his messy hair you tried to push him even closer to you, your body arching against him. Grinning he broke the kiss. “Eager to find out how good I can make you feel with my hands alone?” He asked while taking in your already wrecked appearance: Your eyes were blown wide in pleasure and you ground your hips shamelessly against his hand when he had stopped moving it against you. “Answer me, princess,” he whispered into your ear, his free hand grabbing your hair and exposing your neck to him. “Please, Kihyun,” you managed to say, biting down on your lip to stop the moans from spilling out. Chuckling he pulled the damp fabric of our panties to the side so he could gather your arousal on his fingers. “So wet for me already,” he moaned before attaching his lips to your neck again while slipping a finger inside you, pulling a satisfied moan from your lips which turned into a whine when he didn’t start to move his finger immediately instead gently circling his thumb on your clit. “You have to work for it, princess,” Kihyun breathed, placing a kiss on the abused flesh on your neck, where a dark bruise was already forming. Sighing while grinding your hips against his finger, you formed the words he had wanted to hear: “What do you want me to do?”

Growling deep in his chest, he captured your lips in a bruising kiss and thrust his finger into your heat harshly, filling the silent room with obscene noise. You broke the kiss with a loud moan when he added a second finger and crooked them just right so he was massaging your sweet spot. Just when you felt your orgasm approach almost embarrassingly quick, the demon quickly pulled his fingers from your heat and pushed them past your lips instead before any complaints could leave them. Almost instinctively you sucked on the digits and swirled your tongue around them, tasting your arousal. “I want you to undress, princess. Then you will sit on my lap where I can spread your beautiful thighs apart and reward your little pussy for being so obedient,” the demon demanded, his voice deeper than before, rumbling in his chest, before he pulled his finger from your lips and sat back against the couch, spreading his legs out. Wanting nothing more than his hands back on your body, you stood up with shaky legs, gradually slipping the second strap of your dress off. “You are in no position to tease me, princess,” Kihyun growled, palming himself through his jeans. The sight of his cock straining the dark fabric made your mouth water. Almost ripping your dress and panties off of you, you fell to your knees in front of him, stroking his strong thighs, eyes fixed to his hand moving lazily along the outlines of his dick.

“You want me that bad, princess?” You only managed to nod before he grabbed your hair and pushed you against him, making you nuzzle his clothed erection. A shaky breath left his parted lips when he felt your hands undo his pants to push them down, the lack of underwear making you chuckle. His cock wetly slapped against the skin of his abdomen where his shirt had ridden up, a bead of precum glistening at the head. When you just stared at the bare size of it, he grinned smugly. “What are you waiting for, princess?” His voice snapped you out of your stupor and you gave his dick a couple of experimental strokes, spreading the precum to make the slide easier.  Licking a stripe from base to tip, tracing one of the prominent veins, you took the head into your mouth while looking up at him. A curse left his lips and he rested his head back when you sucked harshly and swirled your tongue along the sensitive slit, tasting him. Feeling proud that you could make him loose his composure like this, you closed your eyes and slowly took more and more of his length into your mouth, bobbing your head and wrapping your fist around the part you couldn’t fit. “Fuck princess you look so good like this, your pretty lips around my cock, sucking it like you were made for it.” Kihyun’s praise made you moan around him, ripping a growl from him in response. “Look up at me,” he commanded and you gladly obeyed, moaning again at his appearance. He had taken off his turtleneck, exposing the pale flesh of his strong chest. But what turned you on even more was his heated gaze that had turned his eyes into dark pits of obsidian.

He grabbed your hair again, pulling you off of his cock with a wet pop. Catching your breath, you both just stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. You were sure you looked just as fucked out as he did, squirming on your knees and pressing your legs together, your sex clenching around nothing in need. “Get up here, princess,” Kihyun ordered, tapping his lap. Not before pressing a last kiss to the flush head of his cock, you slowly climbed onto his lap and claimed his lips in a kiss that was more teeth, tongue and want than anything else. When he grabbed your hips to grind your pussy against his erection, you loudly moaned into each other’s mouths, trying to swallow the sounds. “Please, Kihyun,” you begged again, bracing your arms behind yourself on his thighs, trying to get more of that sweet friction by rolling your hips down against him harder. “Not yet, princess,” he moaned, reaching between your bodies to rub steady circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves, making you cry out both in pleasure and frustration, “I want to see you cum like this first, squirming on my lap, desperate for me to fill you up with my cock, spreading you open.” Another loud moan left your lips at his filthy words. This man would be the death of you, you were sure. You were grinding against his length like a horny teenager trying to get off as fast as you could just to finally feel him inside you. You gasped loudly when he closed his lips around one of your nipples and twirled his tongue around the sensitive nub. Grabbing onto his messy hair, you held him in place, squirming between his hand on your clit and his hot mouth. Feeling your orgasm threatening to wash over you, you aimlessly yanked at his hair, suddenly feeling something hard beneath your hands. Looking down in confusion you saw two little horns hidden in Kihyun’s hair. The realization that he actually still was a dangerous creature along with his eyes looking up at you from where he was still sucking on you nipple, made you trip over the edge, your orgasm hitting you hard.

Throwing your head back in pleasure you felt his grip around your hips tighten. The moan of the demon’s name got stuck in your throat when he suddenly lifted you up and thrust his length into you while you were still shaking and clenching around nothing from your orgasm. A loud curse left Kihyun’s lips when he ground his dick inside you. “Fuck, you feel so good, princess, squeezing my dick like that.” Still riled up despite your orgasm, you kissed him feverishly, fingers finding his horns again, stroking along the base of them. Gasping against your lips, Kihyun bucked his hips up, fucking his erection even deeper into you. “Keep touching me like that and I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” the demon growled into your ear before sucking another hickey on your neck. Grinning you lifted your hips and sank down on him again, loving the slow drag of his cock against your sensitive walls. Picking up a slow rhythm, you tried to find the right angle for him to hit that spot inside you that made you see stars. Gasping when his cock was hitting it just right, you yanked at his hair to pull his lips from your neck to kiss him feverishly. Moaning into the air between you, you picked up the rhythm of your hips and gently massaged the base of his horns before whispering: “Fuck me like you mean it, demon.”

That made something snap inside Kihyun, an inhuman growl escaping his throat as he gripped your hips hard to hold you in place to fuck up into you hard and precise, making you squirm and moan in pleasure. “Watch your mouth, princess. Even with you on top of me, I’m the one in charge, you understand that?” He spat out between ragged breaths, landing a harsh slap on your ass, making you arch in his hold. Suiting the action to the word, he placed his feet more firmly to the floor, getting more leverage to slam his cock inside you. With each thrust his hips met yours and you let your head fall beside his, the breathy moans you let out only spurring him on even more. “Is that what you wanted, princess?” he growled, “You want to cum all over my cock?” Not able to form any coherent sentences, you just let out an embarrassingly high pitched moan, clutching tighter to him, raking your nails down his shoulders, feeling the knot in your stomach already tighten. It just took Kihyun to slip a hand between your bodys to rub quick circles into your clit, to trip you over the edge, the orgasm hitting you even harder than the first one. Your whole body was trembling and it felt like your blood had been exchanged with molten lava. You let out a string of curses, clutching tight to your guardian demon, riding out the pleasure with soft circles of your hips. Yanking his head down so you could kiss him again, you lazily licked into his mouth.

“I’m not finished with you princess,” Kihyun breathed when you two separated, grinding his still hard cock into you, making you whimper, your body still sensitive. He gave you some time to come back down from your orgasm, gently running his hands along the curves of your body. “Come on princess, be a good girl for me. Hands and knees, let me see that beautiful ass,” he instructed when your legs finally had stopped shaking, lifting you off of his cock. You couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped your lips at the sudden emptiness when you shifted on the sofa, arching your back. Chuckling he grabbed a handful of your ass and kneaded the soft flesh. Almost purring you wiggled closer to him until you could feel his cock slide against your backside. Grinding against you, the demon pushed a hand between your shoulder blades so your upper body was pressed against the cushions, making your back arch. “So pretty and all spread out for me,” he murmured, grabbing the base of his erection tightly and teasing your entrance with the head of his dick. “Please,” you begged, needing him back inside you.

“If you ask so nicely, who am I to deny you?” The demon growled, pushing into you in one swift move, wasting no time in setting a harsh pace, the sound of your skin slapping against each other filling the silence of the room along with your moans and his groans. When he started to grip your ass so tight, you were sure you’d have bruises tomorrow, pulling you back onto him and his rhythm faltering you could tell that he was getting close. Growling deep in his chest, the demon grabbed your hair, pulling you up so you where flush against him, the change of the angle making you cry out and clench around him. “Fuck, princess, keep squeezing me like that and I won’t last much longer,” he panted into your neck, snapping his hips more vigorously and reaching around you to rub tight circles in your clit. “I’m so close please don’t stop,” you begged him, tears close to spilling over from all the pleasure you were feeling, throat raw from all the moaning. When you were right on the edge of your orgasm, you clenched down around him, squirming in his hold. But that was already enough to send him over the edge, spilling his cum deep inside of you, biting down on your shoulder to muffle his load moan.

Groaning he let go of you, causing you so slump back against the sofa, his softening cock slipping out of you. “No, no, no,” you squirmed, pushing back against him, “Need you back inside me.” “Don’t worry princess,” Kiyhun chuckled, watching his cum drip out of your clenching pussy, “Three time’s the charm, they say.” Dragging a finger through your folds, he gathered the cum that had leaked and fucked it right back into you, ripping a moan from your throat. “Ass up,” he commanded and you immediately obeyed, arching your back further. Slapping your ass once, the demon fucked three of his fingers into you before attaching his lips to your clit, sucking harshly. With how close you had been before he had reached his climax, it didn’t took long for you to be right on the edge again, your moans rising in pitch. “I’m gonna cum,” you choked out, not even realizing the tears that were staining the pillows beneath you. “Cum for me, princess,” Kihyun breathed, barely audible over the sound of your moans and whimpers but the vibrations it send to your clit send you over the edge for the third time that night, your whole body going taut before every strength left you, slumping against the cushions, legs twitching. Pleased with how fucked out you were, the demon pulled his fingers from your twitching heat, licking them clean from your arousal, humming in satisfaction.

“You believe me now when I tell you I’m real despite being a demon?” He breathed into your skin when he kissed his way up your spine before pulling your body flush with his, wrapping you up in his arms. “Very real,” you murmured, reaching to tread your hands through his damp hair, trailing your fingers over his horns, making a sigh leave his lips. “I like those,” you giggled, taking a closer look at his dark horns peeking out from his messy hair. Chuckling he nuzzled his head into your hand. “If you keep scratching them like this, I’m going to fall asleep in no time.” “No round two?” You playfully pouted at him. “I don’t think either you or me have another round in us right now,” Kihyun grinned, running a hand along your still shaking thigh. “How come you are this exhausted? I thought demons tainted by lust could go for longer,” you teased him, pillowing your head near his heartbeat. “Restricting myself costs quite some energy, princess. I didn’t plan on suddenly knocking various furniture everywhere because my wings decided to sprout because I lost control completely. My horns weren’t supposed to come out either,” the demon said, voice already heavy with sleep. “You have wings? Like with real feathers?” Pulling you closer to him, he softly kissed your hair. “If you are a good girl and stay out of trouble, I might show you sometime.”

[fanfic-corner]

Under 10,000 Words

16/12/20 - I can never figure out what my favourite length of fic is, but I think it depends on my mood. Sometimes I want a huge, 200,000 word journey, and sometimes I just want a quick drabble. Anyway, here are some fics which are all between 2,000 and 10,000 words, organised by the word count.

Sleep Deprivation by Honey_Honey on AO3. (2,313 words).

Tags: Cute, First Kiss.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: The one where killing monsters leaves Dean without a week of sleep, and Cas has to deal with the consequences.

Notes: This was so fluffy and cute and I can totally imagine Dean overthinking everything while Sam just finds the whole situation hilarious.

That One Time Sam Winchester Googled Something Weird and It Had Pretty Awesome Results by quitepossiblyjanuary on AO3. (2,587 words).

Tags: Romantic Fluff, First Kiss, Stars, Humor, Courtship, Short & Sweet.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: In which Sam Googles something and his curiosity doesn’t kill the cat. Or him. Or anyone. It’s a pretty awesome feeling.

Notes: This was so adorable! Gabe was so sweet, and his mind reading skills made me laugh.

What Can’t Be Seen by destieldrabblesdaily on AO3. (2,639 words).

Tags: Soulmate AU, author!Cas, Strangers to Lovers, First Kiss.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Written for this prompt: Soulmate AU where you first see color after eye contact: Cas is a famous best selling author and he’s promoting his book, so he’s talking to a crowd of people and suddenly his world is in color, and a lot of his fans pretend to be his soulmate. A Cinderella type situation ensues.

Notes: This was really cute and such a sweet and funny idea.

The Tea is Decaf by mnwood on AO3. (3,673 words).

Tags: POV Castiel, Fluff, Sign Language, Castiel in the Bunker, Canon Compliant, Sharing Clothes, Asexual Castiel, Gentle Dean, Non-Explicit Sex, Domestic, Established Relationship.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Based on this text post from thebloggerbloggerfun: “Listen, imagine Eileen sneaking out of Sam’s room at night to go to the bathroom or something and steps out into the hallway in one of Sam’s shirts only to see Cas trying to quietly leave Dean’s room while wearing one of Dean’s shirts and they both just stare at each other awkwardly for a few seconds before trying to muffle quiet laughter and now they have a late night club where they talk about life and gossip about the Winchesters in sign language"And this anon I received: "what if Eileen and Cas discover there are some things Sam and Dean both do in bed because Dean jokingly gave Sam pointers when they were younger and Sam took the advice”.

Notes: This has to be one of my favourite fics of all time, even though the first time I read it I hadn’t even met Eileen yet! I’m still so pissed off that she wasn’t in the finale (unless we’re counting Blurry Wife?).

surely heaven wants for you by cenotaphy on AO3. (3,782 words). 

Tags: Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Heaven, Coda, Post-Finale, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dean, Outdoor Sex.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Cas doesn't come to him. Dean can't really argue with that, given the circumstances. In all the history of balls in courts, he thinks there might never have been a ball as thoroughly in a court as this one is in his. He drives for what feels like a long time but might just be a single sunny afternoon, or maybe years (time's funny here, Bobby had said), just enjoying the music, the shifting landscape outside his window, the hum and creak of the engine. Finally the forest opens up and the road narrows down in a way that he's fairly certain wouldn't typically happen on any kind of earthly interstate, and he glides the car to a halt at the edge of a lake.

Notes: This was so beautiful and such a interesting exploration of Dean’s feelings!

a quick salt and burn by xylodemon on AO3. (4,609 words).

Tags: Episode Related, Cemeteries, Case Fic.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: "Fuck," Dean mutters, wincing as pain throbs in his shoulder and neck. After the ghost chucked him into the hedge, he hit the ground like ton of bricks and clipped an exposed tree root so old it was practically petrified. "So much for a quick salt and burn."

Notes: This is adorable and hilarious, so a double win.

Funny Bone by PallasPerilous on AO3. (4,933 words).

Tags: Fluff and Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Skeletons, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Alternate Universe - No Angels, Canon Divergence, Mild Gore.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: It wasn’t even a particularly creepy skeleton; it was in kind of a “just chillin’” pose on the floor. One ankle was still locked up in a heavy iron cuff, at the end of a short chain leading back to the wall. Snoresville, as dead stuff goes; Dean’s seen worse at Disneyland. It was the skeleton’s comment about Dean’s ass that really livened things up.

Notes: This has to have been one of the funniest fics I have ever read, but oh boy did I feel bad for poor Cas.

Grace by july_19th_club on AO3. (5,164 words).

Tags: Fix-It, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Resurrection, Reciprocated Confession.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: A man dies. What happens next will shock you. [script]

Notes: This was written beautifully, and now I really want to see this filmed! So much better than the ending we got.

(un)conventional by imogenbynight on AO3. (6,100 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe, mechanic!Dean, Writer!Castiel, Conventions, Fluff.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Spec Lit Con--Speckly Con, to it’s regular attendees--is an annual weekend-long event held in Chicago, dedicated to science fiction, fantasy and otherwise speculative literature. This year Dean's favorite author, C.J. Novak, is appearing as a panelist. Naturally, he shells out the cash for an all access pass.

Notes: This was so adorable that I nearly screamed in the corridor outside my computer science lesson. Plus, the writing was absolutely gorgeous! I miss conventions :(

La Vie A Plus by K_K_TiBal on AO3. (6,260 words)

Tags: Punk Castiel, Asexual Castiel, College/Uni AU, Roommates, oh my god they were roommates, College Student Dean, College Student Castiel, Pining, First Kiss, Misunderstandings, Art Student Castiel, Love Confessions, Gabriel is a Little Shit, Tattooed Castiel.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Dean Winchester is hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with his best friend and roommate, Castiel. Castiel - with his blue hair, and his tattoos, and his artwork, and his perfect everything. Dean never stood a chance, really. It only sucks because, as far as Dean can tell, Castiel is definitely not interested. But love, much like art, has a way of being unpredictable. Even if you think you know where you’re going with it.

Notes: The angst is strong in this one! Again, I feel like many aces have had this conversation or that fear that people (allos, especially) may not want to be with them.

Event Horizon by Winglesss on AO3. (6,442 words).

Tags: Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Dean, Depression, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Past Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Texting, Sharing a Bed, Happy Ending, Veteran Dean, Doctor Dean, Writer Castiel, Strangers.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Castiel couldn't have helped his sister. That's why being offered a chance to help somebody else dealing with suicidal thoughts he took it without hesitation. When he gets the first text from someone who needs his help, nothing goes as he expected.

Notes: I don’t know if that kind of suicide prevention scheme exists, but this fic is very sweet.

I Think That’s Mine by palominopup on AO3. (6,804 words).

Tags: Fluff, AU, Reporter!Dean, Writer!Cas.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: A mix up at the Atlanta Airport places Dean Winchester's laptop in someone else's possession. A series of calls and texts bring two men together.

Notes: This was so cute, Cas was so sweet, and Dean was an icon.

Nothing Equals the Splendor by RurouniHime on AO3. (7,865 words).

Tags: Fix-It, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief, Explicit Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Declarations of Love, Canon Compliant, Minor Injuries.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Maybe it’s the cynic in him. The hunter, always under the surface of any quietude he ever found. Or maybe it’s just that he has always had trouble with blind faith. But after a while (a blink? A decade? A century?), Dean raises his eyebrows, looks around, and says—

“Uh. No.”

It’s so close. Just so slightly imperfect. And maybe, he analyzes, maybe that’s the final knell of this bell called contentment. Dean’s experience with happiness has always been that last rise in the road, right before it turns. Right before fate comes barreling around the corner head on. He turns in his spot on the bridge, and suddenly Sam is like a cellophane film through which he can see the light streaming, and the taste of cheap beer on his tongue is much, much older a memory than it should be.

“Oh, you’re good,” he says, and means it.

Notes: What a great idea, and written so well! I always thought the show could have done so much more with djinns, but never mind.

In the House of the Rising Bun by imissmaeberry on AO3. (9,046 words).

Tags: Bakery and Coffee Shop, Baker Dean, Barista Sam, College Campus, Poet Castiel, Mutual Pining, Daddy Issues, Background Sam/Jess, Past Balthazar/Castiel.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Dean Winchester only has three rules concerning the cafe he and his brother Sam own, “House of the Rising Bun”.

1. Any and all opportunities to make a pun will be taken. 2. Free regular coffee with your student ID (If you want some of that fancy nonsense you gotta pay, sorry kids). 3. Anyone and everyone is always welcome.

Between Dean running the shop full-time and Sam helping out whenever he isn’t in class, there really isn’t a whole lot of time for romance for either of them. But that all changes when they gain a new regular - some writer from London - who may or may not have the bluest eyes Dean’s ever seen.

Notes: First of all, the puns were amazing and I am willing to fight people on that. Secondly, that was so sweet and funny I am afraid I might have to disappear under mysterious circumstances and open my own cafe…

I hope you enjoy these! I haven’t read any new fics for this list and even then there were way too many to put on one list, so expect a sequel at some point in the future!

[aoiaoimm]

Iwaizumi Hajime & Oikawa Tooru: character- couple analysis: who wore the galaxies, who lightened up the stars?

• Written by me.

• Personal thoughts.

• Ao3 link here

"What I am saying then is just because you don’t know how you manage to be conscious, how you manage to grow and shape your body, doesn’t mean that you’re not doing it. Equally, if you don’t know how the universe shines the stars, constellates the constellations, or galactifies the galaxies – you don’t know but that doesn’t mean that you aren’t doing it just the same way as you are breathing without knowing how you breathe."

----Alan Watts from the book The Essence of Alan Watts Vol. 4: Death (1975)

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

On Facebook, there is a topic that came up like this: Can you guys try to list out how many rival pairs are there in Haikyuu?

Someone suggested Hinata and Kageyama. Others said it’s obviously like the relationship between Nekoma and Karasuno, or the equal of Nishinoya and Yaku's abilities. Speaking of the barrier, there's Aone, there's Tendou, there's Matsukawa. Although a bit skewed, there are people who think that this is Bokuto, Kuroo.

At that time, I thought like this: You know, Iwaizumi and Oikawa are also rivals.

The beginning of their story begins with a few small images: Oikawa with the passion for volleyball from an early age, and Iwaizumi who was drawn to his fanciful hobby even when his full attention had been put into the racquet he used to catch insects and forests. Starting from that prologue, Oikawa Tooru's world only had volleyball, and Iwaizumi Hajime's world only had Oikawa Tooru. Although I was very hesitant in writing all the above, but I don’t think that is wrong. If everyone has carefully watched the anime and even read the manga, people will see almost any frame, when Furudate-sensei describes Oikawa's growth, Iwaizumi is always there for him. Supporting him, looking at him, staying behind him. Never once did Iwaizumi exploit anything other than volleyball and Oikawa, perhaps the world for Iwaizumi is just Oikawa, to go to school in the morning, to study, play volleyball together. Perhaps not just a friend, Iwaizumi to Oikawa is a quiet walk after a late workout, a light from a window in a dark night, a clenched fist that adds more warmth. Surely, even when Iwaizumi was just a child, his thoughts were like this: He is simple-minded, he is very stubborn, a crybaby, and he doesn’t know how to take care of himself. I have to look after him, I have to be here. I should be the support he needs, I should take care of him.

Because Iwaizumi Hajime has always been like this: hot-tempered but easy-going, grumpy but firm with his own gentle tenderness. He doesn't ask for anything, because maybe for Iwaizumi, just as long as Oikawa is okay, he is fine either. Oikawa is his best friend, the person he cares about the most, rather than the fact that he didn't start with a love for volleyball like Oikawa, more than an insect cage and racket. Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan, look, this serve is great, let's play volleyball. It’s okay, Oikawa. I choose you.

And then what?

Oikawa collapses in front of him, doesn’t even have even a bit of joy for playing volleyball. This is not just a painful pain for Oikawa, but it is snatching what Iwaizumi wants most- which he has always tried hard to collect and preserve- and shatter to pieces. Iwaizumi was there when Oikawa started his passion for volleyball and watched the way it sprouted around him, unable to stop Oikawa from his own guilt. Iwaizumi was there when they entered the middle school together, became captain and ace, and lost at the hands of Shiratorizawa. Yet it's still not that he can save Oikawa from that painful black hole in the end, until Oikawa explodes in front of him, until Iwaizumi almost couldn’t stop from gung further, before he can do anything with the younger setter that year.

On many forums, websites, media types, in fact, there are many people who have different opinions: think about it, Iwaizumi can choose a softer and less violent way to wake Oikawa up isn't it? Why does he always have to be so violent like that? Are they really friends? They're teammates, aren't they?

The answer is: only because they’re teammates, that they can treat each other as so.

Because they’re friends, Iwaizumi can bring all the anger in him down on Oikawa with a hit on the head. Listen carefully, the sounds from the invisible story page, the sounds that literary minds bring you. The frown on Iwaizumi's face, the way his fists tighten around Oikawa's collar before he gives him a bump on the forehead, they're saying it too.

If they were a normal friends, would it be possible to one of them to immediately hit the other person? If they were only normal friends, would you not hesitate, not be afraid of anything, not feel upset and do something like that?

I'm not promoting violence, I'm trying to understand the emotions that are cornered into muscular movement, in a person who has always been familiar with the watching position, with the role of a supporter.

The blow that Iwaizumi gave to Oikawa, is exactly the same as the punch Oikawa was almost swung towards Kageyama without thinking. If Iwaizumi wasn’t there, what would happen after? But of course, we have no chance to discuss that subject, because Iwaizumi was there, sliding right where he needed to be as if the universe was always, always watching them. Certainly a part of him wanted to scream: look! Feel it! This is what you intend to do with Kageyama! Think it through, what are you thinking? You are a fool! You really have no cure!

But he didn’t. Instead, he said:

“Among us, no one has the ability to win against Ushiwaka in a one-on-one match. But damn, volleyball has six people on the court and that must have a reason! Even if the person on the other side of the net is a first-year genius or Ushiwaka, six who are stronger are stronger!”

Maybe that's what Oikawa wants to hear the most. Perhaps Oikawa doesn't want to hear people call him the best setter, doesn't want to hear people praise him anymore. Perhaps what Oikawa wants is someone to come over and tell him that no one can win against Ushijima alone, that he has already tried his best, that he doesn't need to worry anymore, just rest. Now it's everyone's turn. The people on the same side of the net are all his allies, Oikawa had Kitagawa Daiichi by then, just that he didn't realize they were what he needed until Iwaizumi told him that. He had been rolling around in those hellish years, hurting himself, pressing himself on the involuntary burden like Atlas with the eternal punishment of carrying the earth on his shoulders. Oikawa has never wondered then, what about the other thing?

The joy he craved when playing volleyball.

"Suddenly, I feel invincible."

Feeling that there's nothing that could win over him right then, it's because Oikawa Tooru suddenly realized he was with such a person.

Instead of advising Oikawa Tooru to remove the burden of this planet from his shoulders, Iwaizumi Hajime suggested them to do it together until they couldn't anymore, until the world crumbled on their shoulders.

Instead of smooth and sad goodbye words, Iwaizumi Hajime said that you are the partner I can boast, an excellent setter. No matter which team you join, that fact will never change.

You know, Iwaizumi Hajime is a guy with a lot of "didn't", with a lot of "instead", only for Oikawa Tooru.

Oikawa Tooru is a proud and arrogant jerk, enjoying jokes and compliments about himself. Think, when you are being called "excellent setter", what kind of face would you have? In each match, when you look at the opponent, what kind of face would you have? A smirk, probably. Brown eyes quickly become sharp but a little arrogant, it's also right to say that Oikawa Tooru is a complacent, but it is not wrong to think that he knows his ability, aware of what he is, what he should do to keep it up, how he is better than others, how people look up on him.

However, after watching the anime, I felt like the kind of looks Oikawa gave Iwaizumi when he finished their challenge, was something stranger. I mean, Oikawa has been praised a thousand times before, right? Surely he must not be too surprised anymore? Yet he is. The pupils opened their eyes wide with every single of Iwaizumi's words, he probably couldn't believe this was the person three years ago who slammed his forehead into Oikawa’s face. When Iwaizumi ends his impromptu speech and Oikawa turns around to face Iwaizumi, there is a kind of emotion in his eyes that is usually not there when Oikawa receives a compliment. It is called warmth. It is called pride. It is called a tender emotion, the noble respect between two friends that not everyone can have, when both find themselves stopping by the familiar park, under the moonlight.

"..... But when we confront each other, I will definitely defeat you"

“I have no intention of losing either."

For everyone, this is simply Iwaizumi's fight with Oikawa, or a hint about what will happen in the future, for example, that they will meet again even if they choose two different schools. For me, this is Iwaizumi's last respect for Oikawa when their high school volleyball career is over, as the two prepare to turn to a new chapter of their lives without the other person.

Do you know? Considering someone as a peer competitor is a kind of gentle respect.

Talking about personal issues again, for a while I was very determined to complete the literature test my school took in order to be able to be in the excellent students team. There was this girl in the same class as me who attended the test with me, and when it came to the exam day, she jokingly asked me that because we are in the same class, that can I go easy on her. I also just smiled back then, but actually in my head, I kept thinking. I didn't tell her, but I wanted to say no, I won't need to hold back on you. I will do my best if we compete with each other, because I respect you, because I know you are amazing and powerful enough to me to do that.

So, I think Iwaizumi means the same thing. The fact that he seriously considers Oikawa to be his opponent is kinda odd, because we've always been used to look at him as someone who silently looks after Oikawa, walking behind him, taking care of him. As Ushijima said, almost everyone tried to assert that without Oikawa, Aoba Johsai would be just a mediocre team. But no, after all, Iwaizumi was there, facing Oikawa, on equal position with Oikawa, forcing Oikawa to seriously accept himself as an opponent. Everyone knows this, but to me, I still want to say that Iwaizumi Hajime is really, really strong.

He doesn’t want to stay in the back anymore. He didn't want to be overshadowed by Oikawa, he didn't want to be silent, he wanted to stop watching. He wanted to take a step forward. He wants to be a rival to Oikawa.

Yesterday, while rewatching "Seijou after match", I was surprised to realize Oikawa's eyes were so soft, to realize Iwaizumi was always in his own way, steadfast and thorny until the last minute.

Perhaps Iwaizumi's wish at that time was more than just facing Oikawa on the court. It was his own way of expressing- apart from his deep respect- that he wants to see Oikawa again. He wants to be with Oikawa again, with anything related to volleyball. Perhaps all the little things that Iwaizumi Hajime wants is just to once again feel his connection with Oikawa, once again meet him when the two have became adults,

Once again,

Can be able to play volleyball together.

Oikawa Tooru is covered by the whole galaxy, but Iwaizumi Hajime is the one who lights up the stars.

[jtoddstrangersfic-blog]

Strangers (Jason Todd x Female OC): Chapter 3

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of domestic abuse

Author’s Note: I am physically incapable of sticking to a posting schedule, so I’m just going to update when I can. Follow me or check on my master list every now and then, I’ll keep it as updated as I can. I’m so sorry, but also very grateful for all the DMs and feedback! You’re all wonderful, and I appreciate each and every one of you :)

1,932 words

Masterlist

Jason

It was two weeks since the Red Hood ran into Rian. A strange feeling had settled over Jason after he realized she was the screaming woman he saved in the alley. He was more aware of her now, and spent the majority of his World Literature class cautiously studying her from her seat next to him (technically two seats away; her bag still acted as a barrier between herself and the rest of the class). He couldn’t get the memory of her returning to the scene of the attack, just to check on the shattered remnants of something in a plastic bag, out of his head. He never saw anyone return to the scene of crime. 

He had followed her home that night to make sure she was safe, and made an astonishing discovery. Not only did she live in the same apartment building as him, she was also part of the notorious Apartment 11F. How he managed to never see her in or around the building was another mystery, but he chalked that up to his strange schedule.

Jason arrived to his World Literature class earlier than usual. Students filed in around him as the clock ticked closer to three o’clock. Rachel took her usual place beside him, and he exchanged brief pleasantries with her and Chelsea before his attention was pulled to Rian.

She was one of the last people to enter the classroom, arriving seconds before Dr. Cortez. She glided down the aisle separating the first and second row of desks, taking her usual seat next to the wall. She placed her brown leather bag in the open seat beside Jason, ignoring some of the curious glances she received from her classmates. Rian’s dark hair hid her face like a curtain, and Jason could sense a change in her demeanor.

She usually sat with perfect posture, taking time to remove her course materials from her bag while Dr. Cortez set up his lecture for the day. Today she sat slightly slouched in the chair, her bag sitting untouched in the seat between them.

It was then Jason decided he would try to talk to her when class was over. He had two hours to plan the perfect conversation starter; something that would come off friendly and lighthearted but would hopefully warrant a response from her. One conversation, that was all he wanted (at least for now).

Jason couldn’t describe the feeling, but he felt like he and Rian shared more than what was apparent on the surface. There was something about her he couldn’t quite place. They may have been strangers, but he felt like he could change that. Needed to change that.  

Rian

Rian really did enjoy classes with Dr. Cortez, but this one seemed to drag by at a pace that rivaled a snail. He decided to organize the class into two smaller seminar groups to discuss last week’s reading. Of course she finished it (she made it a top priority the second Dr. Cortez assigned it), but she wasn’t in the mood to engage with any of her classmates. The last two weeks had been hell with Riley.

Following the pasta sauce incident, he became unbearably angry with her. It was such a simple task and she felt like she failed him. She didn’t want to dwell on what happened after he returned home that night to a meager meal that was nothing more than a bowl of plain pasta with butter on the table, but Rian’s ribs still ached in protest under her sweater at the memory.

She sat among the circle of her peers, one of the two groups discussing the reading. She was interested in the conversation at first, but that interest was quickly forgotten when Chelsea took control of the group. Chelsea once again made it her life’s mission to exclude Rian from any conversation, and Rian still didn’t understand how a complete stranger could hate her so vehemently.

Rian took diligent notes instead, forcing herself to at least look engaged in the seminar as Dr. Cortez weaved around the room.

The class finally ended at five, and Rian hurried to rearrange her desk before leaving for the day. Riley warned her not to be late tonight, and she didn’t want to make him any angrier than he already was. She just had to survive one more night with him before he was away for the weekend, leaving her alone in the apartment for the first time in weeks. Rian had several books piling up to read on her bedside table, and this weekend presented the perfect opportunity to finally chip away at them.

She pulled her chair from the dwindling circle of desks a little too forcefully, propelling herself backwards into a solid mass of muscle. The chair caused her to lose her balance. She felt warm hands gently steady her sore arms before she regained her composure.

She spun around, heart pounding as she apologized profusely to a pair of piercing blue eyes. Of course she had to fall into Jason Todd, the smart guy who sat next to her with the silky black hair and perfect jawline. Even with her heels, he was still several inches taller than her.

“It’s fine doll, no harm done.” Jason assured her, flashing an easygoing lopsided grin. Rian’s cheeks reddened as she turned back to her chair, tucking it quickly beneath her desk. “I’m Jason.” He added, following her to his table with his own chair in tow. “Jason Todd.”

“Nice to meet you.” Rian forced a quick smile as she grabbed her leather bag, eager to leave before she embarrassed herself further in front of Jason. There was something about him that made her heart race. Maybe it was his height, or his eyes, or the confidence he emulated. She wasn’t the only one to notice, and it was better for her to limit her interactions with him to avoid any unwanted attention.

“Wait up!” She didn’t need to turn around to know it was Jason following after her. Rian knew the sound of his voice from class, and thoroughly enjoyed listen to him share his unique interpretations of the class readings. He was smart and genuinely interested in literature, two things Rian would have liked to see in Riley. As one of billionaire Bruce Wayne’s heirs, Jason was the perfect package. A playboy who could win over any girl he wanted (not that Rian was paying attention or anything).

“Rian.” She stated nervously, glancing at him as he matched her stride. She caught his gaze curiously wandering across her face. Rian hoped he wouldn’t notice the fading bruise on her cheek, although she was sure she covered it with more than enough makeup.

“Rian.” He repeated, a small smile pulling at his mouth. She liked the way he said her name with his deep voice. “Are you a Lit major?”

“Writing and Fashion Design, actually.” She supplied as the pair exited the Literature building into a darkening Gotham. “But I love Dr. Cortez, I try to take one of his classes every semester.”

“Me too, he’s an incredible teacher.” Jason smiled wider at Rian’s declaration.

She returned his friendly gesture. She sensed he was trying to make conversation, but it was too dangerous. If Riley knew she was talking to another guy outside of class (let alone the Jason Todd), he would be livid.

“It was nice talking to you, but I have to get back to my apartment.” She added reluctantly, trying to mask her regret. She didn’t want him to think she was stuck up or anything. “I guess I’ll see you-”

“I was actually going to ask you something. Super fast, I promise.”

She stopped walking to look at him in surprise, Uber already open on her phone.

“Do you mind if I take a picture of your notes? From the seminar today? I wasn’t really paying attention to my group and I noticed you writing some stuff down, which I probably shoulda done in retrospect.” He raised his brows slightly, as if begging her to accept his offer.

“S-sure.” Rian was taken aback. Was he talking to her all of a sudden just to get her notes? She pulled her notebook from her bag in compliance, flipping through a few pages to find the entry from today.

“A lot of writing in there. Is that all for Dr. Cortez?” Jason noted, glancing at the pages filled with her flowing handwriting as she hurried past them.

“Among other things.” She answered, and sensing he wanted more information, added, “It’s also some ideas I have for articles.”

“Articles?” Jason sounded more interested in her answer than she initially thought he would be. Especially for someone who just wanted her notes.

“Yeah,” Rian answered absentmindedly. “I help edit articles for the Gotham Chronicle and I’m hoping if I write a few strong pieces I can become a contributor too. But who knows. Ah, here it is.”

Jason pulled his phone out, snapping a few pictures of the pages.

“That’s really cool, good for you.” He sounded genuine in his compliment. “I love reading the GC, it’s the only newspaper around here that isn’t convoluted with hysteria and… you know.” Jason shoved his phone back into the pocket of his dark jeans, his blue eyes once again scanning her face. “Anything fun you’re working on?”

“Not really.” Rian was going to walk away, she really was. But Jason was the first person to take an interest in her work, and she really wanted to bounce some ideas off someone that wasn’t her bedroom wall. “Well, there’s one I’m kind of excited to work on. I came up with it two weeks ago after… something happened.” She trailed off, unsure of how much information she should share with him.

Jason smiled at her, encouraging her to continue.

“I had a run in with one of the vigilantes, the ones every other newspaper is up in arms about.”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up at Rian’s admission, but he didn’t press her for more information.

“I didn’t realize what happened until after, but I think one of them saved me. I couldn’t get a good look at them, but. I don’t know. I just know they’re not as bad as a lot of people seem to think they are. They’re out there saving people and protecting the city, that isn’t something we need to fight against. Maybe they’re breaking the law, and I’m not trying to say that’s right, but there are a lot of more dangerous agents out there. The Penguin. Black Mask. The Joker.” Jason winced at the last villain she mentioned, but he quickly composed himself. “I think these vigilantes like Batman and Nightwing and the others are trying to help alleviate the situation or whatever. I don’t think the police should be using all of these resources and public funds on fighting them, at least not yet. There are bigger problems out there. People being killed, and drugged, and trafficked. We need all the help we can get to fight this.”

Jason was quiet for a moment, his eyes never leaving Rian’s face.

“Sounds like a hell of an article. Can you send me a copy when you’re done writing it?”

“If I ever finish, you’ll be the first person I tell.” Rian smiled at him, and he returned it easily.

“You’re probably gonna need my number then.” He smirked at her surprised face, clearly pleased he caught her off guard.

He pulled a pen out of his bag before she could react, opening her notebook to the first page. He scrawled his phone number at the top of her notes, just above the first bullet note. He closed the notebook, giving Rian a wink before sauntering off toward the library.

She stood there in awe at how smooth he was, watching him as he strode away.

[waywardnerd67]

Deep Down

Summary: Dean and Sam call on (Y/N) to help them with a case in her hometown. When things go terribly wrong, Dean is faced with feelings he had buried deep down from when they were kids. Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Reader Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Fluff Word Count: 1943 Squared Filled: Realized Feelings (Fluff) / Human Shield (Bad Things Happen) A/N #1: @spnfluffbingo and @badthingshappenbingo A/N #2: As always this is unbeta so all mistakes are mine. Likes, comments and reblogs are splendid and I will love you doubly for them! Enjoy!

Dean sat in the motel room looking down at the number on his phone his thumb hovering over it. “Call her.” His brother, Sam, said.

He took a deep breath and pressed his thumb down before lifting the phone to his ear. “Hey (Y/N/N), it’s Dean. We’re in Little Rock working a case and could… uh, use your help. Give me, us, a call back.”

“Smooth.” Sam chuckled as Dean narrowed his eyes at him.

“Shut it.” He warned tossing his phone down at the table.

It had been over twenty years since he had last seen or spoken with (Y/N) that very night etched into his memory permanently. The way tears fell down her face as his dad handed her money and a bus ticket. The sound of her voice as she pleaded to stay and called out his name for him to come with her. Her (Y/C/E) eyes giving him one last look before turning around and walking out of his life.

“Do you think she will call back?” Sam asked bringing him out of his thoughts.

Dean shook his head, “No I don’t.” he said simply opening the book that was in front of him and pretending he was reading.

A few hours later, there was a knock on their door startling both Winchesters. Sam got up as Dean grabbed his gun pointing it at the door. Sam opened it slowly and Dean saw his body relax immediately.

“Hey Sam, been a long time.” (Y/N)’s voice made Dean’s heart flutter. She gave Sam a small hug as she walked in their room. “Hi Dean.” She said voided of any kind of emotion.

“Hi (Y/N/N).” Her nickname had tumbled off his lips so easily. He watched her body go still for a moment before she grabbed one of the chairs from the small table and sitting on it.

She looked back over to Sam, “So, tell me about this case? I’m a little rusty on the whole hunting evil thing.”

Dean sat on his bed silently as Sam and she went over everything they found. (Y/N) pulled out her phone looking at something and then review over Sam’s notes once again before finally speaking. “The Arkansas Traveler.”

“The what?” He and Sam asked at the same time.

(Y/N) chuckled, “Your case sounds like a horror movie version of The Arkansas Traveler. It’s a tall tale of a stranger squatting with a family who can’t finish his song and the stranger finishes it for him earning the right to sleep on the only dry spot in the house.”

Dean looked from Sam to (Y/N) in disbelief as she continued, “The difference is your spirit is killing people. Best guess we should stake out Abandon Row which is a housing complex that is home to a lot of homeless and wayward people.”

“How do you know all of this?” Sam asked as they got ready to leave.

“All of the research and lore knowledge I have bouncing around up here. I put it to good use and have a degree in Literature specializing in American Folklore. I teach a few classes at the community college in town.” She explained laughing when she saw their surprised faces, “Don’t look so shocked boys. I had to pick up the pieces somehow.”

Dean flinched slightly following Sam and (Y/N) out of the motel room. She directed him to the area where a lot of the victims had gone missing. The tension was high within the car between him and her, so much so that Sam had decided to do a walk around the perimeter.

“Thanks for helping us.” He said looking back at her through the rearview mirror.

He watched her shrug, “I figured it best to help you, so you can get out of here faster. I’m sure you don’t like being here.”

Dean sighed frustration building in his chest. He wanted to tell her how he really felt that night and how he wanted to go with her but could never leave his family. They sat in silence the tension becoming almost to unbearable for Dean. When he looked out the windshield he saw Sam signaling for them to follow him.

“Come on, Sam’s got something.” He said as they got out of the car carefully walking over to his brother who was hiding behind an abandoned house.

“I think our spirit is in the house across from this one.” Sam said pointed to a particularly run-down one-story house.

Dean looked to see a man laughing manically to himself, “Why do you say that?”

Sam looked to them, “I heard the man inside mention something about someone traveling and writing a song.”

Dean looked to (Y/N) who was looking wide eyed to them both. “Alright, well let’s see if we can gank ourselves a traveling ghost.”

(Y/N) looked up to Sam, “What is the spirit tied too?” she asked.

“I think it’s a guitar inside the house. The homeless man was playing it when I walked by and that’s when I heard him talking about the song.” Sam explained as they made their way towards the house.

Dean turned towards (Y/N) handed her his shotgun with salt rounds in it, “You’ll need this.” He said simply as she took it from him.

“What exactly are you going to do?” she asked.

“Someone has to be bait and I’m not letting some homeless dude be it. Unless you have a better idea?” he said as she stood there glaring at him for a moment. “That’s what I thought. I know you two have my back.”

Dean did not wait for a response and walked into the house pulling out his wallet. The homeless man looked over to him clutching the guitar, “W-What are you doing here?”

“Hey man, nice guitar. I was wondering if I could buy it off you. I have two hundred here that is all yours if I can have the guitar.” Dean said as the man looked down at the guitar and then to the money in Dean’s hand.

The man handing him the guitar and took the cash, “I think there is a store down the street. Get some food and maybe a cheap place to stay.” Dean suggested as the man nodded walking out of the house.

He sat down on an old bucket that was in the middle of the room. Suddenly the guitar began to play on its own as it laid on the ground in front of Dean. “Here ghosty, ghosty, ghosty.” Dean whispered.

“Play.” A deep gravely voice sounded throughout the room.

“I’m gonna pass, why don’t you show yourself.” Dean called out seeing Sam and (Y/N) just off to the side.

Appearing next to the guitar was a man in shabby clothing with a blood-stained shirt. His eyes focused on the guitar, “Play.” He said again.

“Look, I know things on the other side of the veil are a little nutty, but I’m gonna give you a chance to go peacefully to the next life or I can send you there. Your choice.” Dean said standing up.

The ghost looked up glaring at Dean snarling his lips. “PLAY!” he yelled.

Sam took the first shot the salt round piercing the ghost making him vanish. All of them were looking around to see where he would pop up next. The guitar playing an eerie tune by itself. Dean turned his back towards (Y/N) looking to the guitar.

“DEAN! Watch out!” He heard (Y/N) yell as he turned towards her.

He watched as if in slow motion (Y/N) running in front of him as the ghost drove a piece of wood from the old house through her shoulder. Hearing her agonizing scream sent chills down his body. Dean quickly grabbed her falling body.

“Sammy burn it now!” he yelled out as he laid (Y/N) on the floor. Dean could feel the heat of the flames behind him as Sam set the guitar on fire. The ghost yelling out as he burnt into nothing.

“Damn it (Y/N), hold on. I can’t lose you again.” Dean said as he quickly took off his jacket and flannel placing the shirt on her wound as Sam pulled it out.

Dean wrapped her in his jacket and handed Sam the keys to Baby, “Come on we need to get her to a hospital.”

A week later, (Y/N) was realized after losing a lot of blood and needing a transfusion. Sam and Dean drove her to her apartment walking her up to it. Sam set her things down on the kitchen table as Dean helped her to her couch.

“Sam, would you mind doing a little grocery shopping for me? I trust you getting me stuff rather than Dean. I need something more than burgers and beer.” She said as Sam chuckled grabbing the keys from Dean.

He looked back at her as she stared at him, “Dean I think we need to talk.” She said.

“Look (Y/N), I know you didn’t want to be dragged back into this life and you got hurt which is all my fault…” he started to say.

“Dean!” she said loudly catching his attention, “Shut up. I know you think this is your fault, but it’s not. That is not what I want to talk about.”

He looked over at her curiously, “What then?” he asked.

“I heard you when I was stabbed. You said you didn’t want to lose me again.” She said as he looked away from her.

“Oh. Yeah that.” He said rubbing the back of his neck.

(Y/N) let out a frustrated sigh, “Care to explain because what I know is that you chose to push me out of your life when John sent me away. You didn’t even fight for me Dean. I thought we had something between us and then to see you just follow John’s orders to send me away. You broke my heart.”

Dean clenched his fist taking a deep breath. Hearing what she thought that night made him hate his father a little more for sending her away. Looking at her, he could see all the emotions running through her (Y/C/E) eyes.

“(Y/N), that night with everything that happened, is my biggest regret in my life. I didn’t realize it until much later in my life that I not only lost my best friend but the love of my life. Deep down I knew I fell in love with you and it scared me. I told myself that you were safer away from me because if anything had ever happened to you I wouldn’t know what I would do.” He explained feeling his own emotions bubbling in his chest.

(Y/N) moved closer to him, “Then why didn’t you come find me earlier?”

He shrugged, “I figured it was too late. A beautiful, smart, funny woman like you should have men falling at your feet. I always assumed you had found someone who could take care of you and love you better than I ever could.”

“Oh Dean…” she said leaning her head on his shoulder hooking her uninjured arm with his, “There is no one in this world who could protect me better than you.”

He looked down at her as she lifted her head up. Her perfect pouty lips mere inches from his and he could not take it anymore. Leaning down, he kissed her ever so gently cupping her smooth cheek with his calloused hand. He pulled away resting his forehead on hers.

“So, sweetheart where do we go from here?” he asked.

(Y/N) leaned back slightly smiling, “I go wherever you go. As long as we are together.”

If you enjoyed this story then check out my Masterlist!

My Nerd Herd: @waywardbaby @carryonmywaywardcaptain @ladywinchester1967 @akshi8278 @ericaprice2008 @mirandaaustin93 @spnbaby-67 @time-travel-bouqet @1967-essentialghoul @dean-winchesters-bacon @destielhoneybee @-lovepeacenhope- @destiel745 @carribear31 @srsllydunnodoncare @whimsicalrobots @thisismysecrethappyplace @starstruckzonkoperatorbat @adoptdontshoppets @mrswhozeewhatsis @bella-ca @drakelover78 @imascio08 @pisces-cutie @dwgrl1903 @mannls @the-salty-asian @winchesterprincessbride @xostephanie @klanceiscannon14 @superromijn @witch-of-letters @screechingartisancashbailiff @myinconnelly1 @sister-winchesters99 @thekatherinewinchester @babykalika2001

[i-am-not-anon]

Helping a stranger out: part 18

Summary: Roman is working at a bookstore and his customer needs help. But how much would he do for a stranger?

Author's note: Hoo boy! Got a major writer’s block both in terms of working with the plot and the physical act of writing, but I’m back now! But most importantly: Thanks for taking the time to read my work and I appreciate every like, comment and reblog!

And don’t hesitate to message me if you want to be added to the taglist

Pairings: Anxceit (they broke up), eventual platonic prinxiety

Other parts: Part 1 (-) Part 17 (-) Part 19

Warnings: Deceit by name Famian, cursing, abusive relationship mentioned, breakup, crying, panic attack, mild angst, manipulative s/o, kissing, possibly mentions of smut but no n/sfw will appear

.

”Would it be weird for us to sleep on the same bed now though?” Virgil pondered, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie.

”Right.. I’d say we can sleep one night together and see how each of us feel about it”, he suggested.

”Sounds good to me”, Virgil nodded. ”It’s kinda the only thing I would miss about us being together to be honest.”

Roman smiled.

Virgil’s phone buzzed, making him slam it shut and collapsing back on the bed. He breathed, watching Roman wake up. ”I hate mornings”, Virgil groaned, sitting on the bed and pulling the blanket around him. ”There’s all of the pressure for this day already present”, he changed his tone to a mocking one, ”Wake up, put clothes on, go to school, socialize, study, aghhhh! I hate it.”

Roman sat up, confused by the sudden rant. ”Dunno, I just feel mornings are full of opportunities”, he argued.

”Well you’re you”, Virgil pointed out and flopped face down on the bed.

”If it helps you in any way, I actually worked a lot of my emotions through last night and came to a conclusion”, Roman hummed, walking to change his clothes.

Virgil hummed curiously, managing to sit up and turn his face away from undressing Roman.

”I actually feel we are better as friends than a couple”, he admitted, having been surprised by the conclusion himself at night when thinking about it. Roman was usually the hopelessly pining one, and he had had very hard time getting over his crushes until this moment.

Virgil let out a breath. ”That's good. I was scared of hurting you by staying here if you still had feelings for me.” he also got out of bed and began dressing himself.

”Yeah. It also occurred to me how different we are”, Roman analyzed, ”I have had a dream of travelling the world one day but I assume you’re more like a staying home -person?” he raised his voice at the end, making the statement a question.

”You got that right”, Virgil admitted. ”I’m the most comfortable surrounded by my own stuff and all the necessities like internet.”

”I figured”, Roman chuckled. They eventually ate some breakfast and headed outside, driving off.

”I also should go back to my old job, but it is going to be way more stressful than going back to school”, Virgil sighed as Roman was driving.

”Where were you working, then?” Roman asked.

”I was helping at this one garage but it’s annoying and the workmates loud and rude.”

”I was actually thinking the other day if you’d like to work at our bookstore”, Roman raised a brow. ”We really need a third worker since when one person is behind the counter, the other could do some much needed arranging and cleaning. What do you say?”

Virgil stared at Roman. ”Do you sell enough to pay me? I don’t want you two to have any less.”

”It’s unbelievable but yes, we do get enough money for at least two and a half employees. And by the good work you’d be doing the gainings would only rise. I need to talk about this with Patton though.”

Virgil snorted. ”You should probably do that, quicksand.”

”Hi Virge! What’s up?” Valerie greeted, waving at the dark-clothed figure.

”I’m pretty good, how about you”, Virgil hummed, still dumbfounded but grateful to be accepted by his cool schoolmates.

”We were actually thinking about throwing a party, Valerie has her birthday next weekend!” Joan announced. ”You are invited as well.”

Virgil pondered the offer. ”I’m not the most partying-type of guy, but seems cool. When and where?”

”Not sure yet”, Terrence stepped to the circle. ”All of us live at the dorms and it’s prohibited to throw a party there, even though there would be only six of us if possible gatecrashers won’t be count.”

Virgil relaxed. If it was mostly this group of people, he might get through the party without having to back out before midnight. “I need to ask Roman, but he might be cool with us going to his place. I’m his housemate anyway.”

”Ooh~ who’s Roman?” Terrence winked, grunting as Valerie elbowed him. ”He’s a housemate, didn’t you hear? Besides how do you not know Roman? He’s the heart and soul of every theatre performance I’ve seen!”

”Never heard”, Terrence shrugged. ”Anyways, you ask Roman and we’ll see how it goes.”

”Will do”, Virgil saluted and they parted to their classes.

Virgil stepped in to the Books R Us, smiling as he felt home at the scent of old literature and Patton’s light perfume. He walked to the counter where Patton was quickly checking items for people who were waiting in a line, somehow managing to casually small-talk with every customer before their turn was over. Virgil gulped at the realization of his new possible workplace right there. He would be terrible at managing customers on his own, let alone small talk with them on top of all other stuff. He decided to ask for something to do after the line of customers would be done.

”Virgil! I didn’t see you there”, Patton puffed as he waved the last customer away. ”Roman called me and I think it would be amazing to have you working with us here!”

”Thanks”, Virgil smiled at the other man’s excitement. ”It will take awhile for me to get used to customer service though.”

”I’m happy to hear you’d be interested to try that as well, but I thought you might prefer handling the books more than people so I already put some boxes aside for you to look through”, Patton hummed and pointed at two boxes full of books.

”Read my mind”, Virgil pretended to shudder, and Patton giggled.

”Not really, you just give a certain vibe and I made an assumption based on that”, the other man admitted. ”Let’s get to work, kiddo. We don’t have the whole day.”

Virgil found himself slowly learning to go through the new books by himself, feeling slightly proud of himself. He felt like a new life was starting for him, with new challenges of course but there were so many things he was thankful of already. Roman as a new friend, and Patton, Joan, Valerie and Terrence who he was getting well along with. A new job with the best co-workers and work that he didn’t hate. Virgil hummed as he put books to the shelves, awkwardly pointing Patton to some customers who asked for help. He almost felt like he was going to be fine eventually.

Roman entered the shop, running to Patton who by luck didn’t have any customers to deal with despite the busy season. ”Patton!! Help me!!” He screamed, grabbing the other man’s forearms.

”What?!?” Patton screamed back, matching the dramatic tone Roman had come to him with.

”The audition is the day after tomorrow! They changed the date! I don’t have time to prepare!” Roman wailed, leaning his face on Patton’s shoulder before shooting back up. ”I need to practice!” the man in distress hurried to the back room, slamming the door behind him.

Virgil frowned, walking to Patton. ”What audition?”

Patton sighed, smiling.

”Roman was supposed to have an audition for a big show next week, but now they’ve changed the date closer. You know Newsies the musical, kiddo? It was that one, and Roman was thrilled to get a change to play at his favourite show.” Patton smiled sadly, nodding to a customer that they’d be helped in a moment. ”I really hope he has enough time to prepare, I think you can see as well that this means a lot to him. Could you run the shop for a second while I go and look after him?”

Virgil stared at Patton and the waiting customers. ”You know what.. I’d prefer to go after him myself. See ya”, he walked to the back room, leaving confused Patton behind before he could say anything. The roles have changed, Roman. It’s my turn to help you now. Virgil took a breath, opening the door.

.

Taglist: @the-unrealistic-dreamer @selectivereality @metaphoricalpluto2 @sherlock-lives-on-bakerstreet @quietwords-loudthoughts @aesthetemoonshadows @draw-eat-stab-and-sleep

[romancenerd]

Kisses Not Intened

*Dont know what to use for a gif so blank for now*

A/N - *I wanted to make at least one more fanfic before the year was over. Very very very extremely long time ago I was asked to write this when i posted a prompt list 9 decades ago and I’ve been lacking in the fanfic department. This was supposed to be a Christmas present but consider this a new year present. So this fanfic is for @nitia95​ thank you so much for requesting this i serioisuly enjoyed writing this the fluff and just everything. Like i love Azusa so very much when i got stuck i didn’t want to force it out of me so this is all for you girl happy new year and thank you for being an amazing tumblr friend and big supporter of my blog!*

Also I don’t feel like proof reading or editing in the moment so please ignore grammar and punctuation until i fix it tomorrow also I’m going to change the title I just don’t know what to call it comment below some good titles please and thank you. So I’m going to shut up and let you all read now.

Liz was rapidly running through the streets of new york. Pausing to catch her breath at a crosswalk she checked her watch to see she only had 5 minutes to get to school before she was marked tardy.

She mentally cursed. The power in her building had went off last night and thank God she woke up when she did or she would have missed first period.

Even if it did only leave her 25 minutes to brush her teeth, hair, get dressed, and shove a granola bar and apple in her bag.

She continued running and glanced down to check her watch and collided head on something.

“Why don’t you watch where you're going.” A deep voice called to her.

She shook her head and glanced up at the dark haired stranger meeting his piercing sapphire gaze.

Rolling her eyes she pursed her lips and try to keep her anger in check, and sarcastically replied.

“Oh I'm so sorry! I'll try to watch where I'm going!” Using air quotes. She began to walk away. And at the same time they both made quite comments which they thought would fall upon deaf ears but would not be the case.

“Morron.”

“Asshole.”

Both of them faced each other with nasty looks.

“Do you have a problem with me or something?” Liz said

“No but I'm not the one crashing into people am I?”

“Yeah let's keep acting like it was my fault, I'm not the one walking in the middle of the street with my face glued to a map, so who wasn't really paying attention here.”

“ Well your -.”

“Listen I don't have time to argue with you, some of us have places to be.” Liz interrupted

And with that last statement Liz stormed off in the opposite direction  slinging her bag over her shoulder with the stranger staring at the back of her head.

•••••••••••

Liz let out a long sign all while rubbing her eyes. She pushed the hair out of her face and grabbed the stack of textbooks near her and proceeded to her next class.

Professor Goldstein had given her extra work due to her tardiness to class this morning.

It was all that jerks fault this morning. What's his problem, she thought. I mean he was really cute but still he didn’t need to be a jerk about it.

As she walked through the halls of the university she was greeted with smiles and friendly waves. Second period was always her favorite class. Zoology. She loved animals more than anything.

That's why she decided to go to college and pursue a career in veterinary medicine. To help care and heal animals.

•••••••••••

Finally third period had arrived and she made her way to her usual spot in the classroom and waited for class to start she was a little earlier than usual than normal and people had yet to arrive.

Once the class started filling up and the bell rang, Professor Schular made an announcement. Not paying any mind, Liz leaned down and began collection and pulling her books out of her bag. When she popped back up she couldn't believe what her eyes were seeing.

“We have a new transfer student joining us today, I would all like you to welcome Azusa Kuze.” Proffesor Schuler spoke

Whispers and gasps suddenly filled the classroom.

“He’s so hot!”

“I think I'm going faint.”

“That jawline!”

Liz however was stunned and went his gaze meet hers her heart skipped a beat.

“Now.” The professor spoke. “ Where to put you ….”

Please not by me please not by me. Liz spoke over and over again in here head.

“ You can have a seat next to Ms. Hart .”

Liz felt her eyes go wide and her blood boil. She clenched her fist under the desk so hard she was positive they were turning white.

How ever he walked all the way to her table in the back of the room with a smile on his face and sat down.

“Well, well, well we meet again.

There staring at her with a sarcastic smile was none other than the blockhead she ran into earlier.

“It would appear so.” Liz said unamused.

She faced forward and began taking notes trying to completely forgetting his existence.

••••••••••••

Once class was over she got up and immediately collected her belongings.

“Hold on a minute.”

“What?”

“I was wondering if you knew where room B213 would be.”

Liz paused momentarily and swallowed the lump in her throat to speak. He handed her the paper and she saw that she had ever single class with him but her first 2.

Great. She thought

“Well according to this schedule apparently starting now we have every single class together.”

Liz tried as hard as she could to keep from sounding irritated.

He smiled sarcastically. She knew that he was getting a kick out of this.

“So I could just follow you for the day correct?”

She stared at him for the longest time and finally spoke.

“Fine, lets go before were late.”

••••••••••••

Today was a day off from school. Liz found herself in cute and cozy coffee shop 2 blocks from her apartment.

She sat with her legs crossed on a bean bag re-reading her favorite novel for the hundredth time.

Yesterday had been Friday and showing that jerk around while he smirked and teased her at every little thing she did.

She was glad it was the weekend now. Setting her book down and taking a quick sip of tea. She slowly inhaled in and out to calm her nerves.

Getting comfortable again, she grabbed her book and picked up where she left off.

The door to the coffee shop opened letting the crisp slightly chilly air into the room. Trying to ignore any and all distractions as best as she could until.

“Loving you was breathing but that breath disappearing before it filled my lungs.”

Liz suddenly looked up to find Azusa towering above her with a calm expression on his face.

“You know the sun and her flowers.”

Azusa suddenly smirked down at her.

“If were being honest here its it's a favorite of mine.” Azusa said chucking.

“Mine too.”

“Really?”

“Really really.” Liz smiled slightly than smirked.

“So even jerks have good literature taste.”

“Life is full of surprises.” Azusa said sitting down in the bean bag next to her putting his arms behind his head

“Tell me about it.” Liz said with her lips pursed. “So do you have anything better to do than stalk me all day and night.”

“You honestly think I give a damn about what your doing every single moment.”

“Clearly you seem to.” Azusa rolled his eyes at her comment and chuckled.

“Maybe I don't maybe I do, who's to say.” He teased

“You are a serious pain in my ass I swear.” Liz then stood up slamming her book shut and grabbed her coffee and purse.

“Where are you going.”

“To enjoy the rest of my day in peace thank you.”

Liz then left the shop leaving Azusa by himself. He simply stared at the door she walked out of with mixed thoughts. He let out a soft sigh and feel back into the bean bag wondering what in the world he was going to do.

“No no no.” Liz rested her head on the steering wheel as the engine started smoking. She was on her way home from the coffee shop when her car starting acting up and died on her.

Getting out and popping the hood she began to cough from all the smoke.

“This is just perfect what else can go wrong?! “ She screamed when the sky rumbled and a heavy downpour was upon her.

“Great what luck. Closing the hood she sat down and brought he knees to her chest. She was still a good 40 minutes away from home.

After several moments the rain upon her finally stopped even though the sound could still be heard. Lifting her head she was met by black jean’s and a white t shirt. Furthering her gaze upwards she was met with sapphire eyes.

“Get in my car and I'll drive you home.”

“You don -”

“Shut up get in the car and don't argue with me.” Azusa sternly said.

Liz knew he was trying to be nice. Maybe trying to make up for being such an asshole these past couple of weeks. Sliding off the hood she stood underneath the umbrella with him. He pulled her close wrapping his arm around her shoulder and guided her to the passenger side.

She never really looked at him before but up close she could see what the other girls were talking about. Liz wasn't going to like he was handsome. Like some guy from a fairytale or a dream.

After Azusa helped her into the passenger side and closed the door all Liz could think was if this was a fairytale. Azusa coming to her aid like a knight in shining armor. Or perhaps she was at home in bed sleeping through the rain. This is probably a dream she reassured herself.

But if it was then why was Azusa in it? She thought to herself as Azusa got in and began to drive.

“Where do you live?”

“In the Reitz apartments.”

“Really?” He laughed

“Yeah what's so funny.”

“I live 2 buildings over.”

“Seriously?” She grumbled

“Seriously, it's a small world you and I live in.”

“A little too small if you ask me.” Suddenly Azusa bursted into laughter. The way he smiled made her heart flutter.

What's the matter with me she thought. Liz sat in silence for the rest of the ride trying to figure out the strange dream out.

Liz wondered how far her dream would go. How long it would last.

“Were here.”He suddenly announced pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Oh.” She said a little disappointed. “Well thank you for the ride I'll be sure to give you money for gas next time I run into you. It's a small world so you shouldn't have to wait long.”

Azusa snorted and suddenly locked the doors when Liz tried to get out. She curiously looked at him, he dream kept getting stranger by the second.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure I guess.” Liz said settling back into her seat.

They sat in silence for a moment before Azusa blurted out. “Do you hate me?”

Taken by surprise Liz looked up at him to find him staring out the window. It took her a moment to answer but when she did.

“No I don't hate you.” Azusa suddenly turned his head towards hers.

“You don't.”

“No not at all. I think your a sarcastic asshole but who isn’t.” She said smiling.

Liz wondered why her subconscious would create such a dream unless. . .

Liz was pulled out her thoughts when Azusa's face got closer to hers. She suddenly forgot how to think. His face got closer until she could feel his breath on her lips.

Azusa then leaned forward a little as their lips brushed together in a soft and delicate kiss. Her heart seizes up and fluttered from the contact. He slightly pulled away and whispered.

“I'm sorry I didn't intend on kissing you.”

She slowly looked up into his eyes. Realizing this was reality. This was the real Azusa in front of her and that was a real, and that what her heart was telling her was real too.

Looking down and gently brushing her fingers across his cheek and returning to his gaze she whispered.

“I’m sorry I didn't intend on falling in love with you.”

Azusa suddenly smiled. “ Well I did intend on falling in love with you.”

Liz smiled back at him and he leaned forward and kissed her again. Its was slightly more passionate than the first.

The only sounds that could be heard were the drops of rain against the car and the sound of their lips meeting in heated breathless kisses.

[dreamingoffairys]

Teardrops & Coffee Chapter 9

Hello hello everyone! Thank you so much for your positive feedback on Chapter 8! It made me feel great after that long hiatus, and I'm super inspired for continuing this fic now ;) 

Sorry that I didn't get this chapter up as soon as I expected, I've been busy with school, my job, and with the WWTDP event (not to mention coordinating Stingue week!). So yeaah, I'm busy. Lmao. Thankfully, I've already begun working on Chapter 10, so hopefully that will be done by the end of the month!

I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's chalk full of new characters. Sting's finally going to make some more friends!

[Sidenote, kudos to @splendidlyimperfect for inspiring me to add genderfluid Freed to this fanfic!]

AO3 LINK HERE.

Sting felt like today was destined to be a shitfest no matter what actually happened.

He didn’t sleep at all the night before, so heartbroken from Rogue leaving that he couldn’t relax. It didn’t help that today was apparently club day, which meant that if you wanted to join a club, you had to go the main square on campus to check out all the booths.

Although Sting originally had been really excited for club day, now he was dreading it. Rogue would probably be there. Hell, Rogue might even be in a club he’s interested in. And if there’s one thing Sting does not want to do today, it’s talk to Rogue. In fact, he doesn’t even want to see Rogue. What the hell was that asshole’s problem anyways? Why had he took off so suddenly last night? It still infuriated him beyond belief.

In a moment of sobbing rage, Sting had blocked and deleted Rogue’s number last night. Looking back on it, that was one of the dumbest things he could’ve done, but it was too late to go back on it now. Sting is going to be Rogue free for the next few days, no matter what. He needs time to cool off at the very least before trying to confront Rogue about everything that happened.

Currently, Sting finds himself in the library after his English class, fuming over the required reading due next class. The words swim before his tired eyes, blurring together and becoming even more of a confusing mush than before. “Fucking dammit-!” Sting hisses, nearly knocking over his Cup Noodles sitting on the table beside him. “I fucking hate this! I fucking can’t-”

The sound of someone clearing his throat jolts him so much that this time, he actually does knock the noodles over. “Shit-!” Fortunately, he manages to grab them before it spills much, just splashing a bit of hot broth on his white sweatshirt. “Fucking-”

“Could you please keep it down the library, please?” the stranger says, and Sting looks up at him to send him give his best death glare. “Some of us are actually trying to study,” the guy scoffs. Sting gets a good look at him before saying anything. The man has long dirty blond hair, greenish brown eyes, a pair of thick red glasses, and is wearing a white button-down shirt.

Sting shoots him a nasty look. “Look, I was trying to study too. Mind your own business.”

The man raises an eyebrow at Sting. “You more looked like you were getting frustrated and swearing loudly. Oh, and spilling things.”

Sting fumes and slams the book shut. “I’m really not in the mood. I didn’t sleep at all last night, and I’m fighting with the person who usually helps me study.”

The man stands up and walks over to Sting’s table. “Oh. I’m sorry for being rude, then. I simply thought you were causing a disturbance.” He gestures to the book Sting’s reading. “Pride and Prejudice?”

“Unfortunately,” Sting grumbles, rolling up his sleeves to hide the yellow stain from the shitty processed broth of his early lunch. He keeps speaking without thinking, too annoyed and tired to process his thoughts before he voices them, “It’s a bunch of heterosexual nonsense.”

The man with glasses laughs and sinks into the seat besides Sting. “Slightly. But I quite enjoy it. I wrote a 10 page paper on it last semester.” He pushes his glasses up his nose. “What is your name? If I’m going to help you, we should at least be acquainted. I am Rufus Lore.”

Sting blinks, surprised by everything about this man’s reaction. “Uhhh...I’m Sting. Sting Eucliffe. I’m new here this semester, so...I’m kind of overwhelmed.”

Rufus nods and clicks his tongue, “I remember the feeling. I do not fault you for being frustrated, then. I’m assuming literature is not your strong suit?”

Sting shakes his head, “I’m majoring in Computer Sciences. Which is funny, actually, because I’m bad at math too.”

Rufus laughs softly, “A...friend of mine is majoring in Music, but his voice is terrible. No one has told him yet. I do not want to be the person to burst that bubble.”

Sting nods and sets Pride and Prejudice back down on the table. “I don’t blame you.” He cracks the book open, goes back to the page he was on, and starts to read aloud:

"His pride," said Miss Lucas, "does not offend me so much as pride often does, because there is an excuse for it. One cannot wonder that so very fine a young man…”

About an hour ticked by for Sting and Rufus, and by the end of the study session, Sting felt more level-headed and prepared for class than ever. He had two pages of notes in his composition notebook, as well as some annotations in the actual book itself. Before leaving, Rufus gave Sting his phone number so they could text back and forth if Sting had any questions. Rufus even promised that if they met up again, Rufus would bring his own, fully annotated copy with him and let Sting read through it.

Sting left the library with a grin on his face, not caring that his sweater has a stain on it or that he and Rogue aren’t talking, because he’s prepared for the English discussion. This is probably the first time in his damn life he’s felt this confident about it! He’s going to strut in there and be the most educated motherfucker in the whole room. All the boys are gonna stare at him in awe, and all the girls are gonna be envious of his rad analyzing skills. Fuck yeah, he’s gonna show them!

That excellent mood is immediately shattered by the sight of far too many booths all spread out in front of the library. Shit. He’d almost forgotten about club day! Sting checks his reflection in his phone camera and grimaces. He looks like total shit, dark circles and all, with his hair an ungelled disaster crammed into a dirty beanie. Not only that, his sweater looks stupid rolled up at the sleeves like this, and the skinny jeans he’s wearing weren’t originally supposed to be ripped. Oh well. He was going to have to wing it.

He walks out into the crowd, having to push past quite a few overly enthusiastic sorority girls. One of them has long white hair and smiles at Sting kindly when he moves by, and she’s the only one who doesn’t make him extremely uncomfortable. The others stare at him as he passes, and he feels like he’s at high school all over again being ogled by the cheerleaders as a target either to flirt with or to criticize.

Once he manages to squeeze through, he takes a look around at the booths. He sees a sign reading “Improv Club” in sparkly letters with the two drama masks on it, and behind the booth is a familiar redhead and blue haired man with a tattoo on his face. Beside them stands an orange haired man with glasses, who is talking to a girl while clearly flirting with her. Nooo thanks.

Next he sees the Earth Club, a group of students with green t-shirts tending to little plants, talking passionately to bystanders about recycling, or handing out pamphlets about water conservation. Sting spots Yukino next to a girl in overalls with braided pigtails and smiles at her awkwardly. To his surprise, Yukino smiles and waves back, clearly unaware of the drama going on between Rogue and Sting.

Sting’s eyes skim over the signs for some other clubs...Dance Club, Chess Club (it’s there he spots Rufus), Debate Club, Video Game Club (where Natsu is hard to miss, screaming at some heavy-set man about cheating), and Acapella Club.

Finally, Sting spots the club he came here to join: the LGBT+ club. But before he can walk over there and introduce himself, a voice echoes through the speakers set up in the grass. “Hi everyone! My name is Jenny Realight, and I’m your Student Body President for this semester! And this here is Hibiki Lates, my amazing Vice President.”

Sting sighs with annoyance and glances up at where the two of them are standing. Jenny Realight looks like a stereotypical sorority girl like you see in the movies: sorority shirt, tight jean shorts that show off her legs, long blond hair curled perfectly, and makeup that’s visible from here. Beside her stands Hibiki Lates, a slender young man with “handsomely messy” hair and a dazzling smile. They both made Sting feel even more pissed off than he already was. They were the kind of people he’d prefer not to associate with.

And so, he walks across the way towards the people he did want to associate with. There are people behind the booth, all sporting various pride pins and sitting in folding chairs. On the far left is a brown-haired woman with a bisexual pin wearing a crop top and maroon jeans, her sandaled feet up on the table, drinking out of a matte dark blue water bottle. In the center is just an empty chair, but Sting sees a white jacket draped over the back. On the right is a person with long green hair wearing a red jacket with a genderfluid pin and a gay pin. Sting already felt very welcomed.

“Err...hi, my name’s Sting Eucliffe, I’m new here…” He bites his lip nervously, then carries on. “And I’m uhm, I’m gay, and I was wondering if I could join the club.”

“Obviously,” the brown-haired girl grins lazily and hiccups, and it’s then that Sting realizes that water bottle definitely contains something stronger than water. “I’m Cana, and this is Freed. Hold on one sec, I’ll call Lyon over to get you signed up.” She takes a huge swig from her water bottle, hiccups, then turns her head and shouts over her shoulder, “OI! LYON! GET YOUR GAY ASS OVER HERE, WE GOT SOMEONE WANTING TO JOIN!”

The green-haired person (Freed?) smiles kindly at Sting. “Thank you for considering joining. We’re always happy to have new members.”

Sting grins and rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks. Uhm...sorry, I don’t mean to be rude but ah...your pronouns?”

“Oh!” Freed sits up a little taller, looking proud, smiling wider. “That’s not rude at all! In fact, I appreciate your consideration. They/them, please.”

Sting nods, mentally filing that way. “Okay, gotcha. They/them. Easy enough to remember.” He flashes Freed a shy smile, and they beam back at him.

“Ahem!”

Sting’s head snaps up at the sound of someone clearing their throat, then does a double take. The man standing above him was perhaps one of the most...eccentric...people he’s met so far. His hair, dyed bright white, has so much gel in it Sting swears he can see it shine in the sunlight even from under the cover of the booth. The man’s eyes are lined with black eyeliner, and he has a bit of white glitter on his eyelids. The top he wears is a black cropped sweater with light blue writing on it that says DRAMA QUEEN in big bold letters with a crown on the “Q”. A pansexual pride pin sits right over his heart, attached to the “shirt” (if you could even call it that). His pants are tight light-washed skinny jeans, and he tops off the look with a white belt with a sparkly buckle. Sting feels like he’s just walked into a gay bar and met one of the strippers.

The man shoots Sting a smug smile, then extends a hand. “Hello! I’m Lyon Vastia, I’m the Vice President of the LGBT+ club. Oh, and I’m also a member of the Improv Club, which you should join as well, we could always use new members.” He eyes Sting for a moment, the smirk widening. “I have a feeling you’d fit right in.”

Is he...flirting with me?! Sting screams mentally, feeling like he’s falling into some alternate dimension. He’s too stunned to shake Lyon’s hand, simply staring at the man in front of him in embarrassment.

Cana rolls her eyes and leans back further in her chair. “Lyon, chill. You’re scaring the poor kid shitless.”

Lyon sighs and passes Sting a sign-up sheet on a clipboard. “I’m simply trying to be a good host, Cana, because one of us has to.” He quirks an eyebrow in the direction of Cana’s “water” bottle, then clears his throat again and turns back to Sting. “If you sign and put your phone number down here, we’ll contact you about all club events. We meet every Wednesday at 3pm in Professor Bob’s classroom, our first meeting is next week.”

Sting takes the clipboard and the pen. There are four columns on the page, each with a question. What is your name? What is your phone number? What are your preferred pronouns? Are you out or closeted?*

Sting follows the page to the asterisk, finding a small note that says We simply ask this because we may sometimes do on-campus events, and if you are not out yet or are uncomfortable in participating in pride events, we won’t put you on the sign up list for responsibilities for set-up, etc.

Sting smiles at how considerate this is, then scans the list of names. Is Rogue…?

Returning Members:

Lyon Vastia (he/him), out.

Cana Alberona (she/her), out.

Freed Justine (they/them), out.

Meredy Fernandez (she/her), out.

Juvia Lockser (she/her), kind of…

Hibiki Lates (he/him), out.

Sting pauses for a second, blinking at that last name. Wasn’t that the guy from Student Government? Sting suddenly felt bad for prejudging him.

New Members:

Lisanna Strauss (she/her or they/them), out.

Flare Corona (she/her), out.

Kagura Mikasuki (she/her), closeted.

Eve Tearm (he/him), closeted.

Sting lets out a sigh at the lack of Rogue’s name, then realizes he has no idea if it was a sigh of relief or a sigh of disappointment. Pushing away his confusing feelings, he answers the questions: Sting Eucliffe, his phone number, he/him, and I’m out & proud.

He hands the clipboard back to Lyon and finally manages a smile again. “Thank you. I can’t wait for the first meeting. I wish I’d had this opportunity back in high school, I haven’t had enough queer friends throughout my life.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Cana tips back more liquid from her water bottle. “I’ll drink to that.”

Freed looks at Sting supportively. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. That’s why we’re here, to provide a safe space, spread awareness, and to help LGBT+ students meet other people like them.”

“All great goals.” Sting adjusts his beanie nervously, feeling his anxiety kick in just a bit. Do these people actually like me…? What if after the first meaning they decide they don’t want me there anymore…? “Well, um, thanks for helping me out...I should get going now, I’ve got homework to do.”

“Wait, Sting, before you leave,” Lyon holds out a hand, and Sting turns to look at him. “You’re a freshman, right?”

Sting nods, “Yeah, I’m totally new...only my second week here.”

Lyon shoots him a smile. “Then you probably haven’t been to a party yet, have you?”

“Oh shit!” Cana exclaims, her chair landing back on all fours with a thunk . “Yeah! This guy named Orga throws fucking awesome ragers, and most of the people at his parties are either queer or just hella chill with everything. If you wanna meet more LGBT+ people, you should totally come.”

Freed nods, “They are a great way to relieve some stress.”

“There’s one tomorrow night,” Lyon folds his arms across his chest. “Orga’s brother has a fairly big flat like 5 minutes from the campus, he lets everyone come over and party. If you want to come, we can meet out by the front sign?”

“Look,” Sting holds his hands up, “I appreciate the offer, but like, I’m not really interested in you-”

Lyon snorts. “I got that part. I was just teasing you. I’m inviting you as a friend. Think of me as your mentor in the college life of an LGBT+ person.” He moves his hands to his hips, smirking proudly. “I’m taking you under my wing.”

Cana laughs into her water bottle, “Pffft, please don’t. Remember what happened last time?”

Lyon sighs dramatically, “Oh, you bitch, it wasn’t even my fault. Why’d you have to bring that up?”

“Um-” Sting stammers out, starting to feel overwhelmed and anxious. “I’ll think about it! Um, you have my number on the sheet, ah, text me when you’re at the sign and...and I’ll let you know if I’m coming or not. Thanks!”

Not wanting to be there any longer, Sting takes off through the square towards the dorm rooms, wanting nothing more than to collapse into bed and watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine until he passed out. To his relief, he makes it there without running into anyone he knows, and immediately strips down to his boxers and socks and face-plants onto his bed. He jams his earbuds into his ears and pulls up Netflix, finally feeling relaxed with his stomach full of budget ramen and his body resting on the comfort of his favorite blankets.

He’s getting better, very slowly, day by day. His anxiety is something he pretends doesn’t exist, but the more it resurfaces, the more he realizes that repressing it only makes it worse. Now that he’s acknowledged it, he can tell when he needs a break from social interaction like this. The best thing to do is to detox by being naked (or mostly naked, since he had a roommate and he didn’t want Laxus to walk in and see his bare ass sticking out) and making himself laugh.

After a few episodes, his phone buzzes with a text message. For a split second Sting forgets that he blocked Rogue’s number and feels a spike of both anxiety and excitement, hurriedly clicking on the banner without even reading it. Instead, the message is a notification saying he’s been added to the group “Magnolia University LGBT+ Club”.

Both relieved and disappointed at the same time, Sting dumps his phone onto his nightstand amongst the food wrappers and Coke cans, and then buries his face into his pillow and lets sleep overtake him.

[mx-bebe31-blog]

Vampire!Jooheon

Vampire!Jooheon AU

Warnings? Honestly none - shocker ;)

Hope you enjoy!

Jooheon, depending on what vampire you asked, could be very different from the classic troupe of his kind, or just one in the same

It was like Nosferatu and Edward Cullen - what kind of vampire was Jooheon?

He certainly didn’t think he was either of them - he was just himself

While he deeply enjoyed poetry and classical music, he also couldn’t deny how he was completely enthralled with human scent

He definitely liked a certain blood type like most vampires, and would do anything to romance someone with his craving

Though through the years, there was never quite someone who suited him,,,,

Until you,,,

He thought it was so cliche - it could have came right out of one of his poetry journals

Even when he was staring at you, all he could think of was the great sonnets he’s read and written - describing you with wondrous analogies in his lyrical brain

His mouth watered, and his fangs pricked just the surface of his lips

Love at first sight was surely true, but it had taken him quite a while to experience it

And what a way to continue this perfectly story line, other than to simply go up to you and relent into your halo of beauty

“Oh...Thank you, oh my gosh...B-But, I-I’m taken.”

Despite your words that completely ruined the smooth storyline, Jooheon still couldn’t help but smile and say that it was only a compliment, though he did wish you may have been single

And that was when Jooheon realized what jealousy and envy and frustration could do to someone - even if that someone was so versed in history he would never act in such a befuddled and petty way-

He couldn’t help it. His journals became harsh scrawls of dark lead instead of the light cursive that barely dented a page

He ripped page after page out, the heavy heart creating a new carpet for him to stomp on

Even in his bed where he used to contemplate the meaning of his life - crumpled balls of paper and snapped pencils resided in wrinkled blankets

He sought to find you again, to find more about you and why you were already whisked away by someone who wasn’t him

Though he stopped in his tracks when he saw your object of affections

And normally he would say that any couple he saw together was destined in the stardust

But he could feel the ache in his heart that torn a new wound in the envy

Now, it was just self pity and loneliness

He knew he could wait it out - he had millennia

But he knew to capture your everything you needed to be with him soon

What Jooheon did was conniving and scheming, but he couldn’t care less

He made situations for both you and your significant other

First offering you a scholarship to your dream university for your major - it was named the Lee Foundation, and you screamed at the top of your lungs when you received it in the mail after trying to save money for two years to afford a regular college

And while you, your family and friends were happy, your significant other held another letter that completely contradicted yours

“I-I’m so sorry, (Y/n)...but, but look at this! I-It’s my dream, I could finally go to South Africa and go into my field study there.”

You both mourned over the letters, reading them a million times over as you sat together at your shared apartment’s island

“You have to go. You have to - I want you to. I love your dream even more than mine, and - holy shit it’s happening already. You worked hard for that biology and zoology degree, babe...you have to take it.”

“I know you say that, but this is saying I’ll be gone for four years -”

You shook your head, smiling, “Yeah, and I just got a scholarship for four years. This can work. We can do what we love, and you know I’d visit you. With this scholarship, I can save money for plane trips. We can Skype, we can talk to each other every week.”

Your significant other agreed, and Jooheon’s plan was set in motion

By the time your school semester started, your partner had been gone for four months already. You had the whole summer alone, working a full time job in the heat to make sure you would have enough to spend christmas break together

But little did you know, the kind stranger from all that time ago appeared at the college, too. In the same major as you, and thus, in the same classes for your first semester

You had forgotten him and it was perfect. You were far away from home, you wouldn’t dare think it was the same guy.

Jooheon had a fresh start

And he waited for you to come to him. He was the A Student who was well versed in Literature - and was definitely the most popular choice for a Shakespeare group project analysis

While Lit wasn’t your favorite, or even best subject - you thought you could do well with what you had.. Even if you hadn’t made any friends yet...Something would work out, right?

“Jooheon! Would you please be my partner for this project? I’ll totally cover you for Bio!”

You blinked as you watched a flock of people surround a guy in your class

You’ve definitely seen him during the school year, but admitted he was too handsome and popular for you

But..you couldn’t deny you loved Biology, and were well versed in it because of your partner who got a degree in it...They were in Africa - anyone who asked you wouldn’t believe it if they had the paper forms.

Though while you sat down in the learning center, trying to figure out which Shakespeare piece you were going to do a report on...someone sighed and sunk into the table next to yours.

It was...Jooheon. He looked tired, and...he was alone?

You decided to ignore it, that he probably just had a partner who didn’t want to work with him today. You scrunch your brow and try to read titles upon titles of poems and sonnets this guy wrote -

You sighed, not knowing a lick about this kind of stuff - much less writing a paper on it

“Don’t know, either?” A voice nearly startled you out of your seat

It was Jooheon, and he was looking right at you

“O-Oh.” You blushed a bit, pulling your textbook forward a bit, “Not really...I’m not the best at English poems, and sonnets…”

Jooheon gave a little grin, “Well, I’m not that good at science-y stuff, so...Everyone has their talents.”

This made you smile a bit, “A-Aren’t you in my Bio class with Mr. Clary?”

He tried to hide an embarrassed chuckle, “Yeah, but I’m already at a C. That last test really brought me down. If I don’t pass this next one I’ll be in trouble.”

You shouldn’t - You didn’t want to make it seem like you were bribing him into getting you a good grade in this class -

“Well...I’m good at Bio. I-I could help you with the next test, if you wanted to. Do you live in the dorms here?” You asked politely, not caring if he helped you or not - you just wanted to be nice.

He nodded, “Yeah, on the fourth floor. Do you?”

You nodded, “Third floor.”

He went quiet a bit before rubbing the eraser of his pencil on his head, “Do you maybe...wanna work together? Like you kinda help me with Bio, and we can pair up for this project? Everyone in class kept asking me to be their partner - it’s annoying.”

You felt your face heat up again as you closed your book and pressed your hands together

“Sure. If you want. Me and my friends always have movie-study nights in the workroom on the third floor. If we study really good, we all have a pot luck and watch a movie after. Every Saturday.”

He grins, and you’re sure you’ve never seen pretty dimples in your life, but his face just shines

“Cool. So...can I get your number, then? We can meet up for when we want to work on the projects together. Maybe if we have the same class together next semester, too, we can stay study partners.”

It’s sad how fast you almost forget that you are in a relationship but you remind yourself that Jooheon is just a friend!

A really attractive,,, nice,, casual,,, friend.

You don’t know how you and Jooheon kiss in a study room in the TLC a month later

It seems that so much happened over four weeks, that you just gave into your worst desire

You hate long distance relationships, and if your partner isn’t even bothering to call once every two to three weeks, who could blame you?

Six months is all it takes for you to tell your partner that it’s best if there is a break during these years between each other. Your partner felt the same, but they were still sorry about the entire ordeal

Meanwhile you were content with getting good grades, a scholarship of your dreams, and sitting on Jooheon’s lap as he nips and sucks on you like his favorite candy

You think it’s hot when he scrapes his teeth against your skin, he knows it, too

But it seems like he’s trembling, like he’s holding back

You rub his back as he stops what he’s doing

“Are you ok, heony?” You ask softly, but his fingers curl into your skin

“Yeah..sorry, I just can’t resist you.” He breathes into your shoulder

It makes you chuckle, a bit of ego rising

“It’s been awhile - all I want is you.”

You think you know what he means by that and you smile, brushing his shoulder with your hand, “Yeah?”

“Yeah...you’re just my type.”

Before you can pull back and giggle about it, Jooheon’s arms entrap you close to his chest

He places a hot kiss right over your engorged jugular

And to Jooheon, it’s like it really is Christmas time

He sinks his fangs into you and holds you in place as you jolt from the immediate pain and foreign feeling

“O-Ow, Heon, what are you doing, did you bite me -”

His moans are louder than your small whimpers and futile attempts to leave his arms

You can feel his tongue swipe over your skin, you feel like you might be bleeding, but maybe that’s just his spit?

Jooheon waits until he’s drank just enough to leave you on the confused bridge of consciousness

He holds your weak body as he looks you in the eye with a small smile.

His feelings of unrequited love and perfect scenes of daisy fields are back in his mind

He knows he won. He has you, and he will forever remember the taste of you

And he will keep on taking, and tasting, and tempting, for as long as he liked

Until the day he could hear the words ‘I love you’ from his soulmate

________________

And that’s a wrap for my first completed AU Series! I’m excited to start the next one, but it could be seen as *controversial* but I’m going to do it anyways because I’m a sucker for darker AU’s. 

Hope you enjoyed <3

-S

[hollywoodx4]

Sticking With the Schuylers (2:2)

Hi! I’m here! I’m starting one million things soon and my life is about to be utter chaos but I’m trying really hard not to let this story die-I have always had a bad habit of abandoning too soon. 

I saw Hamilton over the weekend (finally. I worked my ass off for those damn tickets.) and I felt so much personal inspiration. But I also felt so much for this story-these characters-their portrayal and where they could go. There so much more to be said here, that’s why there’s a book 2! 

If you’d like to be put onto the tag list for this book, let me know. Until then, here’s another piece of this very, very long love letter to Eliza Schuyler.

1  2  3  4   5   6   7   8   9   10   1112   I  13  14   15   16   17   18A  18B   18C I19   20   21   22   23   24   25  26   27  28   29   I  30  31  32 33 34  35 36  3738  39 40  41  42 I 43  44  B 45 46  47 48 49  50 ---------- 2:1

Happiness looks impossible without you here.

Through the glass, the chill and the snow and the impassable fog of white

Through the storm, you are here.

I am here. We are here.

There has never been a lovelier word than us when it hops into the air from your lips, dripping sweetness, gold as hard-sought honey I selfishly store for storm filled days.

It is a sweetness I will never grow accustomed to.

In your eyes, I am enough.

I have never been enough before.

To sweet kisses and small smiles; to the harmony of your voice reaching my eager ears, healing.

To you, my Eliza.

                 Alexander likes to write her letters. Sometimes they’re short, a stick-figure representation of himself with a smile bigger than his face, a few choice words like good luck or miss you or love you. He writes down things he sees throughout his day, keeps them in his pocket in a list he brandishes the next time they’re able to talk. There isn’t much organization to the way he pens his scatter-thoughts onto paper for her, only in that it has become a custom for him to do such a thing. Sometimes the words come on napkins, slightly crinkled with a stain on a corner, circled with a sorry written over artfully formed espresso droplets. (She finds them artful, almost provocative with some of the words that trace their outline. Her friends find her collection of napkins and cut-outs from coffee cups to be a bit much. She doesn’t care.)

The best letters are the ones Eliza finds later than intended, another habit Alexander has grown accustomed to. Instead of giving her each of his thoughts at one time he hides them, stuffs them in drawers or shoes or the pockets of her jackets when he thinks she won’t notice. He doesn’t need her immediate feedback-or any feedback at all, really-but he receives it with a smile and a boost to his own morale. She’ll call, or text, to let him know that she’s found one.

               “It’s number 104, on the back of a gum wrapper in that big tan bag I bring to class all the time. I almost threw it away, Alex. What would I have done without being able to see a word like temptress written in your handwriting?”

               He numbers the letters, starting with the back of a takeout menu on the night they’d first met. They grow from 1 to 10 to 100 as rapidly as his feelings progress; alarming and sudden, and with the rushing of thoughts he can’t keep to himself. He doesn’t know that she’s keeping them until 150. He’s in the room when she finds it, wedged between the pages of her well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. She reads through the shorter phrases then, his words fighting their way off of the page to wrap her in protection. She grins, kissing his cheek and moving to her closet.

It’s there, in a powder-blue box hidden behind a stack of jeans, that she puts the folded up literature. He peers over in her direction to find the contents of the box nearly spilling out, gum wrappers and napkins and haphazardly folded sheets of paper gathered in one space. She tucks the wrapper within its mess and sneaks the box back to its original place, and when she’s turned around again his eyes are wide, struck with amazement.

               “Were those my letters?”

               “All of them, except for the ones I’m sure I haven’t found yet. I’m going to need a bigger box pretty soon.” Her voice lifts, presents itself with air that fills her lungs and lifts her soul, allows her to brandish that smile. It’s that smile that’s produced his thousands of words. It is the perfect, silent instrument; whether it is accompanied by  bell-toned laughter or sleepy yawns, a hand in his hand or her lips on his, it sends beautiful tones of bliss to his once worn-down soul. It’s that smile that produces letters 1 through 150, and it’s that smile that will produce hundreds more.

               She finds letter 160 in the middle of a session; there, in between the neatly placed  layers of books and pens and charcoals within her canvas bag, is a handed-back math test graded in red pen with a 98%, Alexander Hamilton written in his scratched handwriting at the top. At the edge of the numbers and red-inked markings are words for her.

               Happiness looks impossible without you here;

               She smiles to herself, skims the writing and lets his words find their way to her heightened stress. It hasn’t been long since she’d found the last letter, handed over to her between classes earlier in the morning. These things have a way of keeping their meaning, staying sacred in the way that they appear to her by more than just serendipity. His words come to her in the times she needs them, whether their meaning directly ties to her current stressors. Eliza interprets them in fortune-cookie manner, taking his words and stretching them to match what he would say if he was there at the moment she found them.  

Happiness looks impossible without you here;

There are two big potted plants in the corner of Lisa’s office. One sits on the windowsill, overlooking the darkness of the winter nights and the fog that rolls steadily in with continually changing temperatures. There are lush green plumes of aloe, bold and thick, accompanied in a long ceramic planter by two rounded cacti. One is smaller, symmetrical, with spines like peach-fuzz on boys who played hockey for their private school and pretended they didn’t smoke weed in the locker room. The other is larger, a bit grander. It stands perfectly in its place; performing, almost. In the months Eliza had gone over to the window in this room, stood and studied the cacti while feigning thought and killing time, she’d seen the bloom of a sharply hued flower, full and pink. She’d come back the next week to a barren cactus and a lecture about her matching journal.

She hadn’t written much of anything; a few sparse details lined the pages, although she carried the book in her bag consistently. There were things to be written, of course; a barrage of memories often came while speaking to Lisa, or on her way back from a session. Most often they came at night, when Eliza had hung up her video call with Alex and rolled over in bed, sighed the breath of loneliness that had only come with their parting. And then the wall hits.

They come in groupings of two or three, typically; small things, little moments she’d tucked away in the far reaches of memory. They’re dusty, of course, but as the sessions wear on and the healing increases, the recollections are polished.

               From her side of the fog, there is nothing; he is there, but as a presence she remembers with fondness. When she tries to reach out to him her limbs become numb, her mind littered with phantom movements and phrases and calls for help that never quite articulate. As the fog increases it seems to swallow her whole, carrying her bell-toned laughter and waist-flared dresses, her heels and curled hair and sunny optimism. There isn’t much to life within the fog; voices murmur, their words unrecognizable as she struggles to take note of their lectures. Her body aches and groans with each movement, pulsing and throbbing as if to scream, to beg for breaks she gives willingly each time. There is far more sitting within the fog-far more staring and numbing and waiting for the time to change to another day, a better day. In the fog, there aren’t many better days.

               Her journal is clouded in waves of grey paint; it’s the way of communication that lends itself most easily to Eliza, who has not spoken much at all the past few weeks. Each session begins with Lisa’s thumbing through the pages, wordless as its contents are, taking notes-always taking notes-of the greyscale patterning of paints. She attempts to ask, more than once-

“What’s the significance of this…of this murky grey covering all of these pages?” Eliza shrugs.

“Have you written anything yet? Have you remembered?”

She shrugs again, and for a moment the fog dissipates. There are flashes of red- a dark and brilliant merlot spilling through the steam. Her ears begin to ring, sharp and overbearing, taking over each of her senses with boundless amounts of pain. There is no way to decipher one brutal noise over the other; a cacophony, a curse. Her body burns and her head aches with the allowance of the flood, aches until she forces the fog to drive everything back once more. In the fog, there is no communication-but in the fog, there is no pain.

Are hearts meant to endure pain?

She ponders the question often; there is a surprising amount of moments to think throughout the day, even when Eliza has made it a point to keep herself busy. Thoughts can occupy the small, empty space at the forefront of her mind with an alarming colonization. Her spirit is wounded. She can see the expanse of Lisa’s room even when she is away from it, hear the splashing of the fountain or the curated racing of a black-inked pen on a yellow legal pad. She wonders often in these moments what kinds of things could be written on these lines, especially when she is barely able to complete a coherent thought for herself. What kinds of things could this stranger be inferring about her silence, her struggle?

Eliza finds silence to be her best company; if she does not speak about the pictures that resurface from the corner of her mind, there is a stubborn sort of hope that in time, they will be erased. If she does not permanently pen the thoughts to paper, or paint them as a master making careful copies, the pain will vanish as it is forgotten. It works, for a while. Eliza lets the fog roll forward as she pours her soul into her work, hard-headed and determined. For a moment in time she is unwavering, a week of compliments and successes, passed back projects that echo the success of forgetting.

Even this does not last long. The first week of February brings Lisa’s new assignments;

“Sit down in the silence. Sit, and think. Let yourself feel. Write it down.”

She nods. She tries. There is one night, straight after Lisa’s request, where Eliza attempts to recall everything she’d pushed aside. She carves out the time-it isn’t hard to come by now that she has to live alone. Setting out the barely altered canvas of the journal she had been given, Eliza stares at its pages with tear-brimmed eyes. The night’s session had been spent in a similar manner, Lisa guiding her through an exhausting meditation process, Eliza talking through a sharpening recollection of a night just a year before.

               There were words, slanderous and fierce, spilling from his drunken lips with the last few droplets of vodka he’d yet to consume. She can barely hear them over the searing strength of physical pain; a row of fingerprints already reddened on both arms, a raised line of red along the left side of her shoulder. The echo of bone against wood fills the apartment, but the chilling sound is only momentary. He muffles her cries with a hand over her mouth. She lets her ideals of romance consume her thoughts, taking over in silent cries wondering why this moment doesn’t feel as ‘right’ or ‘whole’ as what she’d been taught to believe.

“Shut up! You wouldn’t have been playing games with me if this isn’t what you wanted.”

Words fly from his mouth like weapons, hitting her harder than the physical wounds as they consume her naivety; maybe there is truth within him. Maybe she had been teasing him. Maybe she deserves it. She lets him take over. She closes her eyes and prays.

There’s a song Eliza’s mother used to sing to them each night, all three girls tucked up to their chins in Angelica’s full-sized bed after story time. They’d be a mass of tangled limbs and hair falling into each other’s faces, three girls whose mother whispered words like ‘sweetheart’ and ‘honey’ and brushed her hand over each of their rosy cheeks. It was some sort of catholic hymn, something sweet and slow. It talked of miracles and love and a happiness that has finally been found. Her mother used to tell her girls that she was “generously blessed with all the right things” before tucking them all in, side-by-side, a sisterhood crafted by fate rather than biology. They’d snuggle close, all three sisters, because even as children they understood the comfort of each other’s company. Eliza would find herself between Peggy and the wall, listening to their mother’s docile voice with drooping eyelids and a blissful soul, falling asleep far earlier than her sisters. She’d fight to stay up for the hymn, however, even when her tiny body ached from the playground playing, picture coloring tasks of the day. She’d always wait until the last resounding “all my love” to let her eyes shut and her body curl into Peggy’s.

The night she began to remember the things she’d shut out, her mother’s song flew into her head. Eliza disguised her tears just long enough to call her, to ask her to sing the song one more time. Catherine, taken back by the sudden request and the time of night, only let the confusion last for a heartbeat. She sighed into the song as if she were meant to sing it-it’s her song, she has taken command of it by the way it has engrained itself into her daughters’ memories. For a moment, Eliza is just a child tucked up to her chin in blankets, soothed by the breathing of her sisters and her mother’s forehead kisses. For a moment, she’d forgotten the way she’d closed her eyes to that song just a year before, with James’s weight over her body and resignation in her soul.

She’d forgotten.

Pain had been an abstract feeling until it became her normality. Each day became a choice; do I walk the line of a fog-filled existence, or do I let my bare feet touch the hot coals to get to the other side? For a while the coals had been enticing; the reddened embers underneath hadn’t seemed like much, and the promise of a brighter future felt closer and more attainable. But after the first night, after the entrapment of vivid memories and calling her mother, Eliza chose to escape into the fog.

Sometimes, Lisa asks her about Alex. Eliza begins to notice this early on, intuitive and curious about her current standings as if this were a classroom instead of a place of healing. She answers, recounting calls in the middle of the night when he couldn’t settle on a phrase for his writing, or the voice he would use when ordering takeout over the phone. Eliza recognizes the use of these questions, the way Lisa herself seems to sit back a bit when she asks them. The room expands a bit during these moments, broadening and brightening and making room for her to breathe. It’s lighter when she’s able to pull out her letters, share what she has chosen as she recites his words through widening grins.

“The letters make my day. It’s incredible-I can be coming home from class, hanging up my coat and there’s one in my pocket. The other day, there was one in the fridge with the eggs. Even today, with this one falling out of my bag…he knows when I’m down, and he’s always the first one there to help me back up. And he doesn’t do it for recognition, or for his own benefit.” It helps her breathe just thinking about her tucked-away moments of happiness, the way they brighten and lift and pull her away from everything for a bit. She settles back on the couch, holds the old math test in both hands as precious cargo as Lisa allows her a moment of reflection. When she looks up the air hangs a bit heavier, almost unnoticeable except for Lisa’s near silent sigh, not so well hidden from Eliza’s skills of perception. She’s tempted to ask what might be bothering her therapist but stops herself. There is still a bubble of safety. This zone of comfort is an enjoyable break from the unavoidable.

“What does Alex think about your separation?”

A question that knocks her from her sanctuary; his name has not yet been wrapped around bad feelings, and her intention to keep him from the association with words like hurt or sad has been slowly slipping from her grasp from the moment she’d met him. She shrugs at first, folding and unfolding the latest letter in busied fingers. Eliza watches each intricate crease of the paper come together seamlessly, then fall back apart with her own actions. It feels unfair.

“He’s…dealing with it. We’re working through it.”

“Do you talk about it often with him?” Eliza, unwilling to let the initial desire to hide  away upon the swell of emotions running relays through her torso, hums as she waits to formulate her response.

“I really believe in communication. Honesty is the one thing I’ve always tried to have…”

“…but?”

“But there are things I hesitate with. Like, when our appointment is over and I call him and he asks how everything went…sometimes, I don’t know what to say.”

“What do you want to say?”

“That’s just it, I don’t know. Sometimes I want to tell him everything, if I feel okay and I learned something new, or if you’ve told me that something might help us as a couple.” Eliza takes a pause, training her eyes on the flowerless cactus on Lisa’s windowsill. The hum of the cheap electric fountain has become a permanent installation to her own breathing pattern, it seems, and she rides with the feeling as she sorts herself out. “Sometimes, I don’t want to say anything at all. Honestly, there have been days where I’ve left here feeling ten times worse than when I came, and I just want to go home and process it all on my own.”

“And do you?”

“Usually, but I just-I feel so bad. I don’t want to drag him down, but I also don’t want to leave him in the dark. It’s the communication, I just…I end up feeling like I’m keeping secrets from him.”

Lisa nods. She jots a few things down, Eliza envisioning the connection of lines and patterns that indicate an answer, some kind of sign. Still shaking over the earlier memories, it is a welcomed moment of reprieve to sit and watch her therapist work. It’s the way she brings it back to James that makes her so brilliant, so compatible to Eliza’s past and her mindset. She explains subconscious actions as if they were second nature. It’s not you, it was him. You’re not a bad person if you don’t share, you’re human. Alexander should understand, if his notes are any indication of how he feels about you. It’s worth a conversation. It’s this validation that carries her through, the thought that her actions have a cause and a purpose. That validation is freeing, and Eliza breathes a sigh of relief just by the nurturing look the crosses over Lisa’s kind eyes.

It’s become a task to leave the office, shrug on her coat and fasten each button, carry herself down to a car she’s called to give her time to sit and process everything. This night is no different; the relief is still there, but is coupled with the heavy exhaustion of remembrance-of the journal in her bag covered in numbing greys and violent flashes of red. It is a mark of her life, the lack of structure and the busy rush of painting, not too much but just enough to relay her feelings without having to write the words that would seal them to paper. It’s a step, toddling and nervous. The wave is still there, rolling along and carrying her mindlessly with it, but her head pokes above the water. Fresh air has never felt more relieving.

“Hey, how was it tonight?”

“It was okay…” Her hesitation leaves a lingering pause on the line between them. The tires of her car roll gently along the pavement, occasionally squishing across piles of slushed snow and mud, browning them and wrecking their perfect, freshly fallen illusion. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it-not all of it, anyway.”

“Okay.” It is an immediate answer, one that comes in crisp through the line and tips up the corner of her mouth. “Want me to come over, or would you rather be alone?”

“Can we just talk tonight? Tell me a story?”

When Alex leads in to a tale from his economics class and some crazy feud with an upper-classman, when she leans her head over to feel the cold of the window on her cheek, there is something else that stirs within the roaring wave and the relief of Lisa’s words. She smooths a rosy pink in circular patterns over a fresh page of her journal, letting it build on the edge of her hand. The pigment is fresh, without a dent made on its surface although blacks and greys and reds within the same package have been replaced multiple times. Hope isn’t a feeling she’s been able to manifest on paper, but the look of its warmth within a wash of despair is something to hold on to.