3mymoneyblog

[onlyswan]

summary: in which a shameless ex-lover makes your bad day worse and jungkook can’t help but to go wherever you are.

> fluff, dashes of angst / wc: 4k

> warnings: mention of blood bc oc gets scratched :( + is ready to throw hands at jk’s ex and then cries lol, taehyung cameo and mentions of yeontan :P + a line of jk reminds me of the orpheus drabble <3

note: last one for a while as i take a rest from writing and process jimin’s album <3 reblogs and feedback are always appreciated! it goes a long way :]

—

“jungkook, you’ve been in there for an hour! answer your phone!”

you click your tongue in annoyance, bouncing your thighs up and down as you fiddle with the controller and collect your kills with reckless tenacity. the ringing of the third phone call he’s receiving in the past ten minutes is overpowering the volume of the game, which you turned all the way down just enough so that you can faintly yet clearly hear it. well, right now, you can’t anymore. again.

“baby, you’re home?!” jungkook yells in surprise, and you spare him a glance.

half of his naked torso is peeking out of the bathroom door, and he looks like a maltese puppy who heedlessly jumped into a swimming pool, hair still dripping wet and pure excitement painted all over his face.

“who’s calling anyway? you can answer it for me!“

“can’t. i’m playing call of duty.”

“you’re what?!” he exclaims, but his voice enters your ear then escapes from the other as you remain deeply absorbed in the game. he disappears for a minute before emerging from the bathroom, half-naked with a striped white and khaki towel wrapped around his waist down to his knees.

you’re situated on the floor with your back leaning on the couch. he stands beside you with his hands on his waist, watching the television screen in sheer curiosity, which then morphs into astonishment. “wow, you’re actually playing it… i haven’t seen you touch your controller in months. but why are you sudden- yah! what is this? how are you doing so good?!”

the phone lying on the center table lights up once more. the incessant noise is seriously getting into your nerves and you’ve had enough of it, gritting your teeth as you snap. “i’m begging you. answer it. or i might break something.”

the irritation embedded in your voice makes him jut out his bottom lip sadly. more than that, your facial expression and body language evidently scream that you’re feeling on edge. you didn’t even bother to let him know that you’ve come home, and he’s uncertain if you nearly muted the volume because you don’t want to listen to the ear-shattering sounds of ammunition being fired or you don’t want him to hear them.

he picks up the phone per your request, eyebrows knitting in confusion when he fails to recognize the number flashing on the screen.

“it’s an unregistered number. i don’t know who- oopsie-” he scrunches his nose, chuckling because he accidentally ended the call when he muted the device. it vibrates with a new message from the same person not too long after.

“it’s my ex?” he blinks with a blank expression on his face. he intently reads the content of the text, tugging at the silver ring piercing the corner of his lower lip. “uhhh- she’s… asking me to put in a good word for her… because she applied to be an in-house choreographer at- at the company.”

on the other hand, you feel like a bucket of ice water was dunked over your head at the mention of your boyfriend’s ex-lover. your vigorous focus on the game wavers, but luckily, you’re already so close to finishing, and you still maintain half a mind to end the game in your own terms. the word ‘victory’ flashes on the giant screen, and you almost break down into tears because god knows you needed a fucking win today.

jungkook gasps in amazement, whipping out the camera app to capture a photo of your achievement. “did you just fucking win solo versus squads?”

the thing is… you’re not the biggest fan of these games. sure, you play occasionally (only using his accounts because you like how he already has most items unlocked and you can freely play around… you like to pretend that you’ve never been scolded for making him rank down before), but you prefer the relaxing types with adorable and colorful graphics. and just like he said, you haven’t touched your controller in months, which must be the reason why he’s pleasantly surprised. you won’t be shocked if you get bombarded by his gamer friends to play with them tomorrow, by the looks of your boyfriend proudly typing away at his keyboard while smiling from ear-to-ear.

“don’t move on too fast.” you breathe out a deep sigh before standing on your feet. “which ex? that bitch you broke up with because she kept on picking stupid fights with your friends? and now she wants to work with them?”

the combination of your harsh intonation and the recollection of dreadful memories make him wince. that relationship didn’t end on good terms, so this is confusing to him as well. it was a person he wholeheartedly liked, but they barely lasted six months because the way she treated those who are near and dear to him, unkind and discorteous, eventually turned him off and made him nothing but angry. she tried to convince him that she could change, but it was his decision that could no longer be changed.

does it even matter? he didn’t dwell on it too long, anyway. because then, he met you.

“yes,” he shortly answers, flipping his phone so the screen is facing you.

your brain chooses to not register any of the other characters used in the text except for those at the end: the flirty ‘Thanks babe! I miss u so much. See u around soon. Let’s catch up’ and winking emoji blowing a red heart next to it. you release yet another sigh, this time shaky and frustrated, and you gently move his hand aside to get the phone out of your sight. a headache is beginning to blossom at your temples, and you truly do not have the energy to deal with this bullshit right now.

“you must know how i feel about this, right?”

“i’m not sure-”

“like if she calls you ‘babe’ infront of my face i won’t hold back and i will claw her eyes ou-“

“okay, okay, baby, i got it!” he chuckles, taking a hold of your arms to pull you closer to him. he plants a sweet kiss to your lips, hoping that would aid in putting your mind at ease. “i won’t let her call me that again, hmm? or do anything that will make either of us uncomfortable for that matter.”

“good. i trust you. do whatever you want.” you speak softly, giving his rosy cheek light pats. he always looks a dash more attractive when fresh from the shower, so entrancingly hypnotic when bare-faced that it makes you want to fall on your knees and worship the stardust making up his existence.

unfortunately, your mind is too clouded and restless and you can’t stay to admire him some more. you withdraw from his hold, the cold drops of water from his hair sliding down to your forearm and you wipe them away on his towel.

“i’m going out for a bit. i need to buy something at the convenience store.”

you don’t wait for him to answer. you head straight to the bedroom to collect your essentials.

“wait for me. i’ll go with you!”

you return wearing a long purple jacket over your blue t-shirt and white sweatpants, also carrying your phone, wallet and pepper spray.

“i’ll be fine alone. i got this.” you wave the small bottle infront of him before stuffing it in the pocket of your sweatpants.

the front door rings as it opens and shuts, and jungkook despises the weight sitting on top of his chest— heavier and heavier with your absence. he still wanted to insist on tagging along, worried because it’s already late at night, but he gave up when he sensed that you really need to be left alone.

“shit, let me take care of this first.” he tilts his head to the side, and then the other, cracking his neck before he scrolls through his contact list to make an important call.

—

the soles of your sneakers scratch the rough asphalt as you lazily drag yourself to the convenience store. you’re having one of those kind of bad days- you woke up this morning mad at the world for a reason you couldn’t decipher, and it only got worse after you left the house for work. you brushed against someone while chasing the bus and the zipper of their bag scratched your arm that it bled uncontrollably. the nearest restaurant to your workplace was closed and you had to walk an extra kilometer. you didn’t have the time to text jungkook and complain about the shitty day you’ve been having. and you had to suffer the bus ride home beside an old teacher from high school who never ran out of uninteresting stories to tell.

oh! and how can you not mention that you were subjected to remembering that your boyfriend fell in love with other people before he knew you? the mere mental image of jungkook being emotionally and physically intimate with somebody else is a strong punch in the gut that makes you want to run in a corner and hurl.

and to rub salt on the wound, his ex-girlfriend, who is more than comfortable to reach out to him with an old term of endearment, wants to work at close proximity with him after saying ‘i miss you so much’… was the ‘so much’ necessary? was saying ‘i miss you’ necessary at all? you don’t know her intentions or if she even has any, and you don’t care if they’re good or bad. you simply cannot bear the idea of having to be constantly plagued by these vexatious musings.

maybe a good cry would help, but the tears won’t come out of your stinging eyes blinded by bright and flickering neon shop signs lined up beside the street. they’re saltwater in your lungs, making it difficult for you to breathe and to make sense of why you don’t feel like yourself today. it’s hormones. it’s always the hormones, you try telling yourself.

—

you’re sitting infront of the glass wall separating the sidewalk and the convenience store, watching the humans and the cars speeding past without much thought in your head… except for the hellish torture you’re inflicting on yourself. you sniffle loudly as you chew the spicy noodles in your mouth. your tongue is tingling and almost numb, but you lift up the flimsy wooden chopsticks to eat more of it because somehow, this is exactly what you needed. perhaps, it wasn’t accidental when you ended up pouring most of the buldak sauce.

however, your own little bubble gets popped by a tattooed hand you recognize all too well. it sets down a bottle of cold water infront of your cup of noodles.

“hi there.”

jungkook kisses the top of your head before occupying the stool on your left, which is the second seat farthest from the door that chimes every time a new customer walks in. he is very much not naked anymore, wearing a plain white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. his hair is still damp, bangs forming a perfect comma on his forehead, and the thin silver chain dangling from his delicate neck sparkles when the light grazes it.

“aigoo, why are you so messy?“

the doe eyes behind his glasses smile at you warmly as he wipes your swollen lips, the paper napkin you’ve been neglecting now stained with the dark red sauce.

“you’re here?” you ask dumbly, wanting to slap yourself right after the words escape your mouth because yes, what the fuck, he’s here. he’s touching you, and he’s real.

“of course, i’m here,” his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek before he answers, sounding upset. he removes his glasses and places it on top of the long white table. “i just wore the first things i saw then speedwalked here. i was sorting out the laundry and your handkerchief had blood all over it! care to explain?”

you guiltily avoid eye-contact, reverting your attention to the food as you poke and mix the noodles that have gone dry due to the cold air. “you didn’t have to. i already cleaned the wound twice- my left arm just got scratched.” you shrug your shoulders meekly. “i had a bad day, that’s all.”

“who do i have to fight, huh? who hurt you and ruined your day?” he takes your chin between his thumb and index finger, lifting it up to make you look at him. his sincere concern is written all over his widened round eyes and creased forehead. “tell me, baby. i’ll make them pay.”

“well,” you anxiously sink your teeth on your bottom lip, a hesitant effort to control yourself because the particular word tastes too sour on your tongue. “your ex was just my last straw, you know? i don’t even want to call you ‘babe’ anymore.” your voice gradually quiets down in exasperation.

“why not?!”

you roll your eyes with a huff, pushing his hand away. “you’ll just remember her every time i say it.”

you grab the bottle of water, twisting off the cap and hissing when its ridges scratch the heel of your palm. you take big gulps of the beverage, feeling refreshed after the burning onslaught that assaulted your mouth.

“oh, come here. you- i need you closer.”

you squeak when you feel the heavy metal chair moving closer towards jungkook’s direction, one hand flying to your mouth and the other gripping his shoulder in fear of falling. he jokingly copies you when you send him a sharp glare. he puts an arm around you to affectionately hold the curve of your waist, anchoring his elbow on the table to rest his face on the palm of his hand.

“i took care of that, alright? i asked the company and they told me they put her on the waitlist. pretty sure she knows, too- that she’s not getting the job.“ he raises his perfectly shaped eyebrows in jest, playfully sticking out his tongue. “i told her i can’t help her, and not to contact me again in the future because i’m in a committed relationship. with you.” he squeezes your hip to reiterate his words. “then i blocked her number. i thought i did it before, but i guess i forgot to? ah, i don’t know!”

a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips and he happily grins when he notices, deep dimples making an appearance. unable to resist the urge, he briefly draws closer to kiss your cheek.

“besides, i forgot she even existed. why would i think of her when my favorite person is right infront of me? that’s absurd.”

he was truthfully flabbergasted at the foggy memories that resurfaced when he read her name, had one of those ‘oh, that’s right, this happened,’ and ‘why the fuck did i like this person again?’ moments.

“you’re the only one i think of when i hear the word ‘babe’. and when i hear love songs, or breakup songs, because they make me imagine us breaking up and i get so fucking sad.” his expression crumples into a look of sheepishness after spitting out the unplanned confession.

it’s terrifying at times, how an imaginary breakup with you feels more painful than his past heartbreaks combined. he almost lost you once, and he won’t let that happen again. he removes his hand on your waist to tenderly caress your hair when you bury your face in your hands.

shaking your head, you giggle at the genuine distress lacing his voice when he said the last sentence. “what are you saying?”

and then it finally happens.

restrained sobs replace the carefree giggles racking your body. your hot tears soak the palm of your hands until they drip down to your wrists. your frail voice comes out trembling, shattered, and disgustingly vulnerable for a space scattered with prying eyes and ears.

“…i just- fuck, i don’t want to say this but- i don’t think you understand- that i’m selfish. and i want you all for myself. i can’t stand that everybody wants to have you. i hate it, jungkook.”

your name rolls off from his tongue with a soft sigh as he pulls you in for a tight embrace. the comfort of his love and warmth further breaks you down, and you almost make yourself bleed to keep your cries quiet. his silken lips brush against your temple before he puckers them for a kiss that lasts four, five, six… seconds. you begin wondering if he might just stay like this forever, not that you mind, until he detaches himself to speak and you hear the smooching sound that signals the end of it.

“shhh, trust me, baby. i do.” he rubs your shoulder to soothe your tensed up body. “but i don’t care about that. they can die trying because i only want to be yours.”

you swallow the lump in your throat as his reassuring words tug at your heartstrings. you wiggle out of his secure arms, wiping your tears with the paws of your jacket as you force a smile. “it’s embarrassing. i don’t want to cry here.”

“how about in there, then?” he teasingly undoes the third button of his shirt, exposing more of his honey skin to the cool air. it reveals the rest of his silver chain, and his defined pecs are also peeking out. you whine in protest of his scandalousness, pounding his chest lightly with your closed fist.

he chuckles, corners of her crinkling with mischief as he buttons himself up again. “i’m kidding, i’m kidding-” he cradles your face in his hands, gingerly wiping away the tears still rolling down your cheeks.

between the two of you, he admits that he’s the one who cries more easily. it takes a colossal build-up of emotions for your tears to be released, and today’s influx caused your sink to overflow at long last. seeing you weep, it feels like a direct stab to the heart— especially unbearable, twisting deeper, when he’s part reason why. even so, it’s a big relief when the weight you’re carrying is being unloaded. but he understands that you don’t want to do that here… not here.

“as if you’ll let someone steal me away from you, huh? i know you, you cunning minx.”

you feign innocence, batting your eyelashes. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“that’s exactly what i’m talking about.” he smirks before planting a chaste kiss on tip of your nose. “don’t cry anymore. i love you.”

“i love you, too. but-” you sniffle, frowning at him as you motion at the cup of noodles infront of you. “why did you have to go and make me feel better? i don’t feel like finishing this anymore. it’s too spicy.”

“yeah, i can tell. look at your face. oh-” he squeezes your puffy face in one hand. “you were already crying eating that, poor baby… i’ll just finish the rest, how about that?”

“please,” you smile sweetly, delighted with his preposition. “i’ll buy ice cream. do you want anything? beer?”

“beer-” his face lights up like a christmas tree when it dawns on him that you said the word simultaneously.

you beam proudly, recounting the time you’ve been well-acquainted with every nook and cranny of jungkook’s essence of being. “did i pass the test? i’m taking my master’s degree in kookology.”

—

after jungkook finished your spicy noodles, he claimed his appetite only treated it as an appetizer and it demanded to be served ramyeon for the main course. that brings you to this moment, your boyfriend applying bandaids on your arm while he waits for his food to be cooked. concurrently, you devour your cone of vanilla ice cream.

“babe, i think two is enough.“ you attempt to stop him from opening another one of the teddy bear patterned bandaids. he found them displayed by the counter when he paid for the ramyeon, and only then did he realize that he forgot why he ran to you in the first place.

“they’re not- it goes all the way down your elbow.”

and you can’t argue with him because he looks undoubtedly pissed off, his expression instantly darkening when he saw the damage that damn zipper did to your skin. if this happened to him, he would be in a terrible mood for the rest of the day, too.

he plants a healing kiss on top of each one and your heart flutters at the loving gestures, but you feel a little ridiculous walking around with three bandaids running across your arm. you decide to wear your jacket again in order to hide them, since you’re freezing beside the airconditioner anyway.

jungkook starts eating his second round of noodles, but not before boasting that he perfectly separated the wooden chopsticks unlike you. you roll your eyes at his cocky grin and tiny dance of celebration, taking another bite of the cone you’ve consumed halfway.

the two of you comically freeze at the same time when a familiar ringtone tickles your ears.

“who would be calling at this hour? it’s 1am!” jungkook puts down his chopsticks to fish out his phone from the depths of his pocket, his thick satoori accent slipping out as he chides the person on the other line. he shakes his head with a laugh when he sees the name written on the screen. “ey, of course, it’s him again. i knew it.”

you watch him with an amused smile, his reaction giving you an inkling of who it is.

he answers the video call and props up the phone on his tall can of beer, grabbing his chopsticks to resume eating. “hyung, did you just wake up again?”

judging by the background, taehyung is in his gaming room. the given keywords being messy hair and eyes as puffy as yours, you’re pretty sure the answer to your boyfriend’s question is yes.

his deep and rough voice rumbles through the speaker. “jungkook-ah, i just caught up to our gc. where’s ___?”

“with me. why?” jungkook answers, words muffled as he chews and bounces his legs with the pleasure of having his food craving beyond satisfied.

taehyung ignores his question for the second time, instead calling out your name to catch your attention.

“whyyy?” you mimic his sulky tone, slightly shifting the phone to the side to show him your face.

you snicker when he flashes you his famous boxy smile, almost choking on your ice cream when his following remarks cause jungkook to throw a fit.

“play with me. no one else is awake and i’m getting bored of jungkook. he doesn’t want to play new games.”

“yah! you know i can still hear you, right?!” he takes a break from chugging his beer to throw his retort.

“i know, i wanted you to.” taehyung blows a raspberry at his best friend.

you grimace, stealing the opportunity to butt in before their banter lengthens. “listen, i’ll play with you if you let me play with tannie again.”

he opens his mouth to answer, but he quickly closes it again to stare at you nonchalantly. you impatiently quirk an eyebrow at his silence. “soooo?”

“wait there. i’ll think about it.”

and then he ends the call.

jungkook throws his head back, bursting into vibrant laughter after witnessing the interaction, and your head drops on the table with a pitiful whimper.

with bam staying at the training center for the meantime, you awfully miss the rush of happy chemicals flooding your brain in the company of man’s best friend. it was two weeks ago when you and jungkook hung out at taehyung’s house. you spent some time with yeontan at the park after you complained about getting bored watching them play ‘i’m on observation duty’. and he wasn’t… very happy when his dog started flat-out ignoring him in favor of your presence ever since you came back from the walk. tannie was adamant on sitting on your lap during dinnertime, even almost following you past the front door when it was time for you to leave.

“aww, my baby.” jungkook strokes your back with faux sympathy. “he hasn’t moved on from it yet. give him some time… maybe, like, five more minutes?”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[heartfullofleeches]

Monster reader is my top fav of ALL readers.

Like just imagine if Monster reader just wanted food so they go into a place that looks like it has food. And somehow walks into a cult meeting that give their upmost dedication to some monster god that looks similar to monster reader lol.

“ Today, we have come together to give our upmost dedication and beliefs into our savior. Our savior who gave us our life and our creation! And that is why today, we will be sacrificing this fool who dared to disrespect- Door opens

“ Oh. Sorry for interrupting, but I was wondering if you have any spare food?”

“….. OUR SAVIOR HAS FINALLY RETURNED!”

“ FORGIVE US FOR BASKING IN YOUR PRESENCE WITH ASKING MY LORD!! EVERYONE GET ON YOUR KNEES AND PRAY FOR FORGIVENESS!”

Lol.

(small mention of gore)

Two months, fourteen days, and five hours.

The longest you've ever went without food. If you were human, the time frame would have held a heavy tax on your body if not killing you out right, but all it did leave was dull pains in your abdomen. During said period, you found a nice cave to sleep in and recover from the injuries sustained in your escape from the facility that stole you from your home. The rest cured your broken bones and scrapes, but unfortunately like every living creature - you needed to eat.

The area you resided in didn't have much going for it in the food category. Most of the edible plants and berries had been picked clean, and you were took out of practice to hunt for your meal. Being locked in a white room with meat thrown at you randomly really put you out of shape in more ways than one. Your fears of having to leave the forest were extinguished with the discovery of an old wrapper found one evening near a neck of the woods you had yet to explore.

The guards at that place walked around with similar papers, filling you with unease, but that anxiety goes out the door the second your nose picks up on a familiar smell. Raw meat.

Climbing over some rocks, you spot a collection of wooden enclosures with strange symbols painted atop. The books the researchers made you read never talked about those. Their knowledge led you to the conclusion that these buildings were cabins and the one where that alluring smell was coming from was the closest to you. There was noise from the neighboring buildings, but if you acted quietly then maybe you could just grab enough food to hold you off for a while and they'd be none the wiser.

Creeping past the red tap that secludes the camp from the rest of the forest, a shrill scream pierces the heavens. It pins you to place, the memories of the cellmates you lost rushing to mind. Is someone hurt? Despite your experiences with others, you wanted to help, but you needed strength in case of any danger.

You hurry to the door, breaking the lock and flinging yourself into the darkness. Your advanced sight guides you through the shadows and straight to your prize. The blinding light from the icebox is the most beautiful pain you've ever witnessed. Forgetting the manners you learned overtime, you claw open various bags of dead flesh and wolf down whatever you can get your hands on. A few of the bags have names on them, but you're too hungry to care why. Bewteen the wet squish of your teeth gnashing shut, a hush blows through the crowd forming outside.

"I told you I heard something, dude. Probably a fucking bear or something. It's eating the reserves."

"Relax. I'll handle it."

The light flickers on. You've been found The guilt you felt for eating the human's food without asking turns into panic as the first thing you see is the barrel of a shotgun pointed square blank at your face. You drop the meat in your hands and cower against the back wall; your first week of freedom spent pushing bullets of the same caliber out your spine. Your lips curl over your teeth as it clatters to the ground in front of you, still afraid as if it could do anything without a handler.

"Could it be?..."

You look up at the robed figures filling the room, the creases of their faces twisted in awe or fright. The first to fall is the one holding the weapon, followed by the rest of their group as they fall to their knees, bowing their heads and rising their hands in prayer. One of the memb pulls out another still standing in shock above you.

"The day of your arrival has finally come. Forgive us, Master. We didn't recognize you at first in such a weak state. Please spare us of your spite."

Master? That's an odd name. You quite liked the one a kind human gave you once. Y/n rolls off the tongue nicer.

"If you still require sustenance, we will leave you to your feast unless you'd prefer the fresher product of our harvest. If I may offer a suggestion, we can mend your clothes and prepare you a bath to cleanse you of our tainted blood."

Bath. Those were the only highlight of the facility. Why are these people being so nice to you compared to them? It made you feel terrible considering you were the one that broke into their home. Hunger beating the conflicting emotions, you continue to eat the meat until your stomach could carry no more. You probably stopped a few bites before you reached maximum capacity due to all the eyes on you making you a little uncomfortable.

You step out of the cabin, wiping your mouth with the bottom of your shirt to be polite. The cult watches your every move, but not one person makes a peep. Considering you were the center of attention, they must be waiting for you.

"Um... hello."

The members of the cult collectively lose their minds.

"Our messiah! They speak! To lowly beings as us."

"It really is them! I'm sorry for ever doubting your presence, my lord."

"This form suits you best in my expert opinion. Let us gather in celebration for your arrival."

They gather around you, examining your claws and taking measurements of your body to prepare proper clothing for you. The questions and praise your bombarded with make your head spin, but soon enough you're led to a bathing house in another cabin and your stress is washed away by the warm water and those who tend to your mated clothes and hair. Not long into your bath, others come with robes for you to wear. They sob and shrivel beneath your words of thanks, everyone here does.

After dinner where you sit at the head of the table, too full to eat a bite of food, you're allowed to wonder the grounds until your cabin has been fully furnished. You enter the room where the screams originated from hours ago, shocked by what you discover.

A mural of a beast similar to you was painted on the far wall in fine paint and what smelled like blood. Dual irises, onyx fangs, the cross scar in the center of its chest. This creature was you, a bigger, menacing and all powerful you. Below the painting was a dead human spilt open from sternum to belly, the bones broken away and organs scooped clean. Backing away from the scene, you bump into someone.

"We are so glad that you've come to us, Master. Please grant us the lasting benefit of your presence for the rest of our days - and beyond

[star-going-supernova]

SBI idea: Feral Freddy who’s completely losing it over his son boy and all the confused animatronics watch as he goes on a war path <33

I just want more feral Freddy going bonkers over Gregory getting hurt :)

As you can see, I decided to throw a handful of prompts together for this ficlet. I haven’t put much thought into this AU other than to say, for the sake of having the satisfaction of letting Freddy go feral on him, Afton has not been springlocked. So, if that’s not telling enough, then I’m sure the title is, lol. Warning for blood and a bit of gore!

The Bite

The knife sank in to its hilt, and there it stayed as Gregory fell to the floor with a suddenness like his knees had been kicked out from under him. A soft noise of confused pain left him, and already, a glassiness had come over his eyes. 

Afton laughed. 

Perhaps he wouldn’t have done so—and perhaps he would have been more careful to stab his young victim in a more secluded location—if he’d known about Freddy. 

With the echo of Gregory’s summons in his head—the button had been spammed, either in impatience or panic, and Freddy always assumed the latter for caution’s sake (and had been wrong only once)—Freddy turned the corner into the atrium in time to watch Gregory finish falling onto his back, where he blinked sluggishly up at the ceiling. 

Freddy saw this, and the knife, and the growing stain of blood on Gregory’s shirt, and the man standing over him, laughing laughing laughing away. And then Freddy saw red. 

Afton didn’t have longer than a second or two to register the loud, crashing footsteps heading his way before he was tackled to the floor by a three hundred and fifty pound robot. This, as one might imagine, wasn’t very good for his health. 

Most of Afton’s ribs snapped on impact, and his skull bounced against the tiles with a resounding crack. Just as quickly as he was thrown to the floor, he was reeled upward, Freddy crouching over him and clutching handfuls of Afton’s shirt. His claws pierced the fabric and sliced through his chest. 

Blank black eyes with mere pinpricks of white pupils glared down at Afton. Freddy roared in the man’s face, his jaw hinging open wide. And then he pulled the dazed man forward, leaned down himself, and engulfed Afton’s entire head all the way to his chin in his maw before biting down with the force of a hydraulic press.

The prior history of animatronic bites, while gruesome, nonetheless looked like mere nibbles in comparison to this bite. For the fact remained that Freddy did not have a particularly cavernous mouth.

Afton’s head more or less exploded. Blood and mush burst out through the narrow gaps between Freddy’s teeth, and absolute gore plopped wetly to the floor. 

Freddy opened his mouth. His razor-sharp teeth had nearly decapitated Afton, and it was only by a few fleshy threads and a determined spinal column that the ruin of his head—the parts that weren’t liquified, that was—didn’t splatter at Freddy’s knees. The mess hung around the stump of the man’s neck like a deflated jellyfish.

Freddy turned his head slowly, mechanically. For a bot that had otherwise seemed so alive before, it was chilling to see. 

A short distance away, Vanny eeped in fear when his dark gaze landed on her. She raised her hands in the universal sign of surrender. 

“You will call for an ambulance,” Freddy told her lowly, “and you will unlock the pizzaplex, and you will not attempt to escape.” He stood up to his full height, and only then dropped the limp body. The remains of Afton squished to the floor. 

Hands shaking, Vanny nodded rapidly. She couldn’t quite look away from her boss’s splattered gray matter. 

Ignoring her, and with the threat dealt with, Freddy turned his attention to Gregory. Feeling quite distant from himself, he knelt beside the boy, who was trembling faintly and thoroughly in shock, and examined him. The knife, he knew, could not be removed. 

With bloodstained, gentle hands, Freddy lifted Gregory into his arms. Gregory seemed only barely aware of him; one of his hands fumbled against Freddy’s chest, leaving a small, smeared, bloody handprint over the lightning bolt. 

Freddy’s warning systems blared in fearful rage. He strode from the room as evenly as he could, trying to keep from jostling Gregory.

• • •

An hour later found Freddy in Parts and Service, making use of the animatronic-sized showers and rough cleaning brushes. Though more than one human’s blood stained his hands and chest, he focused only on Gregory’s, fiercely, angrily, harshly. He scrubbed with enough force to scratch his paint, and he scrubbed where the handprint had been long after it had been washed down the drain. 

Chica joined him at some point, his awareness of his surroundings dulled, and she carefully cleaned away the blood on his teeth and jaw and all the other places Gregory’s was not. 

She did not comment on the spot of exposed silver on his chest, where the orange and blue had been completely scoured off. 

• • • 

It was a month before Gregory was well enough to return to the pizzaplex. After hours, naturally. He ducked through the halls, skillfully evading the STAFF bots, and he couldn’t contain his grin when he knocked on the door to Freddy’s green room. 

Freddy was plainly confused when he opened the door, and it took a second for him to look down. Gregory’s smile widened. 

With an inarticulate noise of profound shock and relief, Freddy swooped down to scoop Gregory up, inhumanly fast. He laughed as he settled against Freddy’s chest, and the tight wrap of metal arms around his body didn’t scare him. He knew exactly how dangerous Freddy could be; his memory of That Night, after being stabbed, wasn’t the clearest, but he remembered enough. 

“You are here,” Freddy whispered, voice verging on glitchy. He hugged Gregory impossibly tighter, yet never too tight. “You are alive.” 

“Thanks to you,” Gregory said. “You really saved me, y’know.” 

“I thought I would lose you, superstar. I thought—”

“You didn’t. And you’re not gonna. I mean, you definitely made sure that psycho could never hurt me again.” 

Freddy growled. “He deserved nothing less.” He let Gregory sit up—encouraged it, even—and Gregory kindly didn’t tease him when Freddy’s eyes flickered the way they did when he was scanning someone. 

Perched mostly on only one of Freddy’s arms, Gregory allowed his protector to examine him, even going so far as to pat him down as thought looking for hidden injuries. And when Freddy was satisfied with the rest of his inspection, his eyes zeroed in on the exact spot the knife had been. 

Gregory lifted the hem of his shirt and felt Freddy spasm. The scar wasn’t that bad, all things considered. As it was, the actual knife wound was fairly neat, just a line of slightly raised red scar tissue. The scars from the resulting surgery and stitches just made it look worse. More… extensive. 

Freddy’s thumb brushed lightly against the skin near the injury, but not surprising at all, he didn’t actually touch it. 

“See?” Gregory said, letting him look for a minute before dropping his shirt back down. “They patched me up, and now I’m just fine. Doesn’t even hurt unless I try twisting around.” 

Freddy nodded slowly, not so much unbelieving as he was gradually coming to accept that as true. “I am… relieved. To hear that.” 

Relieved felt like way too small of a word for the desperate light in Freddy’s eyes and the way he carefully guided Gregory closer again with a hand on his back. Gregory went easily, happy to tuck his face against Freddy’s jaw. 

He knew he was safe there. 

[starkskypines]

i choose you

pairing: Loki x gn!Reader

summary: You’re hanging out with the Avengers when the game turns into either/or questions and you have to pick between Steve and Loki, but you have the biggest, most secret crush on Loki, so you say Steve. Loki convinces you to change your answer. 

warnings: none 

word count: 2.6k

a/n: I wrote this for day 28 of swoon june: domestic. And this is the most swoon worthy thing i’ve written the entire month lol

                                                 ***

“Banana pudding or french fries?” Natasha asks.

“French fries,” Tony says immediately. Clint agrees. Loki nods his head in agreement as well.

“Pudding,” you say. Steve hums his agreement.

“Pudding is delightful,” Thor agrees.

“My turn.” Clint grins, and you and Nat share a look. You know what this means. It’s going to be another ridiculous question.

Clint turns his head in your direction. “This one is specifically for y/n.” You don’t know what question he intends to ask, but you can read that teasing glint in his eyes. “Spend the rest of your life with Steve or Loki?”

You laugh. “What? That’s not like the other questions.”

“Yes, it is. You just have to make a choice.”

“Make a choice?” You laugh again. It sounds uncomfortable to your own ears. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” Clint retorts. “It’s a simple question. Loki or Steve?”

You glance at Loki and find him still watching you from his place on the chair next to the sofa where you are currently perched on. You flick your gaze to the rest of the Avengers around the room, either on the same sofa as you or one of the other chairs. The movie night turned into truth or dare and then random questions as the night wore on, and now it’s two-thirty in the morning and clearly, your crush on Loki isn’t as hidden as you thought it was.

“I know who’d I choose,” Nat says. “It’s not a hard choice. We’ve all seen Steve’s muscles. Those rock-hard abs.”

“And his chiseled jawline,” Tony adds.

“C’mon, y/n, we all answered the questions. I don’t get why this is such a big deal.” Clint leans forward from the chair diagonally across from you.

You know hesitating isn’t good, but you also know that admitting to your crush on Loki is not good. You don’t want all the teases. You just want the feelings to go away and stop complicating your life.

“The hesitation says a lot.” Tony is staring at you now, and you’ve never been able to hide anything from him. And you’re lucky Nat decided to drink tonight, or she’d be reading all your secrets too.

“Fine. Fine. Cap of course. The whole star-spangled thing is... eye-catching.”

The laughs sound out and Clint smirks. You don’t look at either Steve or Loki as the game continues.

“Alright Thor, what’s your question?” Clint asks, allowing the game to continue, and you’re so grateful. The game goes for another hour, and you find the questions easier when they’re not about Loki and so it’s fun to make fun of the other Avengers and listen to their laughs. It’s so joyous here, and you’re glad to be a part of it.

“Well, I hate to be the responsible adult here, but I’ve got a 7 am meeting,  so let’s call it a night.”

“Tony? Responsible?” Nat laughs.

“Once in a lifetime achievement. You’re all lucky to be witnesses.”

The teasing continues as they leave the living room for their floors. You don’t notice you’re following Nat to the kitchen until you’re both putting your glasses in the sink.

Nat nods to you and leans forward. “You can’t fool me.”

You blink. “I’m tired. Talk in the morning?”

“Glad you know I won’t let this drop.” Her eyes soften. “But yes. I will let you sleep first, figure out your story.” She winks.

There’s movement from beside you. and you don’t have to look to know it’s Loki.

“Want me to walk you back to your room, or should Loki do the honors?”

You know you’re blushing. but you look to Loki and then back to Nat and glare at her. “I’ll let you walk me back.”

Loki moves quicker than you’re expecting, stepping toward you with a small smirk on his face, mischief and something softer in his eyes. “Wrong choice, darling.”

And oh, oh, you’re gone. Your breath catches and you don’t really think you can feel your heart anymore and is it possible to be instantly five degrees hotter? It’s his voice that does things to you that should be illegal and the way he moves toward you with such intent, and whatever he asks you know you’ll give it to him.

Your back hits the fridge, and you’re helpless to look away from his eyes, his cheeks, his lips, his chin, his eyes, his lips.

“Want to reconsider your answer to that question and a previous one tonight?”

Your heart is pounding in your chest, throat dry, and the chill of the fridge isn’t enough to cool you off.

“What?” You’re barely capable of coherent thought right now. Loki’s leaning in now and your brain is white noise and is your heart pounding straight out of your chest?

“Me or Steve?” You stare at his lips as they form those words and have to swallow before dragging your gaze back to his eyes, flashing green and entirely serious and oh, oh no, he can’t play with you like this. Doesn’t he know what he does to you?

“What would my answer change?” You aren’t breathing correctly anymore and you don’t know why you don’t just admit that duh, it’s Loki. It’s always Loki because it’s so obvious now as you can hardly control your reactions to him.

“Whether or not I kiss you goodnight.”

Your eyes go wide, your mouth falls open, and your heart stops beating, lungs stop working, brain stops processing.

Nat’s laugh is what brings you out of it. “I think you broke them, Lokes.”

Loki doesn’t take his gaze off you, and that’s what kicks your brain back online. He’s not laughing or smirking. He’s serious. Maybe just to satisfy his curiosity, but you know how few in his life actually choose him and you want him to know that you do. You choose him. Over everyone.

You bite your lip a second before taking a breath and answering.

“Of course it’s you. Didn’t want to admit it because of all the teasing so I said Steve. But it’s been you for a while now.” You look away and shrug, not sure you want to see the rest of his reaction as his expression didn’t change as you spoke.

“Of course?” And he sounds confused so you meet his gaze now.

“Wouldn't seriously choose anyone else.” You mumble out, embarrassed by it because Nat is still there.

“Let’s get you to bed.” Loki holds out his hand. It’s instinct to grab his hand, and it’s warm and calloused yet soft all at once, a contradiction just like him. And when Loki pulls you to his side and you can feel his body against yours, your brain blanks out again.

It’s a silent walk back to your door, and you wonder what Loki thinks of you now, but it’s three-thirty in the morning and you don’t quite care anymore so you keep his hand in yours as you step from his side to punch in your door code. (It helps you sleep better to have a code on your locked door, despite knowing that you are beyond safe in the Avengers tower.)

“Goodnight, darling.” He brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the already warm skin, his mouth warm against your hand and it’s a moment that should remain unbroken forever and it seems to go on for just that long, but Loki raises his eyes to meet yours and then it’s over and his hand is slipping from yours and you step forward, not quite sure what you’re doing but knowing you don’t want this to be over. But Loki knows better than you what you want and as your fingers touch his face and your palms slide along his cheeks he’s already in your personal space with his face inches from yours.

“You’re tired, love.” And you know he’s right. You know that you’re only doing this because you don’t want this to go away in the morning, not because you’re ready. You’re not one to rush into things. And you definitely don’t want to rush this if tomorrow you wake up and it’s still here and Loki is still serious.

“You’ll be here in the morning?” you ask.

“You choose me. I’ll choose you.” His breath is warm against your cheek, and you sag forward into him letting your hands fall from his face and your head fall to his chest.

“You don’t know–”

“What that means.” He finishes your sentence and places a hand under your chin and tilts your face up so that he can look at you. “I hope you know what your words mean and that you don’t use them in vain because I would never lie to you.”

He’s serious, his words fanning across your cheek. And you swallow, bite your lip to keep from saying something unintelligible. You just nod quickly over and over again.

“The morning then.” He smiles, soft and warm, and leans down to press a kiss against your forehead. “Sleep now.”

He steps away, and you feel the absence of his touch down to your very soul. But it’s okay because you’ll see him in the morning. So you turn and you open your door and you don’t look back. For this to work, there has to be trust. And you trust that these late-night words and touches will mean so much more in the morning.

                                                     ***

The morning comes, and Loki finds you after breakfast right as Steve invites you on his morning run. Sometimes you join him, depending on how you’re feeling, and after staying up so late last night you’re not really feeling it, but Steve wouldn’t be Steve if he didn’t try to encourage you to go running with him, listing the benefits of running. And you know he’s right, that’s usually why you give in, and this morning you’re on the verge of giving in when Loki walks in and wraps his arms around you.

His arms slide around you, and the warmth of his body boils you alive. You’re blushing, and it only gets worse when you meet Steve's eyes and he raises a brow.

Loki rests his head on your shoulder, his dark hair tickling your neck. “Good morning, darling.”

His voice is still raspy from sleep, and you turn and his grip tightens and you’re so not okay right now but yep, yep, he’s still in his pajama top and bottoms with his sleep mussed hair and holy hotness, did he even brush it or did he just finger comb it, and oh, how you wish that it could be your fingers running through his dark hair. It has to be soft right? Oh, please let it be soft.

“I'll see you for our run tomorrow,” Steve promises and leaves the kitchen, and you’ve already forgotten what Steve was talking about, but you manage a nod and that’s all.

“You’re tense,” Loki muses.

“You–” You clear your throat. “You have your arms around me.”

Loki pulls away, leaving you feeling cold. He comes to stand in front of you. “I thought we’d agreed to do this.”

“Do what?” You shake your head. “I got like four hours of sleep. I don't really remember everything that was said.” You bite your lip as you move past him. That’s not entirely true because you remember most everything that was done and said by Loki, but you’re not sure of the meaning behind any of it.

“Oh.”

You turn back around once you’ve poured yourself a glass of water for your suddenly dry throat. Loki looks contemplative and a bit discouraged.

Loki looks up at you with a sudden grin. “Well, you said you’d choose me over Steve. Every time.”

You know you’re blushing again, and it’s ridiculous but all you can answer is, “Yes, that’s true.”

“And then I said I choose you. And that is still true.”

“Right.” You open and close your mouth for a moment, looking for the words. “And that means what exactly?” You take a breath. “Because for me it means that like I...I want to date...you.” You watch his reaction, and his smirk has you burying your face in your hands with a groan.

“Quite eloquent.” He comes up beside you and takes hold of your hand, the warmth of the contact shooting through you and causing you to raise your head. “But I appreciate the honesty.” He brings your hand to his lips and then releases it and steps away one step. He leans on the counter and looks up at you, blue eyes now serious. “I would like to woo you. make you mine. I believe you midgardians do call it dating.” He smiles.

You nod and proceed to stumble over your words. “Yeah, no, yeah, that, uh, is good.”

Loki laughs and turns his head away as he moves into a standing position.

You know your face must be redder than Thor’s cape at this point, and you feel like you’ve been laying out in the sun for far too long but you’re overjoyed too. Loki wants to date you. Last night wasn’t some sleep-deprived misunderstanding. You’re on the same page.

“So like if we went out for hotdogs in Central Park and ice cream, that’d be our first date?”

Loki tilts his head with a questioning smile. “You really want our first date to be disgusting hot dogs from an unsanitary street merchant?”

You laugh because you’re nervous. “No. I know you don’t like hotdogs. I know that. I just…” You take a deep breath. “I don't need anything fancy. I don't want anything fancy. I…” And your smile goes soft. “I just want to spend time with you. Actually, I’d be more fine with ordering in hibachi and turning on the PS4 and crushing you at Star Wars Battlefront, and then going out for ice cream. Bad or awkward things tend to happen when I go out with the Avengers.”

Loki laughs. “You do seem to be our bad luck charm.”

“Right, and I don't want to mess up our first date. So let’s stay in.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Loki smiles, and your heart flutters in your chest. He's still in his pajamas just as relaxed as can be in the kitchen as the two of you plan your date, and it's unbelievable in a sense that last night’s game turned into this.

“I should go get dressed.” He moves forward. “Is it frowned upon to kiss on the first date?”

You shake your head, and he takes a step closer.

“Right, and the date begins when exactly?” He tilts his head and narrows his eyes and that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.

“Now,” you say, blinking up at him.

He smiles, slow and sexy, and you find yourself leaning toward him. He steps close, a hand on your waist.

“I'm going to kiss you now.”

“Yep.”

He dips his head down and his hand comes up and tilts your chin up. His lips are warm against yours and you melt against him. He slides his hand from your chin to your neck before sliding around to your shoulder, providing his arm as a cushion for your head. It’s the softest, most gentlest kiss, and you never want it to end but end it must as all good things do.

Loki pulls away with a small soft smile on his lips and you lean up and kiss him again, just a simple press of the lips to his. He grins and laughs. And you laugh too, staring into his blue eyes and hoping that that kind of a kiss will happen a hundred times again. You’ll never tire of it, never tire of Loki. And you get the feeling he feels the same about you.

[himboskywalker]

PLEASE tag could you spare a crumb of Obiwan going down on anakin I saw those tags on the “it’s a question of whether you love Obiwan more than your wife” post and my brain just blanked out

Im on mobile so I can’t insert a Read More break at the moment so just a warning for nsfw answer lol

It happens like this.

Dirt and blood and sweat darkens the white crescent moons of his fingernails and plasters his curls to the back of his neck under the collars of his tunics and the biting line of his durasteel armor. The battle hit hard and fast,sparking adrenaline in his veins like the surge of a river undammed. He shakes with it after he cuts through the last battle droid,saber humming at his side and hands rattling.

He finds his master in the corridor,surrounded by a halo of dismembered droids and panting. He doesn’t know why he feels like he might crawl out of his skin,but he feels shocky and jerky,stomach cold and hollow with it as they return to the battalions stationed outside of the bombed out building. The skirmish only turns worse from there. They are badly outnumbered and outgunned and stranded on the planet’s surface with their comms cut to the rest of the fleet.

Anakin takes one too many close calls and Obi-Wan takes even more than him. He feels like he might slip out of his own skin when they take shelter and he flits to the rooftop for a moment of silence while the troops bunk in the bottom floor amongst chunks of loose duracrete and plaster. He watches the tangerine sunset and squeezes a hand over himself because there’s something wrong with his brain and all the overfuel of adrenaline and fear and tension has rerouted in his bloodstream so that he aches and shivers with the need to somehow spill the energy from himself.

That’s where his master finds him,collapsed against the low barrier wall of the rooftop and pumping himself under the wasteband caught around his wrist.He yanks his hand out so fast he knocks his elbow against duracrete and hisses,embarrassment making him flush red and mortified. Obi-Wan peers at him with an odd glitter to the blue of his eyes in the twilight.

“You’ll just work yourself up more,” he says. “Here—let me.”

He goes to his knees there,the cream of his pants pressed to the piles of debris as he lifts his hands to slide Anakin’s waistband down his hips. He takes a shocked and dumbfounded gasp of air as the cool wind hits overheated flesh. Obi-Wan smirks up at him with that smile he loves to brandish like a weapon and outright winks before he sinks his mouth around him.

Anakin falls completely against the barrier wall and makes a wounded noise like he’s been stabbed in the gut. In his wildest dreams he never imagined—never let himself imagine this. But there’s no room for thought beyond the staticky blankness in his skull and the arching,toe-clenching throbs of pleasure from the sucking pull of his master’s mouth.

He muffles hurt noises against his knuckles and watches golden eyelashes against flushed cheekbones and copper hair bob with the rhythmic movements of his mouth on Anakin’s cock. He feels hot and sticky all over,hazy heat swimming behind his eyes, making them water, and he fights every instinct in his body telling him to thrust into the scorching,wet heat of his master’s mouth around him.

A mere minute of exquisite pleasure and he teeters on the precipice of orgasm,shivering from the feeling of clenching and holding back the inevitable for just a few more precious seconds of his master’s honest to force lips wrapped round the head of his cock. There’s spit smeared around his mouth and it’s making obscene squelching noises as he wriggles his tongue around him.

Obi-Wan glances up through those golden lashes and makes an amused noise in the back of his throat at whatever he sees on Anakin’s face and that’s all it takes. He bites a high animal noise against his fingers and spills into the heat of Obi-Wan’s mouth with four pulsing rolls of pleasure. Obi-Wan swallows around him and pops his lips off him once he begins to soften and brushes his knees off as he stands.

“What was that for?” Anakin finally manages to wheeze, scrambling to stuff himself back in his pants even as he comes to the thrilling realization that Obi-Wan’s own pants bulge with the press of his thickened cock.

“I could feel you touching yourself from the first floor. Thought I might help both of our tension—and—” he flicks Anakin a positively wicked glance, “I wanted to know what you taste like.”

[suzukiblu]

@homeyhumblelife: Hey, in progress means I can not read right. Because let me tell you. Mermaid!Jaskier hit a cord and I need it now.

Well, it’s nowhere near done, but you know what, have the so-far: 

(and a read-more, obviously, because this is a fair chunk of words, lol)

Jaskier falls in love with a witcher. It’s a bad idea, of course, but he falls in love with a lot of bad ideas. He’s always longed to have things he can never have, to go places he can never go. This isn’t something new. 

The witcher kills a siren in the water. Jaskier watches from a distance, hidden behind the craggy stones in the depths. That’s not enough to make him fall in love, of course—he’s easy, but not THAT easy—but it does make him intrigued. 

The siren takes the witcher’s silver sword to her gut, but clips his head with her tail and knocks him off his little boat. They both sink, bleeding. Jaskier’s been avoiding the siren, but he swims in closer. He thinks the siren’s dead, or at least dying. The witcher, though . . . 

The witcher’s still sinking. 

Jaskier swims closer unthinkingly, and then he finds himself grabbing the witcher under the arms and swimming towards the surface with him. He’s heavy in all his armor, but Jaskier’s a strong swimmer. They break the surface, and the witcher stirs weakly, a hand grasping at the side of his little boat. Jaskier lets go of him quickly and darts away and downwards. The witcher will think he imagined it, if he remembers. 

Jaskier’s not the sort to leave someone to drown, so . . . 

Besides. It’ll make for a much more satisfying story if the witcher lives. 

He follows the witcher’s little boat to shore, careful to stay out of sight. The witcher disembarks groggily and trudges out of the waves, his medallion flashing brighter than Jaskier’s own scales in the moonlight, and his black armor and white hair drip with seawater. 

He’s very handsome. 

That’s still not enough to make Jaskier fall in love, though. 

“The siren is dead,” the witcher says to the lantern-carrying fishermen awaiting him on the dock, his voice carrying across the water. It’s a lovely voice, Jaskier thinks, peering out from behind a convenient rock. Nearly as lovely as his own, which is saying something for a human. 

Well—a witcher. 

“Both of them?” one of the fishermen says. The witcher’s lip curls. 

“Both of them,” he says. Jaskier blinks. He hadn’t seen a second siren. 

“They won’t be singing around here anymore, then, the vicious things,” the fisherman says, and Jaskier blinks again. He hasn’t heard any siren song. The only one who’s been singing around here is—

Oh. 

Jaskier ducks beneath the water, covering his mouth with his fingertips. He hadn’t realized the humans were hearing his songs. He’s just been trying to avoid other merpeople, lest someone tell his parents where he’s wandered off to this time. He wasn’t thinking about HUMANS. 

He doesn’t understand, though. Why did the witcher lie? 

Jaskier resurfaces and peers out from behind his rock again. The fishermen hand the witcher a coin purse, and the witcher tucks it away. Then they turn away and leave him on the dock. 

Jaskier is ALMOST stupid enough to swim closer, but not quite. The witcher turns towards the water, and he hides behind his rock. 

“You should move on,” the witcher says, his voice echoing across the water again. “Your songs are pretty things, but these people can’t tell the difference between your kind and a monster.” 

So that’s when Jaskier falls in love. 

The witcher turns back towards shore and leaves, and Jaskier covers his burning face and sinks beneath the waves. He aches to be able to follow the witcher and do . . . SOMETHING. 

Kiss him, probably. He’d very gladly do that. 

But he can’t follow him, of course. But his face still feels hot, and he still wants to. 

No one’s ever called his songs pretty before. 

If he could, Jaskier would walk right out of the sea right now and catch the witcher’s hand and pull him to him and sing him the loveliest song he knows. It’s not often someone’s saved his life, after all, even if he saved theirs first, and even if only by not going out of their way to kill him. Jaskier’s fairly certain he wouldn’t have been that difficult to track down, if the humans can hear his songs from where he’s been singing. 

So yes, he’s most certainly in love. 

It won’t come to anything, though, just like every other love he’s had; just like the way he craves to walk out of the water, the places he wants to go, the kind of songs he wants to sing. The escape he wants, and the freedom. 

Except then . . . then the next day he meets a witch on the beach. She’s wearing a purple dress criss-crossed by black straps, and she seems uninterested in the docks. She has purple eyes, too. 

Jaskier thinks it’s an awfully convenient coincidence, so he asks her for a wish. 

“Why would I do that?” she says. 

“Why not?” he says, folding his arms on the rock he’s lounging on and peering up at her. The bottom of her skirt is wet. She looks tired. Jaskier doesn’t know if that’s normal, with witches. 

“Magic has a cost,” she says bitterly. 

“That’s fine,” he says, flicking his silvery tail. “If you can give me what I want, it’d be worth it.” 

“You don’t even know what it’s going to be,” she says. 

“You don’t know how badly I want it,” he says. 

She looks at him. She laughs. 

“Fine,” she says. “Why not. What’s your wish, boy?” 

“I want legs,” Jaskier says, flicking his tail again. “Like humans have.” 

“You want to be human?” the witch says, wrinkling her nose. 

“No,” Jaskier says. “I just want legs.” 

“The sun will burn you,” she says. 

“I’ll live,” he says with a shrug. He’s more used to the sun than most merpeople, anyway. He spends a lot of time near the surface, WANTING. 

He wants a lot of things, and having legs would get him most of them. 

“Fine,” the witch says again. “Let me see what I can do.” 

What she can do HURTS, it turns out, and leaves Jaskier thrashing in the shallows as agony splits down his fins. He screams, and hopes the humans won’t hear it across the water. His throat hurts almost as much as his fins do. 

“I told you,” the witch says as the pain finally starts to recede, and Jaskier pants, trying to recover himself. Everything feels sensitive and painful, though the cold water soothes some of it. 

He looks down at himself. 

He has legs. They look human. He tries to move them, and it feels . . . very strange, and a little painful. 

“I hope you’re happy, boy,” the witch says. 

“I—” Jaskier starts, and then gags as KNIVES stab into his throat. He gasps in pain, and that hurts too. The witch frowns. 

“What is it?” she says. 

“My voice,” he manages to croak out, clutching at his neck, and it hurts so badly he thinks he might die. The witch’s face clears. 

“Ah,” she says. “I suppose that’d be the cost, then.” 

Jaskier tries to say something again, but the pain is too terrible to speak past. The witch leans down and grabs his arms and pulls at them, and he somehow figures out how to stumble to his feet. His aching new legs are long. He’s taller than her. 

“Come on,” she says, pulling one of his arms over her shoulders. “Let’s get you inside. And maybe find you some pants, while we’re at it.” 

Jaskier chokes on a strangled noise as he reflexively tries to reply to her, but he manages to walk. The witch pulls him along, and they leave the water for the first time in his life and walk down the craggy beach together. The little stones hurt his tender feet, but nothing hurts like his throat does. 

The witch takes him to a white tent and takes him into it. It’s bigger on the inside, and full of things he doesn’t know the names of. Some of them he’s seen in sunken ships, but that’s not particularly helpful. 

“Go sit on the bed,” she says, letting go of him. He gives her a blank look, not willing to try speaking again. Nothing in here looks like a bed to him. She looks up at him and sighs, then pushes him towards the center of the tent and the massive square structure of wood and cloth sitting in the middle of it. He puts a hand on it. It’s soft, under the cloth. 

The witch kneels in front of a heavy-looking . . . crate, he thinks? Though it’s an odd-looking one. She opens its lid and digs down into its contents, and comes up with armfuls of cloth. Jaskier watches curiously, wanting to ask but not stupid enough to try talking again just yet. 

“Here we go,” she says, getting to her feet again and bringing the cloth over to him. He touches it. It’s heavy, for cloth. “Hm. You probably don’t know how to get dressed, do you.” 

Jaskier shakes his head. The witch sighs, unfolds the cloth to reveal it to be clothing, and walks him through the process. He’s clumsy with it, but mostly because of his unsteady legs. The rest is easy enough. 

“There we go,” she says, straightening the front of the doublet she’s helped him into and stepping back as he pulls on the boots. “Well, you’re a little overdressed for the local fishing village, maybe, but better overdressed than under.” 

Jaskier wants to ask her SO many things, but even opening his mouth to try sends a warning prickle of pain through his throat. She looks up at him and sighs again. 

“I’d ask if it was still worth it, but that’d be a bit nasty of me,” she says. 

Jaskier has the thought that he might never sing again, and isn’t sure how to respond. 

Not vocally, obviously. 

The witch hands him a coin purse. It jingles. 

“Well, that’s all I can do for you,” she says matter-of-factly. “Do your best. Try not to get too badly sunburned.” 

Jaskier wants to ask her so many things, but apparently he should’ve done that before the magic happened, so instead he just nods, and he leaves her white tent, and he goes out into a part of the world he’s never touched in his life. 

He knows where the fishing village is, so he decides to go there first. He’s not interested in staying there, but there’ll be a road he can follow, he thinks. Human villages have roads. His legs are still weak, but they work. And he’s sure they’ll get stronger. 

He’s going to MAKE them get stronger, if he has to. 

In the village, people look at him like he’s a stranger, which is a novelty. Jaskier has rarely been a stranger in his life. He walks around, distracted from his goal of the road by all the unusual little HUMANNESSES of the place. He looks at the squat old buildings and the weather-worn people. He walks down to the beach and watches the fishermen bring in their catch, though that’s something he’s watched before. Humans fish differently than merpeople do, though, and it’s interesting to watch them from the shore instead of the sea. It’s not too sunny today, so he can watch without worrying about that. 

Eventually, though, Jaskier goes back into the village and looks for the road. He’s distracted by little paths more than once, but it’s not difficult to find in the end. 

He stands at the edge of the village and looks out at the road, not sure what to do with it. They don’t really have roads in the sea, though he knows what they are. He’s seen them in flooded towns and cities before, and they lead places. 

He supposes the only thing to do is to follow it, really. 

Something makes a rhythmic clacking sound behind him, and he glances back over his shoulder and finds an approaching horse—humans ride those, much as his people ride dolphins and sharks—and straddling the horse’s back . . . 

Oh, he thinks, feeling an odd warm rush. 

It’s the witcher. 

Jaskier’d thought he must already be gone, but apparently he was wrong. 

He immediately wants to say something, but of course he can’t. The witcher frowns briefly at him, and Jaskier wonders if he knows him for a stranger here. 

“What?” the witcher says, looking suspicious. Jaskier realizes he’s staring at him, but can’t bring himself to stop. He wants to say SO many things, but any one of them would be a knife in his throat. 

He doesn’t know what to do about it. 

For lack of a better idea, he gives a flourishing little bow in imitation of a greeting. The witcher’s frown deepens, so . . . that didn’t work, clearly. 

“What are you doing out here?” the witcher says. Jaskier shrugs, then gestures to the road. It seems obvious enough to him. The witcher doesn’t stop frowning, though. “Do you speak?” 

Jaskier winces, and makes a little “so-so” gesture, then shakes his head. Because he still CAN, technically, but he certainly doesn’t WANT to. Not if it’s going to keep hurting that badly. 

“Hn,” the witcher says. Jaskier smiles sheepishly at him. The witcher gives him an inscrutable look, then walks his horse forward. Jaskier falls into step beside them reflexively, and the witcher frowns down at him. 

Jaskier tries to figure out a way to do . . . literally anything that'll make the other let him follow him. Usually he'd talk him into it—talking is his specialty—but . . . 

Well, that's not going to work this time, obviously. 

The witcher doesn't hurry his horse or say anything, though, so maybe Jaskier doesn't need to talk him into it. He keeps pace with the horse as best he can, though his weak legs are already starting to burn from walking around the village and to the shore and back. It doesn't hurt anywhere near as much as speaking did, so he'll be fine. He can keep up. 

He wants to ask the witcher SO many things. 

The witcher lets him follow him down the road, and it's a long walk, but Jaskier keeps up. If he stops, he's sure he'll never see the witcher again, and that would be . . . such a waste. Such a shame. 

He's made it this far. He can make it a little farther. 

The witcher stops to feed and rest his horse and let it drink from a thin little river. Jaskier drops down into the shadowed grass under a convenient tree with a sigh that hurts his throat. His skin's a little hot, but not burnt. The cloud cover is enough to protect it, it seems, at least for today. 

Maybe he should've just wished to be human, he thinks, but it'd seemed like such an odd idea when the witch had said it. 

The witcher gets back on his horse. Jaskier gets up too, legs already aching. He's very tired, but again, he's made it this far. 

He doesn't really know what he's expecting to happen, honestly. He just wants to follow the witcher, so he is. 

Well, he is in love, after all. He's done sillier things for that. 

They keep walking. Jaskier wonders what the witcher’s name is. He doesn't know how to ask without, well . . . ASKING. 

[leverage-ot3]

to all the leverage fans out there, I thought I’d throw out some recommendations of other shows that y’all might like

this is completely centered around the lgbt aspects of leverage (how none of the characters are straight, how there is a canon ot3, etc), because I know other people have recommended white collar and stuff but I haven’t personally seen that and I’m just a humble lgbt wanting to share more gay shows with y’all

1. wynonna earp (my sideblog is @angelicearps)

just renewed for a fourth season after two years (this feeling is very familiar to leverage fans)

the first episode of season four aired last night and IM SCREAMING the writers served us a five course meal

the main love story includes waverly earp, a CANON (officially as of 4.01) bisexual girl falling in love with nicole haught, a lesbian cop-turned-sheriff (that’s a slight spoiler, so sorry about that) and both of them are main characters

wynonna earp, another main character, has a complicated relationship with two different men and is not slut shamed for it and is never put down about it

I’m serious- the healthiest and most stable relationship in the show is between waverly and nicole, so wlw nation rise

wynonna and waverly are descendants of the great gunslinger (and demon killer) wyatt earp, who ended up getting a curse on his future generations. the story of the show is centered around wynonna being the chosen heir having to fight demons and try to break the curse for good

doc holiday is another main character- yes, that doc holiday. he’s one of wynonna’s love interests and he has such a pure and loving relationship with waverly. he’d literally die for her and move heaven and hell to make sure she’s safe (that’s literally canon)

jeremy comes in around season two if I remember correctly. canon gay. gets in a relationship with another canon gay character whose name I am blanking on. they are very loving and very pure

literally, in 4.01, when armed military men are breaking into the earp homestead and he doesn’t know what to do, he literally says: “gays only?” lol they didn’t respect that answer

the show has so many good quips and one-liners. so many hilarious lines. it can be an angsty show at times but they definitely balance it out with humor and wlw softness between waverly and nicole

wynonna has a baby in season two and literally calls herself a milf

it also made fans faint because they have been calling nicole “daddy” for like six years and nicole was referred to as daddy three (3) times in 4.01

this show is NOT AFRAID to say things like gay, lesbian, etc. at one point someone tweeted at emily andreas (the writer) asking her to amp up the gay energy and she responded that she would

literally, emily andreas is on the same level as john rogers with trustability and dedication to fans

emily andreas heard of the bury your gays trope and did us one better: unkillible gays trope. the gays are unkillable.

2. motherland: fort salem (my sideblog is @fortsalem)

(HELL YEAH I WAS ONE OF THE FIRST IN THE FANDOM AND I GOT THE HANDS DOWN B E S T URL)

au where during the salem witch trials a witches named sarah alder made an agreement with the government that witches would serve for the us army in exchange for not being systematically hunted down and killed

THIS IS NOT MILITARY PROPAGANDA. sorry, I just had to make this point early on because it’s not even though it might seem like it in the beginning. literally by the end of the season you see it’s very corrupt

since this is an alternate history of the united states, in this universe there are no heteronorms. literally, there’s literally no words for lesbian and bisexual that they use because it’s so normalized and common and accepted that there’s no need for terms like that

the main love story is of star-crossed raelle and scylla. raelle comes from a poor family and is a talented healer, and (this isn’t technically a spoiler because you find out in episode one) scylla is a member of the spree

the spree is a terrorist organization of witches that protests the compliance witches are forced into by having to join the military or die/be imprisoned

scylla is supposed to turn raelle to the “dark side” but falls so deeply in love with her that she can’t do it (THATS TRUE LOVE FOLKS)

the students at fort salem (the military school) are divided into groups of three: the main group being focused on is composed of raelle, tally, and abigail

tally craven is a pure-hearted baby and I’d die for her. she is very idealistic about fighting in the military (but don’t worry that’s fixed by the end of the season)

abigail bell weather comes from a high military family and is kinda really stuck up about it, but she’s humbled a lot by the end of the season. this girl has LAYERS (they all do, but abigail goes through a lot and goes from very stuck up and stuck up the military’s ass to questioning everything she knows)

the trio starts off rocky, especially between raelle and abigail, because raelle blames abigail’s mother for her mother’s death (her mother’s unit was led by abigail’s mother)

the beltane episode literally hits you in the face with how there are literally no heteronorms whatsoever. they do this sacred dance where by the end they will end up with the people they are destined to spend the celebration with (“trust the dance”). raelle makes friends with a gay guy and they spend the celebration making fun of the sex noises around them and become gay friends for life. abigail has sex with two (2) guys who kiss each other. a group of four girls went off together. a group of two girls and a guy went off together. and sex isn’t shamed. at all. in fact, it’s respected as a part of life. and y’all, literally this representation was OFF THE CHARTS

the witch’s most powerful tool is their voice,,, think about that for a minute

it’s an all girls school so there are like no guys whatsoever minus the beltane episode and a couple others

EMPOWERED WOMEN (of all ages and ethnicities too)

3. siren (my sideblog is @polymarinelove)

imma start off by saying that season three doesn’t exist. don’t watch season three. don’t do it. the disappointment is real

ANYWAYS

the central love story is between an interracial couple (a white guy and his black girlfriend that has a native american stepfather) that turns into a loving polyamorous relationship

maddie, the girlfriend, is amazing and incredibly smart and the first two seasons (and the beginning of the third) accentuate that and they never downplay her because she’s a black woman like many shows and movies do. she’s a smart stem woman and we stan her so hard. she’s also bisexual.

ben, the guy, comes from a rich family that are basically the hotshots of the town and own the fishing company that the community works for. his dad is hella untrustable. ben doesn’t trust him and neither should you. he is kindhearted and smart and respectful, and at one point teaches a merman about consent after being kissed by him (and he didn’t even #nohomo it which was AMAZING)

now to the mermaids

mermaids are apex predators. they are very dangerous. they are very strong. they’re also wickedly smart, canon smarter than humans

the story begins when donna, ryn’s sister, is captured by a fishing boat and carted off to a military facility. ryn comes to land to try to find and save her. (she literally choses her name because she sees a character on a kid’s tv show saying “I am ryn” which is also the first thing in english that she can say)

she ends up being helped by ben and maddie and legit is like these humans are hot imma learn english for them

there’s a lot of really cool and thought out lore as well as TONS of thoughtful marine biology science that makes sense

oh and transforming from mermaid to human? painful as FUCK. realistic depictions of having your body literally transform into something else

humans are wrecking the oceans and that’s a heavy theme of the show

oil rigs are poisoning the water (making them infertile) and killing mermaids with their sonic drilling

so ben and maddie lowkey commit an act of ecoterrorism but it’s chill

“ben and maddie are love” they’re poly, bitches

they come together in a natural, organic way

very healthy and communicative

ben’s alright but ryn and maddie are amazing

don’t watch season three if you don’t want to be majorly disappointed. the writers listened to the homophobic trolls on instagram and broke up the polyamorous relationship and I’ll NEVER forgive them for that. seasons one and two are amazing though. just don’t watch the third one.

[haknew]

pls talk about your thoughts about chanhee and also the other concepts!! I always have such a hard time interpreting music and videos but i love to read about it

“bestie pls share ur thoughts on make your own concepts specifically chanhee’s but any others that are ur fave too 🎤- mar”

omg mar thank you for enabling me all day today 😭🥺🧡 thenks bestie ily :,)) and thank you too anon ! i should preface that T-T i have not read any other theories or analyses so these are just my opinions / impressions but i hope it’s entertaining to read about haha :p ! (feel free @ anyone to add on or share your thoughts too ! :,))

HYUNJAE - okay so audio cues... if you listen to the beginning there’s a sound of a bomb going off before the music starts ? and that ties into the dystopian / cyborg aesthetics that jump out at me of course, but what i immediately thought of was their no air perfo ? like we know hyunjae in the no air mv got that shot where he’s laying in the bathtub filled with water but also their kingdom performance with it also had those underwater shots ! so i think it ties into that... i feel like we saw in gen z, he’s a very straightforward person he says things on his mind which can come off as blunt but he thinks it’s better than not saying it ? which is interesting bc i think that speaks to his self- determined personality, he’s much more inclined to do whatever it takes to get something done, which i think falls perfectly in line with the “make your own air” phrase that he gets, if it’s something he needs he makes it himself, in a situational sense methinks u.u 

 JUYEON - JUYEON’S DJSKHDG i’m waiting for dri’s essay but in essence we see the gen z “juyeon is not such a good boy” shot and these text bubbles that pop up that say “sexy” “you so hot” “such a bad boy” and tbh i like this ‘concept’ ? for him better than his gen z one ? it’s not bc of the concept itself but i like the idea that he can “make your own character” as in he has the capability and power to be whoever he wants to ! you see him throwing white paint at the gen z canvas and i think ?! that’s symbolic of like a fresh canvas ! of remaking himself to whatever he wants bc the canvas is now blank again thanks to the white paint and flowers usually indicate spring ? so renewal and stuff like that ! i really like his, it’s also fun word play on “character” which has been juyeon’s intro in tbz (bc his name sounds like main character in korean) but yea :o ! i really love his the idea he can just repaint / paint over a literal image of him gives it the possibility of becoming smth new and that’s so so cool

CHANGMIN - SCREEEEECH okie um oh boy um *windows shutting down noises* this was so so so very different from his gen z stuff but i actually think BOTH are equally perfect for him ? the way that he set up the sparklers and neon lights on this very obviously trashy and kind of rundown rooftop with the cityline behind him is so ?!?!? LITERALLY making his own stage as his tagline goes, sort of like how the physical stage itself does not matter but rather it’s changmin himself that makes the stage special ! i talked about this in gabi’s set that i rbed ;-;/ but changmin puts a lot A LOT of stake in his position as a dancer it means almost everything to him as a form of expression from what i can see ? so he’s always trying his best to put forward the best performance possible and seeing this segment makes me feel like he’s doing just that ! pouring himself into it to make his stage pls i care him 

HAKNYEON - god i’m a jusadan but just u.u rest in peace me, i’ll ... T_T be kind of honest this one confuses me a little ? i have assumptions and i feel like i know ... quite a bit about haknyeon (LMAO) my best guess is it has smth to do with self assurance ...? the way he’s framed and the fact that he’s sitting on a bed in the middle of a church surrounded by candles gives me christ figure symbolism (where my ap english takers at :/) and the light that perfectly frames him in a halo gives me angel vibes too, but the tagline of “make your own romance” paired with him kissing his reflection makes me think it’s about self love ;;;; from what i can tell haknyeon has always been someone who really likes feeling validated and praised for the stuff he does well, which he does for himself a lot of the times too ! but sometimes i think the self assurances he compliments himself with is more for reassuring himself rather than bragging (which i think people misinterpret) so it’s more about becoming the person he wants to fully love and being happie with himself which *tears* i might be reading too much into who knows i just love him ok ... U.U 

KEBINNN - i know !!! dri mentioned this in my gifset tags but ! kev on kpop daebak (? was it) or smth mentioned how he strives to keep a childlike wonderment for the world around him, which is a reason why i think he loves drawing and sound / music production, he talked in a fancafe post once about an artist who turned mediocre everyday objects into art and he said he really loves that sense of wonderment so peter pan who “never grows up” is actually perfect for his worldview ahhhh T^T also kev really likes disney lmao, the way he’s doing this outside in this “neverland” garden on a balcony which is a part of this very typical apartment backed by a typical city bg also i believe ties into this turning a mediocre everyday thing into smth wonderful through his sense of childlike wonderment and his tagline of “make your own fantasy” (i also care him a lot this concept >>>>>>) and keeps to his referencing movie plotlines like he did in gen z jddkfj

SUNWOO - i also mentioned this in my tags on sunu’s set but this gives me 100 degrees vibes which i still to this day think is one of the most “sunwoo” vibe things ever, it’s a lot of him having fun and doing his own thing, and mixes both more mature and youthful aspects together in a way that i’d only ever describe as sunwoo vibes LMAO like the roller skating around and all the soap bubbles ! cute and youthful ! the crop top and celine wasitband (don’t laugh at me we all noticed) more mature and a callback to his gen z look methinks U.u, think sunwoo has always been a more go-with-the-flow or do whatever he feels like doing sort of person and so “make your own vibe” fits well with him in that sense to me 

SANGYEON - .... *silence* *more windows shutting down noises* *jess.exe has stopped working* OKAY i feel like ! sangyeon’s is also more self explanatory :p i love the juxtaposition of boxing AND the arcade type fighter games ?? like both require very different sets of skills i feel like one is more physical the other is more mental ? but both require adapting to changes whether in the game or the boxing ring which as leader sangyeon would know a lot about, esp being flexible and quick to respond to different situations, and the “make your own glory” i feel is maybe more on the nose, but tbz are this man’s pride and joy you can see it literally anywhere and for him, as leader, to have made it this far with tbz, winning rtk and building their popularity through their hard work and efforts really is building his own glory and i just HHHHHHHHHH

YES EYYSFDHSHF CHANHEE YES - i said it in the tags of my srb before deleting it so i’ll just repeat it here but CHOI CHANHEE !!!!! this detail i didn’t quite process first watch was the continuous flashing of lights in all his scenes, like ... from the shots and the set it looks REALLY empty ?? but the flashing seems to indicate cameras and photos being taken of him despite there being no people we can really see in any of the shots ? WHICH IS SO COOL i think the implication is like “all eyes on him” type which SO TRU i love that idea, like i said the walking past the wedding dresses ? v heavily implies fashion designer which i think you mentioned mar :o ! and i see it in the sense of his tagline “make your own stereotype” bc white wedding dresses are the very traditional / typical choice and obviously feminine in stereotypes, whereas chanhee is wearing a SUIT which is all black in a very clean b/w set with no color which i feel is very stereotypically MASCULINE and the glasses too, it’s such an interesting contrast of his “stereotypically feminine” features (in my view) with very masculine symbols, like glasses we usually associate with more soft hearted / meek stereotypes ? but the geometric shape of the windows and again his suit seems to indicate the very opposite ? it’s a mixing of stereotypes which i think is the point, by putting those together he quite literally makes his own stereotype and puts on the crown while the cameras continue flashing while pointed at him AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

YOUNGHOON - okie might have less to say about this one :o i feel like both hak’s and younghoon’s i don’t see the connections quite as readily but ! i think it’s interesting that his tagline is “make your own classic” but then in the scenes itself he has a flip phone ??? with an antenna (okay boomer /j JDHFKFG JK PLS) and a teddy bear while in PERIOD stylized clothing and setting where those two things are more modern / contemporary in origin (but also not modern enough bc ,,, it’s a flip phone LOL) like 90s kid vibes ? you know but as an emperor in the joseon era haha :p while eating shrimp chips and reading a (comic ?) book, like idk too much of what it means but it’s a cool dichotomy LOL, think it might also tie into actor ! hoon bc it’s make your own classic and i think acting has become a very important aspect to him :o after seeing what he’s capable of in love revolution and his atbz video so it’s interesting u.u (need help w/ this one)

JACOB - think my explanation in han’s set’s tags didn’t really make sense so lemme ... reexplain LOL,,, so ! similar to his gen z video ? like he’s talked about how difficult it is to open up about his own feelings etc. and he said it’s less bc he realizes he needs to but rather just to make other people feel more comfortable when it comes to understanding him, and like the whole breaking the mirror with his reflection in the wanna be angry jacob, it’s about freeing himself to the point he can express the emotions he wants to ! in gen z it was about being able to be angry when he felt that way instead of being tied by his image of being just nice ? and in the video with his pilot uniform not only does he control the ride but he also rides on it himself ! quite literally making his own freedom (symbolically), a sort of realizing he can free himself ? from what’s been tying him down and i think the really big smile he has while riding it just comes to show how he wants to feel :,))) (jacob bae i care you) 

ERIC - last one :p AHHH this is one of my favs too, the quite literal “make your own pride” I LOVE IT ! sooo i think the biggest takeaway i got was that of course in this video his “pride” is symbolized by the hot pink car (that he’s going to pick up his christmassy date in of course u.u if he has a license which he does n- his driver’s license in this was literally his aaa / boy version of reveal photo which in no dmv anywhere would a license picture be allowed to look that good-) and LITERALLY when he finished and takes it for a joy ride while sitting on the roof he’s STILL covered in the dirt and grime stains ! from working on it ! which i think is so symbolic ! it’s my favorite detail actually, he literally put sweat into this car which is his pride and now that he’s finally riding around in it, it feels accomplishing ! his pride ! love that, also when he’s grabbing a stub from that flyer i noticed he chose “youth” over the others (which was like .... ca$h, beauty, ice cream, hamburger...) which i think also just indicates that despite all this hard work he put in he still cherishes his youth and still lets that be a huge part of who he is (i mean pink car so of course) so idk i think it’s very neat go bestie mwah

[anarchyduck]

Febuwhump - Impaling

Title: The Hardest Part 

Fandom: Marvel

CW: Blood, serious injury but nothing terribly graphic 

AO3 link here

(Am I doing whump right? Feels like I’m on the right track lol)

It is strangely quiet when Peter comes back to consciousness. He blinks as little black dots retreat to the farther edges of his vision. Much to his dismay, he sees his suit is torn from a cut that runs from his knee and wraps around his thigh. ‘There goes my ‘No Suit Damage’ streak,’ he thinks mournfully. Oddly enough it does not hurt.

Peter frowns as he tries to piece things together, figure out what is going on, but it is all muddled. It’s cobwebs covered with molasses and mud, and he’s trying to wade through it waist deep. There is something else that tugs at a thread, something that feels important and leaves a dull ache at the back of his neck.

He tries thinking of something else. What was he doing? Fighting. He was fighting someone – no, they were fighting someone. A gang of illegal arms dealers who’d gotten their hands on alien tech. Just down the river from the compound, outside the city. Technically not Avenger business, but he managed to convince Tony it would be better if they handled it rather than local police. He and Tony… no, he and Tony and Rhodey tracked the gang to a construction site. Office buildings. Concrete and metal and dirt. Someone threw a cement truck at him.

The rest is a blank.

Peter reaches to push up the mask from his face, but other hands catch him around the wrists. “No, don’t do that.” The familiar voice pierces through the sludge and Peter latches onto it. 

“Mr. Rhodey? What’s… Why?” He can see the familiar black and grey suit in his peripheral, kneeling beside him. Yet when he tries turning his head, he cannot.

He can’t turn his neck.

“M-Mr. Rhodey?” Peter’s heart beats wilder, faster. The back of his neck burns, the smell of blood and sweat filling his nose, strangling him. “I ca-can’t… I can’t!”

Rhodey, mercifully, pushes up his mask over his nose and Peter gasps for breath. He wants to get up, wants to move, but something screams to him no. Do not move. Be still. Do not move.

He can’t turn his neck.

“You gotta breathe. Focus on your breathing, Pete, or you’re going to pass out.” Rhodey says at his side, his hand holding Peter’s and squeezes. It helps, brings him back down and Peter works on those exercises Tony told him about (Breath in through your nose. Hold. Then release through your mouth. Repeat.)

 “Good.” Rhodey says. “Can you tell me what hurts? What’s your pain level?”

 Peter hesitates. “Uh, not bad?” he takes another deep breath, only to wince as pain catches in his side. “Ribs kinda hurt.”

 “That’s it? Nothing else?”

 Peter wants to shake his head, but the voice screams no (do not move, do not move). “N-No, don’t think so.” He licks his lips, tastes blood. Smells blood. “What’s going on?”

 Before Rhodey can answer, another metal suit lands beside him. “Oh fuck.” Tony breathes. There’s an edge, a shudder, that makes his blood run cold.

 His eyes widen behind his mask. Nothing comes across the HUD. Karen is down. Something is wrong. Something is wrong. Something is wrong. “Mr. Stark, what-“

 He can’t turn his neck.

 “Not now, Tones.” Suddenly Rhodey’s voice sounds miles away. A hundred, no, a thousand miles away. Peter can barely hear it over his own rapid heartbeat.

 “He has an iron rod through his fucking-”

 Whatever else Tony says fades out. Peter only knows the panic that grips his throat, roots him in place. His back is pressed against a slab of concrete, cold and sticky. Thoughts scramble in his mind and he feels like he is drowning. The world narrows to a point and he can only see the blood wound on his leg, only smell blood.

 “—eter. Peter! Shit, he’s going into shock. Tony, cut it!”

 “FRI, alert the medical team. Tell them to get ready.”

 “Kid, stay awake. We’re going to get you out, just stay—”

“Talk to me, Pete!”

Peter doesn’t hear the rest. 

------

There are a few horrifying moments that are seared into Tony Stark’s brain. One was flying through the wormhole over New York City while carrying an armed nuclear warhead. Another was helplessly watching Pepper fall into a raging ball of fire. The third was seeing Rhodey plummet to the earth. 

And now he has a fourth - the sight of Peter Parker with an iron rebar sticking through his skull. 

Tony runs his hands through his hair, leg bouncing anxiously. He feels useless. More than useless. Like he should be doing something. He picks at his nails, paces, fights the urge to retreat to his lab. He catches himself several times looking at the door every time he hears a noise that sounds remotely like footsteps. 

When they arrived, Helen and her team met them at the door with a gurney. Peter was rushed away for surgery and that was it. All they can do is wait. As time stretches, the more Tony replays the scene in his head. The image of a cement truck hurtling through the air, hitting Spider-Man and knocking him through a cinderblock wall. FRIDAY’s voice in his ears telling him Karen was offline. Rhodey goes to the kid first because he’s closer, because Tony is too busy blasting away the guy who dared throw a truck at his kid. 

Tony covers his face and rubs his eyes hard enough to see flashes of white. The scene replays again and ends with the same horrifying result.

“Okay,” Rhodey sighs as he returns to the waiting lounge. “Just got off the phone with Happy. He and May will be here in a couple hours.” He takes a seat in the chair across. “Tony, stop. I can hear you blaming yourself all the way over here.”

“I should have done something.” Tony drags his hands from his face as he leans back on the sofa. “Should’ve seen that guy quicker.”

“It’s not your fault.” 

Tony shakes his head. “Isn’t it?” he scoffs and looks away. “It was supposed to be a casual weekend visit. Hanging out in the lab, staying up watching movies, that’s it. No fighting, no going up against crazy gangs with stolen, modded tech. I shouldn’t have let him go.”

“You think he really would’ve wanted to be put on the bench?” Rhodey asks and when Tony doesn’t answer, he continues, “He’s going to get hurt, Tones. Best you can do is be there.” 

He isn’t sure if it helps, but Tony nods anyway. “Yeah.”

[fanfics-await-you]

I never know what to expect from him (Part 4)

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Female OC

Summary: Poe Dameron is your friend, your fellow resistance fighter, but most of all he's a goddamn pain in your ass. And yeah, maybe you're falling for him and well yes, it seems like he's falling for you too, but now REALLY isn't the time.

Tags: angst, a pair of dumbasses unnecessarily complicating things, minor ROS spoilers

notes: Thank you for coming back after so long. It took me far longer than I’d imagined to remember how to write again.

There’s gonna be another part simply because this ended up being so long lol. I’ve written like 80% of the final part so that should be up pretty soon.

Inspired by: @polkanote‘s post & @andhumanslovedstories‘s post

Word Count: 1,913

masterlist

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 5

Everything damn fucking hurts.

It’s my first coherent thought to rise from the white noise. Stars, I simultaneously need to puke and eat a whole battalion’s worth of rations. I don’t move yet, but allow the pain throughout my body to pulse and subside.

Why do I hurt so much?

I backpaddle through the haze. Exegol…Lightning…Crash…

Ah, yes. Breaking a 5-metre fall with your ribs does that.

The rest is a blank.

There’s a shout in the distance. Although it’s distant, the voice is somehow familiar, and I open my eyes. I’m greeted by the sterile whites of a med room and a flicker of fear blossoms in my chest.

Shit, was I captured?

I quickly look to my wrists for restraints but find nothing. The fear begins to dissolve, but I still have no clue where I am. I hear feet outside the room and attempt to sit u-

“Fuck!” The word bites but is barely audible.

I freeze for a second as I allow my body to air its grievances. Slower, I try again and manage to prop myself up against the pillows. The static is starting to clear, thank the Maker, but my memory is not returning. I guess I’ll just have to wait until someone turns up.

A woman speaks just outside the door, “Don’t wake her, Dameron.”

...

…He’s alive.

The door opens far too slowly to reveal a bare-foot and out of breath Poe. The sight of him clears the rest of the haze while a bright feeling bubbles its way through my chest.

We speak at the same time.

“You’re here.” I am elated that we have both survived Exegol, against the odds.

“You’re alive.” Poe’s voice, however, is barely a whisper, and his face is haunted.

He stands motionless in the doorway as I look at him puzzled.

“Of course, I am. You think a little fall could kill me?” I joke.

Poe still doesn’t move but simply repeats himself.

“Kess, you’re alive,” his voice is scratchy, like he’s been crying.

A chord of worry pulls in my chest, and all I want is to spring out of bed and wrap myself around him. Given the radiating pain still lingering in my chest, I go for the next thing.

I slowly reach out my hand towards him. “Poe? What’s wrong?”

He’s suddenly in motion. Poe takes my hand between his palms and sinks into the chair beside the bed all the while never taking his gaze from my face. As we stare at each other for a moment, I realise that he has been crying and my brow scrunches up in concern.

Gingerly, I place my other hand on his cheek and quietly ask, “Poe, tell me. What happened?”

Poe takes a deep breath and leans into my palm before lowering his gaze to our intertwined hands.

“I watched your X-wing explode into a thousand pieces with no sign of a parachute…Kess, we all thought you were dead,” he says quietly.

A metallic taste, like blood, settles in my mouth as the news of my apparent death sinks in. I want to respond but my tongue has gone dead in my mouth. I simply can’t find the words, so I squeeze his clasped hands and wait for him to continue. Multiple breaths pass before Poe’s ready to continue.

“I- I thought you were dead. I thought that after everything, we had won only for me to lose everything…for me to lose you.”

Poe leans forward to set his elbows on the bed and bring his forehead to rest upon our hands, as if in prayer. It’s only as I notice his hot tears trailing down our fingers that I realise that my eyes are stinging.

“And Kess,” his voice cracks at my name, “It was unbearable. I wanted- I wanted to burn down the entire First Order for daring to even touch you.”

I see Poe’s jaw clench and can feel the shiver of his hands against my skin. Again, all I want to do is wrap my arms around him but still, I let him finish.

Poe’s voice shakes, “But afterwards, when we returned in triumph, it became so much worse. Because I had let you go. Because it all meant nothing without you. Because I had failed you.”

We sit in silence for a moment as the weight of his words sink in. My tears finally fall and something like guilt is throbbing against my sternum. Thank the Maker, at least this time I know what to say. I bring the hand that had drifted to Poe’s shoulder up to his chin and make him lift his head to meet my eyes.

“Never,” I say, “in all the time that I have known you, Poe Dameron, have you ever failed me. Never. Do you understand me?”

He just shuts his eyes.

I speak again, more sternly, “Never, Poe, do you hear me?”

Poe doesn’t respond, but nods slightly.

“I’m sorry things turned out the way they did, but look at me, Poe. I’m still here.”

Poe just grasps my hand tighter.

I brush away the few tears that still cling to his face. “Poe.”

He finally opens his eyes and I whisper out the words, “I’m still here.”

Poe smiles slightly and the world feels a little bit more right. We sit in silence for a while, just gazing at each other, before a question arises out of something he’s said.

“Wait, so did we win? Did we take out the fleet?” I say.

Poe looks at me in confusion, “You don’t remember?”

I shrug, “I remember an explosion that blew out my chute, and then hitting the ground hard. The rest is black. I don’t know how I got here.”

He shakes his head in surprise and disbelief for a second. Poe then releases my hand in order to cradle my face between his palms. His face is covered in the hugest grin.

Out of instinct, I smile slightly back, “What? What is it?”

“Yeah, we took out the Exegol fleet. And the whole First Order… Kessandra, we won the war.”

I’m dumbfounded.

I open my mouth, but my lips form silent words and nothing come out. Poe continues to smile but also raises a single finger to the air, asking me to pause. I just stare back at him as he tilts his head slightly towards the door.

“Can you hear the music?” Poe whispers, and I turn my attention beyond the quiet of the med wing.

Faintly, but clearly, the song of strings and the low beating of drums can just be heard. Above them both, a muted chorus of singing, clapping, and laughter finds its way to us. In that second, it truly sinks in.

We won?

I clap a hand to my mouth and Poe excitedly nods in response.

“The war is over, Kess. We won.”

In spite of the pain that still loiters in my chest, I throw my arms around him and bury my face in his neck. He hugs me back and laughs quietly as he holds me. We sit, intertwined, as I try to understand what has happened. The thoughts keep spinning and whirling through my head as I struggle to fully comprehend what they mean. Suddenly, two things become crystal clear to me.

I don’t want to leave Poe’s side ever again.

I need to get out of this room.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Poe pulls back in order to look me in the face.

A snort slips out of his mouth, “You’re serious?”

I roll my eyes. “Of course I am. If we just won the war, then I’m not staying in this room a moment longer.”

A twinge of concern appears on Poe’s face. “Kess, you’re injured. You need to rest.”

I lightly push him back and go to push the blanket back before pausing. Subtly, I check something. Ah yes, I’m wearing pants. Good first step.

Poe places a hand on my shoulder before I can try to move again and looks at me seriously.

I place a hand over his, but don’t back down. “This is a night that will go down in history. I’m not missing it for a few cracked ribs.”

He looks close to relenting but not quite convinced, so I smile and speak softly, “I’ll be alright, Poe. You’ll pick me up if I fall, right?”

I can see the smile in his eyes, and I know that it’s going to be fine. With every passing breath, I feel a little more like myself and so, I do what comes naturally: order Poe around.

“Alright, you go find us some shoes while I get up. Also, don’t let the nurse-bots see you, you remember how that went last time we tried to sneak out.” I laugh as he sits back slightly and rolls his eyes.

Poe stands and gives a mock salute. “Yes, right away, boss.”

I watch with a smile as he disappears out the door. Slowly, I begin the process of pushing back the blankets and placing my feet on the ground. Thankfully, although my whole body is aching, only my ribs are really giving me grief. Sure, everything’s going to hurt like I’ve been run over by a tank tomorrow, but that’s not my problem right now. I lightly stretch as I better survey the extent of the damage.

“You look about ready to run a marathon,” Poe’s voice is gently mocking as he closes the door behind him.

“You know, if there was something in reach, I’d be pegging it at your head right about now.”

“If you’re dealing out threats like that, maybe I should keep the shoes.”

“Would you just shut up and get over here and help me.”

“Anything for my favourite girl.”

I roll my eyes at the endearment, but it blossoms a warm but equally longing glow inside my chest. Poe sits at the chair and gently pulls one of my feet into his lap. I stare at him in comfortable silence as he tenderly puts my shoes on. For a couple of breaths after, we sit like this with his hands resting on my calves before Poe evidently remembers our plan.

With a shake of his head, he slowly places my feet on the ground before standing. “C’mon party animal, isn’t there somewhere we’re supposed to be?”

Poe extends his hands as an anchor, which I use to pull myself to standing. I sway slightly, and quickly one of Poe’s hands goes to my hip to steady me. In one way it works, and the horizon stops moving. On the other hand, my knees feel a little bit weaker, and I might be blushing. Ignoring the heat in my cheeks, I nod my head to signal that I’m ready. Poe releases my hand and steps so that he’s standing beside me. In the process of doing this, the hand steadying me draws a caressing line across the small of my back in order to rest upon the other side of my hip. Shit, I’m definitely blushing now. I glance at Poe and see that he’s grinning back at me. He did that on purpose. Jackass. Nonetheless, the pressures of his hands are more than welcome as Poe drapes my closest arm across his shoulders.

“You comfy, Kess?” His tone is teasing.

I shake my head in joke annoyance. “Shut up, let’s go.”

[trensu]

Episode 43: The One where WWX is Soft for Children and Bunnies

we're still in the forbidden chamber

wwx has his detective cap on and is being clever

the lan bros are listening attentively as they should be

wwx: jgy is a sneaky conniving bastard blah blah he vandalizes evil music books blah blah

lots of boring plot talk basically

i'm sitting here like, *sigh* so pretty wwx so pretty

which is what i imagine lwj does all the time...

lol wwx goes to lxc and is like, no offense bro but jgy was a skilled spy during the war who was able to infiltrate and memorize wen ruohan's stuff in their secret chamber. invading this one would've been a piece of cake for him

and lxc is like well damn, guess i better test out all this evil music and see if it actually works

lxc: i'll just test the evil magic music on myself. yep. that way no one gets hurt and that couldn't possibly backfire on me at all

lwj: bro

lxc: bro. i gotta do this bro to clear my bae’s i mean friend's name

LOL lxc is like you all see jgy this way but i see him in a totally different way

YEAH WE KNOW, THAT'S THE PROBLEM

LOLOLOL OMG

lxc turns to gaze off into the middle distance and is like, the jgy in my heart is kind and benevolent blah blah

and behind him wwx crosses his arms and all but rolls his eyes LIKE DUDE YOU'RE COMING TO THE WRONG PERSON FOR SYMPATHY. I'M THE ONE THAT GOT KILLED FOR THINGS YOUR BF DID

oh this moment's interesting

lxc is like, can't you allow me to be cautious about making this decision? 

and lwj takes a step towards him, ready to speak but wwx grabs his upper arm and stops him with a shake of his head

the look lwj gives him just before that was like why are you stopping me?

but wwx knows this isn't something you can push

lwj trusts wwx's judgment and holds back whatever he was going to say

i'm curious as to what he WAS going to tell his brother tho

now lwj is leaving to talk to their uncle and lxc is like, sure i'll take your soulmate back to your room for you

WE'RE GONNA GET SOME BABY!LWJ FLASHBACKS SOON OMG

IT'S GONNA HURT

wwx: since lan zhan isn't here, i wanna ask you about something

lxc: tell me

wwx: what are the whipping scars on lan zhan?

lxc: you don't know?

AND THEIR SONG STARTS PLAYING

wwx: i asked him but he didn't wanna say, so i'm asking you

lxc: yeah, if he doesn't think it's necessary he'll probably never talk about it so i'll tell you instead of respecting my little brother's decisions about his personal life

AND OKAY I'M GLAD HE DID BC IT GIVES US WANGXIAN MOMENTS BUT STILL!! 

lxc: do you remember that one time when wn shot and killed your sister's husband?

on the one hand, HOW COULD HE FORGET but on the other hand, he forgets quite a lot of things actually...

lxc: after wq and the others turned themselves in...*cue flashback*

we're at the burial mounds, lwj is standing by himself before wwx's cave facing down a whole freaking squadron of cultivators

su she: *runs his mouth as if we actually care what he has to say*

lwj: *completely unfazed and expressionless* you are not qualified to speak to me

HELL FUCKING YEAH

WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE HOW EPIC THIS MOMENT IS

LOOK AT LWJ OWN THAT ICE PRINCE PERSONA TO STRIKE DOWN AN IMPUDENT ANT OF A PERSON

su she goes to draw his sword AS IF HE HAS ANY REAL CHANCE OF DEFEATING HANGUANG JUN IN A SWORD FIGHT

but jgy shows up with even MORE cultivators and then does that thing where he compliments the person inconveniencing him and takes control of the situation

jgy: oh hanguang jun is so honorable let's not search wwx's secret cave lab right now

BUT THE GREAT THING IS THAT LWJ DOESN'T EVEN ACKNOWLEDGE HIS PRESENCE

HE DOESN'T LOOK AT HIM OR SU SHE AT ALL

bc lwj is forever Better Than You.

fuck jgy

jgy: even if wwx is alive, the burial mounds is surrounded so there's no way he could come here without us noticing

he says this to lwj all mildly BUT YOU KNOW IT'S A THREAT

He bows (lwj STILL doesn't acknowledge him and it's GREAT) and walks away

then pauses (bc Drama) and is like oh, almost forgot, your uncle is waiting for you at the cloud recesses. And then he just leaves with all his cultivators

this is when lwj finally looks at jgy (or his back, at least since jgy is leaving)

We cut to the next scene that has lwj slamming the point of bichen in the the stone ground, arm bleeding

HE IS VISIBLY SWEATING AND TREMBLING

lxc: lwj made a mess and fought against everyone there

AND WE SEE LWJ FALL TO HIS KNEE, ONE ARM USING BICHEN AS SUPPORT WHILE THE OTHER RESTS ON THE GROUND

but the fall was gradual and jerky, like he was fighting it the whole way down. 

As if the only reason he fell is bc he's used up every ounce his strength and energy he had in his body

lxc: uncle burst into anger and took him back home, punishing him with 300 lashes and repenting in the cold pond cave for 3 years

we cut to the cloud recesses, camera shot from above making lwj, who is kneeling before his uncle and surrounded by disciples, look small AS ~THEIR SONG~ STARTS PLAYING ON THE CELLO 

his uncle orders them to start beating lwj

AND LWJ TAKES IT LIKE A CHAMP

he barely moves with each strike and MAN THAT DISCIPLE IS NOT HOLDING BACK

oooh, we see him do that fist clench thing which looks even more painful without bichen to grip tbh

dude lwj is clenching his jaw so hard. 

like, he refuses to cry out in pain and it's gotta hurt bc he's bleeding already

lqr: what is rule 52 of the lan clan?

lwj: do not befriend evil

NO HESITATION. SAID IN A STRONG FIRM VOICE

AS IF HE WASN'T CURRENTLY GETTING BEATEN WITH A NIGHTMARE STICK

and lqr is all you have forgotten the fundamental laws of our clan, how can you have the nerve to face your ancestors like this!!

BUT LWJ IS NOT HAVING THAT

HE'LL TAKE THE BEATING BUT HE'S GOING TO MAKE HIS POINT

lwj: i dare ask you, grandmaster, who is right? who is wrong? what is black? what is white?

Bc our boy has learned! He’s learned NUANCE and CRITICAL THINKING and the existence of GRAY AREAS

BC WTF IS THE POINT OF ALL OF THESE STUPID RULES IF THEY DON'T PROTECT THE INNOCENT AND DEFENSELESS?

Bc his soulmate was right all along and he didn’t stand by him when he needed him most and now his soulmate is gone. His soulmate is gone. He’s GONE.

I'M GONNA MAKE MYSELF CRY

lqr: perfect! that's my good student

he does not say this happily. he is in fact SHOUTING this VERY ANGRILY

and here i wanna say, hey lqr, what's that rule about excessive noise...?

cue lwj's fist clench again, which sounds just as painful as the beating tbh

lqr: wangji, you have disappointed me

NOT AS MUCH AS YOU AND YOUR DAMN RULE-BOOK HAVE DISAPPOINTED HIM, YOU JERK

and here we see an ACTUAL VISIBLE SCOWL on our beautiful hanguang jun's face as he continues to be beaten

HOW ANGRY AND TORN UP MUST HE BE TO ACTUALLY SCOWL LIKE THAT??

cut to lwj kneeling at the ice table thing in the cold pond cave, robed in white and face blank but somehow still projecting an aura of cold fury

probably bc the rulebook open in front of him says "eradicate evil, establish laws, and goodness will be everlasting" and he knows that’s bullshit now

but actually this scene is visually very beautiful. 

It’s all in misty shades of pale cold blue and white and everything’s spaced out in a way to emphasize how very very alone lwj is

cut back to the present with wwx and lxc

wwx grips his flute with both hands and looks down like he can't believe what he's hearing

lxc: when lwj was imprisoned i tried to persuade him...but he told me he considered you his confidant soulmate and believed in your integrity

wwx: why would he bother…?

his brow is furrowed and his voice is soft like he truly doesn't seem to understand why lwj would bother to do all that

and on the one hand i wanna scream IT'S BECAUSE HE LOVES YOU, YOU MORON

but on the other hand, everybody else in wwx's life, everyone else he loved, turned on him or died 

and he probably truly believes he deserved all that, and that he is undeserving of lwj's unwavering faith

and then i cry

lxc: do you know what this place is?

shot of the entrance to the silence room aka the jingshi aka lwj's room

wwx: i don't

lxc: it's where our mother lived

wwx is hanging off his every word

lxc: you might find it strange that the wife of the clan leader didn't live with her husband in the frigid chamber

with a name like that i wouldn't want to live there either...

lxc: you might know that our father used to isolate himself for years, not caring about anything...

Not even his sons, apparently!

wwx: i do

and he explains that his father isolated himself bc of his mother or whatever

lxc: this place was more of a prison than a home

It was his mother’s prison. When did he figure that out? Was it when HE WAS STILL A KID??

DID HE FEEL GUILTY FOR SPENDING TIME WITH HIS  MOTHER KNOWING SHE WAS LOCKED UP AGAINST HER WILL??

THE LAN FAM IS SO FUCKED UP OMG

now he's telling us the whole tragic love story

it was love at first sight, he says and wwx is like ah yes, a typical romance

and lxc is like, uh no, she didn't love him back and she murdered his teacher, idk why tho

lxc: but i guess it's all about right and wrong, love and hate

Which is a major theme of the whole show, tbh

OH DAMN

now he's telling wwx about how his dad took his mom to cloud recesses and married her against the clan's approval and that he told them that this was the person he would love for a lifetime, that “whoever tried to drive her out would have to go through him first"

DOES ANY OF THIS SOUND FAMILIAR TO YOU, WWX?

RINGING ANY (WEDDING) BELLS?

DOES THIS REMIND YOU OF ANYTHING AT ALL, WWX?

"after the wedding my father built this house, and locked my mother up"

lxc says this all so calmly and gently, as if he were reading from a story book rather than reciting his immediate family's history

Which is probably a coping mechanism, tbh

this fam is so fucked up, have i mentioned?

lxc: do you understand why my father did all this?

wwx: *nod*

lxc: and do you think he did the right thing?

wwx: i don't know

well, i mean, he married her and locked her up against her will

granted she did murder someone but i get the feeling she probably had good reason to

and now he's telling wwx that they basically had no parents bc they were given off to others to raise them until they were old enough to attend their uncle's lessons

FLASHBACK TO BABY!LWJ READING TO HIS MAMA FROM A LAN CLAN BOOK

HE'S SO CUTE AND TINY AND HIS MAMA IS SO SOFT AND PRETTY. 

SHE LOOKS AT HIM WITH SUCH LOVE, AND RUNS HER HAND THROUGH HIS HAIR SO GENTLY

lxc makes a point here to say that their mother never complained about her imprisonment or how painful it must've been to be trapped like that

BC THEIR MAMA LOVED THEM

lxc: lwj never said anything, but i knew he looked forward to the day we visited mother every month

HOW AWFUL IS THAT, TO BE RESTRICTED TO ONE DAY A MONTH TO SPEND WITH SOMEONE YOU LOVE???

Lxc: he did (look forward to seeing mom). and so did i.

cut to baby lwj kneeling in the snow, all little and by himself IN FRONT OF THE JINGSHI, AKA HIS MOM’S PRISON AKA PROBABLY HIS FAVORITE PLACE IN ALL THE CLOUD RECESSES

lxc: one day, uncle told us that we didn't need to go there anymore. mother had gone.

I'M GONNA CRY

HE'S SO LITTLE AND SAD AND HE'S KNEELING SO STILL WITH HIS TINY HANDS IN HIS LAP

like even lqr is moved bc he goes and puts a hand on his shoulder

lxc: we were too young to understand what that meant.

lxc: no matter how others consoled us or how uncle scolded him, lwj still came here every month. he would sit on that porch and wait for someone to open the door.

I'M SOBBING

LWJ HAS SPENT HIS WHOLE LIFE WAITING FOR THE PEOPLE HE LOVES

He’s kept himself still and stalwart ever since he was a kid so that if his loved one chose to come back, he’d still be there for them 

I'M HURTING SO MUCH

HE JUST WANTED THEM TO COME BACK AND THINK HE WAS WORTH STAYING FOR. 

GOD I HATE CRYING. I'M A SNOTTY MESS RN

Lxc: when we got older we realized that she would never come back. that no one would ever open the door for him. but he still came.

FUCK

GOD DAMN IT

STOP HURTING ME SO MUCH, WHAT THE HELL

lxc: lwj has always been stubborn since he was very young

lxc: back then, he watched you learn crafty tricks. he didn't say anything, but i knew...that the pain and confusion in his heart was the same as what he felt for our mother

MY GOD, JUST BEAT ME WITH THOSE NIGHTMARE STICKS INSTEAD. THAT WOULD HURT LESS THAN THIS.

wwx's eyes are all red-rimmed and his brow is all pinches and HE JUST SWALLOWED BACK THE LUMP IN HIS THROAT

THE SAME ONE I HAVE RIGHT NOW AS I CRY AND CRY AND CRY

and lxc is like, well, that's enough intense conversation for now, imma do a flute solo

~flute sounds~

and now he's like i tried to persuade lwj before but now that i'm in his shoes it turns out making a decision isn't actually easy to do?? who'd have thought?

oh here comes lwj, all straight-backed and regal as always but no jewelry in his hair! no topknot! he looks so different this way

AND HE HAS TWO JARS OF EMPEROR'S SMILE WITH HIM

AND ~THEIR SONG~ IS PLAYING AGAIN

oh, the way he holds it out to wwx, like an offering at an altar...

cut to inside the jingshi, we get to see him uncap one of the jars and pour a drink out for his soulmate. 

like, the camera is specifically focused on his hands

which, hey, i’ve seen the tags ppl, i know some of you are Into That so take the time to enjoy this

then we get a shot of all of him and he looks so so soft and exposed and vulnerable  here?? with his hair down in his own room, pouring a drink for his wei ying

it's beautiful

wwx walks in and watches as lwj starts to pour himself a cup of tea

THIS IS A LOT. 

~Their Song~ playing sweetly, no other sounds except the quiet clinks of the cups and teapot. And all of lwj’s actions are just...light

wwx: lan zhan…

GOD I JUST WANT TO SCREENCAP THIS WHOLE SCENE

the shot of lwj here, while he’s focused on pouring his tea. 

the way his head is angled and the wisps of his hair frame his face. 

he takes up a good portion of the screen without seeming domineering or forceful, just...peacefully existing in the space

and then we cut back to wwx's face, his mouth open as he takes a breath 

He wants to say something, anything, but you can see on his face that he can't make the words come

Like he doesn’t want to disturb the moment with whatever he was going to say, bc it’s a fragile moment

and then this brief literally-2-seconds shot of lwj to the right, sitting at the table 

the table is set up so beautifully with the jars of emperor's smile and their cups. and he's looking up and the lighting AND AHHHHHH

IT'S JUST A VERY BEAUTIFUL TWO SECONDS AND I'VE STARED AT IT FOR MUCH TOO LONG ALREADY

lwj: what?

and wwx can't even really return his gaze. he looks just as vulnerable here but, unlike lwj, he also looks awkward, like he’s nervous in his vulnerability same ,wwx, same

wwx tries to say thank you but it comes out stuttered and soft while lwj watches him patiently

wwx mumbles to himself "it's awkward to say it out loud" and his eyes flicker back and forth for a second as his mouth pinches, agitated 

BC IT IS MEGA AWKWARD

FEELINGS ARE AWKWARD

AND AS LOUD AND OBNOXIOUS WWX CAN BE, IT'S NEVER ABOUT HIS FEELINGS.

wwx: *clears throat* i mean...the burden on your brother's shoulders is tremendous

smooth transition, wwx, very smooth

but at least it allowed him the chance to sit at the table with lwj

wwx: after all, jgy is his sworn brother. if i were him...

he trails off awkwardly and it feels even MORE awkward bc the background music just ends suddenly and it's silent for us, the audience

lwj doesn't say anything and instead gently moves the cup of wine towards wwx.

once that's done he says "if there's evidence, my brother won't tolerate it."

but he doesn't look at wwx and his face is somber

wwx: that's true. he's got his principles

finally lwj looks at him

lwj: you didn't tell him.

wwx: tell him what?

lwj: about the flute on qiongqi way

wwx: you know about that?

lwj: i asked wen ning. he said he heard a second flute

wwx: i thought i was hearing things until nightless city *insert flashback here*

cut to next scene. wwx is standing just outside the jingshi doors with a jar in his hand as it snows

lwj steps up next to him and ~THEIR SONG~ STARTS PLAYING

they're still talking about the flute and how wwx is confident now that there was a second one used to frame him basically. he's quietly angry here.

lwj immediately says it was jgy but wwx responds with "maybe, maybe not"

lwj looks at him, "you don't want to know the answer?"

bc lwj does. he wants to know who framed his soulmate, causing the suffering that lead to his death

wwx: at first i really wanted to but now i just want to say, 'whatever. screw it!'

he says with a laugh and then takes a swig from his wine jar

wwx put down that wine jar, you've obviously had too much already.

wwx: lan zhan, i actually think whether i know the answer or not won't be of much importance for me. after all, in ppl's minds, the yiling patriarch did bad things. even if i expressed my grievances, people still won't trust me

and he smiles

MY POOR SUNSHINE BOY

He says, "Sometimes the world only needs an excuse or target that everyone can hate"

PAINFULLY TRUE

and then he says something along the lines that it doesn't matter, if he wasn't made the target, someone else would have been

BASICALLY HE'S JUST VERY DISILLUSIONED HERE 

THE WORLD SHOULD FEEL ASHAMED FOR DISAPPOINTING HIM

now we hear the sound of a guqin playing ~Their Song~

lwj at his guqin playing their song to soothe his soulmate

wwx: *voiceover* i was lonely back then. the few who believed in me were dead, wen ning, jyl. Luckily…

and here we get the crescendo of the opening theme as we cut to lwj. 

the voiceover changes from wwx to lwj

lwj: in this world, there is still someone who trust you

I'M HAVING A LOT OF FEELINGS RIGHT NOW

voiceover switches back to wwx and we get a shot of wwx watching lwj play

wwx: lan zhan, i toast to you. i'm glad to have one true friend

SO MANY FEELINGS

and then i get distracted as wwx does that thing where he pours wine into his mouth and spills half of it down his VERY INDECENTLY EXPOSED THROAT

shot of lwj thinking: for nothing else but a clean conscience

shot of wwx thinking: no matter how they slander me, i know i have a clean conscience

EVEN THEIR THOUGHTS ARE IN SYNC OMG

AND ~THEIR SONG~ IS STILL PLAYING BUT NOW IT'S THE GUQIN AND THE FLUTE COMING TOGETHER

wwx gazes tenderly at lwj and whispers: lan zhan. i'm sorry...and thank you

AND WE GET THE ACTORS’ VOCALS ADDED IN TO ~THEIR SONG~ AS LWJ LOOKS UP AND SEES WWX WATCHING HIM

AND I'M HAVING SO MANY FEELINGS

I WOULD LIKE TO GET DISTRACTED BY WWX'S INDECENTLY EXPOSED THROAT AGIAN PLZ

cut to the next day with lxc meditating and our boys hiding behind a privacy screen

lwj is in perfect posture, eyes closed and meditating calmly while wwx keeps listing to the side and jolting awake bc meditating IS FOR NERDS

lol except this time he lists to the opposite side and falls into lwj's shoulder with a cute little gasp

lwj gives him a look and wwx quickly arranges himself into a sloppy lotus pose

jgy walks in and our boys are immediately on alert peeking through the privacy screen 

(which actually isn't all that private. you can see through half of it??)

now we get a moment for lxc and jgy in which jgy returns the jade token and it’s, like, a Thing

BUT WE DON'T CARE ABOUT THEM

LET'S SEE OUR BOYS' REACTION TO WHAT JGY HAS TO SAY

wwx is watching lwj as jgy says something about how they don't have info on lwj and wwx yet and lwj closes his eyes against the news

i think he's upset he's placed his brother in this position...

now we're informed that there are active puppets in the burial mounds

lxc is like, well it can't be wwx bc he was stabbed

and jgy is like he's been stabbed before and controlled puppets alright then!

meanwhile wwx behind the screen scoffs and thinks "they think too highly of me"

also, like, jgy was trying to get lxc to give them up by saying how lwj would be safe bc of his great reputation

Honestly, it really just goes to show that these people don't actually care about your actions. they've made their assumptions and they'll stick to them no matter what and IT'S SUPER FRUSTRATING

plot talk plot talk sworn trio moment plot talk

now lxc is off to carp tower while our boys prepare for a field trip to the burial mounds

LIL APPLE AND THE BUNNIES!!

our boys are by a stream and there's bunnies all over the place and wwx is telling lil apple they're leaving

~THEIR SONG~ STARTS UP AGAIN

AHHHHHHHHH, LOOOK!!! THERE’S TEENY TINY SMILE ON LWJ'S FACE AS HE PUTS DOWN BICHEN TO PICK UP ONE OF THE BUNNIES

EVERYTHING IS ADORABLE

WWX GETS THAT LITTLE MISCHIEVOUS SMILE ON HIS FACE AS HE GOES TO POKE THE BUNNY

AND HE MAKES SILLY NOISES AT IT AND IS ALL INSULTED THAT THE BUNNY DOESN'T REACT

SO CUTE!!

wwx: see? they only like you *pout* they're only loyal to their owner

so lwj wordlessly hands over the bunny BC IF HIS SOULMATE WANTS BUNNIES, HIS SOULMATE IS GETTING BUNNIES

the bunny wriggles and wwx is like "don't try to run. you can never run away from me. stay here bunny!"

IT'S SO CUTE I'M GONNA DIE

HE'S JUST PETTING THE BUNNY ALL OVER AND USING A PLAYFUL VOICE WHILE TALKING TO IT AND EVERYTHING IS WONDERFUL

Don’t be jealous of a bunny don’t be jealous of a bunny don’t be jealous of a bunny

wwx looks over to lwj: lan zhan, it's so strange. i know we're going on a dangerous mission but i don't feel scared at all

then he goes back to the bunny and wiggles it around SO CUTELY: do you think it's strange too? what do you think?

AND HE'S GOT THE BIGGEST SMILE

lwj: it's getting late. let's go

wwx: okay *pets bunny* little bunny, we're leaving~

THIS SHOW SHOULD ONLY EVER BE ABOUT BUNNIES, I'VE DECIDED

BUNNIES DON'T HURT ME 

now we cut to them at the entrance of the cloud recesses

lil apple is being stubborn and the bunnies are on the steps

wwx: they hate to see you go.

and wwx looks at lwj all playfully

wwx: i never thought that hanguang jun would be so popular among the little animals

and then he finishes with AN ADORABLE LITTLE POUT: bc i'm not

lwj: why not?

wwx: all little animals regardless of their habitat run when they see me. isn't that right lil apple? *proceeds to bully the donkey*

lwj: *walks off bc he does not condone animal abuse or smth*

wwx: wait for me hanguang jun!!

NOW WE'RE ON A DIRT PATH

LWJ IS HOLDING THE LIL APPLE'S LEAD WHILE WWX RIDES LIL APPLE

HE’S PLAYING HIS FLUTE AND THEN STARTS PLAYING ~THEIR SONG~!!!!

AND LWJ LOOKS TOWARDS HIM HIS EYES ALL TENDER AND FULL OF LOVE

WWX IS SMILING WHILE HE PLAYS

EVERYTHING IS STILL WONDERFUL

LWJ HAS ONE OF HIS ALMOST-SMILES ON HIS FACE

wwx: lan zhan, i wanna know, back in the murder turtle cave, what was the name of the song you sang to me?

lwj: why do you ask?

wwx: just tell me the name. i think i've figured out how you recognized me

wwx: tell me what song it is. who's the composer?

lwj: me

wwx: so you composed it?!

lwj: hm

wwx: what's the name then?

THIS IS SUCH A CAREFREE PLEASANT CONVERSATION AND I LOVE IT

lwj: what do you think?

wwx: you're asking my opinion?

he gets this huge smile on his face and giggles

wwx: i think i'll call it...

lwj: i'm thirsty, let's look for water

IT'S RUDE TO INTERRUPT LWJ

they find a random house and wwx proceeds to steal a melon

but they're interrupted so they hide like the CRIMINALS THEY ARE lol

and we see mr & mrs mianmian with little mianmian!!

mr mianmian is all if you run off again the yiling patriarch will eat you!

little mianmian is like I'M NOT SCARED, mama says the yiling patriarch doesn’t bully good people

and that's how mianmian and her husband and daughter get guaranteed invites to their future wedding

we cut to wwx and lwj 

wwx is nodding enthusiastically like THAT'S RIGHT, I DON'T HURT INNOCENT PEOPLE, IT'S ABOUT TIME THAT'S ACKNOWLEDGED

ohhhhh really liking how mianmian draws her sword and demands the criminals to show themselves

Lol, she's like WHO'S THERE? and wwx literally answers, UM, NO ONE??

lwj purses his lips like, really?? and comes out of hiding

Mianmian is shocked to find hanguang jun hiding on her property obvs, but is also excited to recognize wwx

wwx: *internally* why does this lady know me?? did she have a problem with me or did i provoke her??

then wwx recognizes her!! he's very excited about it!

and we end the episode on a high note there!!

We get to see the only functional, happy (and alive) marriage in the entire cultivation world!!

And yeah, we got our hearts torn out by kid!lwj but we were rewarded with soft domesticity AND bunnies right after!!!

Overall good quality wangxiantics

Return to Masterpost

[glassworkspiderlilies]

got me good vibes thank god i ain’t driving

Fire Emblem Three Houses | Dimitri/f!Byleth | AO3 Summary: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd goes grocery shopping at 3:30AM and meets an enigmatic girl in the dairy aisle. It goes from there. (Or, something-of-a-college-cryptid Byleth comes and goes as she pleases and befriends the Blaiddyd heir. Or he befriends her. In any case, it's an interesting semester.) Notes: Stress relief fic of no real discernible plot; best described with “head empty, just typing”. I’m serious, please do not think too hard while reading, I got nothing LOL. On the other hand, I had a lot of fun. Approximately (and absurdly) 10k words; more notes on AO3.

.

.

.

“Hey, Dimitri. One of those nights, huh?”

“Yes. Want a Mad Bull?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

It’s 3:30AM, and Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd is grocery shopping. The cashier on graveyard shift is well-acquainted with him now, at least on a surface level, as one becomes when you’re (usually) the only two people in the store at an ungodly hour. Dimitri buys him energy drinks sometimes. The cashier slips him extra coupons if he’s got them.

A combination of insomnia and nightmares keeps Dimitri up a lot, and while he can mostly regulate the insomnia, some nights are just particularly bad. Alternatively, if he is asleep but wakes up at any point, it’s too difficult for him to fall asleep again, so he may as well get up.  

It’s not the worst, since he’s used to it by now, and at university. There are things enough that he can do during these witching hours, grocery shopping at the 24-hour supermarket being one of them.

On the rare occasion there are other people in and out of the place, but Dimitri only sees them from a distance as they go about their own shopping. At this time, everyone’s minding their own business for one reason or another.

That’s why it’s a surprise when he turns into the dairy aisle to see a young woman standing in front of the cheeses. She’s wearing a soft gray hoodie with pink striping on the cuffs and hem, her hands in her pockets and the hood covering her hair, dark jeans, and knee-high boots. Despite the more casual style, it strikes Dimitri as somehow a little dressy, though Sylvain would snort and say he’d be one to talk. (Dimitri can’t help it. It’s how he was raised; he feels most comfortable in button-downs and crisp jackets. His most casual is a neat sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers, like now. And anyway, Sylvain seemed to have fun enough choosing things to add to Dimitri’s wardrobe. At this point, all of Dimitri’s friends borrowed his clothes if they fit—even Felix, who always did so without asking, and sometimes Dimitri never even knew.)

The girl doesn’t even turn despite the sound of Dimitri’s cart, and he thinks that he’ll wait politely for her to finish her selection before making his, pretending to look at the nearest shelf. But she stands there for a few minutes too long without moving, and so after some deliberation and hesitation, Dimitri decides to approach. It’s his last aisle, and he more or less knows what he wants, so he’ll be quick and out of here.

She doesn’t move even as he comes to stand next to her, and he murmurs “excuse me” as he looms a little over her to reach for a block of Gautier cheese. An unfortunate yet unavoidable action based on positioning, because she is spectacularly dead center of the things he wants, and she still doesn’t move despite the proximity.

Dimitri glances at her, wondering if she’s okay. Her expression is totally blank; she’s either zoning out or focusing extremely hard.

Well. It’s pretty late—or early—after all.

He reaches for a second block and puts the two into his cart, stepping away from the girl to turn his attention to the yogurts that he gets for Sylvain on the next section over. He takes two of the mixed berry ones first before debating over the others.

“Plain or spicy?”

It takes him a minute to register the voice and the words, soft and pleasantly mid-tone.

Dimitri turns to find the girl looking at him, and he thinks oh, she’s really pretty, now that he’s seen her in full view, before actually connecting the dots that she’s the one who had spoken.

“Um, spicy?” he offers, and the girl seems to think for a moment before she nods decisively.

He watches as she reaches for two blocks of artisan cheese, flecks of herbs and spices visible through the packaging—not one he’s tried before, or honestly remembered seeing here—and turns to plop them squarely in his hands, balancing them perfectly on top of the yogurt containers.

She then walks away, putting her hands back in her pockets.

“Uh?” Dimitri says belatedly, looking between the girl’s retreating figure and the cheese.

Am I supposed to buy these for her? He wonders, as he puts everything in his hands in his cart. He grabs a six-pack variety of yogurt before rushing after her, but she’s gone by the time he makes it to the registers.

“All set?” the cashier yawns, and Dimitri blinks at him.

“Wasn’t there a girl just now? In a gray hoodie?” Dimitri asks, laying down his purchases.

“Hm? Oh yeah, she walked out without buying anything,” the cashier says, starting to scan the items, “People just come in here to kill time sometimes.”

“Oh,” Dimitri says, looking towards the doors.

He completes his transaction, leaving the Mad Bull for the cashier, who waves his hand gratefully, and makes his way back to his car. The girl is still nowhere in sight; Dimitri realizes he wishes that she were.

He loads his groceries into his trunk and drives back to the dorms.

By the time he finishes finding space in the fridge for everything, it’s a little past 4AM. In about an hour and a half, Ingrid will be up for her morning run, and she always welcomes company. Dimitri shoots her a text for when she wakes up; he’ll pick up coffee and pastries for them too.

For now, he might as well work on his upcoming paper a little more.

.

“So, what’s with the special cheese in the fridge?” Sylvain asks later that day, when their childhood quartet all meet up for lunch.

“Oh,” Dimitri says, remembering. “That. Um…there was a girl in the supermarket who just kind of…had me buy them?”

Sylvain, Felix, and Ingrid blink at him.

“What do you mean, ‘had you buy them’?” Felix says.

Dimitri recounts the whole experience.

“And you bought them,” Felix says, with his brows furrowed, his eyes and tone clearly conveying what the hell, that was so stupid.

Dimitri just shrugs.

“We should eat it later,” Ingrid says, biting into her burger, and Sylvain laughs.

“Yeah, leave it to Ingrid,” he says. “But we should. To commemorate Dimitri’s weird 3AM experience.”

Sylvain makes a big deal of it when they do eat the cheese later, when their classes have ended for the day and they’re back in their suite. He puts the crackers on a plate and tries to cut the cheese into fancy shapes, which only Dimitri actually appreciates.

“Oooh, spicy,” Ingrid says, as she pops a cube into her mouth. “Hey, this is really good!”

Felix says nothing, but reaches for more. Sylvain laments about the lack of appreciation for his artistic attempts, but also agrees that the cheese is great when he finally eats a piece himself.

Dimitri, as always, cannot really taste the flavor, but he likes both the scent and the texture, at least.

“So Dimitri finally meets a girl, we get a brand new cheese, what else is next?” Sylvain says, leaning back on the sofa.

“It wasn’t like that,” Dimitri protests, then pauses. “But she was very pretty,” he admits quietly, and Sylvain grins. “Like a goddess,” he adds, even quieter.

Sylvain smacks his own face in secondhand embarrassment.

“There, you see? It’s Dimitri’s romantic awakening.”

“Hardly matters unless he gets to see her again,” Felix says lazily, and Sylvain is the one that makes a wounded noise.

Dimitri, on the other hand, merely looks thoughtful. He hadn’t actively thought about wanting to see her again until Felix brought it up. But he thinks he might like to, if the chance presented itself.

“It’s the awakening,” Sylvain whisper-hisses, and no one seems to care.

“Stranger things have happened,” Ingrid says, in response to Felix’s statement and not Sylvain’s, “In any case, you should get this again.”

She tries to eat the rest. Felix fights her for it.

(When Dimitri goes shopping again two weeks later, he can’t find the cheese anywhere. Ingrid looks let down, Sylvain looks surprised, and Felix looks offended.

“What the fuck? Go find your 3AM cheese goddess again and ask her,” Felix says, and Sylvain laughs a little too hard.)

.

Dimitri’s not sure why he allows himself to be dragged to parties, but he keeps letting it happen. Ingrid had brought them news that Dorothea was throwing her beginning-of-semester bash, which was always a Big Deal, and several of their mutual friends were going. Ingrid couldn’t not attend, because she was good friends with Dorothea. Sylvain was absolutely going, because he would never miss a party. Felix had not wanted to go, but Sylvain had somehow convinced him, and if Felix was going to suffer, then Dimitri better damn well suffer too, and so he relented from the combined pressure of Felix’s glare and Sylvain’s coaxing.

He supposed he could use the change of pace every now and then. And he could always slip away; people were usually too drunk to notice after a couple hours.

Sylvain borrows a shirt from Dimitri’s closet and wears it with three buttons undone. Felix steals a black jacket from Dimitri’s closet and wears it halfway down his arms. Ingrid does not take anything from his closet this time, but does borrow one of his hair ties.

Everyone tells Dimitri to change when he comes out of his room; Sylvain, as usual, takes control to make Dimitri more “party ready”, which consists of a long blue coat and off-white shirt—with several buttons undone, of course. (Dimitri buttons at least two up again later.)

The party is loud and raucous as it’s meant to be, but he’s amongst mostly friends, and so he’s actually not that anxious. There’s a few people he doesn’t know, but he is otherwise at least mostly familiar with everyone else. Annette bounces up and down when she sees them walk in, tapping Mercedes on the shoulder, who was conversing with Ashe. Dedue appears a moment later, and Dimitri’s main friend group is all here.

“Yay! I’m glad you made it too, Dimitri,” Annette says cheerfully. “Gosh—frowning already, Felix? Here, have a drink.”

Annette proffers her own cup.

“You already drank out of this,” Felix scowls, but he takes it anyway, and grimaces when he takes a sip. “What is this, fruit juice?”

“Felix is too good for Noa liquer,” Annette declares, turning her nose up, “Fine, go get yourself a beer or whatever!”

Felix teases her by holding her cup too high to reach, and she screeches at him until he finally puts it back in her hands. Mercedes chuckles as she watches them, and Sylvain takes the opportunity to compliment her dress with a roguish wink. She returns the compliment easily enough, with genuine warmth, which always throws Sylvain off.

“Dedue! I was surprised to hear you were coming,” Dimitri smiles, and Dedue smiles back.

“Dorothea asked if Ashe and I could make a few things,” he said. “Since I am here, I may as well make sure nobody gets in too much trouble.”

Dimitri chuckles.

“Oooh, Dedue, Ashe, you made food?” Ingrid chimes in, looking excited. While some things had obviously been bought, Dorothea was pretty picky about the specifics of her parties when she threw one. “I’m excited!”

“We did a really good job, if I say so myself,” Ashe smiles. “The meat skewers came out really well, so you and Felix should grab some while you get a chance.”

“Oh, you bet I will,” Ingrid says, already wandering away. “Hear that Felix? I’m not saving you any!”

Felix yells back, and in a second they all start wading deeper into the place, and everyone starts to branch off on their own. Dedue still mostly sticks with Dimitri, though, and the two of them stick to the peripheries.

Dorothea’s parties really span the entire apartment building; her neighbors across the way and downstairs are either friends or people she’s friendly with, so the doors to their apartments are also open for more space. If Dimitri thinks about it, it’s really nice, the way everything comes together.

As the night wears on and he’s consumed a couple drinks that Mercedes had kindly procured for him (with a reminder to drink slow), he begins feeling—looser, braver, almost a little giddy. Dedue is in conversation with Ashe, and Dimitri slips away to the kitchen for a moment, because there had been an extra dish of saghert and cream that he now wants in a very visceral way.

The kitchen is surprisingly empty—except for one person, who has climbed up on the counter, and is perched on her knees as she rifles through the topmost cabinet. The slit up the side of her skirt shows a generous bit of leg with the way she’s positioned, and Dimitri stares before he tells himself not to. The girl takes out two bags of—some kind of snack, and when she turns her head, Dimitri sees that she is holding another bag with her teeth, and also that he recognizes her.

“From the dairy aisle,” he blurts, and she blinks at him before trying to climb off the counter.

She teeters a little and Dimitri automatically moves to help her, in which he actually just lifts her off the counter by the armpits like a wayward cat.

“Oh—sorry,” he says, realizing that the action was way too familiar for someone who barely qualified as an acquaintance.

But she doesn’t look at all offended, and merely sets all three bags of chips down before she speaks.

“Thanks,” she says, then stares at him. “From the dairy aisle,” she states, in a manner that is confirming that yes, that is where they met.

A pause. She is so, so pretty, Dimitri thinks. There is sparkly gold eyeshadow brightening her already-bright green eyes, making her stare more intense. The more they’re at a standstill, the more nervous he becomes.

“I couldn’t find the cheese again,” he blurts.

She nods.

“It’s only stocked the fourth Tuesday of the month,” she says, ripping open a bag of chips, and taking a few to cram in her mouth before offering them to Dimitri.

“Oh,” he says, taking a chip. “It was very good. My friends liked it a lot too.”

She stares for a moment again, then offers him a tiny smile, a brief upturn of her lips. She had expected him to, he realizes, and she’s at least minutely pleased to have that expectation fulfilled. A short laugh escapes him at how odd this all is.

“You didn’t buy anything that night,” he says, though it comes out as a question.

She shrugs.

“I was just there,” she says, offering the chip bag again.

“Just there,” he repeats, taking more chips. At 3:30AM. “To…hang out?”

She gives a brief shake of her head.

“To stare at a specifically stocked cheese, only to give them to a stranger to buy?” Dimitri tries again.

She blinks at him, popping more chips in her mouth.

“Not a stranger,” she says, after she finishes chewing.

“Pardon? Forgive me, I don’t…recall us meeting before that night?” he says. He would have remembered someone like her, he’d think.

“You’re Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd,” she says, and he blinks at her use of his full name. Her eyes crease in amusement at his expression. “Not a stranger to me.”

Ah.

“But you are a stranger to me,” he says, and she shrugs again, as if saying it’s not like it’s something he could help.

“Byleth,” she offers, putting the open bag of chips in his hands, and opening up another one. (He looks at the labeling on the front. Beast meat and onion flavor. Huh.) “Want to go on an adventure, Dimitri?”

He looks back at her, mouth slightly open. She continues to stare at him, munching away from the other bag of chips, waiting for his response.

“Okay,” he says.

She nods, then rinses her fingers at the sink before motioning for him to follow with her head. She takes the two bags of chips with her as she walks out of the kitchen.

She navigates the crowd until she finds a group of three, all dressed looking as if they could kill, dumping the chip bags into the hands of a redhead.

“Hm? Chatterbox, where did you find these?” the girl says, reading the unusual flavors.

“Kitchen cabinet,” Byleth says, and the girl shoots her a half-exasperated look, but questions no further.

She hands one of them to the girl with blonde curls beside her, and Dimitri proffers the third bag as well, which the redhead also takes with a curious glance at him. Byleth makes to leave, but the boy with lavender hair and sparkly eyeshadow—the same that glints on Byleth’s eyelids, he realizes—stops her.

“Whoa, hold on there, friend! Not so much an introduction?”

“You know him already,” Byleth says, and the boy frowns at her.

“Yuri Leclerc,” he says, turning to Dimitri.

“Name’s Hapi,” the redhead pipes up, still looking at the chips.

“And I am Constance von Nuvelle,” the blonde says, tilting up her chin with a haughty smile.

“Dimitri,” he says, a little shyly, since they already know him. “A pleasure.”

“I’m sure,” Yuri says, with a nod of his head, before glancing back at Byleth. “Are you leaving already? And kidnapping the Blaiddyd Heir?”

“Yes,” Byleth says.

A pause.

“Well, carry on then,” Yuri says with a shrug. “Want a drink before you go?”

“Yes,” Byleth says.

They wait as Yuri makes his way to the counter full of bottles a little ways away, watching as he makes a cocktail in a shaker with professional ease. He strains the drink into three cups, carrying all of them back, and Byleth and Dimitri take one each.

“You get what I’m drinking,” Yuri says, eyes wicked, and does not offer up what it is. Dimitri sips, and by the way it burns, he can tell it’s strong. Yuri looks faintly impressed with Dimitri’s lack of reaction beyond a few rapid blinks. “I’ll tell the Heir’s friends where he went, if I see them asking.”

“Thank you,” Dimitri says, realizing that he doesn’t know where any of them are at the moment.

Byleth merely nods, and motions for Dimitri to follow again.

The night air is refreshing, and Dimitri feels pleasantly floaty as he trails after his new friend. They round the Black Eagle complex and head into the dark woods behind; he doesn’t know where they’re going and feels like he shouldn’t ask; he has an idle thought that he should text one of his friends to let them know, but Byleth looks back at him to make sure he’s following and he can only think about how pretty she is. He smiles at her, and she tilts her head before reaching for his hand.

“Hand,” Dimitri says, looking down at them.

“Hand,” Byleth agrees. “The ground is uneven here.”

He looks a little longer and then swings them a little. Byleth looks amused.

He enjoys the silent companionship between them for a little while but quickly becomes curious, so he begins asking her questions. What year was she? A senior. Where did she live on campus? In Abyss, at the Ashen Wolf dorm. Her major? More or less the teaching program, with a focus on weapons and tactics. Technically it was something of a double major, paired with history and international studies. It was complicated. Her weapon concentrations? This year, faith and reason magic. She’d already passed for swords, brawling, and bows.

He stares at her open-mouthed as she answers his questions with easy patience.

“That’s…quite the curriculum,” he says slowly, “When do you sleep?”

She glances at him.

“I manage,” she says, “I could say the same for you.”

He pauses, looking up at the sky as he collects his thoughts, sipping at his drink absentmindedly. She must already know what his curriculum more or less was—the three heirs apparent of Adrestia, Faerghus, and Leicester attending the same school the same year had been quite the news, and though their ideas of management differed, they did also overlap in areas. A handful of their core classes were inevitably the same before they branched off into their own areas of interest. But in any case, all of them were double-majoring with incredibly heavy courseloads to help prepare for their futures.

“It’s just insomnia,” Dimitri says instead.

“Ah,” she says, nodding. “So, 3AM grocery shopping.”

“So 3AM grocery shopping,” he agrees.

He’s not sure how long they’ve been walking, but even if it’s been a long time, he finds this all terribly pleasant. A distant part of him is aware that he would not be this at ease had it not been for the drinks he’s had tonight. Alcohol is wonderful.

Byleth pushes through some branches, and they walk into a clearing, and Dimitri looks up at an enormous tree, his mouth open.

“Ta-da,” Byleth says, though her inflection doesn’t change, “Biggest tree on campus. Good place to sleep under.”

“Now?” Dimitri says, with some alarm.

“You could camp if you wanted to. But in the daytime,” Byleth tells him, drinking from her cup. “Try it sometime.”

He blinks at her, unsure if this is just a general suggestion or specifically geared advice.

“Not sure I could find it again,” he says, because he doesn’t recall the path they took at all, too distracted by other things. Also, despite the moon, it had been quite the dark trek.

“I’ll bring you,” she says simply.

They go closer to the tree, and Byleth reaches up to one of the lowest branches and snaps off two thin stalks of leaves, inspecting them before nodding.

“Okay, let’s go back.”

“Oh,” Dimitri says, a little dumbfounded, “Okay.”

They make their way back. Along the way, Dimitri finishes his drink, Byleth stumbles over a tree root (her shoes are heeled, he realizes just now, how did she trek all the way in those?), and Dimitri somewhat insistently offers her a piggy back ride. She accepts, loosely wrapping her arms around his neck with both of their empty cups stacked in one hand, and Dimitri feels just a little giddy. He wants to run. (He tells himself not to.)

“You know,” she says after a while, resting her chin on his shoulder, “You shouldn’t follow strangers into dark and unknown places.”

“Not a stranger,” Dimitri says, feeling exceedingly proud of himself for the response.

He feels rather than sees her smile, and is disappointed he can’t see it. When they make it to Dorothea’s, Sylvain and Felix are outside, and the former hollers when he sees him.

“You stupid boar, why the hell didn’t you pick up your phone?!” Felix hisses when they near, and Dimitri’s eyes widen.

Byleth hops off of his back (and Sylvain stares), and Dimitri pulls his phone out of his pocket to see six notifications of missed calls and texts.

“It was on silent,” Dimitri says apologetically, and Felix huffs. “Sorry.”

“Aw, no harm no foul,” Sylvain says, “Dimitri was just occupied, huh?”

“I kidnapped him,” Byleth says, throwing the two empty cups into a nearby trash can.

“We had an adventure,” Dimitri says, enthusiastically.

“Did you now,” Sylvain says, looking at Byleth, who merely stares back and adjusts her posture like a challenge. It only serves to make Sylvain more intrigued.

“This is Byleth,” Dimitri says, “From the dairy aisle!”

“Oh, the 3AM cheese goddess?” Sylvain says with a laugh, and Felix flushes at the stupid moniker as Byleth blinks in surprise.

“Yes,” Dimitri nods, “She says it’s only stocked…uh…”

“The fourth Tuesday of the month,” she supplies.

“What the fuck?” Felix says incredulously.

She shrugs. A chime goes off, and this time Byleth reaches into her bra to pull out her phone. All three boys stare at her.

“Gotta go,” she says, tapping out a quick reply. “Balthus is fighting someone.”

“Ah,” Dimitri says, wilting, his eyes and countenance like a sad puppy.  

“You’ll see me around,” Byleth tells him with a faint smile, and disappears back into the apartment.

“He’s smitten,” Sylvain whispers to Felix, watching Dimitri stare after her.  

“Disgusting,” Felix says back, scowling. “He’s also drunk. Did she say there was a fight?”

They head back in to find the rest of their friends to assure them that Dimitri is alive. There is indeed a fight, but a result of two very brawny guys—one presumably Balthus, the other Raphael—testing their abilities against each other. Dorothea is yelling, trying to get them to take it outside before they break things in her apartment and someone else gets hurt, to no avail.

Dimitri catches Yuri’s eye from across the crowd, who grins and waves in a cheeky sort of manner, pointing back to the ring. Byleth then appears, sliding her way in between them with impeccable timing and launching her own surprise attack. She punches the one with wild dark hair in the gut, then grabs him by the wrist and throws him to the floor. The apartment erupts in cheers.

“Aw, what the hell, Byleth!” Balthus yells, sitting up.

“Didn’t you hear the lady?” she says to both him and Raphael, who is also cheering, “Outside.”

“You deserved that, B,” Hapi chimes in, “You started it.”

“Alright, alright,” Balthus groans. “Round two outside, then!”

Sylvain elbows Felix, and they both look at Dimitri.

“Smitten,” Sylvain says.

“Disgusting,” Felix says, with feeling.

(Alcohol is terrible, Dimitri decides the next morning, when he wakes up with a massive hangover. He ventures out of his room and all three of his childhood friends—who are somehow already up, how was that possible?—stare at him in one coordinated movement to incredibly eerie effect. They also look how he feels.

“We’ve got the hangover cures,” Ingrid says, placing a plate of greasy breakfast food down as Sylvain holds up the full coffeepot and Felix rattles their mega-size bottle of aspirin. “So spill about what the hell happened last night.”

Dimitri demurs momentarily to brush his teeth and wash his face. After, he sits down at their common table, accepts a cup of coffee, and dutifully spills.)

.

It’s two weeks before he sees Byleth again, having not being able to catch a glimpse of her anywhere. Garreg Mach was a big university, and he hadn’t recognized her from campus previously, but…now that he was looking, he’d kind of expected to at least see her on occasion from a distance.

It’s another late-night chore night, and it’s about 1AM when he hauls his basket of dirty clothes to the laundry room. He expects the potential of others doing their laundry since the hour isn’t that late, but when he pushes through the doors he does not expect to see Byleth sitting on top of one of the washing machines, legs drawn up, a hardcover book perched on her lap.

She holds up a hand in greeting, as if she had been waiting for him to walk through the door.

“Hello,” Dimitri returns, blinking a few times, disoriented.

One, her legs are distracting him, because they are so bare and it doesn’t look like she’s wearing pants. Two, while she isn’t disallowed here to do laundry, this is the Blue Lion dorm. She lives in the Ashen Wolf dorm, which is oddly isolated from every other housing, so there is absolutely no reason for her to be doing laundry here, at a location of total inconvenience, at 1AM.  

“What are you doing here?” he ventures, walking over and setting down his basket in front of the empty one next to her.

Byleth lets her legs down so they dangle over the side of the washing machine, just over her sandals. She is wearing pants, he sees—or shorts, rather. They’re just…very short, and her oversized sweatshirt nearly covers them. She looks comfy, at least.

“Reading,” Byleth responds, holding up the book, A Treatise on Srengian Weaponcraft.

“You’re studying—here?” Dimitri asks incredulously.

Byleth shrugs.

“Good of a place as any,” she says.

“I...guess it could be,” Dimitri relents.

It’s not busy at this time, and the machines are top-notch, so the noise they produce could be acceptable enough ambience. He stares at her a minute before he moves on to load his clothes into the machine, carefully measuring out the detergent and pressing his desired settings. Byleth watches him, and when the immediate task is completed, Dimitri nervously faces her.

“I um…I’m sorry for my behavior at the party,” he says, trying not to wring his hands as he thinks about the piggyback ride. “My actions were—overfamiliar.”

“On the contrary,” Byleth counters easily, “You helped me out.”

He brightens a little at that, and she tilts her head at him. After a moment she smiles a little, and Dimitri feels his heart skip a beat.

“How was the morning after?” she asks, and Dimitri coughs at the wording.

“Not ideal,” he admits, rubbing the max of his neck. “My tolerance is not very high. But I recovered.”

“I’ll note that,” she says, with a nod. “Yuri hits hard with his drinks. You took it well, considering.”

He debates whether to bring up his lack of taste, but decides against it. That conversation always goes one way, and he doesn’t want to bring up past tragedies and traumas, right now.

“You were okay?” he asks instead, and she gives him an amused look.

“High tolerance,” she says. “Father’s side.”

“Ah,” Dimitri nods. Not that he knows her very well, but she hadn’t seemed drunk at all—though by the time he’d run into her in the kitchen he wasn’t confident in his own observational accuracy. He doesn’t know where to go from here, and his eyes fall on her book. “So…Srengian weaponry?” he tries, and winces at the awkwardness of the delivery.

But Byleth nods.

“Known for their maces,” she says absently, cracking the text open again, “But their other weapons have some good durability.” She pauses, looking at him. “Might be a worthwhile investment.”

He blinks. The Blaiddyd line is well-known for their greater-than-average strength, and Dimitri is no exception. Still, he hates how easily things break in his hands; even iron and steel can shatter in his grip if he’s startled. But Byleth offers this suggestion so matter-of-factly, as if she were recommending a flavor of ice cream or color of shirt, that he can’t even be embarrassed about it.

“It might be,” Dimitri says eventually. “I’ll look into it. Sylvain has contacts in Sreng.”

“So do I, if you need another,” Byleth says, and Dimitri blinks at her again.

Sreng’s clan politics are notoriously turbulent, and Sylvain only had actual contacts because he had been trying to improve relations as the next head of House Gautier, whose lands bordered Sreng. Otherwise, Sreng wasn’t usually a place people had, or could get, contacts in.

“You…have contacts in Sreng?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“My father used to be a mercenary before a bodyguard,” Byleth says absently, “So I grew up as one, too. We used to travel a lot.”

There’s more to it, Dimitri can tell, but he doesn’t push, purely because he doesn’t know what, exactly, to ask.

“There more I learn about you, the less I seem to know,” he says with a wry smile after a minute.

She stares at him.

“And to me, you feel familiar,” she murmurs.

His eyes widen.

“Oh,” he says.

“Oh,” she agrees.

There’s silence.

“I only ever seem to meet you unexpectedly,” he ventures, after a long while. The washer beeps, the lock to the door releasing. He goes to open it.

“I’m not a ghost,” Byleth says, watching as he takes out his damp clothes and begins moving them to the dryer.

“That’s relieving,” he smiles. “I also only ever seem to see you at night.”

She only smiles faintly at that.

“Let’s spar,” she says.

“Wha—now?”

“No, tomorrow,” she says. “During the day.”

He’s not entirely sure what brought this on, but he does think he’d like very much to see her fight.

“After one o’clock?” He asks, wracking his brain for his schedule, and she considers it for a moment before nodding and hopping off of the washing machine.

She slides her feet back into her sandals ad begins walking away. Dimitri panics for a moment, because they haven’t hashed out any details.

“Wait! How will we—?”

“I’ll make myself visible,” Byleth says, already halfway out the door as she peeks back, “You won’t miss me.”

And then she’s gone. Dimitri shakes his head as he finishes moving the rest of his laundry. Once he straightens back up, he realizes she’s left her book.

A tether, he thinks.

After a moment, as he waits for his clothes to dry, he picks it up and cracks it open.

A good of a place to read as any.  

.

He tries to not tell his friends after lunch where he’s going (and technically, he doesn’t even know), but his antsiness is apparent, so his secret-keeping fails spectacularly. Sylvain and Ingrid tag team him, and he gives Ingrid a betrayed look.

“Fellas, do we think it’s a date?” Sylvain asks, holding out his hands as if he’s addressing a council.

“It’s sparring,” Ingrid says, “Not a date.”

“Could be a date,” Felix says.

“Only you would consider that a date,” Sylvain laments.

Felix shoves him. Dimitri hurries along, trying to leave them behind in the cafeteria to no avail. He really wishes he had been more insistent on details last night, because in a few moments, he’ll be at a loss of where he should be heading.

It’s a needless worry, because as he walks out, he is reminded of Byleth’s words. In the distance, where the space opens up and there are benches situated along walkways, an enormous amount of birds are flocking.

“Oh,” Dimitri says, and when his friends catch up behind him, they also stare.

“What the hell is that?” Felix says, and Dimitri picks his way towards the mass.

“Byleth, I think,” Dimitri answers faintly. “She said I wouldn’t miss her.”

When they near the birds scatter in one movement, though some brave ones flutter back. Byleth is indeed revealed to have been in the middle—and cause—of that, a bag of birdseed mostly empty in her hands. She nods her head in greeting as Sylvain starts laughing.

“Hello,” Ingrid says, whacking Sylvain once, but he doesn’t stop and doubles over instead, “I think I missed out on meeting you properly at Dorothea’s. I’m Ingrid.”

She holds out her hand, and Byleth says her name in return as she shakes it.

“I want in on the spar,” Felix says, and Sylvain wheezes, his laughter abruptly cut off by Felix’s self-imposed third-wheeling status of this potential date.

“Okay,” Byleth says without hesitation, and Ingrid and Sylvain sigh. Not a date.  

Dimitri isn’t offended, mostly intrigued. Byleth stands, brushing feathers and seeds off of her lap, and sets off in the direction of the gyms and training halls. The others follow, Ingrid and Sylvain too interested to stay behind.

Dimitri had brought a change of clothes, but it becomes evident that Byleth intends to fight in her jeans and nice blouse and heeled boots, so he doesn’t end up changing. There’s no conversation, though Sylvain fills the silence with chatter anyway, as if this is a routine they know well.

Byleth picks up a practice sword and Felix’s eyes gleam; Dimitri picks up a practice lance, handling it with a light touch.

“Best two out of three,” Byleth says, and Dimitri nods.

She lets him take first hit, the two of them warming up as they trade easy blows. She’s quick, but so is Dimitri despite his size. He does well enough at keeping her at a distance, but he misreads her intention and she lunges in close, tapping her blade against his ribs.

“Point!” Sylvain calls excitedly.

“No need to go easy,” she says, “For lances, the moment the distance closes, you have to be quick and readjust, or it’s over.”

“Yes, Professor,” Dimitri says, the title slipping out. “Ah—”

Byleth gives him an amused look but doesn’t comment, getting back into position.

They go again. Dimitri throws away some of his reservations but still not entirely, and she lands the second round too.

“Harder,” she says, and Sylvain whistles as Dimitri flushes.

“I’m concerned about my strength,” he admits, examining the practice lance. Breakage of the practice equipment itself is no matter, but it’s the ensuing issues that can arise.

“Mercenary training, remember,” Byleth says, and though they don’t see it, Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid’s eyebrows rise.

Dimitri frowns, but takes a deep breath, and trusts her.

He whirls. Byleth’s reflexes are excellent and she dodges fairly easily, tracking his moments with an even sharper gaze than before. He doesn’t like fighting, but he’s been trained since he was a child; it wasn’t necessary in this day and age to know how to—it was more common to just hire protection detail against demonic or wild beasts, or other enemies—but those descended from the old noble bloodlines especially still held onto tradition, whether as a hobby or actual self-protection. Even so, he can tell the difference between them; she’s seen real battle, and though he has too, not in the same capacity. The way she strategizes and reads his movements in a split second is incredible.

The cracks from their clashing practice blades are louder, and Dimitri registers that his will shatter soon. It’s hard to control his strength when the fight is so exhilarating. He goes for it anyway, jumping back from her slash and spinning his lance in his hands rapidly; Byleth’s eyes narrow, and he lunges.

He just barely sees her move, her timing is impeccable—she jumps, stomping the tip of the lance into the ground before stepping forward and snapping his lance at its weakest point. As her foot hits the ground, she crouches low and sweeps his legs out from under him.

When he opens his eyes, she has her sword under his chin.

“A good move,” she says, “But it’s going to take more than that to catch me.”

She’s not even saying it flirtatiously. She does, however, smile at little at him before offering a hand up, and Dimitri thinks he might be in love.

“Oh, he’s done for,” Sylvain says under his breath.

“He doesn’t deserve her,” Felix scoffs, his tone almost bored, but his eyes are bright at the display of Byleth’s skill.  

Ingrid doesn’t say anything, and when the two boys turn to her, having expected her to respond, they see her typing furiously on her phone.

“Traitor,” Felix says, clicking his tongue.

“Just doing my duty,” Ingrid replies solemnly.

(Felix also loses all three bouts against Byleth, though he comes close the third time. Afterwards, they all end up training together, and even Sylvain puts his mind to it after Ingrid drags him onto the field.

“We’re getting milkshakes,” Ingrid declares, after they wrap up.

She’s sitting on the ground while Sylvain is lying flat on his back. Felix and Dimitri are less expressive, but they too look worn. Byleth is unreadable, but she does, at least, look a little winded. She offers a hand to Ingrid, while Felix rolls his eyes and pulls Sylvain up after he complains.  

“Dimitri’s buying yours, Byleth,” Ingrid says, and the two in question look surprised.

“Oh,” Byleth says, “I—”

“Allow me,” Dimitri smiles.

Byleth blinks at him.

“Okay,” she says. “Thank you.”

Felix and Sylvain look at Ingrid, who looks smug.

“I’ll buy yours, Ingrid,” Sylvain says, with a discreet salute.

“I’m buying my own,” Felix tells them.

They all fall into step. Byleth politely listens to them squabble all the way to the shop.)

.

Byleth comes and goes when she wants to, like a cat or a ghost.

On a few occasions she shows up during their group lunches, stealing fries or other sides off of someone’s plate (mostly Dimitri’s), staying only to chat for a few minutes before she is off again. Sometimes she is in the company of her friends—the ones Dimitri met at Dorothea’s party (who he learns are also her suitemates) or Linhardt von Hevring, who seems to be either half-asleep or hyperfocused on his thesis project. Dimitri actually does see her around campus sometimes now, but he does see her friends more than he does her.

“Dunno what to say about that,” Yuri tells him, when he and Dimitri cross paths and are walking the same way to their next classes, “Half the time she’s not in her room and none of us know where she is. She’s always been like that. That’s just Byleth.”

“You’ve known her long?” Dimitri queries.

“Maybe around—five, six years? Constance, Hapi, Balthus, and I banded together after some…unfortunate circumstances. Byleth helped us out of a tight spot during our last year of high school. Stuck with her ever since.”

“I see,” Dimitri says, and Yuri glances at him.

“You’re not bad, Princeling,” Yuri says after a moment. Most people want to pry into the “unfortunate circumstances” and “tight spot” that he spoke of, and Yuri feels more inclined towards Dimitri for not doing so.

Dimitri winces instead.

“It’s just…”

He trails off. Yuri can guess why.

“Ohh. Yeah, okay. I get it.”

Dimitri blinks at him in surprise.

“You do?”

Yuri doesn’t answer that. There’s little he doesn’t know about the people on campus; the Blaiddyd Heir didn’t question Yuri, so Yuri will not question him in turn.

“Byleth’s Byleth,” he says instead, “Count yourself lucky that she makes a point to find you.”

With that, Yuri nods his head and turns into his classroom. Dimitri stands there, mulling over Yuri’s words, before he realizes that he’s running late and dashes to his own class.

.

There’s a small park nearby that Dimitri goes to as well during the nights he can’t sleep. All it has is a couple of benches and a swingset and a basketball court; a surprising number of people use both during the day, but unsurprisingly, no one’s there at night.

Except Byleth. Dimitri is no longer startled when he comes across her, even though her presence is always more unexpected than not. She’s swinging on the swings, kicking up woodchips as she drags her feet.

“Hi,” Dimitri says, walking closer. “Need a push?”

She nods, and he helps her swing higher. Pretty quickly the height she reaches seems dangerous, but she just calls “higher” and so he keeps pushing, until it seems like she is going to go over the whole set.

“Um,” Dimitri says, pushing her once more, and she glances at him as she surges up.

As she glides forward and reaches the highest point—she jumps.

Dimitri yells, startled, but she soars through the air, serene and graceful with her arms outstretched, hair spreading out behind her. She nails the landing a ways away, and when she turns back to him, she has a faint smile curving her lips, looking—exhilarated.

“You scared me,” Dimitri says, holding a hand over his rapidly beating heart.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, as she walks back to him. “Again?”

He frowns at her. She tilts her head. Something about the way she went through the air—he can’t place that brand of fear. He gives himself a shake, forces a weak smile onto his face.

“Okay,” he says, and she blinks at him a few times before seating herself back on the swing.

She jumps three more times before she’s satisfied, then offers to push him if he wants a turn, or four. He politely declines, but sits on the other swing, and they move back and forth lazily.

“Drink for your thoughts?” she asks after a while, and rummages through her bag that he didn’t see earlier, pulling out a glass water bottle.

Dimitri debates, taking the bottle warily.

“Did Yuri make this?” he asks, shaking it a little, and Byleth smiles at him.

“Constance did,” she says. “It’s pleasant.”

It smells fruity when he opens the top, so he takes her word for it. It goes down easily and doesn’t burn at all, so he assumes (hopes) it’s of the weaker alcohol content variety as well.

“Do you…know what you’re going to do after you graduate?” he asks hesitantly, passing the drink back to her.

Once the question is out, he realizes the truth of it—Byleth will be graduating at the end of this year. The fact saddens him more strongly than he would have thought.

She’s silent for a while, sipping twice from her bottle.

“Yes and no,” she says finally. Opens her mouth as if to speak again, closes it. Turns to him. “You’re thinking about your position as heir.”

“I want it,” he says automatically, then pauses to consider if that’s true. It doesn’t feel like a lie, but…“I…I have never known anything else.”

Byleth looks at him, leans forward a little so that her hair falls forward too.

“That’s okay too,” she says, “To want—or to be okay with—what others want of you, until you don’t.”

He looks back at her.

“How will I know if I don’t?” he asks.

“You’ll know. Or…your friends will be able to tell.” She pauses, swings a little. “It’s hard to say.”

“You seem to have all the answers,” he says, and she raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure I really gave you any,” she says.

“That helped, nonetheless,” he says, with a smile. “Thank you.”

She smiles back.

They share the drink between them until Byleth speaks again.

“I avoided your question earlier,” she says.

“Technically you answered it,” he responds, drinking again.

She snorts, and laughs a little. Dimitri feels inordinately proud of himself.

“I’m answering it again, then,” she says, though she pauses still. “I might want to be a teacher. I might want to do what my father does.” She cocks her head. “I’ve been given a lot of choices. Theoretically, I could do anything I want.” She looks at him. “I don’t know what I want.”

Dimitri pauses, holds her gaze.

“It’s okay to not want, until you do?” he tries, and she laughs again.

“Does it work like that?”

“It could,” Dimitri says. “Probably?” He pauses. “You could pick one until you don’t want it anymore.”

Byleth swings.

“It could work like that,” she says with a slight nod. She glances at him. “Thanks.”

He gives her a helpless sort of shrug, not feeling like he really gave her an answer, either. He guesses he understands how she felt just a few moments ago, then.

“Bottoms up,” she says, and drains half of the remaining liquid in the bottle, handing the rest to Dimitri to finish up.

He does so dutifully, and she puts the empty bottle back in her bag. After, she kicks off the ground, swinging higher and higher. Dimitri watches her, then gets up, walking a bit of a distance away. She watches him in turn, then flashes him a sort of sharp smile before she pumps her legs once more for momentum, then sends herself flying.

He gauges the distance, adjusting his position, then catches her as she comes hurtling down.

“Oof,” he says, as their bodies collide and he wraps his arms around her.

“Nice,” she says into his neck, then leans back to look at him.

Oh. She’s so close. His eyes widen as he stares, lips slightly parted; her expression is unreadable, but she isn’t looking away, and he can feel her breath on his skin as she tilts a little closer, his heart beating so fast he swears she must hear it—

He lets her down. His brain immediately starts screaming. Idiot idiot idiot, why did you do that, WHY DID YOU DO THAT??? WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT???

Byleth, for her part, looks unruffled and unperturbed.

“Finals are coming up,” Dimitri says, very smoothly.

She nods, walking back to the swingset to take her bag, slinging the strap over her shoulder.

“If we’re awake, we might as well study,” she says, very seriously.

He follows her out of the park, walks her back to the dorm partway.

“Good night,” she says.

“Good night,” he echoes, and he watches her walk away until he can’t see her anymore.

When she’s out of sight, he squats down and puts his head in his hands.

(He puts himself on trial tomorrow, when his friends are awake. Sylvain and Felix sit across from him, and their gazes are piercing when he recounts the previous night. Ingrid does not sit at the table because she is more inclined to be sympathetic, and moves in the background making a smoothie for herself.

Sylvain wails when Dimitri tells That Part of the story. Felix is silent, just sits there with folded arms and looks so many levels of disappointed, though it’s probably not necessarily just about this one thing.

It’s like that maybe for forty-five minutes, this whole pathetic display. Ingrid leans against the counter, drinks her smoothie, and recounts a play-by-play on her phone into one of her group chats.)

.

Dimitri does not see Byleth again until they are well into finals week, and he tries not to despair.

“It is finals week,” Mercedes says soothingly.

“And she’s a senior,” Annette adds. “She’s gotta be super busy!”

“Plus, you said you never know when you see her!” Ashe says helpfully, “It’s been longer before, right?”

“But,” Sylvain almost howls, pulling at his hair, “After that? AFTER THAT?”

“Sylvain!” Annette and Ashe scold, but Dimitri feels the same. He doesn’t even have the number so he can apologize, because she always appears and disappears so suddenly that it keeps slipping his mind to ask.

Felix’s frown has grown more severe. Ingrid and Dedue look at each other and back at Dimitri, and say nothing. Mercedes and Annette look at Ingrid almost pleadingly, who gives them a sheepish shrug.

“It’ll be okay, Dimitri!” Annette tries again, and he lets out a sad sort of keen.

“For now, just focus on finals,” Mercedes suggests, “And then maybe it’ll all work out afterwards?”

“It will at least be a distraction,” Dedue finally chimes in.

Dimitri says nothing. Sylvain says it all for him.

.

Dimitri sees Byleth’s friends around a few times, and though he knows them and they know him, he hasn’t spoken to them very much, so he feels awkward asking after Byleth. Yuri, on the other hand, he knows better, and the boy looks amused when Dimitri (hopefully) casually brings her up.

Yuri has nothing new to share though, except he does insinuate that Byleth is hard at work at finalizing her thesis paper. Dimitri calms a little at that—enough to focus better on his own work later. Yuri gives him a look and pats his shoulder lightly before walking off.    

As always, when Dimitri does find Byleth, it’s unexpected.

He’s half dead after finishing his last final, one that took place in one of the more isolated buildings on campus. Pleased that he’s finally done with that, at least, he takes the scenic route back to his dorm—there’s a glass hallway that cuts through a forested area with a river, and it’s especially beautiful this time of year.

As he looks out, movement catches his eye down below, and he’s startled to see Byleth come out from under the old stone bridge and look up at him.

His heart leaps to his throat. She waves, and he waves back hesitantly, and then she motions for him to come down.

Dimitri looks left and right, trying to figure out the best way to reach her, and he goes.

He’s slightly out of breath when he reaches her, and she has a pile of stones in her hand when he does. He blinks at them, meeting her eyes, confused and mildly concerned as to what she might use them for. Is she angry? But she’d waved him down…but was it because she was angry and about to give him a piece of her mind?

“Do you know how to skip stones?” she asks, and it takes him a minute to process.

“I…suppose I’ve never tried,” he admits.

She nods, then proceeds to do so, showing him the method. He watches as she considers the angle, then snaps her wrist as she throws the stone, which skips beautifully across the surface of the river before hitting the other side. Byleth deposits half of the stones into Dimitri’s hand, and they spend the next few minutes skipping stones—or in Dimitri’s case, trying and failing.

He ends up becoming focused on trying to succeed, Byleth keeping him stocked with a steady supply of choice stones. When he finally manages to skip one (though it only skips once before it plops into the water), he shouts in triumph, turning to her excitedly.

“Did you see that?!” he says, and freezes when he catches sight of her face.

She’s smiling, the expression both amused and proud and gentle and absolutely, absolutely mesmerizing.

“It’s nice to focus on things that aren’t exams,” she says, turning back to the river. “You’re all done?”

“Y-yes,” Dimitri stutters. “You too?”

She nods, checking her phone.

“Handed in my last paper yesterday,” she says absently, “Finished up packing up my things today.”

His throat goes dry. It feels like the world is slanting and narrowing to this point, where Byleth leaves and steps out of his life forever (forever?) and this is where it ends.

“Oh,” he says, and it comes out as almost a whisper. He clears his throat nervously. “Oh. I—do you need help moving anything?”

“No, it’s okay,” Byleth says, “I don’t…have too many things anyway. I just wanted to—”

“It would be no trouble!” Dimitri blurts, somewhat frantic. He’s cutting her off, he knows, and it’s stupid to think that if he prolongs the conversation she’ll stay a little longer, but—it’s not exactly wrong, either, is it? “I mean, I’m sure some things would be heavy, and I could—”

She looks a little surprised at his interruption, but blinks it away.

“No, I—”

“It would be faster, probably, but I mean, not that I want you to leave faster—”

“Dimitri—”

“—the opposite, really, but I mean, you’re graduating! That’s exciting, I’m sure you can’t wait to be out of here—”

“Dimitri—”

“You probably have some great summer plans, and I hope you will—”

“Go out with me.”

“Yes, exactly, go out with me, I—what?”

He snaps to attention, thinking surely he must have heard wrong. Despite the fact he was unraveling at the seams, Byleth looks amused, if also a little worried.

“I’m—sorry, could you repeat that?” he breathes, and Byleth shifts her position a little, the movement just slightly unusual.

“Go out with me?” she says again, though it’s pitched more as a question this time.

Oh, Goddess, he hadn’t heard wrong. And…that shifting, the pitch of her tone, was she—nervous?

Dimitri gapes at her and she meets his gaze calmly, though after a prolonged silence she looks to the side, tilting her head down a little as if embarrassed.

“You…can say no, you know,” she says softly, and he blanches.

“No! I mean, yes! I mean—I’d like to go out with you very much,” he says, defaulting to a more formal tone and posture out of desperation.

She looks back up at him and smiles again.

“I’m…glad I didn’t misunderstand your heartbeat last time,” she says, and he both winces and flushes at the reminder of that night.

“I—panicked,” he says, looking away. “But I…regretted it very much, after.”

“I know,” Byleth says.

“You know?” he asks, mouth falling open a little.

She only nods, amused again, but offers no explanation.

“Come here,” she says, motioning for him to lean down.

He does, and she kisses his cheek.

“Hand,” she says, and he obeys mechanically, shocked by that simple action.  

Byleth pulls out a marker and scrawls on his wrist. He stares at it incredulously when she pulls away.

“My number,” she says pointedly when he doesn’t say anything. “I do actually have to go, but call me. Or text me. Whatever. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Of…course not,” he says, somewhat in awe. This is happening, it’s really happening.

Byleth looks like she wants to laugh again, but she gives him a little wave and makes her way back up to the building. It takes him too long to recover and realize that he should have walked her back. When he does regain his senses, however, he pulls out his phone, typing out a text as fast as he can.

Can we meet over the summer?

It’s only a few minutes before he receives a reply.

Yes.

Are you free next week?

Yes.

Canitakeyououttuesdayarounclunchtime

There’s a few seconds of pause, and Dimitri suspects she is laughing.

Yes. It’s a date.

He grins stupidly at his phone, rereading the conversation over and over again until he’s satisfied. Then he runs back to his dorm, throwing open the door with wild abandon.

“Guess what!” he shouts into the room, and he’s in luck, because all three of his suitemates are there, each in the midst of something different. Sylvain pokes his head out of his room, Felix looks up from the stove, and Ingrid looks over from the laundry she’s folding.

“Oh, shit, really?” Sylvain says, taking in Dimitri’s expression and also honing in on the number on Dimitri’s wrist. “You finally got her number?”

“We’re dating!” he announces, then pauses. “I mean, well, if I understood correctly, unless she was just—?”

“You’re dating,” Ingrid tells him before anxiety can take him over, grinning widely. “Congrats.”

Felix just waves the spatula in his hand, but he mutters thank the Goddess—about fucking time under his breath.

Sylvain, who is closest, is the first to be subjected to one of Dimitri’s bone-crushing hugs, and even spun around a few times. Felix hisses from where he stands, but is unable to escape being next in line. Ingrid laughs and pats Dimitri’s back when it’s her turn.

“Had a good semester?” she asks fondly.

“It was an excellent semester,” Dimitri says brightly.

“Disgusting,” Felix grumbles, and Ingrid and Sylvain laugh.

.

.

.

Dimitri knocks on the door nervously, trying not to fidget too much as he waits. He doesn’t have to wait long, however—but when the door opens, his eyes go wide.

A man roughly his own height, muscular and rugged with a scar across his cheekbone, a grave sort of face, and an air of someone who demands respect without having to ask for it, stands in the doorway with a large mug in hand.

“Can I help you?” he asks, his voice rough and deep.

Dimitri’s attention goes to the mug for a moment, which he registers reads “World’s Best Dad” in big letters, confirming his assumptions.

“I’m—here to pick up Byleth?” Dimitri manages, and to his relief, Byleth’s father simply nods and turns back into the house.

“By! Your Blaiddyd boy is here!” then, turning back to Dimitri, “Come in.”

He wonders briefly how he knows who Dimitri is on sight; his name might be well known enough, but he tries to stay out of anything where his image might be broadcasted. He steps inside cautiously, then glances at the man again. There’s something strangely familiar about him that he can’t quite place, and it’s not because of his relation to Byleth, because they look nothing alike.

“The kid’ll be a minute,” her father says, “Anyway, I’m Jeralt. Obviously, I’m By’s dad.”

“I’m Dimitri Blaiddyd,” Dimitri introduces, with a weak smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Jeralt just grunts and pats Dimitri’s shoulder in acknowledgement before offering him coffee, which Dimitri accepts out of nervousness. The drink is potent and bracing, without sugar or milk, and Jeralt refills his own mug.

Dimitri peeks at him from over the rim, still trying to figure out why Jeralt is familiar as the man stretches, the multitude of pops and cracks coming from his body making Dimitri wince.

“Don’t get old,” Jeralt tells him, “How reckless you were in your youth doesn’t fuck around when it cashes in.”

“You’re reckless now,” Byleth says as she comes down the stairs. “Cut back on the drinking.”

She’s in a loose blouse and mid-length skirt this time, a pink headband decorating her hair. Every time Dimitri seems her she seems to be sporting a different style. It’s fun.

Jeralt grunts.

“Yeah, well, can’t avoid recklessness in my line of work, and Rhea sure as hell don’t know how to take it easy. Trust me, the drinks are necessary.”

It clicks, then, and Dimitri almost cracks the cup in his hands. He lets out a strangled noise, and both Byleth and Jeralt look at him.

“You’re Jeralt Eisner,” he wheezes, looking to Byleth and back to Jeralt again. “You guard Madam Rhea—you’re the Blade Breaker, Seiros Security’s finest!”

Jeralt drinks his coffee.

“Well, it’s embarrassing to be called that, and also—kid, he didn’t know?”

Byleth shrugs. “Never came up.”

Jeralt sighs.

“Well, there it is, then. Yeah, Rhea and I go…way back, and now I’m in charge of her security company. By’s been trained since she was a kid, so…if you have any issues, she’s got your back.”

Dimitri looks at Byleth, who flashes him a peace sign with a deadpan expression.

“Thank you,” he says, for lack of anything else to say. She nods.

Jeralt looks amused, then waves them off.

“Anyway, have fun or whatever, and bring him back by curfew if he has one, kid.”

Byleth nods, and Dimitri looks back and forth, unable to fully process the information he’s just learned. But Byleth tugs him along, they’re out of the house and in his car before he regains his senses and looks at her.

“Every time I see you, you surprise me,” he says, and Byleth smiles faintly.

“Yuri says a lady cannot reveal her secrets,” she says, “But I think I’d like to start sharing them with you.”

Dimitri blinks at her, surprised, but then smiles.

“I’d be honored if you did,” he says. “There are…things I’d like to tell you as well, in time.”

She nods, looking pleased.

“We’ve got plenty,” she says. “So, where to?”

“There’s a new Duscurian spot that opened up a couple miles away. I was thinking we try it?”

“Lead the way,” Byleth smiles.

Dimitri starts driving. He lets Byleth choose the music and roll down the window; the wind ruffles their hair vigorously and she tries to keep it out of his face for him, which makes him laugh before she just rolls the windows up again.

He knows this is just the beginning, but there’s happiness bubbling up in his chest and a sense of ease and contentment over them both—so what he also knows is that it’s going to be a wonderful summer.  

[mementofloreo-archived]

@viisiond || semi-plotted starter || lol u come here often? ;)

Nettle is more settled in Monstadt now than he was when he arrived a few months ago, just weeks before the problems with Stormterror- no, Dvalin- began.

While he hasn't made many friends or become very close with anyone, he's been able to form friendly rapport with the people he works with at the Adventurer's Guild, some of hi sister's regular customers, and a few other frequent visitors of the library. Considering he's only interacted with about three people outside of his family in his life, it's actually a lot of progress on his part.

When he steps into Angel's Share, it's only his second time going there alone. He's usually with his sister or her wife if he goes out for drinks or a meal. This is more because he doesn't see a point in going out to eat all alone when he could just make something at home.

It's been a much longer and more tedious day than he expected, though- nothing truly terrible happened, but a few things ended up being much more time consuming and demanding than he initially expected. And he doesn't enjoy the feeling of being outright drunk, so he doesn't tend to drink very much- but one or two drinks helps him relax and settle down without doing much more than making his head buzz a little.

He makes a point not to drink at home, though. He knows his sisters wouldn't mind too much, as long as he makes sure to keep any spirits he buys in a place where his five year old nephew can't stumble upon them by mistake. But he feels much more comfortable this way.

He prefers sweeter drinks in general. White wine over red wine, cider over beer. If he drinks anything hard on its own, it's usually a fruity sort of brandy.

He'd never had dandelion wine prior to his family's move to Monstadt, though he wasn't a stranger to its reputation.

Nettle is a dendro vision user- but more importantly, he loves flowers and plants of all kinds. He was reading everything he could about them long before he ever became a vision bearer. That said, he's well acquainted with the versatility of dandelions for use as food. Every part of the plant is edible and has a different taste. The roots make a very hearty tasting tea, one that actually resembles coffee more than anything, though less acidic. The leaves are a bit bitter and earthy- he's heard them compared to endive before.

It's the flowers that are used in making wine, though. They're lightly sweet and the wine made from them has a taste reminiscent of a white wine- a less sweet variety than dessert wines like moscato, but even so it's still delicious.

Nettle finds himself sighing deeply while he sits at the bar sipping at his first glass. There is some chatter and bustle around him, but it's not so busy that the noise is overwhelming. Instead it's a pleasant hum in the background.

Angel's Share recently added an upright piano to its decor, and Nettle can hear somebody plinking out a simple song on it. He's a fairly adept self-taught musician, but thinking about playing where anyone other than his family can hear still intimidates him a bit. He knows the song though, and hums along softly, working to relax his breathing and let the tension out of his back and shoulders.

Since his eyes are closed, he doesn't realize someone has sat down next to him until they speak.

"Ah, you have good taste," they say. A smooth and masculine voice with a slightly lilting tone. Nettle opens his eyes, blinks, and looks to his left.

Having spent a lot of time in the library and having become friends with Lisa, Nettle knows a little about Kaeya Alberich even though they've never met or spoken. He would know something anyway, seeing as he's a ranking officer with the knights- and apparently a local heartthrob of sorts. This is the first time he's seen the cavalry captain up close, though.

...Ah, right. Nettle recalls Lisa saying that Kaeya is very fond of dandelion wine- or more specifically, the Death After Noon cocktail in which it is used.

Nettle is a bit blank for a moment- mostly because he wasn't expecting anybody to talk to him at all, but he's also a little struck by Kaeya's face. His features are pretty- in a sturdy and masculine way, though. Not delicate and rounded like his sister. Privately, he decides he understands why people call him a heartthrob now.

"I'd never had it before I moved here," he finally says, voice quiet, "But yes, it's good. A little drier than the white wines I normally prefer...tastes more like chardonnay than moscato."

His reply is much longer than he planned, but he hasn't said anything strange so he tries not to let it bother him. Kaeya leans his chin on one hand with a little smile of his face that absolutely reeks of mischief.

"With a cute little face like yours I'm not surprised you prefer sweet flavors," he says easily.

Nettle pauses with his glass halfway to his mouth and turns to stare, completely bewildered.

He's fully aware that he's just been fed a "line." He's also heard of Kaeya's reputation for having a silver tongue and a bit of a flirtatious personality.

...Still, nobody has ever flirted with him in his life. And Nettle doesn't see himself as particularly memorable or attractive either. So while he understands there probably isn't anything too serious intended with the compliment, he's not sure why it was given in the first place.

Finally, he manages to slowly say, "........well, dendro slimes are cute too, if you tilt your head just right. Nothing special about it."

He knows his face is a bit flushed, though.

[shochmonster]

84 Questions

original: https://fuckyeahsurveys.tumblr.com/post/61049002526/84-questions

Put your music player of choice on shuffle and list the first 10 songs Guns of Brixton - The Clash Holiday in Cambodia - Dead Kennedys  Chainsaw - Nick Jonas California - Joni Mitchell Make It Wit Chu - Queens of the Stone Age This Woman’s Work - Kate Bush The Bad Thing - Arctic Monkeys Between the Bars - Eliot Smith Drown - The Smashing Pumpkins Different People - No Doubt

If you could spend a week anywhere in the world, where would it be and why? Would you take anyone with you? I’d take @duoloopo to the UK. I’d like to see places other than London.

What is your preferred writing implement? (eg. Blue pen, pencil, green pen)  I use my iPad stylus the most, but I have this heavy mechanical pencil I really like for drawing. 

Favourite month and why? October. I just love the fall vibe. 

Do you have connections to any celebrities (even minor)? List them. I went to undergraduate school with Rebecca Sugar. We used to ride the bus between NYC and DC together on holidays. 

Name 3 items you could pick up from where you are. Can of seltzer, pencil case, stack of bills

What brand logo is closest to you currently? REAL Skateboards

Do you ever play board games or other non-computer games? Got any favourites? I love Small World and Munchkin. 

A musical artist you love that isn’t well known Laura Stevenson and the Cans

A musical artist you love that is well known Red Hot Chili Peppers

What is your desktop background currently? Thomas Barrow on the beach in the Season 4 Christmas Special

Last person you talked to, and through what you talked to them @duomaxwell02 with my face :O 

First colour name you can think of that isn’t in the rainbow White

What timekeeping devices are in the room you are currently in? Two wall clocks, though one is very old and doesn’t wind anymore. I also have a clock @duoloopo ‘s dad made for me. It’s on the piano. 

What kind of headphones do you use? JBL Bluetooth, noise canceling 

What musical artists have you seen perform live? Foo Fighters (3x), Incubus (3x), Red Hot Chili Peppers, Smashing Pumpkins, Beastie Boys, Audioslave, Justin Timberlake, Troy Sivan, Arctic Monkeys, The Rolling Stones, Eric Clapton, Queen (but with Roger Daughtry, not Freddy... for obvious reasons.). Probably a whole bunch of others I’m blanking on. 

Does virginity matter to you? Not really. 

What gaming consoles do you or your family own? PS4, PS2, PS1, XBox 360, N64, Gamecube, Wii, NES, SNES, various Gameboys, Nintendo DS, PSP

What pets do you have? What are their names? Two cats, Hemingway and Renji

What’s the best job you’ve ever had? I like freelance art gigs the best. As for ‘normal people jobs’, I once was a sign painter for Whole Foods. That was pretty fun, minus the work drama. 

What’s the worst job you’ve ever had? Food service. 

What magazines do you read, if any? I’ll pick up Time once in a while

Inspiration behind your URL? My classic original URL was LinkWorshiper and had been since AIM first existed. I picked it because Zelda was the first fandom I ever joined. Now I’ve changed all my handles (except on AO3) to reflect my actual name, as my literary agent thinks it’s more professional. 

Inspiration behind your blog title? Mean Girls. I always chuckle imagining Thomas and Jimmy as some Edwardian version of the Plastics. 

Favourite item of clothing? My Downton livery waistcoat. And the stiff bosomed shirt and collars I have to go with it. 

Are you friends with any exes? Nah. By the time I felt comfortable enough to possibly try, I also didn’t care enough to. 

Name at least one book you loved as a child. His Dark Materials (the trilogy by Philip Pullman). I still love them and am jazzed that he’s writing more these days. 

What’s your native language? If that language has distinct regional variations, which variation? (eg. AU English, US English) US English, mostly a northeastern dialect/accent

What email service do you use? Gmail

Is there anything hanging on the walls of the room you are currently in? So much stuff. I have a mood board full of Downtons stuff over my desk, various DA posters and memorabilia, plus some artwork I’ve done, and some of my JC Leyendecker collection. The aforementioned wall clocks, a San Francisco cable car bell, Sailor Moon and a few other little knickknacks, like my hamsa. To name a few lol. 

What’s your favourite number, and why? 212 because it’s Manhattan’s area code and also because it used to be the notation for one of my favorite ships in an old fandom. 

Earliest moment in your life you can remember? Sitting under the table and looking at my grandma, who was wearing a Cruella Deville dress she’d knit herself. Like, it had the actual Disney character on it. Pretty cool to a little guy, I guess!

What did you have for dinner yesterday? Quesadilla 

How often do you brush your teeth? Whenever they feel gross

What’s your favourite candy/chocolate? Lately, I’ve been into Junior Mints. 

Have you had other blogs on Tumblr? Do you have any other blogs currently? This blog used to have my old handle, linkworshiper. I did a small Whole Foods blog when I worked with them, but it never went anywhere. 

If you were suddenly really hungry, what would you choose to eat? Sushi

What fandoms would you consider yourself a part of? Downton Abbey, though lately I’ve been crazy busy and not as active as I once was. Casually still poking at old fandoms like Zelda and Gundam Wing to name a few. 

If you could study anything, what would it be? More art education can’t hurt. Maybe some formal history education. 

Do you use anything on your lips? (eg. Chapstick, gloss, balm, lipstick) Chapstick 

How would you describe your sense of humour? Seinfeld 

What things annoy you more than anything else? Mouth noises

What kind of position are you in at the moment? Sitting

Do you wear much jewellery? Nope

Who is the leader of your country, currently? Any other levels of government with leaders? (State, region, province, county, district, municipality, etc) Three supposedly equal branches of government, currently being run into the ground by a clown 

Last 3 blogs on your dashboard, not including any of your own @halcyondaze @mab1905 @lavender-hued-melancholy

What do you carry your money in? I try to never carry cash, but I carry a small wallet 

Do you enjoy driving? Why or why not? I like it but sometimes it feels like a chore, especially during a commute. @duoloopo thinks I’m a shit driver so she tries to drive whenever she can, which has pluses and minuses. 

Longest drive you have ever been on? Savannah GA to San Francisco, CA in a UHaul

Furthest away from home you have ever been? Germany 

How many times have you moved house? God, I don’t even know. More than ten. 

What is on the floor of the room you’re currently in, not including furniture? Cat toys, unused canvases

How many devices do you own which can access the internet? Phone, computer, iPad, various game consoles 

Is there is anything that is guaranteed to always make you happy? Thomas and Jimmy <3 <3 

Is there anything that always makes you sad? Thinking too hard about being a failure

What programs do you currently have open? I just rebooted, so only Chrome, Spotify and Photoshop

What do you associate the colour red with? This line in the Kate Bush Song Blue Symphony, which goes, ‘I associate love with red, the color of my heart when she’s dead.’ 

Last strong smell you can remember smelling? The Greek food I ordered in for dinner

Last healthy thing you ate? Roasted veggies

Do you drink tea or coffee, and how much per day? I prefer tea, and I drink coffee for energy, though sometimes I think it just makes me crash harder. 

What do you associate the colour blue with? The sky

How long is the closest ruler you can find? 12 inches

What colour pants/skirt/etc are you currently wearing? Dark blue

When was the last time you drank water? About a minute ago

How often do you clear your browser history? Rarely

Do you believe nude photos can be artistic, rather than erotic? Yes

Ever written fanfiction for anything? Oh God, yes. You can still find it under Link Worshiper on AO3, though some of my ‘classics’ have been removed since I turned them into original manuscripts 

Last formal event you attended My cousin’s wedding

If you had to move your birthday to another date, which one would you choose and why? Maybe inch my birth year up just by two so that I’d stop being called a damn millennial. At my age, I really just don’t relate to the generation even though technicalities make me a part of it. 

Would you prefer to be at a beach or in the countryside? Beach

Roughly how many people live in your town? 52,000

Do you know anyone with the same birthday as you? Leonard Nimoy :D 

Favourite place to shop? Can be a certain store or a place where there are multiple stores I haven’t really gone shopping since the pandemic. Right now, it feels like the only place to buy anything is Amazon XD

Do you have a smartphone? What kind? If you don’t, do you want one? Samsung. It’s not a Galaxy but is a new model and a fraction of the price. 

What is your least favourite colour, and why? I don’t think I dislike any colors honestly. 

How do you spell grey/gray? Grey. I’ve got too many British online associates to ever go back. 

Go to your dashboard and describe the image shown in the radar section (below the “Find blogs” link) It’s Umbrella Academy fanart of Klaus. He’s in black and white with this hands over his eyes and the background is red. It’s very graphic. 

What difference is there between how many followers you have, and the number of blogs you follow? 736

How many posts do you have? 8,859

How many posts have you liked? I can’t find the stat D: 

Do you post mainly reblogs, or your own content? Mainly reblogs but I pepper in my own content when I can. Lately, I haven’t had time to do as much fanart though, and I kind of feel like it’s not worth bothering to post my original stuff. Nobody follows my blog for that. 

Do you track any tags? No. 

What time is it currently? 7:33 PM CMT

Is there anything you should be doing right now? Waking up @duoloopo. TIME TO JUMP ON THE BED. 

tagging, if they feel like it: @abbys-little-whippersnapper​ @bumblebarrow​ @irrationalgame​ @downtoncat​ @mab1905​ @duoloopo​

and everyone who I’ve forgotten

[hongism]

finding beauty in your darkest places - chapter 2

this was originally supposed to come out tomorrow but i got excited and whoops! 

Pairing: TBA (we’ll see where this takes us lol)

Genre: Psychiatric Clinic!au, Heavy Angst, Some Fluff

Word Count: 6315

Warnings: deals with mental and emotional illnesses and disorders as a heavy theme of the story, future graphic depictions of disorders - please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable also strong language in this chapter

Note: please know that nothing in this story is meant to be a glamorization of any disorder, this is meant to be a real approach and depiction of these things, and i did a LOT of research prior to writing this about every disorder mentioned so that i was careful about what i wrote about each one. I am trying to be as knowledgeable as possible in terms of the content written within this story. I will not glamorize any disorder within this story whatsoever.

Rating: PG-13/Mature

Summary: Everyone has their issues, and everyone deals with them differently. Jungkook thinks that avoiding his problems is the best option out there.

aka

Jeon Jungkook is the newest patient at the Omelas Specialized Psychiatric Clinic, and he just wants to get in and out as quickly as possible so that he can go back to university and be with his friends again. Of course, that doesn't work out according to his plan.

a/n: thank you so so much to @yoongi-sugaglider and @mikaeka for helping me out and beta reading this for me! it was such a huge help!

Chapter:

1 | 2 | 3

Finding Beauty in Your Darkest Places

Chapter 2: Curtains Over the Mind

...

The methodical brushing of Jungkook’s toothbrush against his teeth is the only sound in the room. Mind blank, he spits into the sink before looking up at his reflection once more. Silence. He is beginning to grow accustomed to the quiet of his surroundings, which has been his one companion in his room for the past six days. Putting his toothbrush back in its holder, Jungkook brings a finger up to tug at the skin around his eyes, then drags his hand down to pinch his cheek. A yawn pushes its way through his mouth, and Jungkook shakes himself out of the thoughts that try to invade his mind.

The moment he steps out of the bathroom, someone clears their throat and breaks through the solitude that Jungkook normally encounters in the mornings.

“Good morning.” Namjoon beams at him from the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Did Tae already leave?” Jungkook huffs in response, pushing his sheets into somewhat of a clean state before joining Namjoon by the door. “I’m guessing that means no progress then.”

“None,” Jungkook replies. “He’s still avoiding me like I’m diseased or something. Did I do something wrong? Is that why he’s ignoring and avoiding me?” Jungkook wrings his hands together, brows creasing as he looks to Namjoon for answers.

“Jungkook, you’ve asked that same question at least twenty times in the past few days, and the answer is still no. You still haven’t even explained why you think Taehyung is avoiding you in the first place.” Jungkook relaxes his features and turns to look at the window instead. The memory remains fresh in his mind, a recording that plays over and over every time Jungkook sees or thinks about Taehyung. 

“The bear. My bear. The stuffed bear that I always keep on my bed. It’s from someone important to me. I know it was there before I left the room earlier. I checked fifteen times, because I had to keep resituating him!”

Jungkook shakes his head.

“We put everything together in the order that you like and followed your instructions when doing so. It’s all put together the way you like.”

“It’s not. I would know. And you lost the most important thing!”

“I don’t know why.”

“Mr. Kim, did you take your pills this morning?”

“Nothing happened?” Namjoon asks further, but Jungkook refuses to take the bait.

“No, because things weren’t in the right order. I have to take them with the yogurt at the end of my meal, but no one brought yogurt this morning. It makes me antsy, and I can’t take them if it doesn’t follow that order.”

“It started happening after the first day. He just stopped talking to me after showing me the room.” He fidgets under Namjoon’s gaze, a rush of panic going through him. Namjoon looks away and heaves a deep sigh.

“I’ve talked to Taehyung—” Jungkook whips his head in Namjoon’s direction “—and he claims that he’s not avoiding you. Your schedules must not line up well or something. Let’s walk to the dining area before we’re late.” Namjoon places a hand on Jungkook’s sleeve and tugs him into the hall with little effort as Jungkook goes along with it without complaint.

“Taehyung is never there when I go to sleep, and when I wake up, he’s either gone already or still asleep. I never see him during the day either!” Jungkook counters. I can’t be the only one who sees it. I know he’s avoiding me. Namjoon doesn’t stop walking but passes a sympathetic grin Jungkook’s way.

“It must be a coincidence,” he reasons, “you shouldn’t read into it too much.” Jungkook opens his mouth to retort but decides against it at the last second, clamping his lips shut and falling into step with Namjoon without another word. It isn’t worth it to argue further about the topic, and besides, the dining room is within view now, including the outline of Taehyung’s profile at one of the far tables. He shifts his gaze, not wanting to reflect on the memory that lingers at the edge of his mind for a second time this morning, and you come into view instead. Hair loose and barely brushing your shoulders, you lean close to your companion, lips moving in haste as you whisper to the man beside you. Jungkook recognizes the owner of the black hair beside you instantly. Despite having sat with the man on more than one occasion over the past few days, Jungkook feels only discomfort when sitting with him, because Min Yoongi is the most intimidating person he’s ever come into contact with. 

Your sharp eyes find his as he and Namjoon approach the table. You stop your train of thought, falling silent but maintaining your stare on Jungkook, and when Yoongi notices your sudden distraction, he leans back in his chair. A sigh starts escaping his lips before he even looks at Jungkook and doesn’t stop until he slowly drags his eyes over the younger man. 

That’s the other reason why Jungkook doesn’t particularly enjoy being around Min Yoongi. Any time they’re in the same vicinity, Yoongi acts as though Jungkook fails to exist, rarely even breathing in his direction. In other words, Yoongi hates him, or so Jungkook has convinced himself, because he cannot reason a different explanation for the man’s behavior.

“Oi, Jeon!”

Jungkook knows that the noise doesn’t come from Namjoon, but he looks to the man at his side anyways before turning on his heel to examine the area behind him. The culprit grins at him, teeth parted just enough for his tongue to slip through and play with the left corner of his lips. Jungkook wishes he were invisible, because the attention Mingyu brought to him is nothing short of terrifying.

“Gotta ask you a question, Jeon. Why are you still hanging with those three dumbasses? Don’t you know by now that they’ll bring you nothing but trouble?”

A scene is the last thing Jungkook needs right now, so he opts to turn around and plop onto the seat in front of him. You sit directly across from him, gaze still bearing holes into his skull even with Mingyu’s lilting voice resounding in the background.

The table trembles. Namjoon sits down alongside Jungkook without retorting. Out of the corner of his eye, Jungkook catches the slight shift in his jaw as he grinds his teeth. 

“Oh, no response? You’ve got no backbone, Jeon! Just doing exactly what they want you to do, being buttered up to become another lost cause.” Mingyu drags his words out, and Jungkook can envision the shit-eating grin still on his lips.

Palms slam against the table. Jungkook redirects his attention to you now, and your gaze has broken at last, now finding a new target in Mingyu.

“You’re damn lucky there’s nothing I can throw at you nearby,” you spit back, but a laugh comes in response.

“What, like cigarettes?”

“Um, do you have any cigarettes?”

“Mingyu, shut your mouth before you start a fight!” Namjoon yells over his shoulder, breaking the facade of calm in his tone for the first time. The ruckus behind him indicates that Mingyu is on his feet now. As much as Jungkook wants to turn around and see what’s going on, he doesn’t want to give Mingyu the pleasure of having attention on him.

“What am I doing wrong? None of the nurses are stopping me. You know why? Jeon, you better listen up if you know what’s good for yourself. The nurses know who the real issues are in here, and they’ll only react when one of you snaps.” You curl your fingers into your palms, knuckles going white as you increase the pressure. Jungkook maintains a steady gaze and watches your fists carefully as though you’ll lash out at any second. “C’mon, Y/N, aren’t you gonna throw something at me? Do it. Throw whatever you want at me, baby. Don’t worry, I’m a big boy, I can take it — unlike some other people.”

You're not the one who lashes out after all, and neither is Namjoon, or anyone Jungkook would’ve thought. No, it’s Min Yoongi who gets to his feet, quiet aura never wavering even as he glares across the room. Jungkook can’t guess what may be on his mind; the deadpan expression on his features stays glued like a mask. There is an unquestionable rage in his dark eyes though, which causes Jungkook to swivel in his seat to view Mingyu’s reaction to the stare. Instead of finding Mingyu’s face, though, Jungkook only sees his back, as the man plops onto his seat without putting up anymore of a fight. All the fire behind his words disappears in an instant, snuffed out by a simple ice cold stare from Yoongi, and even though he isn’t the recipient, Jungkook feels cold all the sudden.

Namjoon’s laugh cuts through the quiet surrounding the table, and Yoongi lowers himself back to his seat whilst perpetuating the stony facade.

“We haven’t even eaten breakfast yet, and I’m already done with drama for the day.” Jungkook laughs along with Namjoon if only to block the uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. And, as fate would have it, Jungkook garners no release from the panic building in his body, because here comes another mostly unfamiliar face that threatens to steal away Jungkook’s last shreds of normality. If he could, Jungkook would melt through the floor and disappear so he might be able to escape this awful and uncomfortable situation. Yet, that doesn’t happen, and Jungkook finds himself stuck as the newcomer gets closer and closer to their table.

“Kim Seokjin. Age 25. I graduated with a degree in film studies before coming here."

“Good morning,” he sings, falling into the empty seat beside you and glances across the table in Jungkook’s direction. His eyes are too wide and round for Jungkook to call them piercing, but the gaze behind them is surely intimidating nonetheless. The stare is constant and unwavering. Jungkook’s heart races in the confines of his ribcage. Slow blinking. Fast breaths. Five, ten, fifteen seconds without a word, then — “Have I met you before?”

“P-Pardon?” Jungkook stutters, a bit taken aback by the sudden question from the man.

“I feel as though I’ve met you before, but in a dream.” 

Jungkook wants to say, yes we’ve met once before, but you didn’t speak to me at all. The words fail to come to life, and Jungkook lets them die in his mind. You and Namjoon exchange a glance, one that Jungkook doesn’t get the chance to analyze or read since it fades too quickly. Seokjin offers no chance for Jungkook to respond anyways because he turns his head towards you and begins talking about an interesting article he read last night. The words are gibberish and meaningless in Jungkook’s mind, and he can’t tell whether you are merely humoring Seokjin or actually interested in what he’s saying.

“There are biopsychosocial correlations and triggers in it, and I read that the prefrontal cortex may inhibit neural circuits that normally form the substrate of emotional experience. Sometimes there are some visual and auditory cortex abnormalities that can lead to issues as well, but the somatosensory cortex abnormalities are the most interesting ones because it affects sensations of pressure, pain, and warmth on and within the body rather than focusing on one single thing like hearing or sight. So wouldn’t that mean that those cortex abnormalities are also causing issues within the mechanoreceptors, chemoreceptors, and nociceptors?” You purse your lips, head tilting back and forth before passing an answer back to Seokjin.

“That would make sense since they’re all part of the somatosensory system, but without test to analyze a person’s receptors and sensory neurons, we couldn’t make any certain statements about it. Besides, one patient may have no issues with certain chemoreceptors while another could have problems in all of them, right?”

“True, true. The article didn’t mention that, but I should’ve thought about that. It addressed some other interesting topics though. I read that emotionally adverse scenes are activated by the right ventral prefrontal cortex, so if we can find some way to control the effects in that portion of the cortex, then we might be able to manage the scenes and keep them from occurring often. Also, I think that by combining the neuroleptics we can change how the abnormalities affect the brain and personality.” Jungkook stares at Seokjin, trying to wrap his mind around the barrage of information that he just spewed, but realizes moments later that he has no way of understanding anything that was just said.

“You have a solid theory, Jin, but there are major issues to think about as well,” you respond, eyes trailing over Seokjin’s face as you speak. “Antipsychotic medications worsen the effects of depersonalization to a point where it could be a larger problem that is was initially. We could try Modafinil to see how it impacts the prefrontal cortex and somatosensory abnormalities, but there is a small margin of error in mixing medications. You have to address the differences and similarities of disorders and consider how they play off each other.” Seokjin looks up from the table, and instead of countering your argument with one of his own, he examines the other people sitting around him as though noticing them for the first time.

“Sorry for cutting you guys out of the conversation. I didn’t mean to exclude you.” A laugh passes through his lips — a nervous one that is accompanied by a scratch behind his ear. “I got excited because I made it through the entire article without getting distracted. I think it’ll be enough to show the nurses that I can start helping out more and do other things besides showing new patients around.” Your expression shifts, lips curling downwards all of the sudden, but you say nothing that might hurt Seokjin’s mood. Yoongi, on the other hand, pulls no punches.

“That won’t happen any time so—”

“That’s great, Seokjin. I think you’re showing a lot of fantastic progress,” Namjoon cuts Yoongi off before he can finish his train of thought and dampen Seokjin’s hopefulness. Jungkook drifts out of the conversation again as he glances past Seokjin’s shoulder and spots someone of more interest - that person being Taehyung. His heart starts to race again. Taehyung’s eyes are on Jungkook, watching and calculating with great care. A brief exchange of glances, then Taehyung drops his chin before Jungkook can read the emotion behind his dark eyes. Taehyung’s lips move quickly as he whispers to the man beside him.

It hits in that moment of vulnerability.

A wave of cold washes over Jungkook’s mind as though someone has just cracked open his skull and let air hit his brain. 

Where he balls the fabric of his pants between shaky fingers, knuckles turn white.

Pinpricks in the corners of his eyes.

Dampness on his palms.

And panic.

Sheer panic at what Taehyung might be telling Jimin, and cold dead panic around the way your gaze shifts to his rigid body, a strange dance being performed by the slow movements of your head and the rapid beats of his heart that he feels in his throat now.

Taehyung must think I’m stupid. I bet he’s telling Jimin that. Probably wishes he had a better roommate or didn’t have one at all. And Y/N must think I’m just crazy. I know I look batshit insane 90% of the time, so now wouldn’t be an exception. 

Jungkook wants to look elsewhere, find something that will take away the panic, and be more calm than he is not. The sensation of paralysis governs his body from head to toe, and he feels as though he can’t even move his eyes. So, he stares at you with brows dipped together and lips parted slightly as he releases a panicked plea for help without a sound. Help. He doesn’t know what he expects you to do, in all honesty. There isn’t much you can do for him while he’s in this state.

“Jungkook, you never mentioned that you play the piano!” Jungkook nearly jumps in his seat, the suddenness of your statement catching everyone off guard — including yourself, because you cringe a bit as you realize the volume of your voice. It’s the first time Jungkook has seen your stony exterior falter, a slight shift in your composed attitude turning it into something frantic that Jungkook can’t quite pinpoint. You hesitate. Jungkook blinks at you, the wide eyes and round ‘o’ of your lips. Then, you recover, finding your words again. “Um, I overheard you playing in the entertainment room the other day. You’re quite good.”

“O-oh, thanks...you. Thank you, um.”

“How long have you been playing?” 

“It’s, uh, been a few years.”

“It sounded like you’ve been playing for quite some time. You must have a great teacher then?” Your continuous barrage of questions serve a good purpose in that Jungkook can no longer focus on Taehyung or Jimin or whatever words they might be exchanging because you keep him glued to the spot. Words compelling, almost begging to harness his attention a bit longer, keep him in place and prevent him from drifting back to the panic.

“No teacher, a-actually. I taught myself to play as a hobby...when I was bored one day…” Jungkook trails off and blinks around the table, uncertainty coming forward. You encourage him with a small smile, and the forced action stretches your lips in an uncomfortable yet comforting way. Then your gaze shifts to the unpredictable man on your left, a delicate hand reaching out and latching onto his tense shoulders. 

“You and Yoongi have even more in common than I originally thought. How about that?” No response follows, so you continue with your train of thought, “You know, it might be nice for you two buzzkills to spend some time together. Play piano, talk about the detriments of cigarettes, that sort of thing.”

“Did you harass him for cigarettes, Y/N?” Seokjin’s voice rises now, a slight panic to his tone as he reacts to your words.

“I did not, Jin! How could you think such a thing?” You scoff, shifting your arm so that your elbow now rests on Yoongi’s shoulder.

“If you get caught again—”

“I won’t.”

“You won’t do it, or you won’t get caught?” You fall silent at the accusation. The air remains quiet for the next couple seconds before Yoongi decides to pipe up and offer an answer to your previous suggestion.

“I don’t need to waste my time on a kid.” The words bite as Jungkook’s skin, and he argues with the statement internally, too afraid to voice it to Yoongi’s face. I’m not a kid though. And why would I be a waste of time? Is that how all of you see me? Am I just a waste of time getting in your way?

“Yea, I mean, I thin—I agree with him. I don’t want to intrude or mess with his routine or anything like that. Like, it isn’t even super important to me — piano, that is — it’s only a hobby.”

“Chill, you two,” you protest as you withdraw your arm from Yoongi’s shoulder. “It was just a suggestion to keep you guys off my back.” If you mean to say anything else, you don’t get the chance to because Seokjin jolts forward in his seat and shoots a hand out to latch onto your forearm. His grip is so tight that Jungkook can see the red forming on your skin already. It doesn’t take much effort to see why Seokjin lashed out, because his wide eyes have focused on something behind Yoongi. Jungkook shifts along with the other people at the table and follows his train of sight. At first, he doesn’t understand Seokjin’s reaction because all he sees is a patient with burnt orange hair walking to an empty table. A nurse, who Jungkook recognizes to be Nurse Kang after double checking, follows close behind. Despite knowing Nurse Kang, Jungkook can’t recall ever seeing the patient before. There are only fifteen patients, and he thought he would’ve seen them all after almost a week, but this is a new face. He looks to you for answers.

“Wow…” Namjoon breathes out. “I haven’t seen Hoseok in a long time.”

“Do you think it’s a good sign?” Seokjin directs the question at you.

“No, it’s just a good morning,” you refute almost immediately. “There are no good signs when it comes to Hoseok.” What? Jungkook blanches. No good signs?

“Good morning everyone! We’re going to start passing out breakfast trays. Remember to take your medications with the meal.”

No one mentions Hoseok again, which leaves a bad taste in Jungkook’s mouth. He stays quiet as the nurses bring the trays around to serve Namjoon and Seokjin first and then circle around the table until they reach Jungkook. Everyone starts eating straight away, but Jungkook hesitates. Instead, he glares down at the triangle of pills next to his water and juice, the round tablets that almost laugh back at him for his weaknesses. Across the table, he sees you thumbing over your medicine in a similar manner, pushing the pills around your palm but not throwing them back the way Yoongi does. And maybe Jungkook is just imagining things, but he swears he sees the same trio of pills in your hand that lie on his tray. They disappear into your mouth before he can check again. 

The quiet while eating is something Jungkook should be used to since it’s a regular occurrence at this table, but today feels slightly different. Whether it’s because of the tense altercation that happened when he came in or due to the entrance of the patient Hoseok, Jungkook can’t pinpoint the cause. The sinking pit in his stomach heralds more danger and tension to come. His mind tells him that every day, so he wants to push it aside.

Then Jimin approaches the table, clearing his throat and tapping on your shoulder, and Jungkook knows that for once, his mind told the truth.

“Sorry to interrupt, but could I borrow you for a few minutes, Y/N?” You don’t say anything at first, responding with a sharp look at the man. Jimin clears his throat again. “Taehyung wants to talk to you, not me. If that means anything…” As Jimin trails off, you get to your feet without any more hesitation and step over to where Taehyung sits. Jimin’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at your haste but fall back to a slight furrow within a second, then he turns on his heel and goes back to his seat.

Jungkook does his best to listen to the conversation, but Seokjin starts to talk again. Another rant about some article that only Namjoon is paying attention to, because Yoongi also leans back to watch your interaction with Taehyung. 

Are they talking about me? Is Taehyung telling Y/N that I’m a bad person? That I did something wrong? Jungkook can’t stop the voices rushing to the forefront of his mind, the ones he tries to bury and dismiss. Taehyung is telling her how much he hates you. She’s agreeing with him. She knows you’re full of shit and worthless. Why does she even waste her time on you? Yoongi has the right idea: ignore you. That’s all you deserve. Think about it, Jeon. Think about it. What have you ever done to deserve an ounce of goodness in your life? 

“I know exactly which son of a bitch did it.” It’s your voice, yet again, that shakes Jungkook out of his thoughts. Your voice to halt the ones chattering incessantly in his mind, and your voice that brings a hush to the dining area. “Thinks he’s all that, and he can get away with whatever the hell he wants.”

“Please don’t make a big deal out of it,” Taehyung cuts in, grabbing you by the arm when you get to your feet. Your glare focuses on someone across the room. “Please, it’s not worth it. It really isn’t. It’s not a problem, Y/N, please.” You ignore Taehyung’s pleas. Taehyung protests again as you tug your arm out of his grip, walking away from him and marching towards the table where Mingyu sits.

“Do you think you’re fucking funny, Choi Mingyu?” You snap, yanking Mingyu to face you. “Is this all a big joke for you and your friends to laugh at?” Mingyu blinks at your enraged face before collecting himself and covering his face with a stony facade.

“Sorry, baby, but I have no clue what you’re going on about. Did you miss your medications one day?”

“Miss L/N, you need to calm down and lower your voice. Please, we don’t want to distress any of the patients. Mr. Choi, we’ve discussed this before. You need to treat your fellow patients with respect.” A nurse steps forward to get between you and Mingyu but you retaliate and jab a finger at Mingyu’s face.

“He stole from another patient!”

“I didn’t do anything.” Mingyu’s voice is too calm compared to yours, he is refusing to show any signs of anger, which is strange to Jungkook considering how he behaved earlier today. “Maybe you should check with the resident kleptomaniac before you throw accusations around like that.”

“Mr. Choi, do not talk about your fellow patients in that manner!” Neither you nor Mingyu are paying any attention to the nurse at your side, however, and her desperate attempts to quell the situation fall on deaf ears. 

“There’s no way it was anyone but you,” you argue. “I swear I’m gonna get it back from you and prove that you’re a lying asshole.”

“Well, if you want it that badly, I’m sure I can be gracious enough to work out a sweet deal with you. Of course, it’ll have to lean more in my favor since you’re the one asking for something in return.”

“This really is all a joke to you.” Anger drops from your tone, being replaced by disbelief. “I know this won’t fit through your thick skull, but what you stole is something just as important as medication. It helps Taehyung just as much as medication does, and by taking it, you’re taking away something he needs.” The bear? Jungkook swivels and looks at Taehyung, spotting his quivering lip. Was it stolen? I haven’t seen it in the room yet...maybe...is that why he’s been avoiding me? Why does he need it though?

“Oh sweetheart, you sure are full of shit as always.” A new yet still vaguely familiar voice cuts into the conversation. Jungkook hasn’t heard Yesung talk much since the first day. His laugh rings familiar, even now as there is a hint of ridicule in it. “You should try begging. I’m sure you’d be good at it.”

“Mr. Kim, do not step into this as well! If I have to warn any of you one more time, then there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

“Quit playing your stupid little games, Yesung. They don’t suit you,” you hiss through gritted teeth.

“Me? Playing games? Ha, wow! But I’m not playing any games. Say, Mingyu, should we ask Yoongi if she’s any good begging? I think he would know, don’t you?” A loud pop echoes through the room, cutting through the terse silence that follows Yesung’s question. Your hand still lingers in the air beside Yesung’s face, and the man slowly touches the cheek you so violently slapped. A streak of red glistens on his skin. There’s no way your hit broke the skin. The blood can’t be his. Jungkook can tell your chest is heaving by the way your shoulders rise and fall.

“Miss L/N! You will sit down this instant and finish your meal, then report to Dr. Choi directly after mealtime to tell him what you did wrong.” A nurse pushes you away from Yesung.

“Send me now. I’m not hungry anymore.” You shrug the nurse’s touch off and leave the room. Jungkook spots red on your palm as you go, thick droplets running down your fingers. Yesung’s disgusting laugh resounds alongside Mingyu’s. Jungkook watches him wipe the blood from his cheek, laughing all the while. His hands shake as he turns in his seat and faces his tray of food with a queasy feeling. If there is something good to say, Jungkook doesn’t know what it is. The one thing at the forefront of his mind is Yesung’s teasing question. 

Should we ask Yoongi is she’s any good at begging?

Jungkook balls his sweatpants into his fists.

I think he would know, don’t you?

Yoongi didn’t say anything in your defense. 

Not a word.

“Why didn’t you tell them they were wrong?” Jungkook asks. He knows it’s none of his business, he shouldn’t be asking, it’s not his place — but dammit, seeing you crumble like that felt wrong. “Why didn’t you defend her?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Jungkook leans back at Yoongi’s retaliation. He bites down hard on his lip and nearly breaks the skin as he does. Yoongi doesn’t say anything more. Jungkook can’t stand to look at him, so he redirects his attention to where Taehyung sits. It’s a familiar scene, one that brings memories of the first day back swiftly. He tugs at his hair, yanking and pulling as though trying to tear it from his scalp. Jimin is talking quickly, too quiet for Jungkook to overhear, and forcing his way into Taehyung’s line of sight. It must be the bear. The way Taehyung talked about it...I can’t imagine it would be anything but that. Why would Y/N be involved though? Thinking of you brings the image of your hand dripping blood to mind again, and Jungkook guzzles water to drive the picture away.

“She shouldn’t have let them get her riled up,” Namjoon mutters as he pushes food around on his tray. “That’s exactly what they wanted. They wanted her to lash out to prove a point.”

“What point?” Jungkook inquires. He’s the only person listening to Namjoon because Yoongi is glaring at his food without acknowledging anyone else at the table and Seokjin stares out the window with a blank expression.

“They wanted to prove that Y/N and the rest of us will bring you nothing but trouble.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Thanks, but they aren’t entirely wrong. We have a bad track record — all four of us do for different reasons, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re the source of trouble.”

“What’s their issue anyways? Why are they so bitter and pissy all the time?”

“Surely you’ve encountered people like that at other wards you’ve been to. In some ways, Omelas is nothing different than those clinics. It can be worse at times because there are so few people here, and all the patients deal with multiple issues. A catalyst for disaster. I’m sorry that we’ve dragged you into a mess within your first couple days.” Namjoon reaches across the table all the sudden, carefully resituating your abandoned tray of food, which you jostled when you got up. He straightens it once, twice, three times before he is satisfied with the positioning, then passes a thin lipped smile in Jungkook’s direction. “Their actions were wrong and unnecessary. They shouldn’t constantly behave the way they do simply because they can’t get out of here yet. All they want is to be released, but they don’t ever make an effort to change. In Mingyu’s case, he’s got such a thick skull and ridiculous pride that it makes it almost impossible for him to change. His way of coping with that fact is to push his bitterness and spite onto others.”

Jungkook remembers the expression on Namjoon’s face when he spoke those words as he walks the halls an hour later. His normal routine would be a slight panic attack and a retreat to the bathroom for thirty minutes before going to his scheduled appointment. After the events at breakfast, Jungkook finds himself preoccupied with thoughts of that instead. He doesn’t even think about the doctor whom he doesn’t know and the invasive, personal questions that are inevitable. Your behavior, the fight, Yoongi’s rage, and Namjoon’s surprising crack in his usual calm facade. Jungkook thinks them through over and over again until he reaches the hardwood door of his doctor. The gold plaque reflects his eyes and the name Dr. Martin. 

Knock, knock, knock.

“Come in!”

Jungkook drops his chin as he enters the room. The scent of lavender hits his nose, stronger here than anywhere else in the clinic.

“Good morning, Mr. Jeon. How are we doing today?”

“Just fine,” Jungkook murmurs back, finding his way to the cushioned seat in front of Dr. Martin’s desk. 

“Fine? I heard there was an altercation this morning at breakfast. How did that make you feel?” A click of a pen resounds. Jungkook sighs and looks up at Dr. Martin so that the man can see the smile plastered across his lips.

“It didn’t upset me at all.”

“I see. How are you getting along with the other patients? Have there been any issues?”

“No sir. I’ve been doing well with everyone so far.”

“Is that the case? Your file reads that you suffer from—”

“I’ve been doing just fine, Dr. Martin.” Jungkook knows that there isn’t anyone else in the room to overhear the conversation, no way someone could figure out his weakness. Hearing the words aloud hurt in a different way though. Jungkook would be stupid if he let the voices in his head win another battle by listening to his weaknesses be recited like a menu.

“Which patients have you been getting close with? I hope you’ve chosen well.”

“Um Namjoon and…” Jungkook hesitates to add your name to the list. “Taehyung and uh, Seokjin. Y/N too.”

“Interesting.” Dr. Martin scribbles on his notepad but says nothing further. “Now let’s discuss your current prescriptions. I believe the list is as follows: Lexapro, Klonopin, and Prozac. Correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“How are you doing with those medications? Still well?”

“Yes sir.”

“I’m thinking of switching you to Zoloft instead of Lexapro.”

“I’ve already tried that though.”

“Do not argue with me, Mr. Jeon. I am making this decision because it is the best decision for you right now. I ask that you try the medication for at least one to three months before switching to something different again.”

He wants to refute again but decides it isn’t worth the effort. Dr. Martin smiles as Jungkook slumps in his chair, pen never ceasing its scribbling.

“We will meet again tomorrow, Mr. Jeon. You are dismissed.”

“Thank you.” Jungkook almost sprints out of the room, eager to be free from the stiff air and Dr. Martin. No one graces the halls as he makes the trek back to his room. It feels like the place has been abandoned, which is odd because over the last couple of days, Jungkook has always run into nurses and other patients when he gets out of his appointment with Dr. Martin. 

Breakfast started the day off on the wrong foot, and the vibe for the rest of the day is going to be similar to it.

As Jungkook walks through the hall full of bedrooms, he takes the time to actually look at the rooms around him for once. Normally, he rushes through with his head ducked to avoid making eye contact with anyone else who might be in the hall as well, but since it is abandoned today, he decides to do otherwise. The small name placards to the right of each door tell him who resides where. The first name he spots is Mingyu’s, the first room on his right and two doors away from his own bedroom. He glances over the room on his left. He doesn’t pay too much attention to the open door and instead reads over the nameplate as he walks past.

Jung Hoseok.

He hesitates. Takes a step back and looks into the open room with those wide curious eyes. There the orange haired man sits, back facing the door and oblivious to the watcher on the outside. He stares forward. Jungkook blinks at the setting before the man, and a shiver passes through him, running down his spine and leaving him with a churning sensation in his gut. He glances at the window then the man one more time before hurrying down the hall to get to his own room before someone notices him. 

Even as he digs through his bag and pulls out the notebook he stores there, Jungkook can't shake the uneasy feeling that arose when he saw Hoseok in his room. His hands shake as he drops his duffel bag. It hits the floor with a soft thud, but Jungkook pays it no attention. Rather he stares forward much like Hoseok had, gaze trained on the window before him that pushes bright light into the room. Two trees shrouding the edges of the frame, basketball court below empty of life. Blue sky bearing few clouds, the fluffy masses that linger there dark and grey.

Jungkook sees something out his window, but Hoseok did not.

He couldn't have.

Jungkook makes an effort not to look in the room again when he passes by once more, head ducked as he rushes past. 

Because the haunting sensation that filled him when he hesitated in the doorframe was born thanks to the fact that Hoseok sat on the edge of the bed with chin facing a dark window and curtains over the glass. 

...

written by: jungtaeyoongles

p.s. sorry for any mistakes!! i cranked this out because i was anxious to post it! lemme know what you think! who is your favorite character? what was your favorite part so far? what do you think each character has in terms of disorders? i’d love to know your thoughts!

consider sending me a ko-fi!!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[angrylizardjacket]

el mañana

Summary: Lola visits Vince in prison, but it turns out she’s been coping with drugs and denial and it’s wrecked more havoc on her psyche than anyone had realised.

A/N: Drug use, shitty coping methods, just a whole heap of angst I guess. Im sorry that all I can think of is sad stuff for Lola.

[run to paradise]

----

"Where 'r we going?" Lola had been zoning out for most of the car ride, letting LA pass by in a blur while the music playing through the radio was more like white noise.

"To see Vince, like you asked," Tommy's tone is tight, and his grip on the steering wheel is almost white knuckles. Lola can't bring herself to look at his expression, too worried about what she'll see there.

"'nd where's Nik?" She tried straightening up a little, but it was uncomfortable, made her head swim in an unpleasant way.

"Probably still at your place; he didn't want to come," they both knew that wasn't true; Lola has shot up just before leaving, but Nikki had taken a dose earlier and was already getting hit hard by the time Tommy had arrived, drawn to their house by Lola's frantic phone call about how she needed to see Vince. Tommy's uncharacteristically quiet.

"Are you mad at me?" Lola asked, the words slipping lazily from her lips like she's anticipating a 'yes', like she's already got a snide remark ready to go.

"'course not, I just don't wanna be here long. I've got a date with Heather tonight so I can't get fucked up with you guys, and I don't wanna be in a weird-Vince head space, you know?" He gives her the first real smile of the drive, and Lola's heart melts a little at the sight, "I could never be mad at you, Lols."

"I love you, Tommy," she tells him with an intoxicated sincerity, and Tommy's smile dies a little; for the sake of his burgeoning relationship with Heather, he knows he can't indulge Lola like he wants to. He focuses on the road, Lola sighs gently, expression falling. "Vince's house is like a three minute drive from mine; where are we going?" She finally speaks up.

"What do you mean?" Tommy frowns, "we're- dude we're visiting Vince in jail like you asked-"

"I said I wanted to visit him, and I couldn't drive and-" sometimes there was a painful innocence about Lola that Tommy's own childish nature would never be able to replicate, and he hears it in her voice now, "I just- I miss him, and I checked the calendar and," there's panic rising steadily in her voice, "we - us and Razzle - we were going to go to this bar that one of Razzle's band mates likes and we were meant to organise a day to go ages ago-"

The car screeches to a halt as Tommy pulls over.

"Stop fucking around, Lola, it's not funny."

"And they hadn't called so I called you to ask you for a lift there-"

"Are you being fucking forreal right now?" Tommy asked quietly, his throat suddenly dry as sandpaper.

"Why is Vince in jail?" She sounds so damn helpless. Her fingers are flexing in and out of fists, unsure of what to do, what she even could do. She's never been good at reaching out, metaphorical or not, but it's never been so painfully obvious before.

"You're not kidding? You really don't remember?" Tommy's frown deepens as he looks to her, though his tone had softened. His hands are still in a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

"I don't-" Lola exhaled slowly, pausing, "Tommy I don't remember the past month." She admitted, and it's so quiet. "And I know why, obviously I know why, but I don't... I don't know why why." She's trembling and he doesn't know what to do or where to look; he's seen Lola when she's fragile but it's been so long.

"Razzle's dead."

Finally he looked at her, really looked at her; her face had gone blank.

"Oh." She swallowed hard. "I don't remember that." Nose twitching, she sniffles, brushing the tears from her eyes before they even threatened to spill. "Can we go see Vince?"

Once the car starts again, she's rummaging around her pockets. Tommy watches in his peripheries as she pulls a wrinkled bag of pills from her pocket. She dry swallows the lot.

At the prison, the first thing Lola notes is how tired Vince looks. She cards her fingers through his hair, and his expression is soft, a little forlorn.

"I didn't think you'd come visit," he admits, before pausing. It's gentle when he holds Lola's cheek with one hand, his thumb brushing her cheek bone, "are you high?" His voice is a murmur, and neither is sure if it's hurt of disappointment bleeding through. Lola's nose twitches a little and she can't help but sniffle.

"Baby, don't cry," he murmured, and Lola nodded adamantly, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeve.

"How are you?" She tries, and she watches his mouth move but her mind can’t process his answer. She’s got so many questions, but is barely in the right frame of mind to have them answered. So she lets him talk.

Her smile grows distant as the drugs start to hit her, and she couldn’t concentrate even if she wanted to. The conversation from the car has already faded from her faulty short-term memory, and she doesn’t know where she is. All she recognizes is Vince. But she’s so used to just being places and not knowing how she got there, at this point, so she goes along with it, nodding every time there’s a lull in the blonde’s words. It doesn’t take Vince long to realise this, and he just looks so tired.

“Why are you here, Lola?” 

“Huh?” It’s only when she hears her name that she struggles back into the present.

“Why are you here?” Vince asks, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles where he’s holding her hand.

“I wanted to see you,” Lola smiles a little, looking around as if she’s not sure where she is, “we were meant to go to that club - what did Sami call it? I can’t remember...” She trailed off, her smile a little confused. 

“Lola,” Vince says very seriously, and he keeps saying her name until she finally looks him in the eyes, “Lola, you need help.”

“I’m fine, Vinny,” she tells him earnestly, giving his hand a squeeze, as if trying to reassure him. It’s clear she believes that, she doesn’t have the energy to lie. “When are you coming home?” She asks, and Vince actually winces a little at that.

“Soon.” Vince says with a weak smile, “did Tommy drive you?” He asks, and Lola nods. Vince waves over a guard.

“Hey man, can you escort Miss Gone back to Tommy Lee? And just... can you please give him a message from me?” He asks, and Lola frowns a little, but isn’t capable of paying enough attention to care. The guard seems skeptical but nods slowly.

“Is she high?” The guard asks, frowning at Lola, who smiles blithely back.

“Prescription pain medication, it takes it out of her,” Vince lies easily, giving Lola’s hand a gentle squeeze, “can you tell Tommy that she needs help? She’s been through a lot recently and I don’t think she’s dealing with it well.” The guard sighs and nods, and Lola stands when asked, though she hesitates. 

“Vinny?” She asks softly, and he looks at her, his expression heavy. She’s careful not to hug him, they’re very strict about that here, but she takes his hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles, “I miss you.” She laughs a little airily, “all my boys have scattered, but you’re always gonna be my boys.” And with that she lets herself be lead out.

Tommy’s quiet for the entire drive home after hearing Vince’s message from the guard, dropping off Lola without a word. He seems... perturbed.

“Where’ve you been?” Nikki asks from where he’s flopped back on their bed when Lola gets in.

“Vince’s place as gotten super depressing,” Lola sighed, crawling onto the bed, straddling Nikki and pressing a kiss to his bare chest.  Nikki is very, very quiet. His hands rest on Lola’s thighs, “it’s so gray, whoever remodeled for him should be shot.”

“You want some smack?” Nikki asked, and Lola sighs like the thought of it alone is enough to bring her peace. She nods. Nikki pushes up the hem of her skirt with one hand, and reaches over to the syringes on the bedside table with the other.