#it is so clear to me that none of you have ever actually been laborers in your entire fucking lives

[starblaster]

it is really fucking insane that someone compared my stance against cops being defined as 'laborers' to the swerf argument that sex work isn't labor, on my own post, considering the fact that i am literally a sexworker. like, do any of you actually hear yourselves? what labor are cops providing? militarized violence against black people? is that labor to you? do you really think that's comparable to manufacturing work? to teaching? to plumbers and electricians? to sex work? to anyone in the working class? are you fucking kidding me? are you for real? are you seriously for fucking real?! police unions are not labor unions. they're police unions; that's what i said. this is not a fucking "no true scotsman" or "shifting goalpost" argument, and if you're accusing that stance of being those things, you do not understand what "labor" means! you don't!

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Clawdia Koopa

Debut: Super Mario Bros.

If you’ve ever tried to take a closer look at the Mario series lore, you’ll realize one thing… it is not very consistent! Mario games are filled with little discrepancies, and of course, plenty of obscure and forgotten characters were practically retconned by the series! And of these, who has suffered a worse fate than Clawdia Koopa?

If you were a gaming fan during the 80s and 90s, you will surely remember Clawdia Koopa, the beloved and female wife of the fearsome King Koopa! She may not have shown up much, but her impact on the Mario world was felt everywhere!

Who could forget making it all the way to the end of the NES game, squaring off against the frightening Bowser himself… only to find out, he was even more scared of his wife than you were of him! As the king of the Koopas cowers before his nagging old ball & chain, Mario, who is in no committed relationship, is able to jump over their heads and grab the ax, sending them both plummeting into lava!

Though their relationship may have had a rocky start, it seems the two were still able to settle down and start a family. Just take a look at this letter Bowser sends you in Super Mario Bros. 3!

Yup, this game introduced the Koopalings, and as Nintendo made very clear, Clawdia was their mother! Not only did the game manual reiterate this fact, it also included some pretty detailed pictures of Clawdia in labor, giving birth to each of the seven! They’re a bit too graphic to reproduce here, but it’s awesome they went that far to flesh out the worldbuilding!

So, if Bowser was married, why did he keep kidnapping Princess Peach? Maybe their marriage wasn’t actually going that great? You see, if you were to 100% Super Mario World twice over, you would actually get to see a secret message written by Bowser:

It’s pretty heavy stuff, and Nintendo hid this message for only the most dedicated of Mario fans! And sure enough, things would only go downhill from here… In Hotel Mario, Bowser would build seven Koopa Hotels just to stay away from his wife, and Clawdia hasn’t been seen in any games since… All the fans who never got this message were pretty confused, wondering where Clawdia Koopa had gone… and they were even more confused with the release of Super Mario Sunshine!

This game introduced Bowser Jr., and he was supposed to be Bowser’s new child! Not only were the Koopalings not mentioned at all, but Clawdia was nowhere to be found, either! Instead, Bowser Jr. kept referring to Peach as his ‘mama’, but she turns out to not be his mother either! What’s going on? If Clawdia and Bowser really did get divorced, then where did Bowser Jr. come from?

Things got even worse when Shigeru Miyamoto was interviewed in 2012, saying “Our current story is that the seven Koopalings are not Bowser's children. Bowser's only child is Bowser Jr., and we do not know who the mother is.” When asked about Clawdia Koopa, Miyamoto ended the interview abruptly. So what’s going on here? Is there some sort of conspiracy to cover up Clawdia Koopa? Who would benefit from this, and why?

Well, it turns out the real culprit may have been right in front of us all along! Bowser actually DID remarry, and the mother of Bowser Jr. is none other than Miyamoto himself! After becoming Bowser’s wife, Miyamoto became jealous of Bowser’s ex-wife, suspecting he still had feelings for her. So Miyamoto went and changed the official story, acting like the Koopalings were never Bowser’s kids to begin with! It was quite a petty move on his part, but since Mario canon is in his hands, there was nothing we could do to stop him…

Clawdia may be gone, but I won’t let this revisionist view of history take place! Most Mario fans today have never even heard of Clawdia Koopa, and that’s sad… But I’m not afraid to say her name! This International Women’s Day, I will be changing my full legal name to Clawdia Koopa in her memory, and I hope anyone who stands with me will do the same! After all, if we let Miyamoto get away with this, who knows what he will do next? He might even try to sully the name of Morton Koopa Sr.!

[signedjehanne]

dear white bandom tumblr, what the hell do you want us to say?

i’m tired. i’m really, really tired. 

look, what do you want us to say at this point? this was supposed to be a safe space, for the freaks and the outcasts, but we’ve long established that it is very much not safe. it’s crystal fucking clear.

and honestly, pretty much every white user on here is actively contributing to the hostility here. whether you like it or not, it’s not good to only reblog empty reassurances of anti-racism that do more service to yourself than to others. it’s not good to see poc on the dash trying to educate the white majority and doing everything possible to educate you, and either A) ignore it, B) like it, but don’t reblog it, because god forbid you sit with your discomfort for more than five seconds, or C) send racist anon hate to the original poster, or try to deflect their points. it’s not good to see something racist and let it slide. let me get this straight: none of these fans of color owe you anything. fans of color don’t owe you the time of day, fans of color don’t owe you education, and fans of color don’t owe you the dignity of a levelheaded reply in response to your racist comments. 

often times, we try to educate because we want this space to change. i mean, i didn’t have to write a five paragraph essay dissecting anti asian racism in mcr’s content. i did it because i was angry, and tired, and frustrated, and wanted the space to change. the same reason that every other ignored dissection and analysis that spent blood, sweat, tears, and emotional labor to make was created. a lot of the time you guys just don’t understand how much effort things like that take. and to be clear, this is not just the usual “oh my post didn’t go viral and i’m not a celebrity i’m so sad,” this is “i poured all of myself into trying to educate people that turned out to never care. i have been blatantly shown that the people around me aren’t interested in changing, no matter how much they claim to be.” 

and like, do you want me and countless other users to go in depth again? do you want us to jump from racist incident to racist incident? to hold your hand through explaining why making art of ray being arrested is bad, why gerard’s fetishization of asian people is bad, why making rising sun art and designs is bad, why reducing all of pete wentz’s work to being about mikey way is bad, why shaming people with non-european features for “not looking emo enough” is bad, why insulting and degrading pete and ray for their natural features is bad, why cropping ray out of tour videos is bad, why calling people slurs in their askboxes is bad? (and so much more that i didn’t add.) do you want us to go over the history of racism in alternative spaces as a whole? do you expect us to do all of those things for you on a whim, to make it palatable to you, as if we weren’t real people with real feelings behind the screen and as if we had infinite time and emotional energy? really? when there are many resources already out there, both online and offline? 

what all this tells me is you don’t see us as human. simple as that. you expect us to be able to take the abuse, to be able to silently let your racism pass, and if we ever speak up, you ignore the work we give to you and demand inhuman feats of patience and generosity, answering your every question and responding to your every debate and coddling you as you refuse to sit with the reality of the space you’ve helped to create. and that’s only if you claim to be on our side. 

it’s insane hearing you try to placate yourselves. trying to mindlessly agree without looking inward. i know this sounds harsh, but i know that most of you need to hear it. i just want this space to actually change, like i was begging for back in january and february. of course, i was foolish to believe that it ever would. and i’m foolish now, writing this as if people are ever going to pay attention. even if it does break a few hundred notes, it’s not like the message is going to stick around. sure, you’re “doing the work”, “listening and learning”, but how am i supposed to know that when your responses never change, and this scene stays the same as it ever was?

[nerves-nebula]

In your neglected au, what is Leo and Splinter’s relationship like?

Been having trouble articulating what the dynamic is like (since its still pretty new) so I made a handy “Pros and Cons of Being Splinters’ Favorite” list :) maybe this’ll answer some of your questions

Pros:

Affection from dad 

Compliments from dad

Lighter punishments when doing things wrong (none of the other turtles would only get screamed at for breaking Raphs arm, they’d prolly have stuff confiscated or be forced to do some kind of manual labor as a punishment) 

Insane superiority complex (I AM A GOD NO ONE IS AS GOOD AS ME)

Gets told stories/myths/family history the others are left out of (Leo was aware of Shredder & the foot clan a long time before the others were told about it)

Cons:

Being responsible for everyone else (if the group fails a mission, then LEO failed to lead them, and he won't be punished as hard but Splinter will either imply its his fault or make the others hate him more by saying they slowed Leo down or something)

Being ostracized from siblings who are mad they aren't treated as well

Splinter doesn’t actually understand Leo all that much. Rather, he projects onto Leo in a way where he implies he knows Leo better than Leo knows himself. This is kind of ROUGH and really fucks with Leo’s sense of self.

Seeing how the others are treated makes Leo constantly aware that his position is not inherent to being splinters child/son, and if he fucks up hard enough he might be replaced (terrified of failure/being treated like the others) 

Self esteem issues/need for approval

Insane superiority complex (IF ANYONE EVER SHOWS ME UP OR EMBARRASSES ME I’LL KILL EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM AND THEN MYSELF)

General other notes: Splinter sees a lot of himself in Leo when Leo starts excelling in their training early on. As they get older Splinter sees Leo more and more as an extension of himself in a really toxic no-boundaries kind of way. Obviously he doesn’t have any concept of boundaries regardless, but it’s especially bad with Leo since he actually tries to spend time with Leo.

SPEAKING of spending time with ppl: Splinter will occasionally have one on one training with Leo, which isn’t always even training, sometimes it’s just Splinter venting to his literal child. Splinter will sometimes do this with the other turtles too, but not nearly as much as he does it with Leo. Usually if he vents at his other kids it's just because they were around him at the wrong time or something. It’s even RARER for him to ask one of them to come speak to him, and half the time when he does that it’s because he’s trying to fix something about them he's noticed he doesnt like.

When leo does something wrong Splinter tells the others “You’re all brothers you need to stick together and love each other” and when anyone else fucks up he basically tells them “You are such a disappointment/I expected as much.” or some other negative thing. 

Splinter was not at all prepared to be a father and took the turtles from Draxum as more of a “fuck you for mutating me” than a desire to protect the innocent. He wasn’t sure how intelligent they were at first and kinda treated them like pets until it became clear that they were like. Actually Children. And by that point he’d become attached to them so he kept them. 

Leo hangs on Splinters every word in a way that the others haven’t since they were like, ten years old. He doesn’t believe the others when they say he’s being manipulated or when they complain about Splinter. Because to Leo, he’s winning because he’s trying harder than them.

To him, the others are just quitters and could probably earn dads favor if they stopped being such baBIES about everything. He takes to heart every cruel thing Splinter says about them and kind of believes that Splinter would change his mind if the others “got better” or something. Leo hasn’t yet realized that Splinter is just making up reasons to dislike the others after deciding they aren’t as good. Splinter probably hasn’t realized that either cause he thinks he’s a good person tho.

[divorcingjimmatthews]

quick lil randall x gn!reader (finale spoilers)

i don't even know what this is. i felt compelled to dump these thoughts somewhere because that last randall scene well. i know a perfect fic setup when i see one okay? now the thoughts are on the post so i am free of them amen 🙏 please let me be above writing for this man again

so you know the deal. after the whole thing with the cicadas randall wakes up alone in the colony house room. so many questions. first of all what the fuck. second of all: ???????

then he sees you walk in with a jar and glass of water in your hand. you go "oh shit you're awake? does that mean marielle is also okay??"

he tries to place you, he thinks he's seen you around colony house but that's it. he's not even sure who marielle is supposed to be so he gives you a really tired "i guess?" while rubbing his eyes

he starts to realise that someone had to bring him here. was it you? was it... donna? oh, fuck. it's becoming clear that mistakes were probably made

you pour yourself some water to drink, then refill the glass back up to rhe top and hand it to randall. you don't know all the details of what he did but you know enough not to have a lot of sympathy for him. you were tasked with keeping an eye on him, though. easier said than done after taking all the guns out of the house

"you know, you were incredibly lucky to make it through the night out there. literally. no one believed it when they brought you here still breathing."

yeah, that was quite the shocker to him as well. the last thing he remembered was a literal swarm of bugs entering his body. and after that... had that been a nightmare? it felt so real. jesus

"so what were you doing here? just watching me sleep?"

you remembered his glassy eyes and ocassional screams and laughed. "sleep is an overstatement"

"that's creepy" he replied anyway

you stared at him for a bit, mulling over your thoughts. you let him drink his water.

"you know..." you started, getting serious "people here are nice. they're kind. they're understanding. everyone freaks out when they've just arrived. and you got here at a really difficult time."

randall started thinking to himself. why were you trying to encourage him? if, and that was a big if, he had really been wrong—well, he was pretty sure none of the other passengers from the bus had ended up tying the leader of the community to a fucking tree

of course, he didn't mention any of that out loud. instead, he looked directly at you. he still had it in him to be defiant

"you actually like it here, don't you?"

you looked away for a moment, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. even in this state he managed to score a point somehow

you took the empty glass from his hand and set it on the table. "i liked it a lot better before it all went to hell. you should've seen the place then."

you and randall kept talking for a bit. it was surprisingly easy to talk to him. and dangerously easy to forget what he did.

eventually, you left to go ask kristi to check on him. on your way out you got a shiver. you wondered if he would heed your advice. you hoped that he would. this place had seen enough death

at the same time, though, you thought how you'd feel perfectly content to never have to speak to him again

but nothing is ever that easy. of course, as soon as he's feeling well, he's first in line volunteering for physical labor and trying to help. he seems to be on his best behavior—but what is really going on inside his head?

you can tell both boyd and donna feel the same way as you. enough fighting, enough deaths. they compromise. whatever tasks he's able to perform in handcuffs, he's free to collaborate

and you're, of course, the one assigned to keep a constant eye on him while you work. so you can bet that you're the one that he'll keep trying to impress

[rachelillustrates]

Hey, I saw ur ask on someone’s blog about wanting to include Irish-speaking fairies in your fiction. First of all, you are free to write what and how you like! Please don’t think you need the validation of a random person on the internet for that. Second of all, I’m also Irish and I personally think it’s a cool idea. It seems like I have a very different experience than that other person - most people don’t actually speaks Irish in daily life, apart from some specifically Irish-speaking communities and individual families. Which is largely due to the sucky way they teach Irish in schools, but that’s an entirely different topic. The baseline is: Write your fairies, I think it would be lovely if they spoke the language! Cos I sure can’t actually speak it!! And don’t let that person discourage you from discovering your heritage either!!!

Thank you so much!! On all counts, gosh.

I am choosing not to respond to them directly cause that's clearly not the place to have this conversation after all (and I did not intend to make them do emotional labor for me and totally acknowledge that I did ask them to do that, albeit unintentionally). But I have still been thinking a lot about how to move forward, and your perspective and encouragement are super helpful.

I have heard a lot about what you've described as your experience with Irish language, and considering my own experience where Gaeilge has (and any other traditions have) been lost to my family since my ancestors moved here, it seemed like a helpful thing to do - in learning it for myself, to then try and speak it where I could, so that maybe ONE person who has more power than me might be able to do something to help even more, if reading my work moves them to. Which is NOT EVER to say I think I am gonna "save" anyone or anything. But if I can help, even on a small level, to raise awareness about the fact that the language needs attention - the situation around the language, the attempted erasure of it, needs attention - then it seemed, and still seems, like the right thing to do.

I also really wish I had made it clear in the OG message that none of the peoples in the project in question are humans. The realm I'm writing in is far, faaaaaaaaaaaar removed from Earth, so all the people - all the characters - in it are faeries. The intention is not to have one people be more magical than any other, specifically more Faerie than any other. They speak a variety of languages with a variety of origins. Which I hope hits the right note.

And thank you, once again, for saying not to let that person discourage me from learning about my heritage 💚 It has been a long road, starting from practically nothing to try and rebuild that connection within myself, and I intend to keep walking it.

[neoma-eltanin]

Prompt #23: pitch

For FFXIVWrite2022 Character: Cyrus Eltanin, Zo’tall Hydrae ( @ffxivtribehydrae​ ) Warnings: None

Despite the fact the kingdom of Doma was occupied by the Galrean Empire, the people of Yanxia found ways to lighten their ordinary days in their rather humble lives. Such was the case in places such as Hashidoi, the little village north of the capital of Doma. While they were forced to labor hard to produce rice and bamboo to whatever the Empire requested of them, as well as for themselves, they had time for other things every so often.

A melody was heard in the air. A gentle, light and soft dance of notes, like it was harmonizing with the birdsong of the forest surrounding the valley. Cyrus knew what that sound was. The little boy was on his way to the source of it, the sound of his geta sandals clopping against the dirt road as he hurried his steps. He had no reason to run other than that he wanted to see who was playing that beautiful sound. Someone who was very good at playing the flute.

There, by a cherry tree by the river, sat his father. It was almost autumn, and so the leaves of the tree were starting to change hue into a bright orange. His father rested against the tree, finished with the day’s work, relaxing and playing his flute. He had played flute for as long as Cyrus could remember. “Father!” the child called to him, interrupting his playing as he ran up to him with energetic steps.

“Hello, Cyrus.” The man smiled gently at him as the boy threw himself into his lap for a hug. “Are you done helping your mother like I asked?”

“I am!” Cyrus replied with a proud grin. “And Neoma can almost walk all on her own now. I was teaching her! She’s still small though.”

His father laughed. Despite Cyrus’ young age, he was a surprisingly responsible boy, always so caring for his family. It was heartwarming. “She is still a toddler. She will grow, eventually. Just like you. You will get very tall when you grow up, you’ll see. You’re growing fast!”

Again Cyrus smiled proudly at his father’s encouraging words. He admired his father more than anyone else in this world, and his support meant a lot for the young boy who wished for nothing but his love and care. “Father, how long have you played the flute?”

“Hm? Oh, a very long time. Long before I came to Yanxia, actually. Want to try it?” He handed his flute to his son, who eagerly accepted it and immediately attempted to blow into it without waiting for instructions. The sound was horrible and made both him and his father flinch by the painfully false tune. “Cyrus, Cyrus”, his father laughed. “It takes time, and practice. And you need to blow carefully, not so hard. Let me show you.”

Cyrus pouted in confusion as he handed the flute back to his father, who demonstrated and showed him how to place his fingers and lips, how to breathe and blow to create a clear tune. It was much more tricky than he expected, but he listened carefully to the instructions. Finding enjoyment in the playing once he managed to play a clean note, he begged his father to continue teaching him. His father was more than happy to oblige.

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

Several years later, by the same cherry tree on an early autumn afternoon, Cyrus sat and played the flute he had inherited from his father. He never considered himself to be as good as him, even if others would disagree. At least he had a good teacher. He still enjoyed playing it, it brought back good memories despite how hard life had been during the Garlean rule. Now more than ever, he felt at peace. And when he played his flute, he relaxed.

“Cyrus!” A child’s voice called for him, accompanied by the sound of small geta sandals hurrying down the dirt road towards where he sat, and he stopped playing to look up.

“Hello, Zo’tall”, he smiled. This felt familiar. “Are you done helping Yuina like I asked?”

[arcstral]

She finds him this year with the same bright smile, the same slight wind-tousle to her hair, the same exuberant, affectionate call ("Prince Marth!") -- all of it, familiar, save for perhaps the blurry stripe of flour smudged across her cheekbone, its shape cut into by suspicious finger shapes. Ah, whatever could she have been doing 'til now?

The answer lay within her hands, quite literally, for she places before him a dedicatedly decorated cake of a somewhat smaller size -- meant to be shared with perhaps two or three loved ones at most, as well as to be much easier to take back with him and save for later. Slices of peaches add splashes of color without and extra flavor within, and a bit of glaze paints a picture of the sun.

"Happy birthday!" The little robin chirps, the same message emblazoned across a card she has quite clearly illustrated by herself: a picture of him with his nearest and dearest, a bit silly but whole-hearted. ...Though, if he were to turn the card to the other side, he might discover the note written on its back, accompanied by a healthy dose of doodled flowers:

P.S. - My brother actually asked me about flowers when I was talking to him recently. Isn't that great? It made me really happy! So I'll share the 'lesson' I gave him with you, too. Just because I feel like it, of course! Yellow roses - joy, friendship, new beginnings ; purple lilies - peace, royalty ; white poppies - peace & calm... she goes on to list more, ending with blue irises, playfully marked out and followed by a written out 'Hee hee!'.

(And, if he were to glance at her after reading this note, he would most certainly be met with a mischievous grin, cleft in two by the finger held up to her lips.)

               The littlest, biggest robin of Macedon finds him with an almost supernatural knack. Like a sixth, seventh, and eight sense lied soundly in Maria’s possession leading her to the lodestar of Archanea as confidently as if he were the north star. Marth found no fault in it, of course, only wonder. Singled out so easily amidst the vast properties of the academy- a confident call of his name to seal every discernment- there would be nowhere to hide from Maria if they ever had need for such a game. Prince Marth! Even that initial bright chirp leads to further things; a familiar song passed back and forth between the once-Altean prince and the once-Macedonian princess.

               One that often started just like this. “Good day, Maria. You seem to be in promising spirits today,” he greeted per their ritual, casting down his smile over the dome of a neat scarlet head. A little taller, a little closer to him than the last birthday. This time was marked by some difference, however. The daub of pasty-white across her cheek beckoned his silent look of curiosity but Maria's voice sounded again, this time to the dawn of his flattered understanding. At last Marth took in the full picture:

               A smiling girl coated by intermittent streaks of chalky flour offered to him the yield of her labor; a darling white cake painted over with splashes of sunset pinks and yellows, representing the melting-sweet peach slices arrayed overtop. A specially made offering- a gift in his honor- and It looked delicious beyond compare! Obviously constructed in a way that reflected Maria’s research of the king’s most beloved tastes. The insightful card that followed aided in turning his appreciation to amusement.

              Shoulders shook with a sunburst of laughter, bright and full, as he regarded the most painterly depiction of the Hero-King. A noble effigy of unparalleled radiance constructed by wobbly lines, arms, legs. An eye or mouth corner drawn too high over the other one detracted away none from his regal nature, naturally. “It is a beautiful cake, Maria—and a wonderful picture. The love and care you exercised in these creations is ever clear to me! I’ll not spare them from a single ounce of my enjoyment. Thank you.” A wink and a whisper of equally secretive proportions conveyed his thoughts on the illuminating contents of the card’s back. “.  .  .And you have my word that the secrets written here shall accompany me to the grave.”

[reinstarnation]

this is gonna be rambly and kinda weird but I need a place to konmari my thoughts and this is the safest void.

if you have any advice for this, please send it in. I don't know what it'd be for, honestly.

all under the cut:

I'm starting this off by saying I'm really emotionally stunted and that bleeds into my feelings and perceptions of the self. I generally never know what the fuck I'm feeling or whether it's good or bad and can only barely assess it in hindsight.

This kind of bleeds into my gender crisis I've been on-and-off paying attention to for a whole 10 years now. My perception of the self is really kind of whack. It surmounts to "Yes, I have a body" and "I don't like these parts but I have to live with them." It's like that in a bunch of aspects: I've been obese since I was a child because of my parents and toxic relationships with food, I have pretty negative relationships with my family and I hate that i look like them, etc.

I saw a repost on pinterest about gender and age evolutions (mobile pinterest is bad about me being able to find posts I've viewed to find sources). The summary is that boy and girl as genders are different than man and woman as genders because of roles and age evolution.

That hit me. So I was like, "okay, options" and started trying to apply this and, it feels incomplete, more clear but incomplete.

Girl was correct up until like, age 10, even if it was just in title. Woman is incorrect on vibes alone. I think about being a woman in the future (the now? I'm a whole ass adult and no adult term feels right) and I could actually throw up. Man doesn't feel right even in the future but it isn't the same immediate reaction. I can only explain it as you're translating something in a language you're familiar with but not 100%, and you're like sure you translated a word right but you still wanna double and triple check. Enby is sort of the same way, but in a sense where I can't imagine being an adult with that title from immediate stigma I'm force-fed.

But there's an inbetween that doesn't seem to fit with that, like the teenage years aren't in that model. even though as a teenager you're still a child. I'd argue that until like 25 you should still be considered a child because of brain development.

Like if there were teen in that model, none feel right. Teen girl, big fucking no. Teen boy, not at all. Teen enby, nope. Teendom was just a big gray pit of every mental issue and physical issue being put center stage and I barely remember the half of it.

I firmly believe in the phrase "euphoria denotes transness" but I don't think I've ever experienced that. Dysphoria, yes, and it bleeds into some of my other identities.

If I could imagine a future where I could present as I want, it'd be completely unattainable because of cost or expectation. Cost is based on depressive realism: I'm from one of the poor sections of a industrial town in a low COL state, my family is just above the poverty line, I can't do low skill labor because of the social and emotional costs of working those, I can't do work and college at the same time, I have student loans even on a full tuition scholarship. Expectation is based on predatory beauty standards, (internalised) ableism, (internalised) sexism and the like: I wouldn't be obese, I wouldn't have boobs, I won't be able to get pregnant, I wouldn't be as tall as I am, I wouldn't be convex bow-legged with the stress point at the knees, I wouldn't be neurodivergent, I wouldn't have ever s/h-ed, I wouldn't have sensory issues, I wouldn't be asthmatic, etc.

But so much of what I would imagine an adult me to be is unattainable. Like even the most basic changes of "not obese," "no boobs," and "not able to get pregnant" are unattainable. I can't diet because of sensory issues (mostly texture based). Gym memberships are expensive and I've already stated that I'm not in the best situation for working. Top surgery is expensive and even though breast cancer runs in my family, I don't have at-risk symptoms or it close enough to get them cut off for prevention purposes. Getting sterlised in my home state is near impossible but not having a period would make my anxiety worse because I'm AFAB and i could get seriously hurt in ways where not having a period may be the only way I'd know it happened.

Talking about this with my family is a trip to disowned-ville or denial-town waiting to happen. it's already happened before when I was 11.

I don't know what label i'd be, none of them feel right. I'm definitely not cis, but other than that idfk.

And I don't have the means to make it better. Even like experimenting with a binder is out of the question because of costs.

[pinkmirth]

can i req some dad reiner fluff? i feel like he would have a lot of kids bc of the breeding kink 🥴 but yeah just some cute stuff pls thank uuuu!!

THE THOUGHT OF REINER BEING FATHER JUST DOES SOMETHING TO ME I- AJHSJS

THANK YOU SM FOR REQUESTING, ANON!! LET'S GET CAUGHT UP IN THE REINER BRAINROT TOGETHER <3

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—DAD REINER!

 (MODERN AU + MENTIONS OF PREGNANCY + FEMALE BODIED READER + FLUFF + SLIGHTLY SUGGESTIVE + REINER BEING THE BEST DAD EVER DUH + TW: SLIGHT LANGUAGE)

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Dad Reiner who was such a hot mess moments before he became a father to begin with. The pair of you are situated inside a hospital room, occupied with things much bigger than a sprained ankle. He stood alongside you, his beloved, all the while; Encouraging your efforts and attempting to ease your pain with the squeeze of your hand within his bigger one. As fretful as he feels, it's no surprise that Reiner ends up passing out a good few times, and he wasn't even the one in labor. Though, the hard part is now over, and all his worry has subsided.

Dad Reiner who recalls whimpering, weakly grinning, and eventually bawling of joy when holding his child for the first time. You'd never seen his cries mingled with such joy before. He cradles yours and his newborn within firm forearms and large, mindful hands. The pair of you sob and smile, ogle your baby with a relieved, content thrum in your heart. You allow Reiner to attempt squeezing into the hospital bed beside you, as broad and weighty as he is, with your child being held right between you and him. He’s a hot mess, but an overjoyed one who has you; and little Reiner x [Y/N] junior 🥺

Dad Reiner who converses with you for days before ultimately deciding on a name for yours and his daughter— Joyce Braun. He contemplated on “Karina”, the name of his dear mother. Though, he wants his little girl to be better than any past generation, and rather goes with a more revitalizing name, one that holds a simple, but deep meaning in his perspective. As obvious as it sounds, the name means “Joyful”. That's all he wants; for his kid to be happy in this life, happier than he ever was. Therefore, he bases her name, the root of his dear child’s identity, on cheerfulness.

Dad Reiner who tends to grow somewhat frustrated. Not with you of course, not even with Joyce’s incessant wailing in the early hours of the morning, but with himself. It wasn't as though he did anything wrong, he simply hopes that he won't. Begs himself not to fuck up with this whole “Parent” thing. If it wasn’t clear enough, Reiner wants to be nothing like his own father. He’ll never, ever shoo his child away and disregard them, but instead use those same hands to hold, guide, and lift them up. It doesn't take long for the blonde to snap out of his funk, because he's sure that he can become all the better for the sake of his little family.

Dad Reiner who wakes to your still, ethereal-like form every morning, and it's enough to make his day. A kiss to your neck, a nibble along your earlobe, and a couple repetitive rubs to your waist and thighs are enough to stir you right awake. And if that isn't the case, then it's usually the other way around; You pressing soft, lengthy kisses to his sharp, attractive cheekbones. Despite who arises first, there’s always one thing that's bound to happen— Joyce making her arrival into the bedroom via crawl, with a babble and a cute, happy little shriek upon seeing her parents.

The pair of you have no clue as to how she manages to make her way over to your room every time, but you're simply glad that she does so safely. It's Reiner’s cue to leap out of bed and scoop her off of the carpet and into his awaiting arms, clad in nothing but a white tee and the baggiest sweats. He appears disheveled, but it's still clear to see the main striking similarity between him and his pretty little daughter; Those amber brown eyes that hold the same warm, yellowish hue as his do.

He rocks the giggling one-year old, back and forth and right back again, gazing upon his squirming bundle of joy until you mention that he’s been doing so for a whole ten minutes. He grows sheepish and merely chuckles in reply, resting Joyce’s head upon his firm chest with a sigh. He could do this for ten hours more if it were up to him.

Dad Reiner who knocked you up a couple more times, and real damn good at that. There’s something of a breeding fetish that he’s got on him, which is the reason why your little family is now two kids larger. There’s Joyce, who’s now seven years old, along with her two baby brothers, the pair being a mere one year apart from the other. You and Reiner no longer have to worry about checking on Joyce in her crib, for she sleeps on her own bed now, like the “big girl” she claims to be.

Though, the boys now have you both occupied, and you’re lucky to have an older daughter who’s so understanding and rarely ever  grows jealous. Joyce, your girl who’s on more of the rambunctious side but ironically never pleads for attention, has been spending much more quality time with Reiner. Both you and him are busy with the boys, but the blonde tends to have free time on his hands every now and then. Besides, someone’s got to keep Joyce company.

Reiner happily obliges, and makes this father-daughter time worthwhile. Wholesome picnics to the park that always end in races back to the car and Reiner being a damned klutz and dropping his sandwich. Having a “spa day”, filled with Reiner’s not-so-great attempts at doing his girl’s hair, messy manicures and a hefty bag of makeup that Joyce “borrowed” from you. He spoils the girl as if the lot of you are rich (and since Reiner’s always got a hefty load of spare cash, you technically are), but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Dad Reiner who’s a lot more used to this “dad” thing now, since it’s been a couple good years down the line. You and him have amazing bonds with each of your kids, but they seem to latch onto Reiner’s large, broad body at any given time a lot more than they do you. Joyce is twelve, the brothers are five and six, and Reiner’s officially a DILF— The finest one at that. His stubble stays nicely trimmed, along with the subtle creases at his eyes becoming a little more distinctive. Goes to work, and sometimes takes the kid’s lunches instead of his own, because that's just the Reiner Way.

He’s the ultimate father in practically every situation, even when looking out for peers and comrades. He doesn’t mean to, it’s just that habits easily stick with Reiner, and it’s rather difficult for him to let them go. Besides, with three kids, how do you expect him to not be in “dad mode”?

Dad Reiner who utterly loves having random little talks with his kids, and never invalidates them, not for one second. It’s almost as though he can see things in their perspective, and they don’t know anyone else better to vent to other than their dad and mom. Though, when they tend to babble on about something that’s rather popular within their generation, it gets hard for him to catch up. They proceed to call him “old” and receive a good chase around the house before they get caught and looped into a tickle attack, and that's basically the worst thing imaginable if you’re in the Braun family. The reason being is Reiner’s unparalleled speed, despite his age; Thirties to early forties, but he’s still extremely fit, and has no problem running a mile if he has to.

Dad Reiner who’s in love with his family and the person they’ve gradually helped him become. You cherish him and your kids like none other, and he does the same. Sometimes it abruptly dawns on him; He’s a dad, and he’s actually a good one, who would’ve known? He smiles to himself, allowing his amber eyes to flit over to wherever you are before his soft grin grows wider. You look back, blow a kiss, and he does the same. The action is exchanged before he strides over to give you the real deal— Though, your sweet little peck is all cut short when Joyce and the boys skip in and start making kissy noises, with you and Reiner laughing all the while.

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“Papa,” Gale, the youngest son of the bunch, calls aloud and gains his father’s attention. Reiner peers up from his book and gives a brief, questioning response. “Yes, dove?” It’s a simple, sweet nickname; One that he calls you, Joyce, and the boys.

“Mommy’s in the bathroom crying.” The blonde drops his novel with an punctuating hitch of his breath, the book falling upon the couch with a dull thump. “—Why? Is she alright?” Reiner, the man who generally keeps himself rather poised, is now frantic, sharp brows downturned at his son's statement.

“Uh, I dunno. She’s crying, but smiling too.” This then causes Reiner’s brows to furrow. “Smiling, you say?”

“Yeah. Can we go out to get ice cream today? I wanna get, uh.. Chocolate chip, please!”

Reiner lets a brief laugh slip loose at Gale’s query, but he has to prioritize his wife over a summertime snack. He then begins to make a beeline towards the bathroom, in search of you. “Soon enough, dove. I’ve got to go up there and check on your momma first, alright—?”

Gale then shrugs and hops onto the couch, little feet padding along the spacey seat as the leather creases underneath his weight.

“By the way, Papa,” Reiner then pauses, open to any vital information his son could give, “she has this funny stick thingy in her hand. It’s got two little lines on it and stuff.”

Reiner chokes on his breath, lower lip beginning to tremble and quirk into a smile. If the case is what he thinks it is, he’s got all the reason to bust out with the teary eyes and jovial whimpers, just as he did when receiving the news of his three expected children in the past.

“A stick..?”

“Mhm,” hums Gale, proceeding to jump upon the dark brown couch, “Mama probably wants some chocolate chip ice cream too.”

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[homerforsure]

Whumptober No. 6 Bruises / Touch Starved / Hunger Whumptober No. 30 major character death / left for dead / ghosts

Me: I can’t believe I have to post this absolutely incomprehensible piece of writing. 

Me: You don’t... have to?

Me: No, I’m gonna. 

Buck has an exceptional number of pillows on his bed. There are six, before he knocks a few to the floor every night, and he burrows into them like a nest, curling up with one against his chest, two pressed against his back, one between his legs. His sheets are a ridiculously priced, cool, crisp cotton that welcomes him in, surrounding him. The blankets he uses aren’t weighted, but they’re heavy and thick and he keeps his air conditioning turned up so he doesn’t have to give up the feeling of nestling into them in the heat of summer. Along with the white noise machine on his night stand, all of it is chosen to trick him into sleep. To keep back the feeling that night time in his own apartment is the loneliest part of Buck’s day. 

It wasn’t perfect, pre-covid. It’s been a long time since Buck had someone share his space, share his bed, someone he could reach out and touch whenever he wanted. But his life outside of home was full. He didn’t lack for closeness; in some ways he had more than he’d ever dreamed. So while he had lonely moments, they weren’t a constant ache in his chest. 

These months though. These months hurt. Facetime isn’t a substitute for curling up on Maddie’s couch with whatever silly-labeled wine she’d liked best that week. It’s definitely not a substitute for Eddie’s couch and losing to Christopher over and over again at Mario Kart. The last time they talked, Eddie had reached over and ruffled Christopher’s hair and Buck felt it. First as a tingle up the back of his scalp and then as a bruise to his heart. Eddie’s touches, so constant and so casual, became essential somewhere along the way and Buck feels himself reaching out for them even when he knows it’s not allowed.

“Six feet, gentlemen,” Bobby says gently when their orbits swing toward each other and Eddie makes a dramatic show of raising his hands and taking a giant step backward. Bobby just shakes his head and reminds them it’s the price they all agreed to pay for not wearing masks in the firehouse. 

Buck starts dreading the end of a call when taking off his heavy turnout coat leaves him feeling cold and exposed. He folds into himself, claiming a chair, putting in earbuds and crossing his arms tight over his chest, pulling his knees up even though he knows better than to put his shoes on the furniture.

It’s a similar position to the one he lies in at night, clinging to the pillows, trying to draw comfort out of the smooth fabric. In those moments, his loneliness is so loud it might as well be a beacon sent out into the universe, a burning shout of need. 

And that shout is heard. 

***

“Have you guys heard of exploding head syndrome?” Buck asks one morning when the calls are slow and the crew is all lingering in a lazy way rather than rushing off to take care of their other duties. 

“What, the band?” Chimney asks.

“I think it was an album,” Bobby says.

“No,” Buck sighs. “It’s a sleep thing. It’s this loud noise that you hear when you’re falling asleep like a massively loud explosion. Only it’s just happening in your head.”

“Is your brain actually exploding? Like an aneurism?”

“No. It’s just the noise.” 

Just the loudest noise Buck had ever heard. It woke him up with a feeling of abject terror. It was an explosion that didn’t echo. It just rang, clear and true through his eardrums like the end of the world. Even as he struggled out of his sheets, searching for the source so he could run from it, part of him knew it wasn’t a sound that left any physical evidence. What could it even be? A sound like that? An old fashioned safe dropping from two stories up? A car crash without the crunch? Just a high speed collision of two immovable objects, all of the equal and opposite reaction of their momentum forced to escape as sound. 

Once his heart rate had slowed, he googled. He wasn’t initially sure what to google. “Ridiculously loud noise woke me up” seemed at once too vague and too specific but sure enough. Exploding Head Syndrome. It was what happened. Obviously. But Buck remained too full of adrenaline to sleep. As he sat up in bed, he couldn’t shake the urge to look around. Under the bed, in the closet, behind the shower curtain. He didn’t feel alone. 

“I’m just glad it’s happening in your head instead of mine,” Chim laughs. “Maybe try putting some earmuffs on before you go to sleep tonight.” ***

The sound doesn’t reappear. Buck is relieved, but sleeping doesn’t get any easier. He tries to soothe himself with obscenely long hot baths, by ordering a hoodie that’s more fluff than fabric, by running a foam roller across his muscles, trying to pry them into relaxation. It’s so much work and it does so little. Buck’s entire body is screaming out at all times for a hug or a massage or even just a really fucking good haircut. It takes longer and longer to fall asleep and the little sleep he does get isn’t restful. It’s like whatever meager comfort he manages to give himself during the day is leached away in the night. 

He doesn’t even notice the bruises at first. It’s an easy enough thing to miss. Their job is heavy physical labor and Buck barrels through a scene like a one man stampede. Bruises are as common as the smell of smoke in his hair. The ones Eddie points out on his arm though are different. 

Buck’s carrying a kitten at the time. The fire they’ve been fighting is beaten back to smolders. Buck shucked off his coat, wet and dripping from the hose and too cold for the shaking animal, and grabbed a blanket from the ambulance to wrap her up and cradle her against his chest. He’s rubbing his face against her damp fur, feeling the softness like a concentrated shot of endorphins when Eddie asks, “What the hell happened to you?”

“What are you talking about?” Buck asks and Eddie’s hands are pushing up the sleeves of his shirt, rolling them up to his shoulders while Buck’s trying to hold onto the cat.

“You don’t feel that?”

“Feel what?” He’s maybe a little ruder than he means to be but the sleep deprivation makes him cranky and the touch deprivation means that Eddie’s gently probing fingers feel like a dream on his skin. The care in the brush of his hands makes Buck’s knees weak. 

“Your arms are bruised to hell,” Eddie says. “Are you- Did someone grab you or something?”

“I swear to god, Eddie. I don’t feel anything.” Except grumpy and exhausted and longing. 

“Jesus, it goes all the way up your shoulders. It looks like-” He stops, pulling Buck’s collar aside and tracing a small spot that Buck can’t see even if he turns his head. “They look like fingerprints, Buck. Are you seeing someone?” 

“What!”

“These are handprints. And they’re dark. Do you really not-”

Buck wrenches himself from Eddie’s grasp so he can turn around and look at him because if Eddie’s really accusing him of putting everyone at risk by trying to date someone right now… But Eddie’s face is nothing but concerned. Which makes Buck scared. 

“Is it really that bad?” he asks, clutching the cat to his chest. 

Eddie rubs a hand up Buck’s back (it feels so good, hot like Buck’s t-shirt isn’t even between them and is it just because it’s been so long or just because it’s Eddie?) without looking around to see if Bobby’s watching and that’s really all the confirmation Buck needs. It’s bad. 

***

After that, Buck starts to feel them. He wakes up and he can’t breathe. He wakes up and he can’t move. He wakes up on the floor. He spends every moment that he’s asleep fighting to wake up. Buck can only remember fragments and pieces of the torment but he knows that it feels like drowning. Like being held down. Like being grabbed and pulled and smothered. He thinks he remembers long dark hair. 

Google is useless. Sleep apnea. Sleep paralysis. Sleep terrors. Even sleepwalking. None of them can account for the worst of it. For the physical signs of whatever is happening to him while he sleeps.

Bruises bloom blue on the pale skin of his hips. Purple on his ribs. Green on the back of his neck. The ones that Eddie saw first on his arm fade to yellow.  A long scratch runs down the side of his face. Dark circles under his eyes grow darker every day. 

“What’s happening to me?” he asks his reflection.

All he wants is to be able to ask that question with someone’s arms around him. He wants anyone to hold him tight and shush his fears and tell him that it’ll be okay. 

It’s easier than he thought to hide it. Buck just chooses his shower times strategically and opts for a long sleeve uniform, complaining that he ruined his short sleeves ones by grabbing bleach instead of detergent while he was half asleep. 

He’s always half asleep these days.

At least in the bunk rooms, he gets some semblance of rest. Whatever presence he feels in his own bedroom doesn’t cross this threshold and Buck sleeps deeply, almost missing the scream of the alarm. 

“It’s getting worse isn’t it?” Eddie asks, cornering Buck in the locker room. Buck can’t help but nod and Eddie steps closer as if to touch him. 

Buck flinches away and Eddie pulls up short as though hitting an invisible wall. 

He breathes Buck’s name on a pained exhale and says, “You have to get some help. Whatever it is…”

“I don’t know what it is!’ Buck answers. “It’s living in my house and it- it- God. Maybe I need an exorcism.”

“Maybe you should come home with me,” Eddie suggests and Buck recoils again. 

The firehouse seems safe but there’s no guarantee that Buck won’t be followed anywhere else. He’s desperate to be safe--desperate for Eddie to make him safe--but not at the expense of anyone else. Not when he doesn’t know what he’s facing. 

“Okay,” Eddie says. “But call me in the morning.” 

***

The burned girl screams louder when she sees Buck than she did while they were putting out the inferno of her car. 

“Stay away from me!” She shrieks. “Stay awaystayawaystayaway.”

“Miss, we’re going to need you to calm down,” Hen says to her. “Buck, you wanna move aside? Like preferably somewhere she can’t see you?”

Buck does because the patient’s well-being is more important than anything, but his skin feels like ice. He wants to demand to know what else she sees when she looks at him. Wants to know how she knows. For half a second, he imagines following her to the hospital and waiting for her outside the glass doors.  

They aren’t far from her house (52% of accidents happen within five miles of home) and the girl’s father arrives on the scene before they finish prepping her to be transported. And he sees Buck. 

He freezes when he does, but at least he doesn’t scream. He ignores Buck completely, instead going to the ambulance where his daughter is still crying and trying to soothe her. Hen offers to let him ride in the ambulance, but he says that he’ll take his car. 

“You’re in a lot of trouble,” he says, returning to Buck as the ambulance pulls away. “What you summoned… That’s not a normal ghost.”

“I didn’t summon anything! It just happened.” Buck’s voice is high-pitched and he just barely stops himself from grabbing onto the man’s arm, but the man doesn’t seem afraid of Buck the way his daughter was. “What is it? How do I make it go away?”

The man shrugs, “She came in through an open door. Which door depends on the person. But she’ll do everything in her power to keep it pried open. All you can do is try to close it again.”

It is… the least helpful advice Buck’s ever been given in his entire life. But the man’s daughter is on her way to the hospital and he needs to follow her. He vanishes. 

***

They’re about to have four days off. Buck’s bracing himself to meet the woman in his dreams. To look around in that dreamspace for open doors and slam them shut again. He can do it. He has to. 

***

The next night Buck wakes up and he can’t move. He’s paralyzed on the bed. He’s paralyzed on the bed and someone’s standing at the top of his stairs. 

She’s not… right. Buck can’t quite see in the dark and he can’t lift his head but the woman on his stairs isn’t solid in the way a human should be. The outline of her is strong, but it’s like she’s a shell wrapped around a cavernous emptiness. She’s across the room but she’s already pulling at him. 

Buck tries to thrash but his arms are pinned as if her hands are already on his wrists. He needs to reach the lamp. If he can just turn on the light.

“Get away from me,” he pleads and the part of her face where lips should be turns up, revealing pointed teeth that stand in front of a void.

“You called me,” she says. The words don’t come from her mouth and Buck doesn’t hear them with his ears. It’s wrong wrong wrong. He throws himself hard to the left and he rolls, flying further than he expected to, suddenly free, and crashes hard into the table, knocking the lamp to the floor. It shatters, bulb and all and pain scrapes across Buck’s shoulders.

“Poor boy,” the ghost mocks. “Poor lonely boy. Just wants someone to touch him. Just wants someone to stay with him. I heard you.”

“No,” Buck says and he tries to scramble, but his feet can’t find purchase on the floor. “I didn’t want you.”

He doesn’t deny the call. Can’t deny it when his heart is reaching out in the same pleading, desperate way now. Please. Anyone.

In the time it takes to blink she’s in front of him. She’s so close. She shouldn’t be able to get that close without standing on him but she’s there. Her voice whispers in his mind, “You should choose your words more carefully.”

And then her hands are around his throat.

The pressure is insistent and her motive is unmistakable. She’s going to kill him. She’s going to squeeze the life out of him. He’s going to die here and Eddie’s going to find his body because Eddie’s going to come rushing over as soon as Buck doesn’t call him in the morning and what if this thing is still here waiting for him. 

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Buck’s mind yells for him like his lungs did when Eddie was buried except now it’s Buck who’s too far away, who’s trapped somewhere deep and dark with no hope of escape. 

He tries to breathe and his breath whistles. It’s like the first time someone handed him a styrofoam cup of coffee and he tried to drink through the plastic stir stick. Black stars twinkle in the room and tears build in his eyes. 

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. 

There’s a shift as she adjusts her grip and it’s enough for the stars to clear. Buck throws himself forward, shaking his head like he isn’t a ragdoll trapped in the jaws of a rottweiler, like he has a hope of breaking free and then he does. The ghost is thrown off balance and Buck jumps, scrambling back over his bed for the stairs. He can’t even think about defeating her, finding out the secrets of where she came from, closing whatever fucking door he left open. All Buck wants to do is live. 

A force behind him swells like a wave to lift Buck off his feet and slams him into the bathroom door. He expects to slide off of it and onto the floor, but he’s held in place hard, his head turned and his cheek pressed to the wood, toes just brushing the ground. 

“You begged me to come,” the ghost hisses. “I’m here for you, lonely boy. Don’t fight so hard.”

A hand skims up his back, nearly gentle, but leaving a numbness in its path and Buck shudders in disgust. He jerks against the door, but his arms are wrenched behind him and he screams. He realizes it’s the first time he has.

“I didn’t call you! I don’t want you here! Get out.”

“I came because you needed me.” A long finger trails down his cheek and Buck whimpers. She’s taller than him now. Was she always? “I could feel you from so far away. An aching ball of need. I’m here for you now.” 

“I don’t need you,” Buck growls and the room flashes like lightning. He hopes to fall, almost expects to fall, where he can scramble again but instead, Buck is hurled away from the door completely. He has time to see that he’s above the stairs, throw his hands out uselessly and then he’s frozen. 

Buck hovers there in the air above the stairs, dangling in the grip of the ghost, like a cat grabbed by his scruff. Kicking wildly, he grabs for the invisible hand that’s holding him, yelling “No, no, no, no.”

“Need me now?” the ghost asks. 

Smothering the terrified part of him that nearly answers yes, Buck forces himself to stop twisting and just hang there. He doesn’t want to fall. He doesn’t want to die. But what he needs isn’t going to come from the ghost. 

“No,” he answers. 

And he can’t explain how he knows what her face looks like when it’s screwed up in fury, but he does. It’s vicious and vindictive and Buck’s not surprised at all when he’s flicked away from her and down the flight of stairs. 

He seems to hit each one as he falls, something that should be impossible with the speed that he’s traveling and the force with which he bounces off of them, but the ghost is obviously responsible. Air leaves his lungs as his ribs crack against the stairs. His elbows and knees scrape. His head bangs the rail. Buck’s long, long legs seem to tangle as he falls, cartwheeling him down and he lands in a heap at the bottom. 

As he tries to figure out if he can still move, the door flies open. 

Warmth rushes in. Buck hadn’t even realized how cold it had gotten since he first woke up, but the room seems to thaw around him. It’s like sunlight. 

It’s Eddie. 

“Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Evan. Buck. I’ve got you, Buck. I’ve got you.” 

Tenderly, he scoops Buck off the floor, unsnarling the mess of his limbs and feeling all over for the damage he can’t see. “I’ve got you. Open your eyes. Come on.” 

The ghost stands at the top of the stairs and then she’s at the bottom. Buck clambers backward again, digging his heels into the floor to push himself upright in front of Eddie, to try and hide him from view. Eddie doesn’t seem to see the ghost. All of his attention is still on Buck, stroking his hair, promising over and over that he’s there, that he has Buck. 

All of the ghost’s attention is on Buck too. “You need me,” she says. “You called for me.” She sounds different now. Bitter. Like Buck wasted her precious time. 

“I don’t need you,” he says and he reaches behind him to grab Eddie’s hand. “I already have everything I need.” 

Lights flicker and that impossibly loud sound bangs in Buck’s ears again. He gets one last look at the ghost’s vicious, violent visage and then she’s gone. 

And then Buck wakes up.

[glitter-garbage]

12. — thread

Shadowgast, ~1600 words, gen, red thread of destiny, soulmate au (spoilers for the eiselcross arc)

Sent by @quinn-of-aebradore 💜 ...ps: this is not edited at all (one word writing prompts: send me one and a pairing if you like. I might fill them some day!) ---

When Bren learned he had magic, he also learned that he could see things that not everyone did. It wasn’t natural, he had to focus, and later on, he even found out there was an actual spell for it. Still, on more than one occasion growing up, Bren would see the delicate red threads that connected people around him.

“Those mean whoever is connected to you is your soulmate,” his mother explained, “Can you see mine?”

And, sure enough, his mother had a little thread connecting her ankle to Leofric’s. He longed for his own thread to appear, though his mother explained that not everyone had one.

Bren didn’t have to worry, though. He was only fifteen when not one, but two threads connected his ankle to his best friends of all people. By that time, he had already been whisked away to the Academy along with them and the experiences they shared, the successes, the pain, the power, all of that just cemented their connection in his mind.

Until he broke, that is.

After the fire came the Sanatorium, and for eleven years Bren, now Caleb, did not think about that again. Only when he got out did he notice that his ankle was free. Nothing connected him to anyone anymore. It was okay, he was a garbage person. He didn’t deserve love like that anyway.

---

Nott had a red thread. It vanished out to the horizon, and Caleb never saw the thread move in a way that indicated that her soulmate was closer. He wondered if she knew, for a while. Then, he learned the truth. Veth’s soulmate, her husband, kidnapped, imprisoned. He was happy she had met him though, and confident they'd free him. She deserved happiness, he would help her in any way he could.

Two couples in his little group had threads connecting them to each other from the start. Fate worked in mysterious ways, Caleb thought. Beau and Yasha did not seem that close, though Beau’s attraction was obvious, and cringe-worthy at times, but Caleb was sure things would go well for them in the future. Jester and Fjord’s thread almost made his heart break- he had allowed himself to get way too attached to the two, but neither of them were for him, obviously. Destiny had other plans.

Molly did not have any threads, like him. After learning about his past, Caleb wondered if he had gone through something similar to Caleb, the snapping of a thread after a traumatic event. He allowed himself to grow closer to the tiefling tentatively, allowed feelings to bloom slowly. Molly was warm to him, and he thought perhaps it was another form of destiny that would tie them together.

That had been a mistake.

The last one to join their family was Caduceus. He had no thread too, and Caleb had no curiosity about it anymore. His interest in destiny had all but faded.

He loved his friends. He had friends. That was enough, for someone like him.

---

“The Luxon is the basis of how we've been able to free ourselves from the binds of the lineage the Betrayer Gods left for us and to carve our own fates, choose our own paths and sidestep these destinies placed upon us nonchalantly by gods that use us as playthings.”

The Shadowhand was interesting. Dangerous, powerful, enticing. Caleb considered what he said about freedom from destiny, the ability to find your own way. He had certainly strayed from his path, but perhaps that was not the worst thing.

Essek Thelyss, too, had no thread attached to him.

Perhaps because Caleb was no longer obsessing over what destiny had in store for him, perhaps because he was beginning to accept that his own imperfect path was better than the one that had been set for him, Caleb felt empathy towards the drow even after he had betrayed them.

They were so much alike, and Caleb kept his heart more closely guarded now. He did not feel his heart breaking when they learned of Essek's schemes, and that too helped. In any case, he did not see Essek again for a long time. Did not think much about him. There was too much on his plate for that.

---

Astrid smiled at him from across a dinner table and his stomach dropped. Caleb felt the wheels of time turning, felt again like Bren, determined and ambitious and blind to the truth. Eadwulf looked at him with a raised chin, a smirk on his face. He too remained handsome, impossibly so.

When they walked out of Ikithon’s tower, Caleb could make out the thin red thread that still connected their ankles. He thought he was stronger, that perhaps he was ready for this.

“Race you to the top,” said Astrid with a childish smile, before turning back to the tower.

It hurt. He could feel the emptiness of what could have been, what would never be again in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

---

Imagine his surprise when arriving at the Vurmas outpost in Eiselcross, the powerful figure of the Shadowhand could not meet his eyes. Imagine his surprise, when he saw his eyes lighting up when they chose him instead of his old teacher to go down into the ruins. Imagine his surprise when he saw Essek battling, using gravity itself as a weapon, and felt only fondness and admiration for the man. When he showed off his tower and saw the same in the drow’s eyes. And attraction, of course. That went without saying.

It all came to a head when, together, they worked to cast a spell that would shorten time itself and give the Nein their much-needed rest.

Thought it might have felt like seconds to their friends, Caleb watched for long moments, holding magic in his palms to assist, as Essek opened a gash through the fabric of space and time. Real fabric, made of threads of all colors that together seemed to make up what he saw as the world around him. Time seemed to stop around them as Essek carefully worked around the fibers.

“This… Have you been able to see this the whole time?” he asked.

Essek’s jaw was clenched and there was sweat running down his forehead, but he nodded, “Not really. It takes a lot of effort to see this. A lot of energy.”

Caleb hesitated but gave in once Essek’s questioning gaze found his for a moment, “I have always seen the red threads. I- I had my own, for a while.”

“Annoying little things,” muttered the drow, focusing again at the slow-going task of weaving time with his bare hands, “There was a time when I hated them more than anything.”

“You used to have yours, too?”

“Hm? No,” said the drow distractedly, “I hated them because I had none, and I thought I should. The Dynasty looks like a tangled web if you watch for them since so many entanglements are made complicated by consecution. But I never had one, and even though I looked for… someone that could perhaps make it appear, it never did.”

He moved his wrist to the side, and the universe seemed to shift with it. Caleb felt a little dizzy.

“But I had never heard of someone who lost theirs. I thought they were supposed to be, ah, perfect,” Essek smirked, “Unless you did what we are doing right now to yours. That is, changing it fundamentally. Somehow, I do not think that is what happened.”

“Nein,” Caleb chuckled wryly and then held himself straighter, keeping the spell steady as Essek continued his labor. “I… strayed from the path, I think. I did something that was not meant to be.”

Essek looked at him like he was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen, even though the elf himself had the building blocks of reality in his hands at the moment. Caleb flushed.

“I think Caduceus would say that you did exactly what you had to do.”

“Maybe so. But isn’t it hard to know that others will have this… this gift, this sure thing while we will not?”

Essek looped a bright white strand against a colorful, prismatic one while he hummed, thinking.

“I felt the same way for decades. But whatever we will have or not, in that sense, will be of our own making. And isn’t that a gift on its own?”

---

The moonlight shone down on the beach, turning the sea a glittering mass of waves. Other than the full moon, magical globes and luminescent beetles illuminated the space around them. Their friends gathered around smiling tearfully in perfect dissonance. Caleb himself felt his heart beating so fast he thought it might leave his ribcage and seek quietude somewhere far away from his anxiety-ridden body. He stood beside Caduceus, who hummed a sweet song under his breath as they waited.

Finally, the glittering door at the end of the path opened, and Essek slipped out, bare feet delicately touching the sand. Jester came from behind him, and once their arms were locked, they walked on slowly, passing their friends and family on the way to Caleb and Caduceus.

He looked stunning in delicate iridescent robes, and Caleb tried to swallow down his anxiety. Violet eyes framed by silver lines, mouth poised in a gentle smile, cheeks flushed, Essek walked slowly until he was face to face with his intended.

Essek reached for his hand, and they stood silently, gazes locked while Caduceus conducted the ceremony. When it was time, Caleb drew a small spool of red thread from his pocket. Gently, he took Essek’s hand in his and tied a knot around his little finger. He offered the spool, and Essek repeated the gesture, biting his lips nervously. Caduceus cut the remaining thread, leaving their hands connected.

“You are now joined together, not by destiny, but by your own choice. I think that’s very nice,” Caduceus smiled placidly until Veth cleared her throat, “Oh yeah. You guys can kiss now.”

Caleb smiled at the phrasing. He lifted his hand, pulling Essek’s forward until the drow was close enough for him to count his freckles. Their hands tingled as he came impossibly closer. Essek’s mouth was warm against his.

For the first time in Caleb's life, he felt destiny favored him.

---

[plant-flwrs]

hi! i absolutely love your writing!! can i request a pureblood slytherin (kinda mysterious?) reader x george? muggle-borns call her the child of the cheshire cat bc her mischievous smile says it all. so when the twins escape the professor, she answers in riddles to not blow their cover. you can add on to that, thank you!! 🧡🧡

mischief // george weasley

masterlist!

a/n: i love your request so much!! i’m sleep deprived rn so i apologize if none of this is coherent or good, but my tiny brain did it’s best. hope u like it!!

summary: George falls for the mischievous pureblood Slytherin who couldn’t care less about blood status.

(3.1k)

------

“You’ve never seen Alice in Wonderland?”

“No,” Ron groaned, annoyed with Hermione’s better-than tone.

“When would he have seen Alice in Wonderland, Hermione?” Harry asked, also annoyed with the two’s constant bickering.

“It is a book too, you know, he could have picked it up and read it any time he liked,” Hermione defended, sticking her little nose into the air with purpose.

“Will you just tell me what it means?” Ron pressed.

“It’s a reference. The Cheshire Cat is a mischievously annoying animal. It would mislead and annoy Alice,” Hermione explained, trying to simplify the characterization for Ron.

“So why do they call her that?”

“Because she gives us the creeps, she’s evil looking,” Harry answered, shuddering his shoulders slightly. 

“She’s actually quite interesting,” Hermione said, “if you gave her a chance.”

Harry rolled his eyes, having little sympathy for any pureblood Slytherin. Ron’s face showed him to be in deep thought, and Hermione returned to her Divination work.

You were perched in a shadowed corner of the library, twisting the ends of your hair in your fingers. Pansy sat across from you, reading her Potions textbook with great concentration. You hummed to yourself, a dull smile on your lips.

“Y/n,” Pansy spoke slowly, tearing her eyes away from the textbook and showing it to you, “do you know what this means?”

You looked intently into the notebook, your head nodding slowly as you read the page.

“Yeah, it’s applying the absorbing properties in lizard scales to the enlarging properties of ogre’s root. All the other stuff is there to make sure you don’t die, probably,” you said, handing Pansy the textbook back.

She made an “oh” noise, finally understanding the potion.

“I don’t think this school could be any more boring if it tried,” you groaned.

Pansy gave you an entertained smile and returned to her book.

Your gaze had drifted to look out of the window when you heard a loud crash.

Your head snapped to where it came from and your legs were moving before you had realized where they were going.

You came to stand right in front of three crashed bookshelves, little Cornish Pixies rolling around in all the books that lay on the floor.

You watched two red-headed boys doubled over trying to catch the Pixies in their outstretched hands.

“What happened here, boys?” you drawled, leaning against a book shelf that still stood upright.

“Shit!” one of them shouted, clutching his chest with this hand, “Scared us.”

“You gonna stand there, or help us?” the other said, not lifting his eyes from the Pixie he just managed to shove in his pocket.

“I think I’ll watch for now,” you quipped, a smirk reaching your mouth.

You watched them attempt to gather all the Pixies, until all three of your heads shot up at the heavy footsteps of McGonagall. 

“What on earth?” she started, and you watched the twins duck behind some standing bookshelves a few feet away.

“Did you see who did this?” she asked you, her suspicious eye trained on you.

“Did what?”

“This!” she shouted, her hands flailing towards the fallen shelves and books littering the ground

“What about this?” you asked, feigning innocence and confusion.

“Why are there shelves knocked down and books everywhere?” 

“Are they not supposed to be like this?” you nearly broke your act, a smile threatening your lips, but managed to keep a straight face. McGonagall looked infuriated.

“Did you see where they went?”

“Where who went?”

“The people who did this! Unless it was you?”

“I didn’t do it.”

“Then who did?”

“Who did what?”

“This!” she repeated, her face turning red.

“Oh! I think they went that way,” you pointed over your shoulder, the opposite way the twins went.

“She’s brilliant,” George whispered to his brother from behind the shelves.

“You can say that again, Georgie,” Fred answered, watching you in awe as you waved off McGonagall.

They crept form behind their hiding places, stepping cautiously around the fallen books. 

“How did you do that?” George asked, looking at you in awe.

“Do what?”

Fred smiled at you, quite entertained. George just stared, his mouth hanging open in amazement. 

You sauntered off, sitting back down with Pansy.

“Jaw up, George, you’re drooling,” Fred taunted his brother, bumping into George’s shoulder.

The two left the library, sneaking past Madam Pince. George watched you smooth down your green tie with your delicate touch, your eyes locking with his. He admired the mischievous grin on your lips, and he gulped when you winked at him. He just met The Child of The Cheshire Cat. And he was in love with her.

The two boys peered around the corner, Fred crouched below George. They watched you carefully taking a bobby pin to Snape’s door, your fingers jutting back and forth against the pressure you applied.

George watched you pull your lips between your teeth. He watched the curve of your body as you stood on the tips of your toes, bent at the knees and leaning close to the door. Your skirt itched dangerously up, exposing more and more of your thighs.

Fred’s eyes were trained on your mischievous actions, but all George could focus on was you. He tried to stop thinking about you, but ever since that day in the library he couldn’t get you out of his head. It became even harder when Fred insisted you join them in their pranks from now on.

You stood suddenly, your skirt falling back into place, much to George’s dismay. You turned towards the boys, smirking at them. Fred sprang from his place behind the wall. George stumbled to follow after his brother.

You bent the bobby pin back into place and George watched you tuck it seamlessly into your hair. 

“All in a day’s work, boys,” you said, breaking the silence that had formed around the three of you while they stared at you in awe.

“You’re brilliant,” Fred mumbled, gripping your shoulders and kissing your cheek briskly.

You laughed, rolling your eyes. George debated if he should copy his brother’s actions, take advantage of the situation to make an excuse to be that close to you. Before he could, he realized he had been staring at you for far too long. He coughed awkwardly and casted his gaze to the ground. You quirked an eyebrow at him in suspicion, and followed Fred into the potions class.

“What are we looking for, exactly?” you whispered into the dark room.

“We need more Ashwinder eggs for our products,” you heard Fred whisper back to you a few feet away, “running low on our supplies.”

“So you thought Snape wouldn’t mind letting you borrow some of his?” you teased, and heard Fred snort from where he was.

“Of course not,” George said from behind you, “as you may know, he’s a very generous man.”

“Always been supportive of us,” Fred joined, the smirk very loud in his voice.

George was close to you in the dark, you could tell. He must have been inches away from you, waiting for Fred to gather what he needed. You could hear his breathing, not that it was labored, and felt his presence.

“Fred, will you hurry it up?” George snapped at Fred.  You turned to where his voice came from, the deepness in his whisper surprising you.

“Scared?” you teased.

You heard George’s low chuckle, and suddenly two hands snaked their way onto your sides. George’s long fingers gripped your sides, making your entire body jolt. You jumped at the sudden touch, and heard George chuckle even more.

“Scared?” he murmured, his hands still on your sides but his fingers considerably looser.

You met his hands with yours, putting them on top of his for some reassurance that you weren’t imagining it. Your touch was featherlight over his rough hands, and you realized how small your hands were next to his. You felt the veins on the top of his hands and traced over them before you knew what you were doing. George’s chuckle stopped at the touch, and the only noise in the room was the occasional clink of two glass bottles bumping into each other as Fred looked for the eggs.

The two of you stood in silence, George’s body inching closer to yours from behind you. Soon, your back was against his chest, and he trapped you in his arms. Your arms leaned against his, hands still atop his hands. You felt safe in George’s arms. You didn’t care if Snape came in at that minute, you just wanted George to hold you.

“Got ‘em!” Fred called out, a few clinking noises heard.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice closer to you now.

George started to turn, turning you with him. He gave you one last squeeze, moving his hands a little lower on your hips before releasing you completely. You let your hands fall from his, and moved from your spot against his chest.

The moment of intimacy in the dark had caused a blush to spread across your cheeks, and George saw it the second you three reached the dimly lit hallway. You avoided his eyes, looking at Fred and the three glass bottles he was slipping in his pockets.

“What are you going to use those for?” you whispered, following them down the hallway.

“Our luck and love potions,” Fred answered, his hand ghosting over the eggs in his pocket.

You nodded approvingly, taking a glance over your shoulder to make sure you were still in the clear. The three of you stopped at the bottom of the stairs, well you stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“Aren’t you coming?” Fred asked, looking down at you from a few steps above you.

They both towered over you, but the look in George’s eyes made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

“My common room is down here,” you lifted your hand to point your thumb over your shoulder.

“Oh right,” Fred said, smiling, “sometimes you’re so much fun we forget you’re a Slytherin.”

“Shut up,” you said, laughing. 

The boys watched you walk away. Fred smiled at the memory of the successful night they had, and George smiled at the way your skirt moved across your hips and swayed side to side.

“And where were you?” Draco Malfoy’s sneer was on you immediately after you crept into the common room. He was lounging on the couch, face illuminated by the dwindling fire on front of him.

“Where was who?” you smirked, starting your usual act.

Draco smirked back at you, aware of your reputation.

“Off with the Weasleys? You’ve been spending a lot of time with them recently. If anyone had some sense they might begin to question you aligning yourself with blood traitors,” Draco drawled.

You furrowed your brows, feeling incapable of deflecting that like you usually would. You were never one to focus on your blood status, but you figured you didn’t have to since you were a pureblood. Draco was obsessed with his blood status, you knew that, everyone knew that. Why was he so concerned with yours all of a sudden?

“Why do you care, Draco?”

Draco’s cold laugh echoed off the walls of the dungeon.

“I try to look out for my housemates,” he said, “especially the incredibly attractive ones.”

Your face twisted with disgust before you could help it. You walked past him and up the stairs, hearing his laugh continue from behind you.

Up in your room, you reflected on your night. You couldn’t help but lift your hands to where George’s had been earlier. You closed your eyes, imagining him still there with you, his chest a hard presence behind you. You breathed in deep, feeling the familiar tightness in your chest. A smile was on your lips before you knew it, and you realized you wanted George to hold you more often.

The next day at breakfast, you had filled your plate with food and talked with Pansy.

“So,” she started, glancing at you over her Charms textbook, “where were you off to last night?”

You smiled at her, looking down at your plate. When you looked back up at her, you noticed Draco watching you a few seats down. You gave him a glare, and he smirked at you.

“I was with Fred and George,” you turned your attention back to Pansy.

“The Weasleys? Why were you with the Weasleys?” Pansy tried to hide the repulsion in her voice, and barely managed to.

“They’re my friends,” you defended, furrowing your brow at her.

“Since when?”

You didn’t answer her, feeling that whatever said wouldn’t matter much to her.

Pansy gave you a suspicious look and returned to her textbook and breakfast.

You looked down at your plate, not daring a glance at Pansy or an accidental look at Draco. You felt isolated, the green tie around your neck becoming too suffocating all of a sudden.

You stood from the table, leaving breakfast early. You walked to the empty hallway and felt a little better in the quiet.

“Y/n?” you heard a voice call for you.

When you turned in the direction of the Great Hall, you saw George. He was walking cautiously towards you, concern etched on his face.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound normal.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

George had closed the distance between you, coming to stand right in front of you. You turned from him, leaning against the wall. He did too, and you felt his arm against yours.

“Fred and I were going to talk to you after breakfast,” he said, “but since you’re already here.”

“More late night sneaking around?”

“You could say that,” he smiled down at you.

You turned your head to look at him, and he was already looking at you. You felt your heart stop beating, the air stuck in your throat. Your eyes danced all over his face, focusing on the strength of his cheekbones, the sharpness of his nose, the smile lines marked on his cheeks, the look in his eyes. 

He didn’t know what was happening. You turned towards him, leaning closer. You closed the distance and your hands were in his hair. He barely had time to close his eyes before you pulled away. You leaned back against the wall for a second, shook your head, and started to walk away.

You felt like an idiot. You had no idea why you just kissed George, probably ruining the only genuine friendship you had made at Hogwarts. You walked away from him, hoping that the sooner you left, the easier he would forget it happened.

You were only a few feet away before his hand was wrapped around your wrist.

“George, I’m sorr-”

He cut you off with his lips, his hands cupping your face.

He pulled you back to the wall, pushing you against it. The force nearly made your legs tremble from under you, but you forced them to stay still. 

His hands ran down your body, moving from your face and down to their spot on your hips. He squeezed them like he did last night. You couldn’t help the reaction it caused, lurching your hips into his at the touch. He groaned into your mouth, pushing his face harder against yours. His nose pressed against your cheek, your chins bumping as you passionately moved against each other. 

“Well, this is awfully disappointing.” You barely registered the voice, and George certainly didn’t.

You opened your eyes, still kissing George and glanced to the sound. Draco stood there, an evil smirk on his mouth. You slowly pulled away from George, and he trailed after you, trying to continue the kiss. It wasn’t until you turned your head to look at Draco that George even realized he was there.

“Get out of here Malfoy,” George said, his voice gruff and annoyed.

He moved back towards you, expecting Draco to scurry off. Draco stayed put, and you pulled back from George.

“What do you want, Draco?” you said, still pushed against the wall with George leaning on you.

You didn’t even bother to fix your messy hair, adjust your skirt, or tuck your shirt back in. All of which were messed up by George’s roaming hands.

“Just wanted to make sure my eyes didn’t deceive me,” he snarled, “Saw a Weasel chasing after you, but I didn’t think it would have been this bad.”

“What are you on about?” George said, and you could feel his body tensing with anger.

“Well I have to report this to the Sacred 28,” he explained, casting a fake innocent look over his evil features, “they’ll have to know that the Y/l/n family are now blood traitors.”

“Malfoy, you’re the only one who still cares about that,” you sneered.

You would have felt a bit intimated by Malfoy if it weren’t for George. You knew Malfoy was one of the smartest students in his year and had no doubt he knew some dark spells that you couldn’t have dreamed of. But George made you feel safe. When George was there you didn’t even think about the danger Malfoy threatened.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he started to saunter over to the two of you, “your father still seems to care.”

George moved you from the wall, putting himself between you and Draco. 

Draco was right about your father. He cared a great deal about his status and the power it held. He had grown to accept your disobedience, but you had never strayed this far from his ideals.

“You’re pathetic, Malfoy,” George spat from in front of you. You squeezed his arm warningly, and he glanced down at you. The second he saw your scared expression, his gaze softened.

“Shove off,” you managed, your voice nearly sounding afraid.

“Alright,” Draco said in a sing-song voice, holding his hands up in mock defeat, “fine, be that way.”

He walked back into the hall, and George turned to you with concern on his face.

“Why did you do that?” 

“I don’t care about what my father thinks,” you admitted, furrowing your brow.

“Are you sure?” George asked you.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, looking up at George’s brown eyes, “You mean more to me than any useless blood status.”

George softened. He literally felt himself melt at your words. He took a few large steps, a goofy smile plastered in his face, and backed you against the wall again.

“That was adorable,” he said, sounding giddy.

You laughed, moving closer to his face. Your smiles connected, quickly changing to a heated kiss once again.

[strawberryjam-scribbles]

Adam Sackler Hates Café's. Or Does He?

Warning(s): Absolutely none, this is pure fluff

Word Count: 3.5k

Made for the lovely @clydesducktape as part of the @adcuficexchange

A/N: Hey all, I have not seen Girls out of an immense hatred of L*na D*nham so if there is anything out of character for Sackler, that's why. There is some unrealism for the sake of plot progress but hey, that's the point of fanfiction isn't it. Hope y'all enjoy it and if you didn't...I don't really know what to tell you, invent a time machine maybe?

Adam Sackler hated the new cafés that kept popping up all over the place. “Pretentious hipster bullshit” he called it. If he were drunk you could easily spark a heated rant over the “overpriced, tiny cups of slave labor coffee.”

But maybe cafes weren't so bad if you were in them. A rough meeting develops into a playful friendship, when you both have exciting news to share, who know where that friendship could go?

Adam Sackler hated the new cafés that kept popping up all over the place. “Pretentious hipster bullshit” he called it. If he were drunk you could easily spark a heated rant over the “overpriced, tiny cups of slave labor coffee.” Though Adam hadn’t been drunk in a long time, he actually started going to his meetings consistently. The closest he’s gotten with alcohol was accidentally drinking a friend’s alcoholic cider, thinking it was apple juice. In retrospect, he did think it tasted weird.

But that’s beside the point. Adam hated cafés, but he had to be here to meet his new manager, supposedly someone who could make him a “theater star” —their words, not his.

Adam felt a buzz in his pocket, his manager letting him know ‘he’s stuck in traffic’ and will be—oh fuck—around thirty minutes late. He ran through his options.

Option 1: Find somewhere that’s not here to wait out the half-hour, but chance showing up late to an important meeting.

Definitely not the impression he wanted to give off

or,

Option 2: Stay in this fucking café for the sake of his career.

Unfortunately, it was an obvious choice. Though he supposed it wasn’t all that bad, there was a really cute barista who gave him his coffee. And, maybe the coffee wasn’t so bad-though he chugged it almost immediately. Now that he wasn’t stressing over meeting his manager, he felt himself relaxing into the surprisingly comfortable chair. The ambiance playing in the background was soft and slow. He’s been so busy the past few days he’d hardly slept at all. His eyes ever, so, slowly drifted shut.

“Excuse me, sir? I’m so sorry to wake you, and I kind of hate this rule, but if you aren’t eating or drinking anything, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

Are you fucking kidding me? He thought this instead of verbalizing it. Anger management had been suggested by his AA sponsor, the fruits of which were slowly becoming more apparent.

Adam craned his neck up to look at you from his slouched position in the chair. It was the cute barista. You were looking down at him with a kind smile but nervous eyes. Oh fuck, please tell me I didn’t sleep through the meeting. He snapped his wrist toward him. Thank god, he must have just drifted off.

You watched the odd, large man in the too-small chair jolting around without saying anything. You opened your mouth to repeat what you’d said, thinking he hadn’t heard you, “Can I get a coffee?” His smooth, deep rumble startled you. He seemed to have not expected that sound to come out of his mouth either, his eyes widening. He cleared his throat.

You thought to yourself, he seems out of his comfort zone. Certainly not a regular customer. “Sir, uh, what kind of coffee?”

Fucking hipsters. Now, he thought that he had only said this in his head, but judging by the look on your face, it may not have been the case.

“Uh, medium, black. No cream, sugar, nothing.” Adam hoped he recovered from saying that in front of you. You walked away while he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. The first cute girl who’s talked to him outside of work—does this count as work? No. Does it? Anyway—and he insults you to your face.

Your body reentered his peripheral vision, and he straightened up in his seat.

As you handed him the paper cup, he brushed your hand with his much larger one. He couldn’t help but revel at the brief sensation.

You turned to walk away, but he stopped you, “Hey I just wanna apologize for the hipster thing, I didn’t mean it towards you.”

You looked behind you at the clock hanging on the wall. Thank god you get a break in a few minutes.

“So, I don’t know if this sounds creepy or anything but do you wanna sit for a few minutes with me.” Being in New York, you were well acquainted with all the weird, harassing men in the city. But your manager was a bit of a dick who lived by a customer-first ideology. If this large—handsome—man got pissed at you and told your manager you were rude, who knows what the repercussions could be.

“Sure.” You said, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “But I can only stay for a few minutes.” You sat at the edge of your seat rather stiffly.

A bubble of uncomfortable silence surrounded the two of you in the middle of the busy atmosphere of the café.

Adam opened his mouth, “Look kid, I really do want to apologize for what I said earlier. I know you’re just doing your fucking job or whatever. My new manager is late as shit and I’m just stressed out. That doesn’t justify me taking it out on you though.” He gave you a soft smile. Despite the harsh language, you did believe he was sincere.

“What’s the manager for?” You asked, surprising him mid-sip. He was expecting a curt nod followed by your departure.

Adam almost choked on his coffee, it was actually better than the one he had before—he wondered if you’d made it. He wiped his mouth with his hand, “Uh I’m an actor, theater and shit you know?” He noticed your eyes light up at that.

“What’s that like?” You leaned forward in your seat towards him, anticipating his answer. You knew very well how many people came to this city in search of something bigger—yourself included—only to be working three jobs for the rest of your life in New York.

Just as he had collected his thoughts and past experiences to form an answer, a shout at the door rang out in your direction. “Y/N come on let’s go! If we want to make lunch on time we have to go now!” You gave him a sheepish smile. Quick hands reached towards the napkin which came with his coffee. You grabbed the pen clipped onto your apron, scribbling something down on it.

You leaped up to grab your things from the back, to see your friend had done it for you. You turned to him again, “Good luck with your meeting.”

With that, you walked out of the café with your friend. Adam looked down at the napkin—fucking hipster kids—a number. He smirked.

Hey kid

what are you up to ;)

You couldn’t help but giggle at the words on your screen. You typed back,

nothing much

and put that winky face away it makes you seem like a perv

maybe I am a perv ;)

You had been texting Adam for the past few weeks now. Sending anything from one-word responses to practical novels was your only form of communication so far. His manager had been keeping him busy with auditions and rehearsals, so much so he was too tired to do anything afterwards.

Your phone buzzed again.

So I was wondering if you wanted to hang out???

He gave you absolutely no context, just a random invitation followed by three question marks.

do you have enough question marks there

The ellipses popped up immediately, you snorted to yourself. You allowed him the few seconds to type, but after a minute had passed since they started, you wondered what was taking him so long.

You typed a quick, you good?

He finally sent his message, no wonder it took so long.

So I went to an audition that was way out of my league but they must have liked me so I got the job. My manager wanted to take me out for drinks but obviously I said no to that. So basically what I’m asking is do you want to go get ice cream with me? My manager said I shouldn’t worry about doing anything until I get my script. I really just want to celebrate and hang out with a friend today.

You smiled at his message, it made you think back to first meeting him and how much of a rocky start it had been. In New York there was always the feeling you didn’t have any actual friends; they were only hanging out to gain something. With Adam, you didn’t feel that, just mutual kindness and support.

OMG Adam I’m so happy for you!!!

and fuck yes let’s get ice cream it’s too fucking hot in this city

He texted you where to meet him, saying he’d probably be there in five minutes, he told you not to rush though and that it was just close to his apartment. You still rushed. Your neighbours might have assumed a tornado occurred in only your apartment based on the sound of you scrambling over and around your furniture. A record for quickest wardrobe change had to have been set in that minute you took arranging an outfit.

You decided to splurge on a taxi, it was too hot to walk 20 minutes, besides it wouldn’t be busy at this time of day, most people were working right now. The taxi pulled up to the sidewalk next to the agreed-upon spot, but you didn’t see Adam anywhere. Maybe you somehow beat him here, you thought.

Stepping out of the car, you instantly felt sweat drip on your forehead. You walked towards a sliver of shade next to a building.

“Boo!” Two large man paws lightly slapped your sides from behind.

“Jesus fucking christ.” You turned around and swiftly punched the man in his stomach.

“Oh fuck me.” The mean giant said in between obnoxious laughs.

You gave him a childish pout, “I can’t believe you did that to me Adam!” He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t help but burst into laughter again.

He composed himself with a deep breath and a calming hand getsure.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. shit kid you are way stronger than I thought. I’ll make it up to you, I’ll make it up to you kid. I’ll pay for whatever you want at the ice cream place.” He gave a big toothy grin; you noticed a few crooked teeth endearingly poking out the sides of his lips.

A nod of your head and he grabbed your hand and pulled you down the street. It was hard to pay attention to where you were going as all of your focus was on keeping up with his long strides. He abruptly stopped and turned down a dingy alleyway. While you trusted him, you had also mainly communicated online. Now that you thought of it, you’d never even seen his manager. Maybe he made the whole thing up and this is where you die. Maybe he planned to do this all alon-.

“Kid, hey, we’re here.” He was waving a large hand in your face. You looked around and saw a chalk sign with an arrow ‘Hidden Gems Handmade Ice Cream’

was neatly printed beneath it in a rainbow of pastels. “I stumbled across this place when I was really drunk a while back and it’s been my go to since then.” He opened the small ironwork gate that led into the small patio area. There were maybe twelve other people eating varieties of frozen treats at picnic tables.

Adam seemed to be quite the regular. The workers behind the small counter built into the wall knew his name and vice versa. He pointed out the menu and his recommendations. You decided to go for a cone of Fear the Turtle while Adam chose a bowl of Sasho’s Crew Crunch. He brought out his wallet to pay, and waved you off towards the tables, a silent ask to find a seat. You found a table in the corner, climbing foliage and trees created a nice patch of shade.

Lavender and camomile flowers floated a pleasing scent down to you. When Adam asked to get ice cream with you, you expected to meet him at a bodega that served cheap scoops. You also thought this place seemed pretty hipstery for a self-proclaimed anti-hipster to frequent. It only took him five strides to reach you, but he gave you finger guns in the middle of his walk to you.

“Nice spot kid.” He said around a mouthful of ice cream. The words were muffled and garbled, but you understood them, giving him a shy smile of recognition between licks at your cone, which he handed to you with a wide grin.

Adam looked down at you, his lips and surrounding face were covered in sticky ice cream, you giggled at him. He stuck his tongue out at you and then attempted to lick the mess off his face. “How’s the cafe going?” He sloppily wiped his mouth with his arm.

“I’m not sure actually. My boss is moving so I may not have a job by the end of the month, which is great, obviously. I’ve applied to a few places in case, but the spots had already been filled, gotta love the New York shitty job hustle.” Adam gave you a look of sympathy, he just got the opportunity of a lifetime, and you were about to have no job.

You threw your hands up, cone and all, to dissuade him from feeling bad. “But today is about you.” You said with a smile before taking a bite out of the cone with a loud crunch.

“Kid taste this!” Adam stuffed his spoon in your mouth. You moaned, both from surprise and from the rich flavour of his ice cream; it was very different from the salty-sweet combinations of yours. Adam felt his pants get tighter. Fuck, he thought, he shouldn’t be finding you so hot right now. Big doe eyes, mouth still around that spoon, bet you’d look even better with your mouth around something else—fuck, he needs to get laid.

Your phone’s ringtone brought him out of his thoughts. You gave him a sheepish smile in apology.

“Y/N!” It was your boss, “How’s my favourite employee?” This was news to you. “Good” it sounded more like a question. “So as you know I’m moving, and well, I’d rather say this in person, could you come over to the cafe now?” Shit, “Yeah I’ll be there in a few minutes.” You hung up

“I’m so sorry Adam, it’s my boss, they want me to meet with them now.” You said, grabbing your things and ordering an Uber.

“Don’t worry kid, will you be fine finding your way out of here?” He held genuine concern but still could feel his earlier thoughts and their accompanying burn. You smiled and waved him off.

“Yup!”

You were not fine finding your way out, not that you would ever admit that to Adam. You almost walked into someone’s apartment by accident, eventually having to follow the sounds of traffic to get out. Your Uber driver pulled up to the curb in front of you; you waited for them to say your name before getting in—a tip you learned online.

The ride was stuffy but much preferred to walking the distance to the cafe. You were definitely going to have to budget more tightly after today’s spending.

Hey! Just wanted to make sure you got to your car, Adam sent you.

Yeah i’m good

Btw it’s an uber not my car

If I had the money for a car in new york, i wouldn’t be working in a cafe ;p

The car pulled to park outside of the oddly unbusy cafe. Shouting out a quick “Thank you.” to your Uber driver, you hurried into the building to get away from the scorching heat.

“Ah Y/N, I’m so glad you were able to come.” You wondered where this joy had come from.

“So as you know I’m moving across the country, but as far as I know I haven’t told anyone why yet. A couple weeks ago I bought a lotto ticket like I always do, then when the numbers came in I found out I won the jackpot.” She paused for effect seeing the shock on your face.

“Thing is though, the money doesn’t go nearly as far here as it does in Kansas. I don’t wanna close this place though, it’s my baby, and you, Y/N are my longest worker, so what I’m asking is, do you want it?”

All you could muster to say was a bewildered, “Huh?”

“Do you want to become the owner of this cafe? You can say no of course, but you were the first person that came to mind for the job. I don’t need the answer now but if you could let me know by the end of the week that would be-”

“Yes!” Your mind was going so fast you couldn’t stop yourself from interrupting her to accept the offer.

Her eyebrows rose, “Are you sure? it’s a big thing to take on and I don’t want you to be overburdened, too many people in this country go bankrupt and I’m not about to be responsible for another.”

You nodded your head, composing yourself. “I’m sure. I-I know this place better than anyone and I can—I can do it.”

“Well then,” she smiled, “I’ll reach out tomorrow about details. I have to go but feel free to stay as long as you like.”

You nodded as your only acknowledgement, sitting down in disbelief on a nearby chair. As she left the building, the door’s bell ringing throughout the cafe let you know you were completely alone. Just you and the reality you agreed to own a fucking cafe.

“Fuck.” You groaned, rubbing your eyes with your palms.

You yelped. Fuck, your phone buzzed, scaring you nearly out of your seat.

Hey kid

You good??

It was just Adam checking up on you. You texted him back.

yeah

fien

fine*

do you remember where the cafe is

Yeah, why

can you come over?

Adam was headed out the door as soon as he received the message. Running through dangerous bouts of traffic, still taking the time to scream at drivers for almost hitting him. To be fair though, as far as he knew you could be in extreme distress, he wasn’t going to take his time when fuck knows what you were going through.

He was dripping sweat from every inch possible. His shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back made him wince, but he kept moving, just a few more blocks.

There! He could see the entrance to the same place he met you not even a month ago. Has it only been that long? He finally slowed down, violently heaving to regain his breath.

Adam pushed his body into the door, and on seeing your mostly calm face, collapsed to the floor.

Your face wasn’t calm for long, as on seeing him, you scrambled to his side on the floor. “The fuck happened to you?”

In the middle of trying to gain his breath, he gave you a signature toothy grin, “You told me to get over here kid. I fucking got over here.” You slapped his chest before recoiling at the wet fabric.

You both sat in silence for a few minutes while he synced his breathing with yours. He sat up, leaning on his palms.

“So why did you want me to come here?” He asked.

“Um, well I am, uh, gonna be the new owner of the cafe.” The last word was said more like a question.

“What! Kid that’s fucking great, holy shit.” Looking up at him in this sweaty, uncomfortable cafe, you felt something tighten in your chest. “I knew something good was coming your way, I fucking knew it,” His plump lips jutted out while he talked, and even though his arms were wildly swinging, you couldn’t take your eyes off his lips. “I thought to myself,” Fuck it “that kid is gonna have a gre—”

You leaned up to meet his level, smashing your mouth to his in what can only be described as an amalgamation of weeks of unknown yearning. He was still in shock but quickly found his senses. Adam licked his way into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

You were the one to break away. A thin trail of saliva connected your mouths, evidence of what had just occurred.

“If cafés turned you on this much I would have bought you one myself.” He smiled down at you, proud of his joke.

You slapped his chest, which his shirt was still grossly stuck to. “Asshole.” You muttered up at him.

“Mhm,” he mumbled, holding your face and pulling you in for a short but sweet kiss, “but you’re stuck with me now.”

[bffsoobin]

Spurred On

↳ Every year you worked your uncle’s fair simply for the extra cash and free food. It was far from glamorous, but you’d long since decided the benefits outweigh the costs. That was until you were forced into tending to the massive, intimidating cows your uncle raised for show. Hopefully, the new ranch hand can ease some of your pain. 

➤ cowboy!yeonjun x reader, fluff, a lil angsty (you shouldn’t be surprised), they have tension but in a good way, suggestive, mutual pining, stereotypical Country Boy shit

Word Count: 8,102

Warnings: none other than some swearing and some making out (a little tiny bit suggestive)

A/N: I had absolutely no plans to write another fic anytime soon but seeing Yeonjun’s teaser possessed me so here I am to deliver a cowboy!Yeonjun fic I never ever knew I needed. And yes the fair mentioned is based off of the one I go to every year in my college town and the one that happens in my own home town every summer too okay don’t judge me shhhh

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

Sweat was beading on your forehead, streaming down the sides of your face in an almost constant torrent as you wiped a wet rag over every cleanable surface you could find. Every summer since you turned 16, you had helped your uncle set up and run his annual fair. It was far from perfect, but the job gave you some extra cash to spend and copious amounts of fair food to eat to your heart’s content. This year, you had managed to secure a spot working at the funnel cake stand- which had always been your favorite- and a promise from your uncle that you would get to go on all the fair rides for free.

It was a very busy day, as there was only one more day to go before the grounds opened to the public. All day you had been cleaning and helping people who rented barns to show their livestock find the way in. From where you stood now, you could see the line of barns and the people bustling back and forth from them. Arguably the busiest man you knew, your uncle, was hurrying over to you with a slightly panicked look on his face. 

“Miranda went into labor,” he simply stated. If it were possible, he was even sweatier than you had become, with a thick layer of dirt on his hands and part of his face. 

“Okay...” you began, unsure of where he was going as you turned your attention back to wiping down the funnel cake machine. 

“So that means Steven can’t help me with the cows, an’ they’re here now and I can’t expect the new ranch hand to it all himself.” 

Blankly, you stared at him, still totally unsure why he was bringing this problem to you. 

“So that means I need you fill in for Steven for a few weeks. Working in the barn.” Your uncle prodded, gesturing behind him to the barn bustling with activity as the cows were being ushered into their hay covered stalls. 

“No!” You groaned, dropping the wet rag with a plop. “No, I had to fight with my sister to get the funnel cake spot and now you’re gonna demote me to cows?” This had to be some kind of sick joke. Your uncle sighed, laying a heavy hand onto your shoulder and squeezing. 

“Please, Y/N. Your funnel cake spot will stay open for you until Steven comes back, I promise. But for now, if you want paid, you have to go to the barn.” 

----

By now, you were used to the scent of a barn. Your uncle had been showing cows for as long as you can remember, and as a child you often spent time following his older kids around the barn and caring for cows. 

As you stepped in now, you found yourself cringing at the chaos. Although you had always worked the fair, you never came close to dealing with any of the livestock shows, especially involving your uncle’s own group of hulking animals. The barn was as nice as a barn could get, with layers of hay on the floor and pens lined with silver food and water buckets adorning each one. Handmade signs boasted the name and age of each animal so that visitors could learn about them. Most of the cows were already in their place, so you simply walked between the stalls, glancing at them absentmindedly. 

“Are ya lost?” A smooth, low voice asked. 

“Uh, no,” you began, a little bit annoyed at whatever probably middle aged man assumed you didn’t know what you were doing. Whoever had spoken to you was wearing sleek, all black cowboy boots with a pointed toe. They seemed to have been freshly polished; free of any scuffs or scratches although it was clear by a few wrinkles in the leather that the boots had been well worn. Intrigued by the idea that you didn’t know any of your uncle’s workers to wear all black boots, you quickly flitted your eyes to the man’s face. 

Long, pinkish-blonde hair fell around his shoulders, cascading down his back in slight waves. The black cutter style hat with silver detailing covering the top of his head made it a little tough to put together the full picture, but you assumed from the few loose strands framing his face that he was sporting a mullet. Simple silver hoops hung from both of his earlobes, glistening in the low sunlight inside the barn. His eyes were a captivating amber-brown with a sparkle of gold that you could only catch on certain angles. His eyebrows were a bit darker than the blonde of his hair, cluing you in to the fact that he had most likely bleached the tresses some time before. From his taller vantage point, he looked down on you over the perfect slope of his nose. He was remarkably younger than you’d expected- probably only a year or two older than yourself. You swallowed harshly. 

“Are you lost?” You quipped back, in disbelief at the vision of the man in front of you who had seemingly blended the usual, tired cowboy fashion you were so accompanied with alongside an alternative flair that made your heart hammer wildly in the confines of your chest. 

The man snorted out a laugh, short and low as he leaned himself casually on a wooden support beam. Underneath the fabric of his black button up, his muscles flexed and glided deliciously as he settled his body weight again. 

“No, I wouldn’t say I am. I work here, and although I just started around here,” he passed an unabashed look up and down your body that made you flush, “I wouldn’t forget meetin’ someone like you.” 

At a loss for words, you simply gawked at him as you tried to reform yourself. 

“I-uh, my uncle owns the fair, and the uh-the cows, and I got stuck working in here until Steven can get back. So I’m really just looking for-” 

“Oh, you’re Y/N? Your uncle mentioned he’d be sending someone to replace Steven.” He interrupted, arching an eyebrow lazily when you nodded. There was a slight smirk befalling his lips, the perfectly plump flesh twisting in his clear scrutiny of your words. 

Simply nodding your confirmation seemed to be good enough for him as he pushed his lean body off of the wooden beam and took two measured steps closer to you. The heels of his boots clicked loudly each time, only punctuating his current upper hand. He stuck his hand straight out in front of him, simply waiting for you to meet him halfway. 

When you finally did, you hoped he would disregard your clammy palm that only compounded upon feeling his perfectly calloused skin tight against your much less worn hand. 

“Yeonjun.” He simply said, pressing his fingers into you harder as you finally actually shook hands. The blunt press of his fingernails digging into the back of your hand sent shivers down your spine, mind jumping to what they would feel like raking down the sensitive skin of your back or down the inside of your thighs or between the strands of your hair or-

“You okay there?” Yeonjun questioned, dropping your hand to cross his arms over his toned chest. Caught red handed, you busied yourself with looking at the stray pieces of hay which had littered the barn’s floor before you answered with a meek yes. 

‘Well,” you finally looked back up to see that his eyes were still trained intently on your face. There was absolutely no way he hadn’t seen your blush by now. 

“I’m your uncle’s new ranch hand, so it’s gonna be me and you in here till Steven comes back.” 

At his words, you suddenly realized just how calm the once bustling barn had become, and you were sure that everyone who had helped bring in the cows had moved on to other tasks. It seemed that you and Yeonjun were the only two people left in the barn. He was still standing dangerously close to you, bodies just about a foot apart until you took a tentative step backwards. Your heart was beating double the normal rate, distracted by the absolutely perfectly crafted man you somehow ended up in the sole presence of. He simply watched you back away, never dropping the sly smirk as he watched you panic. Damn Yeonjun and his perfect looks and perfect charm.

Maybe you should go to your uncle and tell him that there was no way you could work alongside Yeonjun. You could easily make up some kind of story that the two of you didn’t get along, and that he would need to find someone else to help out until Steven could be back and-

“Look out!” Yeonjun suddenly called, eyes widening in the split second you could still see them. In all your thinking, you had continued to slowly back away from him, so lost in your own mind that you didn’t realize you were seconds away from tripping over a stray bucket and hitting your head. Which is exactly what you did.

The floor of the barn, although partially cushioned by hay, was harsh against the back of your body. Your head bounced with a sickening echo, coupled with the skidding of the metal bucket in the opposite direction, it’s contents of some feed spread out messily through the hay, some kibbles sliding into the pens of eager cows who bent to gobble up their extra snack.

Yeonjun appeared over you as soon as you could open your eyes again, pain shooting through your head and top of your spine- where your body had bounced the most.

“Are you alright?” Yeonjun pulled you up gently, laying a large, warm hand on your back to keep you steady. His eyes were still wide, roaming your face in quick succession to see if you had any physical evidence of pain.

“Just- uh- gonna have a headache, probably.” You supplied, head still spinning. Yeonjun frowned, continuing to roam his hands over the back of you body. Although you knew he was simply looking for injuries, a shiver ran down your spine at his delicate yet assured touch.

“‘Don look like you’re hurt too bad, but I’m sure you’ll bruise,” his voice had become more gruff since he began his examination. “C’mon,” was the only warning he afforded you before hooking one arm under your armpits, easily pulling your weight off of the floor where you laid. The other arm came to hook under your knees until you were laid bridal style in his arms. Instinctively, both of your arms flew around his neck, almost sending his hat flying with your haste. Up this close, you could smell the intoxicating mix of the whatever musky-vanilla cologne he had sprayed on, undercut by the faint smell of the outdoors that was much earthier and full. You barely took notice of where he was hauling you off to, more than content to stare up at the smooth, sharp plains of his face.

Shortly, the two of you arrived at what seemed to have been his goal all along- his impressively well kept Chevy pickup. It was sleek black, shining in the high noon sun as if it had just been polished. The tires were sporting a bit of mud- but it was much cleaner than the pickup of any other man around your town. Carefully, Yeonjun led you out of his arms and on to the ground, but not before holding both of his hands on your hips until you steadied yourself.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you commented as he swung open the drivers side door, giving you a good thirty seconds to marvel at the way his jeans stretched deliciously over the curve of his ass and fullness of his thighs. He was searching for something, rummaging through the center consol of his vehicle in intense concentration as you waited.

“Here,” he finally left the car, spinning back around to you smoothly and extending a small bottle of Advil in one hand and a water bottle, warm from the sun, in the other. “Take some of these.” You nodded, downing the two small pills with a little swig of the too-warm water. It was an uncomfortable feeling but you tired your best to mask it knowing that the cowboy was still keeping a close eye on you.

“I meant it, earlier. That you didn’t have to do that. Or this.” You waved vaguely to your throat to indicate the pills you’d just taken from him.

“Is’okay. Used to helpin’. Now are you gonna come back to the barn with me or should I expect to tough out the rest of the day alone?” Happily, you noted that the teasing inclination of his voice had returned. You assessed the pain in your head, carefully weighing his question before you decided that yes, you would come back to the barn with him.

——

The next morning you arrived at the fairgrounds, still fatigued from all the work you’d done the day before. Your feet ached deeply, seeping into the muscles of your calves even as you stretched your legs in every way you could think of. The temperature of the day had already risen to an unforgivable heat which blanketed your every move and had your thin T-shirt sticking to your skin with perspiration. Every step you took reminded you that the air was still and hot and unforgiving. Not to mention the still occasionally throbbing pain in the back of your head from yesterday’s misfortune. As you neared the barn, catching a whiff of the distinct scent of cows exasperated by the heat, you wondered if you’d finally gone insane.

And then you spotted Yeonjun, intently speaking to one of the largest cows your uncle owned as he brushed her, ensuring that her coat was nice and shiny for the visitors that would begin funneling in once the evening fell. He was dressed almost the same as yesterday, except he had swapped the traditional black button up for a simple white T-shirt, most likely due to the sweltering temperature. It was tucked perfectly into the waist of his belted jeans, slightly stained with dirt as evidence of his work so far. Every movement he made to brush at the cow defined the lines of his biceps, drawing your attention steadily toward his veined hands which you noticed had rings adorning them today. The silver metal matched the gleam of his earrings, shimmering in the streams of light that the sun provided.

Quietly you stood at the entrance of the barn, marveling at his physique and the way his voice filtered through the air until it collided with your ears. You held back a laugh as he began cooing at the cow, complimenting her for being so good as the animal chewed at some hay nonchalantly. His hair seemed less messy today, like he’d taken the time to style it despite the nature of his work. You would have been more than happy to stand at the entrance of the barn and silently watch him work, but life can be cruel.

“You see, pretty lady...” you heard Yeonjun continue talking to the cow as he put down the brush. “I would love to spend all day with you, but unfortunately I gotta lot to do around here. And Y/N...well she’s spent the last 5 minutes staring at me instead of stepping up to brush any of your friends.” Shock and embarrassment washed your nerves, and you were sputtering in an instant.

“I wasn’t just staring- I was, I was waiting until you were done so that I could ask-“

“Didn’t say I minded.” Yeonjun supplied calmly, finally fixing his deadly auburn gaze onto you. Fuck, how did he always look so good? Unabashedly, he swiped his eyes over your body, and although you would normally feel scandalized, you wanted nothing more than for him to look at you. For a moment, the two of you stared at one another from across the barn, appraising each other as your mind ran wild. A feeling akin to electricity sparked under your skin, as if you’d be connected to a live wire as soon as he took a calculated step closer to you. The heels of his boots clicked against the wooden floor with every step, punctuating just how slowly he was making his advance. You felt a bit like prey being stalked as your larger, more skilled hunter circled in on you, but you were far from complaining.

About a foot away from your now trembling body, Yeonjun stopped. Your heart was hammering so hard against your ribs that you assumed it was trying to escape the confines of your chest and jump to the floor.

“Here, you’ll be needin’ this,” he drawled, lifting the brush which he’d been using on the other cow up toward you. Carefully, you grasped the tool, pretending your digits didn’t shake when he purposely brushed the delicate pads of his fingers against yours. When he finally dropped his hand away, you cradled the brush close to your sweaty form and gripped onto it for dear life. Without another word, you hurried away from him to tend to the nearest cow. You needed a breather, to be honest. Too much Yeonjun could put you at risk for a heart attack if you weren’t careful.

For a while, it seemed as if he had vanished completely. It was easily to get lost in the simple work of brushing the cows, especially along with the low warbling tones of whatever country station the radio inside the barn had been set to. You were never one for country music, even considering your upbringing, but between the work you were doing, the oppressive heat and the yearning crush weighing on you, it just seemed right to listen to the twang of Jason Aldean.

When he came back, he seemed to materialize out of thin air. You had just finished up brushing the last cow and had moved on to rewriting some of their name tags when he shortly announced that he was back.

“Oh, hey,” you spoke meekly in the hopes to mask your excitement at his return. Cheekily, he grinned, showing off pearly white teeth and perfectly pointed canines.

“Missed me that much, huh?” He chided, brushing past you easily as he took in your improved handwriting on the tags. “Damn. Didn’t even know her name was Daisy. Your uncles’ writing had me calling her Paisly this whole time.”

A low hum of a laugh lifted into your throat as you nodded, focusing on the delicate loop of a J in the next cow’s name. There was silence for a bit, the only sound being the scratch of the chalk you were using to write.

“How’s your head?” Yeonjun asked, hazarding another comment that made your surmize he was trying his best to start a casual conversation. A smirk played onto your lips. In all your 20 years of living, you’d never had the pleasure of having the cat and mouse game being reciprocated.

“It’s okay, just hurts a little bit. I do have a pretty nasty bruise too.” You weren’t lying. The fall had created a large, purple-brown bruise on your lower back that extended slightly to your left ass check, where you must have taken most of the impact of the fall. Yeonjun fell silent, and you were a bit disappointed that he couldn’t come up with a counter as you focused on writing the next cow’s name. The aforementioned bruise had given you a little bit of a limp, and maybe you exaggerated it now in the two steps it took to reach the next pen.

“Need someone to take a look at it?” His voice was suddenly right behind you, tickling the hairs on the back of your neck until they stood up straight. How he had snuck up behind you without the tell tale sounds of his boots was beyond you. Even though you were already sweating, you welcomed the radiating feel of his body heat coming off of his chest in waves. Trying your best to keep your letters from becoming shaky, you hummed in thought.

“Looks and feels pretty much like a nasty bruise to me, Yeonjun. Dunno if I need a second opinion when the damn thing makes it hard for me to even walk. But if you’re so inclined,” you turned your head to make eye contact with him, subsequently catching him in the act of staring down at your ass. He didn’t even bother to stutter out an apology or excuse- just simply looked back up at you with his steady gaze. You remarked that his lips looked plumper than normal, almost raw, like he had been biting at them during some point in the day. He didn’t bother to take a step back; simply maintaining his close distance and waiting for you to make the next move. He had placed the fate of this interaction in your hands, and now you were free to play with him a bit. Slowly, you lifted the hem of the back of your shirt just enough that you knew he could see the blooming bruise in most of its glory. He took a small step back now, to appraise the full scale of the bruise that spanned from left to right across your body.

“Why the hell did you come back today sportin’ an injury like that?” His voice was gruff, punctuated with the same concern that you had heard yesterday when you fell. The pads of his fingers skidded carefully across the afflicted skin, touch so light that you almost missed it. Suddenly insecure and a bit overwhelmed by his touch, you dropped the hem of your shirt and turned just enough that his hands fell away from your back. 

“I didn’t want to leave you here all alone, and who knows how long it’ll take to heal? I promised my uncle I’d be here. Plus I kind of really need the paycheck, so...here I am.”

Eyebrows knitted, Yeonjun opened his mouth to make his next comment when the loud, familiar voice of your uncle busted through the relative silence of the barn. Yeonjun shuffled away from you quickly as if he had already been scolded. It hurt a bit, but you understood his hesitation in being caught in a possibly compromising situation with his employers niece. 

Yeonjun called back to him, walking briskly toward the entrance of the barn and leaving you behind to strain your ears in an attempt to catch any important bits of information. You could have sworn you heard your name being passed between the two men, but there was no way you could be sure from so far away. A welcome breeze passed through the barn, bringing your attention back to the actual job at hand although you could still feel the ghost of Yeonjun’s touch. 

----

About a week later, the temperature had plateaued to a pleasant level and brought along a fresh wave of visitors to the fairgrounds. All morning, the barn had been bustling with wide eyed children and experienced farmers who came to size up the competition. You were busy refreshing the hay inside of one of the pens when you heard Yeonjun’s smooth voice for the first time in a few hours. The barn had been so noisy and loud as soon as the grounds opened for the public that you hadn’t seen him since you arrived in the morning. Across the barn, he was entertaining a group of girls, all listening intently to whatever information he was spouting. They all had perfectly styled hair and legs to die for- stretching perfectly out of their cut-offs and practically begging for attention. The one closest to him was staring at his arms with no regard for how obvious she was being, and you were sure that every other girl in the half circle was ogling him in some fashion. You shouldn’t have been surprised, you guessed, since he made you feel just as brain dead, but you still boiled inside at the sight of two of the girls murmuring amongst each other. It was tough to tell exactly what he had said, but the raucous round of laughter that shot into the air clued you in to the fact that he had probably just served them one of his sub-par farming jokes. 

He flashed them the same smile that had made your heart stutter countless times, and a sick feeling of anger pushed through your veins. With an unnecessarily hard push, you exited the pen you had just refreshed and moved on to the next. There was no doubt that Yeonjun took note of the unnecessarily loud clink of the metal gate, and you really fucking hope he got the message. Anger still bubbling just under your skin, you ignored the cow who sweetly bowed it’s head in search of affection. 

“Hello?” Someone asked as soon as you turned your back. Taking what you hoped would be a soothing breath, you spun on your heel to address the visitor. He was probably in his mid to late twenties, with cute curly hair and the usual t-shirt and jeans combo you were used to seeing men around your town wear. The way he looked was just about exactly what you would expect from a man visiting your uncles fairgrounds, as they all dressed about the same. He wasn’t your type, but over his shoulder you could see that Yeonjun had refocused his attention on you after you apparent fit with the door. A sickly sweet smile pulled your cheeks until they hurt, but you laid it on thick as you walked over to the door of the pen. 

“What can I do for ya?” Making sure to lay your voice on the extra sweet side, you took careful note of the way the man roamed his eyes over your face, stopping to flick between your lips and the low-riding cut of the shirt you’d worn today. 

“I was just uh, looking around. Got some pretty nice cows here, they yours?” You forced a laugh, throwing your hair over your shoulder before shaking your head. 

“Oh no, I just help out around here, ya know, cleaning and brushing the cows. They belong to my uncle. Like anything you see?” Deliberately, you tossed the bait and looked over his shoulder to find Yeonjun in the exact same spot as before, bottom lip locked between his teeth as he watched the interaction. Good. He deserves to have to watch this after you had to see him make those girls trip over their own feet just by existing. 

The man chuckled, clearly picking up on the inclination of your question as he hummed in thought. “I think I have my eye on someone,” he responded, resting his arm casually on the metal gate just a few inches from where you had draped your own. Instinctively, you looked at his arm- much less defined than Yeonjun’s- and noticed just about the biggest red flag you could ever see on a man you’re flirting with. A wedding band. 

“Ah, better be your wife you’ve got an eye on,” you quipped, mostly upset that your revenge on Yeonjun had been partially spoiled. There was no way you could stay here and flirt with a married man just to make Yeonjun jealous.  Defeated, you made to pull your arm off of the gate and go back to working on the hay when the man grabbed at the supple skin of your forearm to stop you. 

“She won’t mind, sweetheart,” he drawled, the cool press of his ring a persistent reminder of how much of a scumbag he was being. 

“No, somehow I really think she would mind.” You yanked your arm again, managing to gain just a few inches back from his hold. He huffed, pinching his blunt nails into your skin enough to scratch thin red lines. 

“I’d let go if I were you. Move on along, huh?” Yeonjun’s familiar tone met your ears, and you belatedly noticed that he had come right up behind the guy. You had never seen him look quite so intimidating as he did in the moment, with his eyebrows pulled together grimly. His mouth was set in a harsh line, unforgiving as he gripped at the man’s shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his tshirt. Finally, the man dropped his grip from you, shot Yeonjun a nasty look that you were sure he thought was manly, and strode off to presumably find his poor wife. 

Feeling small under Yeonjun’s gaze, you simply looked down at the faint red tracks now decorating your arm. 

“He could have really hurt you.” He muttered, keeping his voice low as to keep other visitors from overhearing. 

“He didn’t.” You spat, annoyed that he had to save you from yet another mishap. 

“Guys like that...they don’t have any respect for people like you. People who have a backbone.” His eyes were large, imploring you with the intensity of his stare. You avoided his gaze for a few more seconds, knowing that your resolve and previous anger would disappear. You shuffled some hay under your sneakers and a piece of you hoped Yeonjun would simply walk away, but you could still see the toes of his boots poking underneath the metal gate. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, finally meeting his gaze and feeling the tension melt from your bones. His features had softened considerably, and you almost forgot the pain that had split your heart upon seeing him flirting with other girls. You knew he wasn’t yours, but you wished more and more every day that he was. 

----

“I won’t be needin’ you in the barn tonight, by the way,” your uncle bellowed from across the barn. In the whole time you’d been working alongside Yeonjun in here, you had never once seen your uncle actually come into the barn. You knew he was busy with dozens of other things, but for as much as he loved his cows you were shocked at his lack of attendance. Today he stood right in the middle of it, patting the head of one of the cows with a contented look on his face as visitors swirled around. Yeonjun, who was in the middle of refilling a trough of water, popped his head up in shock at the words. 

“Really?” You enthused, dropping the rake you had in your hands to rush over to your uncle and see if he was joking. 

“Really. Got an old friend comin’ in who I wanna show off the cows to, so I won’t need the two of you caring for ‘em. He’ll be here in about,” he paused to glance down at the watch he’d worn for as long as you could remember, “about twenty minutes, if the two of you want to take off now.” 

Not having to be told twice, you waved your uncle goodbye, shot a quick smile at Yeonjun, and made a b-line to your car. Just as you pulled on the handle of the driver’s side door, Yeonjun was calling your name. 

“Hey!” He called, a little breathless from the jog he’d taken to catch up with you. “What are you uh, gonna do with the night off?” 

“Why, you wanna hang out?” You offered, half-teasing but very much offering your time to him. 

“No- I wasn’t, that’s not what I was...”

“I’ll be here,” you responded coolly. “Might come with some friends, might just come to stuff my face full of fair food. All the things I normally do when I work somewhere that isn’t the barn. I’m finally gonna get myself a damn funnel cake. But first, I’m going home to shower.” You opened your driver’s side door all the way and hopped in before he could respond. “See ya there?” You asked, hoping to probe him toward offering to meet you there. He stuffed his hands in his front pockets, swaying on the balls of his feet. His face twisted as you assumed he was contemplating his options. 

“Maybe,” he finally conceded, nodding softly as he watched you through the rolled down window of your car. “Maybe I’ll see ya there, Y/N.”

----

The sun had just begun to set when you got back to the familiar fair grounds, painting the sky in a orange-pink mix that delighted you beyond words. You had ended up coming to the fair alone; partly because all of your friends had already gone on other nights you were working and partly because you were hoping to run into Yeonjun. The parking lot was full to the brim, and you found yourself looping around to the slightly hidden employee parking lot instead of being sanctioned to the overflow lot down further down the dirt road. As you pulled into the closest spot, you caught a glimpse of a very familiar sleek black Chevy pickup in your rearview mirror. Excitement made you dizzy, hands shaking as you flipped down your overhead mirror to straighten yourself up. If you were going to see Yeonjun tonight, you were going to make it count. 

Throngs of visitors swirled around you, chatting and laughing over the piped in country music that you’d been hearing almost nonstop all summer long. With the sun setting, everything was casted in an idyllic golden glow that made you feel like you were in a coming-of-age film and not just your uncle’s fair that you had come to every year since your birth. A group of visibly drunk friends barreled past you, slurring and hiccupping as they narrowly avoided spilling their beers all over themselves. Grease and sweat mixed to create an atmospheric scent that was so inherently fair that you almost wished they sold candles that smelled the same way. Without even thinking about it, your feet carried you toward the funnel cake stand which was supposed to be your fate for the summer. To be honest, you were still quite upset that you hadn’t got to spend your days munching on pieces of fried batter and chatting with the family friends your uncle hired every year. 

Finding yourself at the back of a winding line, you resigned to the one thing that sucked about coming alone. There was no one around you to make conversation with as you waited for food. You had come to the fair many times with your friends from school and various dates, but you couldn’t think of a single time you visited the fair all by yourself. Idly, you scrolled through your phone and inched up appropriately with the line. 

“Y/N! Hey!” Yeonjun yelled, approaching you quickly. A wide smile split your face, giving away your excitement at spotting him. 

“Oh hey! I’m finally getting a funnel cake!” He was wearing his usual outfit, closer to the look you had seen him in the very first time you met. Outside of the barn he seemed much more casual, and even casted in an odd mix of setting sunrays and the harsh neon from the rides behind him, he looked ethereal. His eyes sparkled with that unmistakable mirth that he always seemed to harbor around you. 

“I saw that. Looked pretty lonely over here with your nose in your phone, figured I’d come see if you could use some company.” He was throwing you the line, waiting to see if you’d latch on. And who would you be if you didn’t?

“Hmm, I think that would be nice. Although I really can’t promise I’ll share the funnel cake.” You stepped forward with the line again, and he came with you easily, falling right beside you so closely that you could feel the heat radiating from his side. 

Once you finally had the hot treat balancing on a thin paper plate, you rushed Yeonjun to the nearest empty bench and dug in. The dough was still scalding, having just been pulled from the fryer, but the amazing taste was good enough for you to ignore the burn. Yeonjun sputtered a laugh as you shoveled in the dough, wiping powdered sugar onto your legs with reckless abandon. Teasingly, he snuck a hand up to the plate and pulled off a piece of funnel cake; pulling a teasing whine from your throat as you shook your head no rapidly. 

“Too late,” he mumbled, “already in ma mouf.” Swallowing your own piece, you widened your eyes and punched at his thigh, firm and muscular. 

“Rude! You should have gotten your own!” He smiled cutely down at you, nose crinkling as he finally swallowed. Some powdered sugar had slid onto his button up, but you decided not to tell him in favor of keeping his attention focused on you the way it was now. You felt hot but extremely comfortable under his gaze, feeling a stutter in your chest that increased the adrenaline in your veins. He was so close, and so endearing, and the way he was focused on your face was so fucking cute. 

“You’ve got,” he motioned to his own face, brushing his finger against his chin. You tried to mirror his action, swiping at the same spot, but the frown on his face told you that you had missed. 

“Lemme, can I?” You nodded before the words even came out, eager to feel his calloused hands on the sensitive skin of your face. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he cupped your jaw and inched his thumb, much slower than what would be considered normal, toward your chin. With one gentle swipe, the stray powdered sugar was gone, yet his hands remained. God, you wanted to kiss him so badly. The lighting had casted a gorgeous shade along his cheekbones, highlighting the beautiful length of his eye lashes and the rounded tip of his nose. 

Up this close, you examined the curve of his lips; the soft definition of his cupid’s bow and the perfect pink of his mouth.

“Yeonjun-” he surged forward, stalling the words in your throat as he finally pushed his lips against yours. His fingers gently curled around your neck, gripping at strands of hair like he was afraid you were going to run away. It was quite the opposite, actually, as you happily hummed and leaned into the kiss you’d been waiting for. He tasted like funnel cakes and a faint hint of mint gum, just intoxicating enough to have you clawing your hands into the collar of his shirt. The funnel cake plate began to slide off of your lap, but you could not  have cared less as you swiped your tongue over the seam of his lips, greedily pushing to get more out of him. 

He hesitates, still eager to kiss you back, but not enough to let you have full reign. Pouting a little, you decided to make the best of your time by nibbling at his bottom lip playfully. Yeonjun pulled away just enough to separate the two of you gently, chests heaving as you both readjusted to a life not attached at the lips. 

“Sorry,” he grunted, voice much rougher around the edges than you’d ever heard it. The sound sent a chill down your spine. “Sorry that I didn’t, uh, wanna-” his cheeks flushed startlingly fast and he sighed. “I just don’t want to mess this up, whatever this is. I just...I like you too much, ya know?” The shyness in his voice was endearing, and it wasn’t hard at all to let your own desires fall to the wayside. He likes you.

“That’s okay, Yeonjun. You know I really like you too, right?” 

“Hmm,” he pondered, leaning back into his usual persona at your acceptance. “Did I know that? Maybe all those times I caught you staring, or how fuckin’ clumsy you get if I even so much as compliment you...yeah. I think I know.” A permanent smile was stuck on your face, unbreakable in the presence of Yeonjun and his intoxicating aura. 

----

The next morning, you’d walked into work on clouds. You and Yeonjun had spent the whole night together; strolling hand in hand, eating your way through the grounds and dragging one another on the carnival rides. 

He wasn’t around when you entered the barn, but the evidence that he was somewhere around was enough to kick you into gear. You were shoveling food into a trough, making one-sided conversation with the cows in front of you when you heard him stroll in. 

“Hey!” You called over your shoulder, too focused on getting the food actually inside the container to turn around. Yeonjun didn’t answer, but you just finished the task at hand and figured you’d try again in a few moments. Once you were done with the food, you spotted him walking back from the storehouse with a fresh bale of hay in his arms. 

He plopped it down on the floor of the barn and you tried again. 

“Good morning,” you smiled, approaching him with a grin. He looked up at your breifly and simply nodded, turning on his heels to go back to the storage. Your heart plummeted to your feet just like it had on the rollercoaster he had forced you on to just about 12 hours ago. 

What the hell had happened in between the time you parted and the time you both came into work? If you hadn’t known him better, you would have chalked it up to a bad morning, or maybe he was still too tired. 

But in all the time you had worked together, he had never once ignored you. He always greeted you in the morning, began a conversation about nothing or at least asked you how you slept. No matter how shit he was feeling, Yeonjun had always made it clear to you that you were worth his time. Did you ruin it all with the kiss? Even though he had seemed so ecstatic last night, maybe he woke up this morning with regrets stacked up. Maybe he was afraid of what your uncle would think. In your idle thinking, you hadn’t noticed the accumulation of hay bales that he had brought in. A stack of four now stood before you, and he was just feet away with the fifth. He was huffing, face reddened with the sheer weight of the bales. 

“Yeonjun, do you need help?” You tried again, hoping that maybe lodging a question would garner a real response, but you got nothing. He simply dropped another bale and made to leave the barn again. 

“Yeonjun!” You bellowed, hopping around the bales to catch up to him. You jumped in his path, holding one hand to each shoulder. Despite his strength advantage, he stopped in his tracks and gazed down at you. You noticed that he looked tired, slight bags residing under his eyes, and you wondered if we had gotten any sleep at all. “What’s up with you?” 

He sighed, pushing his fingers into his temples. 

“I don’t have time for this, Y/N.” He tried to pass around you again, but you planted your feet and pushed at his chest with all of your might. 

“We are going to talk about this. The cows are fed, and the new hay can wait. Why the fuck are you avoiding me? After last night? If you don’t actually like me, or you regret it, just tell me the truth. Be a big boy, Yeonjun. Don’t leave me out here high and dry.” The steeliness in his eyes softened at your words and a frown marred his flawless face. 

“No, god no. I do like you, Y/N. And yesterday was great and I don’t regret any of it but I just...I just don’t trust myself. The last person I dated,” he rubbed his hand into the back of his neck, “I messed it up. Bad. And the last thing I want is to do that to you, too. I’m trying to keep you away from all of this mess. So I’m sorry, but you have to just...forget last night.” 

You were stunned to silence, disbelief bubbling in your chest. How bad of a fuck up could his last relationship have been? The Yeonjun you knew was nothing but caring, goofy, smart and charming. Everything you could have ever dreamed up in a man. 

“Look, I don’t know what happened last time, but I know that you’re being way too hard on yourself. You’re...Yeonjun, you’re as close to perfect as anyone could get. And even if you are a mess,” you made sure that his tired eyes never left yours, “well, so am I. I fell flat on my ass the first time we met, I step in cow shit on the daily, and somehow you still find it in yourself to like me back. So whatever you’re worried about, forget about it. Okay?” 

A small, slow smile cracked onto his face, exposing the white, pearly teeth that you were so envious of. “I never told you this,” he began, the cheerful inclination of his voice made your heart soar, “but I had to try so hard not to laugh when you fell. Like- the look on your face!” His voice tapered off into a full-bellied laugh; music to your ears. 

“Okay, okay! I was trying to cheer you up, and now you’re just bullying me!” You yelled, pushing at his chest gently in a bid to get him to stop. 

“Hmm, well you did help make me feel better, but ya know what would really cheer me up?” His laughter had ceased, but the apples of his cheeks were still risen and rosy from the effort. His hands encircled your waist delicately, pulling you into his chest. “If you could just...kiss it better?” He pouted exaggeratedly, leaning down to level your heights. And how could you resist? 

You met him halfway with the same vigor as yesterday, still shocked by the easy way your mouths fit together. With every intention of respecting the boundary he set yesterday, you were more than happy to lean into the sweet roll of his lips until you were in need of a breather. The hands on your waist tightened, pulling your bodies impossibly closer and Yeonjun mumbled something that you didn’t quite catch, although you didn’t have time to ponder it as he took the imitative to deepen the kiss. 

Finally kissing him the way you’d desired made you feel like you were on fire, every inch of your skin sensitive. Yeonjun was persistent, guiding you backwards slowly. You couldn’t see where you were going, but right now you would have trusted him with your entire life as he intoxicated you with his touch. Suddenly, your back was pressed against what you figured was the wood paneling just inside the barn’s entrance. Yeonjun finally backed away from you as your chest heaved, mind fuzzy from the rush of serotonin. Without a word he descended on you again, kissing sloppily down your jaw and neck, leaving at least two purpling bruises in his wake. Frantically, you knocked his hat backwards off of his head, weaving your fingers into his fading pink hair as he worked at the junction of your neck and collarbone. Losing yourself in his touch was easy, sliding your eyes shut as the flat of his tongue soothed the skin he had just finished raising into a blooming bruise. 

Yeonjun was just as consumed, mumbling compliments against your neck as his hands wandered to the hem of your shirt, sliding his large, warm hands under the soft cotton; roaming higher and higher-

“MOOOOO-” the cow closest to you bellowed, sliding her foot across the floor in a loud shuffle that alarmed you both. Yeonjun’s hands dropped away immediately, eyes comically wide as the cow stared at the both of you. 

“She defintely just told us to knock it off and change the hay.” You joked, trying to pretend like the loud animal hadn’t scared the living shit out of you. Yeonjun was flustered, fumbling to readjust his trusty hat as he cleared his throat and threw you a shy look. His eyes flitted to your neck, no doubt admiring his handiwork, before straightening his shirt. 

“I’m going to go...um, start on that hay now.”

[stiltonbasket]

Stilton, I was the anon who said that Wangxian getting together before Nightless City would make canon events extra heartbreaking and now I know just how 💔💔💔💔 the Qiongqi Dao ambush became 😭. For a less angsty prompt, something from Wangxian's happy year at the Burial Mounds with A-Yuan

(brief note: this verse is entirely prompt-based, so please send in more prompts/reblog for more updates!)

Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan to Yiling City

(care of Master Xie Yanling, addressed to Lan Wangji)

Didi,

   To address the problem you mentioned in your last letter, I think Wei-gongzi might have better luck with a Lan-made spirit-trapping pouch to cleanse your crops of resentment. Such mild resentful energy may not respond to Cleansing, and he mentioned that larger spirits keep answering whenever he uses Chenqing, so I think your only solution may be to pick out the resentment piece by piece. However, I know nothing about resentful cultivation, so you need not feel obliged to try it if Wei-gongzi does not agree, but I have enclosed a package of spirit-trapping pouches just in case. If you have no use for them, they can always be sold, or you can save them for night-hunts in the future.

  Please inform Young Master Wei that a delivery of twelve white-jade figurines will be coming with the next trader, and he will recommend a jeweler in the next town whom you can sell them to. I regret to say that we still do not have enough silver to spare, but I have nearly half of my future bridewealth left, and there is no better use for it than to aid my brother and my future brother-in-law. Write to me at once if you need anything, and give my best to Xiao-Yuan!

  All my love,

     Xichen.

Lan Wangji finishes his brother’s letter with a soft smile on his face, taking out the silk spirit-trapping pouches to show to A-Yuan before putting them back into their box. He has not been back to the Cloud Recesses in over six months, though he warned no one of his departure before he left; he came to see Wei Ying and bring him news of his sister’s engagement, and then he ended up staying the night before Wei Ying asked him to live at his side, and be with him always.

It was never a choice, in the end. Lan Wangji would have chosen Wei Ying over his own fated zhiyin, even before his soulmate died on that horrible day in Heijian, so choosing Wei Ying over his sect and his family takes only a split second.

Together, the two of them have transformed the Burial Mounds into a home. Lan Wangji is no stranger to hard labor, and Wei Ying’s stubborn resolve could outstrip Shufu’s even at its weakest, so they went to work together and wrangled the resentment-ridden forest into a line of neat potato fields, chopping down the trees for firewood and long sections of log for houses. Not long after that, the Wens were all able to go to their own warm homes every night, and dine on large bowlfuls of rice and potatoes and turnips every day.

And what the Burial Mounds could not provide, they have ample money to pay for--because Lan Wangji sold his silver hairpiece in the village, and turned out all his emergency funds so that A-Yuan could keep his little stomach full of all the rich beef and vegetable stew a baby of two could want. During his last monthly check-up, Wen Qing was so pleased with his progress that she actually praised Wei Ying for it, and Wei Ying himself is growing strong and golden-skinned in the fields, so that he can wrestle with Lan Wangji in the evenings for A-Yuan’s entertainment and push the market wagon alone instead of relying on Wen Ning.

I am happier here than I ever was in the Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji thinks, blushing like one of Sishu’s ripe tomatoes as Wei Ying breezes by with a shovel and kisses the top of his head. You have given me the world, my heart, and you said you had nothing to give!

“Oh?” Wei Ying teases, making Lan Wangji blush even harder at the realization that he said that last aloud. “When did I say I had nothing to give, hmm? Who was it that combed your hair and cooked spicy porridge for you last night?”

“It was you, my heart,” Lan Wangji acknowledges, folding his brother’s letter back into its envelope. “And if I were not a cultivator, I would have spent the morning having runs in the latrine.”

Wei Wuxian throws his head back and laughs. “But Lan Zhan, A-Yuan ate it too! And he was fine, wasn’t he?”

“I ate his share for him.”

Wei Ying pouts at this, and continues to pout until Lan Wangji kisses him a few times to make him smile. “What did Zewu-jun say?” he wonders, trying to catch his breath when Lan Wangji pulls away for a moment. “Is he well? What about Lan-xiansheng?”

“They must both be doing well, or Xiongzhang would have told me,” Lan Wangji assures him. “But he suggested the use of spirit-pouches to make the lotus seeds safe to eat. Shall we try it tomorrow?”

“Aiyah, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it!” Wei Ying cries, striking his fist with his palm. “We can’t get the traces of resentment in the crops to listen without holding everything else back, so we’ll have to clear the plots one at a time.”

Suddenly, he frowns and glances at Lan Wangji’s belt. “I don’t know if one pouch will be enough, though,” he mutters. “How old is yours, xingan? They have a ten-year lifetime, don’t they?”

“Three years, I think. But Brother sent a box of new ones, so we should have plenty to experiment with.”

“A-Yuan wants!” their son complains, plucking at Lan Wangji’s long skirts before reaching up for Wei Ying in a silent plea to be carried. “Give pouch, please?”

“You can have a pouch when you’re older,” Wei Ying tells him. “For now, A-Yuan should listen to Xian-gege and go take a nap. It’s too hot for little radishes to be out without a hat.”

Wen Yuan sulks all the way to the Demon-slaughtering cave, and then through the lullaby that Wei Ying hums to him, but he falls asleep without a fuss just as Lan Wangji gets up and puts away his qin.

“Lan Zhan?” his beloved asks, drawing a light blanket over A-Yuan’s shoulders. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“You wrote A-Yuan’s lullaby, didn’t you?” Wei Ying is watching him through half-lidded eyes, whirling his dizi between his fingers, and Lan Wangji freezes in shame at the implication. “It’s a love song.”

It takes all the strength in his body to nod and keep fastening Wangji back into its case as if nothing were the matter. “En.”

“It’s a love song for me.”

His voice is rougher now, he thinks.

“Yes.”

“You sang it to me in the Xuanwu’s cave,” Wei Ying murmurs. “It was mine back then, too. But Lan Zhan, your soulmate--before the war, she must have still been--”

“My zhiyin was alive then,” Lan Wangji says heavily. “And I mourn them still. But the song was named Wangxian from the moment of its birth, and I wrote it not long after you left the Cloud Recesses. My betrayal will forever be the greatest shame of my life, but I chose you even then, and I do not regret it.”

Wei Ying begins to tremble. “What would you have done if you had the chance to meet her?”

“Loved you anyway,” he whispers. “What could I have done, if not that?”

It was you from the beginning, he wants to say. Wei Ying, it’s always been you.

It was Wei Ying when he tried to force his way past Lan Wangji at the gates of the Cloud Recesses, and Wei Ying when he put a volume of longyang into a book of Lan An’s poetry, and Wei Ying even when Lan Wangji’s soulbond was singing with his zhiyin’s happiness. For no matter how wrong it might have been, and how uncouth, and how much of a betrayal, Lan Wangji has never wanted another; and if he ever met his soulmate, he would never have been able to love her as he loves his chosen beloved.

Suddenly, he realizes that Wei Ying is crying, and then he buries his face in Lan Wangji’s neck and sobs.

“I thought it was only me,” he gasps. “All this time, I’ve been in mourning--but wearing this sash feels like a lie when I’m with you, and I didn’t dare take it off, but--”

“Then take it off,” Lan Wangji urges, with his own eyes full of tears. “None here will judge you, Wei Ying, least of all me!”

And then Wei Ying kisses him for what feels like hours, until the sun is low in the sky and Wen Ning comes calling after them for dinner--and then Lan Wangji takes Wei Ying in his arms and kisses him in return, for they are wholly each other’s now, and Lan Wangji will never leave him again until the end of their days.