#they’re so…… weeps. wails.

[altschmerzes]

also shouts out to my law school buddy who i didnt even think liked me that much who is currently lobbying his firm to hire me to article with him there, saying when i thanked him profusely that he’s always happy to help good people and to let him know if i land an interview and he’ll brief me on what they’re really keyed into rn. like. i don’t think it’s gonna pan out for me, they’re a VERY good firm and it’s clear im not a very compelling candidate on paper lmao but the one upside of my anxiety inducing and humiliating situation vis a vis articling is that im experiencing the particularly humbling and painful loveliness that is My School Friends Care Me. this guy and another friend have like. made it their personal mission to find me a placement and im like. a little in pieces about it.

[yesterdayscake]

hate hate hate when you wanted to fuck that old woman but then you find out she’s a zionist who is on record saying the most monstrous things

how is an old woman enjoyer supposed to live in this world?

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook is giving up on you but you have so much love left to give.

> idol!jungkook x f!reader / angst, fluff, suggestive / wc: 8.3k

> warnings: mention of infidelity (no one did u can breathe ily), mention of a classmate slipping their number in oc’s pocket and oc feeling unsafe, mention of puking, mentions & allusion to s/x, alcohol consumption, making out, boob!e fondle, gr*nding kinda? jungkook is hard™️ they’re so in love it’s sickening

> in which masterlist!

playlist! and if/or when - ruel / hate everything - jungkook cover (gsoul) / hits different - taylor swift / statue - lil’ eddie / i wouldn’t ask you - clairo (i had to get in the zone & this is so oc-coded i need u to listen i’m so srs)

next: in which you don’t want to give up jungkook (even when he gave you reasons to, even if they give you reasons to).

note: this was a journey. happened back in june 2019.!! i’m ripping off the bandaid <3 deep sigh writing this made me realize how my babies have come so far. hopefully will follow up with a fluffy fluff lowkey inspired by the underwear live soonest lols i’m excited for it 2 stay tuned 🫂 reblogs & feedback are much appreciated <3

—

you forgot the walls of the apartment building you’re living in are thin. a small portion of the white paint has been chipped off, it looks like a birth mark, you note — except it’s not, and you’re the one who caused the irregularity.

your favorite glass is scattered across the kitchen floor, reduced to shards and to sparkling pieces almost as miniscule as dust. you don’t know what came over you. you don’t know why you threw it at the wall instead of filling it with cold water to only drink three sips like you usually do.

just when you thought you’ve been faring well in holding yourself together today, a fresh wave of sorrow overwhelms you. your knees buckle as you begin weeping, the loudest you’ve been since this nightmare has started. it swallows the knocking sounds at your door, but it’s still not loud enough to quell jungkook’s quivering voice playing like a broken record on loop inside your head.

“we should end this… i think it’s for the best, before we get drained.”

the rain is coming down fiercely and you’re freezing inside his car, parked outside your apartment. after all, his balenciaga windbreaker can only do so much against the blasted airconditioner. your throat is painfully dry, and your hands and face are numb from the piercing cold. but those are the least of your concerns because you feel like your head had just been dunked in ice water. the sting in your eyes are burning warmer as the seconds fly by and the muffled sounds of the torrential raindrops drum frantically in your ears. they’re clouding the car windows, mirroring jungkook’s tear-stained cheeks.

“i’m leaving again in three weeks. and i’m leaving again next year… and i’ll be gone again soon after that for a long time. i-i don’t know when i’m coming home, ___.” he pauses. the heel of palms press against his eyes, as if that could possibly barricade the saltwater leaking from them. “i never know where my life is taking me and you have your own… there’s too much-too much going on. i think that i’m just wasting your time, that this isn’t- it’s not going anywhere.”

“open the door! hello?! ___!”

“what do you want?!” you seeth in annoyance, swinging the door open to reveal your pesky neighbor.

he scratches the top of his head awkwardly at the sight of the mess that you greeted him with, having not bothered to pretend that you weren’t wailing your heart out.

”hey, i know you’re going through something…” his lips remain parted as he struggles to find the correct word, his right eye twitching voluntarily. “soul-crushing? right now. but i heard glass breaking and i was concerned that you, uhm, might’ve hurt yourself.”

the apparent nervousness and sincerity in his actions pull you out from the isolating disassociation you’ve imprisoned yourself in. you feel humiliated, presenting yourself in your most pitiful form infront of a kid two years younger than you. you envy him for having it together after storming out of his parents’ house while you-

“i’m not hurt. it was just an accident.”

you’re shamelessly lying infront of his face because the truth makes you feel too ashamed of yourself.

he only nods, smiling in relief. “i don’t know how to help make you feel better, so i just brought honey like i used to do before.”

you sigh, the familiar jar of honey and its red checkered lid waving at you like an old friend. has it been a year?

“bro, i told you i can’t accept this anymore.”

“you and your boyfriend already broke up. what’s the big deal?”

you have never wanted to smack someone more, the genuine confusion painted on his face feels like an infuriatingly harsh slap to yours.

“he wasn’t threatened by your honey, you dipshit. we just found out my blood sugar was getting a bit high!”

“oh- i’m so-”

you angrily slam the door shut. the silence you’re left with is suffocating, and you find yourself breaking down again.

he jumps in surprise when you open the door again, yelling- “and we’re not broken up!” before ripping away the jar of honey from his sweaty palms. he’s left completely flabbergasted, an inexplicable heaviness weighing on his chest when he hears your sniffling from the other side of the hard-wood.

“does that mean i can deliver again next week? i have too much in my kitchen…”

he doesn’t receive a snarky answer, surprisingly, so he continues talking.

“and f-y-i, your left cheek is bleeding! you might want to check on that!”

—

“you didn’t even give me any signs…”

you inhale a deep, shaky breath in a fragile attempt of keeping your composure. you want to scream, rip apart this thick tension with your bare hands, and force him to admit that this is just some kind of sick joke. you finally see him in person after months and all he has for you is a gift bag filled to the brim with heartbreak. this is too casually cruel, not something you would’ve expected from your jungkook.

“do you really mean that? or is there something else you’re not saying…? look at me.” you plead, weakly tugging at the hem of his long-sleeved shirt. the horrors of long-distance relationship stories claw their way out of your skin, adding fuel to the fire of your deepest fear. “you didn’t cheat on me, right? that can’t be it. we- we always-”

after you ended your last relationship, you cried at the parking lot of your university and continued living your life the next morning as if nothing happened at all. you did it all for yourself, anyway. he was gradually tearing down your confidence and your dignity; and you didn’t want to become a person the future you would despise for not being wiser, stronger.

and here you are at present day: spending the cozy sunday night solving chemistry problems on your desk. you have a blue bandaid plastered on your face and a cheek full of fruit and honey. and you would say you’re fine, but jungkook wasn’t here to sweetly dote on you while treating your wound. he isn’t here to taste the honey from your lips with that coquettish smirk of his. he isn’t laying on your bed, fighting to stay awake because he wants to fall asleep with you as his pillow.

no matter how hard you try to shut out this thought, it keeps knocking on the door. he’s going to be doing these sweet nothings for a different person when he finally reaches a more stable place in his life. you want to kneel on the ground, beg the heavens to meddle with destiny and never let you hear about it.

because that means he will never set foot in your apartment again, and the personal belongings you left in his room will be thrown out to erase the traces you left behind.

so this is how it begins.

the ugliest parts of you are swimming to the surface, tying themselves around your ankles because jungkook took away the ground from beneath your feet after unearthing your soul and… nothing makes sense to you anymore. if you wake up every morning to tend to your garden, and you look outside the window to learn that the sun has stopped burning, what do you have left?

your lips inevitably curve into a frown, but you inhale a sharp breath, patting your eyes dry before they can smudge the black ink on your notepad. and then you dip a strawberry in honey for the third time.

—

“no, baby, no- that’s not it.”

the dread and insecurity weaved into the cracks of your voice fill him with nausea and panic. he captures your frigid hand with haste, firmly holding it to his pounding chest.

“i would never do that to you. just the thought alone fucking disgusts me… you’re the only one. you’ve ruined me for everybody else.”

“then why are you giving up on me? am i becoming a burden?”

jungkook feels painfully numb, mind floating as the buildings outside the window get left behind him as a mere, passing blur.

“yah, jungkook-ah. are you crying?”

a torturous moment of silence passes as he struggles to find his voice. his tongue is tied, and his lost eyes are betraying the nights he spent practicing how to explain himself to you. back then, the reasoning he curated made sense. but faced with the consequences of his actions, the love of his life’s brain running a thousand miles per hour, recording a tale of woe and heartache on his passenger seat — he has never felt this much loathing for himself and his weaknesses.

you release a shaky breath, patting his rosy cheeks dry with your sleeves. you smile at him kindly, and he watches you in sheer disbelief. he can’t fathom the perpetual luck he’s been blessed with that he met, who he believes to be, the purest soul to grace this corrupted world. they’re damp with your tears, so it’s practically useless, but the sweet gesture is a stray beam of sunlight in the midst of the dull gray clouds.

the comforting rubs on his shoulder extracts him from his torturous thoughts, and only then does he feel the wetness on his face.

“you’ve been holding it back for the past week. just cry it out.”

he nods wordlessly, hiding himself in the fleece blanket from his lap. yoongi can feel a lump forming in his throat as he witnesses his youngest brother breaking down, jungkook’s pain also being his pain. as a group who’s been living together for the past decade, no one will be able to empathize with them as well each other. especially during times like this.

“___ hasn’t called?”

jungkook shakes his head wistfully, wiping away the tears that slid down his nose. he is dying to send you a text message, worried sick, and still used to hearing about your day the same way he is used to sleeping on his stomach.

“hyung,” the sound of the word borders on a sob. “it’s over. this is killing me… it’s all my fault.”

“but isn’t that what you wanted?”

“exactly. so why am i crying?” his hands ball into closed fists. “i’m an asshole.”

“enough of that!” yoongi loudly whines out his scolding. ”we all know you had your reason.”

“but, hyung, i fucked up!” he tenses up, blurting out the acknowledgement that’s been haunting him day and night. “she told me the most romantic thing and i felt so… fuck, i’m so angry at myself. i ruined everything. and i’m scared that i’d end up making things worse if i try fixing it.”

“stop beating yourself up. we can’t solve things this way.” yoongi grabs a bottle of water from the cupholder between them, twisting the cap open before handing it to jungkook. “drink first.”

once he starts drinking, he realizes that his throat has been awfully dry and sore. it’s most probably best for him to rest his voice. he can already foresee the concert rehearsal being absolute hell tomorrow. if he can’t sing, he doesn’t know how else he’s supposed to keep himself sane.

“talk to me. what did she say?”

“you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, do you know that?”

and with that revelation, he loses the warmth of your touch, and he comes crashing down like a wingless aircraft.

“i also need time to think about it. that’s only fair, right? that i get to decide, too…?” you swallow thickly, lips parting as if the words are resisting to come out of your mouth.

he looks at you with an emotion you can’t name, a push and pull between longing and trepidation.

if this was a movie, he would brave the rain and somehow perfectly deliver a poetically romantic speech that would sway your heart. if this was a movie, you would take a warm bath together, make out in the bathtub, and make love on your bed. if this was a movie, the day would end with the two of you tangled up, peacefully asleep and rhythmic breathing in sync. but he knows you. apparently not as well as he thought, but to some extent, he knows you. if he pulls you closer in the heat of the moment, you would feel suffocated and defensive and you would push him away; and he would lose you for good. that much he knows. so he lets you leave and he stays in the car— heartbroken, crestfallen, and regretful, because he might’ve just recklessly thrown away the best gift the universe has ever given him.

“i was thinking about how she never would’ve made this much sacrifices and efforts for anyone else and i feel like… i- it’s all going to waste because our future is uncertain. i can’t be committed to her as much as she is committed to me. and, and i felt like the guilt was eating away at me, you know? i wasn’t thinking straight.” jungkook chews on his bottom lip, a last ditch effort to prevent himself from sobbing. “it just… consumed me? like i was drowning… and all i could smell and taste was the saltwater.”

“i see,” yoongi sighs, crossing his legs and intertwining his fingers infront of his stomach as he finds the right words to say. “that’s a normal response. our brain is a very complex friend… but you know, everything i’ve been through as myself and as a part of our team, hmmm, they taught me that there are times when a problem doesn’t necessarily need a solution per se. you just keep going until the fog clears up and then you move past it.”

fuck, jungkook needs a glass of whiskey. or two. or twelve. he listens intently despite seeming like he’s spacing out.

“this won’t last forever and time slips away from us without us even noticing. you should do what you want to do. if we’re going to deprive ourselves of good things, what will we have left after everything is over? money we can’t spend in one lifetime? there’s no happiness in that.”

yoongi frowns, wishing he could do more to alleviate the weight hanging on jungkook’s shoulders.

“you deserve love outside all the noise, too. focus on the present which you can still control and deal with the future when it arrives. if you do otherwise, you’ll just be tormenting yourself… and i know it’s easier said than done but! do you want to hear something i’ve had on my mind lately?”

with a flushed face and swollen eyes, he tilts his head to curiously spy on his hyung.

“what is it?”

“your motivation to work out after our shows is so you can stay awake and spend time with her. that’s why you fall asleep everywhere else. do you know how scary and endearing it is to watch that? is that what you call ‘not being committed enough’?”

yoongi fails to hide his gummy smile, body vibrating with silent laughter as pictures of jungkook falling asleep standing up flash before his eyes.

“seriously, you punk! you scare me! i just pass out and die straight after while you- really, you’re really unbelievable. i envy you. for being able to love with everything you have until they break your heart. i mean it!”

“but i’m the one who broke their heart this time.” jungkook somberly utters in defeat, bottom lip jutting out and chin quivering.

yoongi encouragingly pats his shoulder, shaking his body lightly. ”you can make it up to her. she’ll reach out before we leave. have some more patience.”

jungkook’s eyes turn into slits, suspiciously squinting at the man sitting beside him. “why do you sound so sure?”

“because she loves you. why else?”

—

you automatically pause from eating cup ramyeon when your phone lights up on top of the journals you’ve been reviewing for the past hour.

“ah, shit! shit!”

you abruptly cover your mouth with your hand, exhausted eyes watering because you accidentally bit your tongue after reading the name of the sender of your newest text notification. you take sips of cold water, peering at your phone as you do so. your hands itch to type out a response, but the screen dies and turns black, another of yoongi’s messages in the same pile of unanswered ones from your friends checking up on you tonight. you can’t talk to anyone right now; you need to get shit done.

after eating your dinner at the convenience store, you come home to a plastic of fried chicken hanging on the doorknob of your front door.

Eat lots and stay healthy! I’m feeding Jungkook well too. Don’t worry. — Yoongi

you peel off the blue handwritten note, sticking it on the cover of one of your books. you carefully carry the food using your free hand, and you can feel it radiating on your skin, the heat of a freshly-cooked meal. you were always worried of being a bother when you occasionally ask him how jungkook is doing on tour, but this made your heart significantly lighter. gaining a good friend after losing your lover, perhaps life can show a smidge of mercy when it wants to.

too bad you’ve always been one to be greedy.

—

“ah, seriously. why did you have to break up with ___?”

“we’ve been through this a million times!” jungkook exclaims in exasperation as he fiddles with the controller, bumping his knee with taehyung’s. “focus. you’re supposed to be helping me forget.”

“i don’t remember agreeing to that.” taehyung responds with a shrug, smirking when he picks up a booster and runs past his friend’s character. “you finally found someone who could put up with you and you let them go? i won’t let you forget.”

jungkook scoffs, eyes rolling upwards. “bro, i should be the least of your problems.”

“nuh-uh.” taehyung tuts with a grin, belly aching with laughter when jungkook’s car jumps over his to steal the lead. he didn’t even know that was possible. he plans on using the same trick against him later. “i’m making you my biggest problem so i don’t have to deal with mine.”

“they’re not married yet. you still have a chance, you know?”

“yah!” he gapes at jungkook in shock, entirely forgetting about the game. “take that back!”

“don’t act like you haven’t thought of it!”

“yeah, but i don’t say it out loud. it sounds too wrong! i still have my morals left!” he cries out, stomping his feet on the floor.

jungkook lightly punches his arm, eyebrows pinched in confusion. “i meant you have a chance if they break up. i have morals too! what do you think of me?!”

“oh…” taehyung blinks. “you know who else have probably thought of that too, though?”

“who?” jungkook boredly questions as he scrolls through the game collection, contemplating about which one to play next.

“all the other people waiting in line for ___.”

the realization renders him motionless, stirring up the possessiveness coursing through his veins. for the love of god, he doesn’t want to be petty but that struck a nerve. he wants to storm out of the house and look for you, beg on his knees for you to take him back.

“aish, hyung, you’re driving me crazy! why would you tell me that? are we torturing each other?!”

“are you crying? yah, jungkook-ah.” taehyung watches his hunched figure with a guilty wince, hesitant hands rubbing the expanse of his back. “i’m sorry- i’m sorry… do you want a hug?”

jungkook stays quiet, head hanging low to hide his face crumpling with anguish. the loose but affectionate hug that he gets pulled into prompts him to fall apart, catharsis blossoming in his ribcage and turning his bones into jelly.

he hears obnoxiously loud sniffles, and he abandons taehyung’s shoulder to look at his face. “are you crying, too?”

“stop ruining the moment.” taehyung groans, forcefully pushing down his head again.

namjoon comes out from his bedroom in search for another extension cord, still sipping on the half-empty iced americano he took from the fridge only ten minutes ago. the heartfelt scene on the couch causes him to halt on his tracks. how did they go from playing games to crying together? he silently observes the two members for a moment before deciding to approach them.

“what am i going to do with the two of you?” he grunts, ruffling his hair in frustration. “shall we go out for drinks to disinfect your wounded hearts?”

the mention of alcohol makes them perk up, jungkook’s tearful doe eyes sparkling at the prospect of temporarily erasing the pain that has uncontrollably spread throughout his system. he wants to drink until he forgets that he has hands, until he forgets what it feels like to touch you.

“thanks, monie-hyung. i’ll have my appetizer.”

and the iced americano gets snatched away from namjoon’s unsuspecting hand within the blink of an eye.

—

“this is not a barbecue restaurant.” you stare blankly at the orange neon lights spelling out the name of the night club your friends secretly conspired to bring you to.

“___, loosen up! the fastest way to move on is to find someone else. this is the best place for that.” aera turns around from the passenger seat of the taxi, her red lips painting a thrilled smile. “just forget about jungkook. we all knew this shit was going to happen. i’m surprised you even lasted that long!”

“i don’t know what you’re trying to imply but i don’t appreciate your tone.” you warn her with a sharp, threatening look. “and the ‘someone else’ that i found at a bar before turned out to be biggest fucking jerk i’ve ever met. i’m not doing this again.”

“things might be different this ti-” mi-ran aids in persuading you, but it only adds fuel to the fire.

“oh my god! fuck off!” you yell in irritation, aggressively getting off the car and slamming the door shut on their faces.

you never look back, ignoring the shouts of your name and half-assed apologies. you don’t have the slightest idea about where you’re going — your feet have a mind of their own and they chose to go the opposite way of home. this isn’t how you envisioned your night. you just wanted to listen to the sound of the meat grill and complain about life giving you a taste of true love just to cut your tongue with it until you bled. was that too much to ask?

you’re about ninety percent certain that you just lost two of whom you treated to be your closest friends. you think of ah-young, and you briefly consider crashing at your best friend’s band practice, but you’re too exhausted to travel to the other end of the city.

with eleven seconds left in the timer, you cross the street with swift and long strides alongside a crowd consisting mostly of employees wearing the same navy blue uniform. at last, you’re among the bright and lively restaurants, the inviting smell of good food making your stomach sting with hunger.

it’s only taehyung who recognizes you when you unknowingly pass by, almost choking on his glass of somaek, the combination of soju and beer. with his career on the line, he is confident that he can recognize that balenciaga windbreaker anywhere and anytime. meanwhile, instead of talking about you, the youngest is drunkenly reminiscing about the alleged ghost encounters he had in their old dorms. their leader is tragically left to tend to the grill alone. he deeply regrets not dragging any of the older members with them.

“everyone, i think i just saw __-”

a grimace of cluelessness is plastered on taehyung’s face when jungkook claps once, enthusiastically pointing at him as if he just announced something inspiring and life-changing.

“you’re right, you’re right! that’s it! what i’m kind of trying to say here is…” he pauses, facial muscles relaxing into a gloomy expression. he sniffles and rubs his nose, making it a brighter shade of red. “when we move houses again, i won’t have stories like these to bring with me. the new ghosts will be my memories with ___.”

none of the other two dares to speak after that, the oddly satisfying sound of meat being grilled and the chattering from other tables occupy the uneasy and heavy silence. instead, they begin filling their own shot glasses with pure soju. namjoon is the first one to spill it down his throat, slamming it on the table before dishing out his phone from his pocket. by this time, all of them are already drunk, double vision blurry and speech a little slurred. they gave up on counting the green bottles and cans of beer a long while ago.

“shit, that was a good metaphor. i need to write that down.”

“namjoon-hyung, he’s crying again!”

jungkook’s head slumps on the table with a thud, hot tears escaping down to his temple as he laments. “i miss her so much. why did i have to break up with her the second we got home? why…? am i so impulsive? what do i do if… if she agrees that we- h-how am i supposed to live with myself after that…? i’m never going to love again.”

they shuffle apprehensively on their seats, but still, they tell jungkook what he needs to hear since he won’t remember tonight’s events, anyway.

that’s not going happen. she just needs some more time. i’m sure she’s missing you too. everything will be okay.

but it’s been almost two weeks of radio silence. their flight is in nine days, drawing nearer and nearer as if it’s purposely taunting jungkook. everyone is thinking the same thing, and everyone is afraid to say it out loud.

—

it’s 7am when his work alarm goes off. with a disgruntled noise, a hungover jungkook drowsily drags himself out of bed, eyes still closed as he swings the bedroom door open.

“oing?” he creates a noise of confusion when his arm bumps against an object. he blinks at the brown paper bag hanging on his doorknob, removing one of the handles to peek at its contents.

he buffers for a moment, staring blankly at his belongings safely tucked inside. there’s his black mini bluetooth speaker, tinted lipbalm, wired earphones, bucket hat, facial cleanser, moisturizer, and shampoo. these are everything he left on top of your study desk and in your bathroom. neatly folded on the side is his windbreaker, which he recalls as clear as daylight, how you reveled in its comfort the last time that you were together. the fabric softener you use has replaced his perfume, the cherry scent forming a rain cloud of nostalgia and longing above his head.

if this is a nightmare, he is begging for somebody, anybody, to break into the room and to bring him someplace where hope is not desolate.

his wounded heart, as his namjoon-hyung described, is experiencing an excruciating pain he never even imagined was possible. he now understands, why the broken heart syndrome is a real thing.

he can’t read you. is this your way of ‘reaching out’? have you kicked him out of your house, out of your life? for good?

the dread of losing you forever is gnawing at his insides. nausea almost succeeds in knocking him off his feet. his brain hisses with static. he panics at the disgustingly familiar sensation brewing in his digestive system, sprinting to the bathroom to spill out his guts.

they say that you don’t realize what you have until you lose it. that early morning, jungkook realizes that he’s only a human being after all.

—

“when did i put that there?”

you’re sorting out your dirty laundry after showering when you notice a tissue paper tucked in the front pocket of your denim jeans. you huff out a sigh, ripping it apart into tiny pieces over the trash bin with raging vexation. you will never understand how men thinks that these kind of stupid tricks are supposed to compel you into seeing them anywhere near attractive and desirable in your eyes. if anything, they make you feel unsafe and if your paths cross again, you will run the other way. great. another person in the lecture room to avoid. just fucking great.

at this point, you want to mockingly laugh at your own misery. just when you thought your day couldn’t possibly get worse, it fucking does.

you tuck yourself in bed by midnight, texting a friend about your joint presentation next week, and then rereading your conversation with namjoon from this morning for the nth time. you’ve been hoping it will shine light on the right path to take, because you’re still lost and hurt.

Namjoon:

he’s been devastated since

can’t this be sorted out?

stuff’s just been overwhelming and honestly i’m as anxious as him

i'm not trying to force you into getting back together with him ofc but please talk for closure atleast..

you’re also my friend. i think you need it too..

you scroll a bit further down afterwards, and your heart drops to your stomach when you see the three dots under the contact name ‘my jungkook’. you click on it as it beckons you to, only to allow time to flow like a river with no sea to kiss, idly watching the bubble appear and disappear, appear and disappear. almost everyday, you catch a glimpse of him at the very least, typing a message and never sending it.

the same goes for tonight, it seems.

his silence is torturing you. in the car, in your inbox, in your call history. a person knocks on the door and a part of you foolishly predicts that it’s jungkook not using his copy of the key out of respect.

you succumb to the yearning, heading to your shared media and files that you’ve been actively resisting for the past three weeks… for this exact reason.

you randomly click a video sent by jungkook three months ago.

“i know you’re in class but i’m too excited to show what i got you today!” he beams at the front camera, bunny teeth cutely showing. he picks up the first item from the hotel bed with his free hand. “you already own this book but this one got a different cover, see? it’s hardback? they say it’s a limited edition.”

he eyes it fleetingly, obvious that there is something else he is dying to mention.

“i won’t show it too close. you can look at it when i go home. there’s a little surprise inside.”

he scrunches his nose before teasingly sticking his tongue out.

“and then here we haaave-”

following that, he shows you an adorable fluffy white bunny with red eyes. it occupies more than half the screen, and without a doubt, it is soft and huggable.

“cooky’s new sibling! we found it at a gift shop and hobi-hyung said it looks like me.”

he presses his cheek to the bunny’s. “i accept. we do look alike, but my eyes are so much bigger.”

in the upcoming seconds, the video is muted except for his breathing. he plops down on the bed while ruffling his dark hair, staring at the camera wordlessly, evocative of when you catch him dreamily watching you study while you’re on a videocall.

“i miss you.” he smiles sadly, deep dimples appearing on his cheeks. “don’t forget to text me when you’re on your way home.”

he drops on his back, the firm mattress breaking his fall.

“mmmwah!“ he kisses the camera, and your screen freezes on the final frame.

the silence in the aftermath is defeaning. you tear your glasses off your face, burying your face in the pillows. you arrive at your final decision then and there. you don’t care. you don’t care. you don’t care anymore. you cannot bear to spend more of your days like this. his things that used to live here might be gone, but you look for him everywhere. you look for his car in the parking lot. you look for his hair when you see flowers. you wait for his name to be called in the coffee shop. on your way home, you linger at the playground where you used to usually meet.

because if your relationship with jungkook is truly doomed to fail, you want to watch its foundation collapse on the ground, burnt down to gray and black ashes that disintegrate when you try to grasp them in your hands… with good grace, it’s the only way for you to believe that there’s no more home to come home to.

with a trembling hand, you press the call button and for the very first time, you beg someone to stay.

—

jungkook’s breathing ceases, heartbeat violently racing in his chest. the ‘chimes’ ringtone tickle his ears, his phone vibrating incessantly in his hands. the two features he specifically customized in your contact settings so he will immediately recognize that it’s you who’s calling.

it’s been four days since you dropped off his things. and here he was, laying on his bed and struggling to find the right words to say because he refuses to believe that this is how it ends. the paper bag is still hanging on the doorknob. he hasn’t touched it since the first time. he doesn’t have the courage to do so.

fuck giving you space. he wants drown himself in you and never come up for air. he’s more than willing to suffer your anger or your coldness. he’s prepared to prove himself worthy of a second chance every second of every day. he wants to occupy half of your desk and half of your closet again. he selfishly wishes to be the first and the last person you fall in love with.

but until the very end, you’re the braver one.

“love?” your voice is quiet, barely audible, but it’s there, and he hears the affectionate term of endearment distinctly. “i’m sorry. i tried, i really did, but i couldn’t do it…”

“baby,” he falters breathlessly, half of him in disbelief, convinced that he has officially lost his goddamn mind and delusion is bleeding into reality.

“i tried living without you like you wanted- but i can’t-” you hiccup in between small sobs on the other line. “i love you, jungkook. i can’t live carrying around all this love with me. it’s too heavy…”

exploding and breaking apart, jungkook’s heart is a meteor that has entered the planet’s atmosphere, and he doesn’t know where to begin digging for the fragments so he can piece himself together again.

“we are too young and we don’t know what the fuck we’re doing and i love you too much. you don’t have to protect me… i’ll take my fair share of the responsibility, so just-” he hangs on your every word, and then you pause, your following words eliciting a powerful punch to his gut. “just let me love you and let me learn my lesson the hard way… let’s do that, okay?”

the walls of him room ebbs and flows in like the sea. he rests his forearm over his eyes, his skin gradually dampening with tears. he once promised himself that he would never put you in this position. he should be the one begging for forgiveness, repenting and crawling on his knees. but rather than wasting his time with surfing through another tsunami of self-blame, he reminds himself: i want to be a better man.

“okay, baby. let’s do that, hmm? let’s do that. it’s what i want too.” he coos softly with a hoarse voice. “are you at your apartment?”

you hum in confirmation, sniffling. “come home.”

—

a half-naked jungkook abruptly opens the door to yoongi’s room, wearing gray sweatpants with his left arm awkwardly inserted in one of the black t-shirt’s armhole.

“hyung! can i borrow your car? mine’s getting a check-up.”

yoongi tears his eyes away from the computer, hanging the black headphones on the nape of his neck. he merely shrugs before throwing the car key, and jungkook catches it in one hand with ease.

he sighs in relief, politely bowing his upper body to express his gratitude. “thank you, hyung.”

“what are you doing?!” yoongi half-smiles with fondness, jokingly waving him off. “just go- go. leave!”

—

jungkook nervously stands before your front door, head woozy with anticipation and fear. what if things have changed? what if your relationship never goes back to the way it was?

“oh. you’re back together?”

he whips his head back to find your neighbor arriving home from his part-time job. huh, he just realized that he has never really learned what his name is. the only information he has on him is that his sister owns a bee farm.

“how did you even know?” he asks with knitted eyebrows. “you haven’t been giving out honey again, have you?”

“she only accepted it once.” the stranger puts his arms up in surrender with a roll of his eyes. “and don’t make her cry again, will you? she blasts sad songs late at night.”

and with an unpleasantly forceful shut of the door, jungkook is left alone in the hallway. his jaw clenches as he glares at the next apartment, but he rubs his face to release his frustration before he goes to meet you.

“we need to move in together.” he grumbles to himself as he enters your unit, relocking the door behind him. he removes his sneakers, neatly setting them down beside your pairs of shoes by the doormat.

he pads on the wooden floor with his white toe socks, looking around the dark and quiet living room. a faint orange light is seeping under the gap between the floor and the bedroom door, which he recognizes to be your favorite mode on your multi-colored nightstand lamp. he cautiously cracks the door open, and he is instantly greeted by your curled up figure, peacefully sleeping.

it’s muscle memory when he hangs his backpack on the backrest of your study chair before anything else. he also brought the paper bag you sent, putting it down on the floor.

he squats down infront of you, lightly prying away the phone you’re hugging to your chest and placing the device on the bedside table. the light is shining over your skin, and there are a thousand of photos and videos organized into the most treasured folder in his gallery, but not a single one of them will ever do you justice.

god, he missed you so much. it hasn’t been two years, but the life he had before he met you feels like an extremely distant memory.

he sighs, talking in hopes that he appears in your dreams. “how do you do this? you make it impossible not to love you.”

he unconsciously frowns at the sight of your puffy eyes. never again. never again. never again. he chants inside his head. he plants a kiss on each of your eyelids, taking his time to bask in the feeling of your weight under his lips.

he climbs on the opposite side of the bed, tucking you underneath the blanket before securely holding you from behind with his thigh hanging over yours. the warmth of your body and the scent of your shampoo cures the headache that’s been bothering him the whole day. he drifts off to sleep soon after.

—

the feather-light brushes through the silky locks of his hair pulls him out of his slumber half an hour later. he can make out your silhouette through his half-open eyes, the little-mermaid-like scene feels too vivid for a dream.

“why didn’t you wake me up?” you whine, sulking with a pout.

“i’m sorry.” he answers quietly, sitting up to engulf you in a tight embrace as endless apologies tumble from his tongue. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry that i gave up. i’m sorry that i hurt you. i’m so sorry… are you angry at me?”

“i’m upset.” you admit after a few beats, not seeing the point in sugarcoating it. “it hurts when i remember you saying that. and i understand you but… but i don’t like that you decided alone for us. if you do that again… then it will be over between us.”

he has an arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand firmly holding the back of your head. it’s a little hard to breathe, but it’s so reassuring to feel that he doesn’t want to let you out of his embrace. because you hated it — hated how it felt like letting you go was so easy.

“i regret everything. i’m sorry.” he whispers, concealing his tears by nuzzling his face on your neck. “and you’re not a burden. that’s not true.”

he knows that you mean your every word, so he lifts up his head to gaze directly into your eyes, showing that he is as sincere and true to his.

“from now on, all i’ll think about is what i can do to make you happy and safe without compromising our relationship… i’ll do better. i’ll love you better. i promise that i’ll be stronger for us. i won’t make the same mistake twice.”

you wish jungkook could be kinder to himself, treat himself with the same gentleness that comes so naturally with you. why is it that humans find loving themselves so laborious? why does being have to come with such a curse?

taking glimpses at the past, you should’ve been reminding him of these affirmations everyday.

“you don’t have to be strong all the time. i’m not asking for that.” you shake your head, voicing out yourself in a tone so soothing and illuminating. “i don’t want to go anywhere far away from you so think of yourself, too. i told you before, it’s okay to hold on to me. i’m also strong.”

jungkook feels so safe at home. he doesn’t remember what he was so worried of anymore.

“and you know what? if you really see it that way, then i’m telling you now. i want to waste my time on you. you can’t stop me.” your threatening eyes widen in conviction, provoking a sheepish smile to tug at the corners of his lips. “i always get what i want.”

“and you want me?” he innocently points at himself.

“love you.”

“i love you.” he replies, nosing at your neck before leaving a chaste kiss on your skin. “so much.”

“then put yourself in my shoes.” you hum, combing his hair with your fingers, lightly tugging to initiate eye-contact. “i want to take care of you just like how you want to take care of me. i think we have something rare and beautiful…” you pause, self-conscious about coming across as too needy now that you’re face-to-face, but an epiphany shatters your apprehension with a bow and an arrow.

this is what he needed to hear from you that day.

“so stay with me.”

jungkook’s vision becomes unfocused. he’s speechless; the only sound in the room is the humming of the airconditioner, but it’s almost as if you can hear the gears of his brain working their hardest. the pain that glossed his enchanting doe eyes has been replaced with a devotion you’ve never seen expressed so passionately in them before.

“all the time i own is yours.” he declares, cupping your face, the pad of his thumb daintily stroking your cheek. “all of it. we can do anything you want to do. let me make it up to you.”

“anything?” your face lights up with joy and mischief, and the butterflies in jungkook’s stomach come alive. he wants to make it his life’s mission to make you smile everyday; and that, he will do. “then i want you to kiss me.”

the sultriness of your enticing voice makes him go haywire. it’s been too damn long. he has forgotten what it feels like to kiss you. he slowly inches closer, his lips brushing against your lips before he pulls you in deeper, a fervent display of his yearning and apologies. he swallows the needy moan that escapes you as he slowly lays you down on the mattress, stripping off his shirt and mindlessly tossing it somewhere when you impatiently tug at it with another whimper. you cage his face in your hands, bringing back his lips on yours as if he’s the air that you breathe.

he wants to grieve for all the wasted time because everyday, he craved for this. to be honest, he forgets his name when he’s kissing you. outside, the crowds scream his name for being the best at what he does best, and he happily lives for the euphoria of it all. but in this room, there is only you and him. you communicate using the unspoken language of love with your lips. you bare the soft animal in yourselves with your teeth sinking in the other’s skin. you allow your rawest desires and truths to unravel with a slip of the tongue. he exists beyond his name, becomes an indecipherable enigma even to himself. what is the use of an explanation if there is no meaning anyway? all he knows is that he loves you despite all the reasons, against all the reasons.

he sneaks under your shirt, fingertips teasingly exploring your skin as if he’s drawing a map. he feels you quiver when he finally reaches your chest, gently kneading the soft flesh in his palm. this makes you mewl in pleasure, arching your back as your hand unconsciously curls around his wrist, the cotton fabric separating the two of you. the action electrifies jungkook, makes him lose himself a little more, which he didn’t think was still possible.

“touch me, please- jungkook. need you-” you choke out a desperate whimper, nearly sobbing as you guide his hand between your thighs. you can’t bear to spend another second untouched; the last time you made love feels like an eternity ago. he slips past the waistband of your underwear, the only article of clothing you’re wearing below. but to your disappointment, he gently caresses your hip bone instead of dipping his long fingers into your wetness.

“shh, hold on, baby-” he forces himself to break away from the kiss, swollen and red lips glistening with spit. “baby, look at me. you didn’t drink, right? i don’t want to take advantage.”

you gape at him with your chest heaving up and down, dumbfounded. “how could you even think of that right now?”

his eyes widen in panic, worried that he might’ve offended you. “no, no, no-” his palms skim your thighs, guiding them to wrap around his slim waist. you gasp when he presses up on you and his hard length rubs on your folds, sending jolts of electricity up your spine. a gush of arousal dampens the thin material covering your center.

“i want you so fucking bad that it hurts.” he gingerly wipes away the tears that you didn’t even notice streamed down to your temples. you can’t remember the last time you cried before today, they must’ve gotten tired of asking for your permission. “but you were crying when you called, baby. i had to make sure.”

“oh, my boyfriend is such a gentleman.” you muse dreamily. pepper his face with delicate kisses, lips curving upward with an adoring smile. “look at him enjoying my kisses.”

you playfully squeeze his cheeks together, making his pillowy lips pucker.

“you really wanted to break up with me in this case, huh? you wanted to live without me and my kisses? no way.”

his eyelids flutter open, and he shakes his head as he dips down to kiss you. “it was hell without you…” his teeth captures your bottom lip, nipping at the supple flesh. “going to build a life with you. i’ll build furniture, and they’re going to be ours.”

“good. you better.” your high-pitched giggles bounce off the walls as his lips trail down to your neck, licking a bold stripe over your ticklish spots. “i don’t have the patience for it, but i’ll be your trusty assistant.”

it’s ridiculous, how even the sound of your laughter turns him on even more.

—

jungkook learned that you finished your exams yesterday, having spent majority of the past two weeks pulling all-nighters to prepare for them. you seem to be confident about the results, the way you talked about it without concern. he never once doubted that you’re resolute and persevering, but acing your exams in the middle of a breakup is beyond what he can digest. it must’ve been a grueling experience, he can only imagine.

he presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, and then your lips, before dragging the blanket higher over your naked figure, a thicker one he brought out from the cabinet. poor thing, you fell asleep on his lap while he was drying your hair, incoherently murmuring about how tired you are.

he walks to your study space, fixing the loosening towel wrapped around his waist. one by one, he pulls out the items from the paper bag, returning them to their old places on your desk. he toothily grins at the windbreaker, ecstatic due to his plan on wearing it at work today. he wants to give it back to you smelling like him again.

an index card lands on the ground when he unfolds it, making him peer down in curiosity.

“what’s this?” he mumbles, bending down to pick it up.

jumbled thoughts. a letter shoved at the back of the mailbox. a hesitant confession. a bittersweet reminder that says: a wound does not magically disappear overnight. it requires the proper treatment to heal correctly, and even then, it might still leave a scar.

These are only a few of many. Why is this the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do? I’m usually the more logical one. Was it really so bad that we weren’t going anywhere?

and messily crossed out at the end,

I miss you.

—

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

—

[meowzfordayz]

analysis (; — hashira men

Author’s Note: took this not-actually-a-prompt and got carried away heh... 😌

analysis (; — hashira men

Himejima Gyomei x Reader, Iguro Obanai x Reader, Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader, Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader, Tomioka Giyuu x Reader

Word Count: ~2,200

CW: 18+NSFW, degrading language, explicit language, Fem!Reader, oral, spit, squirting

Thirst Fulfilled: I NEED someone to settle an argument between me and a friend-

Do you think sanemi has a big [redacted]-

Because I KNOW he is packing a huge one.

Ps I’m sorry but I don’t know who else to ask 😭

~faqs~

Update as of 12 May 2023: A foreword that these headcanons are first and foremost indulgent !! 😌 They are not intended to be realistic. They’re supposed to be fun. Hot. 🥵 Within the realm of possibility, but not ~normal. 😉

Dick so big it has him blushing 🤭

—I mean, c’mon: Look at him 😳

That being said, it’s also very pretty — not monstrous or scary (besides its size heh)

A nice, rounded head that oozes precum throughout foreplay, sensitive and rosy pink as you flick your tongue across it, thick and heavy balls tightening at the breathy moan in your throat

A delicate vein curves from its base to the underside of the tip, thankfully not too pronounced, bc it’ll stretch you out enough regardless

Speaking of stretch…

Your fingers can barely wrap around its girth — it’s much easier to drool and lap at the shaft than commit to anything close to deep throating (unless your jaw stamina’s through the roof 👀)

Doesn’t exactly groom himself, but that isn’t too much of an issue since it’s not like his pubic hair’s getting in your way too often (re: dick too huge to regularly deepthroat) 

As for length, Gyomei’s in the ball park of ~reasonable (10 inches when erect), but it still requires a hell of a lot of prep before you’re fully seated on his cock, ass flush against his flexed thighs while large, sweaty hands grip your hips in a feeble attempt to restrain himself from immediately thrusting into your dimly throbbing cervix

“This okay?” he murmurs, thumbs pressing firmly into the softness of your skin, low groan caught in his chest at the suffocating heat of your pussy, your shaky, faintly pained breaths keeping his desire in check

“Take as much time as you need,” as you use his stomach to steady yourself, muscles rippling beneath your palms

“You feel wonderful,” whispered gently—patient as ever—even as he longs to raise your trembling body up and almost off of his cock, only to fuck the air out of your lungs w/ a single, smooth drop of your wanton weight, unsuspecting wail music to his ears as you convulse in orgasm at the overwhelming pressure of his cock stuffing your puffy walls

Obanai’s closer to average, but he isn’t small (at least, his dick isn’t 😆 #short king)

Def a grower, slim, veiny shaft elongating (to ~6 inches) as you stroke him w/ a practiced flick of your wrist

Not exactly related to his dick, but he also def growls during foreplay, needy and eager to melt into you and to ruin you — just depends on his mood, yanno?

His head is the kind of head that you almost wanna chomp 🤗, all squishy, bulbous, and fat, quickly reddening and weeping precum, making a mess of your fingers

Perfect lubrication for touching yourself while sucking him off, gleam in his eyes at how filthy you are

Typically can’t be bothered to trim his pubic hair, but it doesn’t get especially long anyway — more so coarse and curly

His shaft doesn’t stretch you out significantly, sliding easily into your slick heat, hovering above you as his hands keep your legs parted widely, “You like being splayed out for me, hm?” pinching lightly at your inner thigh, grinning smugly as you whimper contently, “My precious plaything.”

But it (his shaft) does have a wicked, upward curve, tip grinding firm and repetitive against the spongy bundle of nerves deep in your pussy

And its veins 🤤

What he lacks in girth, he makes up for in texture

Plus, Obanai 11/10 fucks aggressive and erratic, pubic bone flush to your clit, friction delicious and constant as he thrusts full force into your hole, sweat dripping from his brow onto your clavicle, his eyes narrowed in lust and passion, balls slapping sticky against your asshole, less concerned about hurting you since he’s aware that he isn’t ~the biggest guy on the block

Altho, if he’s tired, then he lowkey enjoys you on top, edging him w/ every slow and steady undulation of your hips, your tits pressed warm and hot to his chest as he clings to you and the squelch of your cunt

For whatever reason, my immediate thought was: Raging! Hard! On! 😂😍

Kyojuro’s absolutely packing, but still decently proportionate to his stature (177cm aka 5’10”)

—Bc, contrary to porn-pular belief, comically large dicks hurt 😒💀

8 inches erect, and a sizeable bulge when flaccid

—Never thought I’d use this term, bc (imo) it’s hot when I’m horny, but 🥴 when I’m ~sober 😆…

BREEDER BALLS

As much as Kyojuro loves worshiping your pussy, he might love when you worship his balls more 🤭

You kissing, sucking, licking his balls while he jerks himself off = 100% orgasm guarantee

Drooling on his shiny, reddening tip, your spit trickling down between his fingers, making a mess of your lips as you return to fondling his balls w/ your mouth?

110% orgasm guarantee

Prefers cumming on your tits, btw — will stave off his orgasm until you can get ~in position ☺️

Nothing like an even messier round two 😎

Bc, ofc, he is more than happy to reciprocate the pleasure ����

W/ enough girth to warrant a gradual sinking (vs an abrupt thrust to the hilt), his shaft fills you breathless, its last couple of inches just barely fitting into your heat

“Can’t believe you’re already hard again,” you giggle delightedly, eyes hazy as he smears his cum across your nipple, throbbing head pressing deeper into your pussy, “You’re insatiable, I swear.”

A heady groan is his only response, gaze bright and attentive as always, reaching for your hand, dipping your thumb into his cum splatter, tasting himself on your skin as he maintains eye contact

“Fuck,” you gasp, pussy clenching at his nonchalance, tongue swiping subconsciously along your bottom lip

“Taste?” he offers, enthusiastic tone muted by the determined pressure of him lapping at your other nipple, his cum bitter and warm as he kisses you sloppy and needy, grip gentle on your jaw as he inhales your scent

And then you whisper Umai!

One word: brutal 😵‍💫

Not bc he’s ridiculously hung (i.e. Gyomei), but bc he’s ridiculously good (at using his dick)

—I actually headcanon Sanemi being a ~bashful virgin (sex can be intimate, and intimacy can be scary, but he loves you, so if that means being soft and scared w/ you… then he’s willing to go there 🥺🤍), buuut once he’s comfortable/well practiced?

—😈😈😈

Not much of a show-er when flaccid (and absolutely, positively shriveled when cold 😂), but an ideal 7 inches when erect w/ girth in between Gyomei and Kyojuro (slimmer than Gyo, thicker than Kyo)

His tip seems to get ~angrier the longer you tease him, going from an almost cute pink to an engorged, lustful red — def the hardest part about fitting him in your pussy, breath catching every time he finally slips into your dripping hole

Which, he has to get you dripping before attempting to penetrate, or at least use lube, bc rushed sex + his dick = not super enjoyable

Alternatively, he’ll facefuck you to get his dick wet enough for your pussy, 7 inches manageable, albeit veering on unpleasant, your nails digging into his flexed ass as he shoves himself languid and satisfied into your mouth, head twitching and leaking precum down the back of your throat whenever you gag on his length

“Watch your teeth,” he grunts lowly, tugging warningly at your hair, swallowing a moan as his cock muffles your whimper, eyes watering at his roughness, “Don’t make me gag and choke you,” calloused fingers brushing soothingly—promisingly—at your neck

In terms of pubic hair, he keeps it neatly trimmed, but not clean shaven: he likes hearing—seeing—the filthy mess of your saliva, tears, and precum as he fucks up and into your pussy

“Is this fast enough for you?” he snarls, your body balanced precariously atop his pelvis, grip nearly bruising on your hips as he smirks knowingly, “Obviously not,” pace frenzied as you moan raggedly, “If you’re still moaning like a whore, then it isn’t fast enough.”

Feet shifting beneath him in search of a different angle, grin triumphant and deadly as you shout silently, head tilted backward, tits bouncing in mesmerizing sync w/ his thrusts

“There we go,” he murmurs, balls tightening at your fucked out expression, “There’s my perfect cunt, squeezing all pathetic and hopeless around my cock,” stamina never ending, pussydrunk on the feeling of you, “Can’t wait for you to cum on my cock, gonna make this cunt so fucking sloppy.”

The prettiest dick 😭

—Ik I mentioned Gyomei’s dick being pretty too, but Giyuu takes pretty to another lvl 🥺

Aka Giyuu has the Goldilocks Cock™ 💀

Just shy of 7 inches, w/ thin veins that curl neat and yummy around his shaft — which, btw, is thick enough to have you pushing on his shoulders Slowly, p-please as the tip catches on your entrance, his eyes hooded and glassy as he ignores you in favor of thrusting in further Sorry not sorry at all You feel so g-good

A faint shudder trembles down his spine, pooling in his groin, traveling along his girth, head twitching in the viscous grip of your heat

Maintains a tidy patch of pubic hair, delicate happy trail tantalizing and subtle whenever he stretches 🥱

As for his balls… once again: Goldilocks Balls™ 🤤

Optimally sized for sucking into your mouth, hanging beautifully even, downy hairs tickling your nose as he cups the back of your head, quiet groans spilling from his cherry bitten lips as you glance toward his fluttering lashes, your vision obscured by the muscle of his tensed inner thigh

Giyuu’s fave position? 

—for these headcanons, at least 😆

Cowgirl 🤠 #yee #haw

Your pussy clings to his shaft like a greedy vice, creamy essence smearing from your swollen folds to his lower abdomen, tits presented as you arch backward, using his legs to steady yourself as you fuck yourself on his (perfect) cock

“Touch yourself,” he demands softly, spreading your asscheeks w/ surprisingly cool hands, easily supporting your weight, eyes closing at the satisfying smack of your skin bouncing against his

“Touch yourself till you cum,” his biceps hardly straining as you chase your orgasm, rhythm smooth and delectable, “I want to feel you fall apart,” murmured slick and gentle, in stark contrast to the lewd squish of his balls tapping your asshole

“C’mon sweetheart, fall apart for me, so gorgeous on my cock, love feeling you gush all over me.”

—I pondered long and hard about Tengen’s dick (both puns intended 🤗)

—Lemme organize my thoughts for a sec…

—Girth (from wide to slim): Gyomei, Tengen, Sanemi, Kyojuro, Giyuu, Obanai

—Length (from long to ~short): Gyomei, Tengen, Kyojuro, Sanemi, Giyuu, Obanai

In other words, as the second tallest, Tengen also happens to be the second biggest 🙃

—I initially considered putting him behind Kyo in terms of length, but 198cm aka 6’6” vs 177cm aka 5’10”... the math just wouldn’t have mathed 😆

Erect, Tengen measures a solid 9 inches, and if Obanai’s dick is veiny, then Tengen’s dick = veins GALORE 😵

“Even my dick is flashy! 😎” “It has ✨decor✨!”

His shaft bends slightly downward (blame gravity — his dick’s so fucking heavy 😌), so certain positions can be a bit tricky, but damn if he doesn’t rearrange your insides 🤪

Def enjoys being the center of attention, fucking slow and confident into your stretched out hole, dirty talk muffled by Makio’s thighs as he maintains a steady rhythm licking her folds, Hina’s index finger slim and practiced as she stimulates your clit, Suma’s tongue gliding wet and hot against Tengen’s taint

“What was that?” Makio coos, eyes twinkling as she grinds firmly onto Tengen’s mouth, “We can’t understand you dear,” squealing when he smacks her tits, “You seem a bit preoccupied, try speaking up.”

“S-shit,” you gasp, gripping Hina’s hand, pressure building as Tengen thrusts sharply into you, “D-don’t encourage him Makio,” whining as Hina latches onto your nipple, sucking lightly

“Why not?” Makio giggles, ass wiggling playfully, “Can’t take it?” knowing all too well that, ultimately, your pussy’s paying the price for her teasing

“Hm, you’re so messy babe,” Suma sighs contently, pausing her ministrations to kiss Tengen’s thigh, lips shiny w/ spit and your essence, “Seems like you want Makio to encourage him.”

Hina nods in agreement, eyes narrowed devilishly, twisting your other nipple, “Her clit’s throbbing,” spoken w/ unbearable casualness, “I think she’s going to cum.”

“Are you going to cum?” Tengen asks conversationally, finally taking a breath from Makio’s pussy, engorged tip twitching in your cunt, “I’ve hardly ruined you, and you’re already spasming on my cock.”

“T-tengen,” you whimper, clenching at his taunting tone, falling forward, cheek smooshed into Makio’s back, “So fucking d-deep,” stuttering as the new angle forces his fat head flush to the entrance of your cervix

“Think we can get her to squirt?” Tengen hums smugly, a hypothetical question, really, as you begin convulsing, pussy gushing messily onto his stomach, Hina’s hand glistening, ignoring your meek mewls of T-too much! as she continues rubbing your clit, Suma lapping at your cum as it coats Tengen’s balls, trickling between his asscheeks

[spaceyaceface]

you are a wildflower garden growing in my head

Ominis Gaunt x f!MC/Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: None

Summary: When she learns that Ominis Gaunt is well versed in floriography, she insists on him giving her lessons to learn the language of flowers. Thankfully, he ins't too hard to convince. Requested by @applinsandoranges

A/N: I loved researching Floriography a bit (or maybe a lot) for this fic!!! I'm sure it's not perfect, but I tried my best to be as accurate as possible. Thank you thank you THANK YOU to applins for requesting, I loved writing this so much!!!

Normally, the courtyard was pretty quiet—it was what made it an ideal place to study in the early spring, when the snow had just finished melting and trees had started to bud. She and Ominis had made a habit of sitting out there in the late afternoons, when Sebastian was serving his various detentions. 

That day didn’t seem to qualify for normal. 

Everett Clopton was chasing after a weeping Adelaide Oakes, who had burst out into wailing tears mere moments ago. 

“Addie, what did I do wrong?” Everett shouted after her, the flowers he had given her left on the ground where he had thrown them. “I’m sorry! Come back!” 

The ruckus caused quite the stir in the courtyard, students looking up from their studies to watch the pair—she herself couldn’t help but stop her reading, observing them with a furrowed brow. 

“What was all that?” Ominis asked from beside her. 

“Everett Clopton just gave Adelaide Oakes some flowers, then she ran off crying,” she summarized quickly. “Pretty unexpected turn of events. I always thought she returned his feelings.” 

Ominis frowned. “What flowers did he give her?”

She took a closer look at the flowers laying on the ground, tilting her head a bit. “They’re petunias, I think.” 

The loud laugh from beside her caught her off guard—Ominis usually contained his amusement pretty well, especially in public, so his loss of composure made her brow furrow. “What on earth is so funny?” she asked, perplexed. 

Ominis sat himself back up, taking a deep breath. Small chuckles still escaped him, but he seemed to have control of himself now. “Petunias,” he began, “Mean anger and resentment. No wonder Adelaide was upset.” 

Her own lips turned up in the corners. “Seems like poor Everett didn’t have a clue,” she said. “But to be far, neither did I.” 

“I’m not surprised Adelaide caught on,” Ominis said. “Hufflepuffs are usually more inclined to plantlife, aren’t they?”

“I suppose,” she replied. “Hold on, how do you know the meaning of petunias?”

She didn’t miss the slightest blush that covered Ominis’s cheeks. “My sisters,” he answered. “It’s a form of sending messages that normally wouldn’t be allowed to be shared when properly courting. They’d receive bouquets from suitors and would sit and talk about their meanings for hours, speculating it from every angle. I grew a bit fascinated by it, and learned what I could about the subject flower meanings.” He gave a small smile. “I know much more than the meaning of petunias.”

She smiled, thinking of a young Ominis delving into such topics. She rarely heard him talk about things he was excited about, especially from when he was younger. There was a certain glow to his features when he did—one that fit beautifully with his handsome features. It was subtle; something people who’d spent less time observing Ominis would likely have missed. But she had become somewhat of an expert in the slight expressions on her friends face—likely due to the extended periods of time she found herself staring at him. It had only gotten worse as they grew closer—as her feelings for him became stronger. 

“How come you’ve never told me about any of it?” she asked. 

He shrugged. “You never asked.”

“Well, I’m asking now.” 

He chuckled, hands reaching for his textbook once more. “Fine then. I’ll give you a lesson in floriography. Just give me some time to prepare for it. We better finish our Potions homework in the meantime; Sebastian will need someone to copy off of later tonight.”

She sighed, but didn’t argue. She’d hold him to his lessons, she’d make sure of that. 

-

It took a few days of pestering him until he finally told her he’d teach her about flowers later in the afternoon. She agreed to meet him by the Black Lake—the spring had started to warm up, and being near the water seemed like a wonderful idea. 

When she trekked down to their meeting spot, her eyes widened a bit at the scene. No wonder he had wanted to take a bit of time to prepare—he’d gone out and gathered a wide variety of flora, each of them sitting around him. She couldn’t help but think that anyone who didn’t know of their intentions would have taken the scene as a romantic one. 

He heard her approach, smiling up at her and patting the ground beside where he sat. “My student has arrived.”

“You better not assign me homework,” she said, sitting down. She enjoyed the chuckle her comment drew out of him. 

“I’m sure you’re busy enough studying for N.E.W.T.S. already,” he said. 

She groaned. “God, don’t remind me. I came to escape that for a while.” 

“Well, hopefully I won’t take up too much space in your head with this useless information.”

“Hang on,” she protested. “Don’t go calling it useless. Seemed like Everett would have benefited greatly with this knowledge. Besides, who knows when I’ll have a secret message to decode?” 

He faced away from her, busying himself by grabbing a couple of the plants beside him. Was his face a bit flushed–? Surely not. It was perfectly clear when his head tilted toward her once more. 

“As you learned not long ago, not all flowers are fit for a display of love or affection.” He smiled a bit. “In fact, a lot of them have sentiments more akin to the opposite. For example…”

He reached to his side, pulling forward a cluster of small flowers, bright pink with white on the edges of the petals. “These are China Pinks, or Indian Pinks. I’ve been told they’re quite lovely. But looks can be deceiving, as the mean the giver has an aversion for the receiver.” 

She laughed a bit. “That would be a shock to receive, I’m sure.” 

He grinned. “Precisely. If one wanted to be a little less harsh in their message, one could instead give someone everflowering candytuft—”

“Candytuft?” she interrupted, giggling.

He shook his head in mock annoyance. “Yes, candytuft. Don’t be fooled by its sweet name, it means indifference.” He placed a white flower with many layers down in front of her. 

“Are all these flowers a way of telling me how you really feel about me?” 

Ominis laughed at that. “No, I just wanted to give you a sample of some of the things you can say. Those last two are just as untrue of my sentiments for you as the message this next one conveys.” He showed her a small white flower with a yellow center and red dot on each petal. 

“What’s that one mean? I’m going to burn down your house?” 

“It means ‘I die tomorrow.’”

Her jaw dropped, and she couldn’t help but let out a surprised laugh. “Do people really tell people things like that through flowers?”

Ominis shrugged, setting the flower aside. “They must, if it’s a well-known enough meaning.” 

“I’ll never look at flowers the same way again.” 

“They’re not all bad,” he promised. He continued with his lesson, bringing forth each flower he had brought. She listened to each one very attentively, thoroughly enjoying listening to him. He was right—it was a fascinating topic. She learned magnolias represented a love for nature. Mountain laurels stood for ambition. The colors mattered greatly, too—a red columbine meant anxious and trembling, while a purple one meant the giver was resolved to win.

By the time the sun came to rest on the horizon, her head was swimming with various names and meanings. They’d gone through all of the samples Ominis had brought her, and he seemed satisfied with the lesson he’d given her. 

“There better not be a test,” she said as he gathered up the flowers around them. He grinned. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not that cruel.”

The two of them stood, ready to be on their way. “I’ve got to visit Poppy about nifflers she says she spotted,” she told him, wishing she could spend the time it took to walk back to the castle with him. 

“Ah, of course. You and your beasts,” he said with a small smile. He shifted on his feet. “Before you go, I’d like you to have this.” 

He handed her a large red flower, tall and curving with strange petals sticking up all down the length of it. She took it from him, brows furrowed. “I don’t remember what this one meant. You haven’t showed it to me yet, have you?” 

“Not yet, no,” he said, voice quiet. 

“What’s it mean?” 

He smiled at her softly. “I’ll tell you soon enough.” 

And with that, he headed off toward the castle. 

-

She really tried not to think too much about the large flower occupying the vase in her dorm room over the next several days. Tried being the key word. Every time she walked into her room and saw it, she couldn’t help the slight flip of her stomach, remembering the slight blush Ominis had sported while handing it to her. 

Surely it was something simple and lighthearted. Surely it was some sort of jab or joke, and not any sort of… confession. He had spent that whole lesson talking about what flowers meant outside of romance, hadn’t he? Why would the gift he gave her at the end be any different?

Even so, she found herself checking out a book on floriography at the library, trying to learn the secret message he’d given her. So far she’d learned nothing of it. 

It didn’t mean she didn’t learn anything, though. 

It had taken them several days to find time for another one of their little lessons, with actual studies taking the unfortunate priority. But they promised to squeeze it in on a Saturday morning just before lunch. She’d woken up early to locate one of the things she’d latched onto while reading her book—a variegated tulip. 

Beautiful eyes, the book had told her. She figured if he got to tantalize her by giving her that flower, the least she could do was try to flatter him a bit into telling her. She hoped it wasn’t too forward; she’d told him his eyes were lovely before, but to do so in a language so dear to him—well, it just felt a bit intimate. 

In any case, she found herself headed to the very same shore of the Black Lake, seeing a scene much like the first time they had met there. Ominis sat there with a group of flowers, but this time, they were all bunched together, forming a mis-match bouquet. 

She grinned as she plopped down beside him, tulip tucked away. “That looks lovely.”

Ominis chuckled. “I hope so. All I know is it smells pretty decent.” 

“Is that how you tell all of them apart?” she asked. “The scent?”

He nodded. “That and the texture of the petals. Though I’ve gotten used to using my nose first—I’ve ruined a good number of flowers by manhandling them.” 

She laughed. “It’s a bouquet this time.” 

“Very observant of you,” he teased. She gave him a gentle shove in response, making him laugh. “Don’t abuse your teacher!”

“Don’t patronize your student,” she said, grinning. 

He shook his head. “As my amazingly brilliant and very astute student pointed out, I’m holding a bouquet—” she shoved him again— “which will be the focus of our lesson today.” 

“Permission to leave class early?”

“No.”

“Fine.” 

He chuckled, his fingers beginning to gently run along the different flowers he held in the bunch. “Last time we went over some of the more specific and less used meanings. Today I’m hoping to touch on some of the more common flowers, ones you’d be more likely to come across.”

“Sounds practical.”

“Precisely. I’ve gathered them in a bouquet for you—often times you’ll receive a bouquet so the sender can express more complex feelings, allowing the combination to give a better overview of their emotions and perception of you. So let’s dive in.” 

His finger pointed out a stem holding a few small white flowers. “These are white bell flowers, an expression of gratitude.” 

She hummed. “I like those ones. They’re pretty.” 

He smiled and nodded, turning the bouquet. “Here are oak-leaved geraniums, meaning true friendship.” 

She tilted her head, scooting a bit closer to him for a better look at the pink petals. “How sweet,” she said, smiling. 

His ears went a little red. “The next one needs a bit of an explanation as to why I included it in your bouquet, but—”

“Wait, my bouquet?” she asked. 

“Yes, your bouquet,” he said, red spreading to his cheeks and across his nose. “Now let me continue.” 

“I… carry on, then.” 

His fingers ran over the flowers he’d been indicating once more. “Water willows are representative of freedom. You’re always running off to some place, despite all the rules you should follow, so… freedom.” 

She nodded beside him. “That makes sense.”

He continued on, explaining the reasoning of each flower there in her bouquet. Each one made her heart beat a little faster—he’d spent all that time, thinking of her, picking out exactly the right words to describe her and what she meant to him. It left her grinning like an idiot as she tried to remember each and every thing he said. None of the things he brought up trailed into the realm of romance, but she didn’t need it to. Not now, at least. It was perfect, just as it was. 

“And there you have it,” he said finally. “Your bouquet.” He held it out to her, tilting his head away from her a bit. 

“I… I don’t know what to say, Ominis,” she said, taking it from him and holding it gently. “This is… you’re too kind.” 

“You don’t need to say anything,” he said quickly. “I thought a… demonstration would be best, to help you learn about it. Sorry if I overstepped—”

“You didn’t overstep anything,” she said. “I’m just glad I at least have something to give you in return. I’m sorry it’s not a full bouquet, but it’ll have to do.”

She pulled out her tulip, which looked a little pitiful next to his varied display. But she pressed it into his hand. He felt up the stem gently, and then froze.

“Is… is this a tulip?” he asked quietly. “What color is it?”

She furrowed her brows at his reaction. “It is. It’s a variegated tulip.” 

He let out a breath he must have been holding, a small smile coming to his face. “Beautiful eyes,” he said softly. “Thank you.” 

She couldn’t help but think his smile had a strange tainted emotion behind it—one she couldn’t quite grasp. “You’re welcome. Sorry it isn’t much.”

He tilted his head in her direction. “It’s perfect.” 

-

She couldn’t help thinking about Ominis’s reaction to her tulip the rest of the day. Something about it bothered her—the way he froze up at first, the strange tension in his voice. 

It wasn’t until she looked back at her book on floriography she thought she understood why. 

She’d looked back at the page on the variegated tulip, trying to see if there was something she missed, when her eyes drifted up to the entry just above it. 

Tulip; Red - Declaration of Love. 

Her stomach churned. That had to be it. Ominis had no way of knowing what color tulip she had handed him. For all he knew, she’d been about to confess her feelings to him. 

But had he been full of dread or excitement?

She racked her brain, trying to recall every last detail of his words, he tones, his movements. But to no avail. She was just as clueless of his feelings for her as before

The coming days didn’t help, either. As much as she tried to observe the way he interacted with her, all she learned was… well, that she loved him. She already knew that, of course. But she kept being reminded of all the little reasons why. 

Like the way he whispered snarky jokes to her in class. The way he smiled so slightly when he was amused. The way he walked her to class, even it made him late to his own. Everything about him, really. 

She loved that he made the time to have one final lesson, right before N.E.W.T.S., too. 

Being so sure of her feelings now, she decided to take a risk. Which was why, before she left for the Black Lake, she tucked a red tulip into the pocket of her robes. 

Maybe she’d use it. It was still up for debate—but she’d have it ready if there was even a chance he might feel the same. 

When she arrived at their meeting spot, Ominis was fiddling with the flowers around him. Much like the first time, they laid sprawled out, ready to be dealt with one by one. She came and sat across from him, smiling. “Well, here I am, at my final lesson,” she said. 

He chuckled. “I hope I’ve been a sufficient teacher.”

“We’ll see if I pass the test.” 

He let the smile linger on his face for a moment before moving to one of the first flowers beside him. “I feel like I’ve done a proper job of informing you the uses of flora outside of romance—however, it doesn’t mean it’s still not a large part of it.” 

The flower he held twirled in his fingers. She felt her cheeks heat up a bit—no, she couldn’t get too excited about this. Just because they were talking about love and affection didn’t mean…

“I feel like it’s an important section to cover,” she said, still eyeing the flower he held—pink with drooping petals. 

He nodded. “Extremely. This one I’m holding is a bit… well, dramatic, I suppose. But it conveys the giver’s message pretty clearly. Justicia—the perfection of female loveliness.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Very clearly. I assume you only give it if you really mean to court someone?” 

“Precisely. Would you mind holding it for me?” 

Before she could reply, he pressed the stem into her hand, all but forcing her to take it. She grasped without much thought, as Ominis was already reaching for the next flower. He held up the cluster of small flowers, smiling. “Here we have Peruvian heliotrope. It signifies unwavering devotion.”

He held it out to her, and she took it without a word. He continued on, not missing a beat. The next thing he held was not a flower at all—but he was quick to explain. “Cedar leaf,” he said. “Perhaps not a flower like the others, but it expresses the proper messages. I… I live for thee.” 

There was a tone in his voice that had changed dramatically from when he was simply giving her explanations. A distinct shift that made it hard for her to breathe. One that made her hand feel like it was burning where his fingers brushed against his as he handed her the leaf. 

“Everlasting,” he named, holding a bright burst of yellow and orange petals, “Never-ceasing remembrance.” 

It was added to her growing bouquet. 

He picked up the final flower she saw, a lovely little pink thing, taking the shape of a ball. “Globe amaranth. It has two meanings. Immortality, for the first. But the one I’d like to emphasis is unfading love.”

She sucked in a breath. The petals shook a bit, resulting from his trembling hand. Before he handed it to her, he reached behind him, pulling out a flower that he had let lay concealed there. 

“You’ll recognize this one,” he said softly. She did. The flower he had given her on that very first lesson—the one he told her she’d learn about in due time. It seemed that the time had come. “Honey flower. Love sweet and secret.” 

He felt the same. He had this entire time. He’d sat with her, day after day of studying and laughing, all the while letting his heart beat for her. It filled with with a joy she had never known—one she was determined to never let go off. 

She looked up at his face, jaw tense, and she realized her silence at his confession must be excruciating. She reached forward, taking the flowers from his hands and adding it to her perfect collection before setting it aside. “You mean it, Ominis?” she asked, hoping she had not taken this all ridiculously out of turn. It was relief when he answered in a quiet voice. 

“Every word.” 

She grinned, taking one of his hands in her own before reaching for the pocket of her robe. The flower was still intact—a small miracle she was glad had occurred. “You’ve been an absolutely amazing teacher,” she said, guiding his hand to take the tulip. He wrapped his fingers around it, brows furrowing. “For one, I now know how important colors are when it comes to deciphering meanings.”  She leaned closer, voice coming out as almost a whisper. “I’ve brought another tulip for you. But this one is red.” 

His face lit up in an instant, lips reaching up to spread into the most beautiful smile. The flower was set aside, for his hands found something much more important to do. He placed them on either side of her face, fingers tracing over her cheeks. She held his wrists, letting him lead her closer and closer, until there was no distance left at all. 

The breeze blew softly over them, carrying the floral scent with it. She’d love that smell for the rest of her life, she was sure—because it would always remind her of the way his lips felt on hers. 

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── THE GLASS PRINCESS // NINE

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: The Blue Spirit inadvertently takes you to see the consequences of the decisions your brother has made during his reign as the Earth King.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.8k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: kind of gross description of an injury later on in the chapter?? be warned ig. also idk how compliant some parts of this are with canon but wtvr this is how it is in the glass princess universe

“Kuei!” you wailed, clutching your knee and sobbing, ducking away from the servant that tried to pull you to your feet. “Kuei!”

Though he was barely more than a child himself, he still came running when you called for him. Though he was the king of the Earth Kingdom, though he had many times more important duties to attend to, he always came running. Shoving the servant out of the way with a murmured apology, he crouched and swept you into his arms.

“Y/N, Y/N, don’t cry. What happened? Why do you weep?” he said, clutching your small body to his chest, holding your face against his narrow shoulders. You muffled your tears in the silken fabric of his robes, though the pain you were feeling rapidly faded in the protective warmth of your brother’s embrace.

“She fell, your royal majesty,” the servant said. “The stone floors scraped her knee, and she has been bawling since it happened. She won’t allow me to clean it, so it’s been left unattended. She keeps saying that she’ll only allow you to see to it.”

“Sister, you must let the servants help you,” Kuei admonished you, picking you up and setting you down on the ground before him. “That’s the entire reason they’re in the palace at all.”

You peered up at Kuei, blinking your wet, swollen eyes at him pitifully. He tried to remain stern, but the effect was lost on you, as he softened within the instant, using the ends of his flowing sleeves to wipe your face from the tears rapidly drying on your skin. Then, before anyone could protest, he tore the hem of his robe off.

“Your royal majesty!” the servant, inhaling sharply. “That robe was sent to your great-great-grandfather by the Fire Nation for his coronation! It is a priceless heirloom!”

“What is the past when compared to the present? What is an heirloom when compared with my sister?” Kuei said rhetorically, using the cloth to dab at the shallow wound on your knee and then tying it around the joint before helping you stand. “There you go. Does it still hurt quite as terribly?”

“Not as much,” you said. He rubbed your round cheek with the back of his hand.

“Good,” he said. “Servant, tell Long Feng I must meet with him immediately. There are some changes I wish to make.”

After that day, every hallway and every room in the Earth Palace had its stone floors covered in a plush, woven carpet.

“What do you want, Kuei?” you said, striding into his room and sitting primly across from him, folding your hands in your lap and crossing your legs at the ankles. Kuei had somehow squeezed both himself and his bear into a single armchair, but it was clearly an uncomfortable fit for the both of them. You supposed it did not matter to you, though, so you did not react beyond arching a single brow at the questionable arrangement of their two bodies and shaking your head in disapproval.

“Is it a crime for a brother to want to see his sister every once in a while?” Kuei said.

“You never call me just to see me,” you said. “Normally, it’s when you have bad news or when you want something from me. Let us skip over the mindless chatter this time and get to the point. Which is the reason you demanded my presence in your chambers?”

“It’s neither,” he said, looking at the ground. “Or, in some sense, it is both.”

“Kuei…” you said, and then you sighed. “Just tell me. You only need to do that much, and I won’t be angry, but you must speak the truth, and say it fully.”

“Bosco,” he said, which prompted a sleepy, mumbling groan from the bear. It was the kind of noise that might’ve been frightening if you were unused to it, but to you, it was high, reedy, thin — nothing like even the mere rise and fall of Quynh’s breath. “He is lonely.”

“If you’re going to ask me to babysit your bear, then I’ll have to tell you to save your breath,” you said. “That is one thing I will refuse you. There are people you pay to do exactly that kind of thing, so why would you foist the duty upon me?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” he said. “It’s not something difficult. Well, it’s not taxing in that it won’t take very much time nor effort, but you might wish you didn’t have to do it, so it could be considered an unfair demand.”

“I see,” you said warily, knowing that anything more might be seen as agreement to an unknown decision.

“I want to send out an expedition!” he said.

“An expedition? Of what sort?” you said.

“To find a mate for Bosco, or, if not a mate, then a member of his own species who can be his friend. Imagine if you were stuck in a palace and only had beings entirely unlike you as company!” he said.

“It’s funny, actually, because I don’t really have to imagine…” you said under your breath.

“What?” Kuei said. You shook your head.

“Nothing,” you said.

“Anyways, that’s Bosco’s reality! Don’t you pity him? He must be so isolated and depressed,” he said.

If you did not know him so well, you would’ve thought he was doing it on purpose, but Kuei was so guileless that the only explanation was obliviousness to the extent that it could breed such irony.

“I’m sure it’s like that,” you said.

“That’s why I want to try and find another bear,” he said.

“I thought he was the only one to exist in the world?” you reminded him. Kuei had the nerve to roll his eyes at you.

“Do you think he just sprang from the ground like a tree? He must’ve had parents, which implies a larger population exists somewhere, even if it is a place we have not yet thought to look. Besides, the stories of Quynh must be rooted in some fact, so there is further proof that others exist,” he said.

“How many times must I tell you? The story of Quynh is not a story but the truth!” you said.

“You can say it as many times as you please,” Kuei said. “I know you particularly enjoy the sound of your voice, and I would do anything for you, you know, which includes allowing you to preach at me so that you may listen to yourself speak. If that comes in the form of sermons on Quynh and her nature, then I suppose it is just the kind of sacrifice that an elder brother must make.”

“You know what?” you said. “You’re the one who supposedly needs my help, so you ought not to be insulting me! What if I say no now?”

“You don’t even know what I’m asking you yet!” he said.

“Perhaps not, but please note that your chances of being rejected have increased exponentially,” you said. Kuei scoffed.

“I need someone else to sign the promissory note,” he said. “The Minister of the Treasury refuses to lend to me anymore.”

“Why would you need to take out a loan for something like that?” you said. “We have more than enough money in our family vaults to fund an expedition of that nature, even if I think it’s something of a waste of money.”

“We’re not allowed to access them,” Kuei said. This was news to you; after all, you had never really had much cause to inspect the family vaults, so you had not even known that you were denied the wealth of your ancestors. “Long Feng says we aren’t responsible enough to handle that much money yet.”

“So you’ve been funding your errands and expeditions with promissory notes?” you said.

“Yes,” Kuei said.

“Have you paid any back?” you said. He shook his head.

“No, we can’t visit the treasury, remember?” he said. “What money would I pay them back with?”

You fought back the urge to scream at him, forcing yourself to take deep breaths in the pursuit of calming down.

“Well, your salary, for one,” you said. “Even I’m paid some amount, just for being the princess, and you’re the king, so you should be getting more.”

“It’s nowhere near enough,” he said.

“Kuei,” you said through gritted teeth. “How much debt is the crown in?”

“Um…” he looked at Bosco nervously, like he was searching for a protector. The bear did not so much as blink at him; you wondered how your brother felt, knowing that the creature he had spent so much money on had such a lackadaisical reaction to his distress. “Perhaps it’s better if you don’t know, Y/N.”

“Yet you want me to sign a promissory note on your behalf?” you said. “Without even knowing how much debt our family is in, you want me to put us into more?”

“Long Feng said it’s alright,” Kuei said. “In fact, he was the one who suggested I ask you.”

“Does he have a plan for paying it back?” you said. Long Feng was Kuei’s most trusted advisor, and though you chafed against the tight leash he kept on you, you had to admit that he had done what he could to ensure the kingdom’s safety, even through Kuei’s ineptitude.

“Actually, he does,” Kuei said. “We’re going to implement a tourism tax. In recent years, the number of visitors to Ba Sing Se has skyrocketed; by levying a tax on those individuals as they enter the city, we’ll easily generate enough revenue to get rid of our debt entirely!”

It was a sound idea, but you were still, for some reason, uneasy about it. You couldn’t place your finger on why, but there was something holding you back from just agreeing as you normally would’ve.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. Not yet,” you said. “How about we strike a deal? Once the existing debt has been paid off, I will agree to sign a new promissory note.”

“But Y/N!” he whined.

“It’s the best you’ll get out of me,” you said. “Either agree to abide by those rules or get someone else to take on the responsibility.”

Stubbornness was a family trait; you both possessed it in equal measure, which was why he knew that you were not fibbing. He jutted his chin out in defiance, but it was in the way of an obstinate child forced to acquiesce.

“Very well,” he said. “The debt will be gone within days! I will tell Long Feng to raise the tax. If people can afford to travel here, then they certainly have the coins to spare.”

“If that’s what you think is best,” you said. “As for me, I’ll be off.”

“Back to your room already?” Kuei said. “What do you even do in there nowadays?”

“The same as usual,” you said. “Read. Study. I must be as well-educated as possible, in all aspects, so I learn of history, and etiquette, and politics, and the fine arts, and other such subjects.”

“Are you off to read or to study, then?” he said.

“I’m reading,” you said. “Seven Soldiers of Agni, to be precise.”

“Didn’t you read that years ago?” Kuei said. “I remember you talking about it back then.”

“Yes, but I just — um, I just happened to see it on my bookshelf, which made me recall how much I adored it, so I’ve been rereading it,” you said. You could hardly tell Kuei the real reason why you were rereading Seven Soldiers of Agni: because Lee had told you to.

Seven Soldiers of Agni was, in your opinion, a far better story than The Mask of the Blue Spirit. You had to give Lee this much; besides his opinions on the ending of The Mask of the Blue Spirit, he had good taste in literature. You had been enjoying immersing yourself in the world of the seven Fire Nation ex-elites, who had each been sent out on personal quests by their Fire Lord in wake of an embarrassing defeat in battle, so that they could regain their honors and their statuses as Soldiers of Agni.

The passageway Quynh opened for you seemed short this time. Or maybe it was that you were rushing — meeting Kuei had taken longer than you had hoped it would, and if you were not quick enough, you’d miss the lighting of the lanterns that you had promised the Blue Spirit you’d be present to see.

Luckily, the spirit realm was on your side today. The door opened directly in front of the fountain, and you stumbled out of it in relief, nearly tripping over the uneven cobblestones of the plaza as you did so. Pressing your cool hands to your cheeks, which were warmed from the exertion of running through the passageway, you took a deep breath to settle your racing heart.

Scanning the vicinity, you saw nothing but the men lighting the lanterns with their stick-like torches. You should not have been disappointed by this, but you could not help yourself. There was no reason to imagine he’d even understood your cryptic words, but you had really been hoping he would’ve.

You sat on a nearby bench, watching as one by one, each lantern was lit. It was so unlike the eerie shine of Quynh’s Den; the crystals had a greenness to their glow, a cool toned lighting that washed everything in a ghostly tint. On the other hand, these lanterns were warm. The fires within them were gold and yellow and orange, benevolent in their hue, dancing cheerfully in the slight breeze of the evening. It made you wonder if the entire Fire Nation was composed entirely of people like this, people who were as bright and gentle as the element they lay claim to.

You didn’t know where he came from, but it remained that one moment, you were admiring the lanterns, and the next, you were turning to see the Blue Spirit sitting stiffly at your side, gloved hands clasped together, back straight as a pillar. And though you should’ve been startled, you could not help the smile from creeping over your face.

“Hello, Blue Spirit,” you said. “I thought you wouldn’t come. I’m sure you have more important things to do with your time.”

He shrugged.

“Well, if you’re anything like the man from the story, you’d be off saving the unfortunate,” you said. “Though I don’t know how many unfortunate there are in Ba Sing Se.”

He shook his head, though you weren’t sure which part, exactly, he was denying. But it mattered little; the end result was that he was there, sitting beside you, watching the reflections of the lanterns on the rippling water.

For a moment, you were both silent, and then slowly, carefully, as if you were entreating a wounded animal, you placed your hand atop his. His fingers twitched, but he did not pull away, only tilting his head to look at you quizzically. You did not move to interlock your fingers with his, simply letting your palm rest against the back of his hand like a whisper.

“Thank you,” you said, swallowing back your shyness in favor of honesty. “Thank you for coming. I don’t know who you are…but you really are someone admirable. I’m sure you have many better things to be doing, but yet you are here, with me. With a girl who does not even know what it means to have a person as a companion. I’m sure…I’m sure that I’m not the most entertaining person you could be spending your time with, yet you are spending it with me regardless.”

He raised his other hand and flicked you on the forehead. You scowled at him, but it was a weak expression of anger, barely able to disguise the rush of embarrassed pleasure you felt at the scolding form of acceptance.

“Do you truly mean that?” you said. It was definitely naive of you to assign such significance to a person you were only meeting for the third time now, a person who wore a mask and who never spoke, but you could not stop yourself from doing it. You could not stop yourself from wanting to know his answer.

A short, sharp nod. Your eyes widened, and you looked away, biting your lip, your shoulders drawing up to your ears as a way to shield yourself. You weren’t sure how to answer these things, how you were meant to react to them. The territory you were venturing into was entirely foreign, and you wanted to shy away as much as you went to leap into it headfirst.

Abruptly, without warning, the Blue Spirit’s fingers were wrapping around your wrist and he was yanking you towards him. You yelped in surprise at the firmness of his grip, but he did not let you protest, using his arm to shield your head as a boulder came flying through the air, whistling past where you had just been sitting.

“No,” you whispered as you realized you had been found once again. It only took a cursory glance for you to realize that the Blue Spirit had foregone his swords, too, which meant that you were in more than a bit of trouble. “I didn’t think they would be so daring as to attack me in the middle of — oh!”

The Blue Spirit pulled you after him at such a speed that you were breathless as you tried to keep up. Fisting the fabric of your skirt in one hand, you left the other limp in the air, its wrist still held fast by the Blue Spirit, who used it to guide you along behind him.

He knew the alleyways so well that he did not even hesitate as he charged along them, knowing intuitively where to step, where to leap slightly so that his feet did not catch, and though you did not possess this kind of knowledge, his own experience applied to you. You did not think about where you were going nor what you were doing; instead, you just followed after the Blue Spirit, trusting him blindly, without even the time to question if it was the right choice or not.

You were being chased. You could hear him behind you, the bricks of the road rising up to assault you as you went, and it was only thanks to the Blue Spirit’s dexterity that you were able to avoid the attacks. It was the same person as the night you had met the Blue Spirit, you were certain of it, which meant that he knew who you were, that this was even more targeted than you had previously understood.

“I don’t understand it!” you panted out as you barreled into yet another narrow alleyway. “I don’t understand why he’s out for my blood like this! How can I have enemies when I haven’t even left the palace before?”

The Blue Spirit did not respond, rounding a corner and then pausing before using a flower pot to boost himself and, consequently, you, onto the roof of a nearby shop. Hooking his hands under your arms to drag you up with him, he held a finger to his lips.

Your head spun as you realized how high you were, how precarious your perch was. The two of you were balancing on the peak of the roof, which was hardly wide enough for your two feet to remain side-by-side. You wobbled with uncertainty, but the Blue Spirit had not yet let go of you, and at the unsure movement, he only held on tighter.

“Where are they?” the voice of the man trying to kill you said as he rounded the same corner you had just crossed. “Princess Y/N and that defender of hers!”

You couldn’t tell who he was talking to, as by all accounts he seemed to be alone. Still, he did not continue running, skidding to a stop and inspecting the area. It was only a matter of time before he’d reach the natural conclusion and look up, but before that could happen, the Blue Spirit was once again taking a hold of your wrist and then running along the ridge, pulling you along with him, though in your right mind you’d never do anything so dangerous.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you said as you both reached the end of the roof and it became evident what he was implying you had to do next. “Blue Spirit, did you hear me? I’m not the kind of person that does these things!”

The force of his eye roll could be felt even through his mask. To be sure, it was rather a silly concern — it was either jumping or giving yourself up to a certain death at the hands of your assailants. Still, though, you thought that you rather preferred your chances with the assassins. There was a chance they’d be merciful when killing you, and certainly they’d be more merciful than the ground by far.

But the Blue Spirit did not give you the chance to think about it. Actually, he did not give you a chance to do anything, jumping first, his momentum hauling you along with him. He had the good sense to catch you and stabilize you via his hands on your shoulders, allowing you a precious moment to breathe before you were off again, flitting from rooftop to rooftop in the same manner, as if you two were simply small birds playing in the night.

Only once you had been going for an impossibly long time did he slow his relentless pace and then finally cease it altogether. Helping you down to the ground, he allowed you to lean on him as you gasped for air.

“You are very reckless,” you said. “But that recklessness has saved my life, so I shall not reprimand you for it. Anyways, I suppose I owe you an explanation, considering this is the second time you’ve had to rescue me from that man.”

The Blue Spirit nodded. You took another second to calm your mind and your nerves, sighing when your heart continued its frantic beating and your chest remained tight. But at least you could speak normally now, so, gathering your wits about you, you straightened in order to stand of your own volition instead of his generosity.

“My father was killed by an Earthbending assassin shortly before I was born, as I’m sure you know — it’s not exactly some great secret, considering it happened in the city and not the palace. Although I have no reason to believe it, I cannot help but think that these recent attempts on my own life are somehow related to that incident,” you said.

You weren’t sure if that illuminated anything, but the Blue Spirit did not seem confused. Still, you felt like you had to explain further, perhaps defend your family’s name — or, at least, your own.

“I’m not sure what the reasoning is,” you said. “Nor how he and his accomplices know the truth of my identity. What good would come about from killing me? But they seem set upon it. Perhaps it is because I am the only one of my family who they have a chance at reaching. Kuei is ever safe in the palace, so it could be that they are simply capitalizing on an opportunity. It doesn’t answer the question of how they know who I am, though…”

You trailed off, lost in thought, and it was only then that you became aware of an awful, droning din that had been in the background while you were talking but now grew forefront in the absence of conversation. Tapping the Blue Spirit on the shoulder, you made a general motion in the direction of the noise.

“Wherever have we ended up, anyways? Do you know what that sound is?” you said.

Another nod of affirmation. You waited for him to, in his own way, elaborate, but he did not move. It was as if he was embarrassed or ashamed or frightened — something along those lines.

“You do not wish for me to know what it is?” you said.

He shook his head. You furrowed your brow.

“You think I will not like what I find? But it is my own city. Should I not, then, know? Whether good or bad, I ought to be aware of these things,” you said.

Glancing around cagily for a minute, he finally, reluctantly extended his hand to you. There were no words required for you to understand what he meant: it was your decision. Whatever you saw, it was your choice to see it.

You did not run this time. You slunk around, snakes instead of birds, ghosts through the city that were not being pursued but were instead the ones in pursuit, seeking something out that, according to the Blue Spirit, was better off not sought in the first place.

It was an archway. Members of the Royal Army stood in front of it, their faces and postures unyielding, their ranks only breaking to allow people in occasionally before immediately reforming into an impenetrable wall. They were silent, though; the source of the clamor was the mass of people on the other side of them.

“What is going on here?” you said, though this was a problem that was beyond the scale of the Blue Spirit’s hand gestures. “You there. What is the situation? Why are these people in such distress?”

“You don’t know?” said the man you had addressed. He was standing behind a stone counter, sorting change into neat piles, but at your voice, he glanced up at you. “Well, it’s a new policy, so it’s no surprise.”

“What new policy?” you said.

“That tourism tax,” the man said, voice dripping with acidic sarcasm. “Most of these tourists can’t afford to pay it, you know. Damn Earth King. Who cares about that bear of his when his own subjects are like this? Though you didn’t hear that from me, missy.”

Long Feng had always told you that tourists were wealthy people who came to Ba Sing Se for fashion. You had imagined them to be dripping in lush fabrics and glimmering jewels, arriving in carriages drawn by only the finest of steeds or palanquins carried by only the strongest of men. When Kuei had told you that there was another tourism tax to be implemented, you had not rallied against it, for in your mind, tourists were people who could drop thirty gold coins and not feel a difference in the weight of their purses.

That is to say, when you imagined tourists, you, in a way, imagined yourself. Yourself, if only you were free from the palace. Yourself, if you could visit Ba Sing Se with your own identity instead of in the guise of a commoner, sneaking through Quynh’s doors. But these people did not resemble that image at all. These people were nothing like you.

Their clothes were worn and old, their shoes ragged — if they were so fortunate as to have shoes at all. Most were barefoot, their heels cracked and bleeding, their nails jagged and peeling. Dust and sweat caked on their faces and sank into the lines of their weathered expressions, and there was a wild desperation to the way they clawed at one another, cupped their hands together, begged and begged to be allowed entrance to the great city.

One man was limping; the flesh of his right leg was the bubbling pink and yellow of a burn wound, though a purplish-black infection stained the edges. A young girl was trying in vain to help him walk, but the others paid him no mind as they surged forward, pleading with the soldiers, who remained steadfast in their refusal.

“Please!” a woman shouted, baby in her arms. “Take my child! For — for any amount of money, take my child!”

“Is she selling her baby?” you said in horror, clenching the Blue Spirit’s hand so hard that, were he not wearing gloves, he’d surely be scarred with the imprint of your nails. The man behind the counter shook his head.

“She’s offering to pay someone to take him with them, if they have enough to pay the tax to enter the city,” he said. “Any amount of money. She’ll sell herself, if that’s what it takes, just as long as her child makes it into Ba Sing Se.”

“Why won’t they let them in?” you said. “That man, he will lose his leg if he does not get medical attention immediately! And the child…it needs food. Malnutrition will stunt its growth, if it can even survive those conditions.”

“Ask his royal majesty,” the man scoffed. “He’s gone and raised the entrance fee again, apparently so that he can fund more expeditions to find a friend for that beast of his. No one can afford it, at least not the people at this gate. It’s not a problem at the monorail station or the other gates, where the wealthier refugees arrive, but at places like this, it’s causing issues.”

“Refugees?” you said. “But what cause do they have to seek refuge?”

The man paled, looking around nervously and then shaking his head.

“Of course, nothing,” he said. “They’re just tourists.”

“But you said—” you began, though you were cut off by the man wagging his finger at you.

“I don’t want to end up in a bad way with the Dai Li, do you hear me? I didn’t say anything! If you’re not here to gawk at their troubles, then what business do you have here?” he said.

“I — I suppose that I don’t have any,” you said.

“Then best be off before something happens,” he said. “They look about ready to revolt, and if it comes to that, then you’re right in the line of fire — I mean, boulders! Boulders. Nothing to do with fire.”

Based on the set of the Blue Spirit’s shoulders, he wanted to take the man’s recommendation. This wasn’t any kind of place for someone like you, after all, someone so sheltered and looked after. How could you, who had never wanted for anything, empathize with these people who had lost everything? How could you, who lived in a palace, understand the pain of those who had no homes at all? It was futile. You were Princess Y/N. You were — you were —

“You’re just gonna stand there?” the man said. “Make up your mind, and hurry up with it! Things are getting messy already, and you’re just dithering about! Seriously, you’re about as useful as that glass princess.”

“Glass princess?” you said. The man snorted, and that was when the Blue Spirit tugged on your hand in earnest, but you planted your feet against him. This was something you wanted to know.

“Have you been living in a cave your entire life?” he said. “Yes, the Glass Princess. The Earth King’s dearly beloved sister, who is too delicate for this world. Not a soul alive has seen her. It’s like she’s made of glass or something — hence, you know, why everyone calls her that. Really, it’s hard to tell which one is more contemptible between the two. One sibling who makes his subjects’ lives harder and the other who sits by and watches it happen. Just as long as she is comfortable. Just as long as her own life is not impacted. She’d watch everyone suffer, I’d wager, just as long as she could keep wearing her pretty dresses and fancy jewels.”

“Is that what they think of — of her?” you said. The man shoved his fist in his mouth and shook his head rapidly, eyes widening with panic.

“Of course not,” he said. “All hail the royal family! Please, beautiful, generous, kind-hearted miss, do not report me for treason. Please, I have children!”

You paid no attention to his fervent declarations of loyalty, gazing out at the crowd. These people hated you. It was not your differences which formed the chasm between you and them; it was that they genuinely despised you. You were the princess made of glass, the one who cared not for her subjects, the one who knew nothing about their plight and had no desire to learn, either. That was what they thought of you. That was who you were to them.

The man’s leg gave out, the girl falling to her knees and shielding him with her body from the trampling feet of the crowd. The woman’s cries grew louder, the baby’s body rattling periodically with coughs, but still no one took it from her arms, because no one could afford it. No one could gain entrance to Ba Sing Se, let alone with a child in tow, so why would they take her up on the offer?

“Guards!” you shouted, wrenching free from the Blue Spirit and storming towards the line of men. “I demand you let these people in at once!”

“Who are you to give such a command?” one of the guards said. He wore a captain’s uniform, but he was still young, fresh-faced. He must’ve been newly promoted. It explained why he was so set on following protocol, at any rate.

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” you said, and then you took out the money you had thought you would give to the Blue Spirit last night. “This will be enough. This will be enough to let anyone through this gate. Until they stop coming, they will be allowed in, at my expense. You shan’t charge them even a copper!”

The captain made to argue, but then he opened the bag and his jaw dropped. You glared at him with your hands on your hips as he slowly closed it and bowed at you.

“As you say, lady,” he said. “Let them in!”

The guards parted, and the crowd rushed in, like they did not believe the good fortune would last and they had to capitalize on it while they could. It was only the quick reaction of the Blue Spirit pulling you to safety that you were not bowled over, and you patted him on the arm in thanks.

“We should go,” you said. “What I’ve just done is bound to raise suspicion. Very few people have access to the kind of money I’ve just thrown at them, and there will be investigations soon, I have no doubt. It will be better if we are not caught at the scene by those who have questions they need answered. Not if I ever want to return to the city again.”

The two of you vanished just in time. When the Dai Li agents arrived to question the captain you had paid, he could only point to the darkness and say that the benefactor had disappeared, that the girl and her blue-masked companion must’ve been nothing more than a pair of spirits, perhaps sent by the long-absent Quynh for the good of her former kingdom.

taglist (comment/send an ask/dm to be added): @rinisfruity14 @c4ttheart @blacky-rose @shizko @marsbars09 @happyplaidpersonfestival @catborglar @camilleverreault @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog

[adhdzagreus]

curtain call

The Mechanisms are uncharacteristically quiet as they walk off the stage. Even Jonny doesn’t know what to say as the remaining eight space pirates file into the dressing room of the venue they booked for their last ever show on Earth. 

The first one to break the silence is the Toy Soldier who sniffles, gasps tremulously, and then wails, “Is all that really going to happen? With the—the black holes and the bar fights and the octokittens and everything?” 

Jonny stifles a groan. This is exactly why he’d locked it out in the first place. What’s going to happen is what’s going to happen, and they all might as well accept it. 

To make matters worse, the Toy Soldier’s sniffling has set off some of the more sensitive Mechanisms. Ivy pats it on the shoulder with a forlorn look, eyes glassy with unshed tears, and Marius’ fragile expression suggests that if Ivy starts crying, he’ll follow suit. 

Tim has his arm around Ashes’ waist, as if worried they might disappear, and though his metal eyes betray no sadness, the firm set of his mouth worries Jonny more than anything else. 

“The odds of us changing the future now that it’s been written are over three hundred million to one,” Ivy says sadly. “It’s statistically impossible that we will live forever.” 

“B-b-but we have so many more songs left to sing!” the Toy Soldier weeps. “Tales to tell! Wars to wage!” 

“And we will,” Jonny says shortly. “None of us are instantly about to keel over, are we?” 

“N-no?” the Toy Soldier says. 

“Everyone seems in decent health to me,” Marius says quietly. He holds Ivy’s hand in both of his. 

“So don’t worry about it,” Jonny says. 

“That’s easy for you to say,” Marius says. “You’re not dying for another millennia. I could get eaten by octokittens tomorrow.” 

Jonny’s stomach twists, and he wrenches his mouth open to retort, but someone interrupts him. 

“No,” Raphaella says sharply. “You will not. We know for a fact that we each die alone. I’m not letting you out of my sight, and you’re certainly not going to check on the octokittens any time soon. I’m planning to have Ivy feed them when we arrive back at the ship.” 

“It’s not the same now that I know they eat Marius,” Ivy sniffles. 

Marius’s expression shatters. “Don’t hold it against them, Ivy! They’re just hungry! They can’t help it! Don’t be sad!” he pleads. 

Jonny feels sick as Ivy starts to cry harder, expounding on the hunting habits of felines, which only makes Marius more upset. He throws himself into a chair and starts taking his makeup off with a wet wipe, trying and failing to ignore them as Raphaella attempts to comfort them both. 

“You’re being awfully callous about all this,” Tim says, still with one arm around a stony-faced Ashes. Brian and the Toy Soldier have joined the fray, and Brian’s platitudes about everything coming to an end in time are almost as unhelpful as the Toy Soldier’s weeping and wailing. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jonny snaps.

“Well, you could at least pretend to be sad like the rest of us,” Tim says. “I know you’re all excited to die, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us are.” 

“God damn it, Tim,” Jonny snaps, throwing the wet wipe on the floor. “You think I’m not sad?” 

“You’re not acting like it,” Tim replies. “Marius had a point. You’ve got a run-up and a death you’re looking forward to. Ashes here could go at any time.”

“Hey, babe, don’t bring me into this,” Ashes mumbles. 

“Am I wrong?” Tim says. 

“Yeah, you fucking are wrong!” Jonny shouts. “You think I want to die alone in some backwater asteroid bar centuries after the rest of you are gone? Yeah, I’m excited to die, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch the rest of you disappear first!” 

The rest of the dressing room falls quiet, and Jonny realizes belatedly that he was shouting. Worse, he feels tears in his eyes, and he scrubs at them angrily, smearing the remains of his face paint. 

“Oh,” Gunpowder Tim says. “I guess I didn’t think about that.” 

“You choose how you go out,” Jonny says. “I have to wait until it finally decides to fucking stick. You know how many times I’ve been stabbed in the heart? I could go start a barfight on an asteroid tomorrow, but I guarantee it won’t stick.”

“All the same,” Tim says quietly. “I’d prefer you didn’t risk it.” 

“And I’d prefer you wore your fucking seatbelt, but we don’t get to choose, now do we?” Jonny says. 

Tim flinches, and Ashes frowns at Jonny who takes a deep, shuddering breath. 

“I—I mean. I don’t want you to die either,” he says. “But we have to die s-sooner or later. And I don’t want to waste whatever time we have left crying about it.” 

Despite this, tears are dripping from his eyes as he speaks, flowing faster than he can scrub them away. No one says another for a long moment, but he feels the eyes of several of his crewmates on him. 

“C’mere, you mean ol’ bastard,” Ashes says. They spread the arm not curled around Tim’s waist and gesture for him to approach. 

“What?” Jonny says, standing up and shuffling closer. 

Ashes crushes him to their chest in a one-armed hug, and Jonny breaks and grabs both Ashes and Tim as best he can. Before he can recover, he feels someone else wrap their arms around him from behind, and before he can protest, he’s at the center of a tangled mass of weeping space pirates—colloquially known as a group hug. 

It’s awkward with so much metal and wood and weapons, but Jonny can’t even pretend to be annoyed by it. He’s too focused on not breaking down into sobs. He’ll be damned if he lets his crew see him cry anymore than they already have. 

“I love you all very much,” the Toy Soldier says happily. “Best space pirate crew ever.” 

Jonny rolls his eyes and sobs silently. Hopefully, buried as he is in a mass of bodies, no one will notice. 

“Well, now that that’s been dealt with,” DrumBot Brian says, “I would like to return to the Aurora. I am concerned our parking pass has expired.” 

Jonny sighs. “Fine, but you stay away from the damn airlock.”

“Your concern is touching and noted,” says the DrumBot. 

The Mechanisms disperse and hurriedly gather up their things. Jonny lovingly coils up his microphone and tucks it safely away, and the band of space pirates begin to make their way back to the Aurora and off to destinations unknown. 

[yesandpeeps]

Ghoul field notes: Grave digging.

Once again bringing up one of the definitions of Ghoul: “an evil spirit or phantom, especially one supposed to rob and feed on dead bodies.”

Less hunters, more scavengers.* They’re grave robbers, and I think free roaming ghouls would have certain vocalizations to steer prying eyes away from their meal. Packs don’t need to worry about this as much, as there’s safety in numbers.

They sob, they wail as they dig. To cover up the sounds of dirt, wood, and stone being displaced. If you hear anguished crying in a graveyard, it’s best not to disturb the mourning, right? It’s still a slightly inhuman noise, so if respect doesn’t keep unwanted visitors away, the distorted mix of weeping and hyena-like laughter should.

*Scavengers imply the existence of a main predator, not sure what yet. Maybe Death itself.

[atopvisenyashill]

aegon executing essie and sylvenna is worse than anything rhaenyra has done.

im joking but im also not. that part made me ridiculously upset, even after all the atrocities that happened during the dance and you're one of the 5 people who might understand lmao.

aksjd YOU’RE VALID ANON!!

The young monarch, who had celebrated his fifth nameday only two days previous, was carried back to the Red Keep slung over the back of a horse, chained and weeping. His mother walked behind him, clutching the hand of the Dornishwoman Sylvenna Sand…

His mother, Essie, who had presumed to style herself Lady Esselyn during her son's brief reign, confessed under torture that Gaemon's father was not the king, as she had previously claimed, but rather a silver-haired oarsman off a trading galley from Lys. Being lowborn and unworthy of the sword, Essie and the Dornish whore Sylvenna Sand were hanged from the battlements of the Red Keep, together…

It’s just as bad as Blood & Cheese for me because the cruelty here is the point, just like B&C. Chaining a sobbing five year old up to death march him and his moms to be tortured, and then hanging them instead of beheading them because they’re “unworthy” of the sword so they get a slow death choking to death in front of each other. It’s meant to bring them low, to put them in their place, to build a wall between Essie & Sylvie and the noble class. It’s unsettling I think in part because of the focus on the trio as a family unit, and the “queerness” of it. We get several comments in TWOIAF and F&B bringing focus to how weird they are, how radical, and to have that little spark so brutally snuffed out. It really hurts!!

It’s a wildly unnecessary move too - I whack Jaehaerys constantly but when given the choice to take revenge or heal the kingdom after maegor’s reign, he explicitly chooses healing! he only executes those who tortured his brother, tyanna, and the kingsguard who refused to take the black! he very specifically reconciles with the faith & the warrior’s son by asking them to join him because their crime was attempting to take power in a power vacuum left by the failings of the crown. that’s exactly what sylvie & essie do! but aegon retakes the capital and refuses to heal the damage he and rhaenyra did - instead he makes it worse, turning the violence that had been used on him onto the people who stepped up where he failed AND all this after it was the greens who initially started locking the population of KL into the city like cattle to a slaughter. No way out, no king or queen around, and no blood on Sylvie or Essie’s hands but it doesn’t matter; because they’re lowborn, they deserve to die. To choke to death in front of each other, their weeping wailing son ripped away and made to serve the family who murdered his mothers. To remind him always that he is worth less, that his mothers are lower than shit in the sewer. Unendingly tragic, and so completely avoidable, but again - the evil of it is the reason it’s done.

[theheartwhumpswhatitwhumps]

Whumper comforting Whumpee

Whumper shushing Whumpee while they sob

Whumpee rejecting their touch, disgusted that this monster is holding them, being gentle with them, soothing them

Whumpee trying to pull away because even in their weeping delirium, they know they don’t want to be anywhere near Whumper

Whumper pulling them in close, locking Whumpee in strong arms like bars on a cage. Confining, but safe

Whumpee is too weak to pull away. Whumpee…Whumpee doesn’t want to pull away. They’re so afraid, they hurt so much, that any soft touch feels like Heaven

Whumpee crying even harder as they finally concede, leaning deeper into Whumper’s touch

Whumper stroking Whumpee’s hair, smiling in quiet victory

Some Whumper dialogue:

“Shhh, there there…”

“Oh, darling, I know.”

“Let it out, it’s alright.”

“Now now, no need to make a fuss.”

“It’s over now.”

“I’m here.”

Some Whumpee dialogue:

(between hiccups) “Get off. Get off me.”

“Don’t touch, don’t you dare.”

*uncontrolled sobbing*

*screaming into Whumper’s chest/shoulder*

“It h-hurts…”

“I’m sorry.”

“They’re gone”

(lost within mournful wailing) “It’s my fault. My fault.”

[finemealcreates]

Time to Go

Dark cloth brushed against the rumble that litters the ground, the hooded figure taking careful steps as he makes his way towards the group. 

All around there are several strangely dressed people, different amounts of injured and grimey. Tears are in their eyes as they all look at the man Danny is here for. 

“Tony, look at me,” a blond woman manages out, tears in her voice and eyes. Her hand cradles his face, as she manages a warbly smile. “We’re gonna be okay,” she assures, the man managing a slight smile as their eyes meet. “You can rest now.”

Evidently that was all the man needed. Permission to stop hanging on. So he doesn’t.

Danny pays no mind to the mourning souls that surround the man, crying and getting on their knees in respect of him. 

Instead, he focuses on the newly deceased soul that is standing above his own body, watching it all. 

He stands next to him, letting the man take a moment to process what just happened. 

“I … died,” the man says. 

“You did,” Danny replies, even though he’s certain the other man did not need his response.

“And you’re … who? The grim reaper?” the man asks, turning to look at Danny skeptically. 

Danny doesn’t fault him for that, after all he is dressed in a robed cloak and has a scythe in hand. 

Still, he laughs kindly in response. 

“No, no I do not hold that title personally,” Danny answers, amusement coloring his voice. 

“Then, why …” the man trails off, the question hanging in the air. 

“Your soul will cross to your after life with or without my interference,” Danny replies. “I am here because I know what it is like to die as a hero, and have no one there on the other side for you.”

The man doesn’t say anything, watching as the woman who spoke to him earlier begins to sob openly. Her ability to not be overcome by her grief is gone as she clings to the man’s corpse. The sounds that she makes is all too similar to Danny’s wail, and although she is not a ghost the effect is no less impactful. 

Everyone around her goes to her, holding her as she sobs, weeping, saying she wished he didn’t have to go. The heroes around the woman cry with her. 

Being surrounded by grief and death so often, Danny is not as moved by the scene as he would have been. This is normal. It’s part of the living’s grieving process. They’ll mourn, they’ll be in a state for as long as they need. 

Most will come out of it, keep going, determined to keep their legacy going. Some will never move on, will never recover. In the end it will not change anything. The person never comes back … well, they usually don't come back. Danny doubts that this man will be the exception.

Yet, this man is not used to being around such a scene, and he begins to cry as well, falling to his knees as he reaches a hand out to the woman. Danny can tell he wants to soothe her, stop her tears. Take the pain away. 

He can’t. He can’t take the pain away. And he won’t see her until her time is up too. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he cries as his hand goes through her shoulder, tears falling down his translucent face. “I had to do it. To protect what we had. I hope you know that. I hope Morgan knows that.”

Danny stands there, waiting for the man to mourn and grieve the life he had. To mourn the life he wouldn’t get to live. 

The man sits there for a while, crying with his partner. He only stops when the heroes help the woman to her feet, leading her away. They’ve already closed the corpse's eyes, but they wait for the woman to be a ways away before a couple of them pick him up. 

“We’ll make sure everyone knows the hero you were, Tony,” the man in red and blue says, a broken shield on his back. “And I’m sorry. I was wrong. You were the type to make the sacrifice play.”

The soul smiles softly at the man, tears in his eyes. 

“We were both wrong about each other, Rogers. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” 

Then they’re gone. They take the soul’s body with them, departing the scene.

Grief hangs heavy in the air, heavy on Danny’s tongue. He allows himself to feel a little sad for all this man has lost. It is always a tragedy when a life goes, even if it’s inevitable. If life and death will always be inevitable. 

Yet, he still extends a hand out to the man in front of him. 

“It’s time to go.” 

The man turns towards Danny, sadness in every part of himself. 

“What if I don’t go? What if I stay here?” the man questions, turning back to look out where his loved ones left. 

“Then you’d become a ghost,” Danny answers honestly, hand still outstretched. “You’d watch your loved ones grow, love, lose, eventually die.” 

“Well that doesn’t sound so bad,” the man states, body tensing slightly as he meets Danny’s eyes. Like he knows there’s a but coming. 

“If you become a ghost, you cannot follow them into the final resting place,” Danny informs him. “You’ll lose bits and pieces of yourself as you are stuck in the in-between. You’ll form an obsession. It will drive every decision you make. You may even end up becoming someone you no longer recognize.” 

The man lets out a deep breath, chest heaving slightly. 

“Are you a ghost?” 

Danny nods. “I am.” 

“So, what happened to you? What’s your obsession?” the man questions, eyes racking over Danny’s form. 

Danny resists the urge to lash out at the lack of tact. Asking a ghost such things is taboo, but the newer souls don’t know. They don’t understand. So he’ll forgive him, this time. 

“I died due to an electric failure. I came back … incomplete,” Danny answers honestly. “My obsession is to help others. Protect them, aid them on their journey, whatever those who are in need of me require me to do to aid them.” 

“And are you someone you no longer recognize?” the man asks, eyes darting over Danny’s shadowed face. 

“I am no longer the person I was. I am no one I thought I would be. But I am content. This is my after-life. I do not regret who I have become,” Danny replies. 

“That’s not really an answer to my question,” the man points out. 

“It’s the only answer I have for you,” Danny says.

Then, he pushes his hand out further, silently asking the other man to take it. 

“Will it hurt?” the man asks, hand hovering over Danny’s outstretched one. 

“I do not know. I have never been.” 

The man chuckles wetly at that, but grabs Danny’s hand. 

“Thank you,” the man whispers kindly to Danny. 

Everything goes white for a moment. Then the man is gone, and Danny is alone yet again.

[versegm]

Mash digs the grave herself. 

The soil is too hard for any of the staff to lend a hand. With the contract broken, Mash doesn’t have any more strength than the average human either, but what she lacks in power she makes up with stubbornness. The result is a shallow, dirty mess, which will surely be unearthed after the first rain. But this is the only thing she can give. 

She wants to lower the body too, but the effort of digging took too much out of her. The Chaldea staff does it in her stead. Meunière spreads a blanket over the trunk, hiding most of the injuries. Like this, it almost looks like Senpai is sleeping.

For a moment, there is nothing but silence. No one wants to be the first one to speak.

Eventually, Director Goredolf steps forward. “I… know I have not known the Master of Chaldea for long, compared to some of you. But they were still- very influential to me. I owe them my life, multiple times over.” Mash remembers- the first time he stepped into Chaldea. The arrogance and disdain dripping off his every word. There is none of that right now. He looks down at the corpse, pain all over his features. 

“We disagreed on many things.” The New Director continues. “But they were- truly, one of the bravest, one of the strongest, one of- of the kindest people I have ever met. They were… a splendid human.”

Yes. Senpai… was a human. Despite what anyone might think, mage or demon pillar or servant- they were a human. Just a simple, ordinary human.

And ordinary humans die when they are killed.

“Senpai was…” What can she even say here? How can one summarize an entire life, and entire relationship, in a handful of words? Nothing she can could possibly be enough. Nothing she can say can possibly give them justice. “They were… my first friend. My best friend. They were… they were everything to me.”

And now they’re gone.

She had lost the doctor. She had lost Da Vinci. Through everything, through everything- they had been the one person she could always lean on.

And now she is the last one. 

“I…” Her voice cracks, then. Her whole body seizes, overtaken by grief, and she hiccups a sob.

It’s like a dam has broken. One by one, the people around the grave start weeping as well. Director Goredolf stands quietly, tears streaming down his face. Meunière wails, a profound, broken sound from the depth of his soul. Sion closes her eyes, huffs, then punches a nearby tree.

“Damn it,” she hisses, “damn it all!”

So, this is it. This is the end. Without anyone with Master affinities, they’re all doomed. Without servants, none of them have the firepower to survive this.

Still, they have to try. To honor their sacrifice, if nothing else-

“Oh thank god I found you guys in time.”

The entirety of the Chaldea crew turns at the same time, facing the voice. The sight renders Mash speechless.

Senpai stands among the bushes, well and alive, while their corpse lies barely a few feet away.

Their gaze goes from Mash, to the grave, to Mash again. “Ah. This is. Really awkward.” 

“You-”

Mash doesn’t know who spoke up, and she doesn’t care. Senpai jumps into the clearing, hurrying towards them. “Look, I’m really, really sorry, but I’m kind of on a time limit here. I give it maaaybe two hours until Benni-Enma tracks me down, three if I’m lucky and she fights the Wild Hunt on the way for custody over my soul. So. Uhm. Can I ask you guys to grieve me later? Please? We have to move now.”

“You are dead.” It’s Director Goredolf this time. He looks like he’s been hit by a truck. “You- you are dead. We buried you.”

“I know.” They smile at him, because why wouldn’t they? “But if you don’t move now, you all will die too. Please. I can’t help you guys as much as I used to. I don’t know how long it takes to crawl out of an underworld. We need to do as much as possible while I’m here.”

Mash recognizes that attitude. They’ve been like that for as long as Mash can remember. Always looking forward. Sometimes, it felt like if they paused for a second, if they looked back even once- they would die. Like a shark, at risk of drowning the second it stops moving. Sometimes, it felt like they were running at full speed, because the road beneath their feet was crumbling, and if they thought back on their losses, if they spent too long reminiscing, they would fall apart with it. Senpai is urging them all to do the same now- Eurydice begging Orpheus to leave her behind, to just move, move, move, crawl as far as they can, to keep their sorrow in until they’re safe to express it.

Mash hates it. She hates it like she has never hated anything before.

But they are running out of time.

She reaches out, grabs Senpai’s arm. She’s still crying, but she refuses to let the tears blurry her sight. “Lead the way, Senpai.”

[manicplank]

How would they react to having a REALLY bad day?

P.S ((i feel like pepperman would make heavily detailed vent art then wouldn’t tell anyone abt it and act like it never happened HELP,, LOVE your headcanons btw they’re so good!! :3))

- Pepperman Simp

Bad day headcanons!

Peppino: Might have a rage fit that ends with tears. He probably ends up sobbing his eyes out in private. Screaming in the walk-in cooler for sure. He doesn't really have good coping skills. At the most, he'll go home and go to bed.

Gustavo: Copes better than most people. Might cry a little bit. Probably goes home and takes a long hot bath, goes to bed early shortly after that. Might take Brick out for a ride or just snuggle up to him. Brick is a great emotional support rat.

Mr. Stick: Drinks. Not heavily, but gets a decent buzz. Not the best way to cope, but he's a high stress guy and doesn't know what to do with it.

Pepperman: I like your headcanon. He probably does a really detailed, angsty painting then DESTROYS it. He throws it, punches it, burns it. Cries afterwards.

The Vigilante: Also a drinker, but not heavy. Might have a couple whiskeys. Mostly sulks and gets pretty grumpy. Probably goes to the shooting range to blow off some steam.

The Noise: Chain smokes for sure. Gets super snippy. Sometimes gets drunk. Usually goes home and eventually sobs his eyes out after pouting for a bit. Or he goes into a fit of rage and destroys anything his path (usually on set, in The Pig City, or somewhere in the NTV building).

Noisette: Gets even meaner than The Noise. She is the definition of rage. Either that, or she cries. She will weep for hours. OR she treats herself. Probably buys herself a cake, takes a hot bath, paints her nails. It's a roll of the dice.

Fake Peppino: Cries, wails. He screams loud enough to be heard throughout the entire tower. Will destroy everything he can get his slimy little hands on.

Pizzahead: Another cryer. Probably cries into a pillow and kicks his legs like a little 12 year old in movies. Definitely a smoker but not to the same degree as The Noise. Or, much like Noisette, might pamper himself with an at home spa day. Maybe even a 24 hour nap.

Pillar John: Pretty much dissociates for a few hours. Spaces out and lets his mind go blank. Might take a looong nap. Not a big stress guy and usually decompresses easily.

Gerome: A big fan of long, hot baths. Will use up all the hot water in the tower and stays in there for hours. Another big napper. He'll probably get himself his comfort food.

[soapppp]

CW: ABO, extreme past sexual assault and abuse

Soap who assumes that Ghost is just like every other Alpha. He’s arrogant, rude, mocking, so why wouldn’t he be prejudice? What reason was there to assume that Ghost would revel in the idea of taking Soap with or without his choice? He makes fun of Soap for being short, for flirting with others, but the only good thing he does is what he doesn’t do, which is bring up sex in any way. Not heats or ruts, nothing. It’s one of the reason Soap Jose to actually get to know him, allowing his inner Omega to have a ally in him. But never would he trust Ghost with the vulnerability of a heat.

But, then they get stuck in a snow storm. The mission was simple and they’re safe in the well built cabin, but Ghost had expected to be home in time that he could take leave and suffer his rut in peace.

Soap wakes up in the middle of the night to see Ghost on the wall, panting as he holds himself up by his elbows. His mask is off, his shirt clawed open with a few drops of blood sounding like gunshots through the storm.

Soap picks up that Ghost is rutting instantly and feels dead in his spine, knowing the other will want anything he can fuck and that Soap is basically a neon sign in a desert to him. Soap is taking note of where his weapons are, making a plan to survive out in the storm and call for help when he hears it.

A loud, heartbreaking sob.

Ghost was crying. Worse, he was weeping like a child lost from his ma. His cries are deep and pitiful, full wails breaking out like screams and through it Soap can hear him pleading, saying things like,

“Please, stop, I don’t want it!”

“Don’t make me please!”

“Don’t touch me, not again!”

“Please, I want my ma…”

Soaps dread shifts to pure grief as he processes his words, releasing what had to have happened to his Lt.

Soap feels sick nonstop for the next few days as he helps Ghost into the only bedroom and routinely feeds and waters the broken man, listening to him sob without break. He tries hard not to cry when Ghost screams, loud and full of fear, whenever Soap accidentally touches him. He tries to smooth him with calming words, assuring him that Soap won’t make him do a thing and whispering promises of Simon’s Ma coming to see him soon.

Later, when Ghost explained how she had been killed but his rut makes him forget, Soap swears to protect him during his rut whenever he needs.

Not just for Simons sake, but his Ma as well.

[flyingwargle]

flufftober day 1: "i've got you." / fontaine siblings

lyney wakes to the sound of crying.

his ears are attuned to it. lynette, in the days after their parents’ deaths, would muffle her sobs, keep her cries quiet, so not to draw attention to herself. when they found themselves in their first foster home, along with other children, the younger ones would wail for mothers that would never come, and the older ones would cry to mourn for their lost future. lyney held them all, whispered in their ears, swallowed his own tears to be the older brother that they needed.

don’t worry, it’s all right. i’ve got you.

and tonight, it looks like someone is in need of reassurance.

lynette, curled by his side, stirs when he moves off the bed. she raises her head, eyes bleary with sleep, voice hoarse when she whispers, “lyney?”

“there’s someone crying. i’m going to check it out.” he doesn’t tell her to stay; she’s followed him everywhere since the first time they were separated.

the hallway is cold. moonlight pours in through the windows along the wall, torches flickering from the wind that’s snuck in. lyney closes the door behind them – they have their own room, not because they’re favored over the others, but because they’re the newest arrivals. he takes his sister’s hand and tip-toes down the hallway.

there is one door ajar – the children’s room. there are six beds, all filled, decorated with varying plushies, blankets, or other possessions that were left with the children. an oil lamp rests on either wall in the center, light dim. it’s enough to direct lyney to where he has to go: freminet.

despite the boy’s intellect when it comes to trinkets, he’s delicate, as fragile as clockwork on the verge of shutting down. his bed is one of the emptiest, dropped off at the house with nothing but pers, a clockwork marvel that his father left behind, and a penguin plushie that lyney has never seen freminet without. he’s only a few months younger, but held on to the promise that his mother would come back for him.

it makes sense for him to weep, mourning over unfulfilled words.

his bed is furthest from the door. the other children are sound asleep, or perhaps ignorant. freminet is upright, knees drawn to his chest, head bowed to muffle his cries, penguin soaked from his tears. a blanket falls from his shoulders and onto the floor. lyney picks it up. “freminet?”

when he looks up, his face is red, bangs obscuring his eyes. lyney sits down and brushes hair away from his face. “it’s all right. you don’t have to cry.”

“mama didn’t come for me.” his whisper is punctured with sobs. “where is she?”

he could've lied, reassured him that it was only a matter of time until she's knocking on the heavy doors for him, but he doesn't. it's useless to lie to family. “she isn’t coming. this is your new home, now.” no children have ever returned home after being left at the house. those who left either become soldiers beneath the tsaritsa or disappear into the darkness. “it’s okay, fremmy. we have each other.”

freminet hiccups. “it’s so lonely here. i’m too old for the kids but too young for the older ones. all i have is pers, but it didn’t matter since mama said she’d come back. but now…”

“come with us – you can sleep in our bed.” lyney offers him a hand. “i’ll read you a bedtime story.” after a moment of hesitation, the younger boy takes it, penguin plush clutched to his chest.

the bed isn’t large enough for all three of them, but they make it work. lyney is squeezed in the middle, with a sibling clinging to him on either side. he folds his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling as he tries to string words together for a story. “once upon a time, there were three siblings. they came from a loving family, and each day together was fun. that all came to an end when their parents suddenly died, and they were left alone.

“it was hard for them to survive by themselves – they weren’t old enough to work, and because there were three of them, no one wanted to adopt them all. it was either one or two, but the siblings would not separate. the police didn’t do anything about them, either. there were lots of children without families or homes, and they couldn’t help all of them. that’s why the siblings decided to do what they could on their own.

“the oldest brother turned to magic. he watched a magician and learned sleight of hand and simple card tricks using a deck that he stole from the toy store. the middle sister used her hearing and sharp senses to overhear other people talk about good places to sleep or where to pick up a few coins. the youngest brother, though small, was the most innocent in his ways. he would dive underwater and find things that people had dropped, no matter how small, and if he wasn’t diving, he would play with clockwork and make toys with parts that people had thrown away.

“it took a long time, but they were able to afford a house, nice clothes, and proper equipment to do their work. the older brother and sister became famous magicians, and the younger brother became a famous diver. they all lived happily ever after, doing what they loved, and promising to never let a child live without a family.”

lynette has fallen asleep. freminet, however, is wide awake. he’s staring at him with hopeful eyes. “is it true? can kids do something like that?”

lyney reaches over to ruffle his hair. “of course, if we work together. we���re one another’s family now, and if we all do our part, we’ll make our own future. no matter what happens, your older brother’s got you, okay? get some sleep.”

freminet nods, then buries his head deeper beneath the blankets, closing his eyes. lyney turns to face the ceiling again. he knows that fairytales are just that – fantasies with varying degrees of truth. even if this is a future that he wants, it’s a future that can’t be obtained.

but…as the older brother, he knows that he’ll do anything he can to make it truth.

[everybodyshusband]

i'm a bit late to the party but...

girl's night in

ghoulette appreciation weeks ; week one (jan 1-6)

sunshine, cumulus, aurora & cirrus | approx. 750 words | a massive thank you to @jesusbutbetterrr for organising this whole thing !!!

~

“What do you mean the bar’s closed?” Sunshine complained from her seat in front of the mirror.

“I dunno, but that’s what Google says,” Aurora reasons, spinning her phone around to show the multi ghoulette.

Sunshine wails and thuds her head down onto the table. One of her blush compacts falls to the floor and Cumulus lets out a pained gasp as if the sound of the expensive rouge breaking against the ground has physically hurt her. “But I wanted to go ooouuut!”

“Oh, love.” The faint sound of the hair dryer shuts off and Cirrus pokes her head through the bathroom door. “I’m sure,” she starts again, significantly quieter this time now that there is no longer any wind whooshing against her ears, “that somewhere else will still be open. Can you have a look, Rors?”

“I have,” Aurora admits. “Everywhere else is closed too. Stupid public holiday. Stupid New Year’s Day…”

“Noooo!” Sunshine moans again, beginning to reach for her makeup wipes and erase all her hard work.

“Sunny, wait,” Cumulus suggests from where she’s sitting next to Aurora on the bed. When Sunshine turns to look at the air ghoulette, Cumulus is a vision in a close-fitting dress of light blue fabric. The dress sparkles in the low candlelight when she shifts and as Sunshine gets a perfect view of exactly how well the dress hugs the air ghoulette’s figure, she wants.

Wants to kiss her. Wants to take her out to a romantic dinner and feed her bites of chocolate cake along with sips of her favourite prosecco. Wants to walk hand in hand along that winding river near the Abbey and kiss her under the weeping willow tree. She wants to take her back home and watch shitty romcoms until the early hours of the morning and kiss again, this time with the taste of mint chocolate chip ice cream on each of their tongues. Wants to hear her love’s sharply inhaled breath when Sunshine pushes the fabric of her partner’s dress down to her ribs, dips her chilled mouth a little lower and sucks pretty bruises into Cumulus’ pale breasts. She wants—needs, really—to feel those quiet, breathy sighs against her neck when she caresses the air ghoulette’s thighs and teases her right in the spot that makes her–

“Sunny, are you listening to me?” The voice of the very person Sunshine is daydreaming about startles her back into the present moment. She pointedly tears her gaze away from the cleavage spilling out from the fabric adorning Cumulus’ chest. “I asked if you wanted to stay dressed up anyway? We can raid the kitchen for some drinks. Maybe it won’t be exactly like we planned, but we’ll still have fun!”

“Yeah!” Aurora agrees. “Swiss still has loads of leftover drinks and mixing stuff from his body shots phase, so we’ll have heaps of stuff to make drinks if we want!”

“Oh, Sathanas, what a phase that was…” Cirrus almost moans at the memory as she makes her way out of the bathroom, her low-rise mini skirt doing sinful things to her exposed hip bones.

Sunshine tilts her head back and forth, considering her options. She must admit that even if this wasn’t the original plan, having a fun night in instead of a night out sounds a lot better than moping about all the bars being closed. “Yeah,” she concedes eventually, grinning. “Yeah, that sounds nice!”

“Ooh, does that mean I can take my shoes off now?” Aurora asks, not waiting for an answer before pulling her boots off. They’re pretty pink things that Mist gifted her as a late summoning present after having gotten to know the band’s newest multi ghoulette, all platforms and chunky heels, covered in matching pink ribbons and bells. Aurora adores them, but she’s always one to forgo shoes when given the opportunity, so now their little group has elected to have their "girl’s night out" in, the shoes are the first things to come off. She takes after Sunshine in that way, but at this stage, Aurora has stuck with only disliking shoes. When the older multi ghoulette had been summoned, it had taken months to persuade her towards the importance of wearing clothes around other people.

“Well, then.” Cumulus stands and claps her hands, already reaching for her favourite ‘going out’ leather jacket and slinging it over her shoulders as she opens the door for them all to file out. “Shall we?”