#wc: 1349

[woo-wahhhh]

[ hello, my sunshine–; just the intimacy of sitting in the sunlight and bathing in the warmth with alhaitham ] 

the sound of the antique mahogany clock you gifted alhaitham a couple months ago echoed through his home. it was admittedly out of place, a mondstadt style clock in his house filled with sumeru style furniture, yet it was placed delicately by the stained glass windows. light streamed through them, the sunlight blending into the shades of green and turquiose before it hit the rest of the room. 

the man of the hour himself could be found dozing away on his couch, coloured diamonds reflecting on his blemish free skin. he looked uncharacteristically peaceful while asleep, one hand lying on his stomach and the other just barely holding onto a book as it hung off the side of his couch. he was entirely relaxed– you could tell from the way his ear pieces were left on the coffee table and the fact he didn’t even flinch when you accidentally called out his name before you realized he was asleep.

you thought it’d be funny to wake him up after travelling to liyue for a couple weeks, but at the sight of him sleeping so contently, you couldn’t help but put aside that plan. 

you would’ve left but it would be awkward to leave as soon as kaveh had let you in before leaving to go meet with a client, or so he told you. so there you were, crouched by alhaitham’s side, idly gazing at his content expression. 

“how tired are you that you didn’t even hear my footsteps?” you murmur to yourself, setting your chin on your knees. you suppose even alhaitham could overwork himself, especially taking in the recent crisis in sumeru into consideration. 

“alhaitham,” you called impulsively, stretching out his name in a singsong tone as you decided to impulsively reach forward and poke his cheek. he had surprisingly squishy cheeks, you noted as you pinched him. “alhaitham,” you repeated.

“god, why must i be surrounded by nuisances?” ah, so sleeping beauty is awake, you giggled to yourself. you were tugging his cheek at the same time as he spoke so his words came out muffled.

“good morning, sleepyhead. i didn’t think a day would come where kaveh would be awake and working before you, but i suppose even pigs can fly if we try hard enough,” you teased. 

alhaitham, though now awake, hadn’t opened his eyes fully, squinting when the harsh sunlight hit his face. you took note of the unpleased expression on his face, so you reached forward to shade his eyes with your hands. 

“what are you doing?” he said, sitting up to rub his eyes furiously. you weren’t particularly bothered by the tiny sliver of irritation in his voice; you knew that was just how he spoke.

“nothing much,” you chirped with a sweet grin, “i’m just really happy to see you again.”

you two weren’t exactly the types to beat around the bush, and neither were you two particularly the types to be easily flustered, so your confession wasn’t out of the ordinary. 

but perhaps it was his sleep addled brain being far more irrational than his normal self, but he was awfully enchanted by that dazzling smile you’d just given him.

“did you just come back from liyue?” he murmured, reaching down to carefully trace the back of his hand against your jaw before pressing his hand onto your cheek. you thought he looked quite handsome like that, his silver hair falling over his eyes and the sunlight illuminating his figure as you sat down on the rug.

“mhm,” you hummed, pressing your own hand over his, threading your fingers between the spaces in between. his skin was rough to touch, fingers calloused from his time spent using his swords. “it’s okay, though, i’m not very tired. besides, seeing you is energizing enough.”

“i think someone’s lying,” alhaitham snorted, though his face remained passive examined yours, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone. “don’t think i can’t see those bags under your eyes. knowing you, you probably got too caught up with exploring to actually sleep, huh?” he accused.

“ack, i’m busted, aren’t i?” you returned, playfully gasping. 

“indeed, you are, and if my deductions are correct, then you didn’t come here to see me, rather you came here to take a nap because my bed has a better mattress than that sad excuse of one in your apartment, no?”

that got a deadpan out of you, which in turn pulled a smug grin out of him. “could you not call me out like that? and for the record, yes, yes i did come here for your bed, but i also came here to see you.”

“mhm, and i’m gonna go accept the kshahrewar funding request today,”

“you are?”

“no,” he deadpanned, “i’m clearly going to reject it again.”

“poor kaveh,” you muttered listlessly. “one of these days, he’s gonna murder you and stage it as an accident.”

alhaitham laughed with such bemusement, you felt a bit more pity for kaveh. “i’d like to see that guy try.”

“well, you can do that later today, but can i please borrow your bed? i’m genuinely exhausted...” you thought your puppy eyes were good enough to convince him, but perhaps as revenge, he only smirked as he gave your cheek a good pinch. 

“hmm... how about no?” alhaitham suggested, awfully smug as you tried fruitlessly to pry his fingers away from you. “you can sleep here though,”

“on your couch? no thanks,”

“no, idiot, with me. what happened to coming here to see me, hm? or are you so cruel to–,”

“okay, okay, fine! no need to guilt trip me!” you pouted, holding his gaze dramatically. “just let me go grab a blanket from your room,” you huffed.

“... in this weather?”

“yes?” you quirked an eyebrow up. “what? it’s perfectly normal to get a blanket if i’m cold,”

“you’re cold in this weather?” alhaitham reiterated. “it’s warm enough because of how sunny it is.”

“do you want me to sleep beside your or not?” you demanded, jabbing a finger in his face. “assuming it’s yes, i hope you know you’re going to have to sleep on your side because i intend to sleep like a log on my back.”

“alright, alright,” he chuckled.

as always, nothing amused him more than an argument. how awful of him, you often thought but he always had the most boyish smile when he bickered with you, so you let it slide. 

letting out a satisfied huff, you pushed yourself onto your knees in order to go grab a blanket. you were about to stand up, however, you paused when alhaitham called out your name, his hand once again cradling your cheek. 

before you could ask what was up, your voice died in your throat when he swiftly pressed his forehead against yours, lips barely a centimetre away from yours– hell, when he spoke, your lips brushed against his. the proximity was dizzying, and you could tell he enjoyed the sudden speechlessness of yours from the way his emerald green eyes crinkled into crescent moons.

“don’t leave me hanging for too long,” he murmured, promptly capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

 your eyes squeezed shut, the heat rising up your neck and across your cheeks as his lips moved against yours without a break, barely holding in a gasp when his tongue swiped against them. your hand had long flown up to grasp his forearm, but it still felt absolutely maddening, the way the tiniest of action from alhaitham could have you melting to putty.

you were thankful he pulled away when he did, because you didn’t know how much you could take of such breathtaking delirium, lest you pass out embarrassingly as he gave your bottom lip a brief bite.

“what,” you began, chest heaving, though you couldn’t hide the creeping smile on your bitten lips, “was that for?” your face flushed strawberry red, as was your ears and neck, and perhaps he should’ve kept a kamera on hand from how smitten he felt just from your embarrassed expression. 

“a welcome back present, what else?”

[violettduchess]

I am so in love with your Comte domestic au, I have read it so many times! What about a continuation for au week? It would have to be the "free space day," so if you have something in mind, obviously disregard this. But what about more domestic with Comte and his family spending time together? Or maybe for the soul mate au, it could take place before your other au fic, where Comte finds his soul mate? Oooh, or it could still be soul mates, but the kids are grown, and he's reflecting on big moments they've spent together?

Anyway... obviously, just delete this if you're not taking requests anymore or if you don't wanna use them. Sorry this got so long.

A/N: Hello anon! Here you go! This is a Soulmate au explaining how Comte met the mother of his children from this Domestic Bliss au from last years event! (and to the anon who asked for Comte and Bookstore au and the anon who asked for Comte and Coffee shop au....I combined them all 💜)

An entry for @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady 's Different Universe Same Love CCC

Comte x female reader

WC: 1349

Inked into the skin of your right shoulder, your black and white tree tattoo reaches towards the sky with its bare, spindly branches that echo the gangling shape of spider legs. You chose the image after going for a walk on a stark winter's morning. Something about it resonated with you, echoing the vacuity of your lonely heart.

You’re shelving the latest bloodsucking Young Adult novel, breathing in that delectable new paper smell, when a voice rich as caramel, interrupts, asking if you could please direct him towards the foreign literature. You turn to find yourself looking into arresting, honey-colored eyes set in a face that jerks your heart awake from its lonesome stasis. It begins beating a lively, almost frantic rhythm in your chest.

You give him directions even as you try to fit all the pieces of this beautiful man together in your mind: wavy dark blond hair, slanted cheekbones, lips that smile easily and with such warmth. He thanks you but doesn’t move. Neither do you. The moment your eyes met, something took its first breath, something cocooned deep in the chambers of your hearts and sparked to life by your connection, like the fertile meeting of sunlight and water. 

A few minutes later you have a date to meet for coffee.

It feels so much larger than it sounds. 

That night, as you lay in bed, dreams inhabited by a man with desert eyes, your tattoo changes. The branches are peppered with small, newborn leaves the color of limes. Fragile. Delicate. Hopeful.

The coffee shop is small, a hidden gem tucked into a side street you’ve never ventured down. You arrive too early, a habit you usually pride yourself on but now is causing waves of anxiety to rush through you. Will you look too eager? Who cares because it is truth. You are eager. You are so very eager to see Comte again.

And then, as if responding to the siren call of your longing, he appears in the doorway, gilded in sunlight. He looks damn near angelic as he enters the shop, a place that suddenly seems so mundane with its walls covered in glossy photos of coffee beans and faded tile floor. 

He joins you, ordering tea, so much more civilized than your giant cappuccino topped with cinnamon and chocolate dust. Your eyes meet his and you flush, looking away. What now? Panic rears its ugly head, trampling the excited beat of your heart into the ground.

“Is that the latest X. Sycamore novel?” He notices what you have laying casually on the table by your drink, the beautiful indigo cover and gold lettering. It may be old-fashioned but you are a lover of books you can wrap your hands around, covers you can touch. Someone who has a tactile love of words. You nod. “Do you like her work?” In answer he reaches behind him, into the pocket of his beautifully-tailored beige coat and pulls out the exact same book.

From there it’s easy. So easy. One cappuccino becomes two. One cup of tea multiples like flower buds in spring time. Conversation flows like a current between you, rife with warmth and crackling with soft electricity. You decide you can’t pinpoint the exact color of his eyes because they are always changing. The brightness of Goldenrod when he is happy, dark as pyrite when he’s contemplating, animated as the sun’s shimmering caress of the sea when excited. You learn all his facial expressions and soak in the sound of his voice, burying them deep inside your heart to recall at any time.

When he checks his wristwatch and sighs, you sense your time together nearing its end. You stand abruptly, a motion spurred by the wild desire to beg him to stay and the need to act as though you are perfectly fine with him leaving. Unfortunately you knock against the table, sending your half-full cappuccino toppling just as he’s gathering his coat. Your heart, so light and breezy, turns to stone like a gargoyle in sunlight, sinking down into the twisting pit of your stomach. The stain across the expensive wool looks garish, something out of a horror movie.

At first he refuses your offer to pay for the dry cleaning but you are insistent and he relents. You feel oddly giddy. If the price of seeing him again is a cleaning a soiled coat, then you are willing to pay it. Gladly.

That night, your tree changes yet again. The branches are fuller, anointed in thick, lustrous green. Leaves unfurl themselves towards an invisible sun, towards a welcoming sky.

You hold the freshly cleaned jacket as if it is a child in your arms, tenderly so as not to wrinkle it. The garment bag is a soft blue, a stark contrast to the dark, rich colors of the mansion you find yourself walking through. If elegance were to fashion itself into a home, this would be it. Your heels click across the polished wood as the butler leads you to where Comte is waiting for you. His library.

The garment bag is removed from your arms and he is speaking in that sonorous voice as he greets you but you are not listening. Your mind is trying to soak in the sight of the shelves, rows and rows of shelves, towering above you to meet the breathtaking molded ceiling. Surely this is heaven. Surely he is its keeper.

His hand on your shoulder steadies you, brings you back down to earth, to his warm gaze and the scent of sandalwood. Would you like a tour? You nod and his hand slips down until it takes yours, gentle at first, questioning. You tighten your grip, wordlessly telling him yes, this is ok. Yes you want this. His exhale of relief is audible. 

“Let’s begin over here, with Molière.”

That night, your tree has added hundreds of tiny buds clustered throughout its green branches. Each flower bud a tiny pink universe waiting to be born.

He invites you to the cinema where you hold his hand, fingers interlaced as you lose yourselves in the story playing across the screen. The dream ends when the lights come on, scattering the wispy remnants of magic the movie spun around its audience.

You step out of the theater, hands still clasped together and stop as you notice the light haze of rain that has started falling. You glance at Comte. The bus stop you need to get to is several blocks down. He squeezes your hand. 

"It doesn't look so bad, chérie. Shall we?"

You agree and together step out into the cool rain. For the first minute it really isn't so bad. The rain dampens your clothing, kisses your skin gently. But after that, it's as if the clouds decided the warm-up is over. The storm gathers its thunderous drums and flashy lightning guitars and the real show begins.

You jump as his arm gathers you close against his side for protection, a bulwark in the sudden downpour. Together you search for shelter through the blur of rain. It only takes you a second to remember where you are. 

The oversized awning of the bookstore shields you from most of the heavy rain. You turn within the circle of Comte's protective embrace, your gaze slowly tracing a path up the pale column of his throat, the angle of his jaw, the curve of his lips where it stops, caught there like a thread on a nail. Something warm is unspooling within you, lifting you up to meet him as he leans down, both of you moving in unspoken tandem. Your eyes flutter closed and the world shrinks down to the feel of his lips on yours, cool with rainwater. 

The moment your lips touch, you glow with the warmth you have felt in his presence from the beginning. It plunges into the furthest corners of your heart, taking root. As he cradles your head in his gentle hand, his mouth moving over yours, seeking and finding, you know. 

You know. 

You know. 

He is yours, now and forever.

That night, you sleep in Comte’s strong arms. Your tattoo is in full bloom, a symphony of soft, pink cherry blossoms, a timeless concert of exquisite joy and breathtaking tenderness. A testament to the love of two souls, meant to be.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @bubblexly

[typically-untypical]

im craving spontanious roadtrips/cheap motels/running from the law stories so im passing the prompts/vibes onto you <3

(if you want them)

I know you normally like Loceit but I took a different direction for this pairing ^_^ I wrote a Virus fic!!

Spontaneous Planning

AU: Criminals

CW: Remus typical conversations and behavior

WC: 1349

Date: August 1st, 2023

Virgil pulled up to the cheap motel in his even cheaper car. This was the third they had cycled through this week. He was glad his fear of losing his keys had made him learn how to hot wire a car but there was a small part of him that felt guilty about taking something that didn't belong to him. Then again, the car had been abandoned on the side of the road. That was a pretty good sign that no one was coming back for it. However, it was less of a good sign that the car was "clean". It had been the easiest thing they could get to while under chase so they'd probably have to dump this one after a few days as well. Trying to think five steps ahead, trying to figure out how they were going to get out of this situation, it had Virgil exhausted. He was running on fumes, but as soon as they got across country they would be fine, right? They could stop running once they made it to Virgil's contacts, they could hide and maybe even start over. 

"Race you to the front desk!" Remus shouted as he bolted out of the car, not bothering to grab any of his stuff. Remus, his lover, his partner in crime, was chaos incarnate. This was why they balanced each other out, Virgil was the planner, he had all of the ideas, knew all the best routes to travel, but Remus was spontaneous. It was impossible to plan for the things Remus did and it helped Virgil get out of his own head sometimes. He didn't think, he just lived in the moment, excitedly doing whatever caught his fancy. Virgil loved that about him. Even if it was maddening at the same time. Right now, for instance, Virgil was exhausted. He wanted to curl into bed and get some rest before their early morning, but he was the one lugging the bags in while Remus ran about like a chicken with his head cut off.

Pulling both of their bags out of the car, Virgil made his way toward the front; Remus was already being handed a key to a room and ushering Virgil forward. How did he have so much energy this late at night? He didn't nap in the car, Virgil would have noticed. Maybe it was because Virgil had insisted on driving the entire day. Remus wasn't a bad driver, but he was reckless, and with them already being hunted, Virgil didn't want to add any other reason for the cops to chase after them. 

"I got us the nicest room possible." Virgil knew it was a lie, mostly because they were trying to save money and splurging on the nicest room, even in a place like this where they obviously didn't ask questions, was more than they should be spending right now. 

Remus led him to a room down the outdoor corridor, practically skipping down the way. He unlocked the door, throwing it open without a care to their neighbors. Virgil flinched. He wanted to be indiscrete, hardly a memory in anyone's head so they'd be harder to track. Remus was anything but indiscrete. 

"See, whad I tell ya? Their finest room." He flopped onto the bed and it crunched in a way sheets weren't supposed to crunch. They were stiff, when was the last time these sheets had been properly cleaned? Virgil was beginning to regret having suggested this place, but they needed to save their money. Still, he couldn't help himself as the frustration oozed off of him. "I am not sleeping on that," He muttered, throwing open the closet door, to put down their bags. At least that looked clean enough. There were no roaches that made him shiver or suspicious stains that would have him up all night.

"You don't have ta," Remus said wiggling around on the bed, messing up the sheets and somehow making the space look more appealing. "You could always sleep on the floor, but then I'd have to join ya." He gave Virgil a flirtatious wink, causing a bit of red to run up Virgil's skin as he quickly turned back to the closet. Remus' insinuation almost made him forget about the place they were in, but as he looked down, surveying the carpet, it was easy to remember.

"I am not sleeping on this floor either." He wondered what color the carpet had been before it turned into this dingey faded gray.

"Well I don't know what other options you have Virgie. Sleeping in the car probably isn't the best idea since we are on the run and all, and I doubt that arm chair over there is any cleaner. So what do you suggest, Mr. Grumpy gills?" There was a playful suggestiveness in his voice. "Do you wanna sleep on me?"

Virgil slammed the closet door shut, balling his hand tightly. "Remus, could you stop, for just a few minutes?" 

Now that caught Remus' attention and he sat up on the bed, pushing himself toward the edge. "Virgil-"

"No, stop, before you ask I'm not regretting what I did, I'm not upset that we're on the run together I just..." He sighed, walking over to Remus and looking down at his boyfriend before collapsing into the other man's arms. "This is a lot for me, okay? This place isn't very clean and it has my anxiety spinning. It's a big change and you know I don't do well with change. There's a lot of uncertainty and I don't do well with that either. I just need to know everything's going to be okay."

Silence fell between the two of them as Remus began to gently rub Virgil's back. "I can't promise you that, I don't know what's going to happen next but I can promise to be by your side. I got you into this mess and I plan on sticking with you until we are out of it."

Virgil let out a shaky laugh as Remus wrapped his arms around the other man, pulling him closer. "You better, thanks to you I've got no where else to go."

Remus laughed. They both knew it wasn't completely true. They were running to Virgil's brother. Virgil had people he could rely on. Remus also had a brother but they hadn't spoken in almost a decade. "You can always come back to my arm... or cum on my arms. I'd like that too."

Virgil snorted and at that moment there was a knock at the door. It wasn't fair that their little heart to hear was being interrupted but before Virgil could panic, Remus shushed him. 

"I was expect this knock, don't worry." He got up, scooping Virgil up as he did. Next thing Virgil knew he was being plopped onto the messy bed and Remus was walking away, giving him a little smirk. "I've got a surprise, just wait there."

Remus opened the door and another man's voice filled the room. Virgil was already going for the pocket knife in his boot, just in case.

"We have brought this up per your request."

"Thanks!" Remus chimed, shuffling around before he shut the door. It wasn't long before he came back into view carrying a military cot. 

"I knew you weren't gonna wanna sleep in the bed, but I wanna keep you by my side so I had them bring up a cot, and I stored one of our emergency blankets in my pocket like a condom when you weren't looking." Remus cackled. He was spontaneous, but he had started thinking things through for Virgil. It made him melt. 

"Thanks Re."

"Anytime, lovebug." Remus said, popping open the cot and setting it next to the bed so they would still be close.

Virgil shivered, "Don't mention bugs or I might not sleep at all." 

Remus cackled again, "I could give you another reason not to sleep." Virgil hit his arm gently but relaxed as Remus gave him another hug. They would get through this because they were together.

Tag List: @simplestoryteller @fantasticfangirl21 @joylessnightsky @glacierruler

[catierambles]

All in Due Time Ch.3

Pairing: Napoleon Solo x Allison Rogers (OFC)

WC 1349

Warnings: Mentions of infidelity

@kingliam2019 , @brattymum96 , @ouroboros113 , @peaches1958 , @summersong69 , @henryownsme , @teamfan7asy

Napoleon woke the next morning feeling sunlight on his back and he opened his eyes, seeing that Allison had turned in the night and was now facing him, still asleep. He watched her for a moment before reaching out and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. That woke her and she took in a deep breath through her nose, her eyes opening. They were soft as they looked at him and her lips pulled into an equally soft smile as she touched the side of his face gently.

“Good morning.” She said but then she blinked, her eyes focusing and her hand pulled away as if he had burned her. “Sorry, I--” She turned away from him quickly, sitting up on the edge of the bed with a small laugh, “I can be a little affectionate first thing.” She went to get up but he leaned over, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back into bed, half laying on her as his hand moved up her arm to hold hers, lacing their fingers.

“Nothing wrong with a little affection.” He said, the tip of his nose moving over her cheek as he pressed his lips to her jaw. “You said last night was too soon, how about this morning?”

“I did--I did say that, didn’t I.” She said, watching him carefully as he picked his head up to look at her. “Are you this…amorous with all your fake wives?”

“No.” He said, shaking his head. “Then again, none of them were as lovely as you are.”

“Napoleon, we--” He silenced her with a kiss, pressing her back against the pillows as their fingers tightened around each other's hands. His hand slipped from hers, going down to her waist and pushing under the seam of the t-shirt. Her fingertip ran along the delicate skin behind his ear and he shuddered, pressing against her harder as his tongue traced the seam of her mouth. A shrill ringing made him pull away and he sighed.

“Hold that thought, darling.” He said and moved off her, getting off the bed and walking into the living room, picking up the phone. “Leon Wright.” A pause. “Good morning, Mr. Gorchek. Yes, of course, I’ll be down in just a moment. Really? I’ll let her know. See you soon.” He hung up the phone and walked back into the bedroom, seeing her sitting up in bed. “Duty calls, and apparently Yurei is downstairs to take you on a tour of the city. Your previous studies have made an impression.”

“My bag, inner pocket. You’ll find what looks like a pen.” He gave her a curious look but did as she said, going to her bag and opening it, finding the inner zipper pocket, and pulling out what looked like a normal pen, a bit thicker, but nothing extraordinary. He held it up curiously as he went back into the bedroom. “It’s a recording device. You just need to click it to start recording.”

“And should I actually have to sign something?”

“It’s still functional as a pen, don’t worry.” She said and he nodded.

“Where’s the receiver?” He looked over the pen but didn’t find any obvious transmitter or antennae.

“It stores the recording in the pen itself.”

“How?” He asked, looking up at her and she shrugged. “Allison.”

“It’s not important.”

“I can’t imagine it can record any conversation of decent length.”

“Oh, it can record up to several days' worth.”

“How?” He asked again, but just got another shrug.

“Just know that it will do exactly what it needs to.” She said, “Now, you need to get dressed and so do I. Don’t want to keep them waiting any longer than necessary.”

They separated when they got downstairs, him going to a different car than she. He made sure the pen was securely in the inner pocket of his suit jacket and he gave her a kiss on the cheek before they parted. Yurei welcomed her just as warmly as he had the night before, his previous passenger missing this time and Napoleon watched her get into the car before getting into the one waiting for him. The cars traveled together for a distance before turning in different directions and he watched as it shrank away behind them in the rearview mirror. His driver was silent during the trip and Napoleon didn’t try to make small talk.

They pulled up to a small warehouse overlooking the river and he got out, looking around before heading inside.

“Ah, Mr. Wright.” The man waiting for him inside said.

“Mr. Gorchek, I presume.” Napoleon said, recognizing the voice.

“You presume correctly.” He said as they shook hands, “How are the accommodations?”

“Very comfortable, thank you.”

“I must apologize for Ivan’s words last night regarding your wife’s…character.” Gorchek said, “It was out of line.”

“No harm done, Mr. Gorchek. He already apologized.” Napoleon said, “There is one thing, though, about the apartment you provided. Very odd.”

“Odd?” Gorchek asked.

“Yes, when she and I got settled, she complained of a high-pitched whining sound. We were able to track it to a few small devices hidden in various appliances.” Napoleon said.

“Yes, that is very odd.” Gorchek said, “And what did you do with these devices?”

“Oh, we disposed of them.” He said simply, “They were giving her an awful headache.”

“Very, very odd.” Gorchek said with a small scowl, “I do apologize for inconvenience, Mr. Wright, they must have been left over from previous occupant.”

“Must have been.” Napoleon agreed with a shrug. “Shall we get down to business?” Reaching into his suit pocket, he pulled out the pen and clicked it, setting it on the table in front of them that was covered in paperwork.

Allison looked out the window as Yurei drove through the city, listening as he pointed out several landmarks and giving her a pleased smile as she jumped in with information.

“You have done your studies!” He said.

“History and architecture are something of passions of mine.” She said with a small smile and a shrug.

“Mrs. Wright, I must apologize again for my friends' comments last night.” Yurei said, “It was…not kind of him to suggest such a thing.”

“Yurei, it’s quite alright.” Allison said, “Leon is gone so often and for extended periods of time, your friend isn’t the first one to assume infidelity on my part. Truth be told, we’ve spent more time apart than we have together since we got married.”

“You must have been pleased when he decided to bring you on this trip, then.”

“Oh, very! I do miss him when he’s away.” Allison said, “I am fully aware that this is a business trip and not a vacation, but still…it’s nice to be able to spend time with him.”

“You love him.”

“Very much so.” Allison said.

“Well, I can tell he loves you.” Yurei said, leaning towards her slightly. “Not many men would have jumped to their wife's defense as he did.”

“Yes, I…I know.” She said, carefully schooling her expression.

“You have doubts?” Yurei asked, taking the bait.

“Yurei, Leon is… I shouldn’t bother you with this.”

“No, please, tell me.”

“He’s a very handsome man.” Allison said after a pause, “I’ve seen the looks other women give him when we go out in the instances where he is home and the looks they give me if they don’t outright ignore my existence. The fact that he wears a wedding band doesn’t deter them if you get my meaning.”

“You believe he’s being unfaithful to you.” Yurei said.

“I have my suspicions.” She said, “They’re unfounded of course and I’m probably just being paranoid.”

“Mrs. Wright--Sofia, if I could, I know it’s not my place, but I can tell Mr. Wright loves you.”

“That’s the thing, Yurei, love, more often than not, has nothing to do with being unfaithful.” Allison said, giving a sad sigh, but shook herself out of it, giving him a small smile. “But enough about that. What else did you want to show me today?”

[moonbokrk]

MGA Season 5 - Episode 1 Callback Audition - Interview Mentioned: @ericxrk, @rkyoona, @rkharuto, @yuzurk, @rkxbin and @rkyeji

The adrenaline in his veins is only just beginning to return to its normal levels when Moonbok hears his name again. Automatically, he gets up once more, promising Yoona he’ll be back as quickly as he can before heading to the staff member that’s signalling for him.

For a moment, he’s a little confused, had he done or said something inappropriate while delivering his performance? No, surely they would have stopped him there and then, if that was the case. However, no sooner does the thought cross his mind does he remember what the email said about everyone being interviewed after their performances while the CEOs made their decision and Moonbok mentally kicks himself.

After having his make up very quickly touched up (he’s not even sure if it’s strictly necessary, but he’s not about to argue with the makeup noona), Moonbok yet again finds himself in front of a camera and an interviewer.

He’s forgotten how many times he’s actually done this over the past year.

“Congratulations on making it to this round, Moonbok-ssi. How did you feel when you found you you’d received a call back?

Smiling, Moonbok bows as much as possible in his seat, pushing his hair behind his ears when he straightens up.

“Thank you! And to be honest... I suppose I was relieved. I was confident in myself when I left the initial auditions, but when I got home, my mind started replaying everything I’d done, trying to find mistakes. So I began to doubt myself a little until I found out the news. It was a weight off my shoulders, really!”

In all honesty, he’d have had no idea what he would have done if he hadn’t be called back. It would have been a massive blow to his confidence that he’s only started to rebuild. To not be considered good enough to make it to a callback this year when last year, he’d at least made it to the first live show? The thought alone had caused his migraines to be almost unbearable that week.

“And what did you think when you saw the set? It’s quite different from the one you were performed on last year, isn’t it?”

Moonbok laughs and nods.

“It is! It actually reminds me a bit of Produce 101, with 100 seats all in front of the judges. Though without the ranking numbers and ability to make people get up and take their seats.” At least, he hadn’t seen anyone ordering people to move. But maybe he’d just managed to find a quiet spot.

“You're one of the few people that were in this competition last year. Do you think there will be more expected from all of you compared to the others?”

Woah. Where did that come from?! For a moment, all Moonbok can do is blink in surprise while his mind races to catch up with the question he’d just been asked. Or all the things that could have been in this interview, this was the last thing he would have expected.

“I...guess..?” He begins tentatively, floundering a little.

“I mean, yes, I’m sure more will be expected of us. We will be under a lot more scrutiny; I’m sure people will be wondering why we’ve returned and not been signed in the meantime. So they’re probably expecting us to have improved a lot since last year. Whether they’re expecting us to get far....” he chews his lip a little. Whatever about the others, he’s not sure that people are expecting him to be much different, given what he’d uploaded on YouTube and SoundCloud over the last few months.

He’ll just have to prove them wrong.

“I hope we’ll meet their expectations, whatever they are. No. I hope we’ll exceed them!”

“And how do you think you did?”

Wow, they certainly weren’t taking any prisoners today, were they? This interview made the preliminary one feel like a casual conversation in comparison.

“I think I did alright.” He’s not going to be overly humble, he’s relatively satisfied about how he performed. But he’s not going to brag too much either.

“I know I did better than I did last year. Sure, I could still use improvement; I wish I’d been able to dance to it. But the choreography needs three people to work properly, so I would have done myself no favours if I’d attempted it. But, I’m happy with how I performed; I enjoyed myself and I hope they others enjoyed it too. Of course, it’s really about what the judges thought of it, after all.”

“Were there any performances you enjoyed?”

Once again, Moonbok’s face lights up and he nods eagerly. This was far more comfortable territory, he was always happy to hype up his friends and fellow contestants.

“Yes! I’m gonna have admit that I’m very biased here, but I loved my cousin’s performance. It’s Yoona noona’s first time doing something like this, and I’m proud of her! I could tell she was terrified, but she still got up on stage and performed in front of us all. That took nerve and I’m so happy she was able to do it!”

“Also, I really liked Eric’s performance. I’ll be honest, it kind of shocked me at first though.” He can’t help but laugh at the memory. “For as long as I known him, this kid has been obsessed with girl groups and he’s always given off this cute vibe. So to see him in the outfit he’s wearing and singing a song like Killing Me, I was taken aback. But he killed it! I’m proud of him for doing the rap part too, I know he’s not a rapper, but he did his best, and that’s really what counts.”

“Biased again, but I enjoyed Choi Yena and Seo Changbin’s performances too. They’re two of my closest friends, and I hope I’ll be grouped with them at some stage, if we all make it! Any Yeji-ssi’s dance was mesmerizing, I couldn’t take my eyes off her! But in all honestly, I think everyone gave it their all, which I was happy to see.”

“So, were there any performance that you didn’t like?”

For a moment, he’s silent again, eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s not that I didn’t like it, I actually thought it was pretty cool! But I don’t understand what Haruto-ssi was trying to show us with his performance; especially when it had nothing to do with music. Or maybe I’m just too stupid to figure it out. In any case, I was pretty worried when he fell over, if noona hadn’t stopped me, I would have gone all first-responder on him. But he seems to be alright, so I’m relieved.”

“Who do you think will be eliminated this round?”

‘Watanabe Haruto.’ is the first thought that crosses his mind, and Moonbok hates himself for even thinking it. He hates this question in general, it’s cruel and it’s just proof that, yet again, Mnet is trying to create drama for the sake of drama.

“I don’t know, it could be any of us, couldn’t it? It’ll be the judges who’ll make that decision. I just hope that my friends make it through, they’ve all worked so hard to be here.”

“If you survive this round, is there anything in particular you’d like to showcase in the coming rounds?”

“Probably my dancing.” he replies with a laugh, though he quickly shakes his head. “Ah, don’t get me wrong. Like I said, I’m not a dancer yet. But I’m also not the disaster that caused so much trouble for my Team Dream teammates last year either.”

For a moment there’s a bitter expression on his face, Before the Dawn’s performance playing in his head again, Moonbok still infuriated with the way he’d messed everything up for the others. He quickly schools his expression back into a smile, though.

“Other than that....? Well, I’ve improved as a singer too, so being able to sing would be nice. But I am a rapper, after all. I’d love to be able to perform in something like Monster or District 9, something with a fast-paced rap! It would be a challenge, but I think I can take it!”

“Thank you very much, you may return to your seat.”

“Thank you!”

[Word Count: 1,349]

[rkkangjoon]

.mad dog  |  rkrbact  skj solo

ROYALs WHITE LOTUS ROYAL Boys Opportunity scene: mad dog ep.3 [0:24-3:13]

the nervosity was evident when the royal boys were called together. debuts, survival shows and such were possibilites every single one of them thought about in that very moment. as soon as the real news reach his ears, kang joon couldn’t hide his excitement anymore. acting has always something he had been interested in, living thousands lives, with thousands of faces.

but with great news, great problems arose. he was aware that he still had much space to grow, that he was still an unblossomed flower in the garden but he nonetheless wanted to do well. chosing a scene was a hard decision. there were so many genres he could chose from, sweet and innocent, a romantic scene, a fighting, badass one or something sad. kang joon wasn’t too sure of what would be a good decision in order to show that he got potential. in the end he felt like choosing a scene based on the coaches tastes wouldn’t do him any good, so he just went ahead and picked out a scene he felt comfortable with. only then he would be able to relax and be natural about it.

when the day of the performance came up, kang joon could feel the heart in his chest thump hard. it had been a while since he felt that excited, that alive. the coaches called him inside and he bowed at them, before simply stating which drama he had picked and which scene he was about to act out. before they gave him the signal to start, he had asked one of the coaches beforehand, if it was alright to incorporate the coach into his play and if it was alright if he touched him. when receiving the go, he took a deep breath and the expression on his face changed.

kang joon walks towards the coach and grabs him by the collar, using his right hand, before pushing him backwards. "kim bumjoon!" he exclaims in anger. "you must wonder whether he's the killer or not. people all say this about the juhan air 801 accident. some lunatic crashed a plane with 190 passengers onboard. 67 died and 123 got injured. and that lunatic is your brother." as he mentions the other person's brother, he points at him with the left hand, eyes shaking as he stares at him. his left hand moves onto the face of the coach, in order to prevent him from looking to the side. this way he was forced to keep up the intense eye contact.

"do you want me to tell you what bumjoon really did?" the trainee asked, slightly tilting his head to the head, his amber coloured eyes reflect the light coming from outside and it seems like he can see right through the coach. the older man recites the line from the drama without acting and much emotion: "tell me." but that doesn't kang joon, doesn't let him fall out of his role. he was immersed in his character, a father who was mourning after his daughter. "kim yongjoo was 23 years old. since she was in high school she never got to go on a trip to jeju island. she didn't wanted to burden her mom who cleaned bathrooms for a living. her best friends, mikyung and sungmin were going on a trip to jeju. and her mom-"

shaking the other with a pained expression, kang joon takes in the uprising feelings, the pain welling in his heart. he knew what the character must have gone through. it was the same kind of pain he had went through long ago. "-saved money on eating expenses and bought a ticket which was to depart at 10:40 a.m. on october 11th, 2015. she bought-" he swallows as if it's hard to talk any further, as if the words are too heavy to express. "-a dress worth 30 dollars for her daughter too." his facial expression starts to crumble apart, turns from angry into a mournful expression. it speaks of a broken heart, yet the flicker in his eyes tells the coach that kang joon's character still had an unbroken will, an unbroken mind.

"she liked it so much. and that dress -" the amber coloured eyes become a pool of tears, when he slowly tears up. kang joon's heart throbbed in his chest, as he voices what everyone had already assumed at that point. "-was found in her bag. it became-" voice breaks, and kang joon halts for a moment, still holding onto the coach's collar. "- her shroud." he loosens up the clamp on the collar for an instant, just to pull the person back and tighten the grab once again.

"youngjo's mom sent her away and followed her only after two months." his lower lip shakes, thoughts wander to his own mother, while he lets the words die on his tongue. tears are clearly visible now, eyebrows painfully furrowed, the grasp around the collar becomes stronger.

"why didn't i die? why didn't i follow my family?!" the male yells and pushes the other back and forth with rage, while his tears fall. this wasn't just his character but himself speaking as well. his emotions fill the room, and the anger in his voice seethes through every of his pours and echoes through the air. "it's because of you. a jerk like you received 3.4 million dollars and is living in luxury. so, how can i die?" he yells yet again, rock the coach, his lips trembling defiantly, as his gaze pierce through the older, yet shorter man. the fist that is still holding onto the cloth turns gradually paler due to the strength he is putting into it.

he speaks with a rasp voice, snarling at his counterpart who was still not showing any reaction at all. but kang joon was used to the objective attitude of their coaches. trainees should always strive to become better versions of themselves. "scums like you must all be sent to prison. those punks who attempt to live off others' lives - " his fist right trembles, but still won't let go of the collar. "must be all put in jail." pausing, kang joon stares him down. the room was silent, and even though the eyes of the other coaches fell on him, kang joon was that immersed into the scene, that he didn't even noticed their presented anymore. bumjoon's brother. jan gebauer. kim minjun." his voice becomes soothing and he speaks in a calm manner, with a still slightly shuddering voice.

his face inches a little closer for the other to hear him clearly as he speaks up again. "breathe and do nothing all your life. don't do anything." the trainee shakes his head, before he bops his head towards the other. "just-" another pause follows, a desperate, pained expression spreads over his face that is wet from the tears falling. "-breathe only." the corner of his lips twitch, as he musters the other through amber coloured eyes. "otherwise, otherwise, you punk..." kang joon finally lets go of the collar and lifts his fist to lunge out and hit him, but is able to hold himself back somehow by biting onto his lower lip. irritated about himself, he whirls the other person around, his left hand is holding onto the coach's shoulder. slowly moving the fist towards the face, he just stares at the other man before the fist opens up and touches the head, haltingly sliding down towards the check and then the side of the neck. "you'll die." kang joon completes the sentence calmly, a rough tone to his voice, before he lets go of the other completely and walks away.

the scene was over and as soon as he was done, he rushed back to the coach, thanking and apologizing to him at the same time. his attempt to straighten the shirt of the coach wasn't successful at all, and with a wave the other coaches told him to get back to his training instead to worry. with a bow he thanked them for their attention and left the room.

[tangerinewrites]

A CLOSER LOOK AT JANG YEONHEE

wc: 1349

note: holly jang muse was a little strong whoo

i. .Jang Yeonhee is a daughter with expectations. She and her twin brother are children of remarkable people: her mother being a nationwide respected surgeon while her father a notorious wizard skilled in alchemy. From the moment she was able to take her first few steps, everyone’s eyes were set on her, wondering what she could possibly do next, who she will become… so on and so forth. 

She always appreciated the attention, as overwhelming as it was to a little girl. It was foolish of her to take it for granted if she loved it so much. 

ii. Incheon is her home and her childhood. She spends her years without any magic there. Thanks to her father, she was able to grasp the concept of it early on, realizing that as a privilege as there are some wizards and witches like her who do not even get the opportunity to learn about it until later. 

So when she turns eleven and is immediately sent to Hogwarts, it was a little alarming. A new school, let alone a new country, all because her father had been called there. In the end, she accepted it. After all, a new place meant that the girl would be getting more attention. And as stated before, the attention seeker in her could not possibly reject that. 

Holly Jang is her name there and it’s her name for the next school after. WHen she is there, she’s placed in Gryffindor, a house that makes sense given the traits. And though she spends a good few years, she doesn’t stay there for long. Once the third year is over, her father is asked to transfer to the United States to teach at Ilvermorny. 

When she leaves Hogwarts, she says goodbye to a fifth year student who never fails to make her smile. A boy who would always make sure to say something nice to her and give her flowers that would always make her day. When she departs the school, it feels almost like a pauper leaving her prince charming, even if she didn’t know too much about him to begin with. 

At the time, she tried to make herself feel better for leaving by saying that America would be better. She prayed that she’d stay in the spotlight. 

iii.  Though no one in America shows her that kind of attention she yearned for, she still manages to find love there. It made sense, really. The girl had the habit of breaking out into a song whenever given the opportunity. Not to mention, there were a few occurrences in which she’d be too enthusiastic when playing pretend. But it doesn’t connect until one day, her muggle family takes her to see a Broadway musical by the name “WICKED”. 

When she sees the musical, everything becomes clear. Yeonhee remembers listening to the soundtrack over and over again on the way home from New York. She remembers the impatient shouts from her brother, pleading her to stop singing at the top of her lungs. What’s better is that she even makes friends at Ilvermorny because of it. And from there, they bonded over their love of musicals and shows, making her learn more while also taking any opportunity to perform, be it muggle summer camps or even cabarets and community theatre shows. 

However, her dreams of becoming a Broadway star don’t impress her parents in the slightest. 

“We want you to make good career choices for the future, sweetie,” her mother explained. “Becoming an actress might not get you where you want to go. You know that it’s a competitive field.” 

“Besides, you’d get more money by working as a doctor like your mother,” her father insists. “Or maybe you can be a cool wizard like me! Maybe be an auror or a writer, if you wish to keep that creativity!” 

“Why couldn’t we have stayed longer in England?” Yeonhee complained in that same conversation. “I could’ve gone to W.A.D.A!” 

“Because we’re looking out for you, Yeonhee,” her mother sighs as she pats her head. “You’ll understand when you’re older.” 

And she never does. 

iv. Mahoutokoro is certainly a change. She’s to be there for her “ninth” and “tenth” year, in contrast to her past few years while in Ilvermorny and Hogwarts. She heard the students there started school when they were seven. She simply could not imagine how that was to happen, but she didn’t question it any further. To top it all off, for the last two years of her education, she had to learn an entirely new language… and that was frustrating in more ways than one. 

Nonetheless, she continued to try her best with getting the attention of everyone in the school. However, with it being the last two years of her high school years, she feels as if she’s doing something… wrong. Sure, she might have gotten some attention for being the new girl, but not long enough for her to get into something she wants to be in. There are a few boys she runs into that she talks to, but she never does anything but talk to them. Not to mention, their eyes are already on someone else anyways. 

That’s expected though. She’s been in that situation before. 

But it’s not that clear to her until her last year of the school when she realizes how alone she really is. It’s at the night of the Yule Ball. Her friend group already have their plus ones and she, unsurprisingly, was the odd one out. She told them that she didn’t mind it at first. She was even convinced herself that it wasn’t that much of a big deal. But Yeonhee notices how everyone around her has someone to dance with when a slow song comes on. How they swayed so slowly and looked into each other’s eyes with so much fondness. The ballroom was surrounded by happy pairs enjoying the atmosphere of the night as well as each other’s company. 

Even her brother manages to have someone in hand with him.

She had a lot of expectations for each year of being in a different school. She even had expectations for each and every Yule Ball night, only to end up alone on each and every one. Was there something she had missed? Whenever she talked to everyone else, they always mention how their last year was full of fun and joy. Because of that, she had so much expectations… only for them to fall through. 

It’s the first time she cries in the bathroom alone in such a pretty dress… and she hopes it’ll be the last. 

v. When she was accepted into the school, she saw it as an opportunity to finally get the life she deserved. 

The moment she stepped onto campus, Yeonhee already had her years planned. Sure, that was a mistake from the moment she walked around school as a sixteen year old and so on, but she plans on making these years count. She was going to do things her way and no one was going to get in her way. 

She never mentions to her parents that she was going to major in Theatre in this prestigious university. She copies her brother’s major as an “excuse”. “I don’t really know what I want to be yet, so I’ll see what freshman year gives me!” she says with a fake smile on her face. It’s why she’s in the major she’s in to begin with! 

She never reveals her insecurities to people unless she trusts them with her heart. “If I show too much of myself, then no one will ever want me,” she reasons with herself while writing it in her diary. “Boys don’t want me being a sad, lonely bitch. They want a confident, cool girl! I can totally be like that!” 

She ends the diary entry with a smiley face as well as a PROMISE. “In college, I will do what I love and BE loved once and for all.” 

And with that, she puts that into existence. 

[rkwon]

baby, it’s cold outside.

DECEMBER 23RD, 2017. but it’s warm in your arms.

( tw !! blood, abuse, violence, homophobia, panic attack ) 

it’s cold. 

that’s the first thing he notices once he stops running. the second, it’s wet. the ground, as his knees drop down to it, scratching his jeans and soaking through the denim. his cheeks, as blood, tears and sweat trickle down them, and drip, drop, drip, drop onto the concrete, sparkling from the remains of a layer of ice not washed away by the earlier rain. 

it’s cold. 

he curls his fingers against the ground, clips his nails on tiny stones as he attempts to even out his breathing. there’s an unpleasant taste in his mouth; a mixture of regret and spoiled leftovers. it only takes one clean lick across his bottom lip to replace it once again with a familiar, metallic taste, and he sighs between sharp, haphazard breaths. 

his arms can’t hold him up much longer, he knows this, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it. he crawls over to the nearest wall, the outside of a closed store shrouded in darkness, and leans his back against it, hissing as the brick grazes the bruises that litter his skin. he reaches into his pocket with shaking, aching fingers but no amount of pressing wakes his phone. it’s not helpful right now, but he’s grateful it’s even in one piece. he’s grateful they don’t even know it exists. 

he can see a public phone down the street, but it’s worthless. he has nothing on him. not a won to his name, not even a key to get back in. ( worthless again, since there’s really nothing in the world that would take him back there now, except maybe the realisation that he had left his backpack behind, tucked under his bed as always, but in that case, he will just have to hope. there’s not a lot of hope left in him, but he spares a little for that. ) 

all his little remaining energy goes towards pushing himself back up to his feet with the guidance of the store front, his palm pressed firmly against the small window ledge. he leaves a little blood behind, and uses a little more hope wishing that the rain will wash it away before anyone can notice. 

as he stumbles in the right direction, feet already moving towards his safe haven, he relives each of the events of the night in each closing of his eyes. in long, pained pauses, it plays in slow motion — the heavy rising of his father’s fist, the curving of the corner of seungwoo’s lips. in quick blinks, it fast forwards, as if every punch is hitting him all at once, winding him and willing his body back to the ground. he forces his weight onto whatever’s nearest; a bench, a lamppost, a traffic light, and takes a moment to catch his breath. 

he should be screaming, angry at the agony they’ve put him through, but instead, he’s grateful — grateful to whoever he should be that he doesn’t have far to walk to the safest place on earth. 

the first image on the inside of his eyelids is always his boss’ frustrated expression upon seeing him, a mop in hand. he’d first wondered if he was doing something wrong— this is how I always mop, he thinks, but— “wonwoo, do you...” he’d groaned in annoyance, ran a hand through his hair and won had shrunk because he knows this scene all to well. as his hand flails, won understandably flinches away. it goes missed by his boss. “do you know what damage you’ve done to my business?” won blinks. “do you understand?”

“I don’t—”

“whilst you’re living the lifestyle you are, you can’t work here, wonwoo.” can’t work here? “parents won’t bring their children to a ‘homosexuality breeding ground’—”

“what?” 

the older steps closer, and won steps back. “why didn’t you tell me? don’t you think this is something you should have told me before I hired you?” another. “and to think I’ve been so nice to you all this time; you manipulated me i—” the loud crash of the mop handle against the laminated flooring cuts him off, and won’s back collides with the mirror behind him. “don’t come even near here ever again. I’ve been nice to you because I didn’t know who you truly were, but now I know and I don’t ever want to see you around here again. I have wasted time, effort and money on you— and lost money because of it all! get out.” won scrambles to gather his things in his arms, trips over his feet as he rushes away from the man he thought he knew. “get out! and tell everyone you know that you don’t work here anymore. your kind aren’t welcome here.”

it’s cold. 

the door clicks shut behind him. the artificial fire is lit but won’s body trembles regardless. it’s an amalgamation of an unsurprisingly low body temperature, anger and fear that has his fingertips dancing across his thigh as he moves through the jeon house and to his room, hiding his backpack before any of his biological family even realise he’s there. 

“there’s food in the fridge for you, ungrateful p—” 

“thank you,” he answers before his mother can continue any further, inching past her to seek out whatever had been left for him. he’s not surprised to find it’s leftovers; from a while ago, if the smell is anything to go by, but it’s all he has, so he tentatively takes a small bite or two and plates it up. maybe if I nibble at it like this, he thinks, I’ll trick myself into thinking I’m full. he moves back towards his room, passing her on his way. 

“where do you think you’re going with that?” 

he doesn’t hesitate before he answers and maybe that’s his biggest regret of the night — not thinking for even a second before he spits back, “my room?” and feels the sting of her palm against his cheek. for the second time, he drops everything in his hands, scraps of food spreading over the floor and the plate smashing into a three large pieces at his feet. 

the next two hours are a blur. he’s not sure where the cut on his finger comes from; picking up sharp edges of broken crockery or the beastly hands grasping at him and tearing him apart. 

it’s cold. 

that’s the first thing he notices once he stops running. the second, it’s wet. the third? that his weak fist makes the same thud against mingyu’s door as his head does, when his legs give way and he falls forward against it before someone has come to greet him. 

he hears the padding of footsteps before the click of the lock, and he does his best to stand up straight despite the spinning in his head; the disorientation and the knocking of his knees. 

“s-sorry it’s late—” he doesn’t have to say anything more than that — can’t, even — because within seconds, his best friend’s strong arms are wrapping around his torso, keeping him on his feet even if just for a moment. despite the fact that the older is holding him together, he falls apart instantaneously. “I’m s-so s-sorry...” he blubbers into his chest as mingyu guides him through to the sofa in the living room. he thinks he hears him call for sujin and hyunwoo, but his eyes are fluttering closed and he can’t focus on a thing, not until he sits down and breathes in, out, in, out, in a steady rhythm. “I’m s-so sorry,” he repeats, “I want to stay. p-please let me s-stay. p-please don’t make m-me g-go back there. I want to s-stay forever. I want to m-move in— i-if the offer s-still st-stands. p-please let me s-stay.” 

soon, he’s curled up in mingyu’s arms, bandages, plasters and cream soothing his wounds, and more importantly, protective arms around him soothing his heart, giving him the safety he’s always craved— needs, at this point. 

he cries himself to sleep eventually, but he notices one last thing before he drifts off. 

it’s warm. 

[platoniclokiimagines]

For your recent post about Loki dying on you, I feel like at his funeral his best friend would just say "As much he was my best friend, some bitch had to die first-" during the speech to try to be positive before bursting out in genuine grieving tears

I am scraping so far into the barrel with this prompt that I don’t even remember which post about Loki dying this was originally about, but uh... Have some emotions, anyway!

WC: 1349

Rating: G

TW: character death, mention of character death

The day you had been dreading was finally upon you, and asmuch as you’d tried your best to mentally prepare yourself for it, you justdidn’t know that you’d be able to make it through the day without some sort ofa breakdown.

Losing Loki had been the one thing that could have happenedto you that would have ruined you completely, and you were handling it gloriously badly.

The time that had passed between Loki’s death and thepresent had seemed to somehow pass by both in a blur and at a snail’s pace atthe same time, and you couldn’t remember the last time that you had feltanything besides grief and pure exhaustion. You weren’t sleeping much, youweren’t eating much.

“You know you don’t have to do this, Y/N. No one expects itof you,” Thor reminded you gently, as he straightened his shirt for what had tohave been the tenth time in the last two minutes.

You shrugged a shoulder, gaze fixated on the wall becauseyou weren’t sure you could handle looking at Thor in the eye. Not when you knewyou were one wrong move away from collapsing in on yourself like a black hole. “Yes,they do. I was the closest one to them, other than you and Hela. Besides, Ithink I’ll really knock it out of the park.” You nodded, but you weren’t evenconvincing yourself.

Thor, for what it was worth, accepted the statement at facevalue. “…alright. No shame in bailing, though. Just… in case.”

You nodded, and smoothed your clothes down, and didn’t moveagain until Hela came into the room and gently announced that it was time.

A part of you was glad that you’d be the last to speak atthe funeral. It gave you the opportunity to hear what Thor and Hela were goingto say, while allowing you a few minutes to both compose yourself and edit yourown speech to better follow after Loki’s siblings’.

Hela was the first to speak, and her speech focused on the technicalityof it all. How death was only a step towards what came next for Asgardians, andhow Loki was being greeted as a warrior in the halls of Valhalla right at thevery moment. She was emotionless, which wasn’t out of the norm for Hela by anymeans, but you could tell by the way she slightly leaned into Thor, who stoodnext to her with a steadying hand on her forearm, that she was reeling from theloss just as much as you and Thor were.

When it came time for Thor to speak, he began to cry beforehe could even finish his first sentence, and he had to take several moments tocollect himself as he regaled a few stories about growing up with his sibling,and how life had been when they were younger and times were simpler, and how hewished he could go back to those times and freeze them like a picture, beforeanything bad could ever happen to them. By the time he had finished, he was soconsumed with sobs that Hela had to guide him back to his seat, and even oncethey had both sat down, she kept her hand in his.

And then it was your turn, and suddenly you felt as thoughyou couldn’t breathe and couldn’t think and couldn’t move.

Hela’s speech had been reserved and almost poetic, and Thor’shad been nostalgic and mournful. You needed something in between. Somethingthat would ease the burden that was weighing everyone down.

“Just be yourself.”

You could hear Loki’s voice in your head as clear as if theywere standing right at your side, and it gave you the courage to steel yourselfand move to the front of the room, hands clasped in front of yourself.

You hadn’t written the speech down. You hadn’t even writtenan outline down. Your plan the entiretime had been to wing it. Chaos, to a fault. You hoped Loki would haveappreciated it.

You cleared your throat as you looked up at the small crowd;there were somehow less and morepeople than you expected to be there, and the feeling of all their gazes on youmade you a little anxious.

“…so. I’m not… related to Loki. Not… Not really. But Lokiwas… the best friend I’ve ever had. The firstfriend I had, when I came here. I didn’t know how to control my own powers.I didn’t know how to fight with a team. I didn’t know anything. And Loki… Well, Loki knew everything. Or at least, made it seem that way.”

That earned a few quiet laughs from the gathering, and youallowed yourself to a smile a bit, as well.

“Loki had such a… strange quality about them. They alwaysacted as though they were… beyond help, beyond hope… Beyond belonging. But whenyou think about it… Loki’s sort of the reason we’re all here today. And I don’tmean because this is their funeral.”

Again, you got a few laughs, and you laughed a bit, as well.

“Without Loki, none of this…” You gestured openly, inreference to the main greeting hall of the Compound, where everyone hadgathered for the funeral. “…would exist. There would be no Avengers, no Campus…No team. And yeah, maybe it was a shit plan that Loki came here with, but… theyleft here with so much more. They left with mended familial bonds, new friends,a home away from home… A new family, in all of us.”

You swallowed thickly, before you continued.

“And I, for one, am so grateful to be part of this place.Part of Loki’s unintentional legacy. And you know, as Loki’s best friend, Ithink I’m legally allowed to say this next part, but… One of us had to be thefirst to die, and rather that little shit than me.” You felt a lump rise inyour throat, even as you laughed, but you pushed past it. “I don’t say that tobe cruel. Not by any means. But when you think about it, Loki saw so much ofthe world. Had so much time with theworld. Over a thousand years is a long time to have to live and learn and tolove and be loved, a-and…” Your voice caught in your throat, and out of thecorner of your eye, you saw Hela move to get up, but thought nothing of it.

“A-and the sad thing is… the sad thing is that… A thousandyears is a really, really short timeto live, by Asgardian standards. A-And Loki… Loki was like a baby… They werejust a baby… They probably weren’t even finished experiencing the world, the universe…” You hiccupped out anothersob, and tried to blink away the film of tears that had clouded your vision. “…andI wish that they could. I wish they could still be here, and I wish they couldstill experience the world, and… And I wish I had my best friend back… I justwant my best friend back…”

Unable to handle the grief any longer, you sank to your kneesand wept, and it was only then that you realized that Hela was standing next toyou, an arm around your shoulder. “Sh… Come, you don’t need to be in here anylonger.”

You let her pull you up, and by the time she’d walked youback towards the rows of chairs, Thor was at your other side, and together thethree of you walked out to a more secluded area, away from the eyes of everyonewatching.

Once you were alone, you opened your mouth in a meagerattempt to apologize, or maybe explain yourself, but you were cut off by Thorbear-hugging you, and the next moment, you were sandwiched between both him andHela.

And all you could do was stand there and keep sobbing andgrieving and wishing that Loki was standing there with you, too.

[basedtater]

Masterpost for Winterhawk Bingo Round 3

Literally cannot believe I blacked out my card this year!!! All the fics I've written for this round will be listed under the readmore as to not clog up everyone's dashes. Thank you mods to a wonderful round!

Special Badges I'm going for are the Bucky Badge!!!!

B1 - Feeling Helpless I Don’t Wanna Be Just Friends Ch01 Wc: 909

B2 - Tower Fic Fake Your Death Ch08 wc: 1173

B3 - Sniper Bucky Perfectionist Tendencies wc: 757

B4 - Aw [blank] No We’ll Never Get Free Ch03 wc: 1349

B5 - Bad Coping Mechanisms I Don’t Wanna Be Just Friends Ch03 wc: 1018

I1 - 5+1 Things I Wanna Be Close To You (I know that its worth it) wc: 1214

I2 - Vision Loss Blindsided By You wc: 807

I3 - Protective Clint Barton Keep Me Alive Ch 03 wc: 1579

I4 Deception You’re Something Worth Missing wc: 2262

I5 - Forehead Kisses I Don’t Wanna Be Just Friends Ch 06 wc: 1027

N1 - Makeshift Weapon We’ll Never Get Free Ch04 wc: 1222

N2 - Redroom!Clint + Redroom!Bucky We’ll Never Get Free Ch01 wc: 1814

N3 - Free space We’ll Never Get Free Ch07 wc: 1286

N4 - Shitty Childhood We’ll Never Get Free Ch02 wc: 1417

N5 - Presumed Dead We’ll Never Get Free Ch06 wc: 1616

G1 - Bucky’s Trigger Words Can’t We Just Talk? Wc: 1282

G2 - Haircut Fake Your Death Ch01 wc: 1868

G3 - Near Death Experience I Don’t Wanna Be Just Friends Ch 05 wc: 1274

G4 - Post-Endgame Keep Me Alive Ch01 wc: 1920

G5 - Jealousy I Don’t Wanna Be Just Friends Ch02 wc: 1707

O1 - Panic Attacks Keep Me Alive Ch02 wc: 2059

O2 - Bucky Worries About Clint We’ll Never Get Free Ch05 wc: 1800

O3 - Assassin!Bucky I Don’t Wanna Be Just Friends Ch07 wc: 1369

O4 - Kidnapping And I Swear You’ll See The Light Again Wordcount: 933

O5 - Huddling for Warmth Fake Your Death Ch02 wc: 1224

Final WC: 34866!!

Thanks everyone for a wonderful experience over in WHB!

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

When Our Hands Next Meet

Series summary: Soulmates are given memories of their past lives when their hands touch. For Virgil and Logan, each memory is happier than the last.

This series was created for @analogicalweek and made in collaboration with the lovely @birdsongisland! They made this amazing piece for this this work; go support them with reblogs so it can be seen!

Credit to birdsongisland for beta reading this as well! You’re input means a lot and I’m truly grateful.

Chapter 2: The Lines Trace Back to You

Chapter Summary: Logan and Virgil share a quiet moment away from their ship as Logan tells stories with the stars.

Day 2 Prompt: Song/Stars

Warnings: none. If there are others please let me know!

WC: 1349

AO3 link

Taglist (ask to be added or removed): @ace-in-a-shopping-cart @janus-is-an-adorable-snek-boi @logans-library @im-an-anxious-wreck @edupunkn00b

The night was still and calm, bringing a quiet respite for the crew of a ship docked on the beach nearby. Waves lapped quietly at the ships hull and lulled even the most dutiful night watcher into a light slumber, entrusting the safety of their fellow shipmates to the vast expanse of peaceful nothing that lay beyond the beach. Soft winds whistled through the sparse trees and kicked up the sand at their bases, irritating the crabs hiding underneath as they hastened to rebury themselves before sunrise. Crickets sang out the last notes of their songs while birds chirped the first of theirs. Up on a nearby hill a man sighed blissfully, hidden from view even from the keenest of eyes and leaning back to relax into the sturdy chest behind him.

Virgil felt a low rumble against his back and smiled, tilting his head back to look at what his designated pillow could be laughing at. Deep green eyes met a deeper blue and not for the first time he felt himself get lost in the other’s gaze. He would sooner throw himself off his own ship in a storm than admit he might be a sap but those eyes had always compromised any notion he might have had that his heart was anything other than soft. A hand came up to cup his jaw and he closed his eyes to feel the ghost of a kiss brush against his forehead. Too soon the feeling passed, replaced instead with the hand crossing over to grip his shoulder and pull him tighter into the heat that radiated off the body behind him. In the chill of the early morning he had never been more grateful to have a living space heater to call his own.

Nuzzling back as Logan rested their chin on top of his head he sighed happily, pouting slightly as another chuckle jostled his position somewhat. He brought his hand up to tap at Logan’s arm to get their attention, snapping out quick motions with his fingers when he was sure he had it.

"What’s so funny?"

“You’re too easy to rile up.” Logan answered affectionately. “I was just thinking how lucky I am to see this side of you. You give orders all day like you were born to the violence of the sea and yet cling to me like a damsel in distress when away from prying eyes. It’s cute.”

Laughing outright as their forearm was bit gently in warning they brought their other hand up to comb through Virgil’s fluffy hair, earning a content purr for their efforts which they figured meant their apologetic offer had been accepted. They leaned back against the tree again, tightening their grip to bring Virgil with them so they could gaze up at the sky. It was still dark enough to see the stars relatively clearly, the barely there threat of dawn lighting the horizon just enough to show the purple of the other’s hair. They hummed softly in triumph as they found what they were looking for, bringing their hand up to point at a cluster of stars. 

“Can you see that bright star there? Slightly left of the treeline?” They waited until Virgil tapped his confirmation before continuing. “There are three more dimmer stars that sort of make a line see? And crossing them are three stars with a row of three set right on the edge making a curve shape. Altogether they resemble a swan.”

Virgil tapped their arm again that he understood as he relaxed completely into the secure hold. He always loved to hear Logan talk about stars- a lot of the time the only thing they were used for was navigation, old stories forgotten and rewritten to better suit a life of sailing the seas. But when Logan talked about them there were always stories attached that dated back to Roman philosophers or amazonian astrologists. Where Virgil had been trained to see calculations in the sky Logan told of great battles won and lost, of Great Hunts led by archers on elk and bears doomed to wander the void for eternity- all told with the deep rumbling voice he had grown accustomed to falling asleep to when the night allowed it.

“It’s called Cygnus.” That voice called Virgil’s attention back from his wandering thoughts. “It’s Greek history is quite dreary, as the stories of their gods tend to be. But it’s relevance in Hinduism is quite lovely. It correlates with Brahmamuhurtha which translates to ‘a moment in the universe’. Between 4:24 and 5;12 in the morning is supposed to be a favorable time to do anything important or get a running start to the day. It’s a much better story to whatever family drama the Greek Gods had to earn them a constellation.”

Virgil snorted at the last bit; even if Logan knew almost everything there was to know when it came to Greek, Roman and Norse mythology they held a particular disdain for the dramatic and hyperbolized tragedy that made up the majority of the former’s myths and legends. Often if he needed a distraction from something Virgil would start them up on a rant about who should have talked to who about this certain subject so that this group of people wasn’t doomed to be cursed because of those people’s actions. Once Virgil had left the room to do a small task in the next one over, surprisingly unnoticed by Logan who had continued pacing and ranting like he had never left, voice carrying clearly through the walls all while ripping Zeus a new one for not being able to quote “Just keep it in his pants.”

Deciding the air was much too peaceful to start up another one of those discussions he instead raised his hands so Logan could see them, black nail polish glinting in the first rays of dawn as he signed. “What would you be doing right now, with your moment in the universe? Would you be back home waking up at dawn to feed the cows instead of leading a life of crime?”

Smiling, Logan shook their head. They hadn't thought when they were a teenager that someday they'd be sailing around on a pirates’ ship with one of most ruthless (as far as rumors went) crews in all the seas. They’d been trying to swipe Virgil’s coinpurse, not knowing who he was at the time, and had of course been caught before the bag had even left the pirate’s belt. The moment their skin had touched however, a thousand and one lives had flashed in an instant, leaving them blinking in astonishment into green eyes that glimmered with reserved mischief and buried kindness. 

Prayers they hadn’t even known they had had been answered that day as an anonymous envelope containing the money their family had needed was found on their doorstep along with hidden coordinates along the edge that was thankfully overlooked by their mother. They missed her some days but their life had taken a better turn when they had turned up on the boat at the crack of dawn, hauling themself over the railing and waving the envelope at the person who had their face pinned to the deck with their sword before they could breathe a word. Home? That was with Virgil. Looking down at the man still curled comfortably in their lap worrying at his bottom lip they expressed as much in earnest.

“I’d be right here, doing exactly as I am right now. You are my moment always, and there’s nowhere else in the universe that I’d rather be.”

Tracing lines in the freckles on their cheeks, Logan felt Virgil spell out “sap” on their cheekbones, making them grin and lean over to cup the other’s cheeks in their own hands. 

“All the lines between the stars- they all trace back to you my love.” 

The hill obscured the kiss shared between them from any eyes that may have wandered in their direction, allowing only the stars to bear witness to their moment in the universe.

Previous     Next

[xhappyfamily-blog]

Jess is awoken by the light sun on her feet, an overly humid blanket and her alarm beeping, beeping until she swings her arm, for the clock to click to a silence. She yawns a little, wipes her eyes and aimlessly heads for the bathroom to brush through her hair.

When she leaves the house, she takes a quick glance into the nearby store, full of branded-clothing. There, she encounters a rather pixelated Rolling-Stones-look-alikes poster (with over-grown moustaches, styled gelled hair paired with unfitting blazers – something she’d like on a shirt), hung from the inside of the glass, advertising for helping hands at the concert hall. I’ve always wanted to do this, Jess thinks, and as she ponders, fumbles through her bag for her phone to take a photograph of the advertisement. As her phone focuses, she hears a voice calling out to her.

“Excuse me dear, you should take it!” The middle-aged shop assistant is on one leg, leaning from the inside and as if inevitably attached to the door frame. Jess looks at her blankly, unsure whether she should pack away her camera or pull a face that made it seem like she knew what the woman was talking about.

“Take it, the poster, today’s the last day anyway. You better make the call by 5pm.”

-

The sun is due to set, and streetlights are awaiting their moments of glory. So Jess makes the cut, after enthusiastically filling in identity forms, and now standing at the Gastra Concert Hall, she promises to not volunteer there too long before the sounds of deep beats beneath rooting voices of amateurs defines her life. OMG, what?! This is a HOLIDAY Jess, not some i-help-others-wipe-their-ass-cause-I-finished-wiping-mine-with-one-of-the-most-life-changing-exams-of-my-life, her friend texts back when she vents her excitement.

Foine, she thinks, as she walks through the delicate hallway, with a chandelier hanging from the tall ceiling, leather sofas and is greeted by an usher perhaps.

“That way please, Jessica, the theme is intergalactic universe,” his glasses hang off his nose, and his shaky hand urges to make a left turn. Jess raises her brow in disbelief; what even.

She walks onto the stage; the floor is sprayed with a cosmo-pattern. As she follows the others’ motions of avoiding the running cables on the floor, she sees someone struggling with the gristly mess of paper stringers centre-stage. He pulls a confused face, his eyes in fixated focus, and Jess hears an arduous voice yelling from the depths of backstage - please finish soon, it’s almost 7, it’s almost show time, time is ticking, and goodness, Jess thinks, it would be unhuman to not be on the verge of ripping your hair out.

She decides to escape problematic problems by avoiding them. She heads to a small room backstage, down the stale-white hallway, allocated for volunteers to put their belongings. Jess delves through her bag for her Ipod, but finds the tall rolled-up poster of the Rolling Stones look-alikes. She pulls off the elastic, unrolling it and resolves to stick it inside her square locker door. She looks around the neighbouring lockers; filled with eccentric quote-badges and cool retro banners and she feels at loss with her boring advertisement.

As she searches the room for sticky-tape, a voice interrupts her.

“Uh, what are you doing?” the voice is inquisitive and comes out rather dubious.

Jess turns around to see the guy who was struggling with the mess of paper stringers on stage and she smiles automatically, despite his off-putting attitude. He’s leaning against the door frame, which gives Jess a chance to observe his appearance - how he’s clad with a mandatory shirt, trackies and identity lanyard, but still looks fitting; his hair is an almost-black brown.

“Umm, I’m looking for tape; do you know where there is any?” Now that she has a better look at the guy, he’s not too bad, his nose is sharp, and his jawline is prominent.

“No,” his response is dull and raw, but he pries again. “What do you need it for?”

“Oh, just sticking something,” Jess stands awkwardly, unsure whether it would be ignorant to keep searching, but she gives the coffee table surreptitious looks anyway.

“Nah, I thought it was cereal,” his mouth turns slightly upwards, and Jess swallows a gasp because people really do look billion times less forbidding when they look happy. His eyes narrow slightly before they return to his unamused façade, and he grits his teeth. “A few mouths you want to tape shut?”

Jess thinks he’s reasonably menacing, so she pretends like she knows what he’s saying by letting out a phony chuckle and nodding in an “I understand” manner.

“Did you nod just because you have a head and a neck?”

Jess is speechless. She glances at him again, because he doesn’t exactly look bad or murderous, and surprisingly, his face has softened as he looks back at her with his dark eyes. He has prickly words, but a composed appearance.

“That concert-manager-guy pisses me off a hell lot,” he continues and walks to the back cupboard, opens the door and pulls out a new, unopened roll of sticky-tape, yells a think fast, before he hurls it over to Jess. She realises that he indeed knows where the tape is; he seems to know his way around the place like the back of his hand.

“Can I even use this?” Jess says, unconvinced after catching the roll on a full.

“Sure you can, but will you?”

“Uhhh…I don’t know…?”

“No one’s going to watch you commit your little crime besides me,” he laughs - laughs, Jess notes. He’s leaning against a chair back, now miraculously with a straw in a can of Mother.

“So, can I?”

“Can you decide?” He jokes.

Jess nods and picks at the tape, suddenly feeling embarrassed putting up the advertisement. She feels his eyes on her, and she imagines that he’s probably raising his brow or holding in a guffaw.  

“You’re a fan of them?”

Jess suddenly feels too warm for comfort; she’s put on the spot, and what can she say when she doesn’t even know who they are?

“Uhhh, I guess…” she stammers as she sticks the last corner down.

“Wow, really?”

“Yeah, they’re cool…” she says, like she’s ever seen them before today, like she stalks them like she used to stalk bands...

He walks over and points at the guy second from the left, with shades and a burgundy blazer. “What do you think of him?”

“I...uh...like his blazer...”

“Wow, uh thanks,” He looks flattered, before smirking to himself. “I don’t really know what to say, haha.”

He starts again. “Aren’t you going to ask for my autograph or something now? I’ll even sign it as hot-blazer-guy if you want.”

And then Jess processes that the guy standing in front of her is in the picture, and she is unbelievably flushed and confused and irresolute whether she should keep pretending or come clean. He is unrecognisable behind the shades, and he looks kind of cool now that she looks at him in burgundy. She also coughs at his last statement.

“Oh-uh-ok-yes...?” After all, he’s got to be somewhat famous if they wanted him on a poster.

“Where?”

“On the...poster is ok.”

“Hah, alright.” He smiles, “not my famous back autograph?”

Jess watches as he grabs a marker from his pocket, wondering what in the world was going on. She shakes her head, as she waits to see his oh-so-exciting signature. Why would he be helping out if he was some singer, she thinks.

“Alright, that’s that,” he throws the pen back into his pocket. “The manager’ll be calling us all again for show, so come out soon.” He fixes his hair and simpers out of the room, empty Mother-can on the table.

Jess leans for a closer look at his fine pen strokes; they are messy and coarse and there is an arrow pointing to the burgundy guy’s head, a caption - You're much of a fan to know he's the lead singer ;) This is Johnny Weffer; I am not Johnny Weffer.