#you could make this comparison about us when we were seventeen maybe we were like way worse about things then we're better now

[mantisgodiveblog]

Idk why everyone is saying you're a loop kin. you remind me more of a siffrin

Excuse you, we're way hotter than that guy. We've aged out of being a socially anxious nerd in a cloak. Now we're a hot nerd in a trench coat and/or several different layers of jewelry and/or an outfit that has people say to us phrases like "you look like a time traveller who figured that the 1980s are basically the 2020s in the grand scheme of things and is only now realizing that the time periods are very different however you are indeed very hot" or the perhaps more descriptive "you look like harry dubois".

Actually, was nerd the one that originated from the guys biting chicken's heads off with their teeth? We should use that one. We're the guy doing that but hotter and also more likely to torment fictional characters for fun.

[livredebelle]

Seventeen: The memory of the blue anemone (part 1)

WHEN I WAS A CHILD, I OFTEN DREAMT OF sleeping in a flower patch flooded with blue anemones--blue, because blue was my favorite color then and now. The flowers were beautiful and probably my favorite type in the world. It was a lonely and sad dream; there was never any other soul present, and I found myself back in the same blue field whenever I felt depressed or lonely growing up, which was pretty frequent. Even now, when I close my eyes I can so vividly see the scenery that relaxes me--yet, paradoxically, makes me a bit anxious at the same time, for deep in my heart I knew that I only had this specific dream whenever I was troubled with my thoughts and feelings. This was my escape fantasy world whenever I didn't want to deal with whatever was happening in real life. 

When did this bad habit of escapism start?

The day I shed my naïveté and fully recognized the craziness of my family, I felt was the first time I was seeing things clearly. Up until that day, I never thought I had a harder life than others--just different, up until a certain point and age.

For example, on those occasions whenever Pete had lost his temper and marked my face, I had thought that I had perhaps deserved it; that it was natural for a parent to discipline his or her child, no matter how harsh the punishment. I hadn't questioned it, because it was far less worse than the verbal abuse Mother resorted to, which made my heart feel so hollow that I would wonder if I even had one. Believing that her children were the bane of her existence, she constantly found ways to criticize and belittle my own. Struggling to find jobs and tired of rejections from film executives and romance partners alike, she could find no source of happiness and found that it was easier to blame her failures on others, namely us. 

"Those goddamn geezers," she had cried out one morning, when I was in the fourth grade, as she poured herself a cup of coffee and mixed it with her favorite bourbon. "They'll regret casting me aside this time. Who the hell do they think I am?! I'm Melanie Everly! I used to make big bucks for their film company back in the day, and now they change their mind because I'm not a stable source of investment? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She stared down hard at me as I continued to calmly eat my cereal. "God... could you chew any louder? Really. I can't stand you, even though you are my child."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry--that's all you ever fucking say. Don't you have a bigger vocabulary than that? But then again, maybe I shouldn't have expected anything from that man's child. Like father, like fucking daughter, annoying as shit." 

Truthfully, I didn't remember much about my birth father because he'd left us when I was far too young to understand its implications, so her comparison didn't sting too much. The timeline was a little foggy, because whenever I had questions about him Mother became so livid that I dared not to speak his name across my lips. He wasn't allowed to exist, and if we ever spoke of him it was when she wanted to lash out at the unfairness of her life and complain her ass off. 

I wondered if He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named knew what kind of life he had left behind--or escaped. Either way, I didn't care because I resented him. How could I not? He was the source of all my problems; the reason Mother became so unhappy and fucked up in the head, the reason I had to endure all this crap, because he was too much of a coward to deal with them himself. 

Lying down in the blue anemone field, I would wish that this were my reality instead. Reality was too painful. The constant ridicule and rebuke I had to endure had become too much. I began to question everything about myself, and every morning the first thought that crossed my mind was that it would have been convenient if I had simply not awoken again. How selfish of a request, to die comfortably in your sleep. That was probably an honor reserved for the best human beings on the planet, on the other side of the spectrum far from the damned, including me. 

"Mama," I mumbled hesitantly, "the teacher said we need to bring twenty dollars for our field trip fee by next week..."

"What? Don't talk nonsense; you're not going on some unsupervised trip. Twenty dollars? They're trying to rip kids off now! Unbelievable. You're staying home, and that's final."

"Okay."

"Where is your report card? Shouldn't it have come out by now?"

"Yes. I have it here for you to sign..." 

She snatched it from my hands as soon as I took it out of my backpack. She eyed it meticulously, then signed it and put it back down on the table. "Good. I expect nothing less than As, you understand? Keep it up and don't you dare slack off. Rosalie! Where's yours?"

Rose flinched in her seat at the table. She wasn't as studious as me, but she was definitely more athletic and pretty. But for our dear mother, nothing less than perfection would satisfy her. Which was precisely why she could never be satisfied with us. 

When Rose handed her report card over in silence, I steeled myself for the ensuing blow. Sure enough, Mother flew into a rage. 

"This is what you call a report card? Thank God you take after my looks at least, or you'd be utterly hopeless. Do you two know how harsh the real world is? You have no idea because you're just children. Well, you'll learn when you're older, and you'll understand. By then, no one will help you--certainly not me; I have my own life to live by then. You should be grateful that I didn't abandon you guys at the orphanage those years ago, when I should have..." 

As she trailed off, Rose and I both knew--no, were already aware, that she regretted that decision. She liked to remind us occasionally. 

"Do you think what she said is true?" Rose asked quietly as we walked to school together that day. "That I'm worthless because I don't get good grades...?" 

"No, don't listen to her. You know she's just saying those things because she's angry."

"But why is she always angry at us? Did we do something wrong?" 

"..."

Her questions were always too difficult to answer. She was only two years younger, yet she was pure and her heart was good. I wanted to protect that as long as I could; it was too late for me, who had already begun to see the ugliness of life and felt bitter about it. If I stared into a mirror at my reflection hard enough, I thought, on the other side of that glass would be my sister shining in light, whereas I'd be hidden in the shadows.

"How much lunch money do you have left?" I asked instead, changing the subject. 

"Not much... enough for a boiled egg and a sandwich, I think. What about you, sister?" 

"I'm fine," I lied. In fact, I had run out of lunch money and knew I would have to skip lunch again, but it didn't matter. I had been lucky enough to have had breakfast that day, and would have to persevere. I had slipped Rose some of my earned lunch money because I knew that she was still growing and needed more nourishment than I did; I could steal food from the cafeteria, after all--which I did from time to time--or I could share food with my classmate and friend, Gail, who came from a well-off family and was the only one in the class who was nice to me. 

After dropping Rose off in front of her classroom, I trudged towards mine, already feeling defeated for the day and out of energy but mainly feeling apathetic. Once I opened the classroom door, the students fell into a hush because the gloomy social outcast had arrived. Gail, unlike the others, was the only one who smiled at me and approached me at my desk.

"Good morning! Do you want to eat lunch together today, Irina? I have a couple of friends from other homeroom classes that will be joining, but it will be alright, since they're really nice."

"Sure. Thanks, Gail." Even though I was awkward and hardly smiled, Gail was the only one who treated me like a normal kid, and for that I was grateful. I gave her a sheepish smile before she beamed back and skipped over to a group of students who were complaining about an upcoming test. 

Later, before lunch break and during our free self-study period, I headed for the bathroom as I needed to pee. Once I was behind the safety of a stall, however, I heard the arrival of a couple more girls who were loud and giggly as soon as they entered, and I felt instantly annoyed. My peace was thereby ruined.

"Have you seen her hair? It's covering like half of her face! Doesn't she know how to get her bangs trimmed?" 

"Psh, what about her uniform? You can totally tell it's not washed; it smells like oily food and makes us all sick. I wish she weren't in our class. Why am I so unlucky?"

The voices belonged to a couple of girls I could identify from my class by face, but I couldn't recall their exact names. It didn't matter; this was nothing new. They didn't understand that both of those things were beyond my control. I couldn't get my hair cut because Mother didn't want to spend money on it. She would cut it for me now and then, but she would do it so bad that I preferred it, actually, when she didn't try to help. And as for the uniform, I couldn't really help that either. To do laundry, I needed coins, which Mother didn't provide because she was almost never home. I only had the one set of a blouse, skirt and tie, so it wasn't like I could wash it everyday. One time a kind old woman who lived above us felt pity at seeing our squalor conditions at home and offered to help by doing our laundry, but when Mother found out, she had been furious and made a scene, threatening the lady: 

"You think we're beggars? We don't need your pity; who asked for your help, old woman?! Do you want a lawsuit on your hands? I can make you pay!" 

Of course, the old woman--and the rest of our neighbors--became too afraid to intervene from then on. Fear of repercussions often outweighs kindness in any adult's heart, I realized. I had received lashings with a ruler that night for ruining her star image, and was starved for three days and three nights as punishment. I would hallucinate because of the hunger, pain, and fatigue, but what made me hold on was the hatred at the bottom of my heart--even if I never wanted to feel again, and eventually made me wish I would just die. 

But nothing had turned my heart quicker to stone than hearing Gail laugh loudly in the bathroom that day.

"I know, right?" she guffawed. "God... her stench... really makes me so sick, I want to puke. But my mama told me to be nice to her, because her family is ruined and she's done for. If you want to be a good person, you're supposed to have pity for the ones who are below you. And she's, like, totally at the bottom of the social ladder." 

So she had been spending time with me under false pretenses all this time--how many hours had I wasted on this rotten excuse for a human being? Talking all high and mighty because her family had more money than I did. I couldn't stand her scorn, especially after knowing it came from someone so fake and detestable. She had never once been my friend. Maybe it was better this way, because now I was able to know the truth in her heart, and she wouldn't be able to deceive me any longer. When I thought that, I became really calm in a manner of seconds. She couldn't hurt me anymore, but I could hurt her.

I flung open the bathroom stall door, making the three girls shriek and jump in surprise. When they saw me walk out of there confidently, Gail's face paled. As I wordlessly washed my hands, I could feel their stares on my back. Once I was done, I simply looked Gail straight in the eye and said:

"I don't want to be friends with a brainless slut like you, either. People like you who rely on their family's money and use their looks to advance up the so-called 'social ladder'... are nothing but leeches. I don't need your pity or friendship. Go rot in hell."

After that incident in the girls' bathroom, absolutely nobody would talk to me anymore. They were either afraid after learning the stuff I'd said, or they were more interested in full-out bullying me after my sole (fake) supporter abandoned me. Even though the girls would taunt me with nasty threats and the boys would pull at my hair, I didn't react. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Instead, as revenge, I stole a can of chicken noodle soup from the cafeteria and, during lunchtime, I poured the hot soup all over Gail's hair. 

"There. Now your hair's all smelly and greasy, too. Don't ever talk to me again or I'll hurt you. And this applies to all of you"--I gave a death stare to all my classmates--"don't talk to me or come near me, or I'll make sure you get what you deserve."

Gail said nothing and took the mistreatment. The whole class became afraid of me after that, calling me demented, and the rumor spread that I was crazy and that I should be left alone, which was what I'd preferred. The next week, Gail had transferred to a different school.

[robininthelabyrinth]

CQL-verse! The characters have the same age gaps between them as their actors and actresses! Wwx and Jyl are the same age, jc is 5 years younger than them. Lxc is 3 years younger than wwx&jyl and lwj is 3 years younger than him. Nmj is two years older than wwx&jyl and nhs is 8 years younger than him and the same age as lwj. (1/2)

Meng Yao is 2 years older than nhs and jzx is 2 years older than MY. I'm leaving the Wen Sibs out of this because otherwise WN would be the same age as wwx and WQ would be 4 years younger than him. But hey! If you want to go with that, go crazy! I was thinking more of Yunmeng Sibs focus, but I will be happy with anything! (2/2)

ao3

Untamed

Nie Mingjue hated the Wen sect to the point of death and war, but he had always had trouble hating sad and gentle Wen Ning.

Wen Ning was technically his peer – there were only two years between them in age – and therefore capable of the same sorts of responsibilities and duties towards righteousness as Nie Mingjue, meaning that he ought to hate him as much as all the rest. But at the same time, Wen Ning was only part of the main branch family indirectly, a ward of Wen Ruohan; he was constantly suppressed and even tormented by Wen Chao, the eldest son of that family. If anything, it seemed almost as if he’d been brought into the family just to act as the family’s scapegoat, the inferior copy that was so hapless that he made that self-indulgent hedonist Wen Chao appear somewhat competent in contrast.

Nie Mingjue couldn’t imagine treating any of his own cousins that way.

He and Wen Chao were often compared, both being about the same age, and their young brothers were of similar age as well, both of them only fourteen; this juxtaposition made sure that every single person in the cultivation world talk of them in the same breath. Nie Mingjue always came out the better in the comparison, and Wen Xu the same for his, which in the minds of most people balanced out, but which caused Wen Chao no end of rage. He knew he couldn’t take out his anger on the talented Wen Xu and so took out on poor Wen Ning instead.

Nie Mingjue hated the Wen sect.

He did not hate Wen Ning.

Wen Ning, who should not be here.

“Please,” Wen Ning said, nearly in tears, as he threw himself down to the floor in front of Nie Mingjue. He’d burst into the room in the inn Nie Mingjue was staying at, the guards that no sect leader could do without no matter what they wanted following close behind in alarm until Nie Mingjue had waved them off with a gesture; he’d been panting so hard that he’d only just now caught his breath. “Please help this useless older brother do one good thing with his life.”

Alarmed, Nie Mingjue reached out and caught Wen Ning by the shoulders, pulling him to stand and even forgetting himself enough to reach forward with a sleeve to dab away the tears staining the other man’s face.

“What is it?” he asked, feeling anxiety curdling in his gut. He’d spoken with Wen Ning before during the discussion conferences, both when he was younger and even, in a few stolen moments, after he became sect leader; he knew Wen Ning had a steady personality, if a weak one from all the bullying he endured, and that he was not given to unnecessary hysterics. If he could tolerate Wen Chao’s endless torment with a faint smile and a don’t worry sect leader Nie once you’re used to it it’s more funny than anything else, then what could make him act like this? “What is that you need help with? I do not understand.”

Wen Ning looked tired. He always had, his health had always been poor, but now it seemed worse than ever; there were circles under his eyes, and Nie Mingjue had no idea how he’d managed to get away from the Nightless City to come find him. The town he was currently in was close to the border the Qinghe Nie shared with Qishan Wen, but it was still an effort, especially for someone like Wen Ning. He might be a member of the Wen family by name, but his freedom was significantly curtailed, and it wasn’t only because he was sickly.

“My little sister is going to be attending the lectures at the Cloud Recesses,” Wen Ning said.

“The - Lan sect lectures?” Nie Mingjue repeated blankly. It was a stupid thing to say; of course it was the Lan sect’s lectures, who else would give lectures at the Cloud Recesses? And yet, at the same time – “The Wen sect hasn’t gone to them in generations.”

“Sect Leader Wen asked A-Qing to look for something,” Wen Ning said. “I don’t know what. He talks to her more than he talks to me, when she’s treating him with acupuncture and other such things – he only wants blood relations treating him now, so she’s passing along what she can do, the doctors all say she’s talented – he told her something, I think, but I don’t know what, he doesn’t talk to me…and she doesn’t talk to me, either.”

“She’s sixteen, they’re like that,” Nie Mingjue said, trying to offer comfort, but he didn’t like the sound of that – Wen Ruohan growing reliant on the medical skills of a teenager, talking with her as if she were an adult…it didn’t speak well to the Chief Cultivator’s state of mind. “So she’s going to go spy on them?”

“She is. And maybe more. There’s – there’s something back in the Nightless City, something Sect Leader Wen is refining in order to increase his power. Whatever it is, it’s powerful and evil.” Wen Ning looked paler than usual, somehow. “It was something that was kept in a cave near our village when we were younger, once. Sect Leader Wen took it away to study, and it made something go crazy, I got hurt, and my parents – anyway, it doesn’t matter. I can’t go near it without losing my senses, so I really don’t know anything about it. But I know that Sect Leader Wen only has a piece – and the Lan sect has another.”

Lan Xichen had never mentioned such a thing, but then again, he wasn’t really old enough that Nie Mingjue would expect him to know everything about his sect – he was after all a full five years younger than Nie Mingjue, three years younger than Wen Ning; he was still only seventeen, having only just graduated from his uncle’s classes the year before. He was only very technically sect leader, in the same way Nie Mingjue had only been technically sect leader after his father’s death, although unlike Lan Xichen Nie Mingjue had fought his way to step up to the task for real early on. He himself was only barely considered an adult at the age of twenty-two; it was no surprise that in the Lan sect, which had Lan Qiren to rely on, Lan Xichen might not know it all.

Or perhaps he knew, and simply didn’t say. Each sect was entitled to its secrets.

“What are you thinking?” Nie Mingjue asked.

“I’m thinking that my sister is constantly afraid for me, even though she’s younger than me,” Wen Ning said solemnly. “I’m thinking that she will break her own principles into pieces to protect me. I’m thinking that she’ll find whatever it is, or find a hint to it, and then Wen Chao will take his forces to burn the Cloud Recesses to the ground in search of it.”

Nie Mingjue could see that.

He didn’t want to, but he could.

“My brother is attending those lectures,” he said blankly. Nie Huaisang was there right now. He could be in danger – no, he would be in danger. Nie Huaisang wasn’t a good cultivator, and at fourteen, he was just a baby. Nie Mingjue had sent Meng Yao with him, nominally as his attendant, but in fact to get the benefit of the classes himself and also bully Nie Huaisang into actually learning something – he’d brought Meng Yao into the Nie sect after Jin Zixuan, full of guilt over how his father had treated a boy only two years his junior, had sent him a letter beseeching him for help following Meng Yao’s public and humiliating rejection from Jinlin Tower – but Meng Yao was only sixteen, of age with Wen Qing; what could he really do?

Moreover, sending Wen Qing and not Wen Xu, even though Wen Xu was the same age as Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji, indicated that Wen Ruohan didn’t want his more promising son to get involved in whatever it was that he was planning, or maybe in whatever consequences followed. If Wen Chao really were to try something violent, they couldn’t afford to have a weakness already there…

“I need to get A-Qing out of the Wen sect,” Wen Ning said, and Nie Mingjue turned to look at him in shock. “Permanently. I’ve begged her to go, but she won’t leave me, she won’t leave our family of the Dafan Wen, but she has to. Something bad is going to happen soon. I know it. I don’t mind trading my life for hers, but she has to live.”

“Is there any way you can go to the Cloud Recesses as well?” Nie Mingjue asked, his mind already racing. He’d long ago given up on helping Wen Ning because he knew the other man wouldn’t turn traitor against his family, being an upright and filial child, but if his family had reached such a depth of corruption as that, then it was only right to leave them behind. If Wen Ning was finally accepting that, maybe there was something he could do. “You’re sensitive to the – whatever it is. Right? Maybe Wen Qing can suggest bringing you around to help her find her way to it.”

“How would that help?”

“It gets you somewhere safe, while I can rescue Dafan Wen – without a threat to you or to them, your sister would have no reason to insist on staying,” Nie Mingjue said, though it wouldn’t be him, exactly, that did the rescue – he’d need a firm alibi lest Wen Ruohan use it as an excuse to start something with his Nie sect. He might have prepared for war as much as he could, but the Wen sect was still stronger; if war broke out, he needed to make sure that he had the moral high ground.

Luckily, Wei Wuxian, that walking calamity of a head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang, had of late developed the habit of wandering over to visit various other sects, including Qinghe (and Nie Mingjue in specific), at his leisure, and no one ever would think to blame him for such a strange thing as a subsidiary sect of distant Wen sect cousins disappearing.

After all, Wei Wuxian had no reason to know or care about the Dafan Wen, and everyone knew he abjured politics completely, violently and repetitively, so as to make no mistake about anyone who might otherwise see him as competition for the Jiang sect’s true heir, Jiang Cheng. The five-year gap between their ages kept them from being compared – you couldn’t expect a child, and at fifteen Jiang Cheng was still very much a child, to keep up with an adult just turned twenty like Wei Wuxian – but there had always been whispers given everything with Cangse Sanren, and Wei Wuxian had had to work very hard to put a stop to them.

Wei Wuxian’s wandering habit had started back when he’d been trying to find Jiang Yanli a new fiancée to replace the engagement he’d broken by fighting with Jin Zixuan, however shameful it was for him to fight with a boy two years his junior. It was for that that he had come to Qinghe to meet Nie Mingjue, leading to them hitting it off as friends despite Nie Mingjue expressing that he had absolutely no interest in getting married to Jiang Yanli, or indeed to any nice young lady at all; then, in turn, Nie Mingjue had brought him to the Lan sect to meet Lan Xichen. They’d gotten along as well, although the most notable outcome of that visit had been little Lan Wangji developing a crush on his elder brother’s new friend while Wei Wuxian remained blissfully oblivious. His wanderings had continued even after Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan had found their way back to each other, affianced once again through their own choice rather than their parents’.

Said parents had not yet been informed of this new situation, as they were waiting for the right time to mention it. Or perhaps more accurately, the right situation to exploit with it…

Now, Nie Mingjue thought. Now was the time. It would work perfectly.

And not just as a distraction.

“Are you sure…?”

“I am,” Nie Mingjue said. “Whatever it is, Wen Ruohan must be kept from obtaining all of the pieces; he’s already too powerful, and more power will only make him more arrogant. I’ll speak with Lan Qiren. Once I take the Dafan Wen back to the Nie sect, your sister will be able to testify to whatever it is that she was asked to search for, which will give Lan Qiren the evidence he needs to get his sect’s approval for retaliatory measures. Moreover, using Wei Wuxian to help me will force Jiang Fengmian to support me as well; there’s no way he’d ever refuse to back him to the hilt.”

“The Jin sect –”

“Will join us,” Nie Mingjue said, thinking of Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan’s yet-to-be-announced engagement. Once Jin Guangshan realized that he would be pulled into the same boat as the rest of them whether he wanted to or not, any resistance he had would crumble like a structure made of sand being beaten down by the tide. “They won’t have a choice. Is there anything else I should know?”

“There’s a child,” Wen Ning said, biting his lips. “Around the same age as your brother or my sister, or maybe the Jiang sect heir, I don’t know, around that. He helps Sect Leader Wen with whatever he’s doing.”

“A child helps him?”

Nie Mingjue didn’t like the sound of that.

“I don’t know. Some secret his family knows, I think…his surname is Xue.”

Nie Mingjue frowned.

“I don’t know much about him,” Wen Ning added. “Only that he has some history with the Yueyang Chang clan. Bad history.”

“That’s a good start,” Nie Mingjue said. He realized that he hadn’t yet released Wen Ning’s shoulders, and gave them a small squeeze before doing so. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will do everything I can to help you.”

Wen Ning looked at him with admiration in his eyes, making Nie Mingjue feel a little hot under the collar.

“Thank you, Chifeng-zun,” he murmured, and Nie Mingjue shook his head.

“Call me by name,” he said, and tried to smile. “You’ll be here a lot in the future, if all goes well.”

Nie Mingjue hated the Wen sect, but he didn’t hate gentle and sad Wen Ning.

He didn’t hate him at all.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Seventeen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: 70% of this fic is written on my phone lying on my side in bed while using swipe typing bc im too lazy to type out words and it shows

TW: discussion of SA

***

Nesta has an easier time adjusting to a third person in the cabin than she thought she would. Maybe it’s because Azriel indeed minds his business, and half the time Nesta isn’t aware he’s there at all.

Cassian seems to be more irritated by it than anyone else—not his brother, of course, but the fact that he and Nesta no longer exist in their own little bubble. Which is how he ends up at Nesta’s apartment with an overnight bag, sprawled out stomach-down on her mattress while she gets ready for bed.

“TV show or movie?” he asks, clicking through her laptop. Shows are Nesta’s thing and movies are Cassian’s; she feels generous enough tonight to say, “Movie.”

“Thank god,” he mutters, typing something on the laptop. “There’s a Turkish horror flick that I was saving for you.”

“Where do you even find these films?” Grabbing her hairbrush, she flops onto the bed beside him and starts brushing out her brassy locks. Before he can answer, Nesta’s phone buzzes from the stool she uses as a bedside table. Feyre’s name flashes on the screen.

Nesta frowns, but picks up without a second thought. “What is it?”

“Nothing serious,” her sister replies. “Just checking in.”

Before Cassian, Nesta didn’t very much understand the purpose of “checking in” without reason. Now she empathizes with Feyre a little. “I’m fine,” she says.

Deciding she can do better than that, she adds, “Cassian and I are about to start a movie.”

“Is it his choice? I’m so sorry for you.”

Nesta peeks over to where Cassian is still intently searching for his obscure movie and smiles a little. “I like Turkish horror,” she replies.

Cassian overhears and grins approvingly.

“Well, I’m looking at wedding dresses with Rhys so he can prepare for when he inevitably proposes,” Feyre says. “In case you wanted to know.”

Nesta did not particularly want to know, but she doesn’t say this. “Sounds fun. Is that it?”

“For what?”

“This conversation.”

Feyre sighs over the line. “Yes, I’ll let you go now. Thanks for picking up.”

The bar is in hell, Nesta thinks. Mostly because she put it there, but she still feels embarrassed to be congratulated over such small things. “Thanks for keeping it short.”

She’s about to hang up when she hears a male voice speak up in the background, and Feyre interrupts, “Wait—before you go, can you tell Cassian to call Rhys back? He wants Cass’s help picking a new team leader for the Italy project.”

Nesta has no idea what that is, but she says, “Sure, fine.” They say their goodbyes and hang up.

“What’d she want?” Cassian says without looking over at her.

“She said Rhys wants you to call him about the Italy project.”

Cassian turns toward her, half sitting up. “Really? What for?”

“Something about picking a team leader.” She returns to brushing her hair. “Why? What’s the Italy project?”

“Something I thought we put aside for good,” he grumbles. “It’s a year-long overseas project in Milan. Rhys thinks it’s gonna bring in a shit ton of money.”

“Sounds big. What do you have to do with it, though?” She’s never heard of Cassian being involved in Night Court’s international operations, even though he takes on more work than the usual employee.

Cassian shrugs, going back to movie searching. “He wanted me to be the one leading the team, and I guess he still feels petty about me turning him down. Honestly, choosing team leaders outside of my department isn’t even part of my jurisdiction.”

Nesta hesitates. “He offered you the job? When?” She didn’t know this.

“On New Year’s.”

“And you turned it down?”

“Yeah.” Cassian clicks on a link that looks like it’ll plant fifteen different viruses in Nesta’s laptop. “Found the movie,” he says.

“Why would you do that?” Nesta demands.

“The movie?”

“The job offer! Why would you turn down such a big opportunity without even telling me?”

Cassian laughs in confusion. “Are you angry right now?”

She’s astonished at his nonchalance. “Cassian,” she says. “It’s Italy.”

Italy with the art and history and seaside beauty—it’s on their top five places to see before they die.

“It’s Milan,” he says like there’s a difference, “and it’s an entire year away from you.” He shakes his head, sitting up to face her. “Are you out of your mind?”

She goes still. “Don’t tell me you said no because of me.”

“Of course I said no because of you.”

“It’s your dream job!” she bursts. “Traveling, exploring, being on your own—”

“Those are our dreams. I made those plans with you. The hell am I supposed to do all the way in Italy without you?”

“You sound codependent,” she retorts.

He narrows his brows. “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing in my position?”

He’s right, of course. Nesta would do the exact same thing for him. But Nesta and Cassian are not the same, and they both know it. “You can’t make that comparison,” she sighs.

“Why not?” he demands.

“Because—” She struggles to put it into words. “I would give up a long distance job for you because it would be worth it. You’re worth it. It doesn’t work the other way around.”

“Again: why the fuck not?”

So he’s really going to make her spell it out. “Because you’re a good boyfriend. You’re affectionate and caring, you always go the extra mile for those you love, and you come with all these free perks. It’s a great deal. And I’m not anything terrible, but I’m the bare minimum compared to you. Why would you give up Italy for the bare minimum?”

Cassian looks at her in disbelief. “I don’t even know how you can say so many wrong things in a row.”

“He’s blinded by love,” Nesta mutters to herself.

“First of all,” he holds up a finger, “I don’t know where you learned to compare yourself to me, but I don’t like it. You make it sound like I need to be paid back for every half-decent thing I do, and that is not the case at all.”

“Of course you think that,” she says. “You wouldn’t be a good person if you didn’t.”

“Then let me be a blunt person.” He puts a hand on her knee and looks her in the eye. “You will never be like me. Very few people are; you can’t take it personally.”

“Oh my god.” Her eyes might roll out of her head.

“But you’re not the bare minimum. Not even close.” He states it like an undeniable fact.

“How so?” she challenges.

“Like how Elain told me about this boy who broke her heart in her high school, and how the next day he walked into class in a leg cast. And how she just knew you had something to do with it, and you two had a huge fight about it that lasted a week.”

Nesta does not enjoy that memory being brought up. Elain called her a psychopath for the incident, and to save her feelings, Nesta (rather unconvincingly) said it had been an accident.

“I didn’t push anybody into a creek,” she maintains the lie. “Sometimes people just fall down there.”

“To be fair, you’re a lot more stable now than you were then. Now when people hurt those you care about, you find sneakier ways to hurt them back. Don’t you?”

“I do not,” Nesta defends.

“Really? Because Eris texted me earlier saying you’ve been ignoring him since New Year’s, and he’s starting to get worried that you have something heinous planned for him. I asked him why he would ever think such a thing of you.” Cassian leans forward and rests his chin on her shoulder. “Why would he think such a thing of you, Nesta?”

Cassian looks pretty well off from here, doesn’t he? She remembers Eris’s smug face. Did you know Rhysand’s parents found him sleeping in the streets?

“Because he said a bad thing,” Nesta says, looking down at her fingernails. “And I have an unfortunate reputation at school for getting back at people who say bad things.” Like the time Brian O’Connell made jokes about a rape trial the class was studying, and then couldn’t find an internship at a single firm the following summer.

“And what did he say? Because I can’t imagine he would directly insult you. He actually likes you, ass that he is.” His face is warm so close to her neck.

She looks away. “I won’t repeat it.”

That seems to be all Cassian needs to get an idea of what Eris said. “And how long are you planning on holding it against him?”

“Forever.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Nesta meets the eyes that haven’t left her face this entire time and snorts. “What’s your point?” Seriously, she’s starting to redden at how close he is.

He buries his face in her neck, his stubble rasping against the sensitive skin there. “The point is that you also do a lot for the people you love. Just in a different way.” He pulls away to look her in the eye. “Don’t do anything to Eris, though,” he says. “Not that I care for him or his shit opinions, but whatever you have planned isn’t worth it.”

Nesta wants to scoff in disbelief at the sincerity on Cassian’s face. He’s always choosing kindness, even at the worst moments. “So that’s your argument?” she says. “You won’t go to Italy because your girlfriend has a bad temper and a taste for revenge?”

“That’s my final argument, Your Honor.” He takes her hand. “Forget Milan, will you? One day I’ll take you to Portofino.”

The longer Nesta knows Cassian, the more she finds it useless to hide from him. Which is why she lets him watch the thoughts flit across her face as she considers his words, deciding whether she believes him. Deciding whether he’s right to give her so much devotion.

“Fine,” she finally says. “You’re right.”

A slow smile spreads across his face as he realizes he won. Wrapping his arms around Nesta’s waist and legs, he hauls her into his lap and shifts around until they’re both comfortable. The movie is forgotten for now.

“Out of curiosity…” He noses at the nape of her neck. “What did Eris say about me to make you so angry?”

When Nesta doesn’t answer, he says, “I’ve already heard everything that could possibly be said. The shit that used to get me when I was eighteen doesn’t have the same hold on me a decade later.”

She lets herself relax into his hold. “It was about the time you spent as an orphan.” Technically, he’s still an orphan, but it was different back then. “I didn’t like the tone of his voice.”

Cassian’s answering hum is a low rumble against her shirt. “Did you know my biological father was from Italy?”

Nesta perks up at that. “No.” She assumed he was entirely Algerian, even though he and Azriel probably look ethnically ambiguous to most. “Isn’t that all the more reason to see Italy someday?”

“Not at all,” he says. “If I could pretend that half of me didn’t exist, I would.”

She can’t think of a response that doesn’t involve a question, so she doesn’t reply. She waits for Cassian to speak on his own terms.

“I went to Italy once,” he admits. “For less than a day while my brothers were partying in Monte Carlo. I was young and stupid, and thought I would never be complete if I didn’t know who my father was.”

“Who was he?” She doesn’t know why she’s whispering.

“No one worth remembering,” Cassian says, his arms unconsciously tightening around her. “I put some dots together and realized how he and my mother must have met, how he must’ve—forced himself on her, and I decided that I didn’t care about bloodlines at all. I never returned to Italy after that.”

Nesta’s hands want to reach out and touch him, soothe him. But her muscles are suddenly very cold, and she can only stiffen. “And what about now? Do you… not want to go back?”

“It’s just a place to me,” he says. “Nothing special, nothing terrible. But I like the way it sounds when you talk about it.” His eyes sparkle. “I’d like to pretend it’s my first time going with you.”

“Alright, then.” She nods. “One day, we’ll go together. It’ll be our first time.”

***

Cassian refuses to let Nesta leave bed the next morning, dragging his heavy mouth across her body whenever she tries to get up. She’s about to surrender to him altogether when her phone starts vibrating loudly, insistently.

Breaking away from Cassian’s attempt at cuddling, she answers without checking the caller ID. “Yes?” she croaks sleepily.

“Where the hell have you been?” Emerie demands.

Nesta shoves Cassian away despite his protests, untangling her legs from the sheets. “At home,” she says, getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom. “Am I supposed to be somewhere else?”

“We haven’t seen you in two weeks,” Emerie says. “Gwyn thought your boyfriend’s weird family killed you.”

“That’s not what happened,” Nesta assures, pulling her shorts down and sitting on the toilet. “I just needed some alone time.” People are all around her these days, it seems. Her body still can’t quite adjust to it.

“Well, have you had enough—are you peeing?”

“Yeah.” She wipes and flushes the toilet.

“Well, clear your day and kick your sorry boyfriend out of your place. I can’t remember the last time I went out.”

“Why does everybody always want to go out?” Nesta says as she washes her hands. “What’s wrong with staying in, being safe, never leaving the house?” She dries her hands on a towel and returns to the bedroom, where Cassian is now sitting up and checking his emails.

“You’re preaching to the choir, but this actually wasn’t my idea,” Emerie says.

Nesta and Cassian alert at the sound of a knock from the front door. Nesta never has uninvited guests.

“Hold on a second, Em,” she says, jogging up the short set of steps to the door. She opens it to the sight of an exasperated-looking Gwyn.

“Jeez, next time send a text that you’re alive, will you?” Gwyn says, shoving past Nesta to enter the apartment. “Do you know how worried I’ve been—” She halts midsentence, one foot hovering above a step as she realizes that Nesta isn’t alone. As she sees Cassian in her bed, bare-chested and highly amused.

“Hey.” He raises a hand in greeting.

Gwyn pales.

“Hello?” Emerie calls over the line.

“You girls both share the same brain,” Nesta sighs. “Let me call you back, Emerie.”

Gwyn whirls around just as Nesta hangs up. “That won’t be necessary,” she says quickly, looking embarrassed. “I’ll be outside. I’m sorry.”

She hurries out of the apartment even faster than she came in, ducking her head to hide her face.

Nesta tosses her arms up in the air. “Great,” she says to Cassian. “Your abs scared her away.”

“But I didn’t do anything—”

She shuts the door behind her as she follows Gwyn outside, barefoot and all. She barely notices the freezing cold air or the awful press of damp grass beneath her feet as she catches up to Gwyn and grabs her elbow. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Gwyn jerks suddenly, yanking out of Nesta’s hold. Her breathing seems a little shallow, and she looks even more embarrassed for it. “It’s nothing. I just didn’t know you had someone over.”

“Cassian? He’s cool, you don’t need to be weird about him,” she tries to reassure Gwyn. “Though I did use to tell him that not everybody wants to see him shirtless all the time.”

“It’s not that,” Gwyn says, waving her off.

Nesta gestures to the apartment. “Do you want to come back inside, then? I’m sure he has clothes on by now.”

Gwyn clears her throat uncomfortably and looks down. “I’d rather not. I’m—I don’t like being around men.”

Nesta pauses, not sure if she heard right. “Like, in a ‘check the backseat of your car before getting in’ way, or…?”

“No, like I can’t be alone in a room with a man without feeling sick. It activates my fight or flight, it’s weird.” She’s carefully stiff, like she’s ready to be met with humiliation.

Nesta remembers that Gwyn has never told her about her therapy sessions before, but she knows they’re more intensive than her own weekly conversations with Lana.

“Not that I think your boyfriend is a bad person,” Gwyn adds when Nesta doesn’t respond. “He looks really nice. He sounds nice, too.”

But Nesta doesn’t care about any of that. Unsure of what to do next, she reaches out and awkwardly pats Gwyn on the arm. “Good thing you’ve never been to the cabin, then. Cassian’s brother is staying…” She trails off when she realizes none of this is relevant. “Why are you here so early?” she asks instead.

Gwyn eases up a little at the change in subject. “I missed you. We’ve barely talked since Christmas.”

Nesta didn’t realize people would take such notice to her absence. “Yeah.” She flushes. “I do that sometimes. I’ll send a message next time I go into hibernation, though.”

“You’re freezing,” Gwyn suddenly scolds, noticing how Nesta’s goosebumped arms are wrapped tightly around herself. She unzips her red hoodie and shrugs it off. “Go back inside and get dressed.” She flings the hoodie around Nesta’s shoulders before Nesta can protest. “Meet me at my car. We’re hanging out.”

Nesta knows that a last minute change of events is not the end of the world, even if it sometimes feels like it. For Gwyn and Emerie, she can bear the discomfort of unexpected plans, same as she does for Cassian. But she at least has to know: “How long will we be out?”

“You can come home after lunch.” At Nesta’s face, Gwyn adds, “Lunch will be at two and shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

Looking her friend up and down, someone who has such an easy time understanding her, Nesta nods in satisfaction. She turns around to go back inside.

***

They end up at the library where Gwyn works, in the stacks of the long-abandoned encyclopedia section.

Emerie takes a loud sip from the huge McDonald’s soda she snuck in. “So all this show was because Gwyn didn’t want to work her shift alone?”

“I just have some last minute cleanup to do,” she hisses for the third time, shoving an old book back where it belongs. “Go to the porn section if you’re so bored here.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” Emerie says. “But I’m glad that we’re congregating now, even if it’s in the most depressing part of the library. I have a present for you girls.” She hands Nesta her drink so she can dig around in her purse.

Nesta personally has no complaints. The library is quiet, it smells of paper and old ink, and it holds all her favorite books. It’s almost better than staying in.

Emerie successfully pulls out a handful of folded and wrinkled papers from her bag, smoothing them out as best she can. “One for each of us,” she says, passing the papers around.

Nesta takes her paper and stares at the header. Gwyn is the first to speak. “Pole dancing classes?”

“Why?” Nesta says.

“Well, I originally offered them to Justinian and Isaac but they said no—”

“It’s really not for me,” Gwyn interrupts, trying to pass the registration form back to Emerie. “Sorry.”

Nesta doesn’t give her form back.

“Look,” Emerie says. “I get the hesitation. We’re a handful of boring bitches who hate having fun. But don’t you think that has to change at some point?”

“I’ve known you guys a month,” Gwyn retorts. “We’ve only been boring bitches for a month. This is too much.” She turns to Nesta for help.

Nesta is still staring at the paper. Dancing—on a pole, yes, but it’s still dancing. “I’ll do it,” she says.

Gwyn looks betrayed and Emerie looks elated. “Really?” She hops up and down. “That’s two against one, Gwyn. You have to do it, too.”

Gwyn’s cheeks are turning red in frustration. “You can’t just force this on me—”

“Gwyneth,” a sharp voice interrupts their conversation. Nesta spins around to find a young woman with dark skin and bleached white curls heading in their direction, a stack of books in her arms.

She halts before Nesta and glares. “No food or drink in the library.” She looks pointedly at the 32-ounce in her hand.

“It’s not mine.” Nesta shoves the drink back to Emerie.

But the librarian has turned to Gwyn, who hides the dance class form behind her back. “And what are you doing here?” she demands.

“Just putting up a few books, Merrill,” Gwyn answers quickly.

“While socializing?” the woman named Merrill sneers.

“We were just asking for help finding the romance section. Is that a problem?” Emerie crosses her arms and steps forward, letting a little of her beautiful deadliness slip into her stance. It’s the deadliness of someone at the top of her law class, someone who will graduate in a few months with all the power she could want in the palm of her hand. Nesta gets a rush from playing the lawyer game, too, but she’s never had the kind of ambition that Emerie has. Emerie is a shark sitting around in a small pond.

Merrill is not impressed. She snatches the styrofoam cup dangling from Emerie’s hand and tosses it in the nearby trash can. She turns back to Gwyn. “Hand your badge over and clock out.”

“But I’m not done yet—”

“Now.”

“Okay,” she squeaks. She pulls her ID badge off her neck and hands it to Merrill.

Nesta gapes in disbelief. Before she can speak up, Merrill says, “No loitering in the library. If you don’t have anything you need to check out, leave.” With one final judgmental look, she turns down an aisle of dusty books and disappears.

Gwyn makes a face at her back.

“That woman is not old enough to be acting that misanthropic,” Emerie says after Merrill is gone.

“Whatever,” Gwyn mutters. The registration form is still in her hand. She crumples it into a ball and throws it into the trash. “Let’s get out of here.”

Nesta stares at the trash as Gwyn turns to leave. “Coward,” she says.

Gwyn’s head snaps toward Nesta, her auburn hair swinging. “Excuse me?”

She shrugs. “You heard me.” Emerie’s eyes bounce back and forth between the girls.

“I did,” Gwyn says. “I was just making sure this wasn’t coming from the woman who would sooner bite someone’s head off than do something she doesn’t want to.”

“Girls,” Emerie snaps before Nesta can bite back. “It’s just a stupid dance class. I thought it would be fun to do together, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” Taking Gwyn by one arm and Nesta by the other, she starts steering them out of the stacks like a stern mother. “Now let’s go eat. I’m fucking hungry.”

Gwyn’s mood from the library doesn’t recover, even as they sit down for lunch at the local diner. Nesta thinks Gwyn might actually be sick when the male waiter winks at her while taking her order, and it’s not until long after he’s gone that color returns to her face. When their food arrives, Gwyn only picks at her plate.

“What’s wrong?” Nesta finally has to ask bluntly. “You look pukey.” Did the coward comment affect Gwyn more than she let on, or was it Merrill’s attitude that threw her off?

At Nesta’s words, Gwyn becomes even more pallid. “I just don’t feel great today,” she murmurs, looking around like she’s seeking a way out of the diner. “Sorry guys, I didn’t mean to be such a buzzkill. Maybe I should go home early.”

“Absolutely not,” Emerie says. “If you’re going home, we’re going home with you.”

Gwyn bites her lip, trying to decide if she wants that or not. But something about her antsy demeanor is too familiar to Nesta, because she says, “If you really want to be alone, do you mind driving me home first? Emerie’s car is a mess.”

“You just need to move around a few papers,” Emerie protests.

But Gwyn nods distractedly, already gathering her things. “Sure, no problem.” They pay the bill and go their separate ways.

During the ride home, the sky that’s been gray all day finally breaks open, unleashing a spattering of rain over the town. Nesta watches it sprinkle while Gwyn drives in silence.

“Why are you scared of Merrill?” she eventually asks. “She doesn’t look much older than you.”

Gwyn snorts, but there isn’t much heart to it. “Merrill is my superior, but I can handle her on most days.”

“Just not today?”

Gwyn eyes Nesta warily from the corner of her eye. “No, not today. Or this week.”

Nesta chooses not to push. The dull metal of the cars surrounding them glints under the rain, and they arrive at a red light.

After a minute, she takes a breath and blurts, “I’m not always like that around guys, you know.”

Nesta watches her closely, remembering how ghostly she seemed around Cassian, then the waiter. “Keep going.”

Gwyn stares straight at the traffic ahead, her fingers turning bone white on the steering wheel. “I’m just going through a hard period. Everything upsets me and I don’t know how to think straight. It’s like my brain accidentally traveled to the past and now it’s stuck there.” She sounds shaky, breathless, and it makes Nesta wonder what exactly her mind is experiencing.

Nesta knows what it’s like to be unable to move on. Her own brain has only recently started looking toward the future. “Where are you stuck, specifically?” she asks hesitantly. Maybe she can help Gwyn navigate her way out.

Gwyn’s chin quivers. “In a dark room.” Her lips form a tight line. “Being held down. I’m outnumbered.”

Nesta’s stomach turns. “How far back is it?”

“Two years,” Gwyn whispers. “Lately I can’t even look at anything without—remembering it. Thinking about it. Every time I feel like I’m moving past it, I end up being wrong.”

The light turns green, and Nesta puts a hand on Gwyn’s knee in an attempt to ground her. “Drive,” she commands softly.

Gwyn presses down on the accelerator, but Nesta can feel her leg trembling beneath her hand. She squeezes her knee hard. Even with the dark parts of her own past, Nesta has never felt what Gwyn is feeling right now. So she tries to stick to what she knows.

“It’s like you said,” she says carefully. “You’re going through a period where your brain isn’t being friendly to you. It’s horrible, but you can live with the knowledge that it’ll be over eventually.”

Gwyn shakes her head, holding back tears. “It doesn’t work like that. Once it goes away, it’ll just come back again. And it’ll be like that for the rest of my life.”

“You’re right.” Nesta doesn’t have a solution for that, and she hates it. “You’ll never forget. You can be at the peak of your life and still remember all of it. But,” she says slowly, “whether you reach a point where it barely fazes you, or if you keep crippling under the weight of it decades later, you’ll still be normal. You’ll be a perfectly normal human.”

Gwyn lets out a tearful laugh at that. “What does that even mean?”

Shit. “It means…” Nesta tries to explain herself better. “In case you’re worried that there’s something very wrong with you, I’m here telling you that there’s not. There will never be anything wrong with you.”

Gwyn eyes her skeptically as they turn onto a residential road. “Even if I never get past one nightmare I lived years ago? Even if that nightmare defines me until the day I die?”

“That won’t happen.” Nesta’s tone is simple, factual. “But yes, even then.”

“Really? You’re not gonna tell me to live for the better days or whatever?”

“Does that sound like something that would help you? Because I can say it if it does.”

Gwyn snorts. “No.” But her limbs are steady and her eyes are clear on the road. She clears her throat. “Thank you for listening. I think I might feel a little better now.”

“Was it because of what I said?” Nesta tries not to be too hopeful.

“I wouldn’t give you that much credit,” Gwyn says, crushing her hope. “But I’m glad I told you. It makes things…a lot easier for me.” She exhales deeply.

“You know my plate is mostly empty these days.” Nesta pats her knee. “That means I’ll always have room to help carry your shit.”

They pull up to Nesta’s apartment, and Gwyn parks at the curb. “Give me your dance class thing,” she says suddenly.

Frowning, Nesta pulls the wrinkled paper out of her purse and hands it to Gwyn.

Gwyn smooths it out on the steering wheel and grabs a pen from a cupholder, clicking it. “If you’re going to help carry my shit, I guess I have time for pole dancing now.”

“But that’s mine,” Nesta protests as Gwyn starts filling out the form.

“It can be both of ours,” she says, writing Nesta’s name under hers.

“Really?” Nesta grins with an excitement that she doesn’t easily feel. “You’re going to do it with us?”

“Why would I let you do it without me? So I can become the third wheel in our girl group?” She gives Nesta a look that says No way in hell.

Nesta rolls her eyes. “That would never happen to you.”

“Sure,” Gwyn drawls. She finishes the form and folds it in half before pocketing it. “I’ll give this to Emerie as a gift.” She leans over to peck Nesta on the cheek. “Now get home. Love you.”

Nesta turns red at the words and coughs. “Thanks for the ride,” she responds, getting out of the car.

“Say it back!” Gwyn calls after her. But Nesta shuts the door in her face and waves, pretending she can’t hear her. Gwyn mock-scowls at her through the window, but lets her off easy and drives away.

That’s enough feelings for today, Nesta decides. Even if her chest is swelling with emotion for her friend. It’s a sweet hurt that lingers long after she returns to her empty apartment.

***

a/n: i’m back in my no plot, just vibes era

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes

[fatefulfaerie]

Domesticity

Zelink Week 2021 prompt #5/7 @zelinkweek2021

Word Count: 1,951

Incarnation: Breath of the Wild 2 (post)

Additional Prompts Followed: Hearts, Family

No Trigger Warnings

“Is one of us dying?”

The feast was definitely unsettling to Wendie, and although she was mostly joking, she couldn’t help but think that such a nice dinner at such a random time of the year was odd. Of course her dad was a great cook, but this was a step above, despite there being no family birthdays for at least three months and no holidays for five.

“No,” her mother said as she placed on the table a large bowl of goat-buttered mashed potatoes, one of Wendie’s favorite foods. She had said it with a slight motherly laugh and a warm smile. “No one is dying. We’re just having a family dinner.”

The mother, who went by the name Zelda, had aged gracefully over the past twenty years, blonde hair highlighted with streaks of white that her husband would often call angelic and ethereal when she would doubt her beauty. At the moment, her age-hued hair was swept into a single braid behind her head, messy yet secure.

“Our family dinners aren’t usually this elaborate,” Wendie observed. “You made mashed potatoes and seafood rice balls—which is Elyjah’s favorite food—grilled carrots, meat pie, mushroom skewers and you have an apple turnover on the counter for dessert!”

“Nothing gets past you,” her father said, putting a bowl of baked and salted radishes on the table. His blue eyes looked over to Zelda. “I think we raised them too smart.”

“Nonsense,” Zelda said, walking forward and using the rag that was just draped over her shoulder to wipe a smattering of flour off of Link’s forehead. “Where’s Elyjah?”

Wendie made a sound that sounded a lot like a lazy “I don’t know” while shrugging her shoulders where she sat at the table.

“He can just eat when he gets home,” Wendie reasoned. “There’s more than enough food.”

Wendie didn’t see her parents exchange glances, the seventeen-year old not caring in the slightest that her twin brother wasn’t here to ruin her first dibs on dinner.

“I’ll try and find him,” Zelda said with a sigh, Wendie looking back up at her parents. Link nodded as Zelda departed. Wendie once again questioned what was going on.

“Ly!” The father and daughter heard outside, Zelda from just the doorstep of their modest Hateno home calling out to the entirety of Hyrule. Link sat down across from his daughter, elbows on the table and arms folded into each other. The deep thought he was in concerned Wendie greatly. He wouldn’t even meet her glance. Was she in trouble?

“Okay, okay, I’m coming.”

Elyjah.

Of all the people to be in trouble, surely it was him. He had never gotten into anything truly bad but he was the biggest prankster in Hateno. The only shop he wasn’t banned from was the dye shop. The green-eyed troublemaker was here nonetheless and Wendie prepared herself for another fun show. Zelda moved to sit down next to Link at the table but Elyjah stopped as soon as he saw the table, mouth popped open and body frozen.

“Is someone dying?”

He had looked over to his sister when he asked the question.

“Yeah,” she said. “You.”

“What?” Elyjah asked, almost believing it.

“Wendie, that’s enough now,” Zelda said, before looking over to her son. “No one is dying. We would just like to talk to you both.”

Elyjah sat next to Wendie with the same bewildered look as her, trying to figure out what it was before their parents spit it out. It was like Hylia’s Day presents except they didn’t have a good feeling about this, especially when Link took Zelda’s hand and looked at their children, ready to address them.

And yet it was Zelda who started.

“Do you two remember the fairytale we used to tell you?” Zelda inquired, her voice shaky. “The bedtime story? Of the princess and the knight?”

Neither Elyjah nor Wendie had any clue of the relevance, but they both remembered the tale well.

“The one with the weird ending?” Wendie asked nonetheless. “Where he rescued her and then that was it?”

“Yeah,” Elyjah said. “Didn’t they just stare at each other in silence? After all they had been through, it seemed like there should have been more.”

Link dove his hand into his forehead.

“Zelda, you could have given them a better ending,” Link suggested.

Zelda scoffed and put her hands on her hips.

“It was a lesson in imagination,” she said. “And clearly none of you have any.”

“But that’s besides the point…” Link said, prompting Zelda in a different direction.

“Yes,” Zelda said, nodding at Link and returning her gaze to their children, confused as ever. And yet she smiled at them.

“You both have grown up so fast,” Zelda said. “We both love you very much and cannot believe that you have blossomed right before our eyes into adults.”

Zelda’s smile became sad and she bowed her head.

“You see it’s a lot easier to lie to children.”

Wendie’s brow furrowed.

“Lie…” she repeated from her mother.

When Zelda’s head tilted back up, green was glazed with waves of coming tears, making the emeralds that Link fell in love with a hundred years ago shine even brighter.

“That fairytale…” Zelda said. “The princess who used her sealing power to keep away Calamity Ganon and the knight who slept in a ruined Hyrule for a hundred years in order to recover from his injuries and save her…”

Zelda stopped herself. Twenty years of keeping it in and it seems it wanted to stay in. She wrestled with her conflicted heart, kept it at bay long enough for her to blurt it out.

“It’s true,” Zelda said, no weakness in her voice, no lie, no apprehension. “The knight and the princess really did fight the calamity, really did survive a century to see it through and then some. Once they tracked down the cause of the anomaly, destroying the true form of Ganon, they settled down in Hateno. They got married and eventually gave life to twins, a boy and a girl.” Zelda’s eyes were proud as she looked upon her children, although they glistened with tears. Her heart hurt to see their faces in shock, but the outspoken truth felt better than she could have imagined. She felt Link’s grip tighten around her fingers.

“You both have royal blood in you,” Zelda said. “Even though I stepped away from the throne in the search of a simpler, more fulfilling life, you both still have claim to the titles of Prince Elyjah and Princess Wendie. We wanted you to know in case that path would prove fulfilling for you and…well, now that you’re adults you have the right to know the truth.”

Wendie stood up and walked out of the house, her parents not daring to stop her. Elyjah, however, just sat in shock, piecing it all together in his mind. Link and Zelda both could see his green eyes working, much like his mother’s did when she went over schematics or theorized about plant life.

“The story,” he finally started, “everything you went through…the pressure…you wanted to protect us from that…you wanted to give us the childhood you never had…that neither of you had.”

Link nodded.

“That’s right.”

Elyjah pursed his lips and nodded. Sometimes he was just like his dad. He shrugged.

“Okay,” he said, replacing his empty plate with the one filled with the seafood rice balls meant for the whole family. “Cool,” he continued, or at least it sounded like the word “cool”, his mouth mostly filled with rice.

Link raised his eyebrows and looked over at Zelda.

“Apparently we’re…cool.” Link said the last word as if it were completely foreign.

“Not all of us,” Zelda reminded her husband. She started to stand up. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

Yet Link placed a hand on her arm.

“I’ll go,” Link said. “You stay and enjoy the food.”

Link found his daughter on the banks of Firly Pond, knees hugged close to her chest and water lapping at her bare toes.

At first he waited with his hand on the bark of the near apple tree, pursing his lips. Sometimes he was thrust back in time twenty years, when he felt he had no idea how to be a dad. This was one of those moments.

Link saw in his mind’s eye Wendie’s big blue eyes staring up at him, stubby arms reaching for him. He smiled. She grew up so fast.

“I know you’re there,” he heard Wendie say. She didn’t turn her head away from the pond. “Did you come to give me a speech?”

Link walked towards her.

“Maybe.”

He sat down next to her and Wendie only gave him the smallest of glances.

“I feel like I don’t know my parents at all,” she finally said.

Link nodded.

“I understand.” He said. “I don’t agree, but I understand.”

Wendie looked over to his profile, trying to ascertain how he could be serious. The calamity was real and her parents fought it. Sheikah technology really could heal fatal wounds and the goddesses power really was wielded by a mortal, not to mention her own mother, who never seemed like a princess in the slightest. Her father was a knight in a kingdom that really did exist and she?

Well she was a princess. This whole time, she was a princess. The girl who was called the “ugly duckling” of the family as a child was a princess in peasant’s clothing. She almost wanted to go brag to the town, but that seemed petty for just a small ounce of appreciation from the people her age who used to tease her when they would play as children.

Her parents were legends and in comparison, what was she?

Definitely not a princess.

“You know us as what we became after everything we went through,” Link finally said, having taken the time to get his words together. “The people we were before…”

He hesitated.

“We were nothing more than what the kingdom wanted us to be…statues, legends, weapons…we were never fully ourselves, and we could never afford to be ourselves with an entire kingdom looking at us to save them from a calamity. The slivers that were left of us found a friendship in each other, one that grew into love in time. After everything was settled, we began to truly find ourselves, basking in the freedom to do so. It’s something that usually occurs in a fifteen year old but your mother and I were a hundred and twenty years old when we solved the identity crisis. She did not want to be royalty and I did not want to be a knight. When we finally did not need to be those things, we took our first breaths as Link and Zelda. We wanted our children to take those breaths from the very second they were born, and that is why we let you grow up before we told you the truth. We wanted royalty to be an option for you two, not a necessity. We wanted you to become yourselves, not tiny versions of us. I only hope we have…at least I think we have.”

Wendie smiled.

“You have,” she said. “If you want your daughter to have absolutely no idea what she wants to do with her life.”

Link brought his daughter closer by hugging her far shoulder, bringing her close enough to kiss the top of her head.

“That’s exactly what I want,” he said. It sounded strange but Link didn’t mean it as a bad thing. “Because finding out your passion for yourself is the most exciting thing in this entire wild land.”

[juniorgman187]

The Bones (Reid Series) Part 1

Summary: Almost a year after Maeve’s death, Spencer reaches out to the recipients of Maeve’s donated organs to reconnect with his lost love. However, when the receiver of her heart, Reader, doesn’t write back, Spencer goes on a poorly-motivated mission to find her. 

Playlist: “The Bones” by Maren Morris & Hozier   (BONUS: song includes major foreshadowing)

A/N: There is an OC in this story because to me, writing “(y/n)” over and over again cheapens the story and doesn’t flow well. It was a personal decision, and to anyone it sincerely bothers, I’m sure there’s a way you can insert your own name instead. This fic is also inspired by “Things We Know By Heart” by Jessi Kirby. Category: Series, Soft Angst, Eventual Smut + NSFW content* Pairing: Spencer Reid POV x Fem!OC Content Warning: allusions to death, mourning, loss, recovery, arrhythmia (this is an intro chapter, so it’ll get more interesting from here I promise) Word Count: 2.2k

This will be a multi-part series.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

It all started that first autumn after Maeve’s death - just five weeks past a year since I parted with her. I was absentmindedly reading when, rather out of the blue, Mary Donovan called to inform me about a Mrs. Rachel Larsen. 

Although we didn’t learn her actual name until later, she was first known to us as the recipient of Maeve’s liver. Not a single one of the three of us - Maeve’s parents and me - had expected a recipient to be in contact with us. That inability to predict such an event was caused by my neglect to remember Maeve was an organ donor. It wasn’t particularly relevant in the grand scheme of things, and for that forgetfulness, I was truly ashamed, but after reading Rachel Larsen’s letter together with the Donovans, it all came back to me. 

Every single thing. 

You see, despite the anonymity of the person writing to us, it was as if I could actually feel Maeve’s soul coming alive again, as strange as that sounds. 

She was still here with me ... in some form. 

Later that night, when I would return to an empty apartment, I would wonder why I hadn’t thought of reaching out to the recipients before. Even though I’d already started writing a thank you letter back to Rachel, the thirst for more of Maeve became increasingly insatiable. 

While I did have fond memories of her to live by, I couldn’t thrive off of them in the way that I did with that letter. Our only moments together worth reliving were those spent over the phone, a time when I didn’t even know what she looked like. But that letter from Rachel Larsen ... it was somehow more wholesome and pure than any memory of the living Maeve that I could cultivate.

You could say I was doing this to ease my mourning, meaning it should’ve made me feel better, but that didn’t stop the guilt from eating away at me piece by piece as I wrote letters to the rest of the recipients. 

The Donovans had no idea I was doing this, but I reasoned to myself that they would appreciate the surprise. Though they were still undeniably riddled with grief, smiles embellished their sullen faces when they read about Rachel’s quality of life now with a new liver. So maybe, just maybe, hearing from the rest of the receivers would be good for us all. At least, that’s what I told myself.

In one of those rare moments when inspiration strikes and it courses through your veins at the speed of lightning, I found myself being more productive than I had been in nearly a year. By midnight, I’d successfully composed five letters, each dedicated to the receiver of one of Maeve’s major organs - none of which, though, included my identity.

Given the fragile process of contacting the transplant coordinators, getting consent forms, and premeeting counseling, it would be months, if not years, before I would be able to really speak with these faceless people. Nothing against Donor Family Services - I’m sure they do the best they can - but for me, their best wasn’t good enough. So instead, I enlisted the help of someone I knew could never let me down. 

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” Penelope peered up at me from her seat, her pinky finger hesitantly hovering over the ‘enter’ button. 

“Yes.” 

With just one click, she discovered the addresses of each one of those faceless people. This singular operation, albeit somewhat unethical, was the final piece to my puzzle. All there was left to do now was send the letters to them, with the tenuous hope they might send one back. 

Luckily for me, not a single recipient questioned how I managed to find them or why this process wasn’t being handled by Donor Family Services, but I suppose if they did wonder those things, they didn’t feel comfortable asking me. Especially not after they learned who I was in relation to their donor. I didn’t intend to guilt-trip anyone with what I wrote in my letters nor did I want to take advantage of anyone’s empathy, but how could you possibly make a foe out of your organ donor’s grieving boyfriend? Exactly - you can’t. So you don’t. Instead, you send an inviting letter back, telling me you’d love to meet. Which is what four of them did.

Only one person didn’t reply, and while an 80% success rate was great, I simply couldn’t let this one go. Trust me, I would have ... had it been any other organ. 

For quite some time, I was the one with Maeve’s heart. 

I just needed to see where it was now.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The heart has several definitions and corresponding connotations. 

Scientifically speaking, the heart is a hollow muscular organ that pumps the blood through the circulatory system by rhythmic contraction and dilation. However, figuratively, the heart can be seen as the central or innermost part of something. The heart of a city, for example. But in literature, the heart is symbolic of love. It is often regarded as the source of all knowledge, which is where the comparison between the head and the heart comes from. The head operates logically, whereas the heart functions emotionally, but despite the rationality the head holds, the heart is what people advise you to listen to because it holds the ultimate truth. 

The heart, because it is equipped with your truest feelings, supersedes any logic and reason the head might hold. 

But you see, I only ever knew Maeve’s mind. I could understand the inner workings of it - I’d probably be able to navigate through her consciousness if I entered it given the fact that our intellect matched one another’s - and I shared nearly identical thought processes with her, but that was all that I ever knew. 

And if that was how much knowledge she held in her head alone, then, undoubtedly, her heart held so much more.

Science defines the heart as an organ. Figurative language uses the heart to establish a focal point. Literature likens the heart to love. But I compare her heart to the ocean. Like the sea, Maeve’s heart was 80% undiscovered, and exploration was simply calling my name. 

For that reason, and that reason alone, I couldn’t abandon my pursuit of it. 

That’s not to say I wasn’t ashamed of this mission, though. If anything, shame for the man I had become in the face of Maeve’s death was the only feeling I was truly capable of anymore. Any other emotions were fleeting or insincere. 

Unfortunately, that slimy, disgusting feeling was only amplified times ten when I found myself driving two hours and forty-five minutes to get to Virginia Beach. 

No sane man would drive this far on a weekday for even their most prized possession, and yet here I was, exactly 180 miles away from home, seeking out someone who hadn’t had the courtesy to even write me back, let alone agree to meet with me. Who knows if she’d even give me the time of day. 

She being Valerie. 

“Valerie Elise Bishop was born on August 5th, 1988 in Henderson, Nevada, to parents Andrew and Sara, but when Valerie turned seventeen, she was diagnosed with arrhythmia,” Garcia explained to me over the phone on the car ride here. “It’s when-”

“When the electrical impulses that coordinate your heartbeats don't work properly, causing your heart to beat too fast, too slow or irregularly,” I accidentally cut in. Realizing I interrupted Garcia, I brought her back into the conversation by asking, “I know there are more than 3 million cases per year in the U.S, but isn’t it usually common for ages 60 or older?” 

“You are most certainly correct, Boy Wonder. It is more common in ages 60 and older, however, her maternal grandmother passed away from arrhythmia, so the family history increased the likelihood.” 

At the sound of this news, I had to pull the car over and physically stop just so I could grasp the weight of what I was really doing. 

“In Henderson, Nevada ... maternal grandmother passed away ... family history increased the likelihood …” Garcia’s voice rang in my head. 

It was then that I came face to face with the gravity of reality. 

Valerie wasn’t just a faceless name or a recipient of Maeve’s heart, she was a person. And her humanity only became more apparent to me the more Penelope spoke. 

For god’s sake, she and I grew up in the same state. She and I saw the same sunsets from the same little corner of the earth. She drove down the same highways and byways - we might’ve even crossed paths at one point or another! Not to mention that she lost her grandmother to the same disease that she was suffering from, and if there was one thing consistent about arrhythmia, it was very likely she’d been living with it for decades, if not her entire lifetime. It’s a long term disease that takes years to improve but only seconds to kill. All it would take is just one irregular beat, and she’d be dead. How can you possibly live with that constant fear looming over your head? 

She is a person. I had to remind myself. Not just a means to explore more of Maeve. 

“Hey, Garcia,” I turned the car back on. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” 

“What do you mean?” I could just feel panic begin to rise in Garcia. 

“No, I’m not talking about life, I’m talking about this.” Though she couldn’t see, I grandly gestured to the location, the car, and the passenger seat that was cluttered with files on Valerie. “I don’t feel right invading her privacy like this. It’s just selfish.” 

I wasn’t the only one mourning something here. 

“Are you sure?” Penelope clarified. Which was ironic considering she was the one who was unsure of doing any of this, to begin with. What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have dragged Garcia into this. Something as immoral as this was totally against her character, but she did it anyway because her loyalty to her friends conquers all. 

Like I said, my shame multiplied times ten. If not for Valerie, then certainly for Penelope. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m heading home.” 

“Okay,” She softly returned. “Be safe.” 

“Oh, and Garcia?” I asked before ending the call. “Thanks.” 

“Of course. Anything for you, Dr. Reid.” 

By the time I ended the call, the sun was already setting - that’s how long I’d been on the road for. The nearly-three-hour drive I would have to make for the second time today meant I wouldn’t be home in time to beat the pitch-black sky, so considering I was already in for a long night, I made a little detour for the one thing I couldn’t go home without.

A piping hot cup of coffee. 

I felt something as rewarding as caffeine was well deserved for the self-restraint I demonstrated minutes ago. And maybe it was my exhaustion, both mental and physical, that brought me to the near conclusion that I would truly let this go, but I was honestly feeling like I could accept this. An 80% acceptance rate. Not bad, right? 

Though I was basically half-asleep while waiting for my coffee, I could not miss the barista when she said, “Valerie! Your order’s ready!”

What are the chances?

A jolt of energy surged through my body and brought me back to life, causing me to whip my head around at the slightest semblance of movement. On instinct, my gaze gravitated to the woman walking towards the front counter. My pull to her was so strong that even if I hadn’t studied file upon file on her that included pictures of what she looked like, I still would’ve recognized her in a heartbeat.

I just knew. That’s her. 

I had no plan whatsoever for how I should approach this, and yet I still rose from my seat, motivated by nothing more than the single belief that I needed to.

Was this the universe telling me that I was meant to run into her after all? That I needed to meet the woman with an oceanic heart?

But when I finally got to where she was, she glided effortlessly past me, not paying any mind to my presence. Why would she though? To her, I was no one. To her, I was the faceless person. 

“Excuse me!” I bolted to the front counter after realizing I might’ve just missed my opportunity. The barista, stunned and concerned, furrowed her brows while she waited for my question. “Is that girl a regular here?”

“Valerie?” She pointed in her direction, to which I nodded rapidly. “Oh, yeah. She comes in here all the time. She works just across the street.” 

When I came to this coffee shop, it was simply by chance. It wasn’t even the closest cafe, but it was the one I chose to go to for some inexplicable reason. 

I’d like to think it was fate. I was meant to be here after all. Because right behind me stood the storefront of a building I had only briefly read about in Valerie’s file.

The Bones,  Art Gallery & Studio

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

PART 2 HERE!

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[binniesthighs]

eehee here it is the long awaited results of my chaotic ass survey about our hornies it’s so long holy heck, but I have seperated it into a couple sections to make sense of it all (omg if you read all of it lemme give you a kith teehee) ahhhh lol its SO nerdy haha but i hope that ya enjoy nonetheless! ✨

In this essay, I will....(hahah jk jk this is just all for fun) 

1. Demographics Analysis 

2. Polls on Fic Content 

3. Member Specific Analysis 

4. Deep Dive into the Juicy Questions (Confessions) 

5. General Thoughts and Conclusion  

6.  Cute shit that ya’ll said that made me giggle

*Unpopular opinions will be made into their own post to give them ample space and analysis!

Other Notes: 

Out of 100 individuals surveyed, 44 were readers, 2 were only writers, and 54 were both readers and writers. 

Statistical significance can be effected by sampling, selection, and response bias (yeah i took a stats class teehee) and personal biases 

All the the opinions and other analysis presented by me (Ro/binniesthighs) are purely my own oponion and are not factual. you are entitled to interpret all of this information however you like! Anything that i analyze is not definitive! 

while this survey is mostly about stay smutblr, i hope that it can also maybe serve as a template for other fandoms as well with the more general questions! this is a survey for everyone! 

i’d love to hear about what you think about anything presented in this analysis! feel free to send me an ask or comment! reposting is permitted within tumblr or on other platforms if proper credit is given! ❤️ (uwu hehe if you could please help me spread this i would appreciate it so much! i worked really hard on her 🥺) 

1. Demographics Analysis:

Gender Identities of those Surveyed 

~My thoughts: this really came as no surprise to me considering how the majority of kpop fans (especially boy group fans) identify as female! Seeing as I am a Stray Kids/Seventeen blog (both of them boy groups) it makes sense to me that my readers would mostly identify as female! 

Another important thing to note (from a writer standpoint at least) is the wide array of identities that we still have present within the general audience of stay smut blur (SSB)! I’ll get into this later when i discuss favorite pairings to read, however i think that this gives us one more reason to write for a diverse audience of readers who can identify with different types of self-insert fics! 

Top Five: 

Female (81%) 

Non-binary/gender non-conforming (13%) 

Changes by the day (6%) 

Male (4%) 

Demiboy/Demigirl (3%) 

Sexual Orientation of those Surveyed 

Other identities mentioned: 

????, unlabeled, aromatic bisexual, bicurious, demisexual, “just liking who i like”, experimenting, heteroflexible, sapiosexual, depends day by day, “i just like anyone” 

~My thoughts: okkkkk i see us gays of SSB 😏 these demographics were really exciting for me to see! i think that it’s super cool that we have such representation across the board when it comes to sexual orientations present in our community! As someone who personally identifies as pan, this was super comforting to see that there are so many others like me in this little space of the internet! I think it’s safe to say at least from my lil survey that all the bi cuties out here own SSB 💗💜💙

From a literal standpoint, it also makes sense to me that heterosexuality is strongly present as well considering that often the pairs that we read are male idol x female reader so this is the perfect niche! 

Top Five: 

Bisexual (40.8%) 

Heterosexual (26.5) 

Pansexual (17.3%) 

Queer (7.1%) 

Asexual (4.1%) 

Stay Creators!! 

~My thoughts: this one i was THRILLED at seeing oml hahaha and i was so interested to see that this was nearly an even split! 

I think that there’s something to be said about how sometimes we can take our hobbies: (movies, videogames, books, kpop, anime etc)--all things which we really like in totally normal and healthy ways but also kinda like....get hornies about them too? if that makes sense? for example, i have a friend who really likes certain video games/characters from these games as a fan and he’s shared with me that he also doesn’t mind watching porn containing those same characters! (ahahah ya all know what i mean don’t even lie haha) 

what this question proved to me as that there are stays out there who practice “being a stay/being a stay creator” who also are interested in the more...horny side of this hobby/interest 😂

what is even more interesting to me is who i wonder if i’ve  have consumed any of ya’ll’s content while you have consumed mine??? this i am DYING to know aha but it think its best for all of us to stay anonymous teehee ;) 

either way, good on ya for doing what ya do!! you are so so treasured in this community too!! <3 

2. Polls on Fic Content (a long section lol) 

Favorite Pairing to Read 

*other options selected were rankings of favorite pairings so i just added each of them as an entry to the respective category mentioned. 

Top Five: 

Idol x female reader (69%) 

Idol x gender neutral reader (19%) 

Idol x reader x Idol (poly r/ship) (14%) 

Idol x reader, Idol x reader (threesome, not much interaction between the two idols) (8%) 

~My thoughts: once again, this category was pretty self explanatory to me considering that the majority of readers are female identifying, so it would make sense that they would prefer to read smut that aligns with their identity! This is also super present anyway of SSB as i do feel like the majority of writing pieces that I do come along are idol x female reader, and most authors too often disclaim that they are the most comfortable writing this type of pairing as well. 

What’s signficant as well is the interest in reading fics with gender neutral reader self inserts as well! this is my personal philosophy when it comes to writing (specifically with requests) but i think that writing gn!reader is always the safest bet to go as to not make assumptions about readers! for writers i think that seeing this 19% is something important to take into consideration! 

An outlier to me with this demographic was the “poly r-ship” poll garnering a notable 14% in comparison to the idol x idol option which got 10 less votes (4%). what is a little confusing to me about this is how poly r/ships often (but not always) contain idol x idol content, however there is discrepancy with the amount of readers outright saying that they enjoy reading it alone. I’ll get into poly fics later with the unpopular opinions section--however i wanted to plant the seed here hehe. One other caveat to this is the fact that on SSB i feel like idol x idol content is really in the minority and is much more present on a platform like AO3 so this could be another explaination! 

What is kinda cute to me is the fact that readers do really like poly r-ship dynamics more than a threesome (as i defined it, “with less interaction”) so this makes me feel like we are all saps for the fluff that comes with poly r-ship fics ;) 

Favorite Kind of Smut to Read 

male idol smut (67%) 

i read both! (female and male idol smut) (25%) 

depends on my mood (7%) 

female idol smut (1%) 

~My thoughts: Again, this is super expected to me as well considering the above statistics. Since i am a skz blog (a boy group) --as are my moots-- it really makes sense that those who filled out this survey would be into male idol smut! 

what was cool for me to see as well was the number of readers who also read female idol smut as well as male idol smut! personally, i more predominately a fan of boy groups compared to the amount of girl group content that I consume (note: i do also consume gg content). because of this, i think that its really up to personal preferences and the content that you consume that can be reflective of the smut content that you consume as well and ya know, whoever gets your hornies going ;) 

Favorite Genres...Ranked! 

*so this was my fault lol i totally formatted this question poorly in google forms so i’ll try to summarize the most popular rankings with my words haha 

*bc of the way that i miffed it (lol) i wasn’t able to get exact measurements, but rough ones! 

Top Five: 

Smut, fluff, angst 

smut n’ fluff (with specific emphasis angst is not desired)  

smut, angst, fluff, 

fluff, smut, angst, 

angst, fluff, smut 

~My thoughts: by far, the most popular ranking that i saw was as follows: smut, fluff, angst. i saw this sososos many times haha also...ya’ll got really creative with your rankings and it made me giggle hehe. So! seeing as this is stay smutblr haha makes total sense that the three most popular rankings that we have were lead by smut! since we’re here for the hornies, i totally get this. 

as for the “smut n’ fluff” or “fluffy smut” category, there was a decent amount of readers that expressed that this mixture is their fave! i’m kinda looping this with the “mixture” option that i also provided for this question since this was the most popular mixture that i was able to observe along with angst + smut. interestingly, i saw a couple mentions of “hurt/comfort” fics with this question too so this went well with this preference. as for number three on this list, we dip into that smut + angst category that I just mentioned as well. there were several individuals who said that they really really enjoy reading smut with angst! 

lastly we get to the four and five on the list: four being fluff, smut and angst. i think this category can also properly represent the folx who tend to like more fluffy fics over the smutty ones, but that can also have suggestive themes too! in five, we have angst, fluff and smut which also is representative of another theme that i saw: as far as plot goes, several people mentioned that they liked fics that start with angst, get fluffier, and then end up in smut, so i think that this could be easily compared! 

*there were also several readers who simply said “all of them” or opted not to rank, (lol me) so this really shows the variability in results! 

Cute stuff ya’ll said (kind of out of context too LOL) 

“... hehE I HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE.” 

“...I KNOW IT [my ranking] LOOKS TERRIBLY SPECIFIC AND IM SO SORRY and I guess the better way to describe that was one that has all 3 with a happy ending lol my b my b.” 

“ ...it just depends on the mood my dude.” 

“... (the smut doesn’t have to be soft i just want the relationship to be soft and i want aftercare and general affection).” 

“(but almost no angst oops)” 

“angst honestly makes me so sad.” 

“... but long fics with angst and slow burn smut/fluff is just WOW.” 

“ my favourite thing is when it's fluffy smut tbh with a little bit of angsty backstory. that is *chefs kiss*” 

“(I'm a sucker for good angsty fics but I cant seem to find them???)” 

“Smut, Fluff, Angst (I tend to be a bit of a purist so no mixture here).” 

“(i can't read pure angst lol) “ 

“(I love how much plot there is in angsty fics but I personally can't read anything without a happy ending, i just can't take it)” 

“ i literally couldn't rank them bc my mood is always changing lmaooo.” 

“ smut, fluff, angst. i know what i’m about.” 

Favorite Length of Fics 

Top Five: 

5k-8k words (27%) 

2k-4k words (25%) 

1k-2k words (20%) 

10k-20k words (15%) 

20k words (12%) 

~My thoughts: this one was super helpful for me to see!! and writers i hope that this is helpful for you too! as someone who tends to rambles (lol) it was very comforting for me to see that long-ish fics are actually preferred! what is really cool about this data too is that it is all super well balanced for the most part and nearly edqual in some parts! how i see this, i think that when it comes to preferences of length, its really reader specific so anyone could like anything! this goes into a little bit the slow burn question that i asked as well too, but it’s really cool to see that when readers do read, they kinda like something to sink their teeth into! 

i wanted to look into how long it takes you to read these words, and it appears that on average, a 5-8k fic can take someone 30 mins to read whereas a 2-4k fic takes about 15mins! idk if this says something about attention spans, but as a writer it warms my heart to know that you’re willing to spend 30 minutes of your time reading something that i wrote! 🥺

another thing i wanted to bring up is the “hard and fast” smut readers--those who like to get straight to the point, get right to business and to the juice! they are also a decently large group too! as for readers who like a nice long fic or a chaptered fic, they are super close in numbers! from this, it’s safe for me to assume that maybe those who like reading longer fics are more inclined to strap in for the long haul with chaptered fics too! 

Favorite AUs to Read 

*the top category that got cut off (thank you google forms lol) is friends to lovers! the one that says “...love” at 48% is enemies to lovers, and the one that has a blanked out title at 35% is strangers to lovers! 

Top Five: 

friends to lovers (65%) 

enemies to lovers (48%) 

high school/college au (40%) 

roommates/neighbors to lovers (38%) 

strangers to lovers (35%) 

Other AUs mentioned by you! 

office au, royal au, vampire au, fake date, idol au, slice of life, boarding school au, childhood friends, soulmate au 

~My thoughts: ok ok so this was RAD to see! i often wonder myself the kinds of aus that my readers would like to see so this was really helpful! circling back on how readers tend to favor fluff n’ smut (friends to lovers) and angst n’ smut (enemies to lovers) i think that we’re seeing some more themes here teehee. 

i like to think that since most of us are of the college age, the college au is super relatable therefore we really like to read it! not to mention that college and high school au’s are super duper cute as well! this is also relatable to the roommates/neighbors to lovers category which is also relatable to us who may or may not have experienced having a roommate or crush on the cutie next door ;) as a couple readers mentioned, they liked more “slice of life” au’s--which both of these categories fall into! i think we as readers like scenarios that feel the most real to us, bc they are the easiest to insert ourselves into :) 

fantasy and thriller, action, more “fiction” tropes are in the minority, however i think that this can be for the exact same reason as i mentioned above where readers like more relatable scenarios. 

Opinions on Slow Burn Fics 

~My thoughts: during polling of this category, this pie cart stayed basically the same the whole time!! that was pretty cute to see! the important take aways from this survey for me is the fact that slow burn fics are generally really loved! again, lol as someone who writes big ol’ long slow burn fics this made me feel a lot better hahaha basically, the general consensus is that slow burn fics are welcome most of the time, however some readers might need to invest a little more time into them! this is also very easily comparable to the above statistics on the length of fics preferred (longer ones being the ones more popular) so here’s a lil more supporting evidence! 

3. Member Specific Analysis 

Bias Survey 

Top Five: 

Chan (19%) 

Changbin (18%) 

Hyunjin (16%) 

Jisung (15%) 

Minho (14%) 

~My thoughts: ok ok ok so this is where it starts getting JUICY hehe (also i apologize once more for making you pick LOL) 

the reason why i asked this question was because i wanted to see if there was a correlation with biases and if there was a probability that members who had more people biasing them (or popularity I guess) were more likely to be read more in smut fics! AND I WAS RIGHT haha isn’t this so fkn cool??? (see more in the next section!) 

for comparison, i went to kprofiles to see their little survey on bias popularity and their top five. 

Kprofiles Top Five: 

Hyunjin (15%) 

Felix (14%) 

Chan (12%) 

Minho (11%) 

Jisung (11%) 

SO oh my god my nerd brain is loosing it over this REE so, what i should note that is those who took this survey on my blog are likely generally different based off of the fact that they are here to read smut specifically, rather than the general holistic popularity survey. It is for this reason that we see Felix much higher on this list and Changbin much lower too (as we know Felix is really well known generally and globally and there are *generally* fewer Bin biased fans). What was really interesting to see what that with Hyunjin, Chan, Jisung and Minho, they still all stayed within the top five! Soooo what i’m saying is.... all of you Hyunjin, Chan, Jisung and Minho fans really must like your smut 😏 and I think that it’s safe to assume that the majority of hard stans come from these four members too ooP (and of course our Binnie too! ;) i see all of ya’ll 👀) 

Members That Get Our Hornies Going 

~My thoughts: AHH DOESN’T THIS LOOK SO SATISFYING? I’M SO PROUD OF HER!!! 

First off, i would like to acknowledge the all mighty power of Bang Christopher Chan for pooling this most hornies god DAMN while i kind of expected this, it is also evidenced in the fics that i write! recently i’ve been tracking the number of notes that my Chan hard thoughts get in comparison to other members and the differences are usually ASTRONOMICAL. He is most def the most popular member for smut for several different reasons, lowkey bc i think that it’s kind of part of his brand?? hahaha if ya know what i mean? 

As for preference from Minho on, we can see a super obvious trend that as age order decreases, we get less and less interest for reading for the member. I’m fairly inclined to believe that this has to do with the fact that most often fans (especially fans older than skz) have a harder time seeing the younger members in a sexual way, so the lack of interest totally makes sense here! As referenced above too, we found that the oldest five members (Chan --> Jisung) are the favorites for smut reading which we can see here as well when the numbers really drop after Felix (Felix coming in at 6th place on my “popularity” survey). 

Bc of these statistics, i do really feel like as a reader, i tend to see much, much more fics involving our top five! As for Seungmin and Jeongin, I’ve also seen people state that they do not read or write content for these two members bc they do not feel as comfortable, so this can also explain the lack of content. Also as we have heard many times, Jeongin is a bit of a hot topic lol within the SSB community, so this makes sense that his readership would be low as well. 

4. Deep Dive into the Juicy Questions (aka confessions) 

Is the fact that you read smut a seggsy secret? 

~My thoughts: JUICE TIME JUICE TIME 

Before I say anything, i wanted to tell you all how all of the juicy questions were totally optional, but i got 100% participation for every single one of them which if find HILARIOUS i guess you all are just as curious as i am?? ;) 

So! for this question, we have an overwhelming amount of readers who said that only their closest friends know which is so cute to me! i love how we can trust our friends with this hehe. i also fall into this category bc like, it’s lowkey kinda fun to talk about? maybe also the fact that i run a smut acct makes me care a little less about it all hahah 

secondly, we have the rather large group of people who said that they wouldn’t dare to tell anyone which is also sooo cute haha idk how to explain it but this was the category that i started out in too until i found the right people! But i totally get ya, reading smut--especially-- kpop smut-- can be embarrassing or cringey to share (not to mention that it is somewhat morally grey LOL) so this is really understandable! 

also my fkn hats off to all of you who said that you didn’t care about who knows that you read smut. here, you dropped this: 👑 you’re much braver than i could ever be. 

When you read smut, do you really feel the hornies? 

~My thoughts: ok, so this one to me was also very interesting for me to see as well! (also if you get uncomfy reading about personal masturbation habits you can skip this one lol) 

the reason why i asked this question was because i wanted to see if people “get off” by reading smut (whether reading it turns you on, or if you choose to use it for “material” to get off on however this might look, might be more of a mental simulation without any real like, physical getting off) candidly, I use smut to get myself off every once and a while, so i wanted to see who else might be in the same group! since becoming a writer however, i read much less and reading it doesn’t hit the same when i was just a reader bc i have a different perspective of being the one writing the smut so i look at it more analytically--i digress. 

it was exciting (teehee get the pun?) for me to see that others also “get off” on smut too--and that they are the majority! teehee it is an honor for me to provide you with the hornies LOL. at the same time, we still have a large group in the “don’t take to seriously” category which was interesting to me too! i can’t speak for these readers, but i interpreted these kind of readers to be the kind who read smut to imagine the scenes and are like “hm, that’s hot, i like thinking about this.” but it doesn’t extend much outside of these thoughts. 

What is the most popular position pairing we like to read? 

*smaller slices of the pie represent multiple favorites which i also seperated back into the categories corresponding to get the best count into what was the most preferred. 

Actual Breakdown: 

dom!idol // sub!reader (51 votes) 

switch!idol // switch!reader (32 votes) 

subidol! // dom!reader (11 votes) 

all of the above (5 votes) 

depends on my mood (2 votes) 

~My thoughts: i feel as if there is a bit of a conflict between which position really is “the best” and while we really can’t know the answer to this question since everyone has different preferences, we can at least find out which one is the most popular to be consumed! 

again, going off of the content that I also see as a reader, i see TONS of dom!idol fics, like, left and right. also, if i may come for all of our necks, 👀 but...there’s really something to be said about the fact that the majority of readers are female and historically and socially, women are typically socialized to be submissive, so i can see why this would be why we would favor this among fics--this is even further evidenced by the fact that male idol smut is also preferred, thus further perpetuating the fact that women have been socialized to be submissive to men specifically. i’m not saying that this is the end all be all reason that this trend is present, but i merely offer it as a possible explaination. this is a much larger sociological conversation, but i think that this trend also showed itself in the types of smut that readers seek out as well--according to demographics. 

sub!idol fics are few and far in-between, and i think that this can also be for the exact same reason as i talked about above! 

When you read smut, do you pick faves to read for? 

~My thoughts: what’s cool about this question is the fact that the “half and half” nature of it also resembles what we saw in the section for favorite members to read! As we see in that chart, 41 out of 100 people said that they read everyone, similar to this question where 48 out of 100 people said that they read for everyone. What this proves to me once more is that when it comes for reading fics, there's a 50/50 chance that the reader will look at, and read it based off of who it is about alone. This is a really powerful statistic, meaning that the members who that a writer might write for really dictates their readership! At the same time, it’s super comforting to know that regardless of what you as a writer might write, there’s always someone out there who is willing to read it! (as evidenced by the 52% of people who read for anyone! this is still a large number) 

Readers: Do you only use Tumblr for smut? 

~My thoughts: when i first started out reading smut, i was in the “i just look up skz smut” group LOL so i wanted to see again if there was anyone like me--which there is! This was more of my interest in seeing if some people view tumblr as “their smut dealer” AHA so that my initial motivation. I was surprised to see that this is not the case! out of 100 readers, 39 of them have their own non-smut blogs and the second largest group of 26 people use tumblr for smut exclusively. 

idk why, but when thinking of this question, it really got me thinking back to the question where i asked if reading smut is a seggsy secret, and there was the group of people who said that it is for them--i’m assuming that these people might be part of the group have non-smut blogs and read on the side teehee. 

at the same time, there is a combined 40 people who said that they use tumblr for smut purposes only which makes sense to me, as those who filled out my survey are readers of my smut blog if you catch my drift haha  

Writers: Do you read smut, or just write it? 

*56 responses correlate with those polled who identified as writers/both as mentioned above 

~My thoughts: this survey is really really cute for me to see bc it means that there is a whole support network or writers out there reading, supporting and here to hype other writers work!! if anything, as a writer because it takes so much time to write, it can become hard to find time to read, hence the “when i have time option lollll (*cough cough* me LOL) thank you all for your honesty with this question! 

5. General Thoughts and Conclusion 

Survey on Exposure 

~My thoughts: i kinda wanna close off this survey by getting on my soapbox for a sec lol. At least for me, the most common ways that readers found my blog were: looking up a tag, and from a repost. i think that this really goes to show the power of exposure and certain tactics that you can use to increate readership of your account! new readers, if you’re reading this and you’re just starting out, tagging your stuff is so so important! 

also, as i have said and so so, many other content creators have said countless times before, reposting is so crucial and it takes little to no effort to repost a creators work so that it might reach others! as a writers, we spend hours, and i mean hours creating content, editing, drafting, creating headers all out own time to publish something that we are proud of and for you to enjoy! it means the world to authors when you reblog their work and even more when you give feedback too because this is our passion! we write for free in the middle of our busy lives so the validation makes it all worth it!! 

Conclusion 

~phew! so that’s it! once again, i wanted to thank you all from the bottom of my heart from participating in this lil study! i really hope that it is helpful to writers and readers alike! i wanna give ya all the biiiiiigest Ro huggies!! 💕💕

as i mentioned above, the answers for the unpopular opinions will be made into their own post bc there is a ton of them and i didn’t want to clutter up this doc lol 

don’t ya ever forget that you are important, loved, and special! happy hornies my cuties ;) 

~R 🌹

6. Cute shit that ya’ll said that made me giggle (and hopefully makes you giggle too)

~you all are the light of my life!! each of these comments brought me so much happiness and i love you all so fkn much for that!! also, to those of you who said, “Ro date me” PLZ haha i will date you too!!! too all of the super sweet comments about my writing, thank you so so very much and thank you for reading! it means so much to me!! to all of the i love yous, ahhhh i love you toooooo  💕

“I DUNNO IM BAD AT FUNNY STUFF BUT KNOCK KNOCK I GUESS? -whos there 

RO 

-ro who 

Me, in chan voice: RObber ducky you're the one 

yeah... 

yeah 

bYE” 

“ I didn’t know changbin’s thighs were of such importance until I saw your username but now?? 👀 I am looking respectfully.” 

“ every time chan doesn’t reply to my bubble message i hold my breath and try to die💆‍♀️” 

“ here are my favorite emoji combos: 😐☝️ 😫🖐️ 😂🤏 (i use that one when i get a dick pick and it's rlly small but the person thinks its big-) “ 

“ you are EVIL for making me choose just ONE bias OT8 EXISTS OK!?” 

“ I hope this survey provides you with a lot of useful feedback! -sincerely a big tiddie committee member (you know the one)” [hehe yes i do hai M ;)] 

“ chan’s tiddies... that’s it.” 

“jeogiyo noona hokshi namjachingu isseoyo?“

“ Jeongin is appropriately baby bread because his face is puffy in the morning so it's kinda like yeast rising 👉👉 “ 

“ someone needs to tell hyunjin to put some vaseline or something on his cuticles like I love him a lot but his recent live made me scream sir your cuticles are hanging on for dear life please I'm literally begging you “ 

“ I squeal whenever I get a notification from you and my family think I’m secretly dating someone. It’s nice knowing that they think I can get someone during a pandemic 😁 “ [this one had me SENT] 

“i hope ur dreams are blessed with skz thighs.” 

“ HS Bin supremacy!!” 

“Sta” 

“Ro(ses) are red, violets are blue - DaVinci painted Mona, cause he couldn't find you :') “ 

“✨ dInG dOnG ✨ “ 

“You're doing God's work as a changbin stan xD “ [thank you so much aHA] 

“damn gorl, are you a wifi signal? cause i’m tryna connect 🤔🥴✌🏾 “ 

“Good luck with your survey! I hope you get a big response! You know what else is big..? 

 Chan's feet. (I'm sorry, that was my attempt to make you giggle but I'm clearly not a comedian)” 

“What's the internal temperature of a taun taun? Luke warm! (Haha sorry star wars joke) “ 

“egg“

“just because you’re garbage, doesn’t mean you can’t do great things. It’s called garbage can, not garbage cannot <3 “ 

“Soft-Dom Minho Agenda is the best agenda. I have spoken. Sincerely yours, Javi (@itsapapisongo) “ [this is the way javi] 

“Bang chan daddy supremacy” 

“ro, ro, ro your boat gently down skz’ dick hell yea.” [this also had me SENT] 

“stay smut writers should take “maknae on top” literally“

“idk man i’m just vibing. hope ur day is going well. (changbin voice) da DA da” 

Fin. 

~🌹~ 

Bunch of (Ro)ses! 

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz  @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes @chaangbin​ @lmhmins @eunaeiekim

[the-marauder-corner]

This generation’s Sirius Black p2 (George x Reader)

Molly frowns "No, no, no you’re not recruiting her into the order" Sirius smirks "Why not? We were in the order at seventeen. We can’t deny her this opportunity to remove herself from her family further" "I’d like to join" Molly turns to the rest of the order "He’s right Molly" "It would be a good opportunity for her" "It’s not like we’d be sending her out on big missions anytime soon but even if we did she’s has exceptional experience in defence against the dark arts, she’s had to know it her whole life"

Sirius grins "Well if that’s settled. Let’s continue" it doesn’t last for very long, since I was late to the meeting so soon enough everyone comes down for dinner. They look at me wide eyed with confused looks on their faces. "You...you’re" "My niece" Sirius says putting his hand on my shoulder "And my cousin" Tonks smiles at me and I return it. Saying that, everyone seems less suspicious of me and sits down.

After dinner and being introduced properly to everyone Sirius takes me around the house, to the living rooms, bathrooms and shows me where I’ll be staying. An old, room. Much cleaner in comparison to the lower floors and most of the other bedrooms. "This used to be my brother’s room. It’s the only room that damn house elf ever bothers cleaning" Sirius looks...angry? Upset? I’m not too sure. "I don’t have to stay here you know?" "No! No...I want you to stay. It’s just I’ve not thought about him properly for a while. He was the perfect pureblood son. Everything I wasn’t" "I know how you feel. Draco is the same to my parents" he looks at me with worry in his eyes, like he wants to prove something to me "Remember you’ve always got a family with us y/n" I nod "I know" he hugs me and keeps showing me the house.

Before we can walk down another corridor, Sirius stops me. "Make sure she doesn’t find out about your family. You’ll be the only one who can shut her up" "Who?" He takes us down the corridor near the entrance and..."FILTHY BLOODTRAITORS THE LOT OF YOU! COMING INTO MY HOUSE AND FILLING IT WITH SCUM!" Sirius pulls off the sheet from a painting as she continues to shout until she sees me. "Oh my...is that? Y/n Malfoy? Oh you look just like Narcissa darling. Look at how big you’ve gotten dear. Why are you here?" "Oh...I wanted to look at some of my family history" "Oh it’s lovely to have someone who isn’t a bloodtraitor in my house. Make yourself at home my dear" I smile politely and Sirius puts the sheet back over her. Laughing and whispering "I don’t think I’ve ever seen her act like that to anyone"

He takes me through the rest of the house and eventually back upstairs to my new room. "We can...well you and Tonks and maybe Hermione and Ginny can go shopping tomorrow for some clothes and whatever else you need for school" I smile "Thanks Sirius" "It’s no problem. Now get some sleep" he kisses my forehead and I close the door. I can’t believe that I finally left. I don’t have to worry about them anymore. I have a real family here. Real love. The cleanliness of the room is still surprising, the furniture looks old, yet well kept and looked after. The drawers have some old clothes that look and smell clean. I decide against changing into those when I see a pair of grey shorts and an oversized Gryffindor T-shirt with a note beside the clothes.

I don’t have anything else to give you other than some old clothes from when I was younger. The shorts weren’t mine they were Narcissa’s from when she would stay here. I wasn’t making bold fashion statements in booty shorts when I was in Hogwarts don’t worry.

-Sirius

I chuckle and change into the clothes, staring at my old ones, considering throwing them into the fire but instead put them into a drawer. Surprisingly the bed is quite comfortable as I sit down on it. As I’m about it get into bed properly I hear a soft knock. The door creaks open softly and behind the door appears George. My brow furrows seeing him "George? Is everything alright?" He nods "Everything’s fine it’s just...I was sort of wondering if you wanted to talk?" He looks down shyly and I smirk "Sure. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do right?" Opening the door further, I invite him inside. He walks in and we sit on the bed.

"So what did you want to talk about?" He looks up at me "I wanted to apologise for before. Everyone was a bit wary of you and I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything so if I did I’m sorry" I frown "Is this a prank?" He frantically shakes his head "No, no. I just wanted to apologise" "Well...apology accepted" I extend my hand for him to shake and he takes it. "If you don’t mind me asking. Why did you come here?" I sigh "My family are, as you know pureblood maniacs. I got sick of it there and left" he frowns slightly "Is that all?" I nod "Then how did you get that bruise and split lip" "What?" I look into a standing mirror and see I have I large bruise on my face and a split lip. I didn’t even realise.

"I didn’t know they did that" "They? Who’s they?" "No one" "What happened?" I notice now how he towers over me, it scares me how if he wanted to he could hurt me. Just like they could. "Nothing I’m fine" I try to steady my voice and stay calm. No weakness. "Clearly not, you..." "I’m fine George!" The room falls silent until I hear the stairs and hall creak. Molly and Sirius enter the room. "What’s going on in here?" Molly gasps "Y/n where did you get that bruise?" She turns my cheek towards her "George go back to your room" "But mum..." "George!" He walks down the hall and back to his room. "How did we not see that before?" "I don’t know. I didn’t know it was there either" "That’s the black family blood for you" "What do you mean?" I turn to Sirius "When I got injuries from my family they didn’t show up until I was away from them. I don’t know why it happened. I like to think it’s because we’re so damn stubborn" I laugh "Don’t worry about it"

"Well I’m worrying about it" "Molly. Trust me she’ll be fine" she frowns slightly at him but leaves after giving me a hug. "The real worry is. What happened with you and George?" "I..." tears well up in my eyes and Sirius’s expression softens. "What happened? Did he do something to you? If he did I swear I’ll..." "No. I...I did something to him" "What do you mean darling?" "He asked me where I got my bruises and I started getting angry...upset at him. I didn’t mean to but it started feeling like I was back there. I was scared and it’s not George’s fault either it was just me being emotional and..." he rests his hands on my shoulders "Hey. It’s okay. I remember when I got in an argument with Remus after I first ran away and I was scared too. He’s a lot taller than me, I started feeling like..." "He could hurt you easily if he wanted to" he nods "But I know that he would never hurt me. And I know George would never hurt you. No one in this house would" I smile slightly at him before my face drops "I’ve got to apologise"

Sirius stops me before I get to the door "Give yourself some time to rest. You can apologise when you’ve got the energy to. I can see your eyes falling shut" only when he says that do I notice how tired I actually feel. "Alright" "If you have any trouble with anything tonight you know where my room is and you know where Tonks is if you’d prefer to talk to her. She won’t mind, she barely sleeps anyway" he laughs at the thought and kisses my head. "Get some sleep" he leaves and I get into bed, falling asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

[sakuatsu]

YELL 2 ME ABT SAKUATSU FIC RECS PLS

oh boy. oh boy do i have much to talk about

here’s a list of my sakuatsu must-reads under the cut! complete with links, word count, ratings, and occasional commentary because i’m incapable of shutting up. this isn’t in any particular order either 

(keeping this sfw and organized into canonverse/AUs. a * means i am on my hands and knees begging for you to read this)  

i’ll try to update this somewhat regularly :]

most recently updated august 25, 2020!

canonverse:

*your highs and lows (series) by astroeulogy 

a post-time skip canonverse series born from these two questions:

1. what if sakusa kiyoomi, known too-blunt jerk, is equally straightforward about his soft, tender feelings?

2. what if miya atsumu, resident big fat jerk who doesn't care if his teammates hate him, is too emotionally stunted to notice when his one of his teammates actually likes him?

this is like the sakuatsu series but it’s blasphemous to not recommend. the first fic in the series is all that you were (4.6k, T). mind the ratings on a few of the fics, but my personal favorite is #3: a masterpiece of domesticity called you have tamed me (5.7k, T). these make me ACHE 

*sakuatsu domesticity simulator by pseudoanalytics (T)

a vaguely interactive mixture of fic, art, and html, where you too can experience the inherent romance of a big fat jerk and a too-blunt jerk attempting intimacy

this fic...this fic...op is literally one of my favorite artists of all time but Did You Know that their writing is also off the charts. what a wonderful use of second person and the pacing is so good. too much skill in one person 

*The MSBY Black Jackals Read Thirst Tweets by isaksara (11.4k, M)

Sakusa’s eyes are very dark naturally, sucking in all surrounding rays of light and crushing them in his pupils. For an athlete, he is rather pale. His lips look very pink in comparison. Atsumu is suddenly catastrophically aware that in this instance, ‘accent’ is a euphemism. “Good enough for your Olympic-size ego, Miya?”

(In which Atsumu realizes that he is attracted to Sakusa Kiyoomi in the most inconvenient way possible.)

i think this is the fic that got me into sakuatsu in the first place lol i was looking very specifically for msby socmed fics and now here we are. this fic is unbelievably funny

*liminal spaces by hhatsuna (25.9k, T)

Fuck you, Atsumu thinks, pointing at the pixelated Sakusa in the grainy team photo on his bedside table.

It’s easier than you’d think to ignore loving your teammate.

*Better For Us Both by abrandnewheart (15.7k, M)

Where “You already make me the happiest guy alive, babe," gives way to, “I’ve not been happy for a while now.”

Alternatively known as the ‘mug fic’.

yes this is a breakup fic. yes im going to recommend it anyway. breakup fics usually scare me a lot but this one is too good for me to not say anything about. nuanced and delicious. i look at the mug on my desk and feel pain

dog eat dog eat dog world by perennials (8.4k, T)

You are your first and only line of defense against the universe.

Koi no Yokan; 恋の予感 by ymra (15.3k, unrated)

Wherein Sakusa dreams of his future selves and discovers a little something along the way.

autumn ends, but we remain by wolfsbvne (5.3k, T)

atsumu stares at his ceiling at 2am. he stares until he can make out designs in his popcorn ceiling. a cat there, an onigiri here, and then something that suspiciously looks like a mop of hair, triangle eyebrows, and oh those two bumps are moles right above what atsumu just mapped out as an eye.

(or, atsumu is in kind of in love. sakusa is maybe in like.)

your fingertips, branding irons by Ceryna (5.8k, T)

Between the accidental touches he's reconciled, the deliberate ones he's endured, and, from those he's built years of trust with, obliged– Kiyoomi has never wanted to let someone indulge.

Never, until Atsumu.

take what’s yours and make it mine by claudusdiei (5.9k, T)

atsumu falls in love four times in his life

(or: in which atsumu gets his heart broken twice, has the self-awareness of a sober mule and really likes yellow tulips)

every action has an equal and opposite reaction by akanemnida (10.4k, T)

Miya Atsumu gets a modeling contract with Calvin Klein, which sets Kiyoomi's heart in motion.

(Or: Sakusa Kiyoomi realizes that the rules governing the universe are absolute rubbish at explaining matters of the heart.)

*where i want to be by tookumade (8.8k, G)

In the time they’ve been teammates at the MSBY Black Jackals, Sakusa has never been to Atsumu’s place, and Atsumu has only been to Sakusa’s a few times. There’s an unspoken understanding here: that Atsumu knows him well enough to know that nobody’s house or apartment would ever really meet his ridiculously high standards, and he is most comfortable in the home he’s made for himself.

That, and, Atsumu being over at Sakusa’s means that he has to host him and do the cleaning afterwards, while Atsumu can just flit off back to his own place. So. There’s that.

Tonight. Tonight is not business as usual. Tonight is not familiar.

*san'yō expressway, 6:17 pm by yamabato (8.1k, T)

Atsumu tilts his head to watch a slice of orange light bend over the impassive planes of Sakusa’s face. He is absolutely, ruthlessly beautiful. It makes Atsumu want to punch something—put his foot through the windshield—scream, maybe.

Kiss him again, maybe.

They have 344 kilometers to figure this one out.

parallax error: angle of inclination by min_mintobe (10.8k, T)

But now there's the one person Atsumu'd promised himself never to touch. His eyes leave Atsumu breathless with guilt at seventeen, and he spends the next six years safe in the satisfaction of making things right.

Feelings, of the physical kind, and one kiss.

ft. competitive spirit, childishness, and late night conversations.

Atsumu POV.

four leaf clover by vicari_us (5.9k, T)

Once, Ushijima claimed that they ‘got lucky’. If properly honed, their body types could become near invincible weapons.

However, unlike Ushijima, Kiyoomi’s weapon required a bit more care over the years to reach the condition it had become. He was born iron, not yet forged into steel.

Exploring what it might have taken to turn a genetic mistake into an athletic miracle.

*the 28 postcards you left me by wheelspokes (8.3k, T)

Atsumu takes texting your ex to a new level by sending Sakusa postcards in Animal Crossing instead.

such a unique premise & this is so beautifully structured. stunning flow and who knew animal crossing could convey so much longing...

AUs:

Pas De Deux by hhatsuna (dancer!sakusa au: 19.0k, T)

The mystery athlete gives Kiyoomi a once over in the mirror. “Yer pretty tall,” he observes, and the twang of an accent rasps low in his throat. His brazen eyes drift to Kiyoomi’s legs, and something like exhilaration glints gold in his gaze. “Good quads, too. Ya ever played volleyball?” Ah. So it’s volleyball.

“I’m a dancer. Ballet and contemporary, mostly.”

*my love, take your time by bastigod (archaeologist!sakusa au: 9.0k, T)

There was something sublime about wandering around an empty museum. Nothing could compare to the sound of his shoes clacking against the marble floor, the morning sunlight gently streaming through the lofty windows and the peaceful solitude of ancient stone kings overseeing their silent kingdoms.

A day in the life of Doctor Kiyoomi Sakusa, Archaeologist.

i’ve literally been thinking about this fic every day since it came out. you will not find a story like this anywhere else, i guarantee you. what a clear labor of love this fic is it’s truly something so special 

three roses and a smile by strawberrycitrus (surgeon!sakusa & microbiologist!atsumu au: 19.7k, T)

“I just got this job, I’m not givin’ it up for some moral boost ‘cause I actually need to pay my rent, ya insensitive -” Atsumu waves his hands around, trying and failing to come up with the right word to convey the amount of injustice that this gaunt motherfucker has brought into his relatively simple life thus far.

“If you can’t pay your rent, go get a job at the McDonald’s over by 8th Street,” Sakusa growls, “it’ll pay more than your researcher position.”

If you even attempt assault on a coworker, forget teaching about cells - you’ll fucking be in one, Atsumu.

*Dance of the Parallax by astroeulogy (ogre spirit!sakusa au: 6.7k, T)

For the last twenty years, Atsumu’s done all that he can to break his betrothal to the ogre spirit Sakusa. If he can just make it through one more night, he’ll be free.

honestly, just read everything by astroeulogy. i’m recommending this fic in particular because it has such an ethereal voice to it. magical

across oceans, across centuries by starstrikes (pacific rim au: 20.0k, T)

Six days ago, Osamu died and left Atsumu with this: Atsumu, you have to—

(Namikira rises with the tides and rips Osamu and Vulpis Empress away in one fell swoop. Six days later, Atsumu wakes up alone in a hospital bed and learns how to swim.)

you don’t actually need to know pacrim to appreciate this. a wonderful exploration of grief and recovery. also it’s exactly 20k words which is both satisfying and terrifying 

*Notte Stellata by awkwardedgeworth (ice skating/dancing au: 20.8k, T)

"Your partner doesn't need to hold anyone's hand other than yours," Sakusa's father crouches, "And you can wear gloves."

Sakusa ponders. He hears the other skaters of rink two whiz past as they launch themselves into lifts.

"Alright," He looks up from the ice, not knowing how he'll dedicate the next couple of decades to this sport, this partnership, this boy.

what a stunning fic. a beautiful progression of sakusa & atsumu’s relationship, rife with references to real skating programs, beautifully written and structured. so full of longing i’m in mild physical pain

[georgescatcafe]

heaven can wait (we’re only watching the skies)

rating: t warning/s: slight internalized homophobia pairing/s: dreamnap genres/tags: high school au, friends to lovers word count: 6,639 summary: Dream was initially going to go to prom with him. Not, like, as a date, but… as a friend. Just two guys hanging out together. They’d go together and hang out and make fun of the people there, maybe, and they’d eat food that neither of them trusted to be good and they’d see if the punch was spiked and they’d have fun. Together.

And then Sapnap had checked the school website to find the rules changed. Only students from their school allowed, no exceptions. And Dream was homeschooled in a program completely separate to the school.

It sucked.

And now here Sapnap is, emptily drinking soda and watching a basketball game featuring teams he honestly doesn’t even care about. And thinking about Dream.

+ao3

;;

“Dude,” Sapnap says into the phone, staring blankly at the school’s website, “I have, like, zero interest in prom now that you can’t come. That rule is so stupid.”

“It is, but you’re not sneaking me in and getting suspended,” Dream replies.

“That’s only if I get caught,” Sapnap argues, “which I won’t.”

“Don’t even risk it.” Dream sighs, and Sapnap lets out one of his own in agreement. “Just go, and think about what we can do the next day—ice cream, maybe a drive to the beach, hey! Monday is Skip Day, right? Let’s stay the night at the beach. That’s awesome, right? Prom and then all that?”

“Prom without you, though?” Sapnap isn’t convinced.

He can see Dream’s frown crystal clear in his mind. “Don’t throw away unforgettable experiences just because of me. Besides, aren’t some of your friends going?”

“Our friends,” Sapnap corrects, even though that’s not entirely true. In freshman year, before, they were always more Sapnap’s friends than Dream’s, and even then, there weren’t that many in their group—just Sapnap, Dream, a guy from chess club, and two guys from the egamer group that met once every too many months.

Dream lets out a breath. “Our friends,” he agrees, nonetheless. “So isn’t that enough?”

“It’s just not right,” Sapnap says. “You belong in my unforgettable experiences, Dream.”

“Don’t go waxing poetic on me, Pandas,” Dream scolds, though it’s hard to take him seriously with both the nickname and the fondness creeping into his voice. 

“I’ll do it,” Sapnap repeats, “sneak you in. I’ll do it and I’ll get away with it and it’ll be fun. For both of us.”

“Sapnap,” Dream tries one last time, and he sounds so tired, so utterly exhausted, that Sapnap cuts him off.

“Fine,” he says, “you win. You’re not going, and I’m going without,” Sapnap swallows, “without you.”

;;

Come the final day to buy tickets, however, and Sapnap is still without one for himself, and without a suit, and without a date, and without a plan on getting to prom. He eyes the ticket booth warily, knowing if he chooses not to buy one today, it’s over for him.

Janson, one of the guys from the egamer group, takes a seat at the lunch table next to him. “Are you going?”

Sapnap stares at the booth for another second before shrugging. “Not really my scene.”

“Your scene?”

“Loud,” Sapnap replies, poking halfheartedly at his soggy rice, switching to the fruit drowning in juice. “Lots of people. I don’t really care.”

“Is it ‘cause you don’t have a date?” Janson asks. “Because yeah, that sucks, but no one actually cares, dude.”

Sapnap glances over at him for a second before shrugging once more and finally taking a bite of his weird blueberry mush. “I know. It’s not ‘cause of that. I just don’t really want to go.”

Janson studies him before nodding and stirring his own blueberry mush around with a spoon. “Suit yourself. We’ll miss you, though.”

At that, Sapnap laughs. “You don’t have to lie for me. But thanks, man.”

Janson gives him an easy smile. “Any time.”

;;

The hardest part is telling Dream.

But Sapnap wasn’t lying when he told Janson prom isn’t his scene. It is a lot—lots of people, lots of noise, lots going on in general. He doesn’t care about nor want that. He’d rather take a quiet night at home watching basketball with his dad on the couch over getting knocked between sweaty girls and guys while bass shakes the floor beneath him. Maybe, if he doesn’t make him too angry, Sapnap can even convince Dream to come over before their scheduled meeting the next day.

He can only hope Dream understands as he types this all out in a late night Discord message explaining what happened. And then he tries to throw himself into a game of CSGO, and when that doesn’t work, a game of League. When that doesn’t work either, he just rises out of his chair and flops pathetically onto his bed, closing his eyes and praying for sleep to come fast.

When he wakes up, it’s to six new messages from Dream—a rare sight—and two missed calls. Sapnap stares at the notifications until his eyes sting.

Dream: i mean, it’s ur choice, but i rly don’t want u to regret this sap

He won’t. 

Dream: and as it turns out, my older sister has something going on this weekend, so we can’t meet up either :( sorry :(

That’s… okay. It’s fine. Sapnap gets it. Just a weekend for himself, then.

Dream: are u sure u don’t want to go? r u sure u’re sure?

Dream: i sound naggy ik i just don’t want u missing out on these things

Dream: ok?

Dream: sap?

Sapnap types his response—he won’t regret it, sucks about this weekend but it’s fine, Dream’s not being naggy, really, and sorry, he was asleep—then hits send and tries not to feel too bad about everything.

Unsurprisingly, “everything” doesn’t include the prom itself. Sapnap really couldn’t care less about the actual prom.

;;

The rest of the week passes by quickly, and before Sapnap knows it, it’s prom night, and he’s sitting on the couch next to his dad, basketball game on the TV and soda can in his hand. And then it’s time for prom to start, and the ball is tossed into the air. Briefly, Sapnap wonders if Janson scored a date—though he consoled Sapnap over his lack of one, he never talked about his own. 

Sapnap wonders what Dream is doing, why they didn’t decide to simply meet up tonight. Maybe he was sleeping? Playing Minecraft? Maybe he was thinking about Sapnap?

Maybe he was thinking about Sapnap.

Sapnap blinks, and the score changes from 12-8 to 12-11. From the other side of the couch, his dad leans closer to the TV. Sapnap sends a glance back to the kitchen, wondering if they still have those chips he likes. His dad crunches on cheddar Ruffles. 

Dream was initially going to go to prom with him. Not, like, as a date—not like that. That’s weird, but… as a friend. Just two guys hanging out together. Maybe they’d match, probably not, but they’d go together and hang out and make fun of the people there, maybe, and they’d eat food that neither of them trusted to be good and they’d see if the punch was spiked and they’d have fun. Together. 

And then Sapnap had checked the school website to find the rules changed. Only students from their school allowed, no exceptions. And Dream was homeschooled in a program completely separate to the school.

It sucked.

And now here Sapnap is, emptily drinking soda and watching a basketball game featuring teams he honestly doesn’t even care about. And thinking about Dream. 

Sapnap downs the rest of his soda. “I think I’m going to go play some League.” He stands and crushes his can in his hand.

His dad doesn’t look away from the TV. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t,” Sapnap says, but he doesn’t even know if his dad’s heard, since he’s already back in his room, door slammed shut behind him, can tossed into the trash and chair creaking as he falls into it.

Despite his dad’s words, Sapnap games late into the night, and when he wakes, his head hurts from the way he’s had it pressed to the desk, asleep for however many hours. He shakes his computer mouse till the monitor comes on and he stares at it blearily as he realizes he managed to close out of his games before falling asleep. His Discord is empty, no new messages, no missed calls, and he sighs before sending a message to Dream.

Long day?

He closes out of the app before spinning around and heading out of his room to scrounge for breakfast. His dad isn’t in the living room, though the bag of Ruffles he’d been eating from sits there on the coffee table, empty, and the remote still rests on the arm of the couch. Sapnap can only assume he headed to bed after the game ended.

Once in the kitchen, he searches through the fridge before deciding to just eat a bowl or two of cereal. Part of him is still into the fanfare of prom, and he’s filled with a quiet shock at how mundane Sunday morning feels, in comparison to what was likely a crazy night for a bunch of seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds. Sapnap bites back a derisive snort. Last night was so crazy for him. Totally.

But it was his choice, and he doesn’t regret it. 

Now if he had gone, he’d regret that he’d gone without doing everything he could to get Dream there. And that’s a regret he just couldn’t live with. 

Sapnap sets his now empty bowl in the sink.

Skipping prom? Yeah, he doesn’t regret it.

;;

Come two weeks later, and Dream is sitting next to him on a park bench telling him about a different prom, one they can go to together, one without rules, without limitations.

Sapnap doesn’t even need to hear the rest of it before he’s agreeing, throwing an arm around Dream’s shoulders and talking quickly about how great the night will be. 

“It’s actually themed,” Dream finally interrupts him, holding a hand up and stopping Sapnap mid-daydream.

“Oh?”

Dream nods. “Decades. Got any ideas?”

He doesn’t. When he tells Dream as much, Dream sighs, staring out at the empty swingswet, the swings swaying slightly in the summer breeze. Sapnap sighs too, though he watches his friend, not the playground. “We could do, like, Dad Rock. Seventies, y’know?”

At that, Dream laughs, full and loud, and Sapnap smiles by reflex. Dream rests his chin in his palms, elbows digging into the tops of his thighs. “Remember when we read The Outsiders in eighth grade? What were they called? We could be those.”

“Oh,” Sapnap bites back a snort, “uh, greasies? No,” he and Dream speak at the same time, “greasers!” The laugh he’d been keeping down finally breaks free, spilling past his lips as Dream grins. “We could be those. We’re hot.”

“So hot,” Dream agrees, though he’s still giggling slightly, turning away from Sapnap so the other can’t see his smile, but his shaking shoulders give away his amusement.

Sapnap grins, bright, happy. “When is it again?” he asks.

Dream leans back, head tilting back so he can stare up at the clear blue sky. “A month from now. June 7th. Think you can go?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sapnap says, like it’s obvious. (Because it is obvious. Even if he couldn’t, he’d find a way to go. He’s just that loyal. To Dream, specifically, but that’s not important.) He clears his throat at his own thoughts. “I definitely can go.”

Dream looks to him, then, small smile on his face. “Awesome.”

Sapnap smiles back. Awesome.

;;

May trudges on like its stuck in the mud, Sapnap counting down the days until this rule-less prom. Dream was pretty sparing with the details, only saying it’s date and theme, and Sapnap can’t help but itch with the need to know everything. When he questions Dream for more info, however, the other shrugs him off, turning the tables and asking him if he’s settled on a decade yet.

“I thought we were choosing together,” Sapnap tells him over a Discord call one night, prom finally only a week away.

“So nothing?” Dream asks. “Let’s meet up tomorrow; we’ll figure it out then.”

It’s a plan, and come eleven in the morning, he and Dream are meeting outside of the city’s mall. “This feels kind of stupid,” Sapnap admits when they go through the sliding doors leading to Macy’s mens’ department. “Like, wow, we’re really putting effort into it.”

“Says you when there’s only a week left,” Dream replies. “Putting effort into it means having had our costumes in our closets since the day I told you about it.”

“True,” Sapnap replies, picking up a paisley tie from the clearance table. “What is this?”

Dream takes it from him, setting it back down. “Something we definitely don’t want.”

“Yeah,” Sapnap keeps his eyes on it as they walk away, “no shit.”

They don’t buy anything from Macy’s mens’ department. For an hour they wander aimlessly up and down the mall, more time spent talking rather than looking. It’s only until Sapnap’s stomach rumbles that the two of them realize they’ve gotten nothing done. Their feet finally take them to the food court.

“Shopping for a prom outfit is hard,” Sapnap says into his fries, while Dream nods in agreement shoving a chicken nugget into his mouth and staring down at a greasy spot on the table. “I mean, my feet hurt, and we haven’t even bought a t-shirt or something.”

“We haven’t even gone inside a store,” Dream replies.

Sapnap groans, shoving a fry in his mouth. “This is so stupid.”

They walk the mall again, this time going into various stores, pointing out ridiculous gag gifts and Sapnap picking up more hideous ties. Finally, Dream grabs a leather jacket off the Dillard’s clearance rack and tugs it on over his shoulders. It’s military-style, almost, the shoulders strong, and when Dream turns, it stretches broad across his back before tapering off at his waist. Sapnap swallows. It fits Dream well.

When Dream turns back around, Sapnap’s eyes shoot back up to his face, and he hopes his face isn’t as red as it is hot. He grabs the jacket next to it, also a large luckily, and puts it on. Dream gives him a thumbs up when he turns around to show it off.

“Looks good,” Dream says, and his cheeks aren’t red, and Sapnap isn’t disappointed about that.

They buy the jackets, think about what shoes they own, then buy some cheapy black shades.

“I don’t know if I can do my hair like they did,” Sapnap tells Dream when they go back through Macy’s and pass some grooming kits, jars of pomade on the shelf next to them.

“I might be able to,” Dream says, studying his reflection in the mirror on the post next to the grooming kits. He’s always kept his hair cropped pretty close, but Sapnap knows it’s been awhile since he’s gotten it cut, bangs starting to grow in the front, actually almost reaching his brows. Sapnap thinks it suits Dream, but he sees the way Dream always tries to push his hair back, though it always flops back into place.

“Maybe,” Sapnap agrees. “I think the glasses and jacket should be enough if you can’t though, right?”

Dream glances at the jars of pomade before nodding. “Right.”

;;

Dream and him got their licenses at sixteen, but Dream says he can pick Sapnap up Saturday, “don’t worry about gas money.”

“Are you sure?” Sapnap asks Saturday morning, both about the picking-up and the gas money.

“I’m sure,” Dream replies. “Just be out in front of your house before six, okay?”

“Sounds good,” Sapnap says. “You don’t think our parents want any pictures, would they?”

“Of course not,” Dream answers. “Your dad taking pictures of the two of us?”

“My stepmom maybe,” Sapnap laughs, but she left the house that morning, heading to the city to do her own business. She’s not going to get any pictures of them.

Dream laughs too before he finally says, “See you later then,” and Sapnap is left rushing to get dressed.

He feels giddy, almost, heart racing and stomach turning over itself. His hair has grown out much like Dream’s has over the school year, him never bothering to get it cut or trimmed, and he gives up on the pompadour when it comes out a wet looking lump on the top of his head, strings of hair falling in his face. He sighs and rinses out the product in the sink, leaving it to air dry and drip droplets onto his white t-shirt. By 5:45pm, he’s sweating, face flushed and chest tight, stomach still doing flips, and he ties his mostly dry hair back into a low ponytail, hoping it’s not too off-brand. Finally, he pulls on his jacket, though it feels restrictive and hot with the summer air and his nerves, and he has to stare at himself in the mirror for the next ten minutes repeating to himself that it’s just Dream and that it’s not romantic and that he’s acting like a freak, stupid and quite possibly into his best friend. (But he’s not.)

Then he marches himself out to his curb and sits.

Dream pulls up a couple minutes after six, his hair actually done Greaser-style, and damn it, he looks good.

(Sapnap can think that. He’s not blind. Anyone could see that his best friend is attractive. It’s just a general thing. Not a thing.)

When he gets into the passenger seat, Dream grins at him from behind matching dark sunglasses. “Looking good.”

“We look hot, man,” Sapnap says, a lot more casual than he feels.

The grin doesn’t leave Dream’s face as he puts the car in drive and takes off down the road.

Sapnap honestly doesn’t know where his nerves have come from—how is this prom any different from the school one, like, actually? How is Dream and him going to this one any different from them going to the high school’s? They won’t know anyone at this one, he’s pretty sure, but who cares? Isn’t that better for them? He glances over at Dream, who’s got his wrists crossed over the steering wheel as they speed down the highway to their destination.

It’s just Dream. Sapnap is just excited. It’s normal. It’s Dream.

He lets himself relax.

;;

“What the fuck?” Sapnap whispers to Dream when two girls pass by them looking straight out of some period piece. “I thought you said this was decades themed?”

Dream looks just as perturbed, brows furrowed as a girl and a guy dressed like pirates enter after the Victorian girls. “Guess they meant all decades,” he replies.

Sapnap stares at him before they reach the check-in counter where a woman with her face painted like a member of KISS checks their ages and directs them to the room where the prom’s held.

Madonna plays loud over the speakers, and Sapnap eyes a kid who spins his hands around his face while a small group of onlookers watch in awe. He glances over at Dream, who continues to face forward, leading him over to an empty table, undisturbed. When they sit down, Sapnap turns to the dance floor, where the Victorian girls are, twirling and laughing, and where a boy looking straight out of the 80s sways with another who wears a hat like Jamie from Mythbusters and suspenders attached to plaid, fitted pants. Sapnap watches them for another second before turning stiffly to Dream.

“Where are we?” he asks carefully.

“Sapnap,” Dream starts, but a look from Sapnap has his mouth shutting fast. He stares right back before sighing, leaning back in his chair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I mean, I knew, but I didn’t think it’d—look, we can leave. It’s fine.”

“Well,” Sapnap huffs, dropping his gaze to his lap, where his fingers grip the denim of his jeans tightly, knuckles turning white, “it’s not fine, but—I don’t really want to leave. I like—I wanted to go to prom with you.”

A laugh, and Sapnap looks over quickly to see the 80s boy tugging the Mythbusters hat’s jacket over his shoulders. Sapnap thinks he might be sick.

“Not like that,” he adds.

“Right,” Dream says.

The booming of the bass rattles Sapnap to his core, along with the table. Even the hand Dream has placed on it doesn’t stop it from shaking. Sapnap wonders what would happen if he were to take Dream’s hand. Dream pulls it back and drops it into his lap. Sapnap tightens his hold on his jeans.

“I am sorry,” Dream tells him. “But I didn’t really think you’d mind. We’re friends, Sapnap. Why does where we are have to change that?”

“It doesn’t,” Sapnap replies, but people can misunderstand. People will misunderstand. He tells Dream as much.

Dream frowns, leans forward. Sapnap doesn’t meet his gaze. “Sapnap,” Dream says, “why would they misunderstand?”

Because they match. Because, under the table, their feet knock against each other. Because when Sapnap looks at Dream, the rest of the world disappears, and he’s certain the rest of the world knows it.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sapnap mutters. “They just would.”

Dream says something. It’s lost to the sound of Rihanna, declaring that a bitch better have her money. Sapnap’s foot taps quickly against the floor, and this time, when it brushes up against Dream’s, he readjusts, feet no longer under the table. Dream sighs, resting his chin on his palm. 

Finally, he looks to Sapnap again. “Does it bother you that much?”

“Does what bother me?”

Dream stares at him for a second before looking out at the dance floor. “Them misunderstanding?”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Sapnap asks.

Dream is silent for so long after that Sapnap almost forgets he’s waiting for a response. “No,” Dream says at last. “It doesn’t.”

Sapnap doesn’t know how to reply to that.

They just sit there after that, watching the crowd wax and wane, change based on the song playing. Dream pushes himself up out of his chair when a familiar number starts. He holds out a hand. “Come on.”

Sapnap stares at the hand. “Dude, he says, “what.”

“Dance,” Dream replies. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“What the fuck?” Sapnap lets out a laugh, glancing over at Mythbusters hat and 80s boy. They’re laughing over something on 80s boy’s phone, foreheads resting close together, cheeks flushed pink in the dim light that hangs over their table. He looks back at Dream. “No way.”

“It’s ‘Come on Eileen,’” Dream says, but Sapnap is resolute, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. They hold a short staring contest before Dream sighs, looking away. Sapnap doesn’t even have the chance to puff up at his W before Dream is reaching forward and taking him by the arm, pulling him out of his seat and to the dance floor.

“Dream!” Sapnap argues, trying to pull away, but Dream’s hold on him is lethal and Sapnap is unwillingly pulled into the circle that’s formed, one arm tugged behind Dream’s back by Dream’s free hand, and the other tossed over a girl’s shoulder. She gives him a bright smile before the circle begins to move, slowly, ever so slowly, then quicker.

It’s like a treadmill, Sapnap thinks, watching his feet and making sure not to step on the girl’s sparkly slippers. Her laugh is loud even with the music blasting and Sapnap starts to gain some of her enthusiasm as the chorus hits. And then a laugh comes from behind him, and he can’t help but look over his shoulder. 

Dream is already grinning at him. Sapnap couldn’t stop himself from grinning back even if he tried. The circle speeds up, and soon Dream is a constant cackle in his ear, Sapnap joining in as the group turns this way and that, before they all jump to a stop and kick a foot in the center.

Sapnap is awkward, slightly off-balance the way he holds on to Dream’s back and leans towards the girl, her shorter than him. He’s running out of breath quick too, kicking quicker and quicker before they’re spinning again and again, all smiling, all laughing, some singing, some panting, and Dream brings their heads closer together as they share one more laugh before the song is fading out, and then it’s just them alone, the others retreating back to their seats or to their own friend groups, just Dream and Sapnap breathing in each other’s exhales.

“That was fun,” Sapnap admits, and Dream nods, arm still around Sapnap’s shoulders, his other one eventually coming up to join it. Sapnap still has an arm around Dream, though it’s slipped so his hand rests at the small of Dream’s back. He swallows.

Dream notices his discomfort, and the smile falls from his face. “Sapnap,” he says.

Sapnap shakes his head. “It’s fine.” His fingers curl into the soft leather of Dream’s jacket. “They can misunderstand.”

I want them to misunderstand.

Sapnap looks up at the same time Dream lets go. “What?” he asks. Dream starts to take a step back, but Sapnap doesn’t let go. “No, you don’t get to—Dream, what did you say?”

“I—,” Dream’s eyes are wide, startled, scared, and Sapnap can’t help but think this isn’t fair. He stares Dream down, and eventually, Dream stares back. When he speaks, he can barely be heard over the music, even with the minimal distance between them. “I want them to misunderstand.”

It’s like he took the words straight from Sapnap’s brain, putting them out there for everyone to hear. Sapnap feels sick, and the feeling only grows when his head falls forward to rest on Dream’s chest. “What the fuck,” he says.

“Sorry,” Dream apologizes above him.

“What—no,” Sapnap’s face screws up, even though Dream can’t see, “you don’t get to apologize, dude. What the hell.” Sapnap feels a weight then on his back, hesitant then heavier. Dream’s hands. He closes his eyes. “What the hell,” he repeats.

“Let’s go back to our table,” Dream says. Sapnap nods, standing up straight, but Dream just pulls him into his side then, and Sapnap thinks about resisting, thinks about getting mad, maybe even leaving (but without a car, without Dream, where would he go?), but in the end, he just lets himself fall more into Dream, the other bearing his weight easily, leading them over to the table they had left.

When they sit, Dream stares down at his hands. Sapnap stares at him. “How long have you known?” he asks.

“About what?” Dream replies.

Sapnap shrugs.

Dream studies him for a second before looking back at his hands. “About myself, since maybe always. About you…?” He smiles then, bitter. “Maybe just as long.”

Sapnap sucks in a breath.

Dream looks over. “What about you?”

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I think—I think I didn’t want to know.”

Dream snorts derisively. “With your dad, I wouldn’t want to know either.”

That gets a laugh out of Sapnap, but it’s dry, empty. “Hey,” he defends his dad halfheartedly, “my dad isn’t that bad.”

The bitter smile on Dream’s lips twists into downright acidic.

Sapnap sighs. “I’m glad it’s you.”

Dream looks at him. Sapnap stares back.

“You’re my best friend,” he tells him. “I can tell you anything.”

“Me too,” Dream replies. “I’m glad it’s you too.” And then he frowns, looking out over the crowd. “But I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

Sapnap is too, but he doesn’t tell the other that. Instead, he shrugs. “Could be worse,” he says. “I could hate you right now. But I don’t. I think I feel about you how you feel about me.” The last sentence is hard to get out, like bile in his throat. He hopes Dream doesn’t realize that.

When Dream smiles at him, then, he guesses he doesn’t. “I,” Dream looks back down at his hands, “like you, Sapnap.”

And that’s the truth, isn’t it? Dream likes Sapnap, and Sapnap likes Dream. Now Sapnap just needs to figure out what to do with that.

“I like you too,” he says, and Dream turns to him, eyes wide, as if they hadn’t established this already—maybe, for Dream, they hadn’t, “but I don’t know—I don’t know if this is good for us, Dream.”

“We’re best friends,” Dream starts to respond, but Sapnap cuts him off.

“Exactly.” He pulls his jacket tighter. “I don’t want to lose that.”

“We don’t have to,” Dream replies. “Why can’t we be both?”

“Why isn’t what we are already enough?” Sapnap argues. “I can’t afford to lose you, Dream. You’re my favorite person.”

“You wouldn’t lose me,” Dream denies. “You’re the one that was willing to cut me from your life for losing.”

“We were ten,” Sapnap scowls. “That’s not the same.”

Dream doesn’t reply. He knows it’s not.

The upbeat ABBA song playing does not match the mood that’s settled over their table. Sapnap drags his shoe along the floor. Dream drums his fingers against the table.

“Should we have not said anything then?” Dream asks. “Do we act like this never happened? Because I don’t know if I can do that.”

Sapnap doesn’t think he can either. Nonetheless, he shrugs.

Dream huffs. “Look,” he says, “you’re my best friend. I like you. If we stay friends, I’ll still like you. If we become more,” he swallows, squaring his shoulders, “and that doesn’t work, we’ll still be friends in the end. Okay?”

Sapnap doesn’t entirely believe him, but when he meets Dream’s gaze, Dream looks so determined, so resolute, that Sapnap finds himself echoing an okay. Then the clouds part, and Dream smiles. Sapnap tries to smile back.

The ABBA song ends and a much more recent pop song begins to play, but neither of them move, choosing instead to sit in a still silence that leaves Sapnap wondering what Dream is thinking.

Sapnap squeezes his eyes shut, shoving his curiosity aside to instead gaze out at the dance floor. The girl that was next to him in the circle bounces around three other teenagers, light-colored hair a kaleidoscope of colors in the everchanging club lights. When she spots Sapnap staring, she smiles, throwing up a peace sign. Sapnap gives her a small wave. Their eyes stay locked for another second before she makes a little motion towards Dream and Sapnap looks at him, only to find Dream already looking back. Sapnap sighs before rising from his chair.

“Your turn,” he says, hand already extended out towards the other.

Dream doesn’t hesitate in grabbing his hand and letting Sapnap pull him up.

Sapnap leads them to the dance floor, fully prepared to halfheartedly bop his head to the song playing, but then—and of course it’s just his luck—the minute he steps onto the wooden panels, the song changes to something mellow… and slow.

So very slow.

He turns to Dream, eyes wide in alarm, but all Dream does is smile.

“Don’t back out now,” he says.

Sapnap glares at him. “You wish.”

Dream laughs before putting a hand on Sapnap’s waist and an arm around his neck. Sapnap lets out a harsh breath but doesn’t pull away, just follows Dream’s lead, pulling him close. The emcee is saying something probably absolutely humiliating, but Sapnap ignores the queen (oh God, the emcee is a drag queen, how did he not realize that upon walking in?) in favor of focusing on Dream, on not stepping on his toes, on not bumping into other dancers, on not getting lost in the other’s eyes, however stereotypical it may be.

Dream lowers his head until their foreheads almost touch, and Sapnap is painfully reminded of 80s boy and Mythbusters hat. He looks down to the floor.

“Pandas,” Dream whispers, and Sapnap curses his heart for jumping.

“What?” he replies, still looking down.

“Look at me,” Dream urges.

Sapnap shakes his head, but then the arm around Sapnap’s neck becomes just a hand, and then that hand is traveling up, up over his neck, to his ear, fingers curling around his jaw, forcing Sapnap’s gaze from the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Dream says.

Sapnap finds himself stuck staring into Dream’s eyes. “Why?”

“You didn’t go to prom because I wouldn’t be there, and now we’re at a prom together, and you’re not having fun because I’m here.” His thumb strokes across Sapnap’s cheek—Sapnap hopes he can’t feel the heat under his skin. “So I’m sorry.”

“I’m having fun,” Sapnap replies, automatic.

“Because having me confess me to you and forcing you to dance with me and taking you to a fucking,” he breaks their gaze only to look around demonstratively, “gay prom is fun for you.”

But even with his reply being automatic, Sapnap finds it true. It’s not conventional, and he’s felt vaguely nauseous this entire time, but the dance circle was fun, and just standing here with Dream, swaying back and forth, it’s fun too. And there’s something nice about having everything out in the open. He and Dream like each other.

Wait.

He and Dream like each other. He and Dream like each other. Dream likes him.

“You like me,” Sapnap whispers.

Dream still hears him. “Yeah,” he replies, easy, “I like you a lot.”

“I think I missed that,” Sapnap says, louder. “You like me.”

Dream stares at him. “Yes,” he replies. “I like you.”

Sapnap stares back before he removes his hand from Dream’s waist to put it on his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of Dream’s t-shirt as Sapnap tugs him down into a kiss. Dream’s lips are surprisingly soft for the amount of times Sapnap has caught Dream biting at them, and Dream himself is surprisingly gentle when he brings his other hand up from Sapnap’s waist to cradle his jaw. Sapnap lets out a quiet exhale when they pull apart.

Dream is looking at him, but his gaze is distant, his mind somewhere far away.

Sapnap lets go of his shirt to shove him slightly. “Dream?” he asks, wondering if he might’ve just ruined everything, despite Dream’s insistence that a change in their relationship wouldn’t affect their friendship.

“I think people might misunderstand us now,” Dream says.

Sapnap can’t help it—he laughs. “You think?” And then Dream is laughing too, pulling him in for another kiss even as the song changes and the floor becomes crowded with everyone else coming to dance.

The tension now broken, neither of them suggest leaving the dance floor.

;;

By the time the prom is ending, Sapnap’s feet hurt, and he’s sure his lips are red from the amount of times Dream has kissed him. They’re both giddy with teenage excitement, and Dream is singing a pathetic rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody,” words slurring together and pitch way off.

Sapnap laughs as Dream knocks their heads together, pushing him away with one hand while the other wraps around his waist to pull him closer. “You sound so bad.”

“You love it,” Dream murmurs into his ear, and Sapnap grins even as his cheeks flare red.

“You wish,” he replies.

“I most definitely wish,” Dream says, head now tilted to rest atop Sapnap’s own.

“Did you drink?” Sapnap asks, suspicious, though he’s pretty sure he and Dream only got water. “Are you drunk?”

“You know I’d never drink,” Dream replies before the most shit-eating grin takes over his face. “Actually, I’m just drunk on love.”

Sapnap rolls his eyes. “Now you’re just acting stupid.”

“But I mean it.”

Sapnap looks at him. Dream looks back. Sapnap shakes his head as they reach Dream’s car. “Don’t be dumb.”

“Okay, so maybe not like… love love, but I love you, Sapnap.” Dream leans against the door. “And it could turn into love love one day. If you let it.”

Sapnap stares at him. Dream stares back.

“It’s just a possibility,” he says, hand coming up to pat Sapnap’s cheek. Sapnap continues to stare until Dream leans forward to bump their noses together. “I won’t bring it up again.”

“Next month,” Sapnap finally replies. “Bring it up next month.” He pushes himself away from Dream to go to the passenger side. “Now unlock the car. It’s hot as fuck out here.”

;;

The car ride is spent in an easy silence, though Dream keeps glancing over at Sapnap every once in a while, always looking on the verge of saying something.

Finally, Sapnap snaps. “What is it?”

Dream has clearly been waiting to be asked. “You said next month.”

Sapnap frowns. “Uh, yeah? Why wouldn’t I?”

“So we’ll still be together next month?”

Sapnap’s eyes narrow. “Are you assuming we’re together now?”

“Yes.”

Fuck. He’s right to assume that. So much for Dream being the one to forget their friendship in order to pursue a relationship. Dream knows him too well. (It’s perfect.)

“I love you too,” Sapnap says. “As a friend.” He looks out the window. “But it could be love love one day too.”

He doesn’t need to look over to know Dream is grinning, and when a finger brushes his own over the glovebox, not asking for permission but not not asking for permission, Sapnap can’t stop a grin of his own from spreading across his face and lets Dream lock their hands together.

;;

A knock on the door startles Sapnap in the middle of his studying. He looks up from his notes to see Dream leaning in the open doorway.

Sapnap raises a brow. “Since when have you knocked?”

“Since British exchange students started chewing me out whenever I’d come in without knocking.” Dream smiles at him before looking into the room, green eyes searching.

“George isn’t going to jump out at you from behind the door,” Sapnap says, stretching out in his chair before rising to properly greet his boyfriend. “Besides, he likes you; he’s just a bitch.”

“Of course a bitch like you would say that,” George interrupts, his small frame almost invisible behind Dream, who turns around with a guilty look on his face. “Hi, Dream,” George says, shoving past him to toss his bag in his desk chair and collapse onto his bed. “I don’t like you, by the way.” He lifts his head slightly to look between Dream and Sapnap. “Either of you. I hate you guys.”

“We hate you too,” Sapnap replies cheerily before grinning at Dream and pulling him down into a kiss that Dream eagerly returns.

“Can you not?” George asks, even though they all know he doesn’t really care. “I already feel single enough, thanks.”

“Like you could ever feel single,” Dream teases. “You know nearly everyone here is into you.”

George pushes himself up onto his elbows to stick out his tongue. Dream sticks his own out too.

Sapnap laughs before picking his keys up from off his desk and checking that his wallet is in his pocket. “We’re heading out,” he tells George, who hums and nods, flopping back onto the bed. “Let me know if you want us to pick you up dinner.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Sapnap,” George says, “to go out of your way just to get dinner for me. I didn’t realize I mean that much to you.”

“You mean the world to me, George,” Sapnap replies, even as his hand links with Dream’s and George flips him off. “But seriously, we’ll get you something if you want.”

“It’s fine.” George waves a hand. “Go be in love or whatever. Better somewhere else than where I can see it.”

“True, true,” Sapnap says, even though his favorite hobby nowadays is antagonize George, which sits right under spend time with Dream. 

They leave the Brit alone to head out to Dream’s car, and it’s there that Sapnap finds them imitating the pose they had the night of prom. He hides his smile in Dream’s neck as Dream wraps his arms around his shoulders.

“Hey, Sap,” Dream says.

“Yeah?”

“Remember how you said ‘next month’?”

Sapnap lifts his head slightly to look through the car window. “Yeah.”

“Well, it’s been next month, and then it was the month after that, and the one after that, and then there was—”

Sapnap barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. “I love you, Dream. Now let go of me; I really am hungry right now.”

“Right, of course. Of course,” Dream releases him, “but for the record, I love you too. Like, love love.”

Sapnap shoves him even as a smile begins to show at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, I love love you too.”

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Seventeen | Chill

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Alternate Chapter Title: Rapunzel, Rapunzel

• • •

You wake up to an arm around your waist and a prominent numbness to your cheek, pressed up against a hard surface. There's the sound of the fan turned on to the highest level, providing some cold even with the thick blanket you can feel wrapped around you. The wall clock ticks by the distance and you can hear someone else's heartbeat apart from yours. 

When you open your eyes and see who's the person you're with, you jolt out of the couch, stumbling to the floor. Your glasses are at the top of the monster's skull, held up by a thin shield of magic, and kept safe from being squashed while you slept against him. You take them, slip them on, and look around to assess your surroundings better to notice he's still sleeping on the very same corner and position you both watched the movie in. Your reflection on the television allows you to view marks on your cheek for how long you stayed that way. The next thing on your mind's checking the time, making you search around for your phone and find out it's seven in the morning, an hour of delay present in your schedule. 

If it was around eight when you sat down with him and the movie lasted around two hours, you'd slept far more than necessary. Not only that, but you'd fallen asleep on the same couch as the person you were still trying to sort out your feelings for. You try to make some clearer memory of what happened after the movie ended, yet it's all clouded after the credits rolled. 

The sound of the couch creaking makes you look back to the skeleton to see he's woken up, irises looking lost for just a fraction of a second before he sees you on the floor. Amusement blooms on his face, and he comments nothing as he offers his hand to you. You take it -- albeit, warily -- taking note on how much distance you keep between him and you. 

No matter what happened yesterday, you weren't letting your guard down.

"From the looks of it," he says, grinning, "I'm guessin' you woke up first?"

You aim to reply, though you look away and let his hand go to cover up a yawn, said action helping shake your leftover grogginess aside. You take it again after, having it offered to you once more. "Yeah," you answer, sighing. "But do you… Do you remember what happened after the movie ended? My mind's all fuzzy."

He sits up straighter, tugs you off the floor, and lets go afterwards. While you're still disoriented, his face looks refreshed and his posture looks far more relaxed than you would ever expect it to be after spending so long sleeping that way: in a rigid and plain uncomfortable angle and with you weighing him down for what had to be longer than eight hours. "Sorry to break it to ya, but you fell asleep way before that, pal."

"So you just let me sleep on you the whole night?" You refuse to believe him, not only for how ridiculous that sounds, but for the hour it is, and what you had to do before going off to work. "I doubt it."

Too sudden for your liking, his expression changes from humoured to tense, and his gaze diverts from yours. "Wanna know the full truth, then?"

You nod.

He lets out a sound between a huff and a chuckle and says, "Frisk came in by the time the movie was almost over, blankets and all." His voice turns strained, and he has to take a break to recover, embarrassment found in it. "They tucked us in and left without a word, so I, uh… I didn't really know what to do after that."

Your phone alarm goes off, cutting the conversation short. You pick it up, turn it off, and fight back your curiosity over learning more about what happened last night, and just why you'd been so tired as to remember that little about it. Your work schedule was no different from usual, and you were even working less with the current weather, meaning there was no reasonable excuse for you to be defending your exhaustion. Even if you redeemed those lost hours by taking up extra shifts, and even if you were a lot more stressed with your research over monsters and deciding which ones were safe to have around Frisk, that was no reason for you to be like this.

If you were saving yourself some trouble by not needing to search for local babysitters anymore all thanks to having Toriel and other monsters around to help you with that, and if you had moments to spare like for the night spent at the hotel, then you should have more than enough time to rest.

You continue to fight back excuses with that same line of reasoning for each one and force yourself to focus on your goals. 

A knock on the door sounds, leading you to stop your inner conflict to go get it. 

Before you can even make a motion for the door though, Frisk rushes out of the hallway -- without sparing a glance at you or the monster -- and does just that, excitement clear and undoubted in their expression. They stand on their tiptoes and peek through the peephole before opening it. As soon as they do, their curious look changes for a smile. A bright gaze shows on their face and they swing the door open. They plunge the visitor into a hug, Brenda's name being called out along with it.

You're still adrift enough for your mind to take a while to process what's going on. You're not sure what to do anymore, and even less what to say in response to the sudden changes happening day-by-day. So far, you were plenty aware almost each and every monster Frisk knew had been involved one way or the other with the Royal Guard, leading to the conclusion they had all once sought after your kind.

That being said, what were you doing here, sleeping on the same couch with one of those people?

What confirmed Sans's words from yesterday were in any manner true, and what guaranteed he wouldn't go back to his former self had he the remote chance to? 

You'd fallen asleep in the arms of the same man responsible for acting as a sentry for the Underground. You'd allowed him to enter your home, and had spent a night at the same hotel room as him. Even if he hadn't fulfilled his job exactly as it was commanded to him, you were still cautious of his presence, his actions, and the knowledge he kept hidden by remaining mellow and unbothered.

He used to engage in science, yet now he's just selling hot dogs and flirting himself to dead ends with you!

"We can't let her see you," you blurt out, remembering who's visiting. "She'll lose it if she thinks I'm dating you and that you sell hot dogs for a living!" Your words are hushed, but your worries still show through -- almost exclaimed, weren't you reminding yourself to keep quiet.

The skeleton flares his nose cavity and quirks an eye socket. "That's fine with me. But how're those two even related, though?"

When you hear Frisk is ending their talk with her, you grab Sans by the arm and lead him off to the hallway with you. You open the nearest door available and push him into the room with you. The most predictable predicament possible shows up when you turn around, lie against the door, and notice it's your bedroom -- thankfully tidy for the public to see. 

"Trust me," you say, huffing, "She'll be angrier about those two things more than how that guy at the bus was with me." Feeling you need to clarify your words, you compose yourself and sit down on the middle edge of your bed, folding your hands over your lap as you fumble with your fingers. Then, you face back to the skeleton, meeting his irises. "Not that she'll be angry about who's the one I'm spending my time with, but she's just... very particular of who I let into my house after that whole thing with Jerry happened." 

"But what does my job gotta do with anything?" he asks, chuckling, "Is she the type who doesn't see those kinda jobs as real ones?"

"Not exactly," you say, shifting on your seat. "I used to live from paycheck to paycheck -- the both of us, actually." 

You breathe in deep and attempt to calm yourself down by closing your eyes for a while. Then, you sigh and open them. "She doesn't hate people with street jobs, but…" You hesitate, still needing to prepare to say the words, at least. "To quote her: 'Don't you ever dare bring someone else into this house again, unless they…" Your face is burning, yet you remind yourself it's best to be honest. If the monster had been that way with you yesterday, and if he wasn't toying around with you, you wanted to try doing the same. If he wasn't and you were exposing yourself far too much in comparison, that time would then come, and you would make sure to not trust him anymore. "They agree and prove to be a good, well..." You could drink another whole gallon of water were you to have it available right now. "...a good stepparent for Frisk."

You're still facing him directly; ironically, you can't bring yourself to look elsewhere. "She gave me that lecture a really, really long time ago, but I just can't find the courage to… to fight against that. I even wrote that day down in a journal to remind myself of my mistakes."

That seems to be enough for him to break the ice first, saying, "Your mistakes?"

"Who else's fault could it be? If I hadn't let Jerry off the hook so easily, then maybe Frisk could've been living a much better future. I… I could've given Frisk a happier life if I'd just refused to let him g-"

You cut yourself off when you notice he's sat down next to you, keeping an arm's length of distance between you. "You're worryin' too much about this." His gaze appears serious, though you don't want to take it that way, considering what you've confessed to him just now. "Maybe those first years were tough, but I'd say the kid's pretty happy now, and from the looks of Jerry, he's doing well, too. Even if he's bein' a real jealous jerk 'bout it these days." 

Too lost in your thoughts, you don't notice you're tearing up until a drop falls on your lap, sleepwear soaking it in.

"You should throw that journal away -- or at least, rip that page off." A hint of mirth mixes with his concern, and his distance is now a hand's length apart. "...Not only 'cause you've already acknowledged where things went wrong, but 'cause you're only torturing yourself, always keepin' that with you."

You move closer to him, vanishing what distance remains as you let him hold your hand, eyes fixed on his face. "You-"

"Oh, hell no!"

By the voice alone and its sheer strength, you can already tell it's game over for you.

Brenda stands by the open door, moving her pronounced and unwavering glare between you and the monster. She takes in the situation, from the sight of a stranger in your bedroom, to you holding hands with him, and the fact you both still look like you've just woken up. While you don't blame her for assuming, you want to avoid bringing up discussions like those again. You were done with relationship drama for a lifetime, not only for how bad you were at managing stress, but for the needless trouble it could cast onto the remote lifestyle you've built through the years: keeping to yourself without getting too involved in the lives of others, no matter family, friend, or partner. 

She enters the bedroom when the skeleton greets her in, a quick and simple 'nice to meet you' sufficient for her to stop near the door and settle all her attention on him.

"You're (Y/N)'s godmother, right?"

Sans stands up, his tone and posture both on equal levels formal as he offers his hand out to her. "I'm Comic Sans Serif. Former servant of the Royal Guard." Brenda takes it, though she still has a wary eye on him.

"And what's your relationship with (Y/N)?" she asks, unfazed. "I remember they were going to meet you at the train station a few months ago, but I do not see why you're allowed to be here."

An expression similar to when Frisk asked him if you were dating shows up, but he soon recovers and replies with, "Our relationship right now's the definition of 'it's complicated', but we're still pretty good friends."

"Define 'pretty good', mister Serif," she demands, keeping her hand in his. "Are you their man-friend, or something of the like? You… You don't really look like the most promising type of guy, I'll admit."

"Frankly, we're still workin' things out, but I don't mind being their 'man-friend', if that's what ya wanna call it."

While you would like to kick both him and your godmother outside or call them out on their blunt and plain audacious commentary, you stay back and watch as a dangerous, downright preying look unfolds from your godmother's gaze. She shakes his hand, but way too strong for it not to hurt, even for someone made primarily out of bones and magic. She squeezes hard enough to make the air bubbles between them pop and for you to hiss in response to the pain he's being brought into. When she lets him go, her gaze more than precipitates itself on you, capturing you similar to how a snake would do with a mouse. "My flight got delayed, I almost lost my soul with how much turbulence there was on the way here, and I'm still jet-lagged." Her scowl's as deep as her furrow, worsening by the second. "So either you explain to me what the hell went on these past few months I was gone, or we're going to have to talk soon."

You're not backing down without a fight -- confident in yourself or not.

"I'm an adult already," you reply, matching her scowl with a glare. "That was seven years ago, Brenda. I'm thankful for the help you gave me back then, but I don't need you lecturing me over who I should date anymore."

"I should if the guy you're dating willingly admits what's going on between you!"

"It's not like that!" You face his side for a moment, seeing he's still adjusting his hand back to mobility. "He's-"

"Are you really trying to defend him now, (Y/N)?" she snaps, stomping her foot and crossing her arms. "And are you really gonna let something like that happen again? He sounds worse than Jerry!"

"I've been alone since he and I ended." You try not to let your voice crack or falter, determined to be just as strong as her. "I get I screwed up that time, but I've learned and I'm still learning even now. You don't have to rub it in!"

"Oh, please." Brenda rolls her eyes and throws her arms up in the air, scoffing. "Then cry about it, why don't you? I just want what's best for y-"

"Then maybe I will, dammit." 

You wipe a tear off your cheek, scowl, and head out of the room, not bothering to look back.

"Say whatever you want to say about me," you add, keeping your back to her. "But don't drag him into this. I feel bad enough as it is -- indecisive and... And just outright incapable of being honest about how I feel." You clench your hands and spare one last glance at her, holding back tears. "He's not joking. I… I could've told him to stop trying to flirt with me, and I could've said no when he offered to take me out for dessert, but I still went with it. And now I'm denying what's happening, l- leading him on knowing I can't devote myself to another relationship as serious as the last, and… And k- knowing I still hate myself for it." You wipe away the wetness on your cheeks, sniffling to prevent things from getting messier. "Everything feels like it's changing, except for me!" You pause and take a break, regaining some calm through a breath. "Frisk brought an entire civilization back with them here, you moved away as soon as you found a better job, and all the close friends I used to have are gone." 

Another break, and another breath.

"Do I really have no right to move on?"

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

Important Notice

I got my first dose of the vaccine recently, and so now I'm in the process of resting away the tired/soreness it brought. Body says sleep and oof ouch my bones, but college says with great power comes great responsibility. Worth it, though!

...And of course, this means a change/delay in the update schedule until I recover.

For now, I'll try to update around once to thrice a week as customary, but on Tuesday, Thursday, and/or Saturday evenings/nights.

Still... I'm not making any long-lasting promises, lol. Y'all already know how finicky my health is!

As always, take care and stay safe. :-)

• • •

Tag List (Comment or message me if you want to be added to [or removed from] it!)

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[gwoongi]

wordless pt.1

jeon jeongguk / reader genre: hitman (john wick?) au, sugar daddy au, fluff, pining, angst rating: mature words: 4.1k warnings: mentions of blood and violence, unconventional relationship, angsty themes, smoking mention a/n: this is jeongguk as john wick because i’m trash and i cant finish one story at a time. these prompts r from here btw :) im gonna do all 50 but im too lazy rn so here’s the first 10 :D

Sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send Jeongguk over the edge if he hears them again.

Parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five

Now, it definitely was not a stretch to assume that everything in Jeongguk’s life was indeed unconventional. People didn’t need to understand that what Jeongguk did for work was something that, by the law, was considered unprofessional and inhumane, and so when asked, Jeongguk sufficed for “boss of a company”, and questions weren’t asked. If they were, Jeongguk came up with a slightly more conventional lie, to make up for the reality that was Jeongguk working on the clock, killing nobodies for a bit of cash.

Taehyung, his right-hand man, had expressed how unconventional Jeongguk seemed to be over a dinner in Venice, a little restaurant tucked away unconventionally in a street that did not belong to America. Jeongguk spoke four languages comfortably, and had parents retiring in the Canary Islands. Jeongguk donated money to women’s charities and mental health services, and helped bribe his cousins into Ivy Leagues when racism prevented them from entry. Jeongguk was a Joe-Exotic in the making and owned a rescue black panther named Elio, and had houses across the globe for use when working. And, Jeongguk was dipping his toes into playing house with a sugar baby who was only five years younger than him, of whom he had met in a stakeout which involved the hit being on your brother’s head. Unconventionally, you led him to his target, and afterwards, dined with him in a Thai restaurant.

Things in Jeongguk’s life were far from ordinary, but perhaps it was the denial of mundane comforts that kept Jeongguk going. If he went back to normality, to working a shitty customer service job like when he was seventeen, dumping trash into overflowing piles behind the off-license he worked at, things wouldn’t be the same. Jeongguk would feel alien, like he didn’t belong. At least here, amongst the pain and the bullets and the years worth of trauma packed in his wrinkles (which, yes, if he looks hard enough, he can see some cursing his twenty five year old skin), Jeongguk felt like he sort of belonged. In an unconventional way.

Having met Jeongguk during his line of work, there were difficulties in being Jeongguk’s sugar baby. For one, he always felt guilty for having murdered your brother, even though you heavily supported the hit. Your brother was a jerk, a bully with money, someone who had wronged your entire family, turned off your younger sister’s life support when there was a chance of her survival. Asshole, he deserved it. Secondly, Jeongguk was impractical and irrational and often acted selfishly, meaning he was often out of the country on work, only available in whispers for a few hours and then he was gone, compensating with a few sums of cash.

He tried his best. Jeongguk, despite technicalities including his work and his past and his occasional mean streak, genuinely cared about other people. When he could, he made the effort, otherwise not attempting to make promises to you that he could not keep. Jeongguk knows that he got really lucky when he found you. You didn’t ask questions. Nobody was better for him.

However, Jeongguk was selfish, and broken, and in refusal of fixing what was wrong with him. When it was of convenience, Jeongguk drew comparisons to the last girlfriend he tried to entertain. One who wronged him, and died when he tried to repair everything she had destroyed. Jeongguk carries that with him like the tattoos on his skin, a permanent memory, and something that often disturbs what could be and should be between the both of you.

Jeongguk is worthy of love, and capable of loving. On days where Jeongguk is free to lounge without the guilt of not working, you find it is so easy to love him. But, it can’t be that way. You couldn’t just tell him that. Telling him that you loved him would be inappropriately unconventional. Sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send Jeongguk over the edge if he hears it again.

(1) Holding their hands when they are shaking.

Jeongguk is in his living room, his right leg bouncing like a spring as he cradles an infant glass of whiskey. His eyes are glazed, yet wide, staring at the Seoul city draped in darkness and neon, and without even looking inside, you know that his brain is spinning, thoughts chaotic and loud.

“Hey,” you call out to him, and his eyes stutter to the left to catch you in the doorway, “I heard you get up. What’s wrong?”

Jeongguk shakes his head gently. “Nothing, baby, go back to bed. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Jeongguk often makes comments without expectancies. You stand in the doorway that connects the living room to the long hall that stems into bedrooms and bathrooms, and watch him for a moment. His whole body vibrates like a speaker, his hands trembling as the glass drains and he reaches for a second, or a third, or maybe a tenth. You want to sigh, without being patronising, but you know that any sign of sympathy is mistaken for that whenever Jeongguk is around to make the judgement.

He looks back to the skyline and frowns, his attention panning from the window to his phone that buzzes blue, but he ignores. Stepping across the cool wooden floorboards, you approach him sleepily and take a seat next to him on the sofa. Neither of you move, but he recognises you’ve moved. He bristles slightly, like it was unexpected.

“You can take your time,” you suggest to him, and his hands ache in his lap as he sets the glass down on the coffee table with a careless thud. He scoffs, devoid of emotion, and dips his head so his chin is near his collarbones. In his lap, those hands shake. “Maybe don’t drink so much tonight.”

“I’m clearing my head,” he insists weakly. Those hands still shake.

Brows creased with a pinch, you swallow the unease and reach for his hands. Jeongguk doesn’t say anything as you do so, enveloping his hands in yours, and so suddenly the shaking ceases. Like trying to block the shakes from reaching his wrists, your hands keep his safe.

“I know,” you understand honestly, because you do know what he’s going through. “How about tea, or something? To calm down, calm down the mess that’s up in there.”

Your chin is on his shoulder, and he smiles softly. “Are you calling me messy?”

“Nah, I’m calling your brain messy,” you reply. “It’s a cruel fucking brain.”

“Hate my brain.”

“Today, we hate it.”

Jeongguk’s head turns slightly so that he can see you, and in his lap, his thumbs brush across your skin.

“Thank you,” Jeongguk says quietly, attempting a smile that doesn’t quite convince. It doesn’t necessarily have to, not tonight anyway. His phone continues to flash like a light show, Taehyung’s name in bold. “Fuck. I’ll take the call, and then I’ll come back to bed, okay?”

You nod, “Mm, okay. Want me to make a drink?”

“I don’t need it,” Jeongguk concludes. “Not today.”

(2) Tucking the sheets around them when they stir during the night.

Sometimes Jeongguk wakes up in the night due to nightmares, but tonight, it’s different.

Beside him, you stir uncomfortably and kick his leg for the fourth time. He huffs and looks over, trying to figure out if you’re awake and indignant, or lost in the dream. He settles on the latter when you strain out the name of your brother and his heart swoops with a dull ache.

“You’re just dreaming, baby, come on,” Jeongguk mutters quietly into your ear, holding you in place to calm the thrashing. “He’s not here anymore, I’m here. Y/N.”

It subsides after a few minutes, making it the longest you’ve gone on record. He looks into your sleepy, upset eyes as you break awake and brushes the hair out of your face. He tries to smile for you, and maybe you can’t see in the dark.

“I’ll get you some water,” Jeongguk suggests gently. “Hm? Sweet thing. It’s just a dream.” He says this into your hair in a hug, leaving a kiss on your temple as he breaks. “You’re fine.”

“I’m fine,” you breathe uneasily, and he separates to get a glass of water and returns to find you sleeping again. What relief Jeongguk might have is exhaled as he sets the glass on the bedside table, stroking your hair until he moves away with the sudden realisation that this is not a normal exchange.

Before Jeongguk decides to leave again, he makes sure the bed is made and that you are safe; he tucks the duvet in tightly and presses a kiss to your forehead before grabbing his coat by the front door and leaving your apartment, one tucked in the city so far that Jeongguk finds it a hassle to visit.

(3) Travelling long distances just to see them.

For three days now, you have been in Colmar, and Jeongguk is beginning to feel lonely. It had been his idea to send you away, when the heat on his long, long fued with a rival colleague threatened your safety. In return, you got a new apartment that Taehyung had found closer to Jeongguk’s own when your address got leaked, and Colmar could be considered a vacation if you pretended for long enough.

With tensions cool and the coast somewhat clear, Jeongguk picks the skin around his fingernails as a distraction before deciding that enough was enough. He missed you, and missed how you were always around for him when he needed you most. This is what drives him to jumping on a plane in his company’s name, and flying to France.

A small boat passes underneath the bridge you are standing on, and your hands dig into the barrier as you arch to smile at the tourists beneath. One catches a glimpse of your denim skirt and cherry print blouse in the sunshine and extends his hat with a wave, and you wave back. France is nothing like Seoul, and is indeed warm and fruitful and unique. The sun is hot, the sky is clear, and the streets are filled with an atmospheric buzz of friendliness, the smell of coffee and some food you don’t know yet entrapping your senses.

“Madame, je peux vous prendre en photo?”

Hearing the voice, you turn your body left and prepare to face the tourist, but instead you are welcomed with the sight of Jeongguk dressed in black, sunglasses sliding down his nose with a smile. He does hold a camera in his hands, although teasingly.

“Oui,” you quip, posing cutely and Jeongguk takes a photograph anyway, to humour the moment, to print when he gets back to Seoul. You join his laughter as he peers at the photograph and he walks without looking up towards you.

“When did you get here?” you ask him, a round of laughter from the little boat making you turn to stare at them with a giggle.

“Bout an hour ago,” Jeongguk replies, and he shuts off the camera and puts it in his coat pocket. It’s only a small camera, probably cost him a crumb to buy from a vintage store. He meets your eyes with a comfortable smile and rounds in, pressing your lower back against the bridge barrier and circling your arms around you. Carefully, then, he kisses you, tasting the suncream on your skin as his lips wander from yours to the skin around your face.

“Miss me?”

“Terribly,” Jeongguk responds. “I am so bored when you’re not around. You always have something to do, always have something to say.”

You hum in response. “I’m glad I’m of some entertainment for you.”

“Oh, for sure,” agrees Jeongguk. “I don’t think I’ve used my brain so often when I’m away from work as much as I do when I’m with you. Did you know that you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met?”

“Wow,” you exclaim with a smile. “Hire me.”

“Ha!” he remarks, kissing you again and taking your hand in his. He moves, back in the way you came. “Over my dead body.”

(4) Making their favorite meal when they are having a hard day.

“You.”

“Not now, Y/N, I’m working,” Jeongguk replies non committedly. He fists his hair.

“Not up for discussion right now,” you huff, and he has the nerve to glare at you which only makes you uncomfortably angry. “You haven’t eaten in fourty eight hours, and I’m not about to be held responsible for your death when you die of hunger, so get your ass in the kitchen before I dump this food over your stupid head.”

He challenges you. “You’re brave talking to somebody who could destroy your life like that.”

“Do it, I literally have nothing to lose,” you answer. “Please eat something. I made it with love and care.”

Jeongguk relents, sighing at his paperwork but nonetheless moving away from his home office and following you like a child towards the direction of the kitchen. He feels bad, you know he feels bad, and he circles his arms around your body as you walk, stumbling into the space of the kitchen and smelling the familiar aroma of pork rice stew. Alas, he sees the bowl steaming in his spot at the table and his eyes follow you as you hum and set start to washing the dishes.

“Y/N-”

“No words, just eating,” you instruct. “Bone apple tit.”

He grins, then, and takes a seat. “You know that’s not the phrase, right?”

“Tell that to Twitter,” you sigh.

(5) Giving them a kiss before going to work and they are still in bed.

Jeongguk prefers to see you when he doesn’t have work the next day, because leaving when you’re asleep is an asshole move in any dictionary. So, when one of his men phones him at four in the morning and relays the horror that someone’s died on his property, Jeongguk has to fight the demons that almost convince him to hand the job over to somebody who gives a fuck about the intruder stuck on his barbed fence.

He gets up, anyway.

Next to him, in the bed that belongs to you because this is your new apartment, Jeongguk stares down at you and feels a tug in his stomach. Guilt, it follows him everywhere like a ghost.

Before he leaves, he likes to give you a little kiss for the morning, so the tingling sensation reminds you that despite being an asshole and leaving without properly saying goodbye, he still gives several shits about you, and will be back when he can be.

(6) Tucking your head into their neck during a hug.

Jeongguk wants to hang Taehyung for making him remember the reasons why you had to move across the city to a new apartment.

It had, of course, been Jeongguk’s fault, and when the notification came from an exhausted worker in his line of work that the alarm system in your apartment had been triggered for an intruder, Jeongguk remembers all he saw was red.

The front door was forced open, a body indent in the wood and the front porch ransacked and littered with shards of glass and bullets. Inside was no prettier, with mess scattered everywhere and photos smashed on the floors. The carpets were stained with red that Jeongguk prayed was just wine, the glass coffee table in two pieces and a knife covered in red on the floor. Jeongguk and his men, along with the few police officers Jeongguk could actually trust in this god-forsaken hellhole, noticed that the blood belonged to one of the intruders who lay dead on the stairs.

Nobody knows how Jeongguk got through the apartment so fast, and why, without any hesitation, he murdered the remaining intruders without suggesting questioning and torture. That was his go-to when it rarely concerned you. He wanted those stupid enough to even try and go after you to really fucking regret it as he picked off fingernails and made them suffer for hours or days. This time he just killed, and moved onwards, calling your name like a mantra.

Jeongguk could have cried when you emerged, petrified, from inside one of the closets. Upon seeing you, Jeongguk collapsed his gun on the floor and stepped towards you protectively, pulling you in tightly for a hug. Sobbing into his neck, you hugged him tighter, feeling finally safe when his hand held the back of your head, like you were a precious thing that was of value.

You were of the highest value to Jeongguk.

“Fuck you,” Jeongguk barks suddenly, and Taehyung shrugs and exits the office. All he had asked was if he loved you.

(7) Lightly kissing on top of a freshly formed bruise.

There might be the assumption that Jeongguk comes home with more bruises than you do. Which is true, technically, and there’s no hesitation from your end in nursing them to a comfortable recovery.

On rare occasion, Jeongguk comes home and finds you exhibiting a new purple blob on your skin. Like today. 

Jeongguk hasn’t seen you in two days, and when he lets himself into your apartment with the key he has glued to him at all times, he follows the silence and light to the bathroom. You sit on the edge of your bathtub, gently rubbing cream on your knee in little circles.

“What happened here?” he asks quickly, and you continue rubbing with your tongue poking out between your lips.

“You’ll laugh, don’t ask,” you mutter.

“Hey, I won’t laugh,” Jeongguk says. He rests his weight against the doorframe, “You open the front door the wrong way again?”

Ha! You laugh humourlessly. “Worse!” You look up at him sadly, “I tripped in the parking lot carrying my groceries. It’s on camera and everything, I want to die.”

Jeongguk pokes the inside of his mouth to resist laughing. “Well, fuck. That’s your leg ruined.”

“I know,” you pout. “Good thing you’re my sugar daddy- wanna pay for cosmetic leg surgery?”

“I like your bruised up legs,” says Jeongguk.

“Me too, but not these ones.”

“Bruh, that’s enough cream on your skin,” Jeongguk exclaims, moving forward to snatch the cream from your hands. “More is not better. Come on, you’re okay.”

“It hurts.”

“Boohoo,” he sighs. You don’t move. “Ugh, whatever. Come’re.”

Jeongguk drops the cream tube onto the sink but it clatters into the bowl. He’ll move it later if he remembers to, and he pretends it’s hard to pick you up off the bathtub and carries you swiftly out of the bathroom and into the living room. Things have barely moved since he last came to visit; the swarms of paper still invade your coffee table and your laptop is on sleep mode by a half-empty coffee cup filled with hot chocolate, because he knows your standing on coffee. Everything is a lot messier now that you’ve decided you want to go back to school, but at least Jeongguk knows it keeps you busy when he’s away.

“Oh,” he says suddenly, as you’re sat down with one leg up around him still. He pokes at a spot on your leg and you squirm, “there’s another one.”

You peer to look, “Oh, yeah, that one’s you.”

“Oh.” He pauses, “Pretty, though.”

You huff like a little baby and he dares you with raised eyebrows. That keeps you silent and Jeongguk moves his body at an angle to the right, sweeping to kiss the bruise better, the bruise that he made a few nights ago with tender love and care.

“All better,” he assures.

“It feels better already.”

“Mm. Magic.”

(8) Buying them something unrequested because it made you think of them.

“So, I was at a school fayre today.”

“Really?” Jeongguk sits with his laptop on his legs, and your legs are tangled around his body like some sort of jungle maze. He rarely works on his bed, not unless the work is sudden and he can’t help it. You’ve just come in, dived on the bed and claimed his waist as something to squeeze your legs around.

“Yep. Like, one of those little craft things where students sell their shit and make money from it. You know, supporting local artists! It’s really cute, if I was good at something I’d have participated.”

Jeongguk thinks of things you’re good at, and there’s a lot. “Aw. There’s always next year.”

“Yeah,” you reason. “Anyway- point is, is that I got you something.”

Jeongguk stills for a second, glancing over his right shoulder to see you, “Me?”

“Yep. You.”

“What did you get?” he asks, and then he’s back to checking blueprints.

You untangle your legs and slide off the bed, retreating to your bag slung across the room by the bedroom door. From here, you take out a small little pin-badge and when you’re sat next to Jeongguk again, you fiddle with it until it catches his attention.

“What’s this?” asks Jeongguk.

“It’s a badge of honour,” you claim, and you slip it into his palms. He fingers the front when he examines it, reading the little words of “Number One Dad” and he stares up at you. “Like it?”

“It’s for me?” he asks again.

“Yeah. You can wear it and like, I don’t know, think of me,” you shrug.

Jeongguk thinks for a moment. Even though it’s stupid, and cliche and a little bit embarrassing, he still thinks it’s funny and thoughtful.

“Want me to wear it to work?” he asks you.

“Oh, absolutely,” you encourage. “I’ll get Taehyung an uncle badge if he gets pissy.”

“Hey, you’re mine and he’s not allowed a relationship to you, no matter what definition,” Jeongguk pouts. “He wants a sugar niece, well...he’ll have to look somewhere else.”

You gape. “Wow. Who thought you had it in you to be so possessive.”

“Please, with a pussy like that of course I’m possessive,” he teases. He’s joking.

“My power,” you sigh anyway, and jump off the bed claiming that you’re hungry. Jeongguk looks at the badge again and pops it in his breast pocket before he loses it and regrets it.

(9) Participating in their hobby even if it doesn’t personally interest you.

Jeongguk’s bored out of his brain.

He has no idea how you can be so fascinated by this stupid game where you’re essentially in debt, but he still sits and watches you tour him around this weird island that is inhabited by ducks and an ugly gorilla villager dressed in pink. And to think that he had a part to play in all of this, because his bank account definitely helped pay for this Nintendo Switch and game.

“Do you like my beach?” you ask him. It’s literally just sand and one coconut tree, and a few shells by the water. Oh, there’s a beach chair on there too, but it makes little difference. “I’m poor, I can’t afford furniture yet.”

“Can’t you just make it?”

“I can, but I’m sick of making axes to collect wood,” you explain with a grudge against the fact that tools now break in this Animal Crossing game. Jeongguk hums like he’s invested, and he tries to be, because he cares about you too much to unintentionally hurt your feelings by displaying his crippling disinterest.

“Oh. Makes sense.”

“Can I show you my hybrid flower garden?”

He sighs. “Yeah, you wanted to show me all of your island, right?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Once you’ve had a tour, I can make you a profile and you can play too. You can live next door to me!”

“Why can’t we share a house?” Jeongguk presses.

“Because I don’t think it works like that, babe,” you confess. “Anyway. Here’s my garden.”

(10) Sitting in comfortable silence while eating a meal.

He’s tired. You’re tired.

The radio plays quietly updating Seoul on the fires that spread across the city today, and Jeongguk smells like smoke and salt. He keeps his head down as he eats his meal, something he brought home with him to make up for the fact that he’s been absent for almost a week now. You have so many things to say and he has so many things he needs to say to make up for everything, but nothing is said tonight.

You know he’s having a hard time, because Jeongguk’s been smoking again. He smoked on the balcony earlier, and once again in the bedroom. There are now ashtrays around your own apartment, and you don’t even smoke. Jeongguk takes a drink of bourbon and swallows it dry.

You look up at him from across the table, not wanting to press the issue when you know it’ll end in an argument, and then sex to make up for it. You’re both too tired to fuck today, too tired to speak. Just being in each other's company is enough for tonight. The only words he says are goodnight and something you don’t catch as you’re drifting off to sleep. Jeongguk’s awake all night, the fires burn until early hours, and the smoke smell is still there in the morning even when he isn’t.

[writersplight]

A COMPARISON

AN: I feel I should include a content warning of some kind. There's nothing explicitly done wrong or said, but there is this hint at past bad sex experiences, and well as vague sex talk. ——— When Erwin talks, even if it’s directed at her, his words are chosen precisely. He could be talking to anyone really, and his words float through her like she’s air. It was never full conversations, just words floating from his mouth to her ears, with flat responses. There are hidden messages behind his words, and it takes learning how to decipher him to figure it out. Yet, they are forced and hollow. When Onyankopon talks, it's engaging. He’s fully listening to whatever she has to say, even if it’s nonsense, with questions and the perfect amount of eye contact. In return, she listens to all his facts about airplanes and zeppelins he has to offer. How can she not? His smile is so warm and inviting, she can’t help but sit down with a kettle of tea and hear him explain the mechanics of it all.

When Erwin would touch her, it would be quick, with specific purpose, and fleeting. Even when there were no meetings, no eyes on them except for the moon—completely devoid of life and love. It had to be initiated by him, whenever it was convenient for him. She’d be putty in his hands, though, soaking up every second. It was rare he had any semblance of “vulnerability” with her. Every touch was over way too soon, leaving her with an emptiness to deal with. She always pushed it down, making excuse after excuse for him. With Onyankopon, he listens. His touches are experimental, and he never does anything without asking. The first time they slept together, he reassured her that she wasn’t there for a quick, meaningless fuck. He just thought they should share a bed—he made some comment about how Ena mentioned cuddling earlier in the evening, but she refuses to acknowledge that as her full offer. That isn’t to mention the first time they had sex. She didn’t know the bedroom could be so. . . Satisfying. She was brought up on the idea that her life should be dedicated to pleasing a man in one way or another. The idea of actually living outside of that is a concept she only dreamt of when she ran away from home at the naive age of seventeen. Now, at almost thirty-nine years old, she’s faced with what she wants. And Ena’s never been so confused. At this point, her life is so much different than it was when she joined the Survey Corps at twenty-one. She had options beyond “kill the enemy and live another day”. Beyond “constantly prove how worthy you are”. Everything she wanted, and yet everything was so confusing. She kept expecting Onyankopon to snap and become impatient with her, or to up and leave altogether. But he didn’t. And he hasn’t. There’s no ultimatum with him. It’s always a fair and just compromise. At this point, laying awake at night, listening to him breathing, she realized how unfair it was to compare Erwin to Onyankopon. No one could compare to the openness he willingly shares with Ena. He’ll talk with her for hours about feelings and coping mechanisms, and if he does manage to step over a boundary, he sets time aside to fully hear her side, and to apologize. Rolling onto her side, Ena remembers the first time she initiated that she wanted to have sex with Onyankopon. She was really nervous “taking the lead”, but he was into it. He’s a hell of a listener, that’s for sure. It was a new territory for her, and he was always asking questions and for consent. There was a moment when she became hyper-aware of her surroundings, causing her to become still. That familiar stillness, the lifeless corpse of herself that was waiting for life to be pumped into it. She hated it. Suddenly, the pleasure was stimulating in all the wrong ways, and there was too much air in her lungs and not enough. “Is this—” “God, please stop!” His movements stopped immediately, concerned. She’s never shouted like that. She was never shaking like that. Or still. He pulls out, and gives her space. When Ena sits up, the room seems to turn with her in the middle. She didn’t know when Onyankopon left, or how the water got in her hands, or why she was crying so hard. She didn’t do anything wrong, but she held the guilt of every quiet woman in her bloodline. Onyankopon didn’t do anything wrong, but he did feel bad for not noticing sooner. Like most things in her life, her symptoms were quiet. They crept up on her, and she didn’t blame him. He put an arm under her, with permission, to help her sit up. He put a blanket around her. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” she whispers, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief that was handed to her. “Did I hurt you in any way?” “What? Of course not! You’re so good to me, and you know what you're doing, I just—” Ena pauses, and her eyes drop to her hands because telling Onyankopon about her previous relationship was always so hard. She always felt bad for wanting better, due to the circumstances she was faced with before on the island. She made sure to clarify Erwin never

intentionally hurt her, and meant his best. Even still, he would focus on his own pleasure, and believe that if he was feeling good, so was Ena. Not true, but she restated that he didn't know, and she couldn't help because she didn't know how to please herself. Onyankopon nodded along, sipping his own glass of water. He didn't villainize her past "boyfriend"—in quotes because they were together, but they weren't able to slap an official label on it. Even still, he had to wonder why she put up with him for so long. “I don’t know why,” she admits quietly, and he realized he asked that out loud. He began to apologize, but she assured him there was no need. After all, she was beginning to wonder about herself. “I used to say ‘because I love him’, right? But now that I have freedom right now. . . I’m sure it was a form of love, but it’s nothing like what we have. I just feel bad for constantly bringing him up, Onyankopon. He’s just the only frame of reference I have.” “And maybe an unintentional source of trauma?” he wondered, and Ena shrugged. She knew that was right, but it was a lot to admit. She didn’t want to admit that about her dead boyfriend. “It seems to me that he’s the reason you’re hesitant all the time. I don’t mind it, you're open to talking through your problems, but I’m concerned as to why he’s still got a death grip on your decisions. . . No pun intended, I promise!” He sees how her face twists up with this visible guilt. He puts a hand on her thigh. “I could be in the wrong, it’s okay to tell me that—” “I know, but I don’t think you’re wrong. But I don’t want to complain about the life I had in Paradis. It feels. . . Wrong,” she finally looks back at him. Even in a moment like this, he was so goddamn pretty. “You can still love someone even though they’ve traumatized you. It’s nuanced, Ena. For a situation as complicated as yours, there will always be nuance.” He explains. “Yeah?” she turns to face her lover with a nervous smile. “So you’re not upset with me that I yelled at you to stop?” “Of course not! I could never be mad at that. I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.” She didn’t hold him in contempt, and told him that. She was just overstimulated in all the wrong ways. It happens sometimes. When he suggested relaxing for the rest of the night, she agreed. It started with a shower, where Onyankopon cleaned her hair so nicely. She used her lavender soap that he buys for her to wash his body, loving the idea that he’ll smell like her when he’s out and about in the morning getting groceries. Then he brewed some fancy tea blend bought from Levi’s shop, and they read some book Armin Arlert published, with in depth illustrations and diagrams by Jean Kirschtein. They go on explorations of other countries, studying various plant life and bugs. Weird, considering the ocean is bigger and far more interesting, but it was a good read nonetheless. And Ena totally didn’t slip and nearly cracked her head open when she stepped out of the shower. Nope. Onyankopon catching her and holding her close was merely him showing affection, and not caused by her slipping. It totally was, she’s just embarrassed. Months later, now, she rolls over to face him. He’s so sweet and patient with her. Not to say she isn’t patient with him, it’s just the first time that it isn’t stressful. Ena almost feels like she doesn’t deserve him. He understands her in a way that she’s never known—not to mention he can cook, clean, and understands that sometimes people just want alone time. Oh, and he loves taste-testing her experimental meals. As well as taking her flying on whatever complicatedly named airship he loves. And the way they pick each other’s brains. . . It’s sort of unfair to compare Erwin Smith to her current boyfriend. She can’t help it, she was raised in a society where comparing one another was supposed to be inspiration. Ena never felt inspired by having her hair, her eyes, her nose, her body, or her strength compared to someone else. It felt like an insult above all else. She knew, however, that Erwin liked

that challenge of trying to “best” someone, and that probably hasn’t changed since he died. Ena was okay with that.

[themetaphorgirl]

“why did we leave Prentiss in charge?

I was prompted to write about Emily teasing Spencer into doing something stupid and breaking something in the process. This turned out a lot sillier than I thought it would? And I was going to write more of it but it seemed like a good spot to end.

but let me know if you want to see a part two! or something angstier! lately it seems all I can do is write fluff!

(more about the boarding school babes)

----------

“Okay, okay, I think this time I can make all the way down without having to put my hands down,” Derek said, running back up to the top of the stairs.

“Guys, are you sure this is a good idea?” Penelope asked.

JJ tightened her ponytail. “You’re just saying that because you haven’t stuck a single landing!” she called from the top of the stairs.

Penelope stamped her foot. “I’m just saying that this seems really risky!” she said. “What would would the seniors say if they were here? Or Hotch?”

“Hotch wouldn’t know anything fun if it bit him on the ass,” Emily said. “And you know Dave and James would be trying this out. And it’s not that dangerous. You should have seen the staircase in the Ukrainian embassy. Now that was dangerous.”

“What would Alex say?” Penelope said desperately. “She’d think this is a bad idea.”

“Relax, baby girl, it’s fine,” Derek said, hanging over the railing. “You don’t have to do it. I mean, neither is Spencer.”

Spencer glanced up from his book. “Hm?” he said. “Did you say something to me?”

He ruffled Spencer’s hair. “Just that you and Penelope are sitting out on the fun stuff,” he said.

“Yeah, she’s a scaredy-cat, and you’re too little,” Emily said.

“I’m not a scaredy-cat, I’m being safe and sensible,” Penelope said.

Spencer’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not that little!” he said. “You guys think I’m a baby, and I’m not!”

“We know you’re not a baby, you’re just small,” Derek reassured him.

“I’ve grown a little bit!”

“You’re like...four and a half feet tall.”

Spencer slammed his book shut and scrambled to his feet. “Just because I’m small for my age doesn’t mean I’m not physically capable of keeping up with you guys,” he said, irritated.

“No offense, Spence, but I’m in gym class with you, I know what you’re capable of,” JJ said.

“She’s right, you run like a baby giraffe,” Penelope added.

Spencer crossed his arms. “Well, giraffes can run up to thirty miles an hour, so I don’t think your comparison is particularly valid,” he said. 

“We ran the mile yesterday. It took you seventeen minutes.”

He thrust his book into JJ’s hands. “I’m going to slide down this stupid banister, and then you guys have to stop picking on me,” he said. 

“Deal,” Emily said. “But if you don’t make it all the way to the bottom, then you have to do my trig homework for the next two weeks.”

“Deal,” Spencer said. He struggling to swing his leg over the side of the banister, but he managed to pull himself up.

“Oh, I’m not watching this,” Penelope said, taking off her lime green glasses. “If he breaks something, Alex and Hotch are going to murder you.”

“Relax, Pen,” Emily said. “He’ll give up less than halfway down. I’m positive.”

Spencer hesitated, holding on tightly to the railing. “Kid, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Derek said. “We’ll stop teasing you about being little, we promise.”

“I don’t!” Emily called. “Come on, Dr. Reid, do it! I have a lot of trig homework coming up!”

Even from the bottom of the stairs she could see him scowl. He let go of the railing.

To her surprise, he didn’t give up, or inch his way down hesitantly. He slid down, a lot faster than she expected, and he managed to get all the way down to the ground. Except he didn’t land easily, he slammed into the hardwood floor.

“Oh my god!” JJ shrieked.

“No, no, he’s fine,” Emily said. “Right, Spencer?”

Spencer pushed himself to sit up, his legs stretched out in front of him. “Uh,” he said. He rubbed his eyes. “That counts, right? You guys have to stop teasing me now.”

“Well, that wasn’t part of the deal,” Emily said. “You didn’t stick the landing, so I think we should compromise with one week of trig.”

“No, no, I remember, you specifically said if I made it to the bottom, you didn’t say anything about sticking the landing,” Spencer shot back.

Penelope slid her glasses back on. “You’re okay, right?” she said.

“Uh-huh, I’m fine,” Spencer said.

“So...can you get up?” Penelope asked. 

He started to push himself up and immediately dropped back down. “I’ll get up in a second,” he said.

“No, I think I’d feel better if you got up now,” Penelope said.

Spencer fidgeted. “Just a second,” he said.

JJ leaned over the railing. “Is he okay?” she called.

“I’m fine!” he shouted back. “I just want to sit here for a little while!”

Emily walked over and bent over him. “Is there something you’re not telling us?” she asked. He shook his head. She held out her hand. “C’mon. You can do it.”

Spencer sighed heavily and took her hand. He raised himself up a few inches, then grabbed her wrist, pulling himself up with both hands. Emily caught his arm and he wobbled. “Thanks,” he said in a small voice. “I think I’m retiring from my career as a professional banister-slider.”

“Yeah, probably for the best,” she said. “You can let go of my hand now.” He obeyed and she pulled out her phone to check the time. “Hey, the dining hall just opened for lunch. You guys ready?”

This whole being in charge thing wasn’t too terrible. Saturdays were usually pretty quiet on campus already, and Hotch was off doing RA things (she didn’t press for details, it sounded boring) and the seniors were at an all-day college admission seminar. It was kind of nice to be in charge without them.

The dining hall was a ghost town, making it a lot easier to go down the line and make it to their table without having to fight a sea of other people. She plunked her tray down and paused. “Hey, are you not eating?” she asked.

Spencer was sitting in his usual seat, but he was unusually quiet. “I’m not very hungry,” he said. 

“You need to eat something,” she said. “What do you want?”

He folded his arms on the table. “Nothing,” he said, resting his chin on his forearms. “I’m just not hungry.”

Emily patted his shoulder. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Does your stomach hurt?”

He rolled his shoulder, shaking off her hand. “No,” he said shortly. “I’m just not hungry.”

JJ dropped her tray next to Emily. “You’re not going to tell the others that I’m just eating cheetos and three chocolate pudding cups, right?” she asked.

Emily gestured towards her plate. “Not if you don’t tell them that I’m just eating muffins.”

“Deal.”

“So what’s the plan for movie night tonight?” Derek asked as he and Penelope took their seats.

“Not sure,” Emily said, tearing off a chunk of her blueberry muffin and popping it into her mouth. “Whose turn is it to pick?”

“Mine!” Penelope said. “I’m thinking something in the animated musical category.”

“You’re always thinking something in the animated musical category,” JJ said. She paused. “Spence, are you not going to eat anything?”

“Not hungry,” he mumbled into his folded arms.

“I think I might pick Cats Don’t Dance,” Penelope said. “It’s a classic. Underrated.”

“You say that about every movie you pick.”

Emily leaned over to Spencer as the other kids continued to bicker. “Hey,” she whispered. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

He turned his head so she could see one hazel eye. “Nothing’s going on,” he whispered back.

“Oh, yeah?” she said. “Then go get something to eat, okay? I don’t want Hotch and Alex finding out I didn’t feed you. I don’t care what it is, just eat something. Come on, let’s go.”

He sat up. “Please don’t make me,” he said. 

“Why? What’s wrong?”

He bit his lip. “Nothing,” he said, and he pushed his chair back from the table. “I’ll be right back.” He got up and immediately fell back into his chair. 

“Whoa, what was that?” Emily demanded. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Spencer hunched in his chair. “It’s nothing,” he said again.

“I thought I heard a crack when you fell,” Penelope accused. “What did you do? Did you break something?”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably. “I just hit the ground a little funny,” he said. “Can you guys stop staring at me?”

Emily’s eyes narrowed. “Stand up,” she said.

Spencer scowled, slapped his palms down on the table, and forced himself up to his feet. “See?” he said. “I’m fine.”

“Let go of the table,” Emily said. He raised his hands in surrender and made a face at her. “Now take six steps that way.” Spencer swallowed hard and took a hesitant step. “That’s one. Keep going.”

He took another step, heavy and limping, and caught himself on the back of a chair. “Whoa, pretty boy,” Derek said. 

Spencer leaned heavily on the chair, all of his weight on his right leg. “Was that six steps?” he asked.

“One and a half,” Emily said. “Spill, munchkin. What are you not telling us?”

Spencer flushed pink. “You said you would stop treating me like a baby!” he said. “It’s the whole reason I did this to myself!”

“Did what?”

“What did you do?”

He huffed loudly and dropped into the chair. “I just fell weird on my ankle, okay?” he said. “It’s not a big deal.”

Emily moved her chair around. “Which one?”

“...left.”

She beckoned and he reluctantly stretched out his leg, sliding down in his chair and gripping the side of the seat to keep his balance. “Holy shit, kiddo,” she said. 

“What?” Derek said, standing up and craning his neck to get a better look. 

“It’s nothing!” Spencer protested.

“Spence, your ankle is swollen,” Emily said. She loosened the laces of his left sneaker. His ankle had ballooned to twice its normal size. “Oh, fuck. Spencer, it might be broken.”

“What?” JJ demanded.

“Maybe it’s just sprained!” Spencer said. He gulped. “Although it’s sometimes possible that a clean break is easier to heal than a bad sprain…”

“Why would you share that? It’s not helpful!” Penelope said.

“I don’t know! I don’t know why I said that!”

“Yeah, that made it worse!”

“Okay, okay, you guys, cut it out,” Emily said. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh, god, what am I gonna do with you?”

“Ha, you look like Hotch when you’re stressed,” Derek said.

“God, please don’t say that,” Emily said. “Okay. Spencer, we’re going to have to take you to the infirmary and get checked out.”

“No!” he protested.

“No buts,” Emily said firmly. “Let’s go. I will fucking carry you if I have to.”

“Should I text Hotch and Alex?” Penelope asked.

“No!” Emily said. “No, I’ve got it. I’ve got it.” She looked down at Spencer. “Unless you want me to text them?”

Spencer bit his lip. “No, it’s fine,” he said. “It’s not that bad- ow!” She caught him as he wobbled. “Okay, that hurt. That really, really hurt.”

“I’m texting them,” Penelope announced.

Emily bent over Spencer, wrapping her arms tight around him. “Okay, babe, one thing at a time,” she said. “Let’s get you to the infirmary. You want me to carry you?”

Spencer rubbed his eyes. “You’d better not drop me,” he said warily.

She only dropped him once.

After that, he insisted that it didn’t really hurt that bad, and he could probably make it if he just leaned on her. It was slow going to get to the school infirmary, and it was a huge relief to hand him over to the nurse practitioner. 

It was touch and go for a moment as they debated if they needed to send him into town for X-rays at the local hospital (which really made Spencer upset) but after some deliberation and painful probing of his swollen ankle, they determined it was a bad sprain, but nothing broken. They wrapped up his ankle and sent him on his way with crutches, ice packs, and stern instructions to rest.

Derek and the girls were waiting on the front steps of Lincoln House. “What’s the verdict?” JJ called.

“Sprain,” Emily called back, keeping her pace slow as Spencer hobbled beside her on his crutches. “Is Hotch back from-”

Hotch opened the doors and stood on the steps, his arms crossed. “What did you do?” he demanded.

“He’s fine, don’t look at me like that,” Emily said. 

“Yeah, she took care of me,” Spencer said, huffing with exertion as he wobbled on his crutches.

“You caused this in the first place,” Hotch said. He jogged down the steps. “They’re sure he doesn’t need to go to the emergency room?”

“No, no, I don’t, I’m okay,” Spencer insisted.

Hotch took his crutches from him and handed them to Emily, then scooped him up. “How do you make that look so easy?” Emily complained.

“Yeah, she dropped me,” Spencer said.

Hotch whipped around and glared at her. “You did what?”

“It’s fine, he didn’t land on his bad ankle!” Emily said. “I only dropped him a little bit. I’m closer to the ground than you are.”

“Jesus, Prentiss,” Hotch sighed. “

He carried Spencer inside and up the seven flights of stairs; Emily trailed behind him. “Really, Hotch, it was an accident,” she said. “And he’s fine, no harm done. Don’t murder me.”

“Oh, I don’t think you need to worry about me,” Hotch said. “Miller’s waiting upstairs.”

Emily swallowed hard. 

[plus-size-reader]

Flyers

Clay Miller x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2247 words

Warnings: none 

Summary: Going out with Clay to help look for Whitney and bonding with him in a way that you never have before

——————————————————————————————————

You had known the Miller family all your life and you would do anything for them. That meant that when Whitney went missing, you were the first person to volunteer to help find her. 

...And Clay wasn’t going to argue. 

If nothing else, he would be glad to have the company, especially after he just lost his mother too. The entire family was falling apart but you wanted Clay to know that he wasn’t alone. 

You were going to find Whit if it was the last thing you did-and you could promise him that. 

Now all that was left to do was actually head out and hope that someone had seen her. So far everyone within miles of the campsite told Clay that they didn’t know anything but you’d always been rather persuasive. 

You were confident that if anyone could track her down, it was you. 

The wind brushed past your face aggressively from your place on the back of Clay’s bike but you didn’t mind. You hadn't felt this free in what felt like forever. 

In fact, you hadn’t felt this good since the last time you went for a ride with Clay during spring break senior year. That had been such a good time and you only wished you weren’t doing it again under such terrible circumstances. 

However, as much as it sucked, you were confident that Whitney was out there. She had probably just gotten lost in the woods, like so many others often did. 

She never would have missed her mother’s funeral unless she had a good reason. Clay knew it, and so did you so it didn’t matter if the cops wanted to help or not-you would find her yourselves. 

“Let’s stop here for a sec” he suggested, yelling back to you over the sounds of the road. You only nodded, having no problem at all with that. 

You had a saddlebag full of flyers with her face printed on them and you needed to put them someone where. A gas station may be the perfect place to start-seeing as it would bring in more traffic than just townsfolk. 

Far more people would see it then, besides you weren’t going to say no to a chance to stretch your legs. 

The little bell above the door chimed to life when Clay shoved it open, your own frame hidden behind his own as you entered the small business. 

With any luck, you could plaster Whitney’s pretty face all over this joint and be on your way. 

“I’m gonna grab some waters while you talk to him, ‘kay?” you hummed, gently brushing your hand over his arm to alert him before making your way down the closest isle. Who knows how long you’ll be on the road before you find somewhere else to stop? 

Clay only nodded, approaching the counter with only one thing in mind. He was glad to have your company, or else he probably would have gone insane by now. 

No one in this town had any idea where his sister went and they weren’t exactly being the most accommodating when it came to finding her. It was like everyone knew something that they just weren’t going to share. 

However, before he could really get into the thick of what he was meant to be asking the clerk, some douchebag made it his personal business to run his mouth. 

Which meant that when you came back from the cooler section, you were greeted by an obviously pissed Clay and some strangers, likely the cause of the tension. 

“I was gone for two minutes” you whispered to Clay, doing your best to read his expression. You had no idea what had happened but it couldn’t have been good. 

...It was tense. 

“Well apparently I’m an asshole” he shrugged, keeping his eyes on the blonde, who had taken his place in line by this point. It was almost hard to believe the nerve of some people. 

All you could do was roll your eyes, before you took the flyer from his grip and made your way over to the door. “Screw them, let’s just go” you decided, holding the door open for the tall male to pass before following. 

You had a mission to complete and you didn’t have to care about some random prick. However, before you moved on completely, you stuck one of the flyers to the back of their car. 

If they were going to scare away one of your options, they would just have to provide some free publicity for your cause. 

“Don’t worry about them, we’ll find her Clay” You assured, joining him on the motorcycle, holding tightly to his muscular middle. It was meant to make him feel better but more than anything, it was for you. 

You knew that it would destroy Clay if you didn’t find Whitney, and you weren’t prepared for how hard it would be to pick up the pieces. 

...As much as you loved him. 

Doing everything you could to support him in finding her was different than helping him mourn. It had been bad enough when his mom died, but this would kill him. 

Clay and Whit had been inseparable since they were kids, but he’d always regretted leaving home. He was seventeen, and you couldn’t blame him but he hadn’t gotten over it. 

After all, he felt guilty enough when his mom died but this would be even worse. 

“Thanks” he shrugged, turning as best he could from where he was sitting to look you in the eyes. You had no idea what he was thanking you for but all you did was nod. 

This whole thing had been hard for both of you but it meant a lot to him that you would put your life on hold to be there with him. 

...It was more than anyone else was doing. 

“Don’t mention it, now what do you say we start checking out  houses by the lake?” you suggested, hoping that people closer to where Whit and the others had gone camping. 

It was as good a place as any to start. 

Crystal Lake was about as exciting as any other lake in any other small town as far as you were concerned. There was nothing distinctive about it, nothing that you couldn’t decipher as unique. 

Still, you didn’t really know much about forests or lakes in the first place. 

“It’s really pretty out here, huh?” you allowed, the leaves and sticks crunching under your feet as you walked. Clay thought it best if you took the trail by foot, but you were regretting his decision right now. 

At least on the motorcycle, you didn’t have to work up a sweat just to get where you were going. 

“Yeah, it’s nice” the tall man agreed, walking alongside you with much less trouble. It was hard for him to process given the circumstances but he was doing his best to keep his head up. 

You had a point. 

Getting down in the dumps wasn’t going to help either of you find Whitney. Besides, it was a pretty nice view. It had been a long time since you two had been able to spend time together like this and it was nice, even with the underlying upset. 

At least you were here with him. 

It’s too bad we don’t have time for a swim” you commented absentmindedly, looking down into the clear water. It was inviting enough as it was but with the heat, it seemed to look that much better. 

Though, before you could really consider jumping into the lake and not looking back, you heard loud laughter coming from behind the trees. 

...A lake house. 

It was pretty close to where Whit and the others had been camping, so maybe they had seen something. You just had to hope that was the case, at least for now. 

You and Clay seemed to have had the same idea too because when you spun around to catch his eye, he was already looking at you. 

It was as good a place as any to check in on. 

Although maybe that idea would have followed through better if the person on the other side of the door hadn’t been that girl from the gas station. If she was here, that meant that asshole was likely around here too. 

“Can I help you guys?” she asked, smiling brightly at Clay, though she hardly looked at you. You were used to it. Traveling with someone as good looking as he was, you couldn’t blame her especially not in comparison to what you looked like. 

Besides, it was hard to focus on that with the cloud of jealousy that surrounded you as she spoke. It was odd but you couldn’t help it. 

Still, you knew that you had to keep a level head about you. This was for Whitney, and you had to keep that in mind. If this girl could help you find her, then you’d just have to put up with her ogling your best friend. 

“We were down at the rest stop when your friend interrupted. We’re actually trying to find my friend. This is Clay, I’m Y/N. Have you seen her? This is Whitney” you started, showing her the poster you had been holding. 

It was important that she really thought this through.

“She’s my sister” Clay interjected, earning a small smile from her as she looked at the piece of paper you passed her. 

In truth, Jenna had no idea who she was, or what could have happened to her but she felt bad about what had happened with Trent and the fact that you two were clearly desperate, she didn’t want to just send you away. 

So, she did the only thing she knew to do.

She invited you in. 

“Come on in. I’ll see if anybody knows anything” she suggested, knowing that they wouldn’t but it would get you out of the heat for a while and maybe you’d like something to drink or something. She just didn’t want you to leave empty handed. 

Now, you weren’t super sure about abandoning your mission for some girl but then again, it had been three days already and if Whitney was out there, a few minutes wouldn’t make a difference. So, after checking with Clay for conformation, you nodded. 

“She and her friends were on a camping trip and the cops aren’t being much help in finding her” you commented, following the much smaller girl into the house. It was pretty nice but you weren’t surprised. To have a lake house around here, you had to have a good chunk of cash. 

Jenna only nodded, gesturing to the fridge as soon as she’d closed the door behind both you and your much larger friend. “Can I get you guys anything? Beer, Water? We have whatever you need” she assured, knowing you must have been out there for a while. 

“They’re okay” 

A fourth voice interjected, resulting in all of you turning to find the source of the sound, Trent. He gave his girlfriend a single look of disapproval before turning toward you and Clay. “Did you follow us here?” he wondered, venom dripping from his lips. 

You almost scoffed at what he was suggesting but kept it to yourself. Why would you need to follow him? He couldn’t have been less helpful at the rest stop so you were sure that he would be no more helpful right now.

...And he was quick to prove you right. 

“Look, we’re just looking for somebody and then we’ll get out of your hair. Can you help us or not?” you interjected, knowing that if you let Clay answer his question, it would escalate quicker than necessary. 

Though, you were sure that it was going to escalate either way, because this guy was just an asshole all around. He smirked slightly as you spoke, turning his attention to you without missing a beat. Almost immediately, his expression changed. 

“You’re gonna find them yourself? Just the two of you?” he laughed, looking between both you and Clay with an amused look branded on his face. It might have been funny to him, but to you, it was a matter of life and death. 

The cops weren’t doing anything to help her but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still out there. It just meant that you and Clay had to work that much harder to find her. 

“They clearly don’t know where she is. Let’s just go” you pleaded, your voice leaving your throat in a huffy sort of manner. You had already wasted enough time here and it was obvious that no one was going to help you find Whitney. 

At least, not here. 

Clay looked between you and the stranger before making up his mind, taking the door in his hand and your spare one in the other. You had a point, and if you were going to find Whit as soon as possible, you couldn’t afford to waste time here. 

“Come on, we should be able to make it back to the bike before the sun goes down” he shrugged, swinging your hand with his own and smiling at you as best he could to calm your quickened pulse. You were angry, having been treated so trashy by those people. 

Of all the things you needed that didn’t even make the list, and Clay knew it just as well as you did. 

[thetypedwriter]

Wilder Girls Book Review by Rory Power

Wilder Girls Book Review by Rory Power

I didn’t know this until the end of the book, but apparently Wilder Girls is supposed to be a female version or retelling of Lord of the Flies. 

Now I’ve read the Lord of the Flies probably three times now and there was nothing other than the survival element on an island that makes me think the two novels are even related. 

Wilder Girls by Rory Power is about a group of girls stuck on an island after their boarding school, Raxter Academy, befalls a horrific evolution known as the Tox. 

After killing most of the adults on the island, the Tox continues to contaminate the girls, the wildlife, and the entirety of the environment on the island, making living creatures go feral, violent, and rotting-especially the girls. 

The book adopts an almost in medias res approach-or, known as in the middle of things -where we are not shown any of this happening. 

Instead it has been years since the Tox first took its toll, the survivors are diminishing day by day, the girls remaining are starving, infected by the Tox in some terribly grotesque way, and desperate for a cure. 

I genuinely think I would have liked this novel better if it had taken a Lord of the Flies approach and showed us from the beginning how the Tox descended, the madness and chaos it caused, and then the destructive aftermath that followed. 

But no, instead we are told all of this trauma and are expected to feel bad and sympathetic towards these angry characters whom we haven’t bonded with or seen experience any of these atrocities firsthand, but I’ll get more into that later. 

After taking way too long to introduce you to the island, the Tox disease, and how the girls operate on it, the plot slowly starts to trudge along when arguably the main character, Hetty, is chosen as a Boat Girl in lieu of her best friend and crush, Reese. 

The position of Boat Girl now awards Hetty the opportunity to leave the safety net of the school and its forbidden gates and travel with the other Boat Girls and one of the only adults on the island named Welch in order to receive supplies from the Navy that sends food periodically to the island. 

After her first trip however, Hetty learns that not all is what it seems on the island and that more than one person has secrets they’re keeping.

 Dark and deadly secrets. 

What unfolds is a bewildering tale of Hetty’s best friend Byatt being taken in by the Tox and stolen away, a rescue mission undertaken by Hetty and Reese in order to get her back, the unraveling of the island, snippets of Byatt’s POV as she’s being experimented on in order to find the cure, and a anticlimactic ending that left me bereft of any kind of satisfaction or contentment. 

This book was...trying too hard to be something that nobody asked for. 

A female retelling or re-imagining of Lord of the Flies is an interesting concept and I would be extremely curious to see the social and emotional differences it would have made having an entire female cast versus an entire male cast, but that is not what this book is. 

Other than being on an island and trying to survive, almost every element of the book is different. Lord of the Flies deals with concepts like the loss of innocence, nature versus civilization, and the inherent evil budding within each human being when driven to the extreme. 

You could argue that Wilder Girls has loss of innocence maybe, but the themes stop there. First off, there are adults in this novel and the girls cater to them accordingly. I never once forgot that Hetty, Byatt and Reese were teenagers. They read like teenagers. They act like teenagers. 

A third of the way through Lord of the Flies and you forget entirely that most of the characters are under aged 12 versus the sixteen and seventeen years old of Wilder Girls. 

The survival elements differ as well. In Lord of the Flies they have to learn to cooperate and survive on the island by hunting, gathering, and creating a social hierarchy. 

In Wilder Girls, the hierarchy is already in place with the headmistress of the school and they are given supplies (most of which is destroyed or dumped out by the way). 

I couldn’t actually believe that the book was telling me that these girls survive off a piece of jerky and the battery acid flavor of old soup and still living? And walking? And going to shooting practice?

The actual conditions these girls lived in was preposterous more than it was sad and I spent half the book with my head cocked trying to reason if people could even survive under such circumstances (I don’t think so, not for this long of a time). 

The comparisons just don’t cut it for me. 

To me, this book came across way too much as Rory Power trying to be symbolic, deep, and riveting and instead I was confused, bored, and unsympathetic. 

I cried at the end of Lord of the Flies. 

At the end of Wilder Girls, I flipped the page and was astounded to find that the book had ended. It didn’t even read like an ending. I thought it was just another chapter. 

It was so abortive and feckless that I genuinely thought pages were missing only to discover the acknowledgments part of the book came next, followed by a deleted chapter I didn’t give a crap about, and then discussion questions. 

Now, I don’t know who actually decides if a book gets discussion questions, it could be the publisher, the editor, the author, I have no idea. But I found the idea of giving this book discussion questions before it earned its merit was so pretentious it made me dislike it even more. 

This whole book just missed the mark for me. 

Power does have some good writing, but she tries too hard in my very subjective opinion. A lot of the writing was wordy and theatrical and I would get bored with all the waxing and waning of the characters and descriptions. 

The experimental writing bits with Byatt were downright miserable for me. I ended up skimming most of them. They were half-worded, half-formed, barely coherent thoughts and phrases and I understand that that was the point, but instead of intriguing or symbolic I found it irritating and a waste of time. 

I know I’ve been incredibly harsh on this book review and I’m sure there are many of you that would disagree with me seeing as this book was a New York Times Bestseller, but there was nothing in this book that landed for me personally. 

The characters were...semi-interesting but I felt like they didn’t get the development or proper exploration I needed to actually like them because the setting and the situations were so dire and ridiculous that it constantly robbed them of any kind of empathetic or human moment. 

I do really enjoy the idea of having an almost entire female centric novel but there are other books out there that accomplish that and a female/female romance much better in my opinion (Girls of Paper and Fire for instance). 

In the end, it’s safe to say that I didn’t enjoy this novel very much. I would have liked to see these characters before the Tox, to see their downfall, their pandemonium, their change and growth and regression as characters due to their world ending as they knew it. 

Then, when the Tox does come and the world goes upside down, the feelings and relationships of the characters would have much more meaning than being told what had happened and expected to care like I was and couldn’t bring myself to, even at the end. 

Recommendation: Read Lord of the Flies instead. 

Score: 4/10