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My half of the art trade I did with @sootslash !!!
#art trade#rayfield#this was berry fun!#I havnt done an art trade in a while!#it was berry Yipee!!#Thankie again for drawing my tizzy!!!#(click for better resolution) -cries
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SKZ Break up Reaction II(Hyung Line)
Part 1
A/N: so I’m alive and writing again I hope this good im not gonna lie I’m really shit at writing fluff and this isn’t edited. Also I’m on full mobile uploading since my 4 year old decided to break my laptop but I do still want to write. The maknae line will be coming out soon I’m working on it and a couple other things atm so I hope you guys enjoy those. I’m going to be posting a preview shortly after this also I don’t ever really get much feedback or comments so please I love to hear you guy’s opinions tell me where I can be better but please like comment reblog and enjoy 😊
Chan:
You stared at your phone as tears flowed down your face. You weren’t sure what you should do, should you call him? You desperately wanted to hear his voice but could you handle the heartbreak and broken promises all over again? You love him, you missed him but being forgotten about for almost two months has you hesitantly hover over the answer button. It’s been two weeks and the calls and messages have been nonstop. You weren’t sure if you could face him, to see the look in his eyes you knew you’d absolutely crumble, so you watch as the call goes to your Home Screen and a missed call notification pops up followed by a voicemail. With a heavy sigh you click on the notification your hands are shaky as you press the play button “H-hey” he begins with a sigh “I-it’s been a-a….while now a-and I just want to know….how your doing. I know things weren’t….what you expected b-but I just want you to know that I love you a-and I want you to come home. I miss you so much. I know I should have been here I know I messed up so bad but I love you so much and I can only hope that I didn’t ruin things to the point where I can’t say that you love me too. If you still need time…I-I get that b-but ple-please just let me know you’re okay….come home soon…..please” your sobs grow louder shaking your body completely as you hear the pain in his voice.
You look around the small hotel room you had gotten for yourself, the hoodie you had stolen from Chan has adorned your torso since the night you left. With a final resolution you lift yourself from the bed, hurriedly grabbing your things as you shove them into your suitcase making sure everything is with you. You were anxious as you loaded your bag into your car. Your stomach was sinking as you pulled onto Chans street. You felt nauseous as you stood infront of the door, your hand hovering about to knock. Taking a deep breath you gently tap on the door, you felt like a kid coming home after running away at 6 years old. You felt small and confused yet the only thing you seemed to want, though you’ve been avoiding it, is to see him. You weren’t sure what to expect as you waited, you grew frustrated as you knocked once more a little harsher. The door being whipped open makes you jump in nervousness “Yah! I’m Fi—Y/N…” you stare at his wide tired eyes, his mouth hangs open as tears build in his orbs. Your pulled into his frame quickly as he wraps his arms around you quickly. “Y-you….” He cries “you came back” you hear the sigh of relief he releases as he buries his face in your neck. Your arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Yeah….I missed you so much I’m sorry” you apologize regret filling your tone. He shakes his head “No. I’m sorry fuck I’m so sorry please don’t leave again” he begs as his grip on you grows tighter. “I won’t I love you…. It’s you and me okay?” You promise as he lifts his head to look at you. He nods in response pressing his plush lips against yours.
Minho:
Minho paced back and forth for what felt like hours as he called you over and over again. His hands were shaky as he pressed the call button once more only for his heart to shatter once again at the sound of your voicemail. He didn’t know what to do it’s only been a couple hours but he felt hopeless. How could he get you to speak to him? Why did he have to be such an asshole? What could he do to see you again? Where could you have gone? A lightbulb goes off in his head, opening the location app you had downloaded on his phone his heart soars as your picture is still on his map. You never turned your location off, he thanks god for your absent mind. Zooming in on the location he recognizes your parents street, grabbing his keys he rushes out the door and into his car. His teeth tugging at his bottom lip in nervousness. Would you talk to him? Would you come home? He felt like throwing up at the thought of you saying no. How could he have ruined things so badly? His leg was shaking as he pulled into your parents driveway. What would you say? Would you turn him away?
He wasn’t sure if he should call you again, should he knock? This has never happened before he didn’t know the protocol for pleading and crying like a baby to get the love of your life back. He knew there would be groveling, but would you close the door in his face? Tell him you never wanted to see him again? No….no you wouldn’t—you couldn’t. You had to know how sorry he is, he raises his hand to knock on the door as it is pulled open your father standing there a disappointed scowl on his face. “Little—uh late there aren’t you?” He retorts he smacks his hand on Minhos shoulder firmly “advice for next time…you don’t let her leave genius. Beg. On your knees if you have to. But you never let them go because once they’re gone it’s hard to get ‘‘em back.” Minho nods softly “I’m so—shhhhh” your father cuts him off with his finger to his lips “I’m not who you should be apologizing to. Honestly I told her to kick your ass then leave she went the nicer way” Minho’s scrunch in confusion “I-Okay” he nods as he enters. He notices your mother seated on the couch a sympathetic expression adorning her face as she gestures toward a room. He nods in response quickly making his way to the door knocking hesitantly. His hands are shaking as he looks back at your parents watching him encouragingly, your mothers hands gesturing for him to go in. A heavy sigh is released from his mouth as he opens the door. The first thing he can hear is your silent sobs as you lay in bed. “Mom please can you just give me a minute” you cry silently. “You see, I would but l…I’m not your mom a-and” tears begin flowing down his cheeks as he rushes over to face you. He drops to his knees infront of your laying down figure, his thumb wiping away your tears “a-and I-I want you to come h-home” his eyes connect with yours “please, come home i—“ he sighs heavily grabbing your hand caressing it gently placing it against his cheek “I can’t breathe without you near me, I love you. I love you so much. I couldn’t think—I need you only a few hours away from you breaks me. Seeing our home rid of you, us, breaks me pl-please I know I’m an idiot but I’m sorry I’m so fucking sorry. I need you I don’t want you to leave me alone. Never leave me alone please I—“ his words get caught in his throat as he hiccups. “Min…” you slowly sit yourself up your eyes connecting with his.
Guilt and regret worn on his expression. You bite your bottom lip as you place your free hand on his cheek. “I love you too. But maybe we need space..” he shakes his head in denial “you just had a few hours away from me how much more space do you need? Please I want to be with you I don’t want space I-I want to wake up everyday with you in my bed. I want to see you smile and hear your laugh when the cats do something weird. I need you. I want you to be with me. Always. I want to marry you, I want to have kids with you, I’m sorry but I’m not leaving unless you��re coming with me” he begs. A small sad smile forms on your lips. You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him in. His arms taking a hold of your waist. “We can figure things out okay? I love you” you whisper
Changbin:
“Stop. Sending. So. Much. Stuff. To . My. Place.” Your growl as you place the gifts Changbin had sent to your house for the past week with every word on Changbins desk. He stared at you wide eyed and surprised before a smug smirk forms on his lips. His tongue runs over his bottom lip “I’m not seeing the necklace I sent yesterday.” He states as his eyes run over your figure. Your face twists into a scowl at his smugness as you cross your arms over your chest “I’ll send it in the mail” you lie, knowing the necklace was hidden under your shirt. A small tsk is released from his lips as he leans back in his seat, his legs spreading slightly as he stretched. “I mean..” he trails as he lifts himself from his seat making his way over to you, his fingers softly brushing your hair behind your ear. Tingles are sent down your spine as his fingers trail their way down the side of your throat before lifting the gold chain and pulling the daliha pendant. “It’s right here why send it in the mail?” His voice is low and seductive, you feel your resolution breaking as he pressed his chest against yours. Your breath is shaky as you willed yourself to not look directly at him. You feel his nose brush against your cheek, you feel heat grow on your face. You were sure you were a bright scarlet. Your hands place themselves on his firm chest shoving him back nervously. His eyebrow scrunch together in confusion “Wouldn’t want to make anymore mistakes right?” The sarcasm oozing out in your words.
You notice the hurt on his features,he runs his hands through his hair before releasing a sigh “you aren’t and never were a mistake to me! I love you I want to be with you the only mistake I made was fighting with you, please just give me another chance. I know I was wrong for what I said but we’ve both been on edge recently and I just want to fix things. You’re my everything and I can’t believe I said so fucking stupid” his eyes connect with yours, you can see the sincerity in his eyes. “Bin…I-I don’t know” you state your bottom lip making its way between your teeth. “Wait don’t decide yet I know you don’t want it but I have one more thing I wanted to give you” he urges as he rushes toward his desk “I don’t want you to keep buying me things Bin, it’s not right and it’s not a way to get me back. If I was to get back together with you because you bought me things then I would fee disgusted with myself.” You plead to deaf ears. “Shh! Just see it before you just reject it” he argues before turning around hand behind his back. “I made mistakes when it came to you. Not that you or our relationship was a mistake but I should have tried harder for you. I shouldn’t have said the things I said that night and for that I’m sorry but, I have loved you for three years now. From your smile to the way you take care of your friends. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’ll spend every moment of everyday trying to make up for what I said…” your heart sinks as he begins to lower himself down to one knee before grabbing your left hand his eyes connect with yours “will you marry me?” You stare at him mouth agape as he produces a velvet box from behind him. Your right hand placed itself over your mouth, tears welling up in your eyes as you nod “yes!”
Hyunjin:
“Please, just talk to me!” Hyunjin begs as you casually stroll past him once again. Your heart rips out of your chest every time you were greeted by his tear stained, red eyed pout. Your bottom lip found it’s way between your teeth so you didn’t break your resolve. It’s been a month since you had broken up with him, and you spent every second since being bombarded by texts, calls, and unannounced visits from Hyunjin. You personally never told Hyunjin that you had overheard him saying those disgusting things about you, but you do know that Jeongin definitely did as his pleas changed from ‘what happened’ to ‘let me explain’. You personally didn’t care for an explanation nor did you want one. Your heart broke when you heard him say those things to Jeongin; you had a skewed idea of how your relationship was and Hyunjin opened your eyes with his words. You feel a hand wrap around your wrist, a bored sigh is released from your throat. “Please….Baby I-I’m sorry… I don’t know how to fix this, I-I just want to fix it I just want you to talk to me again.” His voice is horse, you notice his tongue brushing over his bottom lip before his teeth take his lip between them. A heavy sigh is released from his throat as he placed himself infront of you, hands wrapped around your arms. Your eyes connecting, you can see the longing and heartbreak in them.
Your breath grows heavy as you stare at your ex pulling yourself out of his grasp. “Please don’t touch me Hwang sunbae-nim, and it’s fine honestly, we didn’t work out.” You shrug, you feel your heart break as the look of utter horror grows on his angelic face.”s-sunbae-nim?” The words are barely above a whisper, pain laced in his tone. You nod softly “I think we wanted different things and you should be with someone that isn’t such a prude you know? Thank you for the apology but it isn’t necessary, you didn’t feel the same way as I did and that’s okay I just wish you would have told me instead of your members” you explain “no t-that’s not true! Please” his hands grasp yours desperately “why can’t you believe me? Look at me you know me! You know how I feel about you” tears streamed down his cheeks rapidly as he held your hands against his chest. You shake your head in denial “Hyunjin…pl-please let me go” your voice cracks. “I-I love you please believe me I didn’t want to break up I’m an idiot and I was frustrated and I just regret saying such stupid things I don’t need sex I don’t want you to leave me alone. I miss you—fuck—I miss you so much. I’m so fucking sorry I just want to be with you I just want my girl back please just give me another chance” he pleads, the despair evident in his tone. With a heavy sigh you shake your head “I just—sigh—you broke my heart and I just can’t jump back into this right away I’m sorry Hyunjin but no. I won’t be with someone who could think those things about me” you apologize as you continue making your way home.
#hyunjin angst#stray kids angst#skz angst#stray kids fluff#stray kids smut#chan angst#stray kids reactions#hyunjin#skz reactions#SKZ Minho angst#changbin angst#hyunjin fluff#chan fluff#changbin fluff#stray kids Hyung line reaction#minho fluff#skz x reader
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Beef the Blood Knight
Touched by The God of War to make him stronger, and turned into a demi god. [click for better resolution!!]
Raised by good parents, and trained his whole life, he fought under Rens dad's Kingdom and served him until the Kings last breath.
Under the time of service, he fought battles upon battles, and almost lost, if he hadn't prayed to whoever could hear him for strength. Doc, The God of War heard his cries and determination and reached out to bless him.
He won the battle and got out alive.
Beef was accused of the brutal murder of a fellow knight, and since more people stepped in to report his violence, he had no choice but accept his fate and be exiled.
Through years of living alone, he had decided to drop his sword and pick up a pen, mapping out the land and travelling miles to new destinations.
When Ren started ruling, he was hired as the Kingdoms Cartographer, which he accepted. Ren begged him to train his new knights, and with a soft spot for him, he accepted.
MC Moonrise au is mine and @cheerioskid au! Check them out and the hashtag for more info! :)
#mc moonrise au#vintagebeef#vintage beef fanart#docm#docm77#hermit au#hermitblr#mcyt#mcytblr#germworms#first time drawing heavy armour dont be disappointed pls i dont think i will ever be motivated to do that again#cw: blood
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Kaga slipped, lost his footing, and that was it. It was over.
He collapsed on the sands and lay there, panting. Any attempt to move failed, his power armor whirring and clicking in distress; Alexandria must have hit some vital components. The woman herself loomed over him; she, too, was clad in power armor, although she had forgone the helmet. Her wild mane of hair probably wouldn’t fit under it.
Alexandria had managed to slip her spear into a few gaps in his armor; the wounds spiked painfully in time with his heartbeat.
Stupid. Why had he ever even tried? What chance did he have against the golden child, Arroyo’s perfect, precious, Chosen One?
He closed his eyes and waited for the end.
And waited.
And waited.
There was a shuffling noise, and then a heavy thump. He cracked open one eye and peered at his sister, who was now sitting at his side. She wore an unreadable expression.
Fuck. They had been close, once. So much so that it felt sometimes like he could read her mind, and she his. And now, eight years apart, he felt like he knew nothing at all about her.
“Get it over with,” he rasped. “Kill me.”
Her voice shook slightly when she spoke.
“I couldn’t kill you back then, Kaga. I’m not going to kill you now.”
What?
“I was exiled,” he said slowly, as if either of them could have forgotten.
“Only because I managed to talk mother down from executing you,” Alexandria replied. Kaga blinked slowly, stunned. “When she found out...Kaga, she was furious. She would have had me prove a point to the whole village: a life for a life. That she was impartial, even when it came to her own kin.” Alexandria laid her spear across her lap. “I told her she couldn’t, said it would set a terrible precedent, that it wasn’t what grandfather would have wanted.” And here she met Kaga’s eyes again, expression soft and tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do better.”
Kaga opened his mouth, closed it. Tried to sit up and then cried out in pain, falling back against the ground. Alexandria instantly became a whirlwind of movement, pulling stimpaks from the pouches around her waist and moving to treat his injuries. He watched her work, less confused now as to why she would even bother.
Alexandria was covered in tattoos. Kaga had seen her receive her first, and although he would later find out how painful they were to get, she had been stoic and resolute through the whole process. The needle had dipped into her skin again and again, and she made no sound as the prancing wolf that represented the Miller line was inked onto her shoulder. Kaga’s own wolf had been altered, a dozen arrows stabbing through it, branding him a traitor and an outcast.
Right now he watched the ink on her hands as she worked. On her thumb, pointer, and middle finger were fine, highly detailed tattoos of the bones that lay just beneath her skin, marking her skill as a healer. She was always going to lead the village, but in her teen years she had spent hours in the perfumed medical building, following Hakunin around like a puppy. Wide-eyed in wonder at the man’s abilities and knowledge. Kaga had always though him a crazy old man, wildly superstitious and speaking in riddles, but had never said any of that to the man’s face. There was no use in insulting your doctor. And the man had talent – it was evident in how he had managed to pass it on to Alexandria. She sat back, and Kaga could breath without pain now.
Slowly, he sat up. Alexandria was looking away from him, out into the distance.
“It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway,” she said. “You got what you wanted. Arroyo is destroyed.”
“What?!” he yelled. She didn’t even flinch.
“This group – the Enclave – they came in while I was away, on a mission to try to save the village from starvation. They burned everything down, took everyone who didn’t die in the initial attack away with them, I’m going to their base now.”
He stared at her – at Arroyo’s perfect, precious Chosen one – and realized that she had always been just that.
Even when they were children.
“What are you going to do there?” he finally asked.
She turned to him, smiling bitterly.
“I’m going to kill every one of those bastards I can get my hands on. Probably die in the attempt.”
He tapped a finger against his leg, metal against metal. Looking across the sands, he saw the car he had defiantly stood in front of to force her out to confront him.
“Got a seat for one more?” he asked, nodding towards it.
Lexi grinned, genuinely this time.
“Like I said, it’s probably a suicide mission.”
“And what better way to go out, than in a glorious battle of revenge alongside my sister?”
She stood, and offered him a hand.
He took it.
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A mighty fine night (For comfort and rest)
hope you enjoy!
the book is ‘Tales from Thicketdown Forest by @a-small-batch-of-dragons, its a really lovely book, nice and cozy, highly recommend 20/10!
Ao3
Words: 4.9k
Summary: Hunter wanted Darius.
That's the only thought in his mind. As the door shut with a quiet but devastating ‘click,’
He was too old for this. He was a teenager, he was. Even if he suddenly had to work for the answer of sixteen when he tried remembering the specifics of how old he was.
Hunter knew being childish was bad, and no one would take him seriously if they saw him like this.
But regardless, Hunter wanted Darius.
Contents and Warnings: Age regression. Hurt/comfort. Referenced child abuse. Dadrius (unbeknownst to him). Childish fears. Fear of things being taken away. Post-episode ‘Any Sport in a Storm’.
______
Hunter wanted Darius.
That's the only thought in his mind. As the door shut with a quiet but devastating ‘click,’
He took a deep shaky breath. Trying to ignore the sudden emotions coming to the surface now that he was alone, in the confines of his room. He walked over, and then in a quick defeated action, fell right onto his bed.
Deep breaths.
Deep breaths.
He spent a couple of minutes there. Flapjack curled into his side reassuringly. Just being there, as Hunter took a minute.
Then, when he thought he was ready, he got up again. Because he had to. And he went to put on his pajamas for the night, trying to shift into the regular routine.
And trying to ignore the aching of his chest.
Trying to ignore the numbness slowly fading away completely, leaving only the emotional rawness.
But as tears finally sprung to his eyes; no matter how much he tried rubbing at them, the cold making them sting. And as sobs soon followed; no matter how much he tried breathing.
He wanted Darius.
Flapjack was instantly up, and then close again, cuddled into his neck in an attempt to comfort him. And Hunter just cried harder.
He was too old for this. He was a teenager, he was. Even if he suddenly had to work for the answer of sixteen when he tried remembering the specifics of how old he was.
Hunter knew being childish was bad, and no one would take him seriously if they saw him like this.
He knew he wasn’t even supposed to cry. It was a weakness, he’d been told so, a whole lot.
But his uncle had just given him some, corrections , again. For messing up. And he knew that it was his fault.
If he'd just done better.
But his mind felt soft and hazy again- if he was honest it had felt soft and hazy the moment he’d left the throne room. But it was getting hazier by the minute.
And everything just felt bad, and he just wanted Darius.
Darius was nice. Darius was cool. And Darius didn't hate him anymore, he had even given Hunter a scroll!
He would help.
He would comfort him and make all of the bad feelings go away!
He would make everything okay.
He would fix it.
But what if he was mad?
It was late.
Hunter had gotten back from his unsuccessful mission late.
And Hunter knew Darius sometimes went to bed early because of ‘beauty sleep’ and whatnot.
What if he was already asleep? What if Hunter woke him up and Darius was mad at him again?
Or what if Darius just didn't want to deal with him?
After all, Hunter should be able to be all good on his own with Flapjack! Flapjack was always really good at comforting him.
He should be fine all on his own.
It would be fine!
It wouldn't though.
He couldn't handle being alone, and Flapjack couldn't help all the time.
And even though a voice deep in his mind tried warning him against bothering Darius. Tried convincing him he’d be mad. Hunter couldn’t really imagine it.
Darius was nice to him now! He’d even given him a sewing lesson or two, and had said if Hunter ever needed him, he was there.
And Hunter needed him.
Why would he get mad?
So with not another thought to it, and his mind made up resolutely, mostly because he needed someone to be there, so very desperately. He grabbed his cloak and wrapped it around his pajamas. Hiding Flapjack subparly underneath. Then he wiped his eyes roughly one last time, before exiting his room quietly with socked feet.
He sniffed. But he knew he had to be quiet.
Just until he got to Darius.
he held his breath, in a dramatized action; He couldn't get caught.
Quiet quiet quiet.
He had to be super stealthy.
Like a super stealthy person who does stealth for a living.
He ran corner to corner in every hallway he went through, slyly.
It was almost fun. Anytime he forgot for a second why his chest ached so much, or why his face was all itchy and bad, or why he felt so lousy.
And okay, maybe it was starting to be increasingly more fun, as he got too preoccupied with dodging and weaving to remember the reason he was doing so.
And soon he was at Darius’s door.
And how could he be anything but excited?
____
When Darius heard a knock at his door, far later than anyone should bother a coven-head. He had several ideas of who, or what, it was, already in his head.
One less when Eberwolf didn’t barge in after a moment anyways, regardless of Darius's non-answer.
But no matter how many ideas he had, one thing he did not consider was the teen golden guard currently at his door.
He was shifting on his feet nervously but despite that- and despite the fact, his eyes were very obviously red and puffy- he was looking at him with the biggest puppy eyes known to man and a little sheepish grin to match.
“Little prince?” Darius asked, mouth agape, concern instantly taking precedence as he immediately went to gently shoo Hunter into his room and out of the open space.
Hunter’s large peculiar-colored eyes seemed to have gotten larger at the words, almost looking teary for a second before a pout broke through it suddenly and he crossed his arms.
“I’m not little!” He demanded, suddenly seeming a whole lot younger than Darius had sworn he was.
Darius simply blinked, the sudden weight of worry lessening significantly already. He smirked, “then what am I supposed to call you kid? Big prince?-“
“Yes!”
“No- it sounds all ugh!” He made a dramatic showing of disgust and Hunter outright giggled.
giggled.
And the worry was back.
Darius had been so sure this kid was sixteen. Hunter had been… when he became the golden guard- much too young an age. And then it’s been a couple of years since then-
And then Hunter’d confirmed it a little over a couple weeks ago!
Was he bleeding out again?
And then, suddenly, a little note of information he’d only half been paying attention to from Raine pierced itself into his mind.
Age regression.
It would make sense, they had said it was often a coping mechanism.
he stored that information away again carefully to ask more about later.
“Alright brat- that fits, huh?”
Hunter gasped “nuh-uh!”
He chuckled “Only a little, if it makes you feel better, little prince”
Darius still very much received a pout at that though. However, it was taken back very quickly as Hunter found himself distracted with Flapjack happily flying up and out from the cloak, and instead to his hair to make a nest of, while Hunter moved about.
Darius huffed a laugh, before crouching down to the kid’s height and potentially giving himself back problems in the process. Titan, he was getting old. “Alright little prince, now after having that very insightful conversation, what’s going on? What did you need?”
He honestly didn’t know what to expect with that question. Even if Hunter wasn’t very well potentially regressed, Darius was completely in the dark about most of this.
Hunter simply paused, as if remembering. Bringing a gloved hand to his eyes- revealing a pair of pajamas under his slightly crinkled cloak - before tears sprung to his eyes.
Crap.
Titan, what did he do?
The kid's bird got up immediately and went right to his shoulder instead, chirping a little reassuring tune, before glaring at Darius with all of its might. Darius felt like he had been threatened.
“Oh Hunter I’m sorry-“ he tried, his arms moving placatingly in his attempts. Because he really couldn’t tell Raine and Eber he had made Hunter cry.
He didn't even know what he did.
Hunter let out a sudden sob, “he wa’ mad at me ‘gain” he hiccuped.
Oh.
Oh.
Darius didn’t even have to guess who ‘he’ was “oh kid, I’m so sorry”
The poor thing just shook harder.
“Hey it’s okay-“ he panicked, he would deny it till his dying breath, Darius Deamonne did not panic. But he panicked.
“-comfort?” He offered, the word rushing out in a panic as he opened his arms, completely out of his depth.
The word had barely even left his lips before the kid was nodding profusely and barreling toward him.
The wind nearly got knocked out of Darius with the force that Hunter clung to him. And after just trying to breathe for a second- because Titan kid, he carefully wrapped his arms around the kid in exchange.
He decidedly did not mention the growing wet spot on his sweater from Hunter, he could always burn the thing.
It was more pressing to try and help Hunter.
Because Darius didn't think he could take the frankly heartbreaking sobs and mumbled words of explanation that didn't really make sense.
It was so very melancholic.
but, eventually after carefully rubbing circles into Hunter's back- and then swiftly stopping after being swatted at and told it, quote, ‘made the skin exist too much, but angry’ by Hunter. The sobs had slowly stopped and morphed into nothing but small breathy hiccups.
Darius was nothing, if not relieved.
Hunter felt better.
Darius carefully untangled himself, “Alright little prince, Why don't you go sit over there” he pointed to the brilliantly purple couch -“for just a moment while I get you water?”
Once again, however, he is lost as Hunter does not do that, and instead clings harder.
“Hunter-“
Darius is met with a wobbly lip and any resolve to do anything crumbles, for a totally inexplicable reason. But he needs to get him water before he starts feeling the headache and any other plethora of dehydration symptoms-
He sighs, and Hunter shies away a little- making Darius feel guilty instantly, but then Hunter gasps, eyes bright with an idea.
Hunter backs away a little before holding up his arms at Darius, Darius just blinks.
Hunter frowns, “up!” He demands.
The kid baffles Darius constantly.
he chuckles lightheartedly, raising an eyebrow “ really? How old are you?”
Hunter pauses, thinking, before going onto quickly count on his fingers, eventually he lands on four.
four.
Darius just blinks again, theory effectively proven. And he decides this might as well happen.
“Alright brat, we’ll try, ” he says. Before very carefully picking the boy up by the armpits and settling him on his hip with less effort than he was expecting.
And okay, he wasn’t expecting Hunter to be super heavy, he was only, usually , sixteen. But he wasn’t expecting him to be this light, it was concerning.
Teenagers weren’t normally that light, were they?
Darius didn't mention it right now though.
Instead, just continued on his prior mission, walking over to the small kitchen. Carefully, as he held Hunter and grabbed a glass from his cupboards- before deciding that was most definitely a terrible idea, and replacing it with one of the sturdier ceramic mugs he kept for Eber.
He made sure to not fill it up the full way before handing it off.
Hunter took it happily, and his palisman chirped in approval, seemingly having maybe forgiven Darius.
Darius smiled as Hunter took a sip, a lot more relieved than he probably should be, especially for just some random kid, that he was definitely not at all attached to.
And he would recite that over and over when Eber would ask.
Even if Eber would not believe him.
He carefully carried Hunter to the couch, doing his best not to make sharp movements so the water wouldn’t slosh.
Once he was on the couch though, he was finally hit with the realization he should've had far earlier, he didn’t know how to deal with kids.
He hadn’t had any younger siblings, Titan he hadn’t even had older ones. He was an only child. And it had been so long since his own childhood.
He had barely known what to do with Hunter when he was a teenager.
But he was completely lost on what to do now that he was age regressing- and four.
He definitely needed to look more into age regression later. But even that. Was a later thing.
He couldn't do it right now.
He sighed, just settling against the couch with Hunter. For just a minute trying to relax and think as Hunter took quiet sips out of his mug. It was fine, right now everything was fine. They were in between things, able to settle for just a moment, Darius usually liked these kinds of moments, even if specific others didn't.
He could just think, think about his next step, or, maybe not. Maybe he would close his eyes until Hunter decided he was done with the water or wanted to talk.
Hunter wasn't crying anymore, that was a good sign, it was okay for now, Darius was doing something right, hopefully.
Should he be concerned about the lack of tears too?
Darius felt like a worried hen. Titan, this kid will be the death of him.
Hunter has already caused more gray hairs than should be possible in just the short time they've started getting along, this added stress could not be good for him. Still, he didn't find he minded. What was one more gray hair?
The kid deserved someone to go to.
He was a good kid.
Feeling like a worried hen just happened to be a side effect, and even that, he could, eventually, likely, get over.
If Eber didn't find out at least.
He was pulled out of the thought of the ruthless mocking he would incur from Eber later when he felt Hunter tug on his sweater. And he looked over to see the little witch quietly hugging the already mostly-empty mug with one arm. And looking so very, very, young , his legs moving up to his chest. He was so small, a child .
He was only sixteen. A thought Darius had thought before, with more scorn than necessary, aimed at someone he knew wasn’t responsible.
Didn’t stop him often, only recently being struck by the thought in a different light.
He was only sixteen, not fit for his duties still, but deprived of outside experiences, deprived of a childhood.
Not his fault.
“Yes, little prince?”
“I’m tired.”
Darius blinked, not surprised, but registering.
Yes, it was getting late. Darius would've even been going to bed soon.
As if to emphasize the statement he had just made, Hunter yawned.
Darius huffed a laugh, patting Hunter's hair as he made a move to get up
-“Alright kid, it is getting late. How about we get you back to your room for the night? I’ll even- what? Tuck you in?”
The blond froze, visibly tensing before shaking his head insistently, disgruntling his little bird.
What was the bird’s name? Pancakes or something?
“I- what? ‘ no’? ” Darius asked back incredulously. Completely baffled. Hunter was tired, therefore, he should go to sleep. And it wasn’t like Darius was just sending him off! He would walk him back.
Still, Hunter just pushed himself back further into the couch, “no” he told again stubbornly.
Darius was, once again, in the span of only what he could guess was maybe ten minutes, realizing he was terrible at dealing with children.
He sighed, moving a hand to massage at his temple, “and is there any particular reason for that?”
Hunter looked down at the floor, suddenly refusing to make eye contact, or even look in Darius’s general direction.
Because Hunter didn’t want to make Darius mad. Darius was nice, and he’d been nice! But Hunter was being a brat, he knew that.
Even when everything was soft and fuzzy he always knew that. He couldn't not.
If he didn't know, he’d be told it.
He didn’t want to be a brat. Didn't want to be mean, didn't want to be thought of as a pest again.
Didn't want to make him mad, didn't want to be annoying or a bother.
He didn't want everything to go back to how it was. Didn't want to be hated by everyone in the castle again.
He needed to just do what Darius said. If he did what Darius said, then everything would be okay!
Darius wouldn't be mad.
He had to do what Darius said, if he didn’t-
But he couldn't go back.
Darius wouldn't understand and he couldn't go back-
Now that he had left, the shadows and monsters would be waiting for him.
The moment Darius left, they would mock Hunter.
He didn't like the shadows.
He couldn't go back,
He couldn't go back he couldn't go back-
Darius sighed again, moving slowly to sit back down next to Hunter.
“Little prince, you're not in trouble. But I need to know what’s going on, can you please just tell me what is the problem?”
There was a small mumble of ‘I’m not little’ before Hunter just hugged his legs harder, the poorly drawn-on cloak not doing any favors.
He didn't want to make him mad.
“You can take your time. I just want to help, and I can't help think up solutions if I don't know the issue,” Darius said as gently as he could.
Hunter slowly nodded, a good sign.
Darius would help, wouldn't he? Hunter still needed him. And Darius didn't lie, not a lot at least, Hunter didn't think.
It did take a minute, Darius just sitting there with Hunter.
But eventually, Hunter gathered the courage to speak again.
He still hesitated, opening his mouth once, then twice, before closing it with an unsteady lip. And then after looking at Darius for a minute and receiving an arm in invitation, hiding in Darius’s side again.
“I don’t want the shadows to get me,” he admitted quietly, voice nothing more than a whisper.
Completely baffling Darius once again, would the baffling of the older witch never cease? because he knew, often, young witchlets had that fear, in fact, it was pretty common. But Hunter?
Maybe it was just the headspace?
He really needed to ask Whispers more about the whole regression thing.
Regardless he very carefully set the water down on the end table before it spilled onto his poor couch.
And then, he took a breath, before wrapping an arm around the poor kid, who- despite how much he’s argued to the contrary- he quite frankly has gotten attached to. Because he really is a good kid, a brat, and a menace, often, but a good kid.
“You don’t want to go back to your room, because you're afraid of the shadows getting you?” Darius parroted back, not mocking, just making sure he understood.
Hunter nodded, once again disturbing his bird, not that his bird complained, simply chirping a sad little tune to comfort his witch.
Darius thought about it for a moment. Took another breath, and then made a big show of sighing melodramatically, “alright fine -“ he made a dramatic gesture with his free arm, “I suppose then, just this once, you can stay”
Hunter immediately perked up, eyes bright with hope “really?”
“Yeah yeah little prince, don’t get used to it”
Despite his words, Hunter lit up with a bright grin as he jumped up- making Darius thankful he moved the mug- and pumped his fists into the air in a little victory dance.
He said yes! He said yes!
Flapjack flew around him too, celebrating alongside him chirping excited little chirps.
Darius just huffed an amused laugh making a motion to settle down “shh, lower your voices. It’s late, someone will hear you.”
Hunter pouted at him.
He didn’t have to be all alone, hiding himself and Flapjack from the monsters looming so close, and the shadows trying to grab him.
Everything he was sure would be waiting for him when he got back.
Because they were always there when he got back.
And the monsters, and the shadows, scared him.
But if Darius was with him then he was safe!
Darius would protect him.
Darius went to stand up and immediately Hunter was back at his side and following him again, bearing an uncanny resemblance to a young griffin-ling.
“Sure are clingy tonight, little prince” he breathed out a laugh, before waving Hunter off “go sit down, I’m just gonna get a book, or- it’s getting cold, maybe a blanket too”
Hunter blinked, visibly hesitating at the idea, but ultimately nodded, going back to sit down with Flapjack.
And Darius knew exactly what he was doing as he immediately went to grab the softest blanket he could find, neatly folded up in his linen closet.
And he knew what he was doing as he gently thumbed over the spines of his books, before picking out a particular one he had adored as a child, from his small bookshelf.
Even if he hadn't though, by the time he got back Hunter's eyes were already so clearly drooping. And he had to jerk himself up when Darius came back into direct vision.
Hunter moved a bit so Darius could sit down, however, once Darius had, Hunter wasted no time in being in his space again. Increasingly intrigued by the objects Darius held. Looking at them like they held the key to the universe.
“Are you usually like this? All clingy?” Darius laughed again, and the teen just blew a raspberry.
“Brat”
“Bleh,” Hunter replied wisely.
Darius chuckled, utterly amused, before shaking his head dramatically “utterly heartbroken, by that statement. Little prince,”
“Bleh”
“My mother too? When shall this cruelty end?”
Hunter giggled.
Darius gasped, “you take amusement at my suffering?”
“Uh-huh!” The blond laughed.
Darius chuckled, messing up Hunter's hair “I say it again, brat.” he said fondly.
Hunter squealed, the sound high-pitched and loud, and so very happy.
Darius smiled, before moving to put the book on the couch arm as he began unfolding the blanket.
And he was planning on easily spreading it on the two of them, but when he was getting ready to put it on Hunter, he paused.
“Kid take off your cloak, I can’t imagine existing with that is comfortable” he really couldn’t. It was far too big. The golden guard should’ve at least been given a cloak that fit him. And sitting in that-
Hunter blinked, having completely forgotten he was wearing it, but nonetheless did as told. Doing his best to unclasp the unwilling clasping mechanism, before taking off the heavy thing and holding it uncertainly. Then after a moment, just holding it out to Darius.
Because he didn’t know what to do.
Darius paused, before nodding and spreading the blanket over Hunter’s lap. Patiently waiting until the boy’s palisman sat on the headrest of the couch before extending it too far.
Then he very carefully took and slowly folded Hunter’s offered cloak. He didn’t want it to get wrinkled after all, and Hunter just watched, visibly tense, for some inexplicable reason.
Hunter had been the one to hand it to Darius, why would he be nervous?
Then, once it had been set on the end table as well, joining the mostly-empty cup of water, and the small book for the time being. Hunter hesitated, before finally speaking.
“Promise you’ll give it back?”
Oh,
Oh.
Darius really did have to apologize for that huh?
He nodded, “don’t worry, in the morning, it’s all yours. I won’t take it away” again.
“ Promise? ”
The idea that Hunter had already given the cloak up so willingly before he even brought it up, left an unpleasant feeling curdling in the older witch’s stomach.
He had still been so scared it wouldn’t be given back. But Hunter still gave it up. Because he was told to, even when Darius hadn't meant it that way.
It was a sad, sad, thought.
Hunter was such a good little soldier.
And what a horrible thing that was.
“Promise.”
Hunter’s bird seemed to approve of the truth in that statement, offering a small trill. And Hunter visibly sagged in relief before he just nodded- another yawn cutting it off.
So then. With little hesitation, the older witch initiated act two of his plan. Carefully picking up the beige book. Small pages worn gently, from age and care.
Hunter was, as expected, immediately interested. Tired eyes, so utterly exhausted, that it made Darius’s own ache just looking at them- still wide just to analyze the little art embellishing the book cover. And anything else he could see.
Darius carefully held out an arm and Hunter slid into it again without a word, just looking at the book’s cover.
“Want me to read it to you?”
The young witch gasped, amazed at just the idea, like that was the first time he’s ever been offered it.
“ Can you?”
Darius chuckled fondly, “just this once.”
Hunter grinned and nodded with an amount of enthusiasm Darius was sure should give him whiplash. Before going and getting comfortable. Adjusting the blanket, and wiggling until he was satisfied with the comfort level. Then, Darius began.
“Tales from thicketdown forest.”
He opened the small, delicate pages to the beginning.
“Most people today live in big cities.”
“Big, bustling areas with lots of concrete and people living on top of each other.”
“And everybody knows how to get around and everybody says hi to their neighbors.”
Hunter’s attention was completely rapt already, considering every word said carefully.
He liked the book already, he decided.
“Some people live in smaller towns.”
“Smaller, not quite as bustling areas with fewer buildings and people live a little farther apart.”
“But everybody knows how to get around and everybody says hi to their neighbors.”
He glanced at Hunter, barely a portion of the page in and eyes already back to drooping, even as he was still so excited to listen.
Hunter yawned and rubbed his eyes. Sending a curse around as Darius yawned as well, maybe it was getting late for him too.
“Almost no one lives in the middle of nowhere”
“One minuscule area with one building and only one person living miles away from everyone else”
Hunter snapped himself back after closing his eyes for just a moment too long.
Hunter’s eyes were just so tired.
Maybe he could rest them, just for a minute, and if he paid really good attention then he wouldn’t fall asleep.
“But usually, they know how to get around and would still say hi to their neighbors”
“if they had them”
The teen’s eyes slipped closed.
And in an instant he was solidly gone, sagging into Darius.
Darius flipped to the next page.
“But no one lives in the Thicketdown Forest.”
“There are no buildings and no people.”
“Nobody really knows how to get around and there are no neighbors to say hi to.”
Darius was interrupted by another yawn.
Maybe it was time for him to retire as well. He carefully closed the book, unneeding of a bookmark. It would be easy to find his place on the second page. And he sat the little book on the end table, with the rest of the items.
A little disappointing that they couldn’t make it farther. Darius is sure Hunter would've loved it, and Darius hadn't read it in quite a while. But Darius could read it on his own time, and if Hunter wanted to, he could borrow it. Right now Darius was just fortunate Hunter fell asleep.
Because he’d met the kid when he was younger, and he sure was a spitfire. Darius remembers him distinctly being completely exhausted, for at least a couple weeks at a time, in several different phases for a mix of reasons. Some such as deciding ‘sleeping was actually not needed’. Or just stubbornness for a reason he had never told anyone. As well as fits of insomnia that left the poor kid wrecked.
He was fortunate Hunter fell asleep so easily.
He moved to get up, but was then struck by the realization he could, in fact, not move.
The brat had him trapped, Darius quite literally couldn’t move without waking Hunter.
He was too tired for this, and he really didn’t want to wake up the kid.
He sighed, throwing his socked feet up onto the couch and pulling the blanket up.
His back would hate him in the morning, but he really couldn’t wake Hunter up. The kid needed his sleep. And the bags under the young golden guard’s eyes which should not be that dark- agreed with him.
He was only sixteen.
And right now, not even that.
He needed his sleep.
Darius got comfortable, carefully summoning a pillow from his bed with his small abomination companion, before putting it under his neck, trying to minimize the amount of hatred his body would have for him in the morning.
He may complain about it to Eberwolf in the morning regardless. But no matter what, he wouldn’t regret it.
A worthy cause, for Hunter, to feel safe, and hopefully get actual rest.
Darius’s eyes grew heavy, and he yawned a final time, before wrapping his arms around the young witchling, and, eventually, drifting off too.
Flapjack settling in close by.
Only going to sleep with the final assurance that everything was okay.
That his witchling was safe, protected, cared for, and oh-so content.
And he was. It was a good night.
Despite all attempts otherwise, his boy was happy.
#toh hunter#toh darius#toh flapjack#the owl house#toh#darius daemonne#hunter daemonne#the cold one writes#hurt/comfort#age regression#Dadrius#toh fic#the owl house fic
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Valentine's counterpart featuring Cupid Yuya
Rating: T
Mostly a fluffy concept drabble
It's a beautiful, sunny day in Heartland City and Yuto wants nothing more than to crawl under a rock and hide there until night falls. Once again, it's Valentine's Day and the delightful, heart themed city he resides in has pumped far too much money into red, white, and pink themed merchandising that makes his eyes bleed if he looks at it for too long. He doesn't need to buy overpriced chocolate or flowers or anything of that sort because the girl he loved found someone else. It's his fault, really. Yuto was far too shy about his feelings and in an effort to avoid causing trouble between himself and Lulu, he simply said nothing at all. He let her believe they were only friends. Yuto felt his heart shatter the day she rushed to him with a smile on her face and a photo of a boy on her phone.
Boyfriend, she said, beaming from ear to ear with a face so adorable that Yuto could do nothing but force a smile and a few curt words of false congratulations. He has no one to blame aside from himself, but that won't stop him from stalking off to the river to chuck pebbles into the flowing water until he feels better.
Yuto picks up his first stone when something sharp hits the back of his head. He flinches and scrambles to feel around for a wound, but surprisingly finds nothing at all. Not even a scratch. Confused, he looks around, trying to make sense of what hit him when he spots an odd sight. There's a young man carrying what looks like a bow crafted from a pink material, with curly wings jutting out behind his back and an odd costume adorning his form. A red vest lined in gold with a white dress shirt underneath. A cape of white and gold is affixed to either shoulder by small buttons as his red slacks and golden boots click against the gravelly shore. His hair is a messy mix of red with green on top and a pair of pink, heart shaped goggles edged in gold hold back his numerous bangs. He seems to be struggling to load a heart-shaped arrow into the bow, which is evident by his quiet cursing.
Yuto sighs. He must have gotten hit by this clumsy man while he was trying to load his arrows.
He's about to turn around when the stranger finally manages to load his arrow and grins as he turns towards Yuto, weapon locked on his body.
"Okay! Second time's the charm!" He announced.
"Hey, wait—!" Yuto shouts, throwing up a hand as that arrow flies through the air and pierces through his chest.
He staggers back, his heart going wild as Yuto clutches at his shirt, expecting to see blood. When he pulls his hand away, there's no injury to show, just a strange, fluttery feeling in his chest. Grey eyes snap back to the stranger, who is standing smugly in place, nodding resolutely to himself.
"Another lonely soul ready for love. This job's a piece of cake on Valentine's Day!"
Yuto furrows his brows. Another soul? Job? What the hell is this guy talking about?
Why does Yuto really want to know his name?
He's moving without thinking, letting his feet carry him towards the stranger dressed in red until they're only an arm's length apart. Crimson eyes fixate on Yuto's form, looking him up and down for a moment before glancing away as the stranger pulls out a list from thin air and strikes off a name. He hums to himself, chipper and cheerful and very much oblivious to the way Yuto continues to watch him until a soft voice coughs just once.
"Are you the guy who hit me with an arrow?" Yuto questions.
The stranger turns around, blinking with crimson eyes at the riverbank as if searching for someone else.
"You. Green and red hair. Bow. Wearing a suit."
"Ehhh?!" He cries, nearly leaping out of his own skin as Yuto reads out his image. "You can see me?"
"You aren't exactly subtle," Yuto points out.
"N-no, I mean...you see me. All of me," He repeats with eyes growing wider by the minute.
Yuto raises a brow. "Is this a joke? It's not very—"
"Oh my god I'm in so much trouble!" The stranger whines as he dances from one foot to the other. "Don't shoot people in the head, she said. It's the one rule! It should have been fine!"
"Hey," Yuto says once more as he reaches out a hand to gently clasp the man's shoulder to calm him down. Sparks dance beneath his fingers as Yuto's heart hammers against his chest, leaving him feeling weak and dizzy for this stranger. Did he always look so cute? That suit is cute. Adorable, even.
"Uhm, sir, I'm really sorry, there's been a mistake," the stranger apologizes with a small, endearing frown that looks like a pout. "I meant to hit you in the heart first so you could fall in love, so it's really important you find someone to stare at so you can...well...do the love thing!"
"You definitely stole my heart," Yuto says without thinking, his mind a pleasant haze of softness and sparkles as he continues to gaze upon the stranger. "I don't even know your name."
"Oh no. Oh no no no, you can't be in love with me! Noooooo, that's like super bad!" He cries once more, pulling away from Yuto as the sparks fade and the glittery softness fades away.
"Wait!" Yuto shouts as he chases after the stranger, hand outstretched as he watches those wings extend and spread wide.
The odd man takes to the skies in a graceful movement, looping through the air as Yuto is left alone, staring at the sky with a hand over his chest, clutching his jacket.
"Who are you?" He whispers to the sky.
And why does Yuto already miss him?
#counterpart#yuya sakaki#yuto (arc v)#arc v#yugioh arc v#fluff#drabble#it's not technically finished#just a starter thing#starmakesart#yugioh
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What I Always Say
a belated christmas gift, for you, @sergeant-spoons merry christmas!!! i hope you love it <3
pairing: don malarkey x oc
word count: 10k (i got a bit carried away)
synopsis: it’s christmas eve and both of their flights have been cancelled due to the snow. everything is a disaster. but just when clara thinks things can’t get any worse, the universe finds ways to surprise her. but perhaps, from some angles, this christmas isn’t all bad. maybe there’s someone who can salvage it for her.
***
“Any news?” Don asked, eyes hopeful above the lid of her laptop as she clicked refresh over and over again.
Clara tried her very best to keep the tears stinging in her eyes back. She would not cry. Because that would be pathetic. And she had worked much too hard building a reputation for herself in this new city as someone who was happy and positive and optimistic to ruin it all in one fell swoop by crying.
“No,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes glued to her screen resolutely. But she needn’t have been so concentrated; she’d refreshed the page at least twenty times in the last minute and it had always loaded back up the exact same as it had been before, with that one terrible, terrible word printed in red where her gate number should have been.
DELAYED.
“What about you?” Clara asked, once she had a little better of a hold on her emotions. She sniffled as quietly as she could manage before peering down at Don where he was camped out on the floor at her feet; the airport was packed full of people on their way home for the holidays, it seemed, and, probably, a great deal of them wouldn’t be getting there. Herself and Don included. Oh, god, this was just horrible. The whole situation was a disaster. It was Christmas Eve! She should have been at home baking cookies by now, clad in her fluffiest pyjamas and sipping hot chocolate which was more marshmallow than anything else, dancing to whatever cheesy Christmas classics the local radio station was playing and silently critiquing the choices.
“Just says ‘delayed’,” Don informed her after a beat, presumably wherein he refreshed the webpage pulled up on his smartphone. He sighed loudly but when she glanced over at him he was smiling - only a little, a tiny smile tugging at the edges of his mouth, but it counted. And why the hell was he smiling right now?
Clara didn’t ask. As she mindlessly clicked refresh once more a new flash of text caught her eye. Her eyes darted over to it immediately and her heart was bold enough to leap with hope, only to fall right down to the floor and roll out among the piles of her bags and Don’s limbs.
The tears returned and this time there was nothing she could do to stop them. “It’s been cancelled!” she cried. Her voice was wobbly and strained and full of sorrow and she didn’t care, because her flight had been cancelled and she wouldn’t be going home for Christmas and it was snowing so hard outside she didn’t even know if she’d be able to make it back to her apartment. She was going to spend Christmas in a goddamn airport and she was just as furious about it as she was devastated.
Don turned around lightning fast upon hearing her despair. “Hey, hey, hey,” he attempted to soothe, resting both of his hands on her knees. “It’s alright.”
“No,” she snapped, because she just couldn’t help it, “it’s not alright. I’m going to spend Christmas Day in a goddamn airport because I can’t get home and I can’t get back to my apartment and I’m so mad about it that I’m fucking crying!”
Don wanted to laugh so bad. It was terrible, because she was clearly genuinely distressed about the entire situation, but she was so cute sitting there like that, with her hands in fists on her hips and her cheeks puffed out and her eyebrows furrowed, that he couldn’t help it. And though he counted himself among the people who knew her the best, he’d never known her to be like this. Usually, Clara was all sunshine, smiley and joyful and polite; her preferred brand of humour was dad jokes, which Don secretly thought was both the stupidest and most endearing thing ever, and nothing ever seemed to get her down. But now? Now she was like a different person entirely. She was pushing back tears with all of her might but it wasn’t really working, and she wiped furiously at the few which dared to slip out of devastated brown eyes and track down flushed cheeks. Her hands were shaking in their fists and her feet were fidgeting where they rested on the floor behind where he was sitting, and the whole thing was so surprising, so unexpected, that he wanted to laugh. He also wanted to take her into his arms and smooth back her messy hair and whisper to her that everything was going to be okay, but that was not something he was ever going to do - whilst he was not a proud man, he would like to return home with some shreds of his dignity intact, thank you very much, and being rejected by the single most angelic creature on the planet because he’d been arrogant enough to try it on with her was not something he wanted to experience for the holidays. When he’d fallen hard on his ass during ice skating last weekend had been perfectly painful enough.
“We’ll get a hotel,” Don suggested quietly. He frowned when she covered her face with her hands, clearly trying very hard not to sob. “Hey, Clara, it’s alright.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she said, her voice muffled through her hands. “This’ll be the first Christmas I’ve ever not been at home.”
Don let her have a moment to come to terms with the situation. Meanwhile, he opened up a new tab on his phone and searched for the next flight to Fort Lauderdale, Florida. All of them were cancelled. It didn’t look optimistic.
“Is your flight cancelled too?” Clara asked in a small voice once she’d had a moment to process the disaster. She lowered her hands and looked at Don with wide, tearful eyes.
He swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. All cancelled.”
Clara looked down into her lap. “Should we go find a hotel then?” She shut her eyes and scoffed bitterly but didn’t say anything else.
“Yeah,” Don replied quietly. He locked his phone and tucked it back into his pants pocket, then pushed himself to his feet and slung his backpack over his shoulder. He waited patiently while Clara packed her laptop away and got her coat back on, taking the time to look around for any signs pointing them in the direction of the airport hotel. He found one just as she informed him that she was ready, and after giving her a smile he led them towards it.
They walked all the way to the hotel in silence, focusing all of their energy on wheeling their suitcases behind them as they zigzagged through the crowds and not losing each other in the hubbub. When they reached the hotel lobby they found it heaving. It seemed they weren’t the only people who’d decided to set up camp for the night.
“Excuse me,” Don called to one of the women working behind the desk. He had to raise his voice to be heard above the noise but that wasn’t a problem; he’d never struggled with being loud. “We need a room!” he went on when he had her attention.
The woman scoffed. “Yeah, you and everyone else who decided to try to fly home on Christmas Eve.”
“Have you got a room free or not?” Don called back, not entertaining her remark.
“Hey, buddy, get to the back of the line!” said the man in front of him. He was tall and broad shouldered, with dark eyes partly concealed beneath thick dark eyebrows, but Clara didn’t seem to care. She stepped up to him until they were toe to toe and said something to him, and a moment later he stepped away.
The woman behind the desk spoke, drawing Don’s attention back to her. “We have a double room still free on the third -”
“We’ll take it,” he declared. He filled out the paperwork she handed him and paid for the room, with Clara in his ear the entire time promising to pay him back, before they finally found themselves navigating the quiet hotel hallways, on their way to room 312.
“This is it,” Clara said once she found it. She turned back to Don, pointing at the door, and his heart squeezed when he caught sight of her smile.
He got the door open in record time after that, and allowed her into the room first before shutting the door behind him.
“Oh.”
Don turned around. “Oh?” he asked.
“When she said double room I thought she meant…”
She’d thought she’d meant two beds. But here they were, in their hotel room, with what was not, in fact, two beds, but one. One double bed. One double bed with rose petals on the sheets and heart-shaped decorations everywhere.
“Oh,” Don said as he took it all in.
“Oh,” Clara agreed.
“Well,” Don said, picking up one of the heart-shaped room service menus on the desk, “at least it’s festive?”
“For Valentine’s Day!” Clara exclaimed. She dropped her bags and collapsed into the small armchair by the window. “Why is everything going wrong?” And now she was going to cry again. This was all like some sick joke from the universe. First her flight is delayed, then it’s cancelled, then she cries - in the middle of a crowded airport, no less - and then the only hotel room available is for couples. Yes, this must have been a sick prank pulled by someone with no soul. If she was with anyone else she might have laughed and she definitely would have brushed it off and got on with it, but with Don? Oh, it was cruel. It was more than cruel, actually, it was spiteful. Because her traitorous heart wanted nothing more than to spend this horrible night curled up in his arms in a comfy double bed, while her logical mind knew that he would be repulsed by the idea, would have to reject her and crush her dignity and then the friendship would be ruined.
“Aw, come on, Clara,” Don said gently. He, too, had dropped his bags, and he came to kneel on the floor in front of the chair, resting his hands back on her knees. “It ain’t so bad,” he attempted to soothe. “I’ll just sleep on the floor, I don’t mind. At least it’s carpeted.”
“No, you won’t,” Clara argued. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“Like hell you will.”
“I will!” she insisted.
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, I will!”
“Clara.” He groaned, frustrated.
“Don,” she replied, resolute.
“We’ll talk about this later,” he decided, shaking his head and meeting her eyes once more. “How about dinner?”
“I don’t want dinner.”
“Now you’re just being difficult.”
Clara scoffed, but she knew he was right. She was throwing a tantrum. She didn’t want to be stuck in California in this couples’ hotel room with the man she loved who she knew for a fact didn’t love her back, she wanted to be at home in Florida with her sister and her mom and their golden retriever, Lucky, baking cookies and getting snuggly ready for the big day.
“I always have cookies and hot chocolate on Christmas Eve,” she mumbled after a beat.
Don smiled. In fact, his entire being brightened. His eyes lit up and his shoulders lifted and he grasped onto the rope she’d offered him with both hands. “Cookies and hot chocolate,” he repeated.
She nodded.
“Sounds perfect,” he declared. “Let’s go find a coffee shop.”
It was not fair that he was this angelic. Not fair at all. His flight had been cancelled, too, and he also had a family to get home to, and yet here he was, doing his best to make her smile. Her heart ached as she met his warm brown eyes, eager and excited, and she wanted more than ever to reach for his hands and tug him close and burrow into him. She bet he was warm and that he smelled nice and that he gave the best hugs. She bet he would make her feel like she was home.
“Really?” she asked quietly, pushing all of those thoughts away.
Her eyes were so hopeful, her voice so small and dejected, that Don felt his heart crack clean down the middle. How badly he wanted to scoop her up and cradle her to his chest, rock her from side to side until she felt like the world was a happy place again instead of a sad one. She should never frown and she should especially never cry. And if he had to trek out into the snow and freeze his ass off trying to find a coffee shop which was still open at 5pm then he would do it. If it got her to smile then he would do anything.
“Would you like that?” he asked.
She nodded.
He smiled and patted her knee where his hand had been resting on it. “Then let’s go.”
He looked up the locations of some local coffee shops online before they headed out into the blizzard, and they went to three before they found one which was still open. It was cosy and quaint, small and homely, and when they walked inside a little bell jingled above the door while a blast of hot air hit them both in the face.
Don went to order while Clara secured them a table - a circular table for two nestled in a corner by the Christmas tree, with a heating vent set into the ceiling above them. The two chairs were armchairs, hers red plaid and his green, and she settled back into hers with a sigh.
Don flopped into the chair opposite a little while later. “He’s bringing it all over,” he said by way of explanation when Clara found him empty handed. He inclined his head in the direction of the counter, behind which was a man, likely around Don and Clara’s age, grinning to himself as he made their order.
“He seems nice,” Clara remarked softly as she watched him work. He had one of those kind faces, one that made you want to trust him, and he was humming along to the Christmas song playing on the radio.
Don looked back over at him, too, and chuckled under his breath. “Yeah. Nice guy,” he acknowledged. “He kept saying, ‘That’s what I always say,’ after everything I said.”
Clara looked back at Don with a small laugh. “What?”
Don grinned. “No shit,” he insisted. “I ordered your hot chocolate and he said, ‘Nothin’ like hot chocolate on Christmas Eve, that’s what I always say.’ Then I ordered my coffee and he said, ‘Coffee’ll always keep ya warm, that’s what I always say.’ Then I ordered the cookies and he said, ‘Can’t go to a coffee shop without trying their cookies, that’s what I always say.’”
Clara giggled, looking over at the worker with new eyes. “Well,” she said as she watched him, “at least he was being nice. That’s what I always say.”
Even though the joke wasn’t all that funny, Don downright cackled nonetheless. He tipped his head back and laughed into the ceiling, and the sound chased sunlight through Clara’s veins.
He was so alive, she thought, marvelling at his beauty. She’d never met anyone who seemed to live as much as he did. Anyone else would need to jump out of an airplane to get get as much enjoyment as he got out of a good cup of coffee. She loved that about Don, and loved how infectious his love of life was. When she’d first moved to California and was still deciding who she wanted to be she’d toyed with a lot of ideas, but she’d decided on being smiley because of Don. When they first met on her first day at the radio station he’d stuck out a hand and declared his name with the widest grin she’d ever seen, and she’d immediately felt safe. She’d felt seen and accepted, and she hadn’t even known him back then, and she’d thought that it would be magical if she could make someone else feel like that, too.
It was exhausting, though, she’d come to find. Being that joyful and that alive took effort and energy which she wasn’t used to expending. Probably, that was why her mask was slipping now. Don might have paid witness to her brief moments of rest now and again but he was seeing her as she really was now, when she was tired and irritated and frustrated and upset. How he managed to take everything on the chin and shrug his shoulders she would never know, and forever be envious of, but she didn’t have it in her. She was a fraud in that way. A fraud who had fooled even herself into believing she might contain even half as much happiness as he did.
The man who had prepared their order skirted around the counter and approached them with a tray, and he set out their mugs and plates with practised precision. “There ain’t no better place to be on Christmas Eve than a coffee shop, that’s what I always say,” he told them once he was finished, standing upright once more. “Enjoy the cookies.”
“We will,” Don answered. He waited for the man - whose name tag read Frank - to get back behind the counter before he turned to Clara and said, “Nothing like having a catchphrase, that’s what I always say.”
Clara laughed and Don’s smile widened. He pushed the plate with two cookies on it towards her. “I didn’t know which cookies you have at home, so I got chocolate chip and double chocolate. I’ll get you more of whichever one you prefer.”
“Don,” Clara said with an almost dreamy sigh. He watched as her eyes went soft as she looked down at the plate on the table before her, and his heart clenched before it began to race. She made even the simplest things seem beautiful, he thought. A plate of cookies might have been nothing to anyone else, but she was looking at it like they were offering her three wishes. He wondered if she knew how even just being in her presence made the world feel infinitely more lovely. He hoped she did. Every time they were together he drank up her energy like water, like he’d been stranded in a desert and didn’t know when he’d next find a reservoir, and still it would never be enough. He wanted to live in her presence, bask in her sunlight forever, but he pushed that thought away; she didn’t want him like that, didn’t like him like that, so he would have to be content with the time she did allow him to spend with her. Even that much was generous.
“What would you be doing if you were at home right now?” Clara asked, breaking off a piece of the double chocolate cookie and lifting it to her mouth.
Don opened his mouth to reply, pleased that she’d asked him about home, before she gasped and exclaimed, “Yummy!”
Don laughed.
Her cheeks flushed but she didn’t apologise. He loved that about her, too; even when she was embarrassed, she still didn’t apologise for who she was. And he was glad for it, because he found everything she did so terribly endearing that he sometimes thought she must have planted magnets in both of their clothes, for he felt almost inhumanly drawn to her.
“The question still stands,” Clara said once Don’s laughter had settled a little. “But you should try a cookie, too.”
Don did try a cookie - and it was, as she had declared so enthusiastically, ‘yummy’ - and between bites he explained his family’s Christmas Eve traditions. Usually, he explained, he’d be helping to put the presents beneath the tree and then place the star on top. They would all sit down to have dinner - usually a casserole or something to that effect - before they’d each pick one gift from under the tree to open early. Don told her that he always picked the gift which looked like it was wearable, and last year he struck gold in picking a gift which contained a pair of new pyjamas. He slept in them that night and they were now his favourites - a gift from his mom, he said - but usually the gift he picked for Christmas Eve turned out to be socks.
“So,” Don said when he’d finished speaking, “besides having hot chocolate and cookies, what do you normally do on Christmas Eve?”
“We bake the cookies,” Clara explained, somewhat defensively, and Don raised his hands in mock surrender just to make her laugh. “And we drink the hot chocolate at the same time. And we play the local radio station and listen to all the Christmas songs, which are usually terrible but we don’t mind, and then we all sit down to watch White Christmas.”
“I’ve never seen it,” Don declared. His eyes were alight with mischief, like he knew this would outrage her.
“What?!” Clara exclaimed, outraged. “You’ve never seen White Christmas?!”
“Never.”
“Don!”
“Clara!”
“You have to watch it!” she exclaimed. “If it’s on Netflix then we’ll watch it together when we get back to the room.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Don replied, grinning.
Clara and Don remained in the coffee shop for a long while after that - until it closed, in fact - talking and laughing and eating so many cookies they felt sick afterwards. When Frank finally asked them to leave so that he and the other workers could clean up - “The sooner we clean up, the sooner we can get home, that’s what I always say!” - Clara and Don exchanged a look, then had to look away before they laughed, then pulled their coats back on and headed back out into the cold.
Somehow, and she had no idea how, Don had managed to raise Clara’s spirits. He had managed to work miracles. Before, she’d felt so sad she might just have cried her way through the rest of the night. Now, she followed him through the snow with a smile on her face and, when he was distracted telling her about the gift he’d forgotten to buy for one of his sisters, Clara bent down and scraped up some snow, then pelted it at the back of his head.
“What the fuck?!” Don exclaimed when the snowball made impact. He smacked a hand against the back of his head and whirled around, not registering quite yet what had happened, before his eyes found Clara, doubled over and laughing, and he came to understand his situation. “Oh, it’s on,” he vowed.
Clara bent back down to make a new snowball as quickly as she could but her laughter slowed her down. Before she had even stood back upright a snowball hit the side of her face, and she shrieked, hastily rubbing it away. “It’s so cold!”
The next instant, she threw her new snowball at Don with all of the force she could muster and threw herself back down to the ground to form another, then was hit by two consecutively in her distraction. “No!” she cried.
They threw snowball after snowball at each other before running out of good snow on this side of the street. The both of them ran further up the street, collapsing to their knees to form their next weapons, but when Clara jumped up to throw her next lot of ammunition at Don her ankle gave way.
“Oh shit!” Don shouted. He was with her in an instant. “What happened?”
All of the air had left Clara’s lungs in one great big gust. She couldn’t seem to get any oxygen in, was gasping and sputtering as she tried to breathe.
“Clara?” Don asked, a note of urgency in his voice.
“Did I snap it?” she asked when she finally had enough breath to speak. “Did I snap my ankle?”
Very carefully, Don uncurled her leg and drew down her sock. Clara hissed anyway.
“No,” he eventually decided. “You didn’t snap it. You probably just tore a ligament or something.”
“Oh my god, it hurts so bad,” Clara said as the adrenaline started to wear off and the pain started to rush in. “God, this day is so fucking shitty!” Just when it was starting to be okay it just had to go and get bad again. Not only was she in pain, she was embarrassed, terribly embarrassed, that she’d fallen right in front of him and now she didn’t think she’d be able to get up without his help. So stupid! How stupid could she get?
“Hey, no, it’s alright,” Don reassured her. He rolled her sock back up and eased both of her legs out in front of her. “It’s not so bad. When we get back we’ll just elevate it and we’ll put some ice on it and you’ll be good as new come tomorrow.”
“Oh my god, Don, it hurts,” she complained, hearing him but not knowing how else to reply to his kindness. And there were the tears again, back with a vengeance. “And I can’t believe I fell in front of you!”
Don laughed and then coughed to cover it. He tried his best to hide his smile. “It’s alright.”
“All of the people in the coffee shop probably saw me!” Clara persisted, sniffling and crying and trying not to sob. Her ankle was throbbing, white hot flashes of pain shooting up her leg, and the snow beneath her was starting to hurt where she was sitting in it. Her head was starting to pound and her stomach starting to turn. “I’m so embarrassed,” she lamented, even when her head began to spin.
“Hey, come on,” Don said, and though she could hear the smile in his voice she didn’t say anything about it. “It’s not embarrassing.”
Clara clapped a hand over her mouth, and then she started to gag.
“Okay!” Don exclaimed, getting out of her way and easing her onto her other hip. “Lean over, there you go,” he advised as guided her into such a position where she wouldn’t get too much vomit on her clothes. He pulled her hand away from her mouth right before she began to throw up, and held her hair back as she did.
“You’re alright,” he soothed as she threw up from the pain. He ran his free hand up and down her back. “You’re okay, Clara. Just let it all out.”
The moment she was done, she sat back up and wiped her mouth, then turned dead eyes on him. “I’m mortified,” she said.
He was powerless to prevent his laugh from exploding out of him.
“Don!” she exclaimed. “Don’t laugh!”
“I’m sorry,” he said, still laughing, his shoulders shaking with the impact of his chuckles. “I’m sorry. I’m trying really hard not to laugh, I swear.”
She had no energy to be angry with him. Instead, she let her head fall back until it rested on his shoulder. “I think you’ll have to carry me back to the hotel.”
Again, he laughed, but it was a lighter sound this time. Gentler. More uncertain. “Everything’s falling into place, isn’t it?” he said quietly.
“What?”
“This is all part of your masterplan,” he explained, “right?”
Weakly, Clara laughed. She couldn’t help it. He’d always known exactly how to make her laugh, even when it was the last thing she wanted to do. “If it is,” she replied, playing along, “I think I’ve gone above and beyond, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah,” he agreed. She could feel him nod where her head was resting so close to his neck. “You’re real dedicated.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
Though she didn’t see it, he smiled.
Her tears had slowed now, thank goodness, and her breath was starting to ease. The cold seeping into her clothes was making her bones ache, as she was sure it was doing to him, too, and she hiccuped as she lifted her head up off of Don.
“You alright?” he asked, rubbing his hand up and down her back again.
She nodded, sniffling and wiping at the tears drying on her cheeks.
“You wanna try to stand?”
Again, she nodded. And, though she tried her very best, she couldn’t.
“Walking on my own is not part of my masterplan, Don,” she informed him when they’d both tried, and failed, for the fifth time to get her to stand.
He laughed, surprised by the joke, and wrapped his arms around her for a single instant. The next instant, however, he withdrew them, as though burned, and sat back from her.
He was horrified. He’d just hugged her, essentially, without consent, without her giving him any sort of indication that she wanted his arms around her. Horrifying. She’d just been too endearing that he’d forgotten himself. He needed to screw his head on straight.
“Okay,” Don said on a long, low exhalation. “I’m gonna lift you up, is that alright?”
“Yes.” Her voice was quiet and her eyes were wide and earnest when she looked back at him. In the light of the streetlights and surrounded by snow she looked like an angel, all soft edges and gentle features, the picture of elegance and grace even if she had just fallen on concrete and hurt herself.
Don nodded and steeled himself, then wrapped his arms back around her and lifted her into his hold. He rose to his feet a little unsteadily, thanking his former self for all of the hours he’d spent working on his upper body strength in the gym, and then began to walk the both of them back to the hotel.
“You’re so nice to me,” Clara mumbled as he walked. Her head was turned at an angle so she was looking at the street ahead of them, though where her arms were coiled around his neck her face was very close to his.
“Are there people who aren’t nice to you?” Don asked. His voice was almost a whisper. It seemed a moment which called for quiet. There was no one else out on the streets, everyone either at home, getting ready for Christmas Eve night, or else fighting their way to a hotel room or a hopefully-not-cancelled flight. Out here, with the snow and the streetlights and the darkness and the stars, it was just the two of them; two plumes of white breath on the air in front of them, two racing heartbeats, one pair of footsteps.
“No one’s as nice to me as you are,” Clara replied.
“They should be.”
“Yeah.” Maybe if they were she wouldn’t love him as much. Maybe if everyone was as singularly sweet as him then she could turn her attention elsewhere. As it was, that had been a losing battle from the day she’d met him and would continue to be for, probably, a good long while yet.
The hotel lobby was still bustling with activity when they arrived inside, but at least it was warm. Clara’s ears were aching with the cold and her nose felt like it was burning. Her fingers, long since buried beneath the collar of Don’s coat, were tingling with the desire for movement and her ankle was starting to really, really, really hurt.
“Alright, trooper,” Don said as they waited for the elevator. “Nearly there now. How’s my brave girl doing?”
Clara thanked the heavens above for the cold, for her cheeks were already rosy and thus disguised the terrible, white hot blush which vaulted into them. “Alright,” she squeaked.
Don wanted to die. He could not believe he’d just said that. How’s my brave girl doing? Really? He wanted to punch himself in the face. Repeatedly. Maybe bash his head on the wall a few times, as many times as it took to forget what he’d just said.
The ding of the elevator arriving was like music to his ears. He all but charged in, grateful for the distraction, pressed the button for floor number three and then hummed so he wouldn’t have to speak.
They were joined by an elderly couple. While the man pressed the button for floor number four, the woman’s eyes widened as she took in Clara, perched in Don’s arms like they were on their honeymoon.
“I twisted my ankle,” Clara hurried to explain. “Or pulled a ligament, or something like that. And I can’t stand up on my own.”
“She threw up,” Don added.
Clara’s eyes shot over to him, wide in her horror.
He flushed under her scrutiny and shrugged. “What? You did.”
It was the longest elevator ride of his life. Three floors and yet it felt like an eternity. When they finally arrived at the third floor he all but sprinted out of the elevator, careful to keep from banging Clara’s feet against the walls.
Their hotel room was warm and familiar and had somewhere soft for Clara to sit down, and she no longer cared that it was a couples’ room. She refused to sit on the bed, since her wet clothes would make the sheets wet, but the armchair suited her just fine. And, true to his word, as soon as she was settled Don headed down to the hotel bar to get some ice for her.
In his absence, Clara tilted her head back until it hit the wall behind her. She breathed a deep sigh. Her foot was throbbing where she had it resting on the bed, she was cold all over, even though the room was warm, she was tired and still felt a little bit sick and her head was pounding and, above all, she missed home. She was supposed to be there by now. It was seven o’clock in the evening on Christmas Eve and she was supposed to be snuggled up on the couch in her living room, watching White Christmas with her mom, her sister, and her dog. But no. She was stuck in a lovers’ room in a hotel room in California, with a sprained ankle or whatever it was she’d done to it and the worst FOMO she’d ever experienced.
But, she reminded herself, at least there was Don. At least the universe had seen fit to line their flights up so they got to the airport at the same time. At least his flight had also been cancelled. And at least he was sunshine personified, kind and selfless and warm and safe. Everything felt just a little less bad because he was experiencing all of it with her.
Although she would never forgive the universe for giving them this room. That was still, and would always be, a sick, sick joke.
Don returned with the ice pack, the big light in the room turning the red strands of his hair to gold, and he took care to place it against Clara’s ankle as gently as he could. After that, he pottered around the room, doing this and that, until he wheeled Clara’s suitcase up to her and presented it, with the zipper undone but the lid closed, to her.
“I thought you might wanna change,” he said, blushing up to his ears, “but I didn’t wanna go through your stuff. So, here.”
Clara smiled and opened the suitcase, and Don looked away as though he was expecting to find all sorts of unmentionables in there. She made quick work of searching for her pyjamas, then sighed as she informed Don that she would need to shower before she could change into them.
So, like a true knight in shining armour, Don set the desk chair in the shower and then carried her in. He shut the door for her to undress and shower in peace, of course, but informed her he was there if she needed anything.
Unbeknownst to the other, each of them had blushed furiously as he’d said as much. They then both quickly set about making themselves busy so as not to have to linger on the thought for too long.
By the time Clara emerged from the shower, hobbling as she attempted to walk on her own, Don had loaded White Christmas up on Netflix on her laptop and was chatting away with what sounded like Skip and Alex on his phone. Clara smiled as she watched him talk, gesturing animatedly with his hands as the three of them argued about something minor, until he saw her in his periphery and his jaw popped open.
“Gotta go,” he hurriedly informed Skip and Alex, fellow co-workers of both Clara and Don, down the phone. A second later, he was on his feet and crossing the room, scooping Clara up into his arms to take the weight off of her ankle.
“You should’ve called me!” he was scolding her as he carried her to the bed and got her settled. He went to fetch the ice, then fretted about whether she needed more, before she laughed and assured him that she was okay and encouraged him to calm down. It took five minutes’ more reassurance to talk him down until he finally, eventually, relented and went to take a shower of his own.
Clara took the time to call Hoobs, who must have been snug at home by now after having taken a few days off of work before Christmas break to ensure he got home on time. You know, like someone smart.
“Clara!” he greeted down the phone when he picked up. “Merry Christmas Eve!”
Clara smiled softly, fiddling with a thread on the bed sheets, before replying, “Merry Christmas Eve, Hoobs.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked. She could hear his smile fade. He always was unreasonably good at puzzling her out, even when their voices were tinny through the phone connection, even when they were on opposite sides of the country.
“I’m stuck in California.”
“What?”
Clara sighed. She explained everything to him as quickly as she could - the delayed flights, the hotel, the coffee shop, the snowball fight, and finally the ankle - and he listened well, never once interrupting, until she exhaled to let him know she’d finished.
He paused, silent on the other end of the line.
“Hoobs?” Clara asked warily, checking to make sure he was still there.
He inhaled, and then…
He burst out laughing.
Clara scowled. “Stop laughing!”
He only laughed harder. “You must have the worst luck of anyone on the face of the planet!”
“Hoobs!”
“Or the best,” he went on, undeterred by her admonishment. “You and Malark in a couples’ hotel room. There’s only one bed but it’s mighty cold outside…”
“Stop!”
“One thing might lead to another, and then…”
“You are the most unsupportive best friend in the world, you know that?” Clara asked, though there was no real bitterness in her voice. It was impossible to stay mad at Hoobs for long.
“Whatever you say,” he drawled in reply, still grinning. “You have a nice night, though, alright? Wrap it up and all that.”
“I’m hanging up now,” Clara told him, cringing at the innuendo.
Hoobs laughed. “Merry Christmas, Clara.”
She smiled, sighing quietly to herself. “Merry Christmas, Hoobs.”
Don emerged from the bathroom just as she was putting her phone on charge, a cloud of steam from the shower following him out. His hair was wet, some of the bright red strands hanging in his eyes, and his pyjama shirt was sticking to him in certain places where he hadn’t dried all of the water off of his skin. He ran his hands through his hair to push it back from his face, oblivious to the eyes on him, and Clara turned scarlet. Her breath had stopped entirely, gotten stuck somewhere in her throat, and it was all she could do to drag her eyes away from him the instant before he looked over at her.
“Who was on the phone?” he asked casually, crossing the room to sit in the armchair by the window.
“Hoobs,” Clara replied quickly, perhaps too quickly, her voice perhaps too strained. “He went home early so he’s having a great time back in Ohio, the lucky bastard.”
Don cracked a smile at this. “Must be nice.”
Clara hummed her agreement.
“So,” Don said next, his eyes on her laptop, “are we ready to watch the movie?”
Clara’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm which she tried her best to stamp out. “You don’t have to watch it,” she assured him.
He frowned. “I want to.”
She brightened again, and his heart lifted. Such a beautiful smile.
“Okay,” she chirped. She shifted along on the bed and let him retrieve the laptop. When he had settled, somewhat awkwardly, beside her, he set it on his lap and pressed play.
Clara fell asleep twenty-five minutes in.
Don had no idea what to do.
This position he was in was incredibly uncomfortable. His thighs were burning where his legs were extended out in front of him, and his left shoulder blade was digging hard into the bed frame. His arm felt awkward where it was trapped beneath Clara, but he wouldn’t dare to move it. She was sleeping so peacefully, her chest rising and falling in an even rhythm, her cheek pressed to his chest and her arms wrapped around his middle. She’d only moved there after she’d already fallen asleep but the thought that she was seeking comfort from him still made him feel warm inside. So he would not move. Under any circumstances. He would stay like this for as long as she needed to sleep, even if that was until tomorrow morning. He would wake up stiff as a board if he needed to if it meant he got to leave her undisturbed, snuggled up to him and dozing on his chest.
But Clara woke with a start just before the movie ended. She sat up, then winced as she disturbed her ankle, then glanced at Don, then frowned.
He expected an apology, even though he really didn’t want one, or at least a sheepish smile before she scooted further away from him on the bed, reestablishing their personal space. What he didn’t expect was for her to snuggle right back in again, nuzzling into his neck and twining her hands in his pyjama shirt, before immediately falling back asleep.
He could feel his heart racing in his chest.
She must have only been half awake, he realised, when she’d sat up. She certainly hadn’t been thinking straight. But even in her half-conscious state she’d felt comfortable and safe enough to snuggle right back in again, cuddle up to him like it was the most natural thing in the world. And, he realised, it really did feel right. It felt so natural to have her sitting like this, and so easy, that he let his arms wrap around her and keep her close.
At some point he fell asleep like that, too. Into a deep sleep, in fact. The laptop was left to cycle through episode after episode of some Spanish TV series Clara must have been halfway through watching while they settled in close to each other, shifting and adjusting until they were both curled into each other.
It was 6am on Christmas morning when Clara woke. She startled, forgetting where she was for a moment, before settling again when she remembered. Then she startled again, because why was she cuddling Don Malarkey like he was her boyfriend? And why was he cuddling her back? And how had they landed themselves in this position? And was her laptop playing an episode of Élite?
Don groaned and mumbled something, starting to rouse, and Clara shifted away. Or, rather, she attempted to. His arms - damn those muscles! - curled tighter around her waist and became as solid as concrete, not letting her go anywhere, and after a fruitless struggle she conceded and sagged against him.
“Merry Christmas,” he mumbled sleepily into her hair.
Clara blinked. “Merry Christmas.”
“Your hands are so cold.”
Her hands were beneath his shirt, holding onto his back.
“Sorry!” she squeaked, immediately withdrawing them.
He groaned a complaint. “What’re you doin’?”
Her eyebrows furrowed. Did he know who he was talking to? If he didn’t, she’d be mortified. Even more mortified than she’d been last night, when she’d fallen over and then vomited. Oh, god, had that really happened?
“Don,” Clara began tentatively, pushing her memories of last night away, “it’s me,” she informed him. “It’s Clara.”
“Clara,” he repeated. There was a lazy smile in his voice. He nuzzled into her hair. “Merry Christmas, Clara.”
“Merry Christmas, Don,” she repeated, her voice slow and confused. “Do you want me to move?”
“No.” In fact, those arms of steel of his only tugged her closer. “Want you to stay.”
“I’m probably heavy -”
“You’re perfect.”
“You’re… asleep?”
“I’m - oh.”
He was finally starting to wake up properly.
“Hi,” he muttered. “Sorry.” And then those warm arms were gone. Even though she’d been campaigning for their removal, Clara missed them immediately.
“Hi,” she replied, sheepish, as she shifted a little away from him in the bed.
“Is someone speaking Spanish?”
“It’s Netflix,” Clara explained. “We left it on last night by accident after we fell asleep.”
“Right.”
He was blushing so hard his cheeks were on fire. How long had he been imprisoning her in his iron grip before he’d woken up? Just when everything started to go smoothly he had to go and stuff it up again. Idiot! She was probably desperately searching for an excuse to get away from him without seeming rude.
On her side of the bed, Clara was desperately searching for an excuse to get him to hug her again. She was so cold and her ankle still hurt something fierce and was it too much to ask to have a proper, awake, hug on Christmas Day?
“I should probably shower,” Don said awkwardly into the silence.
Clara’s eyes fell resignedly shut. Of course he didn’t want to hug her again. How many times did she need to be told he didn’t like her like that? Jesus.
“Okay,” she mumbled in reply.
A moment later, he pushed himself up from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom with his suitcase.
Clara buried her face in her pillow and groaned.
Her family wouldn’t be awake yet and neither would Hoobs, so she couldn’t call anyone. And she couldn’t get up from the bed to start creating an outfit because her ankle was still… Well, whatever it was. And she couldn’t reach her bag to retrieve her hairbrush or her deodorant or anything.
So, on her first Christmas morning away from home, Clara simply lay in bed, staring at the love hearts painted onto the ceiling of this couples’ room she was sharing with a man who didn’t love her, at least not like that, trying to pretend that everything would be alright.
After Don was finished in the bathroom, he carried her in and then brought in her bags, too, and she got ready as best as she could. She brushed her teeth and showered and did her hair and even put on some makeup, a last ditch attempt to make herself feel better, before changing into the outfit she’d intended to wear at home on Christmas and mourning the fact she wasn’t there as she looked at herself in the mirror. When she hobbled back out again Don was lingering by the door, his hands buried deep in his pockets, and his face lit up when he saw her before he squashed the expression in place of concern.
“Stop trying to walk!” he scolded, crossing the short distance between them and sweeping her up into his arms. He was so perfectly the picture of the male romantic lead in a Christmas romcom, standing there with his hair combed, wearing his jolly Christmas sweater, that she actually wanted to sob. Anyone else might have landed in this situation and ended up with a boyfriend, but all she was going to get was a heart even more irreparably broken than it already had been.
“Should we get room service?” Clara asked quietly as he shifted her in his arms.
“No,” he replied, “I’ll carry you downstairs. We can go see all the Christmas decorations. I’ll bet it’s damn festive down there.”
Clara let her head fall to rest on his shoulder. “Okay,” she replied, too tired to argue.
The hallways of the hotel had been decorated overnight to be even more festive than they had been the night before; green wreaths with fake snow and white berries hung on each door, and great big red bows had been tied to all of the lights set into the walls. In the elevator, there were even snowflakes painted onto the mirror, and Clara smiled as Don turned them both to show her, looking instead at his awed smile and not really noticing the pretty snowflakes at all.
The hotel restaurant was almost empty at this time in the morning, and Clara and Don got their pick of the tables. Clara picked one on the edge, close to the window so they could see the snow outside, and he set her down in one of the chairs before asking her what she wanted from the breakfast buffet, and then retrieved it dutifully.
When he sat down with his own plate, he grinned at her for a moment. “Festive, huh?” he asked, his eyes hopeful as he sought her approval.
Clara smiled back at him. “Very,” she agreed. “It’s really pretty.”
“What do you wanna do today?” he wondered around a mouthful of waffle.
Clara considered the question while she chewed on a strawberry. She didn’t want to be a downer, but most places they could have gone would be closed, and with her ankle…
“How about,” Don began after a moment’s consideration of his own, “we see if the hotel has a spare wheelchair or something, and then we go for a walk? How’s that? We can find a nice little park and I can sit in your lap while we feed the ducks.”
Clara couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re made of sunshine, do you know that?”
He grinned, but his eyes were surprised. “What?”
“Nothing ever gets you down,” she explained. “It’s one of the first things I loved about you. The whole of last night and this morning I’ve done nothing but complain but here you are, making plans and being wonderful, because that’s just what you do. You’re made of sunshine.”
He smiled wide. “You’re made of sunshine,” he corrected.
She shook her head. “Nope.”
“Yeah.” He leaned over the table between them and pointed his fork at her. “You are. You’re allowed to have a bad day and be mad about it. And, by the way, you haven’t complained about that ankle even half as much as I would’ve if it was me. So, you know, I think you need to cut yourself some slack. I’ve caught you smiling more than you probably realise over the last twelve hours.”
Clara dropped her chin to her chest, smiling and blushing and not knowing what to do with herself. “I was only smiling because of you,” she muttered, then shovelled a huge mouthful of scrambled eggs into her mouth.
She wouldn’t dare look at him, couldn’t have even if she’d wanted to.
Out of her line of sight, Don was full on beaming, awed by her confession as he gazed at her adorably flushed cheeks. “Well, if you were smiling ‘cause of me then that was only ‘cause I was happy about getting to be with you.”
Clara sighed silently. Once she’d swallowed her eggs, she said, “You’re so kind to me.”
His smile softened, recalling how she’d said something similar last night. “You’re just the kind of person who inspires kindness, I guess.”
Clara steered the conversation to different topics after that, because as much as his compliments filled her with warmth, they also made her heart ache, knowing he was only being nice. They talked about their families and about work and about their favourite Christmas movies, and then talked a little about how good those cookies had been last night. Before long, Clara was paying for breakfast - she had insisted, since Don had paid for everything else - and then Don was scooping her back up into his arms and heading for the lobby, ready to demand a wheelchair if they had one.
The hotel did, in fact, have a wheelchair to hand, and the man behind the counter looked too disgruntled at having to work on Christmas morning to bother to ask them why they needed it. As soon as Clara was settled into it, Don steered her outside and they began their hunt for a park, preferably one with a pond.
The streets were empty, as quiet as a ghost town, and the fresh snow from last night crunched underfoot. Their progress was slow, since the wheels of the chair didn’t want to push through the snow all that easily, but it gave them time to talk and look around. In the houses they passed they heard the muted sounds of Christmas joy, children screaming about their gifts and parents telling them to be quieter, televisions playing Christmas movies or else radio stations cranked up loud to play Christmas songs.
The sky above them was just starting to turn blue as the last of the orange of sunrise chased the night away. The sun was warm even though the wind was biting, and when Clara glanced around at Don she found him with a pink nose and rosy cheeks, his hair windswept, grinning at the world like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to be living in it.
The park they stumbled upon didn’t have a pond but it did have a lake. Don pushed Clara as close to its edge as he dared, setting the wheelchair beside a bench and sitting down beside her. There was a huge tree beside the bench, its branches stretching over their heads and sheltering them some from the harshness of the wind. And they sat there in perfect silence, staring out at the lake and the swans on the far side of it, both of them wondering how to express just how happy they were to be sharing this moment with each other but finding themselves too embarrassed to ever actually say anything.
Clara opened her mouth to remark on two of the swans, who were swimming together in the lake with their heads bowed together, creating a heart out of their necks. She was intending to make a joke about all of the heart-shaped decorations they’d come across since leaving the airport yesterday, first the hotel room and now these swans, when a bird landed on the branch above her head. She looked up and smiled, watching the robin hop idly across the branch.
Until it jumped onto the space right above her head and sent snow crumpling into her face. “Oh!”
Don laughed loudly when he saw what had happened. He helped her clean the snow off, still laughing all the while, then looked up to see where the robin had gotten to.
His smile faded.
“What?” Clara asked, following his gaze.
“Mistletoe,” he murmured, flushing crimson.
And, indeed, on the branch above the one which was now empty of snow was tied a cluster of mistletoe. And it was tied there directly above both of their heads, a warning and a promise in one.
“Mistletoe,” Clara breathed.
Don’s eyes sought hers and found them already waiting for him. His breath caught in his throat.
“Do you…” he started, and trailed off. He was finding it a little difficult to breathe, having her so close.
“Do I…?” she asked.
It was the hope in her voice, the tiny smile wanting so desperately to tug at her lips, that got him to finish the question. “Do you believe in traditions, Clara?”
She laughed, a gentle, tinkling sound, and it filled him with warmth from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. “Absolutely,” she replied. “Do you?”
“Of course,” he replied, starting to grin. He tried to hide it, because this was a moment for being smooth, not for grinning like he’d just won the lottery, but he couldn’t help it. Whenever she was around he wanted to grin.
“What’s the mistletoe tradition again?” Clara asked softly, gazing at him with wide, doe eyes. Because she wanted to be sure that he was sure, wanted to give him a way to get out of this if he wanted to.
He lifted a careful hand and rested it against her cheek. “I’ll show you, if you want.”
Clara nodded, her breath caught in her throat. “I’m a practical learner,” she said.
He laughed, and then he kissed her. Softly, slowly, very, very gently. And for the first time she really did feel like she was made of sunshine, as he had insisted she was.
The kiss went on and on, becoming more insistent when they each gained confidence. There was less uncertainty, now, as he lifted his other hand to bring her face closer to his, as she placed both of hers on the back of his neck to keep him there. And he only pulled back when he needed breath, only to have it stolen away again by how she was looking at him, content and surprised and so, so beautiful he wanted to remember this moment forever.
“Was that… alright?” Don asked after a beat, still just a little bit uncertain.
Clara laughed softly. “Well, you have to kiss under the mistletoe, that’s what I always say,”
Don laughed and smiled widely. “Can I tell you something?”
“Anything.”
“I’m so glad your flight was cancelled.”
Clara smiled. “I’m so glad your flight was cancelled.”
Don smiled sheepishly. “My fight wasn’t cancelled.”
“What?!”
“When the girl you love ends up stranded on Christmas Eve, you don’t leave her to spend the holidays alone,” Don said. He held his breath in the wake of his confession until he watched the biggest, most beautiful smile light up her face. “At least,” he added, reaching for her hand and weaving their fingers together, “that’s what I always say.”
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hello! Id like to ask if you can describe what are the layers Luo Binghe (thai version) from SVSSS are wearing? Im having troubles the one with the collar im on a budget and I wanna cosplay him thanks a bunch!
Hello,
Happy to hear you are looking to cosplay LBH! Ah, the very pretty but complicated Thai cover artwork. . . this one makes me groan at how intricate it is. I screen shot this from the SVSSS carrd.
There is a lot of layer action going on. Kityone, an amazing soul, did great work to remove text from more official artwork for the Thai editions.
This is the only full length shot of Binghe’s outfit I could find.
kityone, did a spectacular job; when you click on the image you can zoom in!
Layers 1.) Zhong yi layer 1- innermost layer - black. I’d pick a cotton or linen fabric for this. You are looking at one that is very slim fitting. The Hanfu Story sells them as well to give you an idea for cut; see here
2.) Zhiju layer 2 - straight hem robe - black with narrow sleeves. It has what I think is an ‘artistic/anachronistic’ high Mandarin-ish style collar. The Erha manhua/artwork does this all the time. It seems to be a thing for xianxia attire. It is hard to find info on this in English, so, I could totally be wrong. I can only find that type of collar on vintage patterns - think cheongsam/qipao or maybe Qing historical garments. I’d personally copy the cheongsam/qipao collar as a base pattern and then modify it to match the hanfu style. I know this is a huge shortcut but it makes sense in my mind. Do a mock up with scrap fabric. 3.) Zhuji layer 3 - straight hem robe with red neck placket and red sleeve cuffs. I think this has shorter sleeves that fall just past the elbow (3/4 length?) and are super wide. [cries in sheer yardage] The sleeve looks like it almost reaches mid-calf or lower. I think it is supposed to be imperial/royal level - like the looooong sleeves you see in Nirvana in Fire worn by the princes when they attend court. The neckline is a deeper V and I think a good reference for the cut is from the cdrama My Heroic Husband with the MC, Ning Yi. His outfits frequently have this style which makes a clear X across the chest. The blue/teal one in the middle is the best match and seems to fall in the right spot on the chest.
4.) Belt with long fabric strip/accent. I have no idea what the large silver belt buckle is supposed to look like - we don’t have good enough detail and resolution. However, we can see that there is a long strip of red fabric that falls from the waist down the front to the feet almost. On top of the red fabric is a fancier accent piece in black with silver trim and tassels. I think it is a mix of these accessories from LBH and SQQ in the Korean cover here. With the shape of SQQ’s being a slightly better match - minus the tasseled pendant.
5.) Banbi jacket/coat - white with red trim and “artistic” choice collar. The jacket is a short sleeve one with a red cuff/trim that is clearly an under layer but I would attach it to the white jacket to make my life easier and less sweaty. The popped collar baffles me - is it sort of like a jacket with a lapel-ish collar? It gives me vibes of the jackets that Sakamoto and Takasugi wear in Gintama and shogunate officials which are also anachronistic by design in a series like Gintama. Or maybe a better comparison is the donghua for Thousand Autumns and Yan Wushi’s open collar layer?
It looks like the neck placket itself is thick in the middle and normal on the outside. I’ve attempted to make a quick example of what I think this looks like here.
I think this is what I would do to sew it onto the jacket and make sure to add interfacing and iron it well. I would do these five layers if I wanted to cosplay this LBH outfit. The zhong yi layer is really important since that is where you are gonna sweat the most, I found it worked well with my 13 hours of WKX with a wig in LA having to stand outside in lines in the summer temps. Good luck!
#answered asks#ask#hanfu pattern#mens hanfu#stylized hanfu#luo binghe#lbh#svsss#svsss clothing#lbh cosplay#luo binghe cosplay#diy#xianxia hanfu
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hello! hi! i'm starting to learn that updating two fics in one day is a little bit too much. i was gonna post this on monday but then I got distracted so. here’s a midweek update. :)
me, wondering why I don’t have notes on the new chapter: why am I not—oh. oh it’s still in the drafts
is there perhaps a plot hole i forgot to cover up? maybe! (definitely actually but it's more like a slip of the... fingers?) anyways it contributes to the mystery so it's fine! probably. word count: 1,688 it’s babie rating: T, each chapter rated individually warnings: talks about last murder, Jane being a menace, lmk if I should add anything else!
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𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕰𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙: 𝔇𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔬𝔫
As soon as you're out of the building, you feel the need to ask. Instead, restrain yourself. Word it differently.
"It feels like you're starting to believe me." Clutch the strap of your bag to your chest. Mr Jane's mouth twitches in a way you don't recognize. You can't tell what it means.
"There's still no such thing as psychics," he replied evenly. Looks sideways at you, considers you for a moment. Opens the passenger door of the car for you. "Doesn't mean I have the answers to everything. Probably." You scoff and drop yourself into a passenger seat that is becoming far too familiar.
You still have no idea where you're going. It's a struggle, initially, not to ask. Once you get to talking about the music on the radio, you're fine. You have something to talk about, take your mind off things. Talk about the musical arrangement, your favourite score composers, instruments. Remember that one time, the first time, you went to see a symphonic orchestra, and how you cried like a child. You were twelve, okay, yes, but still.
You're nervously rambling and you know it. Jane doesn't point it out. Indulges you with a few hums and questions here and there. For the better part of the car ride, however, you try to nap. Once you've exhausted yourself of conversation, you realize you've had... not much sleep. Eyes feel dry, throat feels sore and legs feel stiff.
Thankfully, you don't dream.
Somehow, you manage to wake up a few minutes before you arrive. Wherever it is you're being taken to. Glance at the dashboard clock; nearly four hours have passed. Vaguely remember Mr Jane driving northbound. Most likely far past Yuba by now. You feel a small sense of disappointment. You honestly thought there was a chance you might be going home.
You get the very distinct feeling that where you're going is nowhere near as pleasant.
"Welcome back among the living," is what Mr Jane greets you with when you sit up straighter. You stifle a yawn; look out the window, and glare. Rain. Perfect. The sky had seemed clear when you left. Four hours is a lot of time for weather, apparently.
"Should I even bother to ask where we are?," you ask, tired, rubbing your eyes. Not sure if they feel any less dry than before.
"No point in it," comes a pleasant, chipper reply. It almost rubs you the wrong way.
A quick look around reveals that you're driving along a coastal highway. The 1, if you had to guess. Mr Jane seems resolutely staring off to the left. Not sure if he's looking for a house or out at sea.
"Fun fact, this little corner of Mendocino," he starts, and you sit straighter. At least now you have a name. "Is referred to as Slaughterhouse Gulch. Just makes you want to take a vacation here, doesn't it?"
A shiver runs down the back of your neck. "Oh, yeah, absolutely. Want to raise a family here," you deadpan. What kind of genius names a place Slaughterhouse Gulch?
Mr Jane almost snickers at your disdain. You huff, pull out your phone, and begin to google. There are a ton of useless links to maps of the area. A few to places completely out of state. (Of note is the Slaughterhouse Gulch haunted house, which you promptly frown at. Not what you're looking for.)
The rule of thumb is that if it isn't on the first page, try searching something else. You click on to the next page anyways. More maps. Nothing useful. Only on the fourth page do you find a link to an article written in the early 2000s.
There isn't much detail, but there's enough to make you uncomfortable. The Gulch was the hunting ground for a presumed serial killer. Women went missing every few months over the course of four or five years. The latest missing person reported dates back to 2003. For two years investigators followed less than solid leads, until the trail eventually went cold. Nothing to find, nothing to do.
"Anything interesting?" You just about jump out of your skin. Jane actually chuckles nervously before apologizing. "Geez, someone's a little jumpy."
"I was shot yesterday." Hold your hand to your chest to steady your heart and your breath.
Mr Jane seems to consider his words. "So?" You blink at him. "What did you find?" He keeps his eyes on the road. Looks to be ready to take an off ramp. Marvelous.
Shake your head, flip your phone around in your hands. "There's not much to find," you answer after a while. You determinedly keep your gaze on your feet. "Something about a serial killer that no one ever caught. Has a weird MO, only goes for women, used to take them from the Gulch until 2003, then nothing."
The silence coming from the driver's seat leads you to believe you should continue.
"Then there's... whoever's been taking people around the south?" Bite the inside of your cheek, when something strikes you. You frown. "Wait. Doesn't she seem to stick to the shore?"
"Not a bad guess," is Mr Jane's reply. A small bit of pride swells in your chest. Make quick work of rationalizing it away and ignoring it. "Why do you think?"
It takes a little bit for you to come up with an answer. By the time your thoughts are sorted, Mr Jane is weaving through narrow roads, slowly approaching the shore and its properties.
"I'm not sure. The bodies of the women that disappeared before 2003 were never found, right?" You get a short nod. "Maybe to drop them in the ocean..?" You trail off, resume biting the inside of your cheek.
You honestly feel like a clueless child trying to impress a grandparent. There can't be any way any of what you’re saying hits anywhere close to the mark. You have no background in criminology (high school classes in civil rights and law don't count, and you know it) and you have very little experience in criminal psychology, let alone profiling.
You have no idea why a consulting mentalist is asking you anything.
"I know that look," Jane says. When you turn to look at him, his eyes are still glued to the road. "You're smarter than you think. Miss Benraft. So tell me, why do you doubt that the bodies were dropped in the water?"
That he could sense your unease with your own statement is troubling, but that, too, you ignore. "Unless they were, uh. Disposed? Further from the shore? The current would just beach their bodies, right? So someone would have found something by now."
Again. Ignore the pride from the smirk you get. You look down at your phone's dark screen.
"I'm missing something super obvious right now, aren't I."
It's not a question. "The most obvious thing," Mr Jane answers anyway.
You sigh, close your eyes, hang your head. Your mind is too far into crevices, you know. You wouldn't be able to look at the bigger picture here if it hit you in the face with a truck.
When the car slows, and Mr Jane shifts down, you look up and out. The sight of a pale yellow house makes your stomach turn. Taste bile in the back of your throat. You do your best imitation of someone who isn't terrified.
"This isn't the cabin I saw, though."
Jane sighs, almost wistfully. "Dreams are a projection of the subconscious mind, Miss Benraft. What you saw was what you think is a comfortable, warm home. This," he waves at the custard coloured house. "Is probably someone's idea of comfort. God knows it isn't mine, either. But what can you do." Punctuates the end of his sentence by parking the car. You grab his shoulder before he can get out.
"Wait! Wait. What is this place? I don't—who lives here? Are we allowed to go in?" You get a wolfish grin as a reply before Mr Jane pulls himself away from you and out of the car.
You make a cursory attempt at steadying your breathing before climbing out. Wasn't very successful. Rake your nails against the strap of your bag. Walking up the small stone pathway to the door makes your heart thump increasingly hard against your ribcage. It may not look like the cabin in your dreams, but the visceral feeling of dread remains the same.
Mr Jane stops at the door, looks left and right (you don't like that at all) before kneeling in front of the door. You crowd him instantly, try your best to cover what he's doing.
"What the hell are you—what are you doing?" Frantically look around you. The whole street seems deserted; no cars in any driveways, no one walking around. The anxiety doesn't leave you regardless. "Are you actually allowed to do that? What the hell, are you a locksmith?"
A bark of laughter. Alright then, not a locksmith. "It's not illegal if we're not caught, right?" he offers you, standing up and turning to face you.
He is instantly five miles too close to you. Takes a second for you, long enough to think that Mr Jane probably hasn't shaved in a day or two, before you practically leap out of your skin. His chuckle isn't as carefree as it usually sounds. You don't bother to steady your breathing this time. Make a note to maybe go on a date soon. You probably need it.
The door opens soundlessly, signs of a property well maintained. A question pops up again.
"Wait, are we supposed to be here? Does anyone live here?" Look around; you notice the distinct lack of a "FOR SALE" sign on the lawn. Panic rises in your throat.
Mr Jane waltzes into the home without looking behind him. "Probably. Doesn't really matter; we're just going for a stroll on the beach." Through a house. That is presumably owned. And lived in. You dither at the door before stepping through the threshold.
You can only manage an unintelligible groan before crumpling to the floor unconscious.
𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽
@fucklife-or-me @yearningforsappho
#honey and the hatchet#fanfic#fanfiction#patrick jane#the mentalist#Patrick Jane x reader#reader insert#guns#the mentalist fanfiction#procedural fic#mystery of week#mentions of murder#mentions of kidnapping#mentions of a lot of crimes tbh#descriptions of dead bodies#AFAB reader
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Chapter 7- The Final Straw
Ch.1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6
——
The final straw, as it turned out, was floating blocks.
“Guys, you gotta come see this!”
Cleo and Michael had been sitting at either end of the grand dining room table in the castle, notes and books spread out all around them, when Joe came barreling in, face pale. For a moment, Michael thought it was just that weird translucence Joe sometimes got at night, but Joe looked unusually frightened. Cleo pulled out her sword and Michael took a notebook, and they followed Joe, who had already run back outside to the courtyard.
“What is it, Joe?” Cleo asked, sword held out, looking all around. It was a peaceful day, relatively, around noon.
“You’re going to think I sound crazy, but I assure you I am not.” Joe gripped the sleeves of Cleo and Michael’s shirts, making them look at him. “You need to come with me to the sand mining desert. I think blocks are levitating.”
“You do sound crazy.” Cleo said. She and Michael nonetheless followed Joe through the nether portal before something in her mind seemed to click. “Wait, why were you mining sand?”
“Okay, maybe I have been moving some walls again…” Joe coughed awkwardly, speeding up just a little bit ahead.
“For goodness sake Joe, I swear to god…” Cleo sighed. “These blocks better be actually leaving the damn ground.”
They emerged through another portal and ended up in the blinding heat of a desert. It was very flat, and the sand seemed to stretch on forever.
“Okay, just look straight ahead. I swear I saw it!” Joe shaded his eyes with his hand.
“Joe, you probably just hallucinated- holy shit!” All three of them gasped as they watched a block of sand rise up from the ground, hover there for a few moments, and then sink back down.
“What?” Michael whispered, looking around frantically. “Wait look! Off in the distance! Another one!”
“I see two over there!” Joe cried, pointing. “It’s like someone invisible is trying to decide what block to take!”
The ground suddenly shook violently beneath them, followed by the gut-wrenching sensation of flying off of the ground and into the sky.
“Oh my god.” Michael said softly. “The moon isn’t going to stop, is it?” He hit the ground, but found it hard to get up. He was shaking- this wasn’t fun anymore, and just now was it fully starting to hit him- these people were going to actually die. And he had no way to stop it. No one did.
He looked to his friends, but Cleo and Joe were looking at each other, and it was in this moment that Michael fully appreciated that these two were lifelong best friends. The silent conversation they were having was intense, and must have been meaningful, because they both turned to Michael, Joe with a twisted, unhappy look, and Cleo with set resolution.
“Michael, you have to go.” Cleo said firmly.
“What?” Michael looked back and forth at the two.
“I think it’s time for you to go back to your home and your radio station.” Joe replied softly.
“It’s getting too dangerous. We can’t have you getting hurt in a place you don’t belong.” Cleo added. “Let’s go find X and get you admin-ed out of here.”
“Wait, no!” Cleo and Joe went through the portal, and Michael followed after. “Guys! This is serious! I can’t leave now! I want- I need to help! I can’t just abandon y’all now!”
“Where is X’s portal again, Joe?” Cleo asked in a clipped tone, ignoring Michael.
“Just here.” Joe said miserably, also not looking at Michael. He stepped through another portal, with Cleo on his heels, and Michael stumbling after them.
“Xisumavoid? Are you here?” Joe called over Michael’s “guys, wait!”s. There was no response.
“Ugh! Guys, look at this!” Cleo called from another room, and Michael followed Joe despite his current strife. She was standing in front of a pile of wet pink stuff on the floor.
“What the hell is that?” Michael asked, disgusted.
“I think it’s pink axolotl skin…” Joe murmured, squatting down and poking at it with a pen.
“Oh my god, you don’t think Evil X, like, disintegrated Xisuma or something?” Cleo asked in horror.
“Wait I thought he just did crypto!” Michael hissed, looking around wildly and raising his sword.
“Evil X, that derpwad? Oh, he’s left! Finally!” A bright, warbling voice came from the front door, and Joe, Cleo, and Michael turned to find a heavily-armored person standing before them, wobbling slightly on his feet.
“Xisuma?” Cleo asked hesitantly, taking a step forward in front of Joe and Michael. “Are you… alright?”
“Oh I’m quite better then alright! I’m back to normal as of about ten minutes ago, quite normal!” Xisuma put a hand to the doorframe to steady himself. “I’m basically back to factory settings, I am! Like it’s my first day on the server- rotten weather for it, huh? It’s reverse-raining out there! Ah, it’s just a pity that the admin powers didn’t get transferred from my axolotl form to this one- I think Evil X took them or something.” Xisuma staggered past them, holding out an arm and running it across the top of Michael’s head. “You look well today, Pearlescentmoon. Keep up the good work, hermits! I’ve been thinking of hitting the nether when things get scary. It’ll be an adventure for sure.”
The three watched Xisuma walk almost drunkenly up the stairs and presumably fall into a bed and fall asleep.
“You know, that wasn’t on my apocalypse bingo card.” Cleo said, blinking quite rapidly.
“Should we… help him?” Joe asked, taking a step towards the stairs. “He seems a little out of it from being factory reset.”
“No, leave him, he’ll be fine. Maybe. The more important thing is- guys, he said he doesn’t have admin powers anymore now that his axolotl form is gone. Oh my god he doesn’t have admin powers. Oh my god!” Cleo took an overwhelmed step backwards, hands in her hair, looking towards Michael in horror.
“Michael… you’re stuck here.” Joe whispered, eyes wide with a horror that was so distinctly human.
“I’m stuck here.” Michael repeated numbly. “Holy shit.”
#September 6 2022#fic#Michael and Joe and Cleo’s super big adventure ft. the moon#michael mcchill#joe hills#zombiecleo#hc8#hc x dsmp#long post
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"Please, keep playing"
This is actually a drawing made based on two fanfics, one by @dorkwolf-marejai, which still hasnt been published, and one by @bernardo-draws-and-cries, inspired by the first one
Here's the link for bê's oneshot, it's really good! I'll share the one made by mari when it's published!
[Click on the image for better resolution]
#trypophobia#toh#the owl house#raine whispers#golden guard#hunter toh#my art#its one of the first few times ive drawn raine and im so proud that i finally figured out how to draw them
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the assistant | kth
banner made by me!
Pairing: Assistant!Kim Taehyung x Boss!fem reader Warnings: 18+ content in the form of: unprotected sex • oral sex (f receiving) • dirty talk & name calling • spitting • creampie • spanking • choking Summary: Kim Taehyung is your assistant and moonlights as a masseuse in the evening. When you came to the office the morning after a bad date, all you wanted is his hands all over your body. Word Count: 3,874 Mobile: AO3
masterlist | one | two
Taehyung snapped to attention when he heard the familiar click of heels on the marble floor. He stood up abruptly, bowing at the woman that emerged through the threshold. Your tan coat perched on your shoulders fluttered as you walked, your hips swaying with every step. You wore a scowl on your face, a rather uncommon occurrence and Taehyung wondered if the date you had the night before was that bad.
You stopped in front of his desk. "Assistant Kim," you nodded, smiling lopsidedly in his direction. "How are you this morning?"
"Very well, madam," he bowed again. He turned around to pick up a stack of papers and you groaned slightly at the amount of work ahead of you. "Here are the Jeon accounts that need reviewing."
He placed the first stack of papers on your hands before grabbing more. "Mr. Jung needs your signature for the transfer and you need to approve Mr. Kim- yes- Mr. Kim Seokjin's time off request." Before you could ask, Taehyung interjected you by adding: "It's his anniversary, madam."
Taehyung prattled on, the mountain of papers growing in your hands. Your phone buzzed twice, signifying an incoming message and your head throbbed. You closed your eyes for a minute. Forcing a smile, you nod at Taehyung, promising that the work will get done before you leave.
As he opened the door to your office, you heard him call your name. He cleared his throat, a blush starting to creep on his features, staring resolutely at the flooring. "How was your date, madam?"
You groaned louder, the headache bloomed mercilessly. You barely started the day and already you wanted to leave. "Messy," was your response.
Taehyung seemed to want to know more but decided against it. Instead, he cleared his throat again, stepping forward and closing the oak door behind him. "Will you be needing my services this evening, madam?"
Your heart quickened at the thought of his hands on your body, stroking it gently the way he only knew how. Your headache disappeared momentarily, replaced by the dizzying smell that came from your assistant's cologne. "Yes," you said, barely a whisper. Taehyung nodded and bowed, politely leaving you with thoughts of his sweaty figure, his touches burning through your skin. All the more reason for you to quickly finish your work.
"Yes!" you cried out euphorically, eyes closing and head thrown back. Taehyung's hands were on your back, pressing gently to get rid of the tight knots that were starting to form while you sat hunched over your computer desk. The nightmare date long forgotten after the busy work day.
"Too hard, madam?"
"Not at all! Assistant Kim, this is wonderful," you drawled, feeling the stress melt away with every press of his hands on your shoulders.
Who knew that Taehyung practiced the art of massages? He was a bonafide masseuse, even receiving an award for his magic hands, you found out only recently. Your friend had badgered you about getting a massage to alleviate the stress from your job before you conceded. She took you to her favourite massage parlor.
"Book Mr. Kim!" she reminded you. "His hands are out of this world."
"A male masseuse? I don't think so," you halted your appointment while glaring daggers at your friend. She rolled her eyes in response, slapping your shoulder gently.
"I'm serious! I'm not doing it," you pouted. Your friend had other plans and booked an appointment for you anyway and you had scowled through lunch with her.
To your surprise, when your scheduled time arrived, for one Mr. Kim, you saw the dark curls that you were far too familiar with. The two of you stared at each other, mouth agape.
"Assistant Kim?" you screeched, your body moving backwards as you took him in. He was in his robes, a small expanse of his exposed chest making you blush.
"Madam?" he called after you. His brown eyes were wide with shock and he dragged his hands through his hair, looking away quickly from where you stood. "I- I'll be your masseuse this evening, madam. I'll be in your care," he bowed.
Your instincts had told you to run but the magnetic tension pulled you in. Within a minute, you were on the massage table, fully clothed of course. It was awkward at first, your subordinate putting his hands on you, they shook while working through every knot on your body. You begrudgingly admitted to yourself that your friend had been right. Regardless of the awkwardness that existed in the room, you were feeling much more relaxed than you've ever been in your life. It's nice letting someone else take charge for once.
Over time, you started to realize what an asset he was and tried to book him at every chance you got. Unfortunately, so did every woman in your city. Taehyung was handsome, there was no doubt about it, his dimpled smile and dark curls could make anyone fall in love with him. Over the past few months, you've lost count over the number of flowers that would be addressed to one "Kim Taehyung" and a myriad of other presents that he tried to discreetly hide from you. It was amusing and better yet, a win-win situation… Taehyung got all the girls' attention and the number of clients you have were doubled in size. You suppose you have his hands to thank.
One drunken night, Taehyung admitted that he had to quit moonlighting as a masseuse because it got too much. It got to a point where he was so uncomfortable that he had to only take married or elderly women. There was no way to confirm if one was married, and his stress doubled, asking pointed questions about their husbands. When it got too much, he tearily handed his two weeks notice, leaving his masseuse days behind. You were heartbroken when he told the story and asked if he would be willing to work "overtime" at your house to cover the cost of living in the city. He was too keen to agree.
"Madam, that'ssa great idea," he slurred his words before falling asleep on his table. You footed the bill that night and helped drag his ass back home.
The morning after was quite unnerving for him, seeing that he woke up on the couch of his boss' apartment, the memories of the night slamming into his head.
"Hangover soup?" you called, startling him. Taehyung winced at your voice but turned towards it anyway. You stood in the kitchen, apron around your waist as your eyes fixed on the pot in front of you.
It was a solemn gesture, a person simply taking care of the other. But Taehyung couldn't help the surge of emotions. His heart beat fast while he looked at you, a sense of longing filling his heart. All he wanted to do was hug you from behind, imagining the life the two of you will lead as he watched you cook in the kitchen.
"Hope you like it spicy!" you laughed, pouring a bowl for him and placing it on the table. "Eat up, Assistant Kim, or it will get cold. We have much to do at work today."
"We do?" he asked blankly.
"Yes, Assistant Kim," you smiled amusedly. "We need to write you a new contract."
Was it a misuse of power? You weren't sure but your worries tend to melt away as he dug his hands all over your back. You even bought him a massage table and you let him have as much access to any items as he may need.
So there you are again, in the middle of your apartment living room, Taehyung's large, veiny hands whisking your knots away as you whine underneath him. You had no idea the growing erection that comes with hearing your moans or the way Taehyung looked at you from behind, trying to keep himself from moaning as his eyes darken with need. You definitely didn't know about the late nights he'd spend after leaving your place, working his way to orgasm after orgasm as he replays the sounds you make in his mind. Taehyung wished every night that you'd understand his feelings, but you go on meaningless blind dates to appease your father and though there wasn't anyone that suited your fancy, he knew it was only a matter of time. There were a lot of rich bachelors out there and Taehyung didn't even graduate college.
Stifling a moan, Taehyung worked his way downwards on your back, squeezing the tense area carefully close to your spine.
"Taehyung," you whined and your eyes snapped open, silently praying that he didn't hear the way his name dripped with pleasure.
Taehyung's hand stilled and you knew you fucked up. You didn't mean to moan, usually saving the time for after he left. You hear his shallow breathing, the only accompaniment to your equally panicked state. You've never called him by his name.
"My name is Kim Taehyung. It's nice to meet you madam. I'll be replacing Mr. Min from now on."
Your first impression of him wasn't great. You thought he was a flirt and would be very poor at his job. His hair was blonde then, a boyish charm still on his face. Taehyung seemed desperate for the job and you purse your lips at his qualifications. It wasn't much, but he stated that he was a hard worker and the references that he brought were stellar. You took a chance on him and you were grateful for that decision.
He proved you right in a matter of a week. Taehyung was respectful to the female clients, even though they tend to dress a bit more provocatively since his arrival. He also spoke two languages, surprising you when he spoke casually to a foreign man, giving him directions. When you asked why he didn't put it in his resume, he simply shrugged.
Your previous assistant wasn't bad, but that was after spending the better part of a decade working for you. Taehyung was able to pick things up in a matter of a month and you were grateful for his attention to detail when it got busy. His briefings were always… well, brief. Taehyung would give you all the necessary info in a span of five minutes. He wasted none of your time and you were grateful.
'Assistant Kim, please help me bring in the coffee for everyone,'
'Assistant Kim, these files need sorting out, would you kindly help me with that?'
'Assistant Kim, would you mind checking on Margaret?'
It was always 'Assistant Kim' this and 'Assistant Kim' that. You've never uttered his birth name, fearing that he'd hear. That he'd know of the nights you'd spend in bed, twisting your body as you came on your fingers, pretending desperately it was his cock instead.
So, now what? You broke your one rule when it came to your assistant. You lay face down, too mortified to get up, knowing the colour of your cheeks weren't pink because of the blush. He'd read you too well.
Taehyung cleared his throat, looking away quickly to a spot on the wall. "Madam, please feel free to get up, I will now take my leave."
You had a few seconds to decide. Would you beg him to stay? Should you laugh and pretend it didn't happen? Should you watch him leave?
You heard him shuffle hastily across your apartment and stopped abruptly to fumble for his things. And you chose. It was the easiest decision in the world.
"Taehyung," you called out again, sitting up abruptly on the massage table. You saw him freeze, turning around slowly. You couldn't go back now. You couldn't hide the feelings that were threatening to burst out of your chest.
"Taehyung, please stay," you tried again, seeing how his mouth opened and closed in shock.
Throwing caution to the wind, you got up and strode towards him, swaying your hips seductively. When you were millimeters apart, you looked up through your lashes, tilting your head slightly. His eyes searched your features for confirmation; that this feeling in his chest matched yours. But the pull was too strong and in a heartbeat, you found his tongue in your mouth, his hands on the side of your face, holding you close.
Taehyung smelled and tasted like heaven. His cologne, a deep woodsy smell, penetrated your nose with every shallow breath you take. His tongue explored your mouth, teasing your own tongue that made you weak in the knees. Needing air, the two of you pulled apart, gasping at the sudden lack of warmth.
You stare at his features, looking for a sign of regret or something worse- hatred. But his eyes mirrored yours in adoration and his hands were reaching for you. You fell to his embrace, his lips on your neck as he lifted you up, moving towards the table, his lips never leaving your body.
He sets you down gently, arms steadying your waist as he ravishes your mouth, nipping your lower lip and teasing your tongue with his.
You moaned wantonly under his grasp, losing all sense of control in an instant. It was his turn to take the reins. You were tired of being in charge all the time. You were pliant under his touch, a trail of fire spreading across your body where he kissed you.
You moaned as his kisses traveled down to your collarbone, his fingers making quick work of unbuttoning your blouse. He left you then, his kisses stopped while he marveled at your body. You glistened under the pale low light, your eyes trained towards him. He groaned at the sight and you were burning once more, feeling a sharp pang of pain as he marked you on the swell of your breasts, unclasping your bra in the process.
"Taehyung-" you gasped when his mouth found your hardened nipple, swirling the bud around his tongue. His fingers pinched the other one, your chest thrusted forward to get more of the sensation.
"I love it when you call me by my name," he growled into your skin. He traveled still, kissing your stomach as he knelt in front of your skirt, salivating at the scent of your wet cunt.
Taehyung dove in, marks bloomed where his kisses landed on your thighs. He ripped your panties, the seams no match for his strength. You keened at the sudden chill, your spine tingling with excitement.
"Look at this cunt, so wet for me," he groaned, teasing his fingers in front of your entrance, coating them in your juices. You buck your hips, grinding slightly on the table, as you hear the normally calm Taehyung so unhinged at the sight of you.
He licked a stripe from your clit to your entrance, nipping lightly at your folds before pushing them apart with his fingers. "Pretty cunt," he murmured as his tongue found your clit, making figure eights on the sensitive nub.
You tug at his hair, the heat spreading through your body as a familiar coil in your stomach forms. His name was a prayer on your lips. "Taehyung- please," you gasp, feeling the familiar edge blooming with each swipe of his tongue.
Taehyung seemed to read your mind and with a chuckle, he slipped a finger inside of you. "Fuck, you're so tight."
His hand found its way to your waist, steadying you once more as you buck wildly at the sensation. When Taehyung slipped another finger in, it took everything in you not to rip his hair off. He was different from your previous lovers, who never took the time to make you feel so good. Taehyung alternated between feeling the sensitive bundle of nerves and scissoring you, preparing you for what's to come.
You had no time to warn him besides a screech, his name in myriads of incoherent sentences. The coil had snapped and you were careening over the edge with pleasure, staining the front of his shirt with your juices. Through it all, Taehyung continued to suck on your clit, his fingers slowing down just slightly to ease you through your orgasm.
"T-Taehyung- ah, please," you whined. Your cunt was spasming with each thrust, gasping for air every time he flicked your clit with his tongue.
Taehyung stopped when he heard your whines, kissing your thighs. He got up and leaned over you, his face glistening with your arousal. His lips were swollen from use. His dark curls were as wild as his eyes. It was going to be a long night.
His mouth crashed into yours, letting you have a taste of your juices. "Open," he commanded and you opened your mouth. He gathered saliva and mixed them with your taste before spitting it in your mouth.
"Taste so good, huh? Yes, you taste so good," he murmured, watching the way you swallow the mixture, moaning when it went down your throat.
He stroked your cheek before his hand danced around your throat, squeezing lightly to experiment. You gasped in a mix of surprise and pleasure. You were discovering a lot of new pleasures.
Your gasp earned a low chuckle from Taehyung as he leaned over to whisper in your ear. "Tell me, and don't try to deny it - " he started, squeezing your throat - "who do you think of when you touch yourself?"
"Y-You," you responded meekly. You were burning from the inside out, an itch you couldn't quite scratch. "I think of you every night."
Taehyung nipped at your earlobe, sending fresh shivers down your spine. His warm breath tickled your neck and you knew instantly. You're completely wrapped around his finger. Pliant, obedient, submissive.
"Naughty girl," he growled.
You were so focused on his hand on your neck and his whispers in your ear that you hadn't realized that his pants were off. You felt the head poking at your entrance, lubricating his length against your pussy.
"Watch my cock fill you up," he commanded, tilting your chin down.
You saw his thick cock, veins running down the shaft, as it glided inside you. You were instantly filled to the brim, your legs shaking as he thrusted, hilting instantly. "Taehyung- ah!" was all you could manage.
"You take my cock so well."
You leaned back on your elbows, waiting for him to move. Taehyung looped his toned arms around your thighs, dragging you into him. He groaned, watching your pussy twitching to accommodate his girth.
He moved slowly at first, his free hand coming to pinch and rub soothing circles on your clit. You sobbed at the stimuli, feeling like you were going to cum any time soon. Taehyung's grip tightened on your neck and he stopped completely.
"Dirty fucking slut," he spat, punctuating each word with squeezes on your throat. Not enough to cut off oxygen, but enough that your eyes started rolling to the back of your head. "You were about to cum, weren't you?"
He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You cum only when I tell you to."
You whimpered affirmations, grinding your pussy into his length. Taehyung's eyes widened at the sight. His boss, someone he greatly admired, was fucking herself into him. Your walls clenched deliciously on his shaft and he groaned, moving to match your rhythm. Your vision swims, stars dancing when you close your eyes, as you feel his pace increasing.
Every slap of skin is punctuated with a growl, his hands digging deeper until you were sure there would be bruises in the morning. Taehyung slowed his thrusts and flipped you over, your feet touching the cold marble floor as your arms brace for impact on the table. He chuckled watching you gasp at the sudden change of position, his cock never slipping out of you. He held your hips once more, squeezing once to let you know he's about to continue. And his brutal thrusts returned, the new position giving him ample access to the deepest part of your pussy.
Your knuckles turned white as you held on the massage table for dear life, moaning expletives at the way he's fucking you. It didn't take long for your stomach to coil, the familiar feeling of your high familiar to you.
"Taehyung," you plead, rutting against his thrusts, your pussy clenching tightly. "Please, can I cum?"
You peeked behind your shoulder to find his devilish grin, before the sting on your ass threw your head back. "Cum," he commanded simply.
With a few more thrusts, you arched your back as you found your release for the second time that night, his name uttered in a million different ways. Taehyung growled as he helped you ease you through your high, never stopping his punishing pace. Seeing your thighs shook was enough for him to hurtle towards his own orgasm, yelping your name as he painted your walls white.
Taehyung fucked you for a little while before gently removing himself from you. "Fuuuuck," he drawled, watching your juices already spilling down the length of your legs.
He regained some of his senses and took the towel hanging from the massage table. It's primary use was to clean off any oil left on your body. But a towel is a towel. Your breath was still ragged, exhaustion settling in your bones as what you just did dawned on you.
You fucked your secretary.
The blush crept up your cheeks and you stayed as still as possible when you felt Taehyung leaned in front of your core, wiping the mess away slowly. You hid your face against your hands as he stood, placing the towel in a nearby hamper you've come to prepare when he comes to your place for a massage.
Taehyung felt the tension radiating from your body and he bit his lip, approaching cautiously after pulling his trousers on.
"Madam? Are you okay?" he asked as he came closer, kissing your shoulder, your blouse folded neatly next to your head.
You stood up quickly, Taehyung jumped back in surprise with a yelp. You turned your eyes slowly to his, a mask of professionalism back on your face. You cleared your throat, shrugging on your blouse as you stepped away from the man.
"That will be all for tonight, Assistant Kim," you called over your shoulder as you walked away.
Taehyung's face fell, unsure of how to proceed. His brows furrowed to the center of his forehead, his mouth gaped open a few times, clearly trying to find the words as you walked away. Your voice rang in his ears and he finally understood that he's been dismissed. As though your activities were a meeting and you were discussing his performance.
Feeling the lump in his throat, Taehyung hurriedly gathered his things, almost tripping when he heard the shower running faintly. He slammed the door on his way out, anger finally rising through his body. He stomped down the stairs of your apartment building, not bothering to take the elevator. Unbeknownst to him, you were watching from your window, your apartment giving the perfect view of the entrance. You watch your assistant punch an electrical pole in frustration and you wonder just how badly you've fucked up.
all works © lavienjin love my work? don't forget to reblog, like, and share! want to know when the newest update comes? join the permanent taglist! Posted on Tumblr: 04.18.21 at 11:11pm CST
#bts scenarios#bts kim taehyung smut#bts v smut#kim taehyung x reader#v x reader#v x army#taehyung x reader#bts x army#bts x you#taehyung x you#taehyung scenarios#taehyung imagines#bts imagines
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safe
part 9 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series
pairing: Francisco (Frankie, Catfish) Morales x reader
wordcount: 2.3k
warnings: none, lots of kissing
summary: it’s a Triple Frontier baseball AU! Trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball.
In this chapter, you discover how truly committed you are to a man you’ve only been on one real date with.
notes: just a head’s up, next week will be the last chapter of this series! I’ll give a proper thank-you then, but I also have a couple (at least three) one-shots in the universe because I... want to. hope that’s okay!
<<
When you were younger and you attended the baseball games under the summer heat with James, you spent more time watching the people in the crowd than the players. Vague knowledge of the rules and even your grandfather’s enthusiasm weren’t nearly enough to keep you interested during the long stretches of advertisements. Now, the moments when Santi was getting strike after strike were exhilarating instead of boring and you grinned with pride, like it was personal each time the ball found it’s home in Frankie’s glove.
This season had been a whirlwind as you began to appreciate the game because of the players, and you didn’t think you had any more room for excitement.
That was, until Francisco’s mother decided she wanted to attend with you and James.
The sweet catcher hadn’t even had time to apologize and offer an alternative before your grandfather stepped in, and the rest was history. You didn’t mind, of course you didn’t, how could you? It was strange, spending time with her so early in the relationship but it made you happy that she was so excited about you. The two of them hung on your elbows, and you laughed at how awkward it made walking through the narrow gap to your seats.
From somewhere in her bag, she produced an entire tupperware of homemade pan dulce, sugar filling the grooves on the bottom, and you settled in. You were fairly sure that wasn’t allowed but you were helpless against her sweet, determined face so it only made sense security would be too.
It wasn’t work, talking to her, she felt like an auntie or a friend’s friend – someone you half already knew, and who certainly knew you. She filled the silence with stories and questions and only heard the first half of your answer before excitedly pointing at her son and his friends on the field. It felt like you were at a kids baseball game, how she clicked her tongue and freely gave them advice as if they could hear her.
At some point, Will stole second base and her and James began a conversation around you. She called them niños and matched your grandfather in her personalized affection for them. You wondered if you should feel guilty for your lingering eyes on the son of the woman next to you, but she half encouraged it, telling you he got his legs from his padre.
When the opposing team was up a point, she muttered pobrecitos and grabbed your hand and prayed for Benny’s next hit.
You caught pieces of Frankie, in her. Or more accurately, you realized what parts of her he had grown into, and learned about his younger self from her eyes and her tone and her smile. Your poor grandfather was probably exhausted but you drank it in.
“Francisco was saving all his money from his work for the neighbors – his team was taking him to watch a game at this very stadium!” Without even looking she handed you a pastry, shaking sugar onto your lap until you took it. “But then his escuela collected donations for the orphanage. I told him, you know? I told him if he gave all his money I couldn’t help him, he wouldn’t get anything from the stadium.”
Her eyes were warm in yours and she squeezed your arm, trying to communicate her pride. “Mi frijol gave it all! And he did not even complain, not even once!” You smiled at her, trying to answer however you could that you understood. Maybe not completely but you saw how much he cared about other people, how hard he tried.
Around the eighth inning, she quieted, smiling gratefully when you produced an extra water bottle. Her hand was soft and maternal as it rubbed your shoulder, a foreign but pleasant feeling.
“His hermana tests him all the time,” she murmured, and you nodded cautiously. When she resolutely added, “You give him strength, hija,” you almost cried right there in the stands.
You settled for covering her hand with yours and squeezing back.
When they won, no one cheered louder, no one was prouder, but you and James gave it your best shot.
-
“So,” Frankie looked at you, his big brown eyes full of questions. Alone, you couldn’t resist him, much more when the rest of them matched his gaze.
You were all at Tom’s rental, unexpectedly. He didn’t tell anyone, but he had burst into Molly’s office, only to find it empty. It had bothered him, and when he was bothered, he took extra effort to pretend that he was not. The new opportunity to spend post-game evenings with decks of cards and childish snacks had already become the highlight to his friends, so he figured he could do that. Just a little bigger, a little better. And it’s not like any of you had enough information to say no.
The elders had long since gone home, and now they all wanted to know what secrets his mother had spilled about them.
You laughed at their faces, feeling a little devious with the power. Before giving anything up, you stuck your tongue out at Santi and meandered to the kitchen, feeling them watch you as your filled your champagne flute with apple juice.
“She didn’t say anything,” you said with exaggerated elegance, lounging against an unnecessary column.
The act broke when you had to dodge a pillow.
“Okay, okay,” you held up your free hand in surrender. You looked at your catcher with a wink before grinning almost maliciously at Santiago. “She told me she had to bring Santi socks twice last season, and one time she saw Benny eat a hot dog off the ground.”
They erupted in teasing and you waited for it to quiet a moment before you added, “And she shared that Tom,” you drew out his name for extra emphasis, “Goes to the same hairdresser as her, and she once threatened to dye Will’s pants pink for calling her ma’am one too many times.” The men were howling with laughter like they hadn’t since college, shoving each other and half tackling one another, shouting their defenses and stories alike.
When Frankie extracted himself he found you curled on the armrest of the couch, watching with amusement. His hair was messed up and his eyes crinkled in the corners. “What did she say about me?” he asked under the noise and he settled next to you, trying to be confidant as he wrapped his arm around you shoulders.
He liked that he could feel your shrug.
“That you’re practically perfect in every way,” you relaxed into him and it felt so natural he could hardly imagine it wasn’t always like this.
-
Francisco was spending his day off with his family, doing some projects around the home, but so it surprised you when your phone rang.
It surprised you even more that it was Benny, inviting you to lunch. Just to talk, I’m not being weird, he said, backpedaling when you teased him about being a little late to ask you on a date. Is that okay? He seemed just a little bit nervous, which made you laugh. Of course, you were more than happy to.
The longer you knew him, the more you understood why they all treated him like a little brother.
He was already at the restaurant – Thai food, his choice – as friendly and kind as the first time you had met him. Unlike then, you weren't even a little bit nervous sitting across from him, despite the glares of the women at an adjacent talking the two of you were still new friends, so it wasn’t quite effortless, by the made up for it with his genuine enthusiasm.
If he had something on his mind, he didn’t get to it right away, the first half of your lunch hour spent talking about you. For how loud his personality seemed sometimes, he was well spike and well mannered, and curious about almost everything. You checked the time, before finally asking if everything was okay with him, and the shortstop ran his fingers through his hair, looking past away.
His foot tapped on the rug, and you used your chopsticks to push your remaining food into a small mound in the middle of your plate.
“I’m paying, by the way,” you looked up, back into his eyes, your own eyebrows drawing together to shake your head.
“I owe you,” he defended himself before you could voice your dissent, and when he added, “for looking out for me,” you softened.
“Relationships aren’t transactional, Benjamin.” It was a gentle scold, true, but relenting.
Broad shoulders shrugged.
“Think of it as a thank you,” he said, and you let him talk. For all that his brother and the guys worried over him, he wasn’t as young and naïve as they thought of him. His eyes and ears were sharp and it’s not like he hadn’t heard the stories, seen what they were protecting him from.
“You help us look after each other,” it was almost like he rehearsed it, and his blue eyes confirmed he had been meaning to say this to you for awhile.
“And you look after me.” That nervousness from before came back, and you wondered if he still hadn’t quite gotten to the part he was meaning to say. Ben launched into a story in between flagging down the waiter and you let him pay, but even when the receipt came, he didn’t stand.
The story stuttered to a halt and you rested your chin in your palm.
“Will and Frankie have been talking about Tom – saying he’s been off.” It was abrupt, and you waited. He was restless, his habit of changing the topic becoming even more prominent. Both of you knew what he meant.
It was messy, hard, existing with them.
“Would you… will you stay?”
There was a burst of warmth in your chest, a wave of affection as if he confessed outright how much you mattered to them.
You stood, smiling and offering your hand, as if he needed help standing.
“Yeah, Ben, what are friends for?”
He looked so relieved that you hugged him. Although, you suspected he would’ve hugged you regardless, if you had given him a moment.
-
After work you had a voicemail and a text from your… from Francisco, and you drove over to his place. Walking up the stairs in the cooling evening air felt strange, like it was humming with potential.
He greeted you with slow kisses, his rough hands wandering your skin and clothes like he was still grasping that you were real. If you could’ve thought, you might’ve wondered why he called you over or looked around his apartment but it didn’t matter because all you could think of what him. The gentle scrape of the hairs on his face over your cheek, your neck, the needy pull of his fingers as he curled his fists into your outer layer.
His mouth, moving in ways you’d thought you’d never quite felt before, leaving you breathless.
It didn’t escalate, neither of you pushing for more, but when he finally moved away, he was pulling you onto the couch and under his arm.
“Hi,” he said, looking flushed and happy, despite the flash of anxiety in his eyes.
“Hi,” you figured you mirrored him, and you let out a rough cough of laughter.
Francisco joined, and your head found a rest on his shoulder, cheek squishing from the closeness. The tips of his fingers wandered over your skin, and it felt like a habit years in the making, to catch up with him about his day, his family. A stretch of silence followed, and your realized he was tired.
“I should probably make you dinner or something,” he whispered, almost to himself, dark eyebrows drawing together. Suddenly you felt shy, aching because you should’ve brought something, should cook or… he was the one who had a long day, but this was his home.
You had memorized the feeling of his hairs on your waist, and yet you didn’t know if he would be okay with you cooking in his home. Actually, you didn’t even know anything about his home.
Looking around, you compromised.
“I’m good, Frankie, I had a big lunch,” taking in the simple furniture and quickly cleaned surfaces, you didn’t notice his head tilt, shoulders rising slightly with tension until you looked back at him. The sweet man had realized he hadn’t heard about that part of your day yet but he didn’t want to pry.
“Benny got me thai food,” you offered, which only increased his distress. Your hand slipped into his as you explained.
“I think he’s just scared I’m not going to stick around,” you sighed, hoping he felt like that was as unlike as you did.
Against your head, you felt him nod, but he didn’t say anything for a moment.
“He’s right, though,” his voice seemed higher, as shy as you’d been a moment ago. “Things with us, with me are… a lot.”
As he always did, he was asking you more than you said, and you wanted to honor it so you though, really thought about what you were getting yourself into.
“Frankie, you told me you wanted me to be a part of your life,” you kissed the corner of his mouth, which pulled as he smiled hopefully. “I want that too, if you’ll be part of mine.”
A little rougher than they’d been before his hands tugged you into him, a solid kiss. No questions were buried in the touch, and it made you feel like you were floating.
Long moments later, you laughed a little, too warm to feel shy.
“Does this make me your novia?”
You weren't sure if the color on his cheeks was warming because of embarrassment that you caught the word in his mother’s talk, or because he hadn’t actually asked yet.
“Yeah,” a final kiss, on your forehead sealed the deal.
And when you moved away, it was to explore his kitchen for something to cook for the both of you.
<<
translations:
pan dulce: pastries
niños: boys
padre: father
pobrecitos: poor babies
escuela: school
mi frijol: my bean
hermana: sister
>>
hija: daughter
novia: girlfriend
taglist:
@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge
hey batter batter taglist:
@icanbeyourjedi @studyofawearymind @hnt-escape @athalien @the-witty-pen-name @daffodin @sarahjkl82-blog @pintsizemama @anaaaispunk @pjkimrn @dobbyjen @stuckontheceiling
edit: take 3 having tumblr save the taglist on this thing
#francisco morales#francisco morales x reader#francisco morales x you#frankie x you#frankie x reader#catfish x you#triple frontier baseball au#hey batter batter#maybe i don't know people
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Simply Meant To Be (pt 1)
An expansion on this soulmate blurb (no Virgil in this one though)
[part 2]
Rating: teen
Word Count: 2130
Pairings: Roceit, Intrulogical
Warnings: minor swearing
~~~START~~~
Roman is a romantic, that’s just a fact. He loves love. Any day he gets to watch two soulmates meet each other is automatically a good day. The second best day of his life was getting to watch Remus meet their soulmate when they were sixteen. The best day of his life is reserved for when he meets his own soulmate.
It hasn’t happened yet, but it will. One day.
For now, Roman is content with being colorblind (well not content, but he’s learned to not let it bother him too much). Remus and Logan are actually a huge help with that. Logan has even gone as far as to make a list of all of Roman’s clothing and includes a chart of what pieces do and do not go together based on Remus’ (admittedly professional) opinions, and Remus actually went through and labeled all of Roman’s makeup with what color it is and what kind of look it should go with.
Anyone who vaguely knew the twins might think that Remus would use this opportunity to mess with Roman, but Remus knows how much Roman hates being colorblind; they would never lie to Roman about colors — about other things? Sure, but not colors.
Remus and Logan met when Logan moved to their school from Georgia. One day Remus had claimed that there was a trail of color — they would later learn that it was navy blue, Logan’s soon-to-be favorite color — leading from the parking lot, to the main office, to the east wing. They’d chosen to skip first period in order to follow it, having never seen the trail before, and Roman, being unwilling to miss the opportunity to watch his brother meet their soulmate, followed him. Remus had walked right into a physics classroom, and straight for a boy with short curls and thick glasses that Roman had never seen before and declared him their soulmate.
Roman got detention for skipping first period, Remus got a pass on account of meeting their soulmate.
Most people met their soulmates before they turned twenty-five, after all, how difficult can it be when all you have to do is find the trail of color they leave behind them everywhere they go and follow it?
Well, as Roman has learned in his thirty-five years of being alive, it can be pretty freaking difficult.
As children, Roman and Remus had wandered their town far and wide looking for colorful trails, and even after they met Logan, Remus continued to go with Roman as he searched, even if they couldn’t see Roman’s soulmate’s trail themself. As soon as Roman graduated from high school, he took the customary gap year that most everybody who hadn’t met their soulmates yet takes to search for their soulmates.
He never caught a glimpse of anything.
“What if I missed them somehow? What if I saw their trail and just didn’t realize it?” Roman whines one day at his usual Saturday brunch — because they’re adults goddammit — with Remus and Logan.
“You wouldn’t have missed them, Ro bro,” Remus assures him as they do every time Roman starts lamenting about having not met his soulmate yet. “Colors are so unmistakable that there’s no way you’ll miss them.”
“And even if you are genetically colorblind — which is unlikely considering Remus is not,” Logan continues before Roman has a chance to respond. “I have read multiple papers that state that soultrails will still make themselves distinct. There are multiple accounts of the trails emitting light, absorbing light, or even emitting sound. All of that is, of course, on top of the translucent cloud that follows your soulmate’s every move. I find it improbable that you, of all people, would not have noticed a soultrail.”
“Yeah, I know you guys are right,” Roman sighs. “I just want to meet them! I’ve travelled all over the place looking for them, where are they?”
Remus says nothing, which Roman is grateful for because Remus has a habit of saying dark jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood, and Roman really doesn’t need to hear them suggest that his soulmate died in a car crash or something right now. Besides, the question is rhetorical. If Remus could see Roman’s soulmate’s trail, then he’s sure they would have spent the last nineteen years looking for them too.
“Sorry, I guess I brought the mood down,” Roman apologizes. “How are you guys?”
Remus opens their mouth.
“The PG version, please!” Roman rushes to say before Remus can mentally scar him. Again.
Remus closes their mouth again.
Logan rolls his eyes fondly and proceeds to get Roman up to date on all the high school gossip.
“- and of course the middle school’s robotics instructor left suddenly to follow her soulmate to England, so I have taken over as their advisor until a suitable replacement can be hired.”
“How is that?” Roman asks, cringing at the thought of having to deal with middle schoolers. Kids in general kind of freak him out, but middle schoolers especially.
“It has been fine, they are not as adept as my high school students, but of course for many of them this is their introduction to such things, so I’m trying to be patient and supportive.”
Roman snorts at that. He’s sure Logan is a good teacher, but his brother-in-law can be a bit short tempered, and has a habit of talking down to people who don’t understand what he’s trying to tell them.
“Don’t laugh at him!” Remus jumps in to defend their soulmate. “Logan’s great with kids, it’s adults he has a problem with.”
“They are much too old to be as ignorant as they are,” Logan defends himself resolutely.
“Of course they are, Sugar Butt.” Logan cringes slightly at the pet name, which is really all Remus is ever looking for with their pet names.
“Anyway,” Logan says, somewhat forcefully. “There is one student who seems to know what he is doing, but he doubts himself at every turn. I have tried telling him that he is doing everything correctly, but he is… reluctant to trust himself.”
“Maybe as the year goes on he’ll gain confidence,” Remus suggests. Logan hums in acknowledgment, and Roman takes that as the end of talking about Logan’s students. “Oh! Ro bro! Did you hear the theater got a new makeup artist?”
“Finally!” Roman groans, thinking back on their last makeup artist. “I swear Lisa was trying to poke my eyes out every time she did my eyeliner!”
“Oh she probably was,” Remus comments offhandedly. “I told her — back when she first started with the theater — that you thought that makeup artisting was a waste of time.”
“WHAT!?” Roman screeches, gaining the attention of the staff and other patrons.
“Roman,” Logan warns, growing uncomfortable under the curious stares.
“How could you do that to me?” Roman hisses at a much quieter volume. “I never said that! She hated me for five years because of you!”
Remus shrugs, slurping the end of their drink through their straw loudly.
“You better not make the new artist hate me!”
“I would never!” Remus gasps, clutching their heart dramatically.
Roman glares.
“Cross my heart!” Remus insists with a much too innocent expression.
“I hate you.”
Remus just gasps again before dissolving into uncontrollable giggles.
~~~
There isn’t rehearsal on Sunday, so Roman doesn’t have to go in to work. Unfortunately, he is saddled by the knowledge that Remus — as the theater’s costume designer — does have to go in today, and therefore has a whole day to lie to the new makeup artist about him.
Come Monday, all Roman can do is hope that Remus hasn’t done irreparable damage.
“Calm down,” Remus orders when they come to pick Roman up. “They weren’t even in yesterday; I haven’t met them yet.”
“I’m not letting you ruin my relationship with the makeup artist again,” Roman pouts.
“Just try and stop me!” Remus cackles.
Once they reach the theater, Roman practically jumps from the car before Remus has even parked.
“REAL MATURE!” Remus yells after him as he sprints for the theater door.
“THIS ONE IS GOING TO LIKE ME!” Roman yells back.
“NOT IF I MEET THEM FIRST!”
Roman skids to a stop as soon as he reaches the lobby. Not expecting their twin to just be standing there, Remus slams into his back, throwing them both to the ground.
“The fuck, Ro Bro?” Remus demands as they flop off their brother and onto their back.
“I-I see it,” Roman whispers, voice filled with wonder.
“See what?” Remus demands. “The lobby? You’ve seen the lobby bef-oh!”
The awestruck look on Roman’s face finally clicks, and Remus bounces excitedly.
“You see it? Like it it?” Remus scrambles to their feet, dragging Roman up with them. “Where? Which way does it go?”
“It looks like how the sun feels,” Roman says instead of answering. “All light and warm and good.”
“Roman Kingsley you tell me which way your soulmate went this instant!” Remus demands loudly. This is important dammit!
“It goes from there,” Roman points to the side door that’s usually used by staff that take the bus to work. “To there,” the door leading backstage.
“Excellent!” Remus cheers dragging Roman forward. “Time for your date with destiny!”
Remus throws the backstage door open dramatically, but Roman groans as he realizes that his soulmate’s trail is going in literally every direction, making it impossible to know which way they went last.
“Well?” Remus asks expectantly.
“Either my soulmate is familiarizing themself to the theater, or they knew I’d be here and are trying to spite me,” Roman answers somewhat dejectedly. “I can’t tell which trail is freshest.”
“Well shit.” Remus scans each entry as though Roman’s soulmate will just happen to wander in (plausible, considering they’ve trailed all over the theater).
“Hey guys!” A voice calls from by the dressing rooms. The brothers turn to find Thomas, the owner of the theater and their boss.
“Thomas!” Remus cries gleefully. “My absolute favoritest person in the world behind my incredibly sexy soulmate!”
“Okay, so you want something,” Thomas answers with an amused grin. Remus always piles on the compliments when they want something.
“Who’s new today?” Roman asks, more to the point.
“Like, in the theater?” Thomas asks. “Just Janus, the new makeup artist. Why?” Thomas’s eyes widen as if he’s just had a realization. “You’re not going to prank him or something, are you? He’s very talented, I can’t have you scaring him away already!”
“Roman’s soulmate is the new makeup artist? Lame,” Remus pouts. “How am I supposed to trick him into hating Roman?”
“Soulmate?”
“My soulmate is in the building, Thomas!” Roman declares, striking a dashing pose before deflating a little. “Except his trail leads all over the place, I don’t know where he went!”
“Oh… well,” Thomas looks to each direction Janus could have gone, but he clearly doesn’t know which way Janus would have gone. “He said he wanted to get a lay of the land before everyone got here…”
“I got this!” Remus pipes up suddenly before cupping their hands around their mouth like a megaphone and screaming at the top of their lungs. “JANUS!”
“What?” A faint, far-off voice calls back, followed but the sound of hurried footsteps. “Thomas?”
“Dressing rooms!” Thomas calls back.
Footsteps thunder down the stairs, and all too soon a man appears on them.
The first time you lay eyes on your soulmate, you begin to see the world in color. Everyone’s experience is different: Remus said that as soon as he laid eyes on Logan, the world exploded violently into vibrant shades. Logan said that colors appeared one at time, quickly, but slow enough for him to notice. Roman’s mom said that her soulmate’s trail swelled to fill the space before things slowly began to take on their proper color, and his mama said that it was almost like everything had always had color, she just hadn’t bothered to notice before.
For Roman, the man before him is painted in vibrant shades while the background remains in grayscale, but as soon as the man makes eye contact, his colors begin to slowly bleed throughout the space.
The man’s eyes widen as he stares, slack-jawed at Roman — no doubt mirroring Roman’s own expression.
“I’m Roman,” Roman says quickly, before Remus can forever ruin his first meeting with his soulmate by making a dick joke or something.
The man smiles and Roman immediately decides that his favorite color is whatever this guy’s eyes are — they’re hazel, but Roman will later change his favorite color to red after realizing how stunning and bold the color is when it isn’t just another shade of gray.
“Janus.”
~~~TO BE CONTINUED~~~
General Taglist:
@royalty-of-all-things-snuggly
@pixelated-pineapple
#ts sanders sides#sanders sides#roceit#intrulogical#roman sanders#remus sanders#logan sanders#Janus Sanders#character thomas#My writing#thursday writes#fanfiction#fanfic#creativitwins#princeit#soulmate au#simply meant to be au
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‘Verse: Resistance Story: Unlikely Salvation, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Arc 4, Ariadne is established with the Resistance
Dev Tortures Ari, pt6 : Alex Sees The Footage [ First | Pt1 | Prev | Next ]
The subject line is empty. The email just reads “you ought to see this”. Alex reads the file name of the attachment and knows exactly what it is.
Government Torturer Forced To Apologise To The People She Hurt.mp4
He sits and stares at the email for a full minute, palms sweating. Ari never mentioned a camera.
“I don’t want to see this,” he says aloud to the empty room.
But he clicks anyway.
She’s not asleep but unconscious, face already tight with distress as she begins to come round. Alex’s blood boils just watching Dev set up, making a show for the camera. He recognises the knives. Taryn pulled them out of Ariadne’s arm, even the handles slick with Ari’s blood.
“Good morning,” Dev says, and Alex hurriedly turns the volume down. “Someone paid me to hurt you very badly.”
Alex watches as she tugs against the cuffs and tries to roll over, movements still sluggish and disorganised from unconsciousness. He watches Dev push a knife through her hand as if it were the most everyday thing in the world, and perhaps to Dev it is.
He thinks he hates Dev.
Tears come to his eyes at the little sound she makes at the twist of the knife. Alex remembers so clearly the shape of that wound, of every wound, the tears where the blades were turned in the flesh.
He puts his hand over his mouth when she first really cries out, to silence the sound he tries to make in response. He turns the volume down further, as low as it will go.
He doesn’t want to watch this.
But he can’t look away.
“... gonna …kill me?” she asks. Alex has to strain to hear the words but he can’t turn the sound back up, he doesn’t know when she’ll scream again. “No, wasn’t paid to kill you. Time for the next arm.”
There’s pure terror in her eyes when she sees the hammer. There is something sharp lodged in Alex’s heart, and something hot in his throat. She still wakes from nightmares where all her bones are broken, wakes helpless and reaches out for comfort. He can’t watch her go through the nightmare again for real.
But he can’t look away.
Mercifully, the video cuts forwards after the first few blows, after the first scream. Dev sits beside her, smiling a chillingly unfeeling smile as their fingers play over the back of her crushed hand. She’s not broken yet. There’s defiance in her eyes. Alex is so proud of her and so sick with hurt and so furious that she should have to be so strong.
“How are you feeling, Ariadne?” And when she doesn’t respond instantly, “Answer me.” But they don’t give her a chance, they twist a sickeningly broken finger before she can speak. Alex sobs listening to the muted playback of her scream. “I--” she forces out between gasps. Against his better judgement, Alex turns the volume up to hear what she says. “-- Scared. Hurting.” “Not desperate enough,” comes the verdict. She makes the most heart-breaking sound in response. “What do you -- wa-ant me to say?” she pleads. “No -- No I can --” “Begging would be nice.”
The video cuts again, before the rope can constrict around her shattered hand, before the camera can catch the sickening way it will deform the flesh. Alex healed the damage made by bone shards tearing through the soft tissues.
The next shot is lower resolution, cropped to a close up on her head and shoulders. Her head is tipped back, her face wet with sweat and tears. From the angle of her shoulders Alex knows how she’s strung up. He had a fair idea already but seeing it, seeing her face -- he feels sick, he feels faint, he feels like he’s breaking into pieces.
Where was Alex? She needed him.
“Please,” she whimpers. “I-I’m sorry… I am … I -- I a-am. I’m -- I’m -- so, so so-orry … am a-a, a mo-onster, I… I’m sorry … I’m sorry …”
Another cut, jumping forwards across her pleas.
“Do you deserve this?” asks Dev from out of shot. “Yes,” she answers. There isn’t even any hesitation. “Yes I --” sob “-- always.” Looking into her eyes, Alex knows that she believes it. “Good,” says Dev, the condescending praise of a torturer, like they’re a fed themself. “Good, say that again for the camera.” She sobs. Her head lolls. She can barely focus on the camera, but her haunted eyes bore right into Alex’s soul. “I -- deserve -- this.” “Always,” Dev prompts. “Always.”
Alex is going to kill them for this.
The video doesn’t show what Dev does next but it shows her reaction, her convulsion, her scream. Alex sobs and sobs in horror.
Behind him, the bedroom door clicks open.
He slams the laptop closed on instinct, whirling guiltily to face her.
“... that was me,” she says, looking shocked and fragile and vulnerable. “Yeah,” Alex admits, voice raw and choked-off in his throat. “I d-didn’t want, w-want to watch it. I couldn’t -- s-stop --” Her shocked mistrust melts into concern. “Oh, Alex,” she says, “I’m sorry.” As if she was the one watching him suffer. She steps forwards, a little hesitant, uncertain.
I deserve this, he hears her promise. I deserve this, always.
“You don’t deserve that,” he tells her, a flare of anger putting heat into his words. “You’ve suffered enough. There are plenty of feds who haven’t become a better person, but people, people, go after you because you're -- accessible, now,” his voice turns hollow, “… because of me. S’my fault.” “A-Alex, no.”
She reaches out and he lets her take his shoulder, lets her pull him in for a hug. He’s the one who’s shaking, and that doesn’t seem fair either. “I don’t want you to hurt anymore,” he tells her. It’s half a promise, half a plea. She hugs him tightly. “I know,” she says. “I know, I’m sorry.”
“I know them,” he says, “Dev. I’ll kill them.” She squeezes tighter, and he clings to her body. “It, it’s not your fault, Alex.” She sounds like she’s pleading too. “Not you hurting me, it’s not.” “Ari I -- I need you to know you don’t deserve that.” “I…” her voice cracks “... don’t want to hurt anymore either.” “You don’t deserve it,” he repeats more forcefully. “I’m sorry Alex.” Her shoulders shake. “I-I should listen to you, not… not people who want to hurt me I just…” “You d-don’t deserve it.” “O-okay,” she agrees. “I-I -- I don’t d-deserve it.”
She doesn’t sound like she believes. Alex doesn’t know how to make it better. All he knows how to do is hold her, and let her hold him in return.
[Next]
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The "Cave of Two Lovers" foreshadows the Zutara interactions in "Crossroads of Destiny"
[And maybe after that too; (yeah this part will be purely based on speculation)]
(See also: A meta that everybody has already written but I haven't because I was living under a rock and watched Avatar very recently)
Like seriously, it is so obvious? I see people try to interpret "The Legend Of Oma and Shu" in so many other ways; like yeah, you're free to interpret it however you want but— most people try to make sense of it while thinking that the tale is just a random occurrence? But it's not.
And here's why:
(I'm so sorry, I tried to add the "keep reading" link here because this gets kinda long but it just won't work) (Also click on the pictures if you want better resolution).
The tale of Oma and Shu is about two lovers who belonged to villages that were at war against each other. To continue meeting each other, they learnt earthbending to create caves in the mountain that divides the two villages. But one day Shu didn't come to the caves. He'd died in the war. So Oma unleashed a terrifying display of her power. And then when people were willing to listen to her, she called off the war and strived for peace between both the villages. As a result the city of Omashu was created— as a monument in remembrance of their love.
So in comparison:
1. Two people belonging to the opposite sides of the war
(Other than the 100 year old war that has been going on, Zuko and Katara are involved in a very fundamental conflict: Capture the Avatar Vs. Protect the Avatar.)
2. With the same colour scheme:
3. Share intimate moments in a cave lit by green crystals:
A popular argument for this comparison is that; Oma and Shu had a positive impressions of each other when they first met. Unlike Zuko and Katara where Katara's first impression of Zuko was pretty negative because he invaded her village.
Zuko and Katara's first proper conversation happens in "Crossroads of Destiny" i.e.; the scene I'm talking about here. After this interaction that they have, I think it's safe to say that they did have positive impressions of each other. (Until Zuko made the wrong choice.)
Other than that, about the colour scheme being a coincidence: Here and here are posts by @marsreds about how the colours are definitely not a coincidence.
But seriously guys? Oma and Shu were the FIRST EARTHBENDERS and yet, instead of greens and yellows they were designed with RED and BLUE?!? (I'll take about Oma's green dress below.)
And on that note, why were Zuko and Katara the only ones who were thrown into the catacombs when everybody else was being held at the dungeons? The dungeons wouldn't have been easy to escape, neither for Zuko nor for Katara.
It's because Zuko and Katara were meant to share an intimate moment in a cave that was supposed to jog our visual memory to remind us of the caves built by Oma and Shu.
(Seriously though, I wasn't really paying attention during CoTL and thought that the Omashu legend was just put in to consume screen time, so I missed the red/blue thing. But then I watched CoD and saw the catacombs and I was like: "Isn't this like that cave made by the lovers?" And then I proceeded to have an oh shit moment because, I knew that Zutara was not canon so I never even considered the possibility of the narrative hinting at anything between them but then this happened. I mean, it's pretty darn obvious).
The colour of the crystals being the same in both caves is no coincidence either— if they just wanted two random caves with crystals, then they could've used a different colour because crystals of different colours exist:
Moving on,
The Visual Cues:
According to the colour coding Zuko = Oma (red) and Katara = Shu (blue).
So,
EXHIBIT A:
I feel like this one speaks for itself.
(I personally think that in this parallel Oma is in red because Katara at this point still sees Zuko as the face of the Fire Nation.)
EXHIBIT B:
This sequence of frames show Oma (dressed in green, like Zuko was in the catacombs) and Shu (dressed in his usual blue), standing on neutral territory and reaching out to each other and then being torn apart by the war.
Pretty much like:
The first time they are in each other's presence without the cause of their conflict (i.e. the Avatar), Zuko and Katara reach out to each other empathetically and attain bone deep understanding of each other within a matter of minutes. This whole encounter is in Ba Sing Se, which counts for the neutral territory because it hadn't been completely taken over by Fire Nation at that point.
And honestly? The raw vulnerability and intimacy of this scene and the high emotional energy of their powerful dynamic is just— wow. (I put off my binging spree for a whole day because I didn't have the heart to see Zutara not become canon after all of this.)
And soon after, Zuko and Katara face each other in battle, their tentative friendship torn apart, as they fight from their respective sides of the war.
EXHIBIT C:
Whenever Oma and Shu appear in the same frame during the visualization of the legend, Oma is always on the left half of the frame and Shu is on the right.
Similarly, throughout all their interactions in the Catacombs, whenever the frame exclusively includes Zuko and Katara, Zuko (like Oma) is on the left half of the frame and Katara (like Shu) is on the right.
The parallels (or foils rather):
#1
In CoTL, we see Song who is a healer (cures Iroh of his poisoning). She mentions that she hasn't seen her father since a Fire Nation raid took place in her village. Zuko empathises with her and says that he too hasn't seen his father in a long while. But then he refuses to say anything else about it.
Later Song tries to reach out to Zuko and tries to touch his scar— which Zuko prevents her from. She shows Zuko her own scars to show that she understood him.
And yet, Zuko doesn't open up to her.
After a while of life-changing and eye-opening experiences, in CoD, when Katara has her meltdown and cries while saying that her mother was snatched away from her by the Fire Nation; Zuko sees an opening to offer an olive branch and he takes it, he empathises with her and tells her that how his mother was snatched away by the Fire Nation as well.
Then Zuko opens up to Katara in a show of complete vulnerability. He openly talks about his scar and what he feels about it. In response, Katara offers to heal his scar and then Zuko lets her touch his scar.
It was nothing but a deliberate choice to make Song slightly parallel Katara (a healer, lost a parent because of the war) and then making Zuko not open up to her and not let her touch the scar, only for Katara to be the one he opened up to and allowed to touch the scar.
#2
After being trapped with Aang in the cave in CoTL and sharing an intimate moment with him, as soon as they find their way out, Katara runs straight ahead without looking back.
But after her time with Zuko, trapped in the Catacombs in CoD, while leaving she turns back to look at Zuko.
Judging by the amount of time the animation puts into showing us Aang's disappointment at Katara running off and into making it clear that Katara did look back at Zuko and that Zuko looked right back at her, to me, it feels like the choice to show this was pretty deliberate.
(Turning back to look at a person while leaving is a romantic trope that has been overused to death? Or is it just bollywood?)
Also I wouldn't have paid this much attention to this small detail if not for the fact that just a hint of the Omashu legend theme is played here?
No, I swear I'm not making it up.
The Omashu legend theme is used in CoD:
The Omashu legend theme is largely dominated by the music of a stringed instrument (forgive me, I don't know what it's called) alongwith a steady melody playing in the background.
In CoD, when Katara and Zuko start conversing for real, (i.e.; when Katara says: "I'm sorry I yelled at you.") what sounds like a variation of the background melody in the Omashu legend theme, starts its subtle ascent as the background score, but sans the music of the stringed instrument.
It is when Katara says: "Maybe you could be free of it." [About Zuko's scar], when then first hint of the stringed instrument is heard. It is only a single note of the strings but it's there. And this "single note" sound keeps on repeating at regular intervals with the melody building up until Aang and Iroh burst into the catacombs.
But then, when Katara is leaving with Aang and she turns back to look at Zuko, this time the music that plays for a few seconds at best, is dominated by the stringed instrument again and this time it's unmistakable.
Also I don't think this music is used anywhere else in the course of the whole show? So it can't really be a coincidence? But I don't really know. I'm saying this on the basis of as far as my memory can reach.
And this is as far as canon stands testimony to what I am trying to say here.
But what about the second half of the story yk, the dying thing, you say?
Well this is where the speculations come in.
Speculation Time:
#1
As a thumb rule, a romance foreshadowed by a tragic tale is meant to have a happy ending.
So this time when Katara's (Shu) life is in danger (Azula's lightning bolt), Zuko (Oma) steps in at the nick of time to save her life (by jumping infront of Katara to intercept the lightning).
(Since I have crossed the limit of images in a post, here is a post by @araeph which illustrates this point.)
Yes, I am completely aware that Zuko taking the lightning bolt for Katara is not his declaration of love for her. What I mean to say is that the whole scene was so very painfully obviously romantically framed (the immediate change in music when Zuko realises where the lightning bolt was headed, both of their expressions, Zuko's agonized "Nooooo", the slow-mo throughout the shot).
I am also aware that Zuko would've taken the lightning bolt for anyone. But it is the narrative that demands that Zuko take the lightning bolt for Katara and Katara only. Because this has atleast 10 different payoffs (a direct callback to the Book 2 finale where Azula had shot Aang with the lightning; the grief of which was for Katara to bear but this time Zuko himself stands between the lightning and Katara instead of being the silent spectator, the culmination of both Zuko and Katara's personal character arcs, Zuko's scar would parallel Aang's: Aang got it because he chose Katara over the world and Zuko got it because he was willing to give up the world to save Katara, etc, etc).
Tl;dr: The lightning scene wouldn't hold all that much weight if it wasn't Zuko taking the hit for Katara because the narrative literally demands it.
#2
This is where we start wading into really murky waters.
From mucking around on Tumblr due to Zutara feels™, I came across this post where some of the ideas for Book 4 were written:
• The Southern Water Tribe experienced the longest series of attacks from the Fire Nation. Zuko and Katara become political partners and work together to help end the animosity and repair relations between their two nations.
• Just like how Zuko learned to appreciate the Earth Kingdom, he would learn to appreciate the Water Tribes. Katara also learns to respect the complexity of Fire Nation culture. There is no such thing as an “evil” nation.
And that basically means that Zuko and Katara would've been working together to de-escalate the hostility between their respective nations and improve the relations between the two nations, while learning about each other's cultures simultaneously as the world would be in the process of being rebuilt after the war and they would be major role-players in shaping the new world.
Which is quite similar to how Oma strived for peace between the two villages and then as a result of the improved relations between the villages, the city of Omashu was built as a monument to the love story of Oma and Shu; which might just be symbolic of building a new world where both the villages could live in peace due to the initiative taken by Oma on behalf of herself and Shu.
The story would've come a full circle; that's all I'm saying.
If you've stuck around for this long, thank you for taking the time to read this long ass post with points that you may already have read ♥️
#i just have a lot of feelings about zutara#i mean this was being built up so perfectly but then bryke ruined it by not making canon#oh and they said that zutara was never even supposed to be a thing#i mean everything was just there in the context#atla#zutara meta#atla meta#meta analysis#oma and shu#oma and shu parallels#cave of two lovers#crossroads of destiny#into the inferno#avatar#anti bryke#zutara#ira's posts
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