#(that one occupied my brain for A Very Long Time to an Incredible Degree)

[miodiodavinci]

have you ever... Zola magical girls/people?

(grabs your shoulders)

did you mean one of my many oneshots / AUs from 2015-2019

[epersonae]

Director's cut of "For The Benefit of All the Broken Hearts", please! (p.s. - is it annoying if I send more than one of these? I have Curiosity)

I saw that it was for the whole fic and I just [stares into space] - because not only is it 62,158 words, which is a lot of words, for me anyway, but it also is one of those stories that occupied my entire brain for months on end, and is still kind of a core part of my personality. I could probably do a whole Taika-commentary-track-of-Boy thing with it, and be equally weird and revealing. 😅

But in trying to pick out a single aspect to write commentary, I realized I've never written the post I've been threatening to write for a year (WHAT), which is what I learned about writing an unnamed protagonist. (Or at least I can't find anything in the #carlita coded content tag.) It's now been a year, so it's likely I will miss something important, but it was such a striking learning experience that I think I can do pretty well with it.

This got long, so more under the cut:

Because aside from being obsessed by the subject matter and vibes and all that, writing for the benefit of all the broken hearts was an incredible boost in my writing craft. (the other big boost was around dramatic pacing and narrative tension and foreshadowing, btw.)

She didn't have a name in the original, and deliberately so, and I was committed to that in my work. See also: Rebecca; this post's tags has some thoughts about Rebecca as a narrative influence in addition to the technical aspects. And unlike Rebecca, I was writing in close third person. (One of the reasons that when I'm feeling particularly cocky I will say SUCK IT DAPHNE DU MAURIER.)

And that's not that hard to do when there's only two characters in a scene and they use different pronouns, but so much of the story is her and Mary. (this post made me laugh A LOT) Which means I can't use pronouns to do the lifting, instead I had to think about other ways to handle it structurally.

Using Mary's name probably more than I would normally, to be quite honest. Her name is in many more dialogue tags and starting actions than I think it would be otherwise, because if Mary's doing one action, she's doing the other action; if Mary is saying one bit of dialogue, she's saying the other.

Using line breaks strategically, clearly separating character actions; and I think over time this actually made a difference in distinguishing how they act (and speak) differently from one another, that carried over to her interactions with Ed and Stede as well. And that carries over to how Mary also becomes a more distinct character.

In some cases, this went as far as actually rearranging the physical action. I don't remember the precise details, but there's something about when they first go into the kitchen in Ch 15, when Stede is making drinks, where you have all four characters directly interacting: I reworked who was doing what where to disambiguate which "she" I'm talking about.

There's also a lot of very fiddly sentence rewording, rethinking every individual sentence, and does every clause need to be there, and what is every single sentence doing. Because there's a lot of ways of writing that are "natural" (aka I have been writing fiction off and on since I was probably nine years old, and even with a wholeass English degree and a lot of supplemental reading about craft, I'm still kind of intuitive about my writing) that lead to structures where clearly her name would go here, but I can't do that, so: is the sentence working? Should it get flipped the other direction? Do I need a paragraph break? Is it okay if it's a little ambiguous -- there's a line in one of the coffeeshop scenes where it's kind of unclear which one of them does some gesture or another, and I decided that the ambiguity worked, actually.

And then probably my favorite craft becomes theme trick, particularly where there's sort of a repetition of sentence structure, or where Mary has been doing something and her actions are in reaction to that: sometimes it makes it work to just remove the subject of the sentence. Walks across the room. Picks up her coffee. It both somehow makes things clearer despite offering less detail AND reinforces this thematic thing of her being both absent and present.

Bonus difficulty level, btw: even if epithets had made sense for the tone (which they did occasionally, iirc), I deliberately chose to have very limited physical description of both her and Mary, on account of them both being amalgams not of actor and character (like Ed, Stede, Jim, Roach, etc), but of either two real people and real person and character played by a different real person respectively. They are both entirely secret third thing, and giving them things like hair color/style (beyond a vague reference to length) or eye color takes that away. (Instead they have some details of their overall physicality - age, respective heights - and clothing, both of which also tie into the themes of the thing.)

Honestly, overall it was an interesting creative puzzle, and I learned a ton -- Through the Storm, which is a very very very different story, owes a lot to it, and I've managed to commit to the bit through all the missing scenes fic (altho since a lot of that is alternate POV, there's a lot of "Ed's wife" construction, which is not my favorite) and the alternate bad endings fic.

tagging the beta team in case anybody has anything to add; this was very much a group project, esp in identifying places where it was clear to me but not to other people: @emi--rose @veeagainsttheday @gaypiratebrainrot

also, going to leave this here - when I went to ECCC in 2023 the original artist of this meme was selling versions with a blank word balloon and you could have her write in something, and I got it left blank with the idea that I would write other things on the plastic or if ever get a glass frame, but uh, it's been Carlita? since March of 2023.

there's so many other things I could have written about at this length about this story (both specific details and the thematic stuff), I'm serious.

and to answer your ps: NOT ANNOYING AT ALL. clearly I enjoy talking about my writing. :D

[director's commentary asks]

[lastoneout]

Wanna say first that I second asking for a referral from your doctor to get a second opinion, therapists are def trained mental health professionals and they can sus out certain conditions(my therapist figured out I had OCD before my psychiatrist did), but actually assessing and diagnosing is usually left to a psychiatrist. Not to take a dig at your therapist, if she's helping you in other areas def stick with her, but actually diagnosing you with something is kinda out of her wheelhouse. And like again if there's one thing I've learned from having a lot of complicated medical problems it is NEVER a bad idea to seek out a second opinion if you don't feel like the previous doctor/ect. was right.

Additionally, I was def a "smart kid" in school despite exhibiting such textbook signs of ADHD it's genuinely incredible no one noticed, but yeah just getting good grades doesn't mean you aren't struggling in other areas. I could pay attention in class, but only so long as the class was about something I found interesting, so in classes I liked I had excellent participation, but if I didn't like the subject....it was off to daydream land. I could pass tests just fine, but I never managed to figure out studying and I barely ever did my homework, once I was home school basically vanished from my mind so I barely even remembered I had homework, and since studying was explained to me as just 'going over the class material again' I couldn't make myself do it because the info was no longer new, and thus no longer interesting. My backpack and locker and binder were always a huge mess no matter how hard I tried to keep them nice. I was a really fast reader, but that was just because I was too impatient to read slow, and I was reading ALL the time even when I shouldn't have been, which made teachers think I was smart and gifted, but I was just reading to have something to occupy my brain with, and I got in trouble for reading in class a lot.

Also despite being in gifted classes in highschool...I failed math every single year. Granted, that was in part due to my undiagnosed dyscalculia, but I hated math more than every other subject(hard to like something that makes you feel like a worthless idiot) and could NOT make myself study or do homework for it. It was like physically painful to try, so yeah, if I didn't like the subject? I flunked.

And calling back to the Jaiden video, she talks about also not thinking she had ADHD because she was smart and good at school, but a lot of that was due to her having parents who could help pick up the slack so she didn't forget things and give her a rigid structure to adhere to so she didn't have to think to hard about making herself do things. My school struggles def wouldn't have been as bad if I had parents like hers growing up, and my fiance was like her, had parents who helped and were understanding and supportive, but then when he moved away to go to college it all fell apart and he ended up dropping out because he just couldn't create that structure he needed on his own. And my brother recently got diagnosed because while he managed to graduate college with a fancy degree it was a NIGHTMARE that destroyed his mental health, he was constantly on the verge of dropping out, and he genuinely just didn't know it wasn't supposed to be that hard until he looked into ADHD and was like "oh".

So like, yeah, your therapist is misinformed, you can be a good student and still have ADHD. It isn't about how "smart" you are, it's about how hard it is for you to do the bare minimum that most other people don't really have to think about at all. Someone with ADHD who hyperfixates on history or math might not have as much trouble in school when it comes to those subjects, but crash and burn when you put them in an english or art class. Or hell, someone who is really passionate about their area of expertise might genuinely be very intelligent....but still not be able to keep their house looking presentable or show up on time to their appointments. Being smart can honestly hide ADHD, any doctor who insists intelligence is a sign you can't have ADHD doesn't really know what they're talking about.

And yeah even if you don't get diagnosed you can still ask your therapist to help you work on coping mechanisms with the things that are hard for you! A diagnosis can help a lot, but at the end of the day if you're struggling with cleaning or being late or getting things done then you can still ask your therapist for help learning to manage it.

I wish you the best of luck anon!

can I be smart while also having adhd??

lately I've seen a video about a woman who found out she has adhd (jaiden animations) and I felt like she was reading my biography haha

I've related to every single experience she said. so that tickled my brain to go after some research about adhd, to then realize I relate to, like, 90% of the symptoms and go through the same situations as diagnosed people..

but when I brought the idea that I might have adhd to my therapist (that assists me for half a year), she told me she finds super unlikely that I have it because I am smart and get really good grades...

I feel like it's unfair to eliminate that idea just because I am good at school, even though I suffer with lots and lots of other things in my every day life...

Sent July 23, 2024

Most people who have ADHD have at least normal IQ (as problematic as IQ is as a concept and an applied idea), and there are a few patterns that can indicate ADHD in someone whose overall academic performance is good. I was a gifted student, but I still showed these patterns.

1. You do better at the start of the term than the end. My first report card was always straight A’s (except Phys. Ed., which was always a C or D which is actually ludicrous now I think about it) and by the end of the year most things were a B except for my favourite subjects.

2. Your locker or desk at school is always a disaster, making it hard to be prepared for class or to find needed items (e.g., assignments, text books).

3. The usual executive dysfunction issues, meaning you’re late for class a lot, you leave assignments until the last minute, you forget about things, etc.

Talk to your therapist again, or ask your doctor for a referral to a clinician who can do an assessment. Your therapist may not be qualified to diagnose, and they obviously aren’t well-educated about ADHD.

The other part of this is that even if you don’t qualify for a formal diagnosis, you are obviously struggling or you wouldn’t have brought it up to your therapist. What I suggest there is, talk to them about the problems you’re having rather than “ADHD”. Pick the thing that’s most frustrating right now, and ask them if they can help you figure out how to deal with it. Because no matter what, you need to manage your symptoms and you probably need help to sort out how to do that.

Followers, what do you think about this? Do you have any advice to offer?

-J

[barbers-glimmerin-darlin]

At The Touch Of Your Hand

Charlie Barber x (Female) Reader (Historical AU)

As a young woman whose entire life has already been mapped out for her, you believed there was very little to look forward to as you entered the ballroom. It was just another ball, during another season, with the same foppish men shallowly vying for attention. However things are bound to take a turn for the unexpected when Charles Barber makes his re-entrance to society after six years in obscurity.

Chapter 3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 

Warnings: Period typical sexism, historical inaccuracies 

Word count: 2.9k

“I’ll not be listening to any more of your incessant griping tonight Judith.” Your father’s voice was firm and unwavering, his distaste for his wife’s unending list of complaints evidently getting the better of him. 

“You cannot possibly think him to be an agreeable man Edward! Not after he-”

“Enough Judith!”

Your mother’s mouth bubbled open and closed as if she were impersonating some incredibly affronted fish, it was very rare that father would plainly tell mama he had tired of listening to her whining. You swapped a furtive glance with Jemima, the tension spiking to a palpable degree, your mind instantly began scrambling to fill in the gaping hole left in your mothers remark.

After he what? What could he have done, this enigmatic man, whom you had never heard of before this night, to have warranted such obvious distaste from your mother? You could not help but feel that whatever it was should be much cause for concern, if it meant that your mother was unwilling to host him. Judith Bell would usually be seen falling over herself for the opportunity to have such a man welcomed to dinner, an impressive man, titled. 

Before your racing mind had the chance to create a whole plethora of beastly scenarios to cast this man in, along came one of the very few things in the world that made you want to disable all intelligent brain function in your mind.

Hartley. 

You regrettably saw him approach you over your father’s shoulder, straightening his gloves and smoothing his flaccid hair as he neared. Every last cell in your body heaved a long groan at the sight of him, so bland, so thoroughly unimpressive, truly he was an unremarkable sight to behold. In no time at all, he stood proudly before you.

“Miss Bell, I believe the first waltz is almost afoot.” He declared. You saw your mother’s previously enraged face fracture into an unbearably bright beam at his appearance, all distaste for Lord Barber’s presence seemingly forgotten. 

You flashed a tight smile as he held out his gloved hand for you to take. You accepted, placing your hand in his with the lightest tough you could manage, as if placing your hand solidly within his pudgy one would solidify your future with him. Unfortunately you feared that there was very little you could do to escape that. 

He led you briskly onto the dancefloor, amongst the sea of brightly coloured silk taffeta frocks, and then proceeded to draw you into a hold appropriate for a waltz. It was far too intimate for you, even though his hands were in no danger of straying, you would have much preferred a livelier jig that required much changing of partners. 

As the rhythmic arrangement of the waltz began to fill the room, you willed your feet to move in a reasonably graceful fashion, it’s not that you were a bad dancer, you were just much better when paired with a partner you actually wanted to dance with. Robert was a long way from fitting that criteria. 

You could not help but note the hotness of his hand upon your shoulder, and you guessed it would probably be sweaty if he were to take that glove off, you repressed a shudder at the thought of his slimy hand upon your skin. Sweaty hands were indicative of nerves, what on earth could he be nervous about? If he could not struggle his way through a meagre waltz without being overcome with nerves, what chance did he have of upholding one end of a fiery debate, or withstand a passionate feeling about anything?

You allowed your eyes and mind to wander as you twirled about the dancefloor, you spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd, many of your mother’s acquaintances gathered to watch their own daughters on the dancefloor, your mother was no exception. She watched you with beady eyes, looking for mistakes in your footing or your posture, clutching her dainty glass of sherry in her clawed fingers. 

You were vaguely aware of Robert droning on about a business venture his father was allowing him to head, something pertaining a new weaving technique for linen, you really did not care to give much attention to it, you occasionally emitted a noise of agreement to create the illusion of engagement. 

As you rounded the dancefloor once again, your eyes swept over a broad form that was becoming undeniably familiar all too quickly. Charles stood a little way back from the dancefloor, conversing with a stout man who you recognised as the host of the ball, Lord Harrington. Although upon closer inspection, you were forced to reconsider your observation that he was participating in conversation. It appeared that he was being talked at rather than talked to, his attention otherwise much diverted, much like yours. His glittering eyes were very much fixed on the couples dancing before him.

Unbeknownst to you, his eyes were not travelling aimlessly amongst the group of merry dancers, his gaze was solely tracking you. He watched as the buttery yellow light shimmered upon the lavender fabric of your gown, sparkled through your hair, and highlighted the barely exposed curve of your shoulders. He drank this in all without your knowledge, your attention far too occupied with ensuring Hartley did not step on your silk slippered feet. What an enchanting little creature he saw twirling before him. 

“Did I see Lord Barber making conversation with your father earlier?” You were forced to tune back into Hartley’s voice as he spoke directly to you, stopping your eyes from repeatedly searching out the towering height of Barber,

“Yes, I believe he knows my father.” You replied flatly, not really eager to discuss the man with Robert. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, Charles had begun to feel rather sacred to you. 

“I’m interested in making his acquaintance myself while he’s in town, quite the recluse he’s been for the past five years or so from what I understand.” Robert remarked, this did admittedly capture your interest. Why would a man like him have hidden himself away from society, other than the obvious fact that it was a dreadful environment, it was practically created for powerful men like him. 

“I confess I was unaware of his existence until tonight.” You offered blandly, while you were tempted to probe Hartley for more information, you found his predisposition for gossiping more repellent that intriguing. 

“People don’t talk about him much anymore. Though what I have heard them say is undoubtedly interesting, I’m sure his reappearance tonight will be the talk of the town by tomorrow breakfast.” Robert’s sentence was punctuated by a ridiculously salacious chuckle at the end, which made you long to put more distance between your bodies. 

“Undoubtedly, people do little else but talk the day after a ball.” You deadpanned, avoiding eye contact with his misty eyes. 

“Although I dare say there ought to be rather a lot of talk of just how ravishing you look in this gown.” Your stomach dropped at his words, spoken in a voice that he had forced down into a lower octave. You flicked your eyes up to his, only to find him inconspicuously allowing himself a good look at your chest. You swallowed back the tart response that your brain formulated, much in favour of finishing the dance as quickly as possible. You settled on a lifeless little laugh.

As soon as the band began to cease their performance you delicately pushed yourself out of his hold, and lowered into a quick curtsy. 

“Thank you for the dance Mr Hartley, it was quite… satisfactory.” And without waiting for his response you turned on your heel and began to hasten away, in search of Jemima. You were eager to tell her in agonising detail how utterly lecherous he had been. But you didn’t even make it off of the dancefloor before a broad chest blocked your path. Your eyes were obscured by a wall of icy blue and white, and you didn’t even really need to glance upwards to confirm the identity of the individual. 

The scent of fresh mint and fragrant pine greeted your senses, cleansing them of the heavy musky smell, with an undercurrent of body odour that you had endured with Hartley moments before. You refrained from indulging in a deep inhale as you summoned the courage to raise your eyes towards his face. 

Charles Barber’s smirking face.

“In a rush, Miss Bell?” He asked, his honeyed voice vibrated through the air, breathing against your ears like a summer wind. You momentarily forgot every word you had learned since infancy, and struggled for a response. 

“No I- I mean yes I was just- I’m not in a rush per say I just-”

“Were making a fleeting exit from your partner over there?” He stopped your aimless flailing with his words, allowing his full lips to quirk even further into an amused smirk. You felt your cheeks warming rapidly.

“I was just in search of my sister.” You replied, unsure if it was proper to admit that you were, in fact, shamelessly fleeing Hartley. 

“Well, by the looks of things, he will presently approach and ask you for another dance. Allow me to be so bold as to assume that you would like to avoid such an occurrence.” Charles remarked, quickly glancing over your head to where you assumed he could see Robert.

“I would be reluctant to dance with him again so soon.” You said quietly, unsure of his next assumption. 

“Well in that case, would you do me the honour of the next dance, Miss Bell?” Your heart gave itself to flittering beats as you absorbed his words. You could hardly fathom the idea of sharing a dining table with him, and you were being offered a dance? The pristine white glove upon his expansive hand moved into your line of sight as he offered his hand to you. You could not help but raise your eyes to his, though you promptly wish you hadn’t when you were met with the scorching intensity of his gaze. It was fight or flight really. 

“Yes my lord, I would be honoured.” You replied, placing your hand firmly in his. 

The experience of being led into a dance by Charles Barber was worlds away from that of the artless movements of Hartley. You knew that much. 

You stood facing each other, as part of a long line of men and women standing parallel to one another along the centre of the marble floor, you could not help but notice that he was the tallest in the line by a considerable amount. Your heart was racing as you heard the shaking violin strike up the opening measures of the dance. The line of ladies ducked into graceful curtsy, directed at the men before them, and then the dance fell into an elegant sequence of turns and fleeting touches of hands. 

It was not two measures into the dance that Barber clearly felt that he was in rhythm enough to begin to talk to you as you moved around each other, and the other occupants of the dancefloor. 

“Are you enjoying the evening?” He asked as you passed close by one another, his eyes firmly fixed upon yours, paying no mind to his feet or the people around him, though his body continued to move with a grace and ease you would have thought impossible for a man of his stature. 

“Very much so, Lord and Lady Harrington do always host the most beautiful parties.” You replied politely, though it was untrue that your night had been pleasant up until this point, the unfamiliar feelings fluttering about your stomach presently were enough to erase all memory of the previous encounters from your mind.

“I agree with you wholeheartedly Miss, though I might add that I think Lord Harrington has very little to do with the festivities you see around you. I believe it is fair to say that Lady Harrington is the brains of the operation.” He concurred, his face breaking into a smile, one you might call mischievous if you were so inclined to such flirtatious words. You could not stifle the laugh that escaped at his remark towards the esteemed Lord Harrington.

“Are you well acquainted with the hosts, my lord?” You asked him, the smile laid upon your face beginning to ache slightly, though you could not for the life of you force it down. You gasped silently as your hands entwined, as he led you side by side down the line formed by the other couples, as part of your dance.

“Old friends of my late father’s.” He explained, looking sideways at you. His hand dwarfed yours, it warmed his glove in a way that was so different to the sticky heat of Hartley’s hand. You found yourself wishing that there were no gloves separating your hands from touching skin to skin. A tingling sensation began in the palm of your hand, still held in his, and worked its way to the tips of your fingers and up your arm. In that moment, you decided the touch of his hand was something quite inexplicably magical. 

“And you, Lord Barber? Are you enjoying yourself?” You asked, longing to hear the velvet of his voice again. He smiled down at you warmly, sending the tingles from your hand all over your body. 

“I am enjoying the evening far more than I anticipated, it has been pleasant to see old friends.” He started, his eyes moved swiftly once up and down the length of you, never hesitating anywhere for too long. As he met your eyes again, his smile curled into a smaller one, far more intimate, meant only for you. “It has been even lovelier making new acquaintances, which is not something I usually find myself able to say.” He tells you. 

Your mind raced to stumble through the meanings in his well measured words. Did he mean meeting you? Part of you screamed that he must mean that, why else would he have bothered to make such a point of saying it to you? A larger part reasoned that he had undoubtedly met many new people tonight, and why in this vast room full of people would he single you out as a lovely new acquaintance?

All too soon it was time for your hands to part once again, you already missed his large warm palm and it hadn’t even left yours yet. As he opened his fingers to loosen his grasp on your hand, and pulled his palm away from yours, your eyes widened as you felt the tip of his middle finger trace a burning line across your palm as he slipped his hand away from yours. A shiver shot down the length of your spine at the sensation, which you had felt so keenly despite the presence of your silk glove. 

Another glance towards his regal face showed you that his smile had faded, melted into a look of deep concentration. The chocolate of his eyes had darkened, the light sparkled in the depths of them. So many thoughts were rushing through them, but you couldn’t comprehend a single one of them, your own brain was still trying to make sense of the litany of feelings coursing through you from the mere brush of the tip of his finger along your palm. 

It was a wonder you had managed to complete the dance without bumping into a single other occupant of the dancefloor, as you had quite forgotten that you were sharing the space with anyone else at all besides him. You could scarcely remember a time before you found yourself cradled in his gaze, you could not remember what your hand had felt like before it had been encased by his. It was only the end of the melody that brought the end of the dance to your awareness, you found yourself short of breath, though you were absolutely certain it had nothing to do with the steps of the dance. 

You bowed to each other once again, as was customary, and then he went a step further by enclosing your hand in his. He lifted your slightly quaking hand up towards his face, and you held your breath as his warm lips pressed down gently upon your glove. Had you not have held your breath, you were quite certain he would have robbed you of it. The impression of his lips seemed to burn your knuckles in a delightful way, in a way that made you yearn to tear the white silk from your body and request that he press his lips to your bare skin. You couldn’t correct the way your own lips parted slightly, something which he seemed to note as his eyes roamed your face as he straightened back up to his full height, allowing your hand to fall back to your side. 

“Thank you for the dance Miss Bell, it was quite… enchanting.” He spoke softly, caressing your face with his eyes for a moment longer before inclining his head, turning, and leaving the space, your eyes were stuck to his wide shoulders as he left. You were pulled out of your little world, where you and he were the only inhabitants, by Jemima’s voice suddenly at your ear.

“Just to warn you, sister dear, mama is quite enraged.”

Tags: @millenialcatlady​ @safarigirlsp​ @mariesackler​ @direnightshade​ @sacklerscumrag​ @stumbleonmywords​ @fizzywoohoo​ @hopeamarsu​ @roanniom​ @kylobien​ (Please let me know if you would like adding or removing!)

[cno-inbminor]

a/n: iwaizumi occupies an unhealthy amount of thoughts in my head. yay for another drabble dump! kind of recycled a soulmate!au from another fic of mine.

wc: 1.4k; angst; gets a little risque but no smut. 

vampire!iwa, soulmates via red string + reincarnation, person A can see it but person B can’t.

“y’know, roaming the earth for nearly 400 years doesn’t sound that bad.”

“it’s torture in its own way, trust me.”

“haji, i know you’re a vampire and everything, but must you be so angst-y and brooding all the time?”

“leave my house.”

hajime pretends that your laughter doesn’t make the corners of his own lips twitch upward. his attention, albeit divided, is directed towards the book resting atop his crossed legs, a cheek pressed into his left fist with his elbow on the arm rest. the cotton sofa chair he sits upon is a relic from britain that he was given from the king himself in 1833, and you’re amazed that it hasn’t turned to dust yet. hajime thanks the development of good upholstery cleaning products. 

his onyx gaze flickers to where you stand with your hands clasped tightly behind your back, perusing the titles on one of his many bookshelves lined against the walls. though he’s completely desensitized to the smell of human blood, the scent of yours is moderately more tempting than he’s used to. part of him is disgusted with himself, a tiny yet monstrous fraction of his soul simply keeping you around because he’s addicted. the realization sticks to him like grime and muck on skin, a pain to wash off, and grimace settled deep into invisible wrinkles. while his goal wasn’t to achieve complete humanity, he didn’t like being reminded that he exists as a monster, a foretold dangerous creature of the night. 

“you have a first edition of pride and prejudice?!” you cry out, fingers hovering reverently over the spine. you’re afraid that if you touch and try to open it, the pages will scatter towards the cherry hardwood ground quite unceremoniously, and that hajime might rip your neck open for it. 

of course he’s silent in his steps to move closer to your figure, nonchalantly pulling back the book from its position. he relishes in your quiet, nervous intake of air and opens the cover as if to let you know that it’s not as fragile as you believe. the awe in your eyes is captivating, and he tries not to bore holes into the side of your face. you’re charming in many of the same ways as your previous lives, though that’s a secret for him to keep for now. 

“you know what’s absolute batshit crazy? this alone could cover my living expenses for two or three years.”

hajime shrugs. his sense of money has also gone downhill over the years, but he’s a simple man with very few material needs. the most sizeable portion of his tremendous wealth goes towards art and literature, and he believes it pays off in moments like these. 

“i could cover your living costs until you die,” he supplies and another soft peal of laughter leaves your chest. your inevitable, human death doesn’t trigger a twinge in his chest, not at all. he’s past that -- it’s been over ten lifetimes, this one won’t be any different. 

“that’s sweet, but i don’t need a sugar daddy,” you chuckle, sliding the novel back into the shelf. “there are plenty of others who could use your help. go build homeless shelters, donate a shit ton of money to charities and causes. or you can be a sugar daddy for other people. plenty of people would sign up in a heartbeat knowing that you were willing to give money without asking for some favors in return.”

“i have built homeless shelters and made large anonymous donations to several places over the years. what do you take me for?”

“a dark, brooding vampire that pretends the sun still burns his skin.”

hajime rolls his eyes and walks away, choosing to return to his seat and open his book again. he feels you adjust and balance yourself on his arm chair, leaning above him to read the words as he goes along. you know that he slows down his reading speed for you, turning the pages at a more human pace to accommodate your needs. it’s charming and quite touching, romantic in a similar vein. perhaps it’s silly that you’ve developed a crush on an immortal creature, but you and hajime seem to click so well. even just after a few weeks of getting to know him, he feels so familiar, like a best friend you’ve known all your life. so incredibly reliable, protective, helpful, intelligent, ridiculously handsome that it should be a crime, and caring -- it’s frightening to some degree, but also comforting more than anything. 

“you’re a 400 year old vampire, yet you choose to waste your time with me,” you mutter, the words tumbling off your tongue before you can stop yourself. “compared to you, i’m pretty much a child, probably extremely immature. so why bother? boredom? curiosity?”

hajime almost stares incredulously at you for such a ridiculous assumption, though severely underestimating how close your face is to his. once again, he finds himself getting lost in your gaze. it’s as breathtaking as the first time those centuries ago, and you are so painfully unaware of the effect you have on him. the bond, the red string of fate becomes the center of gravity. after all this time, he can’t control and stop himself from glancing at your lips then back up, trying to give you time to deny his advances. though like always, you reciprocate his actions, leaning closer towards him, mouth slightly parted with bated breath and electric anticipation. 

the warmth of you quite nearly sears his skin, and he can’t help but sharply inhale at the first touch of contact. god, he’s missed this so much. he’s missed branding the shape your lips into his brain, he’s missed how alive he feels in these moments, he’s missed being able to hold you in his arms and claim you as his yet again. hajime wants nothing more than to pick you up by your thighs and carry you to his bedroom to remind you just who exactly you belong to, who you’ve always belonged to. the passion nearly hums in his veins but he keeps the pressure against your lips to a minimum, relishing in how soft they feel against his own. he never wants this to end -- fuck needing blood for survival. 

you’re all he needs. 

a soft moan sneaks away from him when you push harder against him, seeking fuller contact -- who is he to deny you? he places a tentative hand on your nape to keep you stable, though it doesn’t take long for you to slide into his lap and straddle him. your own hands fist his obsidian strands, tightening and tugging when you pull back for air and he finds refuge in the skin on the column of your neck. he nips and sucks until you’re almost whining to kiss him again, his hips grinding against where you might need him most. 

it’s almost too much, but you can’t find it in yourself to stop. there’s something inside you that screams you’ve been craving this, that this intimacy with hajime is everything that’s been missing from your life. you feel so complete, a sensation so terrifyingly thrilling because you couldn’t imagine what would happen if hajime ever left you. 

“i need you,” you gasp against his lips, grinding down on him for extra measure and throwing shame out the window. your scent washes over him in crashing waves and intoxicates his soul yet again, the grasp of his hands on your waist surely bruising your skin now. it’s the tipping point, the slip in the house of cards, the leap into another endless rabbit hole that will only bring him torment again in sixty years. and though every lifetime he tells himself that he’ll keep his distance, that he’ll be nothing more than a good friend, he can’t help but relapse and give in. it’s too hard not to, and all the pain, suffering, and agony of waiting for you to be reincarnated is worth it if he can have you again. 

“if you’ll have me,” he murmurs. it’s silly that he’s trying to make sure you’re aware of your own actions, as if the soulmate bond wasn’t tugging on your heartstrings this whole time. there’s no one more perfect for him than you, nor him for you. written in the stars, foretold in the legends, there was no escaping it. 

“please,” you beg, driving the metaphorical stake through his chest. it ensures another death, another ending that most would spend eternity running from. 

but effortlessly lifting you with one hand beneath your thigh and the other wound around your waist, he takes it all, prepared to die once more.

[kiwi-bitchez]

hey love can you maybe do a shower smut one shot? don't feel pressured like if u don’t wanna do it it’s fine!

Water Pressure

Reader x Peter Parker

Reader and Peter are both college-aged. College!Neighbor!AU I guess?

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: Smut, shower sex, oral sex, face sitting, dick sucking, soap getting in your eyes, unreliable landlords

New York City in the summer was a great place to be. The stress of school was lifted off your shoulders, and you were lucky enough to be interning at your dream job. You were grateful for the opportunity to stay in the city after the semester ended, not having to move back home to your small town. However, there was one thing about summer in the city that was unbearable: the heat.

It was like a wet blanket that hit you every time you stepped out of your apartment, not that the tiny window box unit you had made much of a difference indoors. It was oppressive and heavy and difficult. You managed to survive with ice packs and cold showers. That was… until this afternoon.

You hike up the seven flights of stairs to your tiny apartment. The building was under serious renovations and didn’t have a working elevator, flickering lights, strange noises in the night. But it was seriously cheap rent compared to the other buildings in the area, so you were willing to make the sacrifices. Not many people lived on your floor, most of the rooms had been occupied by college students whose leases ended at the end of the school year.

You press your sweaty forehead against the chipped paint of the door as you fumble with your keys for a moment.

���Hey y/n, you good?” your neighbor from across the hall asks as he steps out of his apartment to leave for the afternoon.

“Yeah, thanks Flash. Its just so damn hot out. I’d suggest bringing some water wherever you’re going,” you respond. You sneak a peak into his apartment for a second before the door swings shut, getting a glance of his roommate Peter who was playing video games on the couch.

You were grateful to have them as neighbors, they were nice enough, would let you borrow a cup of sugar every once in a while, and weren’t too loud like the previous people you had lived near in college. It didn’t hurt that Peter was nice to look at. He was incredibly nice, and a little dorky, which only added to his charm. It wasn’t long into the summer before you had developed a little crush on him.

You had seen him around campus before, but never really got to know him. His best friend Ned had been your calculus tutor sophomore year, so you saw him in passing but never more than a wave or a smile. Now that he was living across the hall you saw him almost every day, lucky you.

You finally make it into your shoebox apartment and drop your stuff down on the kitchen counter. It wasn’t much cooler inside as it was outside, unfortunately. You immediately shed yourself of your slightly sticky clothing, peeling the few layers off your damp skin. It had become routine to hop in the shower as soon s you get home, an attempt to bring your body temperature down a few degrees and wash the sweat from your hair.

A sigh of relief escapes you as the ice cold water hits your face. The air of the city left a certain layer of grime on you that always felt nice to wash off. You allow yourself to use a large dollop of shampoo, wanting to scrub the roots of your hair from any sweat and dirt that the city had left.

It was moments like this that you cursed your landlord, cursed the building that you lived in, and cursed whatever higher power was in charge of your utilities. Your water shuts off. You jiggle the knob, hoping the water would turn back on, but it only lets out a few sad drips.

This had happened before, and typically wasn’t too big of a problem, however you had a mound of soapy hair on the top of your head that was starting to drip down your body. You let out an exasperated groan, not knowing what to do. You hop out and stick your head in the sink, hoping to use the sink water to rinse some of the shampoo suds out of your hair.

Of course the sink wouldn’t turn on either, and now your head was upside down in your tiny bathroom sink, soapy wet hair all in your face. When you stand up, the suds drip into your eyes and mouth, making you frown and scrunch your eyes up tight.

You grab the towel from the door hook and wrap it around your dripping body. In a moment of panic, soap burning in your eyes and starting to drip onto the floor, you decide to leave your apartment. It was a last ditch effort, but you needed this shampoo out of your hair and maybe their shower was working.

“Hey Peter?” you yell as you knock a few times, your other hand holding up the wet towel, “I need some help.”

You feel a little relieved when you hear his footsteps approaching, however that relief turns to embarrassment very quickly when he opens the door and you remember your current state.

“Y/n…. um…” he is a little confused.

“Sorry, my water shut off and I have soap in my eyes and in my hair and all over the floor,” you start to ramble, not really able to see him through your scrunched up soapy face, “is your water working? Can I use it for just a second.”

He starts laughing, which makes you feel a little bit better, you let out a laugh too. “Sure thing, I think it’s working.”

He runs over to the kitchen and turns on the sink, “Seems to be working fine, feel free to use the shower.”

“I…um…” you stand blindly in the frame of his doorway, dripping water and your hair a soapy mess in your face.

“Here, let me help you,” he laughs again. He takes your arm and guides you into their bathroom, his apartment the same model as yours just mirrored. “I have to leave, but feel free to take your time and let yourself out when you’re done.”

“Thank you so much, you’re a life saver,” you hear the door close behind you and you step into the shower, fumbling with the knob for a second before the water shoots out. You feel your heart rate slow as the soap is finally washed from your face.

You had only started to run your fingers through your tangled hair when you hear the bathroom door open again. Your eyebrows furrow as you start to peek your head out of the curtain. You see a figure for a second, floppy brown hair that could only be Peters. His hand quickly moves to the curtain, closing it in front of your face.

“Peter, what the fuck,” you start to ask.

“Shhh,” he shushes you and keeps the shower curtain closed tightly with his arm.

“Peter, what-” you begin to ask again before hearing Flash’s loud voice from the hallway.

“Hey dude, you in the shower?” He asks Peter.

“Umm, yeah, what’s up?” His voice is tense. You’re incredibly confused and just stand there in the shower enjoying the cold water.

“Just forgot my wallet. You mind if I take a piss?”

“Uhh,” before Peter can respond the doorknob starts to wiggle. You wonder why he doesn’t just tell Flash that you’re using the shower, but the situation is hard to gauge from inside.

“Fuck-” Peter mutters as he swiftly hops into the shower with you.

You turn to face him, about to throw your hands up, but it all happens too quickly. Before you can even ask what the fuck is going on his hand comes up to cover your mouth. Your eyes almost pop out of your head and your knees almost buckle when you finally see Peter.

Standing in the shower in front of you from the neck up was your neighbor Peter, the science whiz, nerdy, cute, t-shirt wearing, floppy haired Peter you had come to know. From the neck down…was Spider-man. Tight red and black suit that hugged his body, hand covering your mouth was gloved in a strange material that felt cold against your skin.

His face was incredibly panicked, his eyes almost as wide as yours. His other hand frantically came up to his face, signaling you to be quiet with a finger to his lips. Not that you had a choice, his large suited hand was tightly covering the lower half of your face.

You didn’t even have the time or focus to be embarrassed about being naked in front of him. You were overwhelmed with confusion and were too concentrated on the superhero in front of you to bother covering yourself up.

He throws his head back in annoyance as you can hear Flash peeing a few feet away, humming all the while.

“Alright man, have a good day,” he yells as he exits the bathroom.

“Yeah, you too,” Peter tries to keep his voice cool but you can hear an underlying shakiness.

As soon as the door slams shut he removes his hands from your mouth, but is still frantically gesturing for you to stay quiet. A few seconds pass and you hear the front door shut, he lets out a sigh of relief, but you can’t say the same for yourself.

His eyes grow wide again, realizing that he’s in the shower with you, and you’re naked. He scrunches his eyes shut and quickly turns around.

“Sorrysorrysorry,” he runs his hands through his hair, a little damp now from the condensation of the shower.

Before he can continue you grab his arm and turn him around, “What the fuck Peter,” you were still absolutely stunned, “what…”

“I’m sososo sorry I didn’t mean to be a creep or anything, I didn’t know he was gonna come into the bathroom and I had to hide…” you could tell he was just as nervous as you.

“I…what…” your brain still could not form words, “you’re… you’re…”

“Spiderman, yeah, and I really need you to not tell anyone please,” his eyes were wide with worry. At a split second you had thought this was a joke, or maybe he just dresses up in his free time or something, but no. The way his hand felt on your mouth and the terror in his eyes told you this was real, too real.

You give him a nod, “of course, of course.”

“It’s my biggest secret, and I can’t afford for Flash to find out because, well, I don’t think he’s kept anything to himself his entire life.”

You laugh a little, but your body still feels rigid and your mind is still swarming with questions. “But I think I can trust you,” he says, somewhere in between a question and a statement.

“Yes, you can trust me,” you could see ease creep onto his face, the wide-eyed, fearful look was slowly melting away. “Ned knows?” Out of all the questions you had, why was this the one you asked? It just slipped out.

“Yeah, Ned knows,” It was weird that you two were still in the shower, but you were both still too shaken up to realize or care.

“And…” you start.

“And that’s it. You and Ned.”

A deep pit begins to form in your stomach, “You aren’t gonna kill me or something, are you? Cuz I promise I won’t tell anyone; I swear.”

“Nonono,” he panics, “No, I’m one of the good guys, I don’t kill people. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Sorry, I- I don’t know why I said that,” you felt bad for implying anything, you were just nervous that your newfound knowledge of Peter would change things.

“It’s okay that you’re freaked out, I’m- I’m sorry for putting you in this position.”

Without really thinking you turn around and face the water. You needed to feel something other than confusion, embarrassment, shock, and fear. You spin back around after a moment, Peter still standing there in the same state of shock and confusion as you.

“So you’re Spiderman,” you say with assurance, “wow.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll get out, I’m sorry if I’m being super weird.”

No part of you blamed him for his actions, you knew he wasn’t making up excuses to hop into a cold shower with you. And you didn’t blame him for lingering. He was just answering your questions, explaining himself. That was reasonable.

“No,” you weren’t sure what to say to get him to stay, “step into the water, it will make you feel better, I promise.”

He stared at you with a blank expression for a second, not knowing how to take your suggestion. He was also concentrating immensely on concealing the erection that was prominently poking against the material of his suit. He wanted to remove himself before you noticed before you could realize that he had been looking at you.

You had noticed. For a split second, while admiring how nice he looked in the skin tight suit your eyes wandered south and caught a glimpse of his hard on under the suit. He still looked nervous, a new kind of nervous though.

Placing your hands on his shoulders, making somewhat of a bold move, you reassure him, “It’s okay Peter, it’s just me.”

There was something lingering in the space between you. The fact that neither one of you had rushed to escape the shower at the first possible second was one thing. You hadn’t tried to cover yourself up. You looked him in the eye when speaking to him with an air of sincerity and understanding.

“How does it come off?” you ask, genuinely curious as it seemed to be air-tight against his body.

His hand slowly comes up to the center of his chest, pressing down on the spider logo. The material seems to evaporate off him, expanding and stretching until it pooled at his feet.

The wide look in your eyes had turned to something else entirely, they boy you had been stealing glances of for the past few months was naked and in the shower with you. Albeit, the circumstances that got you here were not ideal.

You take his hands and move them up to your face, encouraging his strong hands to cup your cheeks on either side. The way he was looking at you made something inside you stir. You tried to close some of the empty space between you, as he tentatively pulled your face to his.

The kiss was soft and gentile, your lips hovered over his for a moment before connecting. Your arms wrapped around his neck, a hand moving up to his damp curls. He pulls away slowly, eyes remaining closed for a moment after your lips had parted.

“This…” he whispers, “this isn’t just because you think I’m gonna kill you or something.”

“No,” you laugh, “I wanted to do that before I knew your secret identity. I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

“Me too,” he mumbles into your lips as he moves to kiss you again, this one was harder and more sure. His hands run up and down your body, wrapping around your waist and snaking up to your chest.

You couldn’t help but let out a whimper as his tongue met yours. Your hands were resting on his chest, toned and perfect.

“You’re really warm,” you comment with some concern, as his skin was burning underneath your touch.

“It’s a…spider sense thing,” he wasn’t quite sure how to go about explaining his abilities to you.

“Here, step into the cold water,” you had forgotten where you were for a second. You felt bad about his water bill, you had been in here for quite a while, and hopefully would be here for a while more.

You clenched your thighs together as you watched him step under the water and run his hands through his now wet hair. It was like a scene out of a movie, the way his muscles rippled with each movement, the way his lips remained slightly parted as the water washed over his face.

His arms wrapped around your waist to pull you under the stream of water with him. The sensation of his face pressed to yours, lips interlocking as the water rolled down your face was unreal. You shift your body towards his, pressing your chest flat to his. You could feel his hard cock pressing against your stomach, making your thighs clench again.

“Will you touch me?” you whimper into his mouth, sounding desperate and weak. You move your hand over his, showing him where you wanted him most.

“Fuck,” he groans as his fingertips make contact with your wet folds. His hands are much bigger and stronger than yours, the sensation causes your eyes to flutter shut.

You move your hands down to his already hard cock, rubbing it up and down, somehow making it harder. Your mouth falls agape as he slips a digit into you, cool water still running over your body.

He takes your lower lip in between his, sucking on it in the process. He slowly pushes you back so your body meets the tile shower wall. One hand working between your legs and the other palming at your chest has you seeing stars. Your head rolls back, giving him access to suck and nip at your neck.

Fuck, why had you not done this sooner? He had been right across the hall all summer and only now were you finally experiencing what you had been daydreaming about.

“Peter,” you moan out, continuing to stroke his erection, “I need you.”

He mumbles into your neck, now littered with red splotches. He curls his fingers up into you, making your legs buckle a little, “Fuck,” you gasp out, “please.”

“Peter I need you to fuck me,” you can feel him smile into your skin, “but I’m worried about running u your water bill.”

“You don’t want me to take you right here?” he pushes against you so your back is flat up against the wall. All you can do is moan in response, his fingers still making work inside you.

Slowly detaching his lips from your chest and removing his fingers from you, he moves back into the water to turn the shower off. While he faces away, you slowly drop down to your knees, thighs spread apart and tongue laying flat out of your mouth.

You look up at him with big blinking eyes as he turns around to face you.

“Holy shit,” he hovers above you, “You’re gonna kill me, you know that, right?”

“Can I?” you ask as your head moves towards his cock. He nods and gives you permission before you lick a long stripe up the underside. His eyes closed and his head falls back as you take his tip into your mouth, rolling your tongue around his sensitive head.

“You’re sure this isn’t just because I’m Spiderman?” he manages to ask in between deep breaths.

“Peter,” you pause your sucking and continue to stroke him, “I’ve thought about having your cock in my mouth every day this summer. Every time we rode the elevator together, or passed each other in the hallway, I’ve wanted you.”

You go back to taking his length into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down, loving the noises he makes as you take him deeper.

“Do you want to go to my room?” He asks, “the bathtub floor can’t be comfortable to kneel on.”

You stand up and place a gentle kiss on his mouth, “That’s very thoughtful,” you kiss him again between thoughts, “I would love to.”

He takes you by surprise as his arms quickly lift you up, wrapping your legs around his firm torso. He carries you with ease to his small bedroom, tossing you back onto his messy comforters.

Climbing back on top of you, peppering your body with kisses as he makes his way up to your face, your lips finally meet with Peter’s again. You bite down a little onto his lower lip as his hand tangles its way into your wet hair, the other resuming its place between your legs.

You let out a low moan, only to be cut off by him whispering in your ear, “Will you sit on my face?” You pull back, a little stunned at his question, mouth parted at the way his fingers continued to twist inside you.

“All those times we were in the elevator or the hallway, and you were thinking about my cock in your mouth, I was thinking about you sitting that pretty pussy of yours on my face, riding my tongue.”

That sent a shiver down your spine that pulsed in your already soaking wet cunt. “Holy fuck” you could not even begin to explain how turned on you are. Peter easily flips you over so that you are now straddling him, his lips moving to suck down on one of your hard nipples.

You grind your crotch down onto him, missing the friction of his hand.

“Come here,” he lays flat down and guides your thighs up to either side of his head. Your mind was spinning with lust, completely fucked out and unable to concentrate as he uses his strong hands to lower you down onto his face.

His hands wrapped comfortable around your waist, fingertips diffing perfectly into your soft skin. A deep moan escapes you as he starts to lap up and down your slit. His tongue moves easily across you, lapping up and down, around your clit, into your hole, all of it. Your eyes were permanently rolled into the back of your head.

His grip on your waist started to guide your hips back and forth, rolling your core across his eager tongue. Every time your hips buckled forward and your clit made contact with his tongue waves of pleasure shot up your body. You couldn’t help but lean forward, using his headboard as support as he completely owned you with just his tongue.

“Peter,” his name comes out as a strangled moan, “I’m gonna come soon, fuck.”

He hums into you, adding vibrations to the slick wetness. “I want to come on your cock, fuck. Please, Peter, I need you to fuck me.”

Although you couldn’t get enough of his tongue, the way he was taking control over you, you were dying to feel him inside of you. You wanted to feel your walls clench around him as you came.

He laps a few more times at your sensitive clit, almost pushing you over the edge. He can tell you’re close by the way your thighs shook around his head, pressing against his ears. He starts to move, replacing his tongue with his fingers against your clit. He gracefully changes position, coming up behind you so you didn’t have to move at all.

You were already at the perfect angle, arms pressed up against the headboard and hips arched back for him. He continues to rub tight circles against you as he starts to run his tip up and down your soaking slit.

“You’re sure,” he knows you’ve already said yes, but he just wanted to make sure.

“Fuck, yes Peter please, please fuck me,” your words came out somewhere between a whine and a moan.

He pushes his tip into you slowly, and you rock back onto his cock, letting him slip deep into you. His mouth drops open for a second at the sensation of fucking you mixed with the way you looked with your head thrown back and ass bouncing against him.

“Peter, I’m gonna come please don’t stop.”

He picks up his pace, fucking into you faster while his fingers continued to rub your clit. He had only been inside you for a few moments, and he could already feel your tight walls gripping around his length, your orgasm washing over you and dripping all over his cock.

You fall forward a little, letting out gravely moans of his name and profane language. He fucks you through your orgasm, not letting up as you start to come down. He can start to feel your legs shake, so he removes his hand from your clit and takes a firm grip on either side of your ass. He kneads your flesh as he continues to bury his dick into you.

You were almost flat down on your stomach, hips still angled up for him, face buried into the pillows to muffle your loud moaning screams. He wanted to see your face as you cried out his name, so he pulls out and gently rolls you over, kissing up your thighs to give you a second to readjust.

He thought you looked incredibly beautiful, with your hair sprawled out around your head, your lips puffy and eyes fluttered shut.

He takes your chin between his thumb and his hand to angle your face up to his, kissing you passionately and deeply as he slipped back into you. You moan into the kiss, hands coming up to his hair.

He held one of your thighs back with his hand, giving him perfect access. Through fucking you he never stopped kissing you, only coming up to gasp for air when he felt you clench around him in pleasure. His thumb rubbed across your cheek, hand tucked perfectly under your jaw.

He loved the way you would whisper his name in between kisses, rolling your hips up into his.

He knew he wouldn’t last much longer, the way his dick swelled inside you as you sucked a mark onto his neck was a dead giveaway.

“You’re gonna make me cum, fuck,” he whispers to you, only encouraging you to grind your hips up more and kiss him harder.

He jolts back up onto his knees, pulling his dick out and rubbing the tip across your lower stomach as his come shoots out. You lift your hips up, collecting his come all on your stomach and dripping some down onto your inner thighs.

You can’t help but gawk at him as you watch him come undone, the way his brow furrowed and lips parted, the veins in his arm bulging as he stroked his cock.

He takes his length in his hand and rubs his red tip up and down your thighs, rubbing his come into your skin, spreading it around from your stomach to your legs. He slips back into you, slowly thrusting a few times before pulling back out.

“Holy shit,” you sigh as he lays down next to you, “that was…fucking hot.”

“You’re fucking hot,” he laughs.

He buries his head into your shoulder, leaving soft kisses across your skin.

“Um, can you get me a towel,” you laugh, gesturing to all the fluid on your lower half.

“Hmmm, no I don’t think so,” he jokes, “I think I want you right here, just like this for a while.”

“You certainly earned it,” you joke back before he hops up, grabbing a warm wet towel to wash you off with.

“Damn, well now I hope my water never comes back on,” you quip as he flops back down next to you.

“You are welcome to come use mine any time, even if yours is working fine.”

“You mean it?”

“Of course.”

[bemused-writer]

Analysis of Subaru, Kamui, and Subaru/Kamui

Ever since I first read X/1999 I was of the Subaru/Kamui persuasion. The two have each suffered a great deal and went out of their way to support one another; every single scene they have is of them doing just that as best they can. And since I have returned to my X/1999 obsession with a vengeance, I figure it’s time to take a look at this ship–and the characters themselves–with everything I got. Technically, this is not a “confirmed” ship. Technically, there are a lot of unconfirmed or implied ships floating around X/1999. I figure that's on account of CLAMP’s multishipping tendencies. Anyhow…

Before we get into this, I won't be taking Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicles into account for two reasons: 1) It is an AU and therefore is supposed to give us an alternative look at the characters and 2) If I start including the plotlines of Tsubasa we will never finish this review. X/1999 is already plenty long. 8D I might do a separate post about their interactions in Tsubasa once I reread that manga, though.

With that out of the way, let’s take a look. One of the most obvious things people have to say about these two is that they’re reflections of each other. They’ve been through similar experiences and similar traumas. Their reactions to those experiences are quite different, however, and goes a long way towards explaining why they take separate paths later in the series. Let’s start with their first meeting.

When Subaru first meets Kamui, it’s literally at the worst phase of Kamui’s life. His best friend, Fuuma, has just had his brain washed thanks to fate (!) and the woman he loved, Kotori, was murdered by said best friend right before his eyes. As if all that wasn’t bad enough, he was nearly killed by Fuuma as well, which took on a weird, sexual vibe, which becomes pretty consistent on Fuuma’s part throughout the series.

All of this is extremely similar to what Subaru endured at Seishirou’s hands in Tokyo Babylon years earlier (although the sexual component with Seishirou is toned down quite a bit in comparison). There are some notable differences in circumstance, however, and these circumstances are important to understanding the fundamental differences between Subaru and Kamui themselves. As Subaru says, their pain isn’t the same.

The most pertinent difference between the two is the cause that led them into a coma in the first place and what ultimately brought them out of it. For Subaru, the betrayal and abuse at the hands of the man he loved is what sent him into a coma while the death of his sister, the other person he loved most, is what brought him out of it. In other words, traumatic shock put him into a coma and traumatic shock forced him out of it. There wasn't a single moment that wasn't painful.

For Kamui, it’s quite different. The death of the woman he loved along with the betrayal and abuse at the hands of his best friend is what sent him into the coma. It was doubly traumatic because Kamui lost everything all at once. This is a big part of why Sorata was so worried Kamui would never wake up; he literally had nothing tying him to reality. The only two people he'd ever had a significant bond with were both gone in one fell swoop. The only reason he emerged from this is, of course, because of Subaru’s intervention.

Perhaps the only reason Kamui is even slightly well-adjusted is thanks to the much gentler wake-up call he had in comparison to Subaru. Frankly, after Hokuto died, Subaru didn't have anyone for nine years. It's no wonder he dwelled on nothing but Seishirou, barely managed his duties as head of the Sumeragi clan, and developed a suicidal wish to keep him going.

Kamui has Subaru, so he managed to avoid a lot of that. He's still obsessed with Fuuma, but he has other things to occupy his time with.

Some other differences in Subaru and Kamui's backstory to keep in mind: Seishirou was acting like a good guy in Tokyo Babylon. Fate had absolutely nothing to do with his transformation into a bad guy; that's just how he is. Fuuma actually was a good person who had the good persona wiped away and replaced with ... his fated personality, I suppose. I think this explains some of Kamui's stubbornness when it comes to rescuing Fuuma; he knows fate isn't fair and Fuuma was a victim of it.

Subaru has no such delusions. He knows Seishirou was playing him for a fool and he knows he has no regrets about it. It's why his wish isn't to fix Seishirou; it's merely to die at his hands, so he can finally let go of the whole thing.

And Subaru does his best to keep himself at a distance from his fellow Dragons of Heaven for the sake of this endeavor. He doesn't really befriend any of them or spend any real amount of time with them; he knows his wish will bring nothing but pain to anyone that cares for him, so he tries to avoid those attachments. I suspect we wouldn't have heard much from Subaru in this series if he hadn't become unexpectedly attached to Kamui himself.

So, let's get back to their first meeting. Kamui is in a coma and Subaru delves into his memories in order to help him. This isn't the first time Subaru has done this, and there are a few parallels to his previous case to consider with this one.

In volume 2 of Tokyo Babylon, Subaru has to help a woman, Mitsuki, that he once knew that had fallen into a coma after being sexually assaulted. It's implied this is the first time Subaru has entered someone's mind to help them, and he comments it will be easier if she remembers him at least a little. He'd been dreaming of her earlier that very day.

Now, not only does Mitsuki remember him, it's revealed that she's harbored a crush on him since they were children. It's never made very clear whether or not Subaru returns those feelings, although there are some jokes from Seishirou that she is his rival in love. Regardless, Subaru saves a woman that considers him special and only emerges from her coma thanks to Subaru's kind words.

So, when Subaru enters Kamui’s mind, he knows it will be dangerous. Kamui doesn’t know him at all; there isn’t any kind of attachment to make this easier. But the end result is very similar to what we see in Tokyo Babylon: Kamui emerges both because of Subaru’s kind words, but also because he’s found someone that understands the pain he’s been through to some degree. Both Mitsuki and Kamui reverted to childhood in their sorrow as well, a time where things were much simpler and the world easier to understand.

There’s no doubt that Kamui considers Subaru special after this. How could he not? And if we compare Kamui’s case directly with Mitsuki’s there’s at least the implication he may grow to care for Subaru in a similar fashion to Mitsuki. CLAMP went out of there way to draw as many comparisons between Subaru’s past and Kamui’s present as they could within this series, so I think it’s fair to make this assumption.

It's also notable that Subaru's own feelings on the matter are harder to read in both situations. Did he have feelings for Mitsuki or was she simply a treasured friend from his past? Her words had haunted him for years at that point, so her opinion definitely mattered. Likewise, it's harder for us to tell what he thinks about Kamui. We can tell there's a deep bond and affection there, but it's not quite as straightforward.

The hug is actually quite important here. They held one another in the dreamscape and then continued to in reality. This is interesting because neither Subaru nor Kamui are physically affectionate people. Subaru only ever hugged his sister and maintains a kind of no-contact rule with people in general. He never initiated physical contact with Seishirou throughout Tokyo Babylon and definitely doesn't in X/1999. He doesn't go out of his way to pat his fellow Dragons of Heaven on the back the way Sorata does. The only exception is Kamui.

As for Kamui, he just … isn’t affectionate. 8D You’ll recall how crabby he was at the beginning of X/1999. He was pushing everyone away in a misguided attempt at protecting them. Then, one of the only notable times he initiated physical contact was when he held Kotori in his arms and cupped Fuuma’s cheek for the last time, and that was when he was incredibly distressed and finally willing to admit how much he cared about them both.

These are two people he’s known and trusted his whole life, so it makes sense he would allow some physical contact between them. Consider how he reacts to Sorata, Keiichi, evil!Fuuma, and pretty much anyone else that tries to initiate physical contact: it’s met with either confusion, overt hostility, or acceptance without reciprocation. Honestly, Sorata’s gotten all three of these reactions… 8D

The one exception is Subaru, who he not only accepts physical contact from, but will also initiate. So, the two of them are relatively similar in how they approach this, which is something we'll see throughout this review.

While Subaru was in Kamui’s dreamscape, they discuss several important things, such as the fact Kamui is trying to escape reality and the fact nothing will change or improve if he remains in the coma. He also explains his relationship with Seishirou and how things became much worse when he refused to leave the confines of his own mind.

But there’s a small detail CLAMP drops that I always found interesting.

This isn’t meant to show Kamui as naive. On the contrary, this is actually pretty wise and gets back to Subaru’s Shinto roots. Subaru is an onmyoji, a follower of onmyodo, which is a mix of Chinese philosophy (the five elements, yin-yang theory, etc.), Buddhism, and has elements of Japanese philosophy, i.e. Shintoism.

In Shinto, things really do have lives, and they deserve respect. It's yet another demonstration of how the Sakurazukamori are the opposite of the Sumeragi; they use these basic ideals and corrupt them. Things aren’t important, and neither are people.

So, in one fell swoop, Kamui has reminded Subaru of his own philosophy and demonstrated a fundamental difference between his worldview and Seishirou’s. Kamui is approaching things from a similar place Subaru would have when he was younger (it’s hard to say how much faith Subaru has in his own practice at this point; he’s pretty jaded).

Ultimately, Subaru asks Kamui several questions that give insight into both of their mindsets while they're in the dreamscape: If his [Fuuma’s] true self is restored, are you willing to tell him you killed Kotori? Even if it means he’ll hate you? Even if you must shoulder the blame for the rest of your life? Even if no one else will understand what you wished for and the reasons why?

It’s a pretty serious line of questioning because, in all honesty, what Kamui wants is dangerous. There’s no guarantee he can ever have it, and if he does attain his wish, no one will be spared the repercussions of it, least of all himself. In contrast, Subaru’s wish is a lot less destructive for the world as a whole, but he’s still hurting the people who care about him with it. Still, a lot of these questions are probably the same ones Subaru has had to ask himself over and over again. He knows no one will understand his own wish, that he will have to shoulder the blame for it, and that some could even hate him for valuing himself so little. He's making absolutely sure that Kamui understands the repercussions.

The thing is, while Kamui is willing to shoulder all the potential problems that might arise when Fuuma is restored, he's not at all prepared to think about whether this wish is what he actually wants or if it's even worth all the other problems that will arise from it. Subaru doesn't bring any of that up likely because he's never had to think of the whole planet with his wish. This is outside his own experience. He's doing his best for Kamui, but there are some things he simply won't understand. It's why he pointed out that his pain and Kamui's pain are different; there are some things they won't understand about each other, even with these similarities.

Our next important scene with Subaru and Kamui takes on a much less dramatic tone, which is probably for the best; there’s very little chill time in this series. 8D

Kamui has enrolled in high school due to its location being where the sword will be hidden until he has need of it. He visits Kotori’s grave, which is nearby, and then goes to study with Subaru, though a fellow classmate, Keiichi, had been trying to gain his attention.

For one brief, shining moment, it’s as if we’re in a completely different series where the world isn’t about to end…

But the first thing that’s interesting about this is that it means they must be conversing off screen if they’re making plans to meet up, which is a theme that becomes very common with these two. Unlike the bulk of the Dragons of Heaven, Subaru doesn't live in the same dormitory as Kamui, so they’d have to figure out some way of meeting up. I would have liked to see some of that planning and how often they meet up to study, but CLAMP leaves all that to the imagination.

At any rate, Subaru has enrolled in the college and Kamui is worried he will get in trouble for skipping class to help him.

There’s a lot that's wrong with this. First of all, Subaru is only enrolled in college because it’s a good way of tracking down Seishirou, which Kamui swiftly picks up on. This is incredibly sad because throughout Tokyo Babylon, Subaru had been trying very hard to graduate from high school so that he could then go to college and become a zookeeper. This complete lack of interest in college or anything he once cared about is constantly present and goes a long way towards explaining why Subaru cracks as the series progresses.

Kamui is always very quick to figure out when Subaru is thinking about the Sakurazukamori even though, outside of their first meeting, he never directly brings him up of his own accord. There isn’t a single time when Kamui looks happy about it either. The sheer frequency with which Kamui brings up the Sakurazukamori makes me think he’s constantly looking for confirmation that that man really is the only person Subaru cares about, as if Kamui is hoping one day he’ll give a different response.

At any rate, what Kamui is really taking issue with here is Subaru’s smoking and his attachment to the Sakurazukamori. Subaru says he smokes because it makes him more powerful (which is such… a lie? Does he think anyone would actually believe that?) to which Kamui has this as a response:

Kamui appears sad and disappointed at the answer because it is a disappointing answer (and a lie, but I digress) and Subaru looks surprised because… I think he was actually worried Kamui thought he would be ineffective as a Dragon of Heaven due to the smoking, that it would hinder him in battle. The fact Kamui is worried about his health didn’t even cross his mind.

Their exact exchange was this:

Kamui: But… don’t you worry that it’ll–

Subaru: It’s fine. Some people find that smoking weakens their powers, but for me it has the opposite effect.

He doesn’t let Kamui finish his sentence and immediately comes across as a little defensive about the whole thing. So, yeah, Subaru didn’t think Kamui would care because he cares about Subaru. He thought Kamui only cared as the Kamui, his leader. Realizing he was mistaken changes the rest of their dynamic for the duration of their study session. Subaru snuffs out the cigarette and resumes where they’d left off.

We don’t actually get to see the rest of the study session, though it's implied it goes on for a while. Keiichi interrupts things at some point because he is determined to hangout with Kamui. His reaction to Subaru is both amusing and kind of telling.

Keiichi’s repeated apologies to Subaru for interrupting and stealing Kamui away followed up by his comment that Subaru is good-looking to Kamui really makes it sound like he thought he was interrupting a date and/or that he thinks Kamui is interested in Subaru. Especially after he turns it all around by telling Kamui that he's really good looking as well and, as if that wasn’t enough, invites him to his house and offers to tutor him.

Uh… I’m just going to say it. Keiichi has never been subtle in regards to his massive crush on Kamui and he clearly thinks he’s stealing Kamui away from a potential love interest. 8D

My goodness. XD I really don’t think Kamui picked up on any of that dynamic. He just thinks Keiichi is friendly and kind of weird. It’s like Kamui has developed Sakura syndrome and Keiichi is Tomoyo.

As for Kamui, we get an idea of how he views Subaru thanks to this exchange and it's pretty interesting. It also explains pretty much every single one of Kamui's reactions to Subaru and why their interactions go the way they do.

There’s definitely a lot of fondness there. He agrees that Subaru is good looking and we get an actual image of how he sees him: someone who is ethereal, almost untouchable with a very literal barrier (of water from the dreamscape), but he's willing to reach out and bring Kamui to his level. He absolutely views Subaru as a savior because that’s precisely what Subaru did for him. That’s a pretty complicated relationship, quite a bit more complicated than Keiichi is thinking, that’s for sure.

As for Subaru, he resumes his smoking as soon as Kamui is out of sight. I think Kamui suspected that’s why he wanted to stay behind because he looks contemplative when Subaru says he isn’t coming with. Even Keiichi seems surprised. Maybe that’s why he thought he had a chance with Kamui? (Also, Keiichi and Kamui’s interactions kind of deserve their own analysis because he’s Kamui’s one tie to normalcy and Keiichi has a profound attachment to Kamui the second they meet.)

Even so, Kamui's words about smoking being bad for him sticks with Subaru and you can tell he's conflicted about it. He keeps the cigarettes close, but there's less certainty about it than there was earlier in their conversation.

This part in particular is up for interpretation since there’s no dialogue, but to me it reads as Subaru being unable to let Seishirou go, but possibly wishing he were capable of it. He knows his wish will hurt people, and Subaru has never been content with that. This scene also makes me think of Subaru's one-shot chapter, where a woman says only a person with an ill heart can go around thinking only of one person. Subaru knows smoking is bad for him, but he's also already accepted he's "ill."

I’m a little unclear on how much time has passed, but the next time Kamui and Subaru see each other, it’s after Kamui is returning home from Keiichi’s house. He’s attacked by Fuuma and Subaru rushes in to save him.

Subaru legitimately came out of nowhere in this scene. Where was he before? How'd he get there so quickly? I know that the Dragons of Heaven can sense when a kekkai is raised, but Kamui can't raise one, so... I honestly can't remember, can the Dragons of Heaven just sense when Kamui is in danger? Because if not, I really don't know how Subaru knew to be exactly where he was needed.

Regardless, the battle between Fuuma and Kamui was going about as well as it usually does, which is to say absolutely terribly. Subaru gets a kekkai raised, and we actually get to see him use his onmyoji abilities in earnest against Nataku. You have no idea how much I wish we'd gotten to see infinitely more of this.

Unfortunately, Subaru ultimately loses once Fuuma joins the fray, but that’s because Fuuma is, frankly, an OP villain. I have never understood why the villains are so much more powerful than the good guys in this series. That’s just bad game design.

So, Subaru actually manages to capture Fuuma in a kekkai. I’m a little unclear on what the end goal of this was going to be. Annihilating him? Trapping him for good? But we don’t get to find out because Subaru gets lost in visions of Seishirou, the man he wants to kill him. To add insult to injury, Fuuma attacks him the same way Seishirou did when he was 16 and blinds his eye, saying it’s “his wish.” Ever notice Fuuma only seems to grant the really messed up wishes? He doesn’t have to grant all of these. He could focus on some nice ones for a change. Sheesh…

More importantly (as far as this review goes), Kamui is once again in the same situation Subaru was when he was 16. He is being protected by someone who loses their eye and he was powerless to stop it, just as Subaru was all those years ago. The main difference is that back then, Subaru was purposefully allowing someone to take their anger out on him and Seishirou got in the way. Kamui was forcibly restrained from the battle and had no choice but to witness events. It also shows the difference in their personality: Subaru isn't predisposed to fighting and is more than willing to be hurt if it helps another while Kamui is perfectly all right with fighting, he just doesn't want to hurt the other Kamui because it will hurt Fuuma.

There are some other differences as well. When Seishirou’s eye was gouged out he kind of just… walked into the ER? 8D Didn’t comfort Subaru, just casually stopped the woman from attacking him and walked away. So, Subaru’s distress levels were through the roof.

Kamui’s distress levels are also ridiculously high, but once again, Subaru is far more compassionate than Seishirou and I’m sure Subaru can see the parallels here. He knows exactly what Kamui’s going through, and he doesn’t want Kamui beating himself up the way he did to himself all those years ago. He actually stops the gurney in an effort to comfort him.

It definitely helps, but sometimes Subaru is a little too honest with Kamui. He tells him this was his “wish.” Needless to say, that doesn’t exactly ease Kamui’s mind because it raises a lot of questions about Subaru's mental state he probably hadn't even been considering before.

What follows is the most clear cut parallel we’ve ever had between Subaru and Kamui. Subaru’s despair at possibly losing Seishirou when he was 16 is nearly identical to Kamui’s despair at nearly losing Subaru in the present. CLAMP is not doing this accidentally.

This, almost more than anything else, makes me believe that Kamui has feelings for Subaru because there’s not really a reason to include this parallel otherwise. In Tokyo Babylon, after Seishirou lost his eye, Subaru realized he was in love with him. It wasn't right away, but that was the incident that sparked the whole thing.

After Subaru loses his eye, Kamui stays by his side as much as possible. Kamui is never shown to have a sudden revelation he’s in love, but this is where the differences between Subaru and Kamui really become important.

Back then, Subaru was terrified of Seishirou hating him after the eye incident, and I think a lot of that comes down to the fact that Seishirou was trying to win a bet. He proclaimed his love to Subaru all the time, but he was also mysterious and decidedly standoffish. Subaru had a difficult time reading him, therefore he couldn’t predict what Seishirou would think of him afterwards.

Subaru also has a fundamentally different personality to Kamui; he had no awareness of his own feelings toward Seishirou until his sister made him think about it and a stranger said it sounded like he really loved this individual.

Whether Kamui is worried Subaru will hate him is a little unclear, but we do know that one of Kamui’s biggest opinions of Subaru is that he’s very kind. We also know he admires him as the man that saved him and saw him at his worst already. Subaru is always honest and very open with Kamui; there isn’t any additional layer of confusion in this regard (there is confusion about other things, though). The only thing Kamui fears right now is Subaru dying in this situation. He also feels massive guilt for being incapable of helping him. Kamui is taking the blame for this.

Another difference is that Kamui doesn’t have anyone deliberately trying to get him to think about his feelings for Subaru, but I think Kamui is more predisposed to falling for people in general? Or at least more capable of realizing when he has. He loved Kotori and never seemed to be in denial about it from what I can tell. It wasn’t declared in a straightforward manner in the manga, but the series made it apparent enough through other things. Kotori is considered his canonical love interest for this very reason. And I think that’s more or less what we ought to expect in regards to Kamui’s feelings toward Subaru. There isn’t going to be a big revelation; it will simply be.

And part of that quiet revelation is how attached he continues to be to Subaru after this incident.

Subaru is overtly worried about Kamui, probably because he knows how worked up he was over Seishirou himself when it happened, but also because he thinks Kamui hasn't slept. "It's harder for him to bear the wounds to his heart than the wounds to his body." Subaru definitely understands Kamui's pain all too well and he knows that while this particular incident is his own fault, Kamui is the one who will shoulder the blame, just as he did all those years ago.

It's interesting that Kamui asks for permission to visit him again. It definitely implies that maybe he actually is a little worried Subaru doesn't want him around, that he's sending him away because he's upset with him.

Kamui looks quite distressed at first, but one look from Subaru and he knows Subaru isn’t upset with him; he's worried about him.

These two tend to be very quiet around each other as soon as other people are in the room, and both Sorata and Arashi are right there. As soon as they’re alone, they engage in far more intimate conversation. Yet, they appear to be pretty good at silent communication as well and a lot is exchanged in the above panels.

Even if Subaru has forgiven him, Kamui is still plagued by what happened (understandably). He compares it to his failure to save Kotori. Two important people to him are hurt/killed because he couldn’t fight against Fuuma. It’s a powerful dilemma and a powerful comparison.

Still, after a conversation with Sorata, a visit to Kotori's grave, and a conversation with Keiichi, Kamui has renewed hope. He can do something against Fuuma: he can protect the people he cares about. This renews Kamui's determination to learn how to create a kekkai, a plot point that is never actually finished... I honestly wonder if would have learned to create one? And what would have sparked that?

We get a little insight into what Subaru is thinking about events, though. It's about as depressing as you'd expect with the trajectory of this series.

Subaru has a selfish wish. He knows that wish will hurt everyone that knows him and now there are quite a few people who care about him, something he'd been trying to avoid.

Yuzuriha is entirely correct in her analysis here, though for more reasons than she might realize. She's essentially saying that both Kamui and Subaru look down on themselves and try to solve things on their own. It's why she makes them promise to call on her if they need help. But she's also correct in another way: they both have selfish wishes and they're hurting everyone around them for the sake of those wishes. Subaru is hurting people on an emotional level by pursuing death, while Kamui is inadvertently getting people injured and killed for the sake of rescuing Fuuma. The message is clear: if these two could let go of their one "wish" they could finally move on to other possibilities and would be far more effective at saving the world. It's a cruel irony that CLAMP made their kindest character and their hero the most emotionally compromised and the most inadvertently selfish. It's also a little unfortunate that kindness and hope seem to get trampled on so much in this series, but that's a whole separate issue.

Yuzuriha also leaves Subaru with a parting gift and, honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if she reminds him of his sister just a bit.

The cherry blossoms definitely bring Seishirou to mind as well as Subaru's wish for death, but it also makes me think of Hokuto as well, especially the rabbit plush. It just seems like something she would do. Regardless, Subaru still hasn't moved on.

Kamui engages in yet another battle with Fuuma, which actually goes worse than the last one. Sorata and Arashi aren't as timely as Subaru had been (Dragons of Heaven must simply be able to sense when Kamui is in trouble because they also were no where nearby. Alternatively, Hinoto is just telling them stuff). Fuuma is saying something about eating Kamui's heart. We could put this down as him being a general creep, but there's usually a double meaning with him. Perhaps one of Kamui's wishes is that he just didn't feel anything at all...?

All of this eventually brings us to our next Kamui and Subaru scene. This one has a very quiet, intimate vibe to it, probably on account of it not taking place in a hospital but what I think is Kamui's room?

Kamui has some pretty serious injuries this time around, and we learn that Subaru stayed with him the entire time, just as Kamui did for him at the hospital.

Actually, these two seem a lot closer than they did previously. Is it simply because of Subaru losing his eye? Did that open up a new level of compassion between one another? Was there more off-screen development? My guess is it’s mostly the former, but the latter is a distinct possibility with the way things have been going.

What is plain is that these two are always supporting each other in times of crisis. Not always physically, but emotionally. Subaru in particular is always there to counsel Kamui on whatever issue he wants to discuss while Kamui reminds Subaru that people actually do care about him and Kamui is one of those people.

“And yet, despite all that, I still can’t abandon Fuuma.”

Honestly, I think even Kamui is beginning to wonder if his wish is really worth it. He’s losing all the people he cares about in this pursuit. I genuinely think if Subaru had told him to rethink things here, he might have, because he trusts him and his wish has gotten him absolutely nothing so far.

Unfortunately, Subaru isn’t exactly in a great place to be telling people they need to rethink their life choices, so he doesn’t. Instead, he tries to be encouraging, which is both kind and misguided.

This is a level of emotional and physical intimacy that we just don’t see between any of the nonromantic relationships in this series. It’s actually more touch focused than a great deal of Arashi and Sorata’s interactions and those two actually have a very close emotional connection that develops into a sexual relationship later on in the series, so I have a hard time believing I’m supposed to read this scene as entirely platonic.

But what Subaru is saying is important, even if I think it’s a philosophy that manages to get both him and Kamui into trouble. “Happiness” is basically satisfaction or completion in this context. It’s not necessarily joy. Subaru is essentially telling Kamui that, yes, his wish may be selfish but it’s his. If it is the only thing that can satisfy him, he must pursue it.

Kamui makes no further comment on his own wish; he’s latched onto Subaru’s once more and is bringing Seishirou up yet again. Subaru appears surprised, perhaps because Kamui saw right through him or perhaps because Kamui’s interest in the subject has been so pointed, but he says “yes.”

I really do think Kamui was looking for something from Subaru here that he didn’t quite get. I genuinely believe he’s trying to get confirmation on whether his path is correct or not, but Subaru doesn’t really give him an answer. When that doesn't work, he tries to figure out if Seishirou is really the only thing that can bring Subaru satisfaction, which reveals this is yet another thing that's been on his mind.

That is not acceptance or understanding on Kamui’s face. That is something a little closer to sadness, disappointment, or possibly even anger. He is not pleased with this answer.

There are a lot of layers happening with this conversation and a lot of insinuations, but none of it is ever just laid out for us to see. What seems relatively straightforward to me is that Kamui wishes Subaru would let Seishirou go. He isn’t content with Seishirou being the answer to Subaru’s wish, but he also can’t bring himself to criticize it either. After all, that would be pretty hypocritical; Kamui can’t selfishly pursue his own wish while simultaneously asking Subaru to give up his own for Kamui, but I think there’s a part of Kamui that genuinely wants that to happen.

It also reveals that Kamui does have doubts about the path he's chosen. He never says it outright--he's always vocally determined to save Fuuma--but he's looking to Subaru for guidance on this issue. Not anyone else. Subaru.

So no, Kamui can't reveal that he's unsure about his wish; it's what bonded him and Subaru in the first place. Likewise, he can't ask Subaru to rethink his own wish. What really needs to happen for these two is for them both to give up their current wish to pursue … whatever this is. I’ve talked a lot about Kamui’s feelings for Subaru, but Subaru definitely holds affection for Kamui as well. There would be no reason to hold his hand that way otherwise. And there’s no way Subaru isn’t aware of the parallels; he is definitely occupying a similar role to Seishirou in Tokyo Babylon, that odd mix of mentor and potential love interest. The obvious difference being that Subaru isn’t a psychopathic killer.

Anyway, Sorata and Arashi once again interrupt their odd bonding moment and it’s incredible how swiftly the mood in the room changes. Subaru physically moves away from Kamui, stands at a more respectable distance, and Kamui turns his attention to everyone else. It definitely feels like they aren’t trying to advertise their emotional connection or their problems. Kamui becomes the leader and Subaru becomes another Dragon of Heaven.

Subaru eventually returns to his side when Kamui enters a dream state with Hinoto while the others are there, but he doesn’t say anything further. It’s interesting that Sorata has no issue with hugging Kamui or putting an arm around him when others are around, but Subaru does. Of course, Sorata is simply more demonstrative than Subaru on any given day, but it does feel like quite a stark contrast.

It looks like several days go by between that visit and their next one. Kamui is mostly recovered and heading back to school.

This is so subtle it’s very easy to miss–I did the first couple of times–but Kamui just finished buttoning up his shirt here. He is not inspecting his scars like I initially thought.

How long has Subaru been there? They’re pretty obviously in the middle of a conversation; he didn’t just arrive. It kind of suggests Kamui just… got dressed in front of him, which is definitely a shift. Their general attitudes towards each other are quite different from before as well. The opening panel above shows both of them as seeming more confident than before.

I’m not sure I believe anything untoward happened between them because that would be a pretty drastic shift in dynamics, but if there ever was a point in this series where something more physically intimate occurred (not necessarily anything sexual mind you), it's probably the unseen precursor to this scene. It's CLAMP, so... I guess what I'm saying is that I sometimes just don't know with them. XD

Regardless, all of this reveals, however subtly, a side to their relationship that doesn’t get a whole lot of focus. Namely, all that off-screen bonding I was talking about earlier.

Some of their comfort level is no doubt from the situation being less bleak in general of course. That usually helps.

And then there’s all of this:

Kamui's left arm is giving him a lot more trouble than his right. That explains why he was buttoning up his shirt with just the one previously. But he appears thoughtful, maybe a bit sad, as Subaru helps him with his tie. A lot of that has to do with him not knowing where Yuzuriha is–she could be in grave danger–but I also think some of it has to do with Subaru and Kamui’s feelings toward him. I think it’s safe to say things have entered “complicated” territory. They have a relationship that's incredibly close, but no matter how close Kamui gets to him, there's always a barrier there.

There's also the fact that Kamui always feels guilty when he's incapable of something, so even something as simple as needing help with his tie could be causing him some distress.

So much of what goes on between these two is unspoken. Subaru helping him with his tie is something that doesn’t have to be romantic, but it is a frequently used trope used to demonstrate trust and care, usually between two people who are already together.

If Seishirou and Subaru’s relationship reached it’s culmination after Seishirou lost an eye, I think it’s safe to say that Subaru and Kamui’s is following a similar trajectory, only Subaru didn’t immediately turn on Kamui. Instead, they have time to explore things in a way Subaru never did with Seishirou, whatever that may mean.

Subaru moves things into safer waters from Yuzuriha’s disappearance to Keiichi. He says he will be glad to see Kamui back in school and that he asked Subaru every day if he was all right.

Now, I mentioned earlier that Keiichi definitely thought Subaru and Kamui had something going on and felt he might be stealing Kamui away, but what does Subaru think of Keiichi?

I'd say "curious" but supportive and completely unconcerned about any competition. Honestly, Subaru doesn't strike me as the jealous type, so even if there is something between him and Kamui, I don't think he'd stop Kamui from pursuing something with anyone else. Subaru wouldn't consider himself a great choice; he thinks he's selfish after all.

This is the last normal moment Kamui and Subaru have before Subaru's final confrontation with Seishirou.

I feel relatively safe in the assumption that Subaru was going to say "like you." This is before he even becomes the Sakurazukamori, but he now considers himself selfish and he can't move on from his past whatsoever. He's also lost some of the empathy he had when he was younger; he's definitely kind, but he isn't willing to give everything up for others. He's arguably taken on Seishirou's role with Kamui as well, which I'm sure he has mixed feelings about. And ultimately, he and Seishirou share the same wish: to be killed by the person they love. So, yes, Subaru is definitely different from how he used to be.

It's after Seishirou dies that Subaru really snaps in the series. He was struggling to get by for the majority of it, but this really does it. It’s notable that even now, Kamui restrains himself.

Kamui always holds himself back when it comes to matters involving both Subaru and Seishirou. He never tells Subaru what he thinks of his wish and he doesn’t know how to help him. I think a lot of his resistance to actively reaching out to Subaru on this matter, both physically and emotionally, is out of a misguided sense of respect for him. Subaru knows what he wants and did a great deal for Kamui; Kamui tries to return the favor by giving him distance, but I think distance was the wrong thing to give Subaru. He needs to be dragged into the now and he needs to be reminded that people care. That's a lot to take on though, so I can't blame Kamui for not knowing what to do, especially when he's looking to Subaru for guidance. He doesn't feel like he can take on that role.

Their final parting is tough to watch.

I think this time, Kamui actually is worried Subaru might hate him, because for the first time he’s actually “disrespected” Subaru’s wish. He didn’t let him die with Seishirou when the bridge collapsed. He saved him and that goes against everything Subaru has wanted for the last nine years.

But once again, Subaru misunderstands and I think there’s a part of Subaru that simply can’t accept that Kamui cares for him as a person. He’s stopped caring about himself, so he doesn’t connect the very obvious dots in front of him.

Subaru: You don’t need to worry about me. I’m not going to fall apart.

It could be this is just how Subaru deflects. Rather than discuss what’s really bothering him, he tries to treat Kamui like a leader who is talking to his subject, but that simply isn’t the relationship they ever had, least of all now.

Once again, Kamui gets to the heart of the matter; Subaru is thinking of Seishirou. Everything he's done is for Seishirou, and it's now very apparent Kamui simply can't accept that. He's sorry for it, he knows that if he really wanted to "respect" Subaru he would have let him die, but he couldn't do it.

Even now, Subaru is still trying to explain things to Kamui and still trying to comfort him to a limited degree; Subaru’s not exactly at his best right now, though and it's all pretty dejected. Despite having his wish denied, he doesn't blame Kamui. As he points out a little bit later, some wishes collide. He doesn't hold it against Kamui, though.

Kamui brings up the cigarettes again and this implies the whole thing is still bugging him and that he simply doesn’t understand Subaru’s motivations.

It’s interesting that our only previous glimpse into how Kamui feels about Subaru showed Subaru as being above him, yet reaching out to bring him closer. Here, Kamui literally sits on his knees before him so that Subaru is hovering over him, almost like a king with his subject, and Subaru is metaphorically reaching out to Kamui in an effort to explain himself so that Kamui might understand him.

Subaru explains everything, and essentially tells him he will never understand Seishirou now, never know what he really thought.

I think it’s safe to say that Kamui is feeling similarly about Subaru at the moment--he doesn't feel like he understands him nor does he understand what he's thinking--and once again Subaru is taking Seishirou’s role in a very roundabout way, albeit in a kinder fashion. But there's no doubt that Kamui is giving Subaru power here. Everything about their posture and conversation indicates that. While Subaru sometimes tries to treat Kamui like a leader either as a way of deflecting or because he actually believes that's the right way to handle things, we see here that Kamui absolutely views Subaru as the person with the wisdom and authority to determine things. Maybe not about the fate of the world, that's Kamui's duty, but as far as giving directions? As far as getting a say in what happens next? Absolutely.

And once again, Kamui is looking for something from Subaru he can’t give: he’s asking if what he’s pursuing is “right” and if he should change. Subaru is being given the power to change Kamui’s course and I don’t think he even realizes it.

While looking at their progression, I really think some of Kamui’s steadfast determination to save Fuuma is partially because of how Subaru keeps affirming this belief for him. There were at least two big moments where Subaru could have nudged him in a different direction, but he didn’t take it. Instead, he tries to be encouraging, although this time it’s definitely more fatalistic. Subaru doesn't understand the influence he has over Kamui and that is one of their biggest miscommunications in the series.

Even as lost as Subaru is currently, he still cares about Kamui. He wants him to focus on his own desires, not on him, and he wants him to take care of himself. The problem is that he’s completely missing the fact that Kamui relies on him, cares about him, and would do a lot better if Subaru stayed in some capacity. Instead, he disappears for a month.

Needless to say, Subaru is very much on his mind throughout his absence and Kamui still can't make a kekkai. He thinks about how everyone has something they want to protect, and that's why they can make one. His thoughts lead him right back to Subaru.

This is the person he's thinking about the most while he's visiting Kotori. This is the person he wants to return. And we actually get to see what it is Kamui actually wants for a change:

I don't know if this is the wish Kamui hasn't realized but it's definitely a wish: he wants Subaru to come back. He wants to go out and look for him. He wants Subaru to be capable of caring for someone other than the Sakurazukamori. The implication is that he wants to be important enough to Subaru for him to come back.

Just as Subaru wanted to be important enough to Seishirou for him to acknowledge him, so too does Kamui wish he were important enough for Subaru to do the same.

Kamui continues with "The people I most wanted to protect were Kotori and Fuuma. But Kotori is gone. And now all I want is to get Fuuma back. But... I still can't create a kekkai."

Fuuma is watching this moment through the dreamscape and has this input:

So, protecting Fuuma isn’t his real wish. What is? The only other thing he was thinking about was Subaru, but even I hesitate to say that’s the ultimate wish. I definitely think it's an important, unrealized wish all the same, however. As for Kamui's real wish, I’ve been assuming it was he'd chosen a different side so Fuuma could be spared or possibly that he had died instead of Kotori. CLAMP makes it hard to say for sure.

Anyhow, we finally see where Subaru’s been hiding out for a month plus: the Sakurazukamori’s house. I’m not entirely sure how he found it, but there it is.

Also, Seishirou’s final wish is about as messed up as you’d expect.

Wow, we get weird eye stuff and a dose of stalker possessiveness. 8D CLAMP outdid themselves. I can't even...

And as if that wasn't enough, we get this:

D-do I even want to know what that means? The context of this is incredibly bizarre. He’s talking about how Seishirou was upset another man hurt Subaru. The only person that’s been hurting Kamui is him.

Am I supposed to assume Fuuma wants to prevent anyone else from leaving any kind of mark on Kamui? Is that supposed to be a reference to an actual person? The only person I could think of is Subaru as far as who's been interacting with him, and I’m not actually sure that makes sense. 8D Is he talking about the original Fuuma? He’s jealous of himself? Or possibly even Kotori? Or am I supposed to assume Fuuma just wants to mark Kamui as his with another freaky eye exchange? CLAMP… Why…

Anyway, Subaru takes the eye because he’s been making a series of bad decisions and he isn’t about to let up now.

The next time we see Subaru, he has decided to do nothing, which is basically what he’d decided to do beforehand, only now he has Seishirou’s eye and is willing to watch events unfold. We see that there’s a little tension between him and Fuuma, which is… hardly surprising all things considered.

It’s interesting that Fuuma says Seishirou has been very selfish when it comes to Subaru. That would be pretty obvious to the audience, but Subaru is surprised by this assessment. Seishirou is preventing Subaru from achieving his “wish,” i.e. death and he’s also preventing him from connecting with other people. That’s the height of selfishness.

It is strange hearing this from Fuuma when he is being equally awful, however, which is probably why Subaru points out that wishes are something only Fuuma knows to begin with in what can only be described as an annoyed fashion.

We know Subaru has been on Kamui’s mind (a lot) and it looks like Kamui has been on Subaru’s as well.

Subaru does care about Kamui is the thing, which is why it's doubly strange seeing him as a Dragon of Earth. He doesn't want Kamui hurt, but he claims he's not going to be involved. Can that really be the case if he genuinely cares about someone on the opposite side?

Interestingly, he avoids the subject. He's always been private when it comes to Kamui and it looks like that isn't about to change here, especially when he's talking to the man who has tormented him so much.

The next time Kamui sees Subaru is in the midst of battle with Fuuma and Kamui definitely feels betrayed.

Subaru's presence here is a little strange and I think the only reason he's shown up at all is because he cares about Kamui, just like Fuuma said. He's not showing it in the best way, but...

At long last, Subaru tells Kamui what he needed to hear ages ago and using the opportunity he's been given many times, but never used. Kamui needs to rethink some things and saving Fuuma isn’t what he really wants.

And the thing is, Kamui listens. The final chapter ends with Kamui remembering Karen’s words and finally trying to piece together what might actually be going on and it’s all because Subaru finally stepped in and offered an actual opinion. That's the level of influence Subaru has over Kamui and I'm still not sure Subaru has figured that out.

So, how would things have progressed with Subaru and Kamui after all this? Obviously, there’s no way to say for sure. If CLAMP wanted to draw the final parallel between the Subaru/Seishirou relationship and the Subaru/Kamui relationship, then it’s quite possible Subaru will die at Kamui’s hands. Another possible parallel is that one of them realizes they love the other, but only when it's too late. But the thing is, while there are parallels between these relationships, their differences are far more profound and these two never had the kind of relationship where one would ever want to kill the other.

Even with Subaru’s betrayal, I doubt Kamui wants to see harm come to him; he’s still looking to him for guidance and support. He no doubt wants Subaru to come back. It's what he's been wanting ever since he left.

Rather than Kamui killing Subaru, it’s much more likely Subaru would sacrifice himself for Kamui, possibly as his final wish. It’s also possible Subaru decides to rejoin the Dragons of Heaven because there really isn’t any reason he has to be with the Dragons of Earth? He’s not a fan of Fuuma, he has no attachment to the people there. He’s just there for the sake of Seishirou’s memory. Undoubtedly there would be some conversation(s) between Subaru and Kamui even with them being on opposite sides. This wasn't supposed to be the final battle; Kamui doesn't die here. For all we know, that sword Fuuma's been holding up for years never strikes Kamui; it could hit someone that flings themselves in front of Kamui or it could be blocked or any number of things. But it isn't the end.

Furthermore, there's still the matter of Kamui learning to make a kekkai. It would be very strange if CLAMP never gave him a reason to create one. The issue Kamui is having is that the people he wanted to protect in the world are already gone. He needs some other reason or person to create a kekkai. This means he needs to realize an attachment to a person he didn't realize he had. I'm just saying, Subaru is a good choice for that.

And like Kamui, I have to wonder if there’s anything out there Subaru would be willing to protect. The likeliest candidate is Kamui himself.

Now, I would personally like a much happier ending to this manga than I think we were likely to get, but whatever the ending, I don’t think CLAMP was going to drop the exploration they had going of Kamui and Subaru’s relationship. It didn’t dominate the series, but it also got a lot more focus than they needed to give it. It was important and it was unique and I think their bond could have continued to grow if the world had been a little kinder to them and if they’d both been willing to move on a little sooner.

And that’s all for now. This turned out to be very long. I will now proceed to content myself with writing more fanfic. 8D

[meichenxi]

I hope you don't mind me asking, feel free to ignore this, but you mentioned you have synesthesia. I'm curious, how does this work for you? From my understanding (which is limited) everyone experience a bit differently. It just sounds really interesting, so I hope I'm not overstepping 😅

No not at all!! It’s a really interesting topic :D (and I’ll answer your other ask in a bit if you don’t mind once I’ve got some good resources together!)

This is going to be long, because I think it’s really fascinating! So I apologise in advance. It’s also going to get quite linguistics-y, because that’s what I’m here for always. 

So my synesthesia presents itself in a number of ways. Most obviously, I have the ‘normal’ bog-standard colour-grapheme synesthesia, whereby every letter or word is strongly associated with a certain colour and sort of...feel. So for example <k> is a sly orange, sharp and mischievous. Not all letters have very strong impressions; <I> and <i> for instance are both just sort of wishy-washy and pale cloudy lemonade colour. 

Also! I have evidence for the psychological reality of the syllable and the phonological word. Often word- or syllable-initial consonants ‘colour’ the rest of the word, especially with ‘light’ vowels like <e> or <I> or <y>. So for example, even though I’m not sure whether your username is a name or a word or what exactly, it’s ‘split’ into two halves: <karo> with an orange undertone, whilst still being able to see the ‘colour’ of the other letters, and <lincki> which is a pale yellow, despite the presence of the <k>. 

One other interesting thing is that these associations seem to come from quite well-founded generalisations based on place and manner of articulation. We’ve all heard of the Boba-Kiki affect (if not, look it up) where ‘kiki’ is the sharp, pointy object and ‘boba’ is the flat, blobby one, despite them both being non-words. This holds with my synesthesia too, so there are seemingly articulatorily-founded patterns!! For instance, many of my plosives are middle to dark blue; almost all of my voiceless/voiced pairs match up with the voiced version being darker than the voiceless version (except /k/ and /g/, and that’s because of the ‘orange’ pressure from palatals and ‘green’ pressure from velars, I think); many of my palatals are on a spectrum from pale yellow-white to orange, etc. My back vowels are dark, warm, deep colours, and my front vowels are lighter. I’d be interested in knowing if this holds with other people with synesthesia: I can only do so many experiments on myself lmao (and trust me I’ve done a lot).

Each letter also occupies a certain ‘space’ in the air, like the spikes in a line graph. This is how I read quickly; I memorise the ‘shape’ of the word (which doesn’t always map on to the physical shape) and use that. 

One weird thing which happens is that phonemes and graphemes don’t always have the same colour!! Which leads to very interesting results. For instance, <u> is a sort of terracotta brown, so I hate this letter in most words (I have very strong opinions about a lot of this. I hate <p> and <b> with all of my heart). But the sound /u/ is a deep, crystal midnight green! So if I hear the word ‘Undomiel’ (thank you Tolkien), it’s incredibly beautiful. Writing it down, though, I can’t stand it, especially clashing with the pink of <m>.

This is why I dislike some languages so irrationally for no reason I think. 1) I don’t like their colour palette. If it’s all over the place or a mess or a horrible sludge-green, sorry, I’m probably not going to learn it. 2) The colour palette of what I’m hearing and what I’m reading don’t match. This could in theory happen with English, but doesn’t, because I’m so used to it I think. But this is why I dislike French so much (sorry everyone!!), because what I’m hearing and what I’m seeing literally clash in front of my eyes and it’s gross.

Where it gets really interesting is in foreign language acquisition. What happens with tone? Non-Latinate writing systems? 

I don’t have as strong associations for sounds which have no representation in the Latin alphabet (so, say, the distinction between Hindi aspirated and non-aspirated stops), because a lot of it is still based on graphemes, but that representation is still there. Sometimes it’s a modified version of the representation of a phoneme I’m familiar with (for example, the heavily aspirated Irish /t/ is a lighter blue than my /t/, and the non-aspirated Hindi /t/ is a darker version), but sometimes it’s a murky new colour based, occasionally, on place of articulation. For example, whilst <ch> should be orange and then terracotta brown in terms of graphemes, the German ach-Laut is a completely different colour to the German ich-Laut!! The ach-Laut <ch> is a dark green (which makes sense, since my velars and uvulars are usually dark green), but the ich-Laut is an orange - because, again, palatals are orange!!! Isn’t that cool? 

Features have psychological reality guys!

Another interesting thing is that I often acquire a colour-based distinction long before I consciously notice a difference even if it’s not phonemic. This is nuts!! So for instance the standard Mandarin /t/ is pronounced slightly differently to the English /t/ (both have aspiration, but slightly different places of articulation); and correspondingly, way before I learnt this or could hear the difference consciously, I noticed the colour of the Chinese /t/ was a different shade of blue!! Similarly, when I was in a Hindi-speaking environment in India I noticed that I was remembering whether words had one of (many) t-like phonemes based on colour alone; I couldn’t tell you if it was aspirated, retroflex or anything, but I could tell you, if I thought to ask, what colour it was, and so produced the correct sound appropriately - because it’s a dark blue word, right? Importantly, I wasn’t making a conscious link between those features and the colour, so if you asked me what it ‘being a dark blue word’ actually meant phonetically, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you until I sat down and worked it out myself after looking at Hindi phonology. It’s just ‘dark blue’, so you pronounce it in a ‘dark blue’ way.

I mean ultimately this is just another way of distinguishing sounds so it’s not actually that exciting, it’s just conceptualised in a different way, and still takes a long time to develop, so it’s only happened with languages where I’ve been immersed for a couple of months or more, rather than say, French or Spanish. But it’s still kind of cool. 

As for tone, tone contours also colour the word!! I don’t know if this is influenced by anything in particular (common words with those tones, maybe?) but it’s fun. The first tone is a sort of yellow; the second tone is a steely blue; the third tone is like /w/ which is a deep green; the fourth tone is a red. 

One exciting thing is also that, the more I read Chinese, the more I ‘see’ the colour of a word. This isn’t just me knowing the pronunciation; if I know the pinyin but it isn't a familiar word, I don’t see any colour. Only if I’m very familiar with that phonetic component (because guess what!! That has an affect), a similar word, or the word itself do I see the colour. Which is just wild. So, can confirm that my brain is processing phonetic components via analogy on a similar level to ‘letters’, which is really interesting. Usually the character is just the colour of the initial, sometimes coloured by the final; it’s not as detailed as the representation in the Latinate alphabet. 

In other non-Latinate writing systems, the more I’m familiar with the system, the more I see the colours. These are usually colours of the phonemes not graphemes where they differ; so for hiragana, for example, /u/ is its phonemic dark green, and not its graphemic rusty brown. 

This colour palette is really useful in conlanging btw: I don’t have to actually think up a phonological system, I just have to think ‘autumnal’, and I get words that look similar. 

Numbers are also highly coloured for me, as well as being gendered (really brain??) in a very predictable way - all even numbers are female and all male numbers are male. This is probably the strongest of all my synesthesia: I genuinely mentioned this to someone when I was about eighteen and just assumed that the rest of the world knew this too, it was so obvious. What this means is that I remember things in ‘colour palettes’ and I have quite a good visual memory because of that - I just remember the ‘shape’ and ‘colour’ of the numbers and then can reconstruct it in my head. Some numbers are also ‘higher’ than others, like if you imagine a graph, so I can map out a sequence of numbers using the ‘peaks’ and ‘dips’ in space. I was doing a psychology test looking into people with synesthesia once actually where you are flashed a sequence of numbers, and then have to type them backwards. I was able to type about 12/13 numbers backwards in after being flashed for one second, compared to an average of 4 or 5. I couldn’t remember the actual numbers; but I knew that there were purple edges, then a yellow spike and a green blob etc, and so could look at the ‘picture’ and work it out from there because the representations were so stable. 

It’s actually really helpful sometimes! I remember numbers/words in these ‘colour palettes’, and once forgot the last two digits of my PIN when in China (6 digits, not 4, which I was not used to). But because I had chosen the number myself and the other digits were a sort of gloomy heather-purple/black/grey, I knew that the last two digits had to match that palette and ‘shape’ (how high a number rests in space). So I was able to guess them both within three tries!

Other things: people’s personalities and events sometimes are associated with colours, as well as music and sounds to a limited degree, but I don’t know enough about music theory to know if what is ‘purple’ or ‘lush green’ actually has any impact. It’s not individual notes alas - that would be so useful/cool. 

The personality thing is a bit annoying - I am often terrible at remembering people’s names if they don’t match with their personality in some way. I have two friends called Liam and Adam, and to this day (despite being friends with them for years and years) I still have to stop myself calling Adam ‘Liam’. I think everybody knows the phenomenon of ‘but he just looks like a Liam!’. It’s like that, but so strong I have to correct myself basically every time. I also get names that have the same ‘colour palette’ but nothing alike mixed up: for example Henry and Carl or Mary-Anne and Belinda. 

One other thing that is difficult is that if the orthography and phonology are particularly mismatched, or use letters in ways I’m not used to, this really hinders learning. I learnt some Medieval Welsh a few years ago as part of my degree and couldn’t remember anything because it was all just green. Or I kept writing /b/ instead of, say, /t/ or a dental fricative, because I knew it was a ‘blue’ sound, but couldn’t remember exactly which one. It sometimes leads me to make mistakes that are really stupid and probably don’t make sense to anyone else - /k/ doesn’t sound anything like /j/ but because they’re both orange-coloured, I’ll often mix them up especially if /k/ is next to a high vowel. 

So, that was very long!! Thank you for the ask :D But I hope it was interesting to any fellow linguists or language-lovers out there, and if there are any psycholinguists in the room, I have made a chart of all of this and mapped it out so hmu if you want some data lmao

Do you experience synesthesia too? What’s your experience like?

[scoundrels-in-love]

I've dreamt about you (nearly) every night this week

The hour is too late, Jaime is too shirtless much on their videocall and Brienne's fantasies run away from her at mention of 'pillowtalk'. Also on AO3. Part of Braime Monthly Madness/Mutual Pining March.

She misses Jaime.

It’s frustrating to admit, but true nonetheless. While Brienne does enjoy the vibrating, ever-changing air of her profession, she discovered early that she needs at least a few reliable things in her life to keep her sanity and happiness. Working out on specific days, a call to her father at least once every two weeks, even if she has to keep it brief, a lengthy brunch with Sansa and (or) Margaery once a month or more often if their schedules allow it though they text and call each other plenty, are part of her subtle routine. 

Somehow, Jaime has become one such pillar of stability. Snuck his way deeper and deeper into her weeks with a wink and takeout box as he comes over for a movie night, with surprise visits to her set when they don’t share it. Embedded himself in countless ways that leave tiny holes through which blankness presses through, now that he’s gone for the third month, doing promotions for his newest movie and shooting a reality show in Dorne. 

It’s not the first time they’ve not seen each other for a while, but this is certainly the longest in the last two years. And so, she is lying in her bed, staring at her ceiling and trying not to think of how much she misses his voice and laughter, and definitely not about the photos of him shirtless on beach that had been plastered all over yellow pages and Weirnet that he had the gall to forward to her with a cheeky comment how he can’t let her forget how handsome he is.

(As if she could, as if her dreams aren’t often invaded by his smile, the warm light in his eyes that’s one spark from incinerating, his breathy laughter in her ear, his hand slipping lower ... )

She finally wrestles all the images away and feels sleep beginning to blur the edges of her thoughts when her phone begins buzzing. Her sleepy frown dissolves at Jaime would like to start a videocall.

It’s a little later than their usual calls, but she accepts. If she’s got to end it soon, at least she can do so after smothering some of her insatiable longing. “Hey Jaime,” she starts, but whatever was meant to follow dies on Brienne’s lips.

Jaime’s reclined on a pillow and he must be holding the phone with extended hand, as she can see most of his exposed chest, almost glowing in the warm light of lamps. Because he’s shirtless. And grinning at her in a way that’s a mix of faux innocence and glee, as if he knows exactly how her stomach leaped or maybe knotted up - she’s not exactly sure but it definitely did something. 

“It’s hot in here,” he offers as an explanation and she hopes she hasn’t been silent for as long as she thinks she’s been. She’s also utterly unconvinced and drops the phone to the side, much to his immediate protest, to shift her pillows so she can do this more comfortably and with less double chin inducing angles. Like seeing her face in the corner of the screen, compared to all, well, that, isn’t enough of a reminder that her fluttering longings aren’t meant to survive the frost of reality. But the one time she tried to turn off her camera, Jaime protested so loudly it almost convinced her he misses her face, too.

“It’s 11pm, Jaime, don’t you have early filming tomorrow?” she asks when she’s settled, trying to avoid looking at anything but his face, though it’s hard when the screen is comparatively small. Isn’t his arm getting tired?

“No. Besides, I just need to tell you what nonsense Lysa Tully pulled today - you know there’s no one else I’d rather complain to.”

She wants to joke that it’s because he has no other options anyway, but doesn’t because it’s true. Jaime cannot call his siblings to joke about the latest nonsense on set, Bronn would only ask for dirty parts, Addam’s probably predisposed with something of his own. Even Elia and Lyanna are not exactly available these days, enjoying their family holiday. Though he has found tentative friendship with some of her friends and co-workers, it’s not the sort for such late night talks. And in truth, there’s no one else she’d rather speak with after a long day, either. 

So, how can she deny him this? “Fine, I’ll bite. What did she do now?” 

One story turns into another and an hour later, they both have shifted to be laying down more comfortably (thank the gods, now she can lie to herself that she’s unaware how he’s shirtless beyond the frame). The conversation putters out bit by bit, replaced by warmth and sleepiness. Or perhaps it’s the first, the sense of safety, that brings about the second. 

“We should do pillow talks like these more often. In real life, too.” 

Suddenly, she feels quite awake. And thankful the dim light hides the blush burning across her face. 

There is no way his word choice is deliberate, but the want goes from thawed and simmering on low fire, to molten steel in a flash. It’s not just the images of him sweaty and mussed up that her brain unhelpfully provides based on his post-training looks, it’s also basking in warmth of his grin, discovering if she likes to be genuinely held afterward, the softness of his voice and his hair as she would brush it out of his face, trace hand down his stubbled jaw that has left a pleasant burn across her--

The word holds too much promise, if only in her mind’s definition. And not one she can clarify with Jaime.

Especially since he loves to tease her, has outright told her he loves to make her flustered. Flirts only to see her fumbling reaction, just as Margaery does (even now, that she has proclaimed Brienne to be ‘tragically straight’). 

So, Brienne grasps at something safe instead. “You fell asleep on my shoulder last time you were over,” she reminds him, smiling a little at the memory. One of the reasons why they don’t R.aven movies together when they’re separated like this is because nodding off at end of second or third movie individually just isn’t the same, compared to the way they slowly gravitate toward each other when sharing a couch until someone (usually Jaime) is falling asleep on the other. The other is that reading his typo riddled, rushed commentary and responding to it is incredibly distracting and makes Brienne miss half the movie. 

“Speaking of which, we both should go to sleep.” It’s past midnight and he might not have an early morning (which Brienne doesn’t entirely believe), she actually does.

“Five more minutes,” he asks, not unlike a petulant child, but she doesn’t have the heart to deny this mutual indulgence.

Brienne doesn’t know when the five minutes turn into maybe twenty or thirty and when they dissolve into dreamless sleep, but she wakes up trying to nuzzle her face into the phone which definitely does not compare to the comfort of her pillow. The clock informs her it is almost 4am and upon unlock, the videocall goes fullscreen once more.

She can’t tell if Jaime propped his phone up quite so right before she fell asleep or after, which would mean he didn’t end the call when she nodded off. The thought should be uncomfortable, and there are definitely twinges of embarrassment as she had had to wipe drool away from the screen, instead she feels detached from anything but a tender longing that cocoons her thoughts, tangles them up and drags them away from any logic. 

Perhaps this sleepy, slow warmth is poison that will kill her, but Brienne is willing to risk it, just to stay in this kind of liminal, magical space in which their lives cross with the impossible reality where their pillowtalks adhere to her wistful definition. 

He has twisted away from the phone some, she can mostly only see the pillow, stump and his profile at an angle. For a while, she feels content just to watch him, taking in his relaxed features and the calm rise and fall of his chest. Sometimes, she has indulged in looking when he falls asleep next to or on her, but the urge to touch becomes too much quickly. (Work is where the best of both worlds cross paths and she has cover easily available, but at the same time her mind is occupied with the task at hand.)

Here, she doesn’t have to cover the reason her touch lingers, is safe from waking the man with a finger tracing his lips or skirting down his neck to rest on his exposed chest. The thought of pressing kiss below his ear, to his collarbone, scraping teeth across the hollow of his throat doesn’t pull her closer to him like the world's most powerful magnet drags a huge, crude iron rod. (Merely because he isn’t tangibly there.) She can risk-freely think of the little noise he would probably make before opening eyes, pupils blown wide for more than the low light. “I thought we were supposed to sleep,” Jaime would say, voice husky like it sometimes dips when they’re alone in the makeup trailer, even lower still, but he would already be reaching for her. “Well, there is more than one meaning to the word,” she would say and -- 

Brienne pushes the end call button with speed that outraces her heart. 

There are things that can be squinted at until they grow blurry enough to be seen as ‘we are friends and he is a very attractive man, a stray thought or two is bound to happen’. (Though she has been with a friend, and it wasn’t even starlight during the day compared to the scorching sun that is Jaime.) And then there are moments that cross any and all borders of appropriate, of what she can afford. This is definitely of the second sort. Worse, not only it is the indulgence of the highest degree, it also skirts too close to being a creep. Shame washes away last threads of desire. 

Jaime deserves better than to be ogled while asleep and groped at in her fantasies. He is her friend, with his confusing comments and heated gazes and face she cannot get tired of in or outside work, and a smile that can fill her with dread just as much as bone melting gladness. And she can’t, can’t erase it from her life just because he is so lovable and so beautiful there is ache behind her breastbone, trickling all the way into her fingertips. 

She double checks if her alarm is on and then puts the phone on the bedside table. Tosses and turns in the dark, as if heaviness in her has somehow slipped into the mattress and made it all lumpy. But eventually, sleep reclaims her and when she wakes, a text from Jaime already waits for her (so much for not having an early morning): What happened to call

I guess it timed out or something. Maybe WiFi got temporarily disconnected. she responds after a respectable amount of time, right before she drives to the studio. It’s only a white lie, far more innocent than the real reason. But that doesn't help her rapidly growing guilt, at all. 

He texts back almost immediately: Shame wanted u to be the first thing I see when I wake up

And if she replies only hours later, with a random update of her day, it’s definitely not because me too rang so loudly in her chest that she forgot all other words. 

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 17: Regulation

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Seventeen: Regulation

Note: Sorry the upload was a little late today. I was out of town at Microcenter trying to get a GODDAMN GRAPHICS CARD!! Ahem… sorry about that. I think you might all like where this story is going to go from here. Oh boy, do I have some ideas… 

(-~-)

In truth, no one present was entirely sure what to make of the scene that they had just happened upon. While they had indeed just witnessed it, there was no easy way to actually explain it. The gigantic demonic minotaur had collapsed and was already beginning the process of becoming ash, something that they welcomed, especially considering the fact that none of them had been available to actually attempt to assist with stopping the creature’s rampage. But that was the very root of the issue.

How on earth had this intrepid stranger managed to actually do battle against such a large for on his own?

While the concept of another hunter being able to take on something beyond the classification of a lesser demon was not at all unfamiliar to them, this was something else entirely. At first glance, the quiet stranger that they had allowed to tag along on their trip with them didn't seem at all capable of doing what he had just done. If nothing else, they had assumed that he possessed some basic combat abilities. Perhaps enough to protect himself. But this… to be able to harness and wield that kind of strength… 

"This is curious. To my knowledge, the Ludwig Family doesn’t have any devil hunters among their ranks. And they never have." Vergil said as he stepped forward, an intrigued look on his face. While it was true that the Ludwig family were practitioners of a variety of combat types and had been for the entirety of their existence, he had never seen one use the type of power that the redhead had just utilized, and never to the degree that he could use it. Clearly, he was proficient at a level that exceeded that of the average user, and that was something that Vergil found both fascinating given his initial impressions of the young stranger, and alarming. Normally he was better at gauging the power level of his opponents. Sirrus had flown way below his radar.

“You’re not mistaken. They do not.” Sirrus said calmly, sheathing his gleaming blade once again. While it was unclear precisely where he’d actually drawn it from, what was clear was that it had come from within his coat, and he had just returned it to its rightful resting place. But how he had managed to walk around with a blade that easily equaled the length of Yamato on him without alerting anyone to its presence was beyond any of them. Did he have access to a pocket dimension of some sort? Was their lack of interest in his capabilities what had kept them from simply not noticing it? Because if so, they needed to keep their guard up a bit better than that in the future.

An almost questioning look passed across Dante’s face as he seemed to take in the response of their new companion. Suddenly he realized that he truly didn’t know very much about him, and he found it more than a little bit disconcerting that he hadn’t really put much thought into the possibility of him posing a threat to him. The last intrepid stranger who had happened upon him in such a manner had been V, and before a few other names came to mind. Trish, Lady, Lucia… hell, even Beryl fell into that category easily enough! How many times was he going to have to learn this lesson?

“If that’s the case, then how do you know how to do… whatever that just was? And where’d ya learn to do it in the first place?” Dante interjected, noting Vergil’s silence. One could only assume that he was considering something, but despite the fact that silence was a trademark of his stoic older twin’s personality, that didn’t mean that he had ever been particularly comfortable with it. Left alone to his own devices, Vergil’s mind was just as deadly a weapon as his blade or any other ability or armament that he possessed. And if he wasn’t plotting the demise of someone or something, he was probably lingering in a sort of stasis, fixating on some lingering regret or other toxic thought. It was best to not let him idle for very long, lest he come to regret it

The man in black adjusted his coat, sliding his arm back into the long sleeve that it had once occupied. It was best that he do so, lest he accidentally allow his favorite garment to drag along the ash-covered ground. It was so incredibly difficult to get demonic ash out of this kind of material. “A reasonable enough question. And one I shall answer. But can we do it while we head back to your friend’s house? The air here had become rather unpleasant, and I’d like to stop having to breathe it. Methane and sulfur and all that. It’s bad for our lungs.”

Nero considered scoffing at the statement for a brief moment before thinking better of himself. It was best not to antagonize him, at least not until he knew how to do it without ending up cut in half or impaled like that demon. A quick glance over at V was all that it took to see that he was not alone in this assessment. The taller summoner seemed to be deep in thought, not that he wasn’t in most instances. But something about the look on his face had changed in some subtle way, and he was sure now that he was not the only one with doubts and concerns. In truth, Sirrus was still smack dab in the middle of his “suspect as hell” list, but now he was starting to wonder if he was asking the wrong questions. That didn’t mean, however, that he couldn’t ask a simple question. After all, what harm could that do?

“Okay, that makes sense. But then who the hell are you?” Nero said calmly but with an obvious tinge of unamused irritation on his face. He wasn’t sure he knew what to think of him at this point, and while he didn’t exactly perceive him as a threat, the fact that he hadn’t informed them that he possessed that kind of power made him slightly uneasy. Or maybe in some small ways he had. After all, Sirrus’s calm demeanor in most threatening situations should have tipped him off as a possible indicator of this kind of power, but Nero had no way of knowing for sure. But he wouldn’t put it past him to play those sorts of games with them. He just seemed odd in that kind of way.

Sirrus shrugged nebulously at the comment as it if didn’t affect him much or he had been asked the question before enough times to have expected it. “Again, I have next to nothing against telling you, but not here. I simply don’t desire to linger here any longer than I must. It isn’t ideal.”

Life rarely was, as far as Vergil was concerned, but he was willing to accommodate his request if for no other reason than the fact that after such a long time in the underworld, the scent of sulfurous gas and the presence of ash in the air around them hit far to close to home. He had enjoyed a reprieve from such foul substances for a few weeks now, and he was not at all eager to reintroduce himself to them. Leaving would, in fact, be best for more than one reason.

Very well, then. That is agreeable.” The eldest Son of Sparda said as he turned in the direction that they had come from, somewhat unsurprised to find that he could still see the road from here. The fountain was going to make a wonderful mess of that plaza soon enough, but at least the piece of metal from the demon bull’s fallen weapon had dissipated. The less evidence of their presence here, the better. “But let’s make haste. Something is entirely off about this situation, and I do not desire to be at the mercy of its wrath any longer than I must be.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Sirrus said simply before following the white-haired half-devil in the blue coat. Thankfully they didn’t seem eager to put up much of a fuss about it, and there was a simple explanation for what he had done. Well, at least it was simple for him. Nothing was simple when it came to his life, and this was no exception, but at least it was one of the few questions that he could easily answer that wouldn’t have catastrophic consequences outside of his control.

(-~-)

The walk back had been uneventful and quick, so nothing of any particular note had even a scrap of hope of occurring. Before any of them could even begin to think of where to start or fire up the part of their brain that existed to do critical thinking, they had arrived back at Lucia and Matier’s shared home, and more importantly, at the shared realization that it would be easier to just have this conversation at the house instead of on the way to it.

“Alright then, we’re here. So what’s the deal, then? How are you able to do all that?” Dante asked as he reclined on the couch. Lucia’s place had some very comfortable furniture, and he was more than happy to capitalize on the opportunity to enjoy it. It was nice to sit back and relax a little bit sometimes. “I’m not that good with magic or whatever you’d call that, but I’ve never seen a human use that kind of power.”

Lucia stepped forward as she closed the front door to the living room, allowing the door to close before she spoke. The fewer interruptions, the better. At least as far as she was concerned. And while she knew next to nothing about this stranger, what was going on, it what was even going on in the first place, she did know what he was curious as to what he could do. And if he was willing to explain himself to them, then it was probably best to take him up on his offer and allow him to actually tell them what was going on.

“Perhaps we’re just asking the wrong questions.” She said politely as she entered the living room and found a place to sit. There were a lot more people here than she was used to, but she didn’t particularly mind given the circumstances. In fact, she was almost glad that everyone seemed to be so comfortable in her small home. It was a welcome change of pace. “Maybe it isn’t about how he did that, but more about what he did and what he’d have to be in order to do it.

A soft sigh escaped Sirrus’s lips as he glanced over at her. Yes, she was as smart as she was pretty, wasn’t she? That was good to know. For all he knew, her intellect and perceptive nature might come in handy in the near future. “Your quite right. I’m a member of the Ludwig family through marriage. Or more accurately, through a divorce. Two of them each, actually.” His facial expression changed slightly for a moment as though he were recalling an unpleasant memory. After a moment, he continued despite the fact that something about his demeanor had changed. He was so reserved in the first place that it was hard to pinpoint what had changed, but something had indeed done so. “But regardless, I do not possess the limitations that many of them do in regards to their power as a result. I do apologize for not volunteering to tell you what was going on sooner, but I think you can understand the desire to not expose yourself to those that you do not know, especially you’ve not yet had a reason. I think that everyone like us desires anonymity, privacy, and normality to some degree. I hope you can respect that.”

Dante exhaled and leaned back slightly. Yes. Yes, he did understand that feeling. It was all too familiar to him. While a part of him did in fact still yearn for the possibility of that being true, there was a part of him that knew it wasn’t something he could easily obtain, if at all. More than likely it was a false hope, but he still hoped nonetheless. “Yea, I get that. Makes sense. Keep going?”

Sirrus nodded. “My biological parents are much like yours in that they are two completely different beings that hale from wildly different backgrounds, but I do not feel at all comfortable explaining who either of them is, or saying anything beyond that.” He said, gesturing towards Dante and Vergil respectively, his casual demeanor hiding his underlying anxiety much better than either of them realized. “What I can say is that my power is a direct result of their union. It isn’t a learned skill like it is for the Ludwigs. They are born with an aptitude for learning magic. I was born with inborn gifts. Mine simply differs from yours due to parentage and the fact that I am not what you are, but the principle is still the same. I hope that makes some measure of sense.”

“I understand that in a way,” Lucia interjected, shrugging softly in discomfort as she remembered her origins. It was a difficult subject, and one that she didn’t touch on lightly. After all, she’d spent a while fulling coming to grips with the truth herself. “I can understand why you didn’t say anything. But I don’t think anyone here would have had a problem with that knowledge. I mean, at least I think not.”

Dante shrugged and Vergil made some sort of motion akin to a shrug, but didn’t say anything. Nero and Nico both shared a glance over at V before doing much the same, both of them slightly unnerved by his persistent silence. Was he being affected by the knife again? “Yea, none of us can really say anything. Nico is basically the only totally normal person here. That is, if you can call whatever the hell she has going on “normal.” But she’d human either way.”

Nico punched Nero playfully in the shoulder. “Yea, what this stupid jerk is sayin is pretty much spot on, aside from me being that weird. He’s done some pretty weird crap, so I guess he can say that about himself. But me, I’m just a regular old human who’s along for the ride. If you need any extra weirdness, you’d have to talk to basically anyone else in this room. Well, except Lucia. She seems pretty cool.”

Lucia held her hand up to her face to stifle the slight giggle that she felt coming on. Nico was quite the character from what she could tell. And that was just fine by her. But she still needed to find out what everyone was doing on the island in the first place. It wasn’t that she wasn’t glad to see Dante. What was most certainly not the case now, and she highly doubted that it ever would be. But if she had to guess, she’d be willing to say that he was here for a reason. 

Sirrus seemed amused by the young gunsmith’s response. “Your all quite right. I’m simply unaccustomed to being forthcoming about these sorts of things, especially towards people I’ve only recently met. But your kindness is most apreciated. Thank you.”

The lovely redhead nodded and turned towards the rest of the group, making herself comfortable. “Okay. Well, that’s a relief. Now that we’ve had that conversation and everything is sorted out a little better than it was before, I have to ask… what brings you to the island again so soon, Dante?! Last time you were gone quite a while longer than you were this time! I know that the circumstances are vastly different, but my point still stands. Did you just so happen to be in the area and thought you’d stop by to see me again?”

Dante laughed lightly, craning his head to one side. He had indeed missed Lucia in the time that they’d been away, there was no denying it. But unfortunately, there were not there as a lovely leisure retreat. They had work to do. He shook his head to indicate that he was saying no to her question, earning him a bashful but unabashed look from his longtime friend. Truly he washed that he was wrong, but he wasn’t.”

“Not as such. We’ve come to return something to you. At least from what I understand. Venturing all the way out here was Dante’s idea.” Vergil said flatly, not at all in the mood for this kind of friendly banter. When he’d returned after his prolonged absence, he’d nearly been shot down a flight of stairs by Magnolia. And that was to say nothing of his arrival back from the underworld. Dante had received quite the welcome wagon in comparison.

She gave him a curious look as he pointed to the box behind her. As the realization of what it contained kicked in, she gasped quietly, covering her face with her mouth. “That box… what’s supposed to be inside of it is… that’s not supposed to… please tell me it’s empty? Please.” A shake of the head from Nero was all that it took for an almost mournful look to cross her face. “Oh, please forgive me for the trouble! I hate to say it, but I had no idea that it was gone. Some Guardian I am… Either way, thank you for returning it safely back to where it belongs. Do you recall where you found it by any chance? I’d like to investigate. Something this sacred just vanishing without a trace and without my mother or myself noticing is worrisome, to say the least.”

V finally decided to speak up, snapping out of the state of quiet contemplation that he’d previously found himself in. “Oh, I remember precisely where they found that knife. If you look hard enough, I’m almost sure you’d still be able to find my blood on it. But at least it’s been returned to where it belongs now.”

Lucia gave him a sympathetic look as if she understood what he was alluding to. “I’m so sorry to hear that you were hurt. I am glad to see that you are alright. I would be remiss to hear that my inaction lead to your untimely death, much as I am to hear that you were harmed in the first place.” She looked back at the blade again for a moment just in time to miss V turning away to look out of the window, mildly embarrassed by her kind words. He wasn’t accustomed to such kindness. Lucia was truly wonderful. “I will return it to its rightful resting place as soon as I have a chance. And this time, I’ll make sure that all of the traps are turned back on. Not just some of them. But I get the feeling that that isn’t all you need help with?”

Dante shook his head. “No, sorry to say that it isn’t. You up to going on another little trip with me to help out again?

She gave the youngest of Sparda’s two sons a polite smile. “Yes, absolutely.”

(-~-)

I’m suddenly very sleepy, and it’s only 10:58 pm. Maybe it’s just the stormy weather. The entire plate of alfredo I’m about to eat isn’t going to do me any favors, either. Oh well, see you next week! And thanks for checking this chapter out! Now off to the comment section!

[thewhumperinwhite]

Teaser: The Café, At The End Of The World

I didn’t intend to end this on a cliffhanger, but it was getting very long. Stay tuned for Action later today.

TW for: domestic abuse, slight/referenced/brief homophobia, lightly implied transphobia, vomiting, gore.

It’s a quarter past midnight, and Sol has not had a cigarette break in four hours, and he hates everyone in the Bayview Cafe right now. It’s called the fucking Bayview, what the fuck are people doing here when it’s too dark to see the View of the Bay?

   He’s down to two occupied tables, a total of three people standing between him and the ability to go home and add tonight’s tips to his top surgery fund. Two are new, at a corner table where Proux must’ve seated them while Sol was in the kitchen—thirty minutes before closing, the bastard—and the third is an old man in a moldy green overcoat, who has asked Sol for “more time” three times now, so Sol is fairly confident he’s looking for a dry seat to wait out the rain coming down in buckets outside, not overpriced small-plate bullshit.

Well, Proux is busy with Shawn in the kitchen, who came in smelling like weed (again) and is arguing with surprising eloquence that he should be allowed to smell like whatever he wants if he doesn’t interact with customers; so Sol is deciding to give the old man a few more minutes of warmth and dryness anyway when he hears a sudden dramatic shattering sound and turns to see a full glass of water tumble off the newly occupied corner table and explode onto the floor.

He stomps over toward the broken glass, and he’s almost grateful for the excuse until the patron seated with his back to him turns at the sound of his approach and fixes him with a stare so cold Sol freezes to the spot for a second. The patron already facing Sol’s direction smiles, maybe apologetically, but his older companion’s glare is so hostile that Sol almost can’t see anything else.

Sol feels a drop of cold sweat make a run down his spine. His binder’s on, and he’s been reliably passing for months, but old habit fills his brain with danger signals immediately. He makes himself keep walking, telling himself some rich old person doesn’t need an excuse to hate anyone who witnessed such visible clumsiness. 

The other person— the one who isn’t glaring, is already halfway out of his seat by the time Sol gets to the table, reaching for the broken glass with his bare, rich fingers, and Sol knocks his hand out of the way none-too-gently before he can cut himself and get Sol fired. The guy backs off immediately, easing awkwardly back into his chair.

“Sorry about this,” the faceless non-glarer says in a soft voice. The Glaring Man noticeably says nothing; Sol keeps his eyes on the glass so he doesn’t cut his own fingers, either. “Just an accident,” he goes on, as if Sol would have assumed it was anything else.

“No problem at all,” Sol says automatically, and then, when he stands, he makes eye contact with the non-glarer, and feels his face heat up immediately. The second person at the table is a young man, no older than Sol is himself, twenty-one or twenty-two, and he’s very, very handsome. He’s frowning at Sol with big sky-blue eyes, looking embarrassed. Sol looks away from him immediately, momentarily forgetting that his other option is the older man’s zero-degree stare. He can see immediately that they’re related, probably father and son; the old man’s eyes are the same light blue, though they’re still squinted in haughty resentment. Sol clears his throat, irrationally terrified that his voice will squeak, which it hasn’t done in months. “Another— uh— water for you, sir?” he says huskily. The man nods curtly, and Sol scurries away, relieved.

He’s about to flee back to the safety of the kitchen, but actually, he’s holding a grade-A excuse to make his conversation with the old man as short as possible, so he stops there on the way, shards of broken glass cradled in his apron.

Sol isn’t sure how the man can see him coming, buried so deep in his hood, but he curls up tighter in his filthy coat, so he must.

“Sir,” Sol says, keeping his voice gruff, “this isn’t a park bench. If you’re not gonna order anything, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

After a long, awkward pause, a voice like dead leaves chasing each other in circles wafts up from under the old man’s hood. Sol, leaning in to catch the words, is hit by a wave of the old man’s smell— much different than the normal unwashed-body smell he expects— and jerks back up straight.

    “...just some coffee, then, boy,” the old man wheezes, and pulls himself in tighter like he’s trying to disappear.

    The cheapest coffee on their menu is eight dollars, which is more than Sol would have had to spare when he was in a position to be loitering in cafes to be out of the rain. It’s kind of more than he can spare at the moment, if this guy runs out on him. “We don’t serve plain coffee here, sir,” he says, guilt making his voice harsher than he means it to be. “You’ll have to order something specific.”

    The man cringes again, drawing in on himself like he wants to disappear. Then a single damp hand slides out of his coat sleeve and deposits a twenty dollar bill on the table.

    “Cream and sugar,” he says in that same wispy voice, and Sol stares at him, then shrugs. He could tell the man five places he could sleep tonight for that much— or buy himself a decent coat, for that matter— but it’s none of his business what some stranger does with his money.

    “Be right back with that, sir,” he says instead, and tramps off to dispose of this glass responsibly and pour the old man an overpriced coffee.

Entirely by accident, Sol catches the tail end of Glaring Man’s growl on his way back out to deliver the water and stutters to a stop, not sure whether it’s safe to interrupt or not.

“—like such a goddamn child,” he’s saying, his voice fast and sharp and utterly poisonous, “we would not be having this conversation, boy.” In defense of Sol’s eavesdropping, he was actually starting to raise his voice a little by the end there.

His son is more careful about keeping his voice low, and thus harder for Sol to accidentally listen to. In response to whatever the young man says, Glaring Man curls his lip and leans forward, and hisses, “I will consider your feelings when you give me feelings worth considering,” and Sol feels his own face twitch a bit in response.

“I have your water here, sir,” he says loudly, causing both patrons to look at him, and he quails a bit under the intensity old man’s renewed glare, and might actually drop the glass he’s holding if the young man didn’t suddenly swipe it from Sol’s relaxing fingers and knock back a huge sip, setting it down loudly on the table.

“Thank you,” the young man says in a very warm voice, and then he drops Sol an unmistakably lewd wink.

Sol stares at the young man with his mouth open, which means he sees every movement involved in the full-force backhanded slap his father gives him.

The young man stumbles half-way out of his seat with the force of the blow. Sol takes an involuntary step back, barely avoiding the spray as the water he’s just brought launches into the air and spills down the side of the white table-cloth. The Glaring Man gets jerkily to his feet.

“I will see you again when you’re done being a fucking embarrassment,” he says, not looking at his son, and then he shrugs into his expensive-looking coat, gives Sol one last glare, and leaves the cafe.

Catahn stares at the door for a few seconds after it has slammed shut. When he turns back, the young man hasn’t moved from the position the slap pushed him into, halfway out of his chair, one hand tight on the edge of the table, head bowed.

Sol has no idea what to do. He takes a hesitant step closer. “Uh— you— you okay?”

The young man doesn’t answer. After a second Sol realizes with a spike of panic that his shoulders are shaking, and he’s reaching up a narrow hand to cover his face under the curtain of chin-length blond hair that’s fallen in front of his eyes. Sol is about to turn tail and run because no thank you, he’s dealt with way too much bullshit tonight to add emotions to the list, when the boy leans over the table, clutching his stomach, and Sol realizes he is laughing.

“Uh,” Sol says, only barely less alarmed.

“I’m sorry,” the blond wheezes, wiping at his long-lashed eyes. “Sorry, I’m sorry, you must think I’m— damn.” Laughing even harder, the boy shakes his head and rights the water glass his father knocked over when he slapped him. “You must think I’m out of my mind,” he finishes, struggling to get ahold of himself.

Sol one hundred percent does. “Uh— I mean, ‘course not, I— um— “

“I’m sorry,” the blond says, looking up at Sol, a little more composed but still grinning, and Sol freezes up again. His eyes are incredibly blue, and they’re still lit up with laughter. His cheek is turning red where his father’s knuckles bit into it, and now that Sol’s getting a good look at him, he sees there’s more than that— a thin scar through his left eyebrow, and a new break in his nose that looks like it’s almost finished healing, just a slight crook in the bridge and very faint dark circles under his bright eyes. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable,” the blond boy says, shaking his head, still pinning Sol with his bright, laughter-filled, slightly-bewildered gaze. “I’m not really sure why I did that.”

    Sol is determined not to say “uh” again. “Neither am I,” he says instead, and winces at hearing his own tone, which is openly hostile. “Whatever.” That’s worse, actually. Sol wants to hide his face, flexes his hand against the mug of coffee he is somehow still holding instead. “Look, do you— want anything? More water, or. Like. Whatever?” He has to stop himself from making a face at how fucking stupid he sounds.

    The boy doesn’t laugh at him; at least not with his mouth. His eyes do get suspiciously sparkly again, though. “Coffee, maybe,” he says, resting his chin on his hand and looking directly at Sol and nothing else. For a blond he has surprisingly thick, dark eyelashes, and he’s still smiling, his blue eyes crinkling slightly. Then he winces as though just remembering something unpleasant. “No, wait, I take that back. My meal ticket just left.” He gestures vaguely toward the door, and raises his other hand to his cheek without seeming to realize he’s doing it. The redness is already darkening; it’s going to bruise. “I guess I should get out of your hair, huh? I’m sorry.”

    It’s at least the fourth time he’s said he’s sorry. And while Sol isn’t gonna pretend he has any idea what’s going on here, not really, it does seem a lot like this kid’s dad slapped him hard enough to bruise for winking at another guy. Which is none of his business, he tells himself furiously, at the same time as he slams the coffee he’s still holding down on the table.

    The blond blinks down at it, then up at Sol, blinking his long brown lashes. “I’m— sorry, I can’t afford— “

    “It’s on the fucking house,” Sol snarls, and turns away to pour another free coffee, because he couldn’t reasonably pay for some rich kid’s americano and then kick some homeless guy out in the rain, which means he was gonna pay fucking sixteen dollars for the priviledge of being a gullible gay dumbass.

    The first coffee splattered halfway up the sleeve of his uniform shirt, and Proux yells at him the second he enters the kitchen until he puts his horrible scratchy wool blazer on to cover the stain.

    The old man is still sitting in front of the window, buried deep in his big moldy coat. Sol runs a hand through his hair— it’s been a fucking long night.

    “Sorry about the wait,” he says to the old man when he sets the coffee down in front of him, and then he sighs and adds, “Keep your money, this one’s on me.”

    The old man doesn’t move.

    “Uh— sir?” Sol says, and then the old man leans over the coffee cup and vomits a mouthful of blood half into the cup and half across the table.

    The smell of decay his Sol in the face and he stumbles back half a step. “J— Jesus Christ!”

    The old man lurches suddenly toward Sol and almost topples right out of his chair, his breath coming in one long ragged wheeze, and Sol reaches forward instinctively so he doesn’t fall.

    The old man puts his hands flat on the table. Sol realizes that he’s shaking. “I’m alright,” the old man says in a small, unsteady voice. “I’m alright. There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

    Sol almost can’t hear over the alarm bells ringing in his head. He loosens his grip on the old man’s shoulder. “Uh— yeah,” he says, trying to make his voice soothing. “I’m sure you’re fine. Listen, I’m gonna just go get my boss real fast and I’m sure he’ll— “

    When he starts to back away, the old man’s hand shoots out and tightens around Sol’s bicep tightly enough that Sol lets out a sound not far from a squeak. The smell coming off the old man’s hand almost makes Sol gag, and he can see it leaving some kind of slime on the thick wool of his sleeve.

Slowly, like his head is only delicately attached to his shoulders and might fall off if moved too suddenly, the old man turns his head to look up at Sol for the first time, and at the sight of his face all the air rushes out of Sol’s lungs. He can’t move a muscle.

“Please,” the old man says, and blood sprays from his lips as he speaks and splatters onto Sol’s shirt. “Please. You’ve got to help me.”

[aurorxbanks]

hello my friends !!! it is i, chelly, once again to throw my babie at you all :~) i hope y’all will love miss aurora just as much as i do, bc she holds a special place in my heart and i’m really excited to have her here! i think she’s gonna adore all of y’alls muses so :~) please don’t be shy, hit me up, i’ll be around in an inbox near you soon too to plot and chat! okay, before i ramble too too much, here is her way too long bio. love youuu

             * : ･ﾟ･✧･ meet aurora marlowe banks ･✧･ﾟ･ : *

tw: ptsd, trauma, construction accident, panic attacks, hospitals

TL:DR: oof, i struggle with coming up with a too long, don’t read for miss aurora BUT at her core, she’s just this sweet child who grew up in a really close family in maine. the banks got thrown for quite the loop after her father suffered from a massive accident, leading to many medical complications and hardship for her family. she suffers from pstd and panic attacks as a result, but she’s been blessed with a strong support system too and she manages well enough, all things considered. at the hotel, she’s a vet tech and is in her final year of becoming a veterinarian at the university of illinois - chicago. so naturally, a huge animal lover but food is also her love language and those of her two favorite ways to bond with new people. she’s timid and shy, a little naive and gullible, but a truly amazing friend and someone who loves and cares with her entire being. a good little egg and i hope y’all will love her as much as i do.

wanted connects: bc i don’t want them to get lost in the novel abys ... i’d love for her to have some vet pals, or rlly just pals who work in the pet daycare with her! if you’re a fellow cook, she’s going to ask you what your favorite recipes are with a pen and pad in hand so ... get ready for that one! she’d love a running buddy, or someone who’d spur of the moment sign up with her for marathons and such so like, bring them on, she’s an early riser so will motivate you to go train with her at 6 am - you have been warned! she’s only ever been with a few people in her life sexually and romantically, but she is very very bisexual so having an ex partner or a once upon a time crush/unrequited love could be hella !!! oof i cannot see aurora hating anyone, but something of a frenemies situation could be angsty and fun. they first met bc aurora almost ran them over while she was rollerblading and changing her song so the phrase ‘don’t text and skate’ came to exist askdf i’ve also got it in my head that her sister natalie’s fc is alycia debnam carey and her sister winifred’s fc is katherine/josephine langford so ... okay  i’m just going on and on here huh okay i’ll shut up

now, onto the WAY too long biography i wrote for her ... but here we go :~)

tw: ptsd, trauma, construction accident, panic attacks, hospitals

*:･ﾟ･✧･ who am i?: the coastal town of kennebunkport maine, tucked into the southern half of the state, was what aurora called home for most of her life. it’s a tiny little town with a population just under four thousand people, but it was during the summers that the area would come to life. her father, artie, was an architect per his degree but was a contractor by trade so he was constantly finding work to further develop what was becoming more and more of a tourist attraction each summer. so he had gotten to know the people in the town well, was often working construction jobs as he had a relatively small crew, and that meant aurora and her mother emilia were always out and about. whether they were bringing artie a bagged lunch on his break, or going down by the shore to collect sea shells even if it was the winter season, they’d become quickly and easily acquainted with everyone. and aurora wasn’t their first daughter, either, she has two older sisters: natalie and winifred aka natty and winnie. both of whom are named after their grandmothers, but winifred will tell you she got the short stick but thank god for hocus pocus because winnie is far cuter. anyways. so for the three little ducklings to be following their mama emilia, the town knew the banks family well and they were very well liked. they spent a lot of time on the beach as soon as the weather was warm enough, but they also liked driving the rv out onto the sand when it was too cold, too. they’d wear gloves and bundle up and the big fluffy german shepherd named scout would frolic along with the girls chasing after him, too. aurora spent just as much time chasing after her two older sisters, too, just wanting to keep up with them whether it be in school, or at home, or wherever. artie and emilia were high school sweethearts, moving to kennebunkport after they got married, and they were just exceptionally close and in love, maintaining their family wasn’t difficult. aurora was always a little quieter than her sisters, shier and slower to jump into conversation about whatever book she was reading or joining in on the chalk drawing all over the sidewalks with the neighbors, but she was every bit as present as her sisters were, too. it was truly a community, and one that aurora didn’t ever realize that she was going to be needing as desperately as she did after the accident.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ a new reality: when she was ten, her father was in a massive accident on one of his worksites as he was building a new beach house on a newly developed property. which was more of a mansion, truly, and the landscaping was still being mulled over. it left for some interesting scaffolding, even fault in some spots, and it was one wrong step that left her father falling a few floors down onto a bed of hard gravel below. as a result, he was in the hospital for the better part of a year as he suffered from a severe head injury as well as a broken back that took too long to heal as he was especially susceptible to complications given his type one diabetes rendering him immunocompromised. needless to say, aurora and her family spent a lot of time in the hospital during that beyond difficult year. emilia, the champion mama that she is, kept it together as best she could but the banks were truly a broken family. what they were going through, the way in which three young girls were being tested, and the medical bills that stacked up quickly … it was honestly a miracle that they had any sort of sanity at all. as a sort of escape, aurora spent a lot of time in the children’s unit of the hospital, because she tried making friends with some of the other kids her age ( since being around her sisters all of the time was also difficult for her ). she was there often enough, and they’d play tag when the nurses weren’t looking, and would eat in the caf together on the good days, and there were a lot of wholesome memories that aurora got to make when she wasn’t by her dad’s side. there was, however, the heartbreaking nights where a nurse would stop by and take aurora aside, tell her that one of her friends at the hospital had passed, and it was never news that she stomached well. of course, how could any kid? but aurora feels everything, all of her emotions, with her entire being. a lot of it just became too much all at once, and that’s when her panic attacks began. when it all became too heavy, in the stark white halls of the hospital wings, aurora would find herself curled up in herself barely able to breathe let alone think … the nurses, the doctors, they were incredible of course, but truly it was being surrounded by her family once more that allowed for little aurora to center herself again.

it was a little over a month before artie came out of his coma, and it was an even longer and slower recovery than was expected. seeing her father in the hospital bed, unresponsive, unsure if she would ever get to talk to him or sit in his lap as he read her a story, wondering if he was going to get to see her play soccer in the fall on the a team … for a young kid, it was a lot. it was a lot of trauma for a long time. but artie did wake up, which was a miracle in his own right truthfully, but so was his recovery. it was a long ten months of intensive rehabilitation, repeated fMRIs, and pitfalls but god was it a well-needed moral boost for the banks family. and even though there was still so much work to be done toward artie’s full recovery, if there was to be one, at least he was alive. at least aurora still had her daddy, and that made all the difference. as head injuries can be difficult, and unpredictable, it was uncertain what brain functioning and part of his brain would be affected fully. and as aurora had come to find, her father’s personality, the frontal lobe? he was still that very same person she had known her entire life, and emilia wholeheartedly agreed. the main differences came from his body, as he couldn’t move in the same ways anymore, he had to essentially re-learn how to sit up, stand, walk, but he did. in conversation, the recall on certain words, phrases, experiences .. it comes and goes, some things are there and others need a hefty amount of prompting, but the banks will live with that over the alternative every day of the week. it’s been nearly ten years since, and artie has come such a long way. no longer working on-sight anymore, he still works alongside his partner in their architecture consulting business. so to put it lightly, the recovery was better than even the doctors had come to expect. but the trauma, well that has always lingered with aurora. all that she had seen, had heard, the beeping of the monitors that her father was hooked up to, the sterile scent of the sheets that would replace the bed her friends in the pediatric ward occupied … it still haunts her. every night before bed, and every morning when she’d wake, she’d have to make sure her parents were still there, alive, breathing, able to respond to her when she’d reach for their hand. if mama was napping and aurora couldn’t hear that faint snore, she’d have to check on her. if dad fell asleep at his desk from exhaustion, she’d poke him awake with a few tears in her eyes. and even if it’s been ten years, it’s still something she’s likely to do with whoever she’s living with. luckily, when the time came, her college roommate understood.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ years to come: just to make it through the recovery year, and the rehabilitation years that followed, aurora leaned heavily on her sisters. they were three little peas in a pod and aurora’s never been closer with anyone else in her life and she never will be. they were, and for the most part still are, iseparable. they’ve got a groupchat that’s active at any hour of the day, has been for the past decade, hell even before unlimited texting they were on aim - and aurora wouldn’t have it any other way honestly. the only reason she did decently in school is because of her sisters’ influence, as they’re a few years her senior. they always kept aurora in the right spirits, along the right path, and a lot of that probably came from emilia’s request but aurora didn’t mind. she wasn’t ever looked at as the annoying little sister, but as an equal, and she truly appreciated that and them more than she could ever express. their bond is unbreakable, and it’s been tested time and time again, but it’s where aurora’s strong sense of loyalty comes from. it’s also a huge contributor to her endless ability to care for others. which, that particular trait has been responsible in getting her heart broken on more than one occasion, as aurora was the type to fall hard and fast especially when it came to any beautiful person glancing her way in the halls. but again, she had her sisters to protect her, to nurture any broken hearts or help mend any rocky friendships that teenage girls can have. if she ever accidentally hurt someone else, or if she was the one who got crushed, that ability to feel every little thing with her entire being would do a number on her, but natty and winnie were always right by her side. artie and emilia give the world’s best hugs, and always know when something’s up with their daughter. it allowed for aurora to grow, to express herself fully, to feel accepted despite her niuances. she’s found it difficult at times to connect with people her own age considering her mature experiences, but she’s done her best and the people who truly care for her have remained, and others have faded into the background, and that’s okay. aurora knows that not everyone is meant  to be in your life forever, but those who are, are held closely to her heart.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ onward: it was a difficult enough decision for aurora to venture out beyond her small town in maine for the big city .. truth be told, she likely wouldn’t have if it weren’t for winnie having made the move first. natty, the eldest, attended colby college in order to stay close to the family and for awhile there, aurora likely dreamt of doing the very same. but winnie was offered decent aid northwestern university, and she really wanted the opportunity to branch out and get out of the small corner of the work that the banks had been occupying for so many years. and while aurora and natty were a little heartbroken, that only lasted for a few weeks, before they got on the same page as their very supportive parents and knew that it was going to be one of he best things for winnie. and for the last two years of her high school experience, without her sisters being in the same building or the same house, aurora started to grow more on her own. she liked being able to make the roadtrip with natty to visit winnie on the weekends, to see what life was like outside of their hometown. illinois was exciting, and chicago was rich in diversity, and it greatly attracted all three of them. aurora especially, and she was constantly in her guidance office discussing the different colleges in the area and degrees she could be going after. she was a particularly good student, got a lot of tutelage from her support system, and the sciences were her favorite. she even made her parents buy her a special set of goggles for her chem lab and yes, she got made fun of for it, but aurora didn’t care. the concept of medicine was attractive to her, considering all she had been through and where her interests led her, but she couldn’t bring herself to envisioning MD at the end of her title … working alongside a human population, it just felt a little too overwhelming for her, perhaps even triggering, but she still felt that pull. and her guidance counselor knew that, also knew how often aurora volunteered at the local animal shelters and fostered as many as she could ( or rather, as many as her parents would allow ) so the topic of veterinary school came up, as did the university of chicago and their program offerings … and honestly, it was like overnight, aurora had made her decision.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ decision day: just shy of her eighteenth birthday and aurora was already enrolled and committed to attend the college of veterinary medicine and the school of public health at the university of illinois-chicago. it’s a five year program that she’s just about ready to finish, with only her clinical hours to go, before she can officially call herself a vet. and it was just last summer that she finished her vet technician credentials to be able to practice as a vet tech legally and outside of the scope of the college’s intern hour requirements, which is how she got herself a free place to live at the malnati. because while aurora loves her school, she’s always had a tough enough time fitting in with classmates who are her age, with kids who just wanted to goof off and fuck around. because aurora’s never been that girl. she’s quiet, timid even, and it takes her awhile to warm up to people - especially new people. she got to live in her little slice of the world in maine where her family were her biggest supporters and the rest of the two just knew her. aurora rarely had to introduce herself to anyone, ever. so it was a whirlwind of a new experience, and she was lucky to have winnie in reasonable driving distance, but it still made it difficult for aurora. the party scene was never hers, in fact being in large groups of people can occasionally overwhelm her, so she tested it out a few times before deciding that it wasn’t gonna be for her. she didn't like how her panic attacks seemed to get worse if she was around far too many intoxicated people, so she decided against them for herself personally. aurora much prefers the, let’s go get sushi and then roam around the art gallery, type of weekends. so needless to say,  she stuck to the few good friends in her program, some outside of it too, and just lived. she would run 5ks to support local causes, attend street markets and festivals on the weekends, run around hopping from one train to the next to get to work and then back onto campus so she could afford everything. but in her last year, it’ll be more than nice to have the malnati as it’s one less bill and one stable job to maintain on her resume while she completes her degree.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ love languages: which - that honorable sushi mention up there? well, food is one of aurora’s love languages. once her dad was able to come home, the girls became avid chefs. emilia was always a good cook, but more than that she taught the girls all kinds of recipes and techniques and it just created this type of burning, lasting memory in aurora’s mind and honestly being in the kitchen is just her second happy place. the first? well anywhere she can be surrounded by animals - that’s her first happy place. because she’s the biggest animal lover, but she’s also a huge foodie. she doesn’t cook as much as she used to being in chicago, as she did back home in maine, but with the suites having pretty incredible appliances considering the size, she’s excited to get back into it. handwritten recipe cards fill a few binders that she’s put together, and nothing makes aurora feel more at home than her dad’s handwriting, cause he’d scrawl down whatever emilia would tell him to as she was cooking, and it’s just a little shaky from the brain injury but it’s perfect. it’s him. it’s her dad’s. and she really loves the little hearts that’re on every card that her mom would add at the end, so she’s excited to start using them again. which means that she will feed you, she will share tupperware and accept new recipe cards with a lot of excitement. but also now, getting to live in a place where she is able to take care of all these beautiful pets in such a glamorous daycare? well, aurora’s somewhere between heaven and heaven - cause she’s got this big heart that’s filled with floof balls, and gorgeous birds, and reptiles with textured skin - and don’t get her started on the cutest ferret that one of the guests has lodged at the daycare for weeks and she cannot get enough of. so she’s fully ready to make just about any excuse to show up and hang out with you and your pets, because she vehemently loves quality time and as this also being one of her love languages, she can never get enough.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ four wheels, two legs, a paintbrush: but amongst other things that aurora enjoys? she’s a big rollerblader, like actually owns inline skates and will use them to get around chicago if she pleases and 100% takes those very aesthetic tiktoks wearing her bellbottom jeans and hair all blown out … it’s one of the very few instances of aurora being vain, but she just enjoys it too much. very much into running, it’s the only other form of exercise she willingly participates in ( unless it’s swimming because of course she loves to do that ) and she swears one of these days her knees are gonna be the end of her but she keeps up with it anyways. she signs up for 5k’s without question and half marathons take a few extra moments of consideration but she’ll do those too - she’s determined to do her first marathon soon and she’s really looking forward to it. she’s also not very good at it, but she loves to paint. she’s gotten a lot of those ‘paint by number’ watercolors that she saw ads for on instagram for way too long before finally placing an order but she really loves those. she’s got a vintage polaroid camera from her grandmother’s closet that she is very protective over but she’s highkey in love with it. that one stays in its case in the trunk at the end of her bed, but she’s gotten a less sentimental polaroid to use as more of a decor piece on her dresser. and literally no one is surprised at this point, but she’s got a record player and a bunch of vinyls from her dad’s collection and her sisters make fun of her for being 'that bitch’ but she doesn’t care - it’s just all a part of what makes aurora authentically herself.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ empath: of which, she’s exceptionally kind. to a fault, mostly. she’s gullible and naive, which caused her to be manipulated growing up but she had support to get her out of those situations when she needed it. because aurora is trusting, and trustworthy, but she mostly wants to see the good in other people. but she’s also learned from the moments in her life that burned her, and she tends to keep to herself a bit, and is very slow on the open up, but she liked to have friends. very much a social person, actually, she’s just gotta get used to the new and exciting and feel people out before she’s her most honest self. which is a bit of a goofy, smiley, supportive gal who very clearly grew up in a tight knit family because she’s quick to pull people into her circle who want to be there, and who care enough about her to be there in the first place. her favorite people are good people, and all she ever tries to do is her best. once she’s open to someone, she’s with them 100% of the way and holds the people in her life very close to her heart. she feels with her entire heart and soul, whole body, and sometimes that can be emotionally exhausting and even physically draining so she may need to step back from time to time, but she’s still always gonna be there. aurora will talk through emotions and isn’t afraid of having the deep talks either, which is probably one of the things that makes her such a good friend. being in chicago, she’s a wide eyed gal with a big heart, whose experiences have shaped her, and she is unapologetically herself.

[jeongi]

glasses-clad boy (m) | knj

(gif by: lilac panther)

↣ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | namjoon x reader

↣ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 10k

↣ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 | college au. smut. fluff.

↣ 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | explicit language and sexual content. oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, fingering, multiple orgasms, very soft and fluffy unprotected sex with a very in love namjoon (wrap it up kids)

↣ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You weren’t sure how Hoseok had persuaded you into actually letting Namjoon tutor you but there you were, waiting for a certain glasses-clad boy to show up.

This was a request and if you’d like to see your own come to life, please shoot me an ask, here. They’re always welcome and greatly appreciated! :)

     Tethering the pencil between your teeth, your brows furrowed as your eyes scanned the words of your essay on a blindingly bright computer screen, over and over again. You gulped, removing the pencil from your mouth as you silently cursed yourself for not listening to Hoseok when he insisted you attend the study groups leading up to this midterm paper. 

“Ah, shit.” You mumbled under your breath, eyes blinking at the words you had written. The letters danced back at you in a displayed taunt, trying to persuade you into second-guessing yourself. Your mind blanked from any content you had tried to study alone, the loose leaf paper laid in front of you—jotted with your brain vomit but proferring itself useless. The library you were sat in was as distracting as it was quiet, the clitter-clatter of other students typing away confidently let you know that they clearly had more knowledge over what they were doing far greater than yourself. You tried to prepare to write for this paper, you really did but that new Netflix show was just so good— you had to finish the first season...perhaps the second as well. 

Truthfully, you were lazy and most of the time all you wanted to do was sleep or mindlessly scroll through hours of social media, falling into the pit of all your insecurities caused by people living a much more pleasant life than you. Writing only came to you when you had the surging inspiration to do it; you were useless otherwise. And now, there you were, with less than a week to write this damn essay as the tick of the second's hand echoed noisily from the clock that stood just above the fireplace a few feet behind you.

Straightening your spine, you twirled your pencil between your index and middle finger before clearing your throat. 

You read your words again. 

“In the end, we reach the mirage and it becomes our reality. The fearsome desert becomes the ocean with our blood, sweat and tears. But why do humans often let fear come in between happiness? In Socrates words’, ‘I was afraid that by observing objects with my eyes and trying to comprehend them with each of my other senses I might blind my soul altogether.’ We treat—”

Your immersion deflected as your peripheral caught a glance of a shadow walk past you. You stiffened, letting the gust of air that followed the figure’s arrival hit you with a scent of white musk cologne. Shuddering as the chill hit your spine, the second floor of the library seemed to have dropped ten degrees lower in temperature. You tried to will yourself from not looking up, putting your efforts to concentrate on the words blinking back at you but you couldn’t help but give in to your curious brain as you looked up past your laptop to see none other than Kim Namjoon occupy the empty table right across from yours. 

The open-planned sky roof of the some, hundred-year-old building that was your university’s library, allowed the autumn sunlight to bounce off Namjoon’s honey locks. He raked his slender fingers through them while a free hand dug through the pockets of his sweatpants-clad legs in search of his earphones. He was faced away from you, gently lifting the black, Herschel crossbody bag off his shoulder, granting you a delightful visual of the rear of his grey t-shirt stretching around his shoulder blades. Placing the bag on the table, he opened the flap of his bag to pull out his own laptop before retracting the chair away from the table to finally have a seat facing towards you. You followed his movements, eyes trailing down to his exposed, tanned arm when they tensely flexed as he coolly lifted his laptop screen open and snuggly secured an earbud into his right ear. 

You knew of Kim Namjoon from various different outlets— the first being from attending the same philosophy class as him. He had written a breathtaking piece on what it truly meant to live a fulfilled life of happiness in a time where social media tainted the authenticity of people—linking it to some of Plato’s passages. It earned him the title as Professor Jinhwan’s favourite student and it was the first time you took notice to him as you listened to his natural vibrato voice when he read it out loud in class—that was a year ago.

It wasn’t until your dear friend, Hoseok, started mentioning his name where you put two and two together, realizing that it was indeed, that Namjoon that he had been talking about. They were friends long before you and Hoseok had even met, through multiple summers of interning at some software brand named Big Hit. It always struck you as odd that Namjoon, a software engineering student would choose something as intricate as philosophy to study as a minor. Granted, you also took philosophy as a minor, however; it would have been dotish of you to not take it alongside your History major—they went hand in hand. Namjoon was a completely different story. You’d never really talked to him and you were certain he only knew of your existence from the brief mentions of your name Hoseok would drop but you doubted he cared for anything beyond that tidbit of information. 

Namjoon was very good looking, that was no secret, as you’d witness the number of girls that would swoon just from the sight of him. It certainly didn’t help that he was incredibly intelligent, aiding the fact that girls would drop to their knees in front of him in a heartbeat if given the chance. Before even becoming acquainted with Hoseok, you heard through hushed mumbles floating around campus that Kim Namjoon—the boy who came in the top 1% in the entirety of South Korea after taking the CSAT exams—was going to be attending the same university as you. But, moving forward with your friendship with Hoseok, you learned that Namjoon wasn’t much of a lady pleaser anyway. He preferred to have his face stuffed between the pages of a book rather than the legs of a woman. It was almost endearing if you didn’t think it was also a shame that he would waste such a pretty face. Even you had to admit it to yourself that the man was a sight to behold, as you stared at him, seated across from where he assiduously typed away on his laptop—god, you were the creepiest person alive.   

You peered past your screen as you observed the way Namjoon’s chin jutted out in deep concentration as he nimbly worked away on what you would assume to be the same paper as you or maybe it was a project from one of his engineering courses—you didn’t know. When his movements suddenly stopped, your eyes travelled back up to the black frames atop his nose, only to meet his own curious gaze. Your eyes widened, snapped away from his piercing stare. A hand came up to shadow your face as your head dropped down to your lap. You felt your cheeks flush in embarrassment, fingernails digging into your palms because he definitely saw you staring and the thought of it alone made you have no doubt in your mind that your face was tomato red by now. Snagging your bottom lip between your teeth, you rearranged yourself to focus back on finishing the remainder of your essay, not daring to look back up as you felt the burn of the glasses-clad boy’s gaze remained stoic upon you. 

     “I’m a fatuous pillock that will never be able to pass this damn class.” You groaned, your breath coming out in crystal clouds as you walked beside Hoseok. The pair of you made your way to your favourite hot pot restaurant amongst the chilly, crisp autumn air. You let your head fall back, allowing the fresh breeze of November hit your exposed face. It was a momentary distraction from how much you’d been blundering the classes this semester, overwhelmed by the amount of work you had to do every week. 

The same blow of wind shook the trees to let out the softest of rustles—almost as if they were nature’s own maracas cheering you on for being able to get out of bed that morning in the first place. You were wrapped head to toe, a chestnut peacoat hugging your curves with a maroon scarf so thick, you looked as if you were drowning in your own attire. Thankfully, the walk to the restaurant was short from campus and the food was much-needed comfort after being held hostage to the blinding screen of your laptop— with the added luxury of Hoseok offering to pay for your meal. He truly was the only one who knew exactly what you needed before you even did. You had met Hoseok your first year in college, three years ago, sharing the same shift at the on-campus coffee shop (that you two had long since abandoned), and coincidentally, the same art history class. Forced to spend most of your days together, it was foreseeable that you would grow close but still unexpected that you’d practically be joined by the hip before the first semester had even ended. You cherished your relationship with Hoseok so much, regardless of him often calling you out on your bullshit rather than smothering you with love. In a way, it’d be a strange concept for him to show nothing but endless love, the thought making you shudder in distaste.

“I don’t think that’s anyone’s fault but yours,” Hoseok said with a shrug, causing any adoration you had for him to flush down the drain in an instant. You frowned, not having the strength to bicker with him because he wasn’t exactly wrong. Rolling your head down to your feet, you watched how the orange-hued leaves crunched underneath your black timberlands, your moment with nature once again being disrupted. “I asked you to come to the study groups weeks ago. You just didn’t listen to me.” He tutted, crossing his arms over his chest but you convinced yourself he did it because he was cold and not actually disappointed in you, the blithering idiot only sporting a long-sleeved shirt with a pair of skinny jeans.

“I did go.” You said, hands flying up to your touque to rearrange the plush wool fabric as it shifted with a particularly sharp snap of wind. 

“Yeah, once,” he shot back, arms tightening their hold around his own chest and you nearly offered to give him your scarf but the boy loved to argue with you and you suddenly wanted to watch him suffer. “But you left midway.” 

“Because there were too many people there,” your voice grew exasperated. “You know I work best alone.”

“No, you just enjoy locking yourself up in that god awful dungeon you call a room so you can avoid socializing at all costs—jeez, _____, did you forget the number of times I’ve had to break into your apartment when Yeona wasn’t there, just to see if you were still alive?” You tucked your face further into the safety of your engulfing scarf, trying to hide the tint of rose that surely painted the apples of your cheeks from sheer chagrin. 

Hoseok narrowed his eyes at you, “Speaking of studying,” He began, “Namjoon asked me about you the other day.” You tensed in your steps, the image of him catching your ogling stare resurfacing in your mind and you almost wailed in humiliation.

“Oh? Why?” You tried to remain a steady composure, voice wavering the slightest but thankfully, Hoseok didn’t take notice.

“Well, he just asked about you since you’re in the same philosophy class as him and conveniently, a good friend of mine,” he paused, “and when I told him you struggled with your midterm paper, he offered to help with your final.” You halted in your steps, Hoseok following suit before raising his hands up in defence when he noticed the look of pure mortification creased into your features.

“You did what?” you barked.

“Just hear me out!” Hoseok piped, gripping your shoulders as he pulled you forward. “The guy is incredibly smart and he volunteered to help so think of it as an easy A on your final.” Your eyes rolled so far back, you felt the strain of your optic nerve pull as a whine fell from your lips.

You were horrified as venom dripped from your words at what your friend had done. “Hoseok, you arrant ass.” He did nothing but beam towards you, a hint of mischief swimming in his eyes— but still, the nip of fall air felt a lot warmer with Hoseok’s sunshine grin.

You weren’t sure how Hoseok had persuaded you into actually letting Namjoon tutor you but there you were, staring blankly at the textbook propped open in front of you— nine in the morning, on a Saturday of all the days to choose from, waiting for a certain glasses-clad boy to show up. The university library was still, only a few scattered students stretched out across the bi-level building. You had arrived an hour earlier that morning, jittery nerves swimming through your veins as you persistently checked the time. 

Tucking a loose strand of hair that snuck past the tight grip of your bun behind your ear, you sighed at how pathetic you were acting. Regardless, you narrowed your eyes towards the clock for the 20th time that minute, concluding that a minute would not pass by in 10 seconds— no matter how many times you checked. It was only a minute past the time he had agreed to meet you, your mind swimming with possible outcomes from this “tutor session” as your leg bounced up and down in anxiousness. The reality of what Hoseok had gotten you into really started to settle in. That sneaky bastard. Resting your elbows on the cool, dark oaked table, you cupped your hands over your face, forefingers rubbing along the bridge of your nose as you exhaled deeply.

“Getting in your morning meditation?” Pausing your motion, you felt the slight jump in your chest from hearing the deep rumble of his voice. You looked up, releasing your face as you viewed Namjoon. His head was cocked to the side as he silently questioned your state while a soft smile graced his face, the hint of his dimples creasing his cheeks. How had you never noticed them before? 

For the first time, you got a clear image of Namjoon and you couldn’t help your breath from hitching as you scanned his form. The morning sunlight spilled through the full glass windows of the library highlighting the lights of his caramel skin and bleached the tips of blonde locks to almost white. The flush to his cheeks indicated that he had rushed to get to you, a thin film of moisture dewing at the peak of his hairline. And had he always been that tall? You were unable to help your eyes from raking his lean frame adorned in a cream, cashmere sweater and black jeans. 

“I could use some meditation right now,” You managed to say, fingers coming to rub the burn of your eyelids—partially from your lack of sleep the previous night but mainly to tear your blatant ogling. How embarrassing.

You looked back at him, blinking heavily as your blurred vision regained focus. “I’ve been reading the same line for the past 10 minutes.”

To that, Namjoon chuckled, leisurely walking around the table to occupy the vacant seat next to you. Your heart lurched when he shuffled the chair a little closer to you. Sitting with a plop, the light blow of air that followed his actions washed you with a scent of that familiar white musk you had been hit with a few days ago. It tickled your nostrils and you wriggled your nose, turning your attention back to the textbook splayed open in front of you. 

“You’re _____, right? I didn't just randomly sit next to the first cute girl I saw?” He called you cute. 

You let out a short laugh, nodding your head in confirmation as Namjoon mocked a sigh of relief. “I can’t believe we share a mutual close friend and have never talked to each other.” You agreed, trying to ignore the notion that this felt all too natural to have only spoken a short few words so far. It was a little incredulous when you thought about it; how you had managed to avoid him at every social gathering that Hoseok had ever invited you to. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you, though.” Dropping your head towards your lap, you caught the knuckle of your forefinger between your teeth as you tried to suppress the warmth streaming up to your cheeks. 

Namjoon shifted his seat closer to you, the outside of your knees lightly clinging against one another as he tried to settle in. The expanse of his outer thigh pressed against yours once he got comfortable and the warmth of the single touch shot tingles through your entire body. You wondered if he could feel it too. “So, let’s see what you’ve got so far.” 

Opening the lid of your laptop, your screen flashed to your lock screen before you typed away your password. “Thank you for doing this,” you said, missing the way Namjoon lingered his gaze on you for a beat too long as you scrolled through your files for the document. He took in the way the piece of hair you so carefully tucked behind your ear fell against your cheek, eyes stopping on the base of your neck where a gold chain clung against your skin. The tiny pendant that fell just between the space of where your collarbones met, took the form of a single, golden wave. Namjoon wondered the significance of it or if there was any significance at all, eyes returning back to your face when you slid your laptop over to him.

A few minutes passed as you waited for Namjoon to finish reading the words you had managed to scrounge up, the inside of your cheek surely bruised from how hard you were biting down on it. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, the air feeling heavy while your thinning patience took the form of nervous finger twiddling. Releasing a breath, you forced yourself to crane your head towards him in hopes of gaining a checkpoint of where he was but he was so close to you, you almost clashed your chin against his shoulder. 

“Oh god, you hate it.” Your words slipped as you watched the way Namjoon’s brows were furrowed while reading your words. His eyes flickered towards, the narrowed look on his face relaxing before he shook his head in disagreement.

“No, no, absolutely not—quite the opposite actually...this is incredibly beautiful.” His comment erupted the slightest of spark in your chest, the feeling much similar to when you were a kid given sparklers during the summer nights by your family’s lake house. It was genuine and you were always one to be starving for praise. “Seems like Hoseok made an error of judgement.” You could have sworn something akin to mirth glimmered in the chocolates of his eyes as he rested his gaze on the plump of your lipstick-stained lips. Instinctively, you trapped the bottom flesh between your teeth, mirroring his study of you.

You swallowed thickly, flickering your eyes back to meet his. “Why do you think would he do that?” Fuck. When had he gotten so close? Any closer, he would have been able to graze the skin of your lips with his own, the thought so appealing, you almost let out a moan.

“Perhaps he hoped for a different outcome.” His voice was low, sending the thump of your heart to rush blood to your head. Surely, he also felt the surging streams of galvanic tension engulf the two of you.

“That arrant ass.” You managed to choke out. 

The weeks that followed were nothing short of a whirlwind of time. Majority of your days were spent with bruised eyeballs barrenly reading over each word of your essay repetitively until you would find another imperfection to fix. You were surprised you hadn't needed glasses yet as the burn from your laptop screen left a permanent hue of red to the whites of your eyes. As the dead set of winter hit the city of Seoul, so did your deadlines. If you weren’t writing essays, you were cramming for exams to test your memory on things like the Bronze Age or the Renaissance Era. You had become a zombie, enslaved to college as you diligently edited and re-edited each sentence of your final essay. It was the last Friday before your university would shut down for the holidays, the energy of students elevating as they prepared to return home to their families for Christmas. You, however, were stuck in your apartment for the three-week break. Your parents being away on a cruise ship left their home empty and ultimately pointless for you to occupy. You didn’t mind it too much though—having Yeona, your roommate, being away as well granted you the place all to yourself. The thought of spending winter break alone did pang you with the slightest of dejection but that was swiftly cut off as Namjoon’s voice boomed through the silence of the library.

“Are you ready to hand this bad boy in?” He grinned, dimples indenting the plump of his cheeks and you parroted one back as you gave an enthusiastic nod. 

The pair of you simultaneously let out the deepest of exhales after clicking the bright blue button marked as ‘submit’ on your laptop screens—acceptance over the semester being over, taking solace in your brains. 

“We did it!” You chirped, slamming the lid of your laptop down before clapping in elation as the glasses-clad boy beamed towards you with the utmost admiration brewing in his eyes.

You weren’t sure how you and Namjoon had gotten so close over such a short period of time but you thanked the stars every night since meeting him for his presence in your life. Perhaps it was the immeasurable amount of coffees you two had shared over the course of the month and a half while laboriously writing the same papers. What started off as simply a ‘study session’ grew farther than either of you had ever planned—making more time to see each other outside of the confinements of the library walls. You had grown quite fond of his quirks, the most amusing to you being how truly clumsy he was. Not a day went by that, that boy didn’t break, something. Whether it was as small as spilling coffee all over himself or as misfortunate as breaking a chair, he really was a master at the art of destroying things. Perhaps he would destroy your heart as well, you’d muse. 

You cultivated a strong connection with him nonetheless, acquiring knowledge over his deep morals and values—surprising you when they were very similar to your own. Through your blossoming bond, you learned that Namjoon was a patient angel, always confirming that he had helped you to the fullest if you had the smallest of questions before returning back to his own work. When Namjoon wasn’t working on papers about Aristotle’s ethics with you, he was working on software developing projects for his other classes on a clunky, laptop that looked like it came straight out of the 1990s. The poor guy had to lug around the dinosaur for one of his classes but you were always so mesmerized when he would pull it out, creating something out of nothing by simply plugging in a few equations. He did maths as easily as drinking water, you had even timed him once. It took him 30 seconds to finish a question that took up more than a page worth of equations. At the moment you were so awe-struck that you had downloaded one of those ‘learn to code’ apps onto your phone. It was nowhere near as advanced as Namjoon’s knowledge but it was a start and you’d never be able to comprehend the mass of appreciation he had for your enthusiasm over his field of studies. God, you were just the cutest to him. The more time you spent with each other getting to know the big things and little habits, the deeper a lustful crave settled into your bones. 

Of course, you were incapable of ignoring the sexual tension that constantly sat thickly in the air between the two of you. There were one too many times Namjoon would catch you ogling, a knowing smirk playing over his plump lips as the apples of your cheeks burned in diffidence. You couldn’t help but stare at times, catching the ways his eyes twinkled behind his thick-rimmed glasses when he spoke or how his tongue would peek through the corner of his mouth before swiping across his plump bottom lip. Goodness, how plump they were indeed with a shade of rose to go against his bronze skin. And how could you not mimic his grins when he would hit you with a perfect set of pearly teeth to add to how beautiful he was? His hand gestures were always elaborate as he spoke and you found your eyes having a difficult time training away from his slender, long fingers as the veins running along the back of his hands extended all the way up to his taut arm. You could imagine his fingers slipping past your soaked panties, lips on your neck as he brushed the pads of his fingertips against your bud. A blush powdered your cheeks for the umpteenth time since you had met the boy. There you were, seated with less than an inch gap between you, fantasizing the ungodliest of erotica starring you and Namjoon. 

You convinced yourself that it wasn’t just you who had this pent up energy of hormones persistently flowing through your bloodstream. You had noticed, how much closer Namjoon would sit beside you. Sometimes a hand would sneak just on the tops of your thighs or his face would hover close enough for you to be able to smell the coffee mixed with mint on his breath. It was becoming seemingly impossible to distinguish between friendly and flirty, Namjoon making no such movement to validate that he felt the buzz of arousal between you guys lingering as well. You wondered if, in the 86,400 seconds of each day, Namjoon thought about you the way you thought about him. Perhaps he pleasured himself to the image of you as scrupulously as you did. 

A brief glimpse of Namjoon taking care of himself flashed in your mind. The image of his bottom lip captured underneath the hold of his teeth, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead as he pushed his cock further into the grasp of his hand—gosh, how badly you wanted to see him in that state of pure bliss. You discreetly squeezed your thighs shut, the flush over your cheeks deepening as you tried to minimize the dull tingle fizzing between your legs. It didn’t take long for Namjoon to take notice of the coy smile marking your lips, his fingers pausing over his keyboard as he arched an eyebrow towards you.

“Let’s call it a night, yeah?” His question brought you out of your sinful reverie and you stuttered in agreeance, trying to hide your bashful cheeks but Namjoon had noticed long before.

The clock struck just a few minutes past seven, and you heaved a sigh as you looked through the window to make out the bed of snow that blanketed the roads through the fresh flurries of snow that assertively dripped from the sky. The winter season deemed the hours within a day to shorten, the sun sinking on the east horizon by at least 4pm. It also meant that you had to take public transit—Yeona’s new work schedule debilitating her from being able to pick you up and Hoseok having already gone home for the holidays. 

“Jesus, there’s no way I’m letting you walk to the train station in that,” Namjoon said, zipping up the last few inches of his coat before plopping on a touque. You opened your mouth to argue, Namjoon quick to cut you off before you even had a chance to speak. “Don’t you dare try to fight me on this, it’s a mess out there and my place is a five-minute walk from campus.” You opened your mouth to interject once more, groaning in exasperation when Namjoon stopped you yet again from being able to get your words out. “I will get you a cab home from mine because there is absolutely no way I’m letting you spend more than 45 minutes out in that blizzard.”  

“It’s only a 10-minute walk to the station,” you finally managed to get out.

“Yeah and then another 30 minutes to actually get to your apartment and that’s not including the wait time for the train to arrive—you could be standing out there for an extra 30 minutes if you miss the one that comes in,” clicking the power button of his phone to wake the screen, he read the time. “5 minutes, yeah, no—I would literally be the shittiest human being on the planet if I let you go through all of that.” You briefly debated whether or not you should suggest taking the cab from the university but quickly decided that he would just make you regret even offering the idea. Besides, how could you argue with someone who was always so prepared with rebuttals? 

“Profoundly redundant,” were the first words to come out of your mouth upon stepping inside Namjoon’s apartment. It wasn’t huge per se, merely spacious, and you supposed that was due to the minimal furniture that spread strategically around the layout of the apartment. The living room was the first thing you had seen upon arrival, the entirety of where a wall should be replaced by windows. Your eyes twinkled at the marvellous view of the city from the 18th floor of the apartment. Turning your head to the right, you were greeted by the kitchen, every appliance up to date and themed silver. Kicking your shoes off, you almost felt obligated to straighten them with how austerely organized the place was. 

“This place is profoundly redundant—is that a four-thousand dollar couch?” jaw slack, your eyes were practically bugged out of their sockets as you took in the perimeters of the small, intimate space. You’d half expected it to be comically messy to contrast Namjoon’s destructive habits but you found it was neat and orderly— almost uncharacteristically so. You didn’t expect so much black either, not with Namjoon’s usual wardrobe being so variant with colours and patterns but his apartment would speak otherwise, blacks against greys against whites. It wasn’t boring either, merely unparallel to his nature. The place looked like it was straight out of a men’s lifestyle magazine and it smelled heavily like his expensive white-musk cologne—Tom Ford, he had once confessed.

“You know, I can confidently say that I’ve never met someone who uses such an array of vocabulary in their daily sentences.” Namjoon chuckled out, shrugging off his wool coat before unravelling the dark scarf around his neck. You slowly strolled over to the living area as Namjoon hung his belongings on the single coat rack that stood in the foyer of his front door. Still gawking at the carefully placed decor that you were positive costed more than yours and Yeona’s life savings combined, you wondered how in the world you had managed to let slip that Namjoon was secretly a millionaire. You supposed those were the perks of choosing software development engineering as a career—but he was still just a student. “Seriously,” he continued. “Almost every word you say is a cinnamon for something else.” 

You halted your entranced goggling, snapping your mouth shut as you blinked towards Namjoon’s mispronunciation of the word ‘synonyn’ and he caught on, correcting himself. He tried again but the word came out as ‘sylmanon’— you weren’t exactly sure where the sudden ‘L’ came from but it was hilarious nonetheless and you couldn’t help the bubbling laughter that erupted from you at the boy’s antics. Through your half-moon eyes, you hardly noticed Namjoon laughing along with you, a coy hand covering up the bright beam of his smile—a habit, you had noted, he did quite frequently. 

Your laugh was admittedly one of the most beautiful sounds Namjoon had ever heard and a rarity, he found. He swore if he could, he would’ve sold his life to the devil to be the sole person to make the melodic vibrato drip past your lips endlessly. 

“When I was a kid, my parents would send me to my aunty June’s house during the summers, and because she lived alone, she didn’t have a television or toys so she would make me sit and read the dictionary.” It was a true story, and Namjoon hummed in understanding before walking over to turn on the electric fireplace that stood suspended within the wall underneath his 65″ flat screen TV. You momentarily considered switching majors completely if it meant being able to afford living a life like this. But the thought of doing mathematics as a career when you still needed to use a calculator to confirm that 1+1 did, in fact, equal 2, instantly put a sour taste in your mouth.

“Are you a drug mule?” You entertained, now distracted by the soft buzz of golden light the chandelier above you emitted.

Namjoon merely guffawed, shaking his head in denial. Striding over to you, he reached out an arm, offering to hang your coat and you mindlessly handed it over to him.

“My roommate has expensive taste,” he mumbled, taking the coat from you before pivoting towards the coat hanger. Ah right, his roommate, Seokjin was it? If you remembered correctly, he was in the lead for taking Big Hit’s CEO position. 

Snapping out of your reverie, you glanced at the boy as he hung up your coat next to his—wait, when had you taken it off? “Didn’t you say you’d call me a cab?” You asked. 

It wasn’t until Namjoon turned around that you noticed the small, black parcel tucked just beneath his long fingers. You had almost missed it if it weren’t for the thin ribbon of red that lined around the box and knotted into a perfect bow on the top. It took him approximately three steps to get to you, his confident march rendering you frozen in your spot as he stuck out his hand to present you to the gift.

“Here,” you dropped your gaze to the black gift box, blinking in puzzlement. Namjoon simply sighed, rolling his eyes as he forced your hand to accept the gift. “Your Christmas present...from me.”

What?

“I d-didn’t know we were exchanging gifts...I-I—” A sharp shush blew past his lips.

“Just take it.”

Wide-eyed, you let out a shaky breath as your index and middle digit pulled to unravel the red ribbon. Carefully, you raised the lid of the box with the edge of your thumb, an involuntary gasp escaping you at the tiny, gold rose pendant that hung onto a thin, golden chain. It sat against a plush, white cushion tucked within the box. “Namjoon, you obtuse genius...” The room started to feel warmer, dizzying you as your heart swelled far too great for your chest to handle. The gush of felicity flamed through your nerves like a wildfire, slowly and then rapidly. Your vision blurred due to how hard your eyes squinted from the giant, toothy grin splayed across your face. “I love it.” I love you, you wanted to say but you didn’t, instead, closing the box and launching your arms to latch around Namjoon’s torso as your cheek pressed against the taut muscles of his chest. No wonder he had been so determined to have you come over. You closed your eyes, squeezing him with as much enthusiasm as you could muster while pouring thank you’s from your mouth. The edges of Namjoon’s lips curved up to a warm smile as he wrapped his arms around you, squeezing in return while resting his chin on top of your head. You fit so perfectly against him, he thought—too perfectly for it to be conventional. He could have held you all night and still never want to let go.

“Obtuse genius?” He mimicked your earlier words as you pulled away from your embrace. “How do you even come up with these phrases?” Your face scrunched as you giggled, opening the box once more to have another look. 

Namjoon helped you hook the thin chain around your neck, temptation brewing in his chest to just lean down and kiss the space between your neck and shoulder. Somehow, you had convinced him to crack open a bottle of Seokjin’s fine Montoya Cabernet as a ‘celebratory’ sip which quickly escalated into a few glasses—the guy was out of town anyway. You weren’t drunk by any means, tipsy, perhaps, but still able to comprehend the soft glow of the warm fireplace coating the room in golden light. “It’s beautiful,” he said. Like you, he almost gushed, eyes falling to your wine-stained pout that looked too inviting to kiss, too accessible to not—all he had to do was lurch forward and go for it. But before he could, you were already laying back down on the rich, grey rug the two of you were sat upon. 

“Thank you,” your voice came out in a whisper. Despite the Midas touch of the fireplace delicately coating the room in golden radiance, something intangible lingered in the air. You looked up at the honey-toned boy, wanting to break the comfortable silence that fell upon you. But you simply couldn’t disturb the way the reflection of the fire twinkled against the coffee brown of his irises—the thick, rimmed glasses that usually sat on his head, abandoned somewhere between the second and third glass of wine. The glow of the fireplace cast a shadow against the edge of his jaw while his lips pursed in his own absorption. What was he thinking about?

“Namjoon?” He hummed in response, eyes flickering away from the fireplace he had so intently been observing before craning his neck down towards you. “Thank you.” You repeated.

“You already said th—”

“Thank you for being in my life—and god, curse Hoseok for keeping us separate for nearly three years and curse me for always shutting down his invites to parties.” It was almost bewitched how perfectly magnetic everything was with your relationship with Namjoon. It seemed as if you had been friends for years rather than only one semester. You two had previously joked that you must have been friends in a past life—the word ‘soulmate’ being thrown around once or twice. 

Namjoon’s gaze dithered between your eyes and your lips, a flash of levity engraving in the upward pull of his own as he replied.

“Yeah that arrant ass,” he parroted the words you had said to him the very first day you officially met, and if you weren’t already in a 20 foot deep grave of suppressed feelings, you would have yelled ‘just kiss me, you idiot!’ 

Another serene silence fell upon you two, the low hum of the heater blowing softly from the vents. Though the thick tension that snuggly fit right between you two grew scads, you figured the only way to preserve this friendship would be to ignore how much you craved for him beyond that.

“I should get going, huh? I’ll call a cab.” You were quick to scramble to your feet, startling Namjoon as he crash-landed back to reality from his own thoughts. Features strewn with confusion, he watched as you quickly gathered yourself before scanning the space for your phone. He knew it was in your bag but he didn’t have the heart to disclose that information to you, not wanting to let you slip away so easily for the millionth time. 

“_____, wait.” You stopped, fingers dropping the pillow on the couch you had looked under before twisting your head to look at him. Okay. Namjoon thought. Now what? 

Gulping, he ran a shaky hand through his blond hair before rising to his feet. “Stay longer?” His question came out in seesaw tones, unsure of himself and you simply cocked your head at him, flabbergasted. Your brows rose as you observed the way his eyes settled into a plea, his face almost puppylike. “Please?” he adjured. 

Your face softened, bewilderment melting into adoration as you walked over to him, pulling his hands towards you before cradling his fingers within yours. 

“Of course I will,” you replied, having to stretch your neck up to reach his eyes. “What do you want to do? Watch a movie? We could try following a Bob Ross painting tutorial, I’ve seen a lot of that on YouTube lately—oh! Are you hungry? I’m sure I can scrounge up someth—” 

Namjoon’s lips were as plush and sweet as you’d imagined them to be—except this time you weren’t imagining it. Your wide eyes fluttered closed as you kissed him back, the tension within his shoulders easing when you reciprocated. 

Namjoon kissed you with great need, however, it was delicate—warm, inviting and you dissolved into him when two hands gently cupped your cheeks. He held your face as if you were precious, fragile cargo—fearing you would somehow abruptly disappear from his grasp. His lips moved languidly against yours, savouring, memorizing every detail of the way they seemed to be made for him. Resting your hands on his strained biceps, you moved them up and past his shoulders before gripping around the nape of his neck, pressing your lips even closer together.

“Mm-I...don’t m’want you to think m’ taking advantage of your drunken state,” Namjoon mumbled against your kiss, not making any efforts to pull away as one hand travelled down to the small of your back.

Something between a shush and a moan left you as his hands contradicted his words of concerns, moving to the curve of your ass before giving it a light squeeze. Your hands around the base of his neck slid down to his chest, slowly coaxing him to take steps back before his elbows hit the edge of the kitchen counter. Namjoon growled against your lips, kneading your ass in his hands and you let you let out a whimper. Was this really happening? You didn’t have time to question it as your fingers trailed down to his crotch. Your palm came into contact with his hardening erection as it slowly tented within the confinements of his pants. Kissing the birthmark tucked just under his bottom lip, you moved to the edge of his jaw, his cock thick against the palm of your hand. Namjoon watched you through lidded eyes as you fell onto your knees directly in front of his growing bulge. You were quick to unlatch the hook of his buckle, the metal of the belt clinging as it hit the hardwood floors. “Are you absolutely sure?” He asked once more and you couldn’t help the giggle that fell from your lips from the redundancy of his question.

“Namjoon, I’m quite literally on my knees about to suck the daylights out of your cock—of course, I’m sure.” He let out a nervous chuckle, thankful that you weren’t in the least bit hesitant. He hoped you would feel the same in the morning when there’d be less buzz of alcohol streaming through your veins. Yet still, anticipation brewed within his eyes, watching as your hands answered for you when you unhooked the buttons of his jeans before sliding the zipper down. He helped you tug them off, letting his boxers go down with it and your mouth instantly coated itself in moisture when his cock sprang free. You weren’t sure what you’d pictured Namjoon’s cock to look like but the reality of it most definitely trumped whatever your imagination had mustered. It wasn’t excessively long, perfect enough to surely hit the right spots, however; he was thick—thicker than any of your previous partners and the thought of him filling you up with that amount of girth had you squeezing your legs shut as your clit pulsed. 

You started achingly slow, placing a single kiss on the tip of his pink head before gliding the tip of your tongue along a stout vein. Namjoon’s breath hitched, fingers gripping the edge of the kitchen counter while his free hand ran along your scalp. He hummed in satisfaction, eyes never leaving the way you wrapped your fingers around his cock and finally engulfed his length into the warmth of your mouth. You took him in inch by inch, his girth heavy against your tongue as you extended your jaw wider than you were used to. You enjoyed testing your limits, taking him in all the way until the tip of your nose brushed against his pubic bone and the head of his velvet cock hit the back of your throat. Namjoon couldn’t help the strangled moan that left him when your throat involuntarily squeezed around him, inducing your gag reflex. 

“You look so fucking gorgeous with your lips wrapped around me, baby,” his fingers tightened into your hair, his gaze stoic and heavy on you. Baby. The nickname elicited a moan from you as you began a steady rhythm of sucking. Your fingers were coated in a thick layer of saliva, Namjoon’s cock easily sliding against your pressured grip as your cheeks hollowed, jaw growing sore from your strenuous ministrations.  It took Namjoon every ounce of discipline he had to not cum when your lips latched around the tip of his cock, tongue flicking just the ridge of the head. With his head thrown back, his hips involuntarily lurched in a staccato rhythm as he shallowly fucked your mouth. Releasing your grasp on his length, you let him take control. Your hands took hold of his hips as you allowed him to push his cock into your mouth, the head grazing the back of your throat before he stilled it there. “Swallow.” He groaned out and you instantly obliged, the muscles in your throat clenching around him. Lips parted and panting, Namjoon pulled his cock from your mouth before hoisting you up to your feet. You squealed when he lifted you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his torso as his arms gripped your rear and began walking down the hallway into his bedroom. 

Flumping onto his bed, your legs naturally straddled around his hips as you fumbled on top of him. Your lips were back on each other, your kisses growing hungrier. A tongue poked out of the seams of Namjoon’s lip to mingle with your own. Perhaps it was the buzz of alcohol granting you some courage but you didn’t care either way, you had wanted this for so long and Namjoon just tasted so god damn delicious. It was lunatic how much you needed him to touch you, thinking you could cum alone from merely kissing him. Your arms circled around his neck, his hands skimming down the curve of your back before settling back onto your ass. You moaned into his mouth when he crashed his hard, bare cock against your clothed core. Detaching your lips from his, you sat up, legs still on either side of his torso as your fingers assertively unclipped the buttons of your blouse. He watched you through hooded eyes as you tossed the fabric aside, gaze settling onto the perfect mounds of your breasts.

Namjoon mimicked your actions, pushing himself up before reaching for the back of his sweater and pulling the material over his head. You sighed, letting your head roll back when he pushed his face in between the valley of your chest, fingers travelling to unlatch your bra. He let the garment fall onto his abdomen before hooking his arms around your back, pressing your chests together as you reattached your lips. “You are so fucking beautiful.” His voice low, husky as he spoke into your mouth, his hands skimming past the ridges of your ribs before cupping your breasts. You wanted him, you needed him, now, in any way shape or form. Your panties had collected a pool of arousal purely from pleasuring him and the feel of his plush lips against your own. It was heartwarming how gentle he was being with you, yet, now that it was tangible, now that it was happening, you practically begged for him to fuck you, a whine slipping from your lips. You gasped, hips blindly grinding into his crotch, as Namjoon’s erection greeted you back. Your impatience grew as you moved off of him, tugging down the material of your pants before throwing yourself back onto him. Namjoon’s throat released the neediest of grunts as the thin material of your soaked panties brushed against his angry cock. 

“So fucking wet for me,” he remarked fingers lazily finding the lace waistband of your underwear before slipping underneath them. “How many times have I made you this wet, baby?” Through your undeniable lust, you felt a coy rose spread across your cheeks from his question. He knew all too well how many times you had to sit with your legs clamped shut as he sat next to you. “Tell me, baby.” He cooed, kissing the underside of your jaw. Releasing a shaky breath, your eyes closed when a tentative finger brushed up your wet slick. 

“Too many to count.” your cheeks darkened with red as you bashfully confessed, whimpering when the pads of his fingers idly circled around your clit.

You felt the upturned curve of his lips as they formed a smug smile against the skin of your neck, a blush creeping onto his own cheeks. “You’ve no idea how many times I’ve imagined making love to you.” He admitted and your heart thumped violently against your chest as you kissed him, sternly, with as much fervour as you could summon to show him how much you had dreamt of the same thing. You moaned as he slid his second and third digits into your tight core, his free hand shooting up to cup your cheek as he held your face against his lips while fucking you with his fingers. It didn’t take long for that familiar pressure to bubble through your abdomen, your walls tightening around the grooves of Namjoon’s fingers. “Come for me, sweets.” He whispered against your lips, your eyes shutting, legs tensing as his words coerced the elastic to stretch tighter. Each pump of his fingers engendered the friction of his palm to press against your clit. Your forehead fell, desperately, between the crook of his neck before the elastic snapped in two. Your cries of pleasure filled the room as a ripple of ecstasy shot through your body. “That’s it, baby.” Namjoon croaked, a hand holding the base of your neck while punishing fingers continued their movement into you. Your high crashed in waves as he guided you through it. The fingers of his free hand entangled into your hair before tugging you away from his neck to ram a deprived kiss against your lips. 

“Please make love to me,” you whimpered and if Namjoon wasn’t buried knuckle deep in you, he would have almost cried at the mellifluous desideratum laced in your plea. You were everything he had wanted for so long, not ever being able to fathom those words dripping past your lips. With your bodies pressed so close to each other, he could feel the cavernous hammer of your heartbeat pounding through your chest. Sliding out his drenched fingers from your heat, you watched, mesmerized, as a drip of your arousal glided down his forearm. Wrapping his arms around your torso, Namjoon pulled you off of him before gently laying you on the bed. You shuddered as the untouched fabric of his comforter felt cool against your skin, already missing the warmth of his body as Namjoon left to dig around his side table for a condom. You frowned, extending your arms to poke at one of the back dimples placed just above his butt. “Namjoon...” you purred. “I want to feel you.” 

Namjoon chuckled humourlessly, shutting the drawer shut before turning back towards you. “I haven’t had sex in so long, my condoms expired.” You giggled at his adversity, not thinking you’d ever grow tired of his misfortunes. “You’re on birth control?” He arched a brow towards you and you nearly scoffed, practically growling a ‘yes’ as you sat up, arms looping around his neck before pulling him down to press your lips against his. Namjoon sank in between your legs, chests pressed together as his arms rested against the mattress on either side of your head. His smooth pout caressed yours, the lightest graze of his teeth teasing your bottom lip before tugging on it. You exhaled deeply, fingers lightly feathering up and down his back as he peppered kisses down your neck. Looping his fingers around the lace of your panties, Namjoon slinked them down the smooth expanse of your legs before spreading them apart. Watching the way the muscles on arms tensed and flexed as he took hold of the base of his thick cock had your mind reeling already, keenly spreading them further as he brushed the tip against your folds. The feeling of that alone had Namjoon moaning, the sensitive head pushing past your lips and into your heat. You gasped, the girth of his cock dragging against your walls as he filled you slowly had your eyes rolling back. A flow of profanities spilling past Namjoon’s pout as he buried himself completely in you, your cunt hugging every inch of his longing shaft. 

“Fuck, _____, you’re so tight.” He grunted, grabbing a hold of your calves as you adjusted to the fit. You let out a whine when he began moving out to the middle of his shaft before rolling his hips forward again. 

“Come here,” you whimpered, grabbing for his waist. Namjoon complied, resting your ankles on his shoulders before lowering himself to press a chaste kiss on your lips. It was the most fulfilling feeling as his cock caressed all the right places within your walls. With expert ease, he thrust into you, once, twice, finding a steady rhythm as your mixed moans and grunts filled the room. With each lethal roll of his hips, you lost yourself in him, taking the way his lips parted in rapture. Your feet unable to stay on his shoulders, slid down to his forearms as he gripped your waist. Namjoon really enjoyed eye contact, you had learned, as he maintained his locked gaze with you while fucking you into the mattress. Each moan of his name falling past the seams of your lips had his pace increasing, a collection of moisture running thinly down his forehead. He let your legs fall past his arms and you instantly wrapped your legs around his torso, bringing him closer. Your fingers laced through the golden hairs sticking out by the nape of his neck as his forehead pressed against yours. “F-fuck, baby...you’re doing so well, so fucking good—taking my cock like a fucking saint—god, you’re so perfect.” He spluttered, breath fanning against your mouth and you nearly came just from his praises. Namjoon looked at you with paramount revere in the coffee brown’s of his blown pupils, his brows knitted together, knowing the fucked out flush to your face was all his doing. It was within a matter of minutes that he was spilling himself into you, your walls clenching spasmodically, milking every ounce of his seed as a fountain of your name mixed with profanities streamed from his mouth. 

“N-namjoon!” Your breath caught in your throat when a deft finger pressed against your clit, applying skillful pleasure. The motion left you imprinting crescents into Namjoon’s back, voice clamouring, nails digging and scratching as the relentless back and forth of his index finger tore you over the edge. Your orgasm plummeted you into a pool of mush as you cried out, euphoria lapping through the river of your veins. It was unlike anything you had ever felt before, your ears pounding as the linger of your second high pulsed blood to your head. Plumping a soft kiss to your swollen lips, you winced as Namjoon carefully pulled out of you. Your heat tickled as your mixed nectars trickled out of you, slithering down to the cleft of your ass. You squirmed at the sensation, an inferno heating your cheeks as you shyly curled into yourself, awareness settling in of just how bare you were in front of him. Namjoon didn’t seem care though; to him, you were celestial, putting Venus and Adonis to shame with how perfect you were. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Placing a feather light peck to your left temple, he took in the lilac scent of your shampoo before reaching over to his nightstand for his box of tissues. Peppering your collarbone with kisses, he took his time cleaning the remnants of your sinful intimacy. You watched as he discarded the soiled tissue, the warmth of his body once against covering you as he laid next to you, letting your head rest on the heat of his chest. He pulled the blue comforter over your tangled forms, shifting away from the sticky warmth of your sweaty bodies and you finally got a proper view of his room. You hadn’t realized the grin spreading on your face as you took in the scattered books, papers and messy piles of clothes littering his floors. 

“What is it?” Namjoon inquired, laying back next to you before squeezing you closer into him as his arms snaked around your shoulder. Your fingers idly drew circles around the outline of his nipple, head shaking in dissent.

“Your room is just so...you.” You mused, feeling the rumble of his chest vibrate as his laughter bounced off the walls of his room. 

“Is that a good thing?” He questioned, planting another kiss to the top of your hair and you were putty in his arms, thinking this was exactly where you were supposed to be. 

“It’s perfect, I love it.” Tucking a finger under your jaw, Namjoon prompted you to look up at him. He was smirking, the indents of his dimples marking his cheeks before he spoke with great credence.

“That would imply that you love me.” You tensed underneath him, your ‘array of vocabulary’ suddenly vanishing from the palace of your brain. Namjoon felt it, plopping a reassuring kiss onto your pout. “I love you too, you scintillating whiz.” And suddenly you were laughing, wholeheartedly, at his choice of wording. Goodness, he never wanted to experience life without hearing you laugh ever again, promising himself to never let you slip away. Namjoon’s grin stretched to a thousand-watt beam and you noted that you’d most likely die before reaching the age of 30 if he kept sending tiny heart attacks your way.  Your lips found each other again, your fingers tangling into the honey-toned field of his hair as his arm pulled your leg over his torso. Pressing his forehead against yours, Namjoon spoke with closed eyes, voice low and determined. “If you’ll have me, I’m yours.” 

Your cheeks ached from how hard you were smiling, never once imagining to hear those words come to life from Kim Namjoon; the guy who had caught you shamelessly ogling one too many times, the guy you had fallen for far too hard over your semester of transcendental bonding. He was perfect, imperfectly perfect and you could not imagine a world without his destructive manners and brilliant psyche. 

“I’m yours.” You echoed. 

all rights reserved © jeongi

For the lovely @fruitydips who requested it! x

Disclaimer: The essay excerpt I put together are lyrics from BTS’ song Sea! One of my favourites so give it a listen if you haven’t already!

[queerhargreeves]

This Brother Thing

Diego can’t stop his hand from shaking like how it used to at 18. Like how it used to before Eudora. He’s just tired. So, so tired. He reached down to pick up the syringe once more, wiping it with the alcohol cloth for the 9th time tonight, and resumed the familiar position.

OR

Diego needs help and he gets it from the most unlikely sibling. 

WC: 3k+

TW: needles, internalized toxic masculinity, body dysmorphia, body image issues, implied/referenced past child abuse

“Fuckin’ hell.” Diego cursed under his breath, his hand shaking and the bullet wound in his shoulder grounding him from completely losing his tempter with a dull, constant ache.

The man was currently stood shirtless in front of the bathroom mirror. He was clutching the fleshiest part above his hip with his injured arm and held a syringe in his good one. He took another deep breath and attempted the motion again. But not even a moment later the sound of the needle crashing onto the cool tile floor filled the still air in one of the 42 bathrooms - the one closest to his bedroom. It was 11 PM, almost 12, and Diego Hargreeves here almost forgot to do his T shot for the week. To be fair, this wasn’t your average week, even for the ex-superhero.

The pathetic excuse of a father died, his time-traveling brother came back after 17 years of being gone and returned in the teenage body he left in and he learned that said brother lived through the end of the world for ages and became a killer. And the end of the world has this week. But then his other brother was kidnapped, one of the most important women in his life died trying to save him. Diego killed his mother but his mother came back. His brother became a war vet and was gone for ten months. His assumed ordinary sister had powers and slashed his other sisters throat and she almost died in their arms. And his babiest sister almost destroyed the entire world. But then she didn’t. The Hargreeves lived another day as did the rest of the world. Thanks to the help of his now veteran brother who can conjure ghosts to be physical and his brother that’s been dead for years killed assassins that were after him and the rest of his siblings. But that’s all in their past now. Their new version of normal is all seven of them are all living under the same roof again for the time being, just like when they were kids.

So forgive Diego if his weekly testosterone shot happened to slip from his mind, okay? It shouldn’t be, well it never used to be, this damn hard. Not anymore at least. His fear of needles certainly made this weekly process hell at the beginning of his medical transition - this intimate moment in the bathroom he’s been doing since he moved out all those years ago could last up to two hours at a time. Shaky hands, intense staccato heartbeats, and hitched breaths were too common of an occurrence. But then he met Eudora Patch. And everything changed.

The two met during his second semester of the police academy. He admired her from afar for a good while, too scared to approach the woman. Diego was more than content watching this incredible person answer any and all questions with vigor and a spark in her eye. The way she bit on the inside of her lip when a question challenged her, her pencil beating against her notebook, made his heart flutter. If she didn’t understand a concept in class, she was adamant on making sure she figured it out, class and professors be damned. Diego learned how she was more than capable of standing up for herself. Being a black woman in a very male-dominated, whitewashed environment was certainly not the easiest of experiences. She faced comments daily, not just from her peers but from authority figures as well. But Diego knew he was officially head over heels for her when he watched her spit an ignorant 20 something year old out after he made a comment about how “Eudora the explorer” and “go Diego go” were to better suited for a life behind bars than on the field.

And that was how they officially met. Eudora stood up for him and in return, he bought her a coffee.

And then they went out again the next night and the night after that. But before they went on the third night, Diego needed to get something off his chest before he fell any more. He needed to tell her about his identity. Coming out is never something you do once and it doesn’t really get easier.

He practically bolted out of his last class of the week, beelining right to the classroom across the hall to meet up with Eudora. They made it a habit to meet up after class, but this time felt different and he made it quite obvious. If avoiding her for a week wasn’t telling enough, his constant leg bounce, his fingers playing with the fabric of his sweater sleeves, and the gum-chewing at an impressively fast rate was enough. And Eudora, being the quick woman she was, knew that something was up. She sat Diego down on the bench outside and took his hand in hers, reminding him to breathe with exercises she’s learned. She whispered sweet affirmations as she waited for the man in front of her to collect himself. After what seemed like a lifetime, he finally uttered the words.

“I-I’m trans.” The statement hung heavy in the air, the tears threatening to spill out of Diego’s eyes as he stared at his hand in her lap obscuring his vision. Then, a gentle finger tugged his chin up and soft lips met his very own.

“It’s okay.” She said softly, sealing the deal and leaned in for another sweet kiss. The two fell quickly and madly in love after that. Eudora would help Diego with his shots, taking his shaking hands in hers and kissing his knuckles. She kissed the spot of injection before she sterilized the area, and guided both of their hands to the designated area. She never patronized him for his apprehension, not a single time. She knew this vulnerability was hard for him and she was honored that he trusted her enough with something this intimate. Even after every fight and argument, she would never use his vulnerability against him. She was there every week to help if he needed it. And if he didn’t need the extra assistance, she still checked up on him to make sure he got it done.

However, they were two strong, independent people. Quick-witted and rash. They had a tendency to lash out before thinking, their mouths reacting before their brains. They certainly had their good moments. They had wonderful, healing, amazing moments with one another. They had blissful nights of falling asleep in each other's arms as Eudora traced the scars under his pecs after they finished exploring their bodies together for hours. They had long car rides where the two opened up about the most intimate parts of themselves. Then finishing off the ride by belting out 80’s dance songs at the top of their lungs, windows down and hair blowing in the wind. These kinds of nights made it seem like it was them against the world. It was as if these moments would never end.

But they also had equally as world-shattering, soul-crushing moments. They had nights where they only saw red, both of them quick to react to the other’s fractured egos. Especially when Diego got himself kicked out of the academy. There were plenty of eyes rolled and slamming of doors, conversations left with a bitter taste in their mouths and hearts. There were hurtful words thrown around that had the capacity to cut right through the other as fast as one of Diego’s knives, if not faster. They knew how to hurt each other. And they did hurt one another. But they also loved each other. The two of them continued to play this song and dance for years and years.

But that song was over. Dance finished. Eudora was gone. And she wasn’t coming back.

And now Diego can’t stop his hand from shaking like how it used to at 18. Like how it used to before Eudora. He’s just tired. So, so tired. He reached down to pick up the syringe once more, wiping it with the alcohol cloth for the 9th time so far, and resumed the familiar position.

He took a quick sharp inhale and squeezed his eyes shut. But as quick as that inhale was, the exhale was even quicker. It came out as a strangled groan and the syringe clattered against the floor once more.

“God fucking dammit!” Diego choked out louder than he realized and clenched his fists tight, willing them to stop shaking. He couldn’t stand himself, couldn’t stand how he is no longer able to even take care of himself right now. He should be past this. But he didn’t have Eudora to talk him down. He didn’t have her kind voice and gentle grip to help nor her nagging texts anymore. He didn’t have anyone.

“Oh, my bad. I-”

Diego whipped around in one swift motion, now eye to eye with his biggest brother. He was dressed in a thin grey long sleeve shirt and pajama pants. Oh yeah, his brother who was almost killed on a mission and was injected with Chimpanzee DNA to survive and is now three times the size of a normal human. The brother who had his body horribly mutilated without his consent by their poor excuse for a father.

“Sorry, didn’t realize this was occupied. I can, uh…” Luther trailed off and Diego watched as Luther took in the sight in front of him. Syringe on the floor, Testosterone bottle of to the side, and his brother in near hysterics and barely keeping it together. He looked as if he would fall apart at the softest breeze of wind.

“I-I-I,” Diego quickly snapped his mouth shut, jaw clenching and fists continuing to shake at his sides at an ever faster degree. He threw his head back and burning holes at the ceiling with his eyes, trying his best to regain some sort of composure. Luther didn’t need to see him like this - didn’t need to see him weak. Pathetic, inadequate Number Two.

“Hey, no Di,” Luther started as he softly closed the door behind him, “It’s okay.” He commented with a voice that Diego doesn’t think he’s heard before. At least not in a very, very long time.

“You’re okay… It’s okay.” He gently placed his hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, desperately hoping Diego believed him even if he wasn’t the best at comforting other people. But Luther didn’t miss the way his brother’s muscled stiffened under his touch. That broke his heart even more.

Luther was also tired. He didn’t want to do this anymore - the fighting and ugly comments. The two were always trying to one-up the other, trying to “out man” and assert their dominance. They have been doing it for the last 20+ years, or as long as their number rankings have been enforced. It was their idea of normal. But if looking death in the eye for the hundredth and most catastrophically devastating time taught Luther anything, it’s that all this petty stuff is useless. He loved his family. He loved Diego.

“I can help. Is...is that alright Diego?” Luther asked cautiously, not wanting to over step any more boundaries than he already has. He eyed Diego for any sort of reaction, which he was not rewarded with. He took a deep breath and removed his hand from his shoulder in the hopes that giving him some space would help.

“It’s not a big deal, I promise. We’ve...we’ve been through a lot, haven’t we?” That earned a small shrug from Diego which Luther considered progress from the almost catatonic state he’s been in since he’s walked in.

“I, uh. After you came out I looked into this sort of stuff.” He paused and took a seat at the edge of the bathtub, “I researched anything I could at the library about trans related stuff, testosterone, surgery, passing, binding. After you left... I made sure Pogo sent you enough money for your transition and stuff. I watched videos of trans people documenting their transition. I’m not an expert by any means but it did help me understand you better. I know trans people have a high rate of...of hurting themselves.” Diego finally met Luther’s eyes, which Luther considered the biggest win yet and he decided to continue. He was already this far off, might as well. Apparently, this whole communicating thing works.

“I want you to know I never thought less of you because of this. And same with your stutter,” Luther added, knowing that was yet another thing Reginald and his brother berated himself constantly for, “You’ve always been unapologetically yourself. You knew who you were such a young age and you always stood up for what you believe in. And that made us butt heads a lot and I’m sorry about that. You weren’t blinded like I was. I have so much respect for you, you know? I want to be better at this brother thing.” Luther sighed and wrung his hands together.

“I-I’m also sorry I made that comment about your job. You’re definitely a lot better at this whole being a ‘real grown-up’ thing than I am.”

And that earned a snort from Diego which Luther couldn’t help but smile at that. The anxious pit in his stomach lightened.

“You’re already getting better at this brother th...th-” Diego stopped for a moment, eyes locked with Luther. And he didn’t see a trace of judgment or a hint of mockery. All he saw was patience. “Thing.”

Luther gave a small nod, a faint smile ghosted on his lips.

“And I meant it when I said I can help you with your shot.”

“I-”

“I know you’re capable of doing it yourself. But with your gunshot wound and everything that’s happened this week...it’s okay. To accept some help I mean.” Luther couldn’t help but hold his breath ever so slightly. This was more emotions and vulnerability they’ve shared in the last 10 minutes than the pair has shared over the last 29 years.

“O...Okay. You can - you can help.” Diego finally spoke after a moment. His voice shook as he still sounded cautious, but the act of him letting Luther do this for him alone spoke enough for the bigger man.

A wave of relief washed over Luther as he stood and gave Diego’s good shoulder another squeeze. He bent down and picked up the syringe on the floor and carefully placed it down on the bathtub next to him. He quickly opened the cabinets next to Diego’s head.

“Should probably sterilize this one more time,” Luther said as he grabbed a cotton swab and alcohol. In a few swift motions, he managed to dab the alcohol onto the swab and placed the items back in the cabinet. Wordlessly, he picked up the syringe and cleaned the needle as well as the area above Diego’s skin. If Luther didn’t know where to inject the red fingerprint marks on his skin certainly helped plenty.

He washed his hands before picking up the needle again and dropped down to his knees to get a better angle. He had his left hand on the area above Diego’s hip and the syringe in his right hand. Being 6’5 didn’t make this an easy angle, but he was willing to do whatever he needed to do to make this go as smoothly as possible for his brother.

“Okay, I’m gonna touch you now,” Luther warned gently placed his hands around the area so he didn’t jump at the contact. Diego looked down for a moment and nodded, braced himself with still shaking hands.

“I’m going to count down from three and go for it at one. Sound good?” Luther watched as his brother gulped, eyes squeezed shut. But still no answer.

“If you can’t say yes or no, can you give me either a nod or a shake of the head?” He pressed gently.

Diego took a deep sigh, and another one, before finally nodding.

“Okay, here we go.” Luther raised the syringe right above the flesh he grasped between his fingers.

“Three, t-” Luther quickly injected the syringe before he could even finish the word, pushed down at the plunger, and just as quick as it started he pulled the sucker out.

“Okay!” Luther breathed out, getting up from his spot on the floor and finding the needle cap and putting it back on.

“You did good, Di.” He gave the shorter man a soft smile and an affirmative nod.

Diego finally breathed out the air he didn’t even realize he was holding. He stared down at the injection site without saying a word before pulling the rest of his shorts up. Not a drop of blood. He didn’t even feel a pinch.

He finally looked back at Luther, his blue eyes and smile comforting his residual nerves. He opened his mouth for a second before shutting it once more. He gave a small shake of his head and wasted no time in wrapping his good arm around his blonde brother.

Luther let out a tiny squeak, his arms hovering above his brother's shoulders in the air. He couldn’t help but flinch at the sudden touch, not used to anyone wanting to get this close to his new body. He wasn’t a fan of this new body so why would anyone else be?

“If-If it’s okay for me, it’s okay for y...you too, Lu.” Diego muffled into his shoulder, tightening his grip to show him as such. It’s okay. It’s okay.

Luther relaxed ever so slightly and let himself be held. He slowly dropped his arms and wrapped them gently around Diego, careful not to justle his hurt arm.

This? This felt nice, foreign as it is. He loved his brother. And his brother loved him. They were taught that emotions were a weakness. They were taught that intimacy and vulnerability are things that deserved to be shunned - something they should be ashamed of. But this new, radical concept of trying to rebuild their relationships as a family is the best thing that has ever happened in their lives. The Hargreeves are going to be

[prorevenge]

Shitty neighbor bullies struggling immigrants for 15 years. Their kid gets revenge, and the shitty neighbor loses custody of her kid & is forced to move out of their house.

I'm sorry it's long, but I think it's worth it!

Spoiler alert: I'm the kid.

A bit of context first:

I'm an only child, born in the USA to older parents (they were both 45 when I was born) who immigrated from Venezuela in the 90's. When I was 2, my Dad was shot in the head. He lived for another 13 years, but the incident permanently damaged certain parts of his brain, and he was a completely different person for those last 13 years. He went from being the most loving, incredible, caring, compassionate person around, to an aggressive, violent, asshole who blew up over the smallest things, but only ever at his inner circle (me, my mother, or other close family). He always managed to keep his composure around strangers for fear of someone calling the police and him getting arrested, but he would later let it all out on my Mom and myself (admittedly mostly me). After the shooting, he could never work again, and my Mom was forced into the position of being the family's sole breadwinner. We lived in poverty for many, many years, because the USA wouldn't recognize her college degree and she couldn't afford to go to college again, so she couldn't work in her field and had to start "at the bottom of the ladder." Dad eventually died when I was 15, of issues related to his shooting.

Now, when I was 7, my parents decided to move into a town with a better reputation for their schools than the one we were currently living in, so that I could attend a better school. They bought a house literally on the edge of town. Most of this town is incredibly expensive, but because on the other side of our street (and across the town line) there's a big complex of government-subsidized housing, our area is much cheaper. This is the house with the asshole neighbor. The house is a three-family. For the last 16 years, we have owned and occupied the first floor, while the terrible neighbor lived on the second floor (until recently). The third floor has been occupied by over 10 owners and tenants over these years; None have stayed more than 3 or 4 years and some have stayed as little as a handful of months.

Now, the second floor bitch, let's call her "Karen." Because, obviously. She has a husband, who we'll call Bill, and they have a young son, Henry.

Here's the story:

When we moved in, Karen and Bill had already been here for a few short months. The three of us (us on the first floor, Karen and Bill on the second, and the original third floor's owners) bought the house from the same crew, who had bought it and turned it into a three-family, "fixing it up" in the process.

Karen quickly showed her true colors as a bully. Over the years, there's been countless examples of nasty shit she's pulled. Her husband, Bill, is an immigrant himself, and doesn't speak very good English. He's very submissive to her and does whatever she wants, but in front of other people makes himself out to be physically dominant. In our first years here, they used to fight a lot, which we regularly heard from downstairs. They would yell, sometimes for hours, and occasionally it seemed like things got violent. Henry was born maybe 10 years ago. He doesn't factor into the story until much later. But anyways, the point is: Whatever Karen's done, she's always gotten away with it. Here are some highlights:

My Mom always took pride in how well she took care of our trash bin & recycling bin. Every month she'd give them a quick rinse after that week's trash day, just to make sure that they wouldn't develop a smell or a colony of bacteria wouldn't move in. Karen, apparently, wasn't so diligent, and one time, her recycling been got really nasty. And I mean really nasty. So, she just left it out back (context: Behind the house isn't a backyard, it's just pavement with a parking spot designated for each unit), and began using ours. Lo and behold, ours started to get nasty, and Mom quickly went from spending a quick 3 minutes rinsing it out every month to about 45 minutes scrubbing with soap and water to clean it out. Eventually, we decided we'd had enough, and she and Dad sent Karen and the third-floor-tenants of the time a polite, but firm, e-mail, that basically said, "Whoever started using our recycling bin, please stop and use your own. You never asked our permission, and we take good care of it, and ever since you began using it it's become disgusting." We knew it was Karen and Bill, but Mom & Dad figured it was more polite without a call-out and they "didn't want to start anything." Within a week, 2 things happened: Karen & Bill got a brand-spanking new recycling bin, and one week we found ours had been mysteriously destroyed. Someone took a knife to it and cut it to pieces. We had no way of knowing who it was, but we had a pretty good feeling we knew exactly who it was. (Yes, we had to get a new one.) Because we had no evidence of who did it though, my parents didn't say anything about it.

Back when we could afford a car (we haven't had one since our first few years here), we used our parking space out back. Every time that Karen & Bill hosted a party (which back then was surprisingly frequently), they would toss their trash over their balcony "into the general vicinity of the trash & recycling bins out back," which is literally right next to our designated parking space. Most of the dents we had on our old '88 Toyota were from bottles thrown from the second floor balcony. We had windows break a couple times; Same deal. Each time it happened, my parents would politely go upstairs, knock on Karen & Bill's door, and respectfully ask them to stop throwing stuff over the balcony because "sometimes it accidentally hits our car." Each time they went and did that, Karen & Bill stopped, but they would do it again until they got caught during their next party. Again though, my parents never wanted to escalate the situation, so they never justified taking it further than knocking on her door and politely asking them to stop.

This is another example of Karen's utter shit behavior, but it's also relevant for the revenge part of the story, so I'm putting it after the bullet point section. Our basement is shared between all 3 units. Each unit has its designated space boxed out (kind of like office cubicles), and there's some designated "common area" in between. Years ago (maybe like 8 or 9), Karen and Bill completely filled their designated basement cubicle, so they just started piling shit all over the common area. Eventually, they developed this enormous pile of junk in front of Unit 1's (our unit) oil tank (for heating). My Mom & Dad never said anything because it happened over a long period of time and they didn't want to start a fight, and as far as I know none of the third floor folks ever said anything either, but it got to the point where she and her husband were taking up common area space that was easily twice the size of their designated cubicle.

Now, I'll be the first to admit that for many years my parents and I weren't great neighbors, either. We didn't bully anyone, but due to my Dad's condition, he could be triggered (ayyyyyyy) by seemingly anything, and suddenly he'd be in a rage and we'd all be yelling. I grew up in that generally chaotic environment, and, yeah, there were several times when the police were called to our house for noise disturbances. But we kept our shit to ourselves, and we were nothing but polite and respectful to all our neighbors, always.

That said, you can imagine that our first priority was always my Dad and his stability, and we had enough on our hands with that, so he & Mom always swallowed their pride and avoided doing anything to antagonize Karen, no matter how shitty her behavior got.

After my Dad died, I developed my own issues for a while, with mental health. Growing up in a constantly chaotic, violent, aggressive environment took its toll on me, and for a time I had deeply depressive tendencies. I struggled with suicidality for years, and eventually wound up graduating high school after 8 years of attending classes in some form or another. Similar to when my Dad was sick, I became my mother's top priority at that point, so again, Karen and Bill kept getting away with all her bullshit.

I got better though. Nowadays, I'm even off my psychiatric medication. I got my shit together and graduated high school, and even college. I have my Bachelor's, and I'm doing some postgrad stuff for a Master's. Most of the way has been paid for by scholarships. But, I recently decided that, as an adult now and therefore as someone with a little more say in things around the house than when I was a kid, I had had enough of watching Karen bully my parents, particularly my mother, for so many years. I want revenge.

Phase One of my plan was to ease my way into the adult, condo-administration dialogue. I began helping out more around the house -- as in, around the common area parts:

I single-handedly redid the back porch's flooring (it sounds like more than it is -- I just pulled out all the floorboards and nailed new ones in).

I replaced both storm doors (about 6 months apart) when each one began having problems (different kinds of problems, it doesn't matter what they were).

I also took care of some comparatively smaller things -- I weedwhacked out back for a couple hours, cut the grass out front a few times, and got up early so that I could beat everyone else to the shoveling every time it snowed one winter (not '18-'19, but '17-'18). I also began wheeling back everyone's recycling & trash bins after trash week every week, not just our own.

After the first 2 bullet point stuff, each time I sent out an e-mail to everyone in the condo to let them know that I had taken care of it, and that all I asked of the other 2 units was for them to reimburse me 1/3rd of the cost of materials, on their timetable, because of course I hadn't given them a heads-up so it was only fair that I allow them to pay me when they can. The smaller stuff from the last bullet point I obviously didn't need to announce, the idea was just that over time, the neighbors would see me taking more initiative in things and being more active, which would go on to justify me participating more in inter-condo politics. I also made a point to keep conversations to e-mails, so that there would be a written record of every interaction.

Phase Two of my plan ran pretty much concurrently to Phase One, but had an entirely different purpose and was overall entirely different: I began gathering evidence of everything I could.

I asked my Mom to track down all the old e-mails she & Dad had exchanged with the neighbors, documenting many instances that Karen & Bill had pulled shit

I went downstairs and took a video of Karen and Bill's shit all over the common area, particularly emphasizing all the highly flammable wooden and cardboard shit they had piled up in front of our oil tank.

I dug up and pored over the deed to our apartment, specifically the sections that detailed the rules around common areas and the limitations of our unit as compared to the others and vice versa.

To my utter joy, Mom & Dad never threw out that old recycling bin that Karen and/or Bill had knifed up, apparently because they just never knew what to do with it and never wanted anyone to ask questions. Naturally, I dug it up and took plenty of photos.

I did one other evidence-gathering thing that needs a bit more explanation: Karen & Bill are awful parents. Mom & I regularly hear the shit they do to Henry through the very thin ceiling we have here. I'm decidedly not going to go into detail because, even though I changed his name, he's still underage and I feel it would be disrespectful to him to do that, but let's say it crosses far into the realm of child abuse. This is a topic I'm particularly sensitive about because I grew up in a shitty situation myself, so believe me when I say this part is the most satisfying part of my revenge. Let's just say that every time I could hear shit through the ceiling, I took out my phone and started a recording until it stopped.

Finally, Phase Three of my plan was basically to bait Karen and/or Bill into a trap I set, that, as it turns out, would have humongous consequences (for them).

Mom & I have this old treadmill that we got for free. It's in the kitchen, and lately we've come to the conclusion that it just takes up a little too much space. We both use it a little, but not enough to justify keeping it. She wanted to toss it out, but I argued hard to keep it around, because I knew I could use it for this plan. It would be my only shot.

Remember how I mentioned we haven't had a car for years? Well, eventually, I convinced Mom to let me put the treadmill outside, in our parking space out back. I bought a large tarp to cover it with, so it would be protected from the rain, and I told her I'd start using it more if it was outside because it's nicer to do exercise in the fresh air.

I also sent out an e-mail to Karen, cc'd to Bill and the current third-floor-folks, asking her to move all the things in front of our oil tank in the basement "somewhere else." Despite the fact that those things had been there for many years, I justified addressing it now because I'm the one addressing it, and that's different from before because before I was a child and now I'm an adult who actively participates in the inter-condo dialogue. I asked her to because the way she currently had it set up is a safety hazard, and "I'm just following the rules." I further let her know that if she and Bill didn't take care of it within a handful of weeks, that I would have no choice but to take care of it myself. In the same e-mail, I let everyone know that I was putting our treadmill in our parking space out back, so that if anyone had any trouble with getting into their spot to please let me know. The same day I sent out the e-mail, I put the treadmill out back.

Now, I figured nothing was going to change from all the other e-mails I had sent about matters regarding the condo's administration, and nothing did: She and Bill never acknowledged anything. The current third-floor guy didn't want anything to do with going up against Karen, so he just thanked me for the heads-up about the treadmill and said nothing else.

It's also important to note here that my real reason for mentioning the treadmill in that e-mail wasn't "in case anyone has trouble getting into their parking spot." Needless to say, sure, a treadmill in a kitchen is pretty fucking big and obnoxious, but a treadmill off to the side of an automobile parking space isn't really big at all. Plus, I placed it in such a way that it wasn't in anyone's way, giving everyone ample room to maneuver around. It was just there, off to the side. The reason I mentioned the treadmill in that e-mail was to alert her to its presence, and perhaps associate it in her mind with my request for her to move all her shit in the basement.

I also began using it, at least three mornings a week. I timed it so that sometimes, Karen and Bill would run into me as they left to drive Henry to school. Every time I saw them, I waved and greeted, to ensure they'd notice me on the treadmill. Mom also used it a few times, but she wasn't part of my plan so I've no idea if she ever ran into them while on it.

Here's the other thing I did: I set up a video camera in our laundry basket. See, we have it permanently in the pantry, next to the pantry window that faces the back area. I buried it beneath clothing so that from outside you can't even see it, but I bought a few massive (memory storage wise, not physically) SD cards and kept the thing recording 24/7, with a timestamp.

For 2 weeks, nothing happened. The camera recorded nothing suspicious, and Karen & Bill didn't move their shit in the basement.

Their time was up, so one night, I got up at around 1AM when everyone else was asleep so nobody would hear me, and went downstairs to move their shit.

Reddit, I can't express to you how much I enjoyed this. I bought a GoPro, put it on my noggin, and carefully recorded the entire hour and a half of moving shit around. I took the enormous pile of junk in front of Mom & I's oil tank, and found a way to fit all of it into their designated storage cubicle. In the end, it was packed. I have mild OCD and I nearly had an orgasm at the end from how well organized (physically) everything was, so that everything was neatly packed together and all the space was used at maximum efficiency. It was glorious. Packed from floor to ceiling, and almost wall-to-wall all around. If you can just imagine one massive, near-perfect rectangular prism of junk, that's what I had created. It was a masterpiece. I was so proud. On the side the door was on, there was enough space to walk to either wall, but you couldn't move "into" it anywhere.

I got back upstairs to our apartment and couldn't sleep the rest of the night. I was beyond excited. I wound up watching Infinity War to prepare for Ant-Man and the Wasp's then-upcoming release. Ayyy.

Sure enough, Karen & Bill took the bait. I must've been at school or work when they first discovered the basement, because I never heard a thing about it. In hindsight, it's probably best I was out, even though I would've savored those angry shrieks like nothing ever before. In any case, within a few days, we discovered our treadmill destroyed. Similarly to the recycling bin of years past, it had been knifed up. I can imagine they probably wanted to straight-up take a hammer to it, but they didn't want to make much noise, so they wound up just tearing the thing apart with a really big and really sharp knife. They had seen that we were using it, and aside from our trash & recycling bins it was our only property that they had access to at that point (several years back I filled up the rest of the wall of our basement cubicle and installed a door with a lock, so our cubicle is now sealed off to everyone else but the others are open and anyone can enter), plus I can imagine destroying a $1000 treadmill is infinitely more tempting than a trash or recycling bin, so they went for it in retaliation for my stunt in the basement.

After moving their shit in the basement, I started timing my treadmill use differently so that I wouldn't run into them. As soon as I saw it after they destroyed it, I went straight to the camera I had set up in the pantry. It caught the whole thing. In true fashion of their relationship, Bill brandished an enormous knife and single-handedly destroyed the whole thing himself, while she stood next to him and seemingly ordered him to do it.

With that in hand, I called the police, reported the incident, told them that my mother and I felt threatened by their presence and we filed a restraining order against both Karen and Bill with the police that same day. I turned over all the evidence I had gathered of all their shit over the years, and I also turned over all the audio clips I had of Karen & Bill terrorizing Henry. I figured since it was all audio and no video, it wouldn't be enough to get him out of their care, but maybe it'd at least get the Department of Children & Families involved.

Karen & Bill immediately claimed that I had broke a bunch of their shit while moving it around in the basement (shit that they no doubt had broken themselves), so I offered my GoPro recordings as proof that I had not, in fact, broken any of their shit while moving it at all.

The restraining order a person is allowed to file with a police report is always temporary, but you can always petition the court to extend it. Once Mom & I did that, it was granted. At that point, Karen & Bill hadn't been legally allowed to go back home for about a week, and since it became a longer-term restraining order, they were basically not going to be allowed to live in their own home for several years, so they made the obvious choice to sell the house and move elsewhere. Needless to say, selling a house you're not allowed to be near is a difficult task, and moving all your stuff out of said house is even more difficult -- particularly when you have so much of it. They wound up coordinating the entire house's sale from afar, with their realtor being the only person who came around to show the house. Once it was time for them to move, some relatives of theirs came around and packed everything up and loaded it into a truck.

Also, I was right, based on my recordings alone Henry wasn't taken from their custody, but DCF did get involved. I heard from their family that came around to pack up their shit though that Karen & Bill did wind up losing custody of him. They didn't say much as to why, but they basically implied that the abuse ramped up a lot after everything went down between me and Karen & Bill (which is the only part I feel guilty about, but in the end I hope this is a situation where the end justifies the means), at which point DCF was already sniffing around, so they wound up losing custody of him anyways. I've no idea where Henry wound up, but wherever he is I obviously have nothing against him and I hope he winds up in a much better situation than he was.

Finally, I will say, for two such inordinately obtuse and disgusting human beings, they had surprisingly decent family members. The few times I ran into them and made small talk when they were around they were pretty apologetic about the whole thing. I got the impression that this isn't the first time they're apologizing on Karen & Bill's behalf. I hope Henry is taken in by one of them, and not chucked into the foster system. Here's hoping, kid.

(source) story by (/u/dorkofthesnorkelkind)

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

A View To A Winchester (Part 2)

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Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.

A Dean X OFC story. No idea how long it will be, but I’ve got time on my hands. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle. I’m thinking it will go the fluffy route, with some angst, and maybe some smut down the line. Not sure yet.

Section Word Count:  1,976

Section Warnings: mild language

~~~~~

A tune she’d heard that morning on streaming radio flooded her head during the shower. The humming continued as she dressed into jeans and a comfy, form fitting Henley. It was an attempt at looking semi-presentable, even if she had no one to impress. She twisted her long brown wet hair into a bun and fastened it with a banana clip. A slathering of lotion and sliding into flats was close to her weekday work routine. Maybe I’ll take mom out for a shopping trip.

“Giulia? What you doin’?”

Oh my God. This is truly going to be a reversion to my adolescence. She exited the bedroom and called down the stairwell. “Took a shower. What’s up? You didn’t make dinner already, did you?” The smart watch on her wrist noted it was only a little after two. “I’m going to gain ten pounds this week if you don’t slow down on the cooking, Ma.” Julie traipsed down the steps.

Her mother stood by the landing, both hands on the railing’s edge. She blew air out of her mouth. “You’re too skinny anyway.” Julie noticed that look on her mother’s face. She waited with dread for her next sentence. “I met your neighbor.”

Oh no. A mixture of excitement and fear flooded Julie’s veins. She walked past her mother and glanced out the sliding door. The Impala’s back.

“What neighbor?”

A hand landed on her mother’s hip. She shuffled her not quite five foot frame over to the door and pointed with the other hand. “Dean.” Her italian accent added an “ah” to the end of his name for emphasis. “Nice lookin’ man.”

Julie shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t met him yet.”

“That’s what he said. I told him you are a ‘ermit and don’t leave the house much.”

“Ma…”

“It’s true. He laughed and said he’s the same. He’s got a nice smile, Giulia.” Her mother’s eyes lit up.

Might try to snatch him up for herself. She couldn’t help but smile at the effect Dean had on her mother, too. The smile fell at the unease building up inside. “What else did you tell him?”

Her mother shrugged. “Not much.”

God, that means he knows my whole life story.

“Wes was out, too, we were all talking.” Julie opened her mouth to say that wasn’t reassuring, but her mother raised a hand to silence any commentary. “Anyway, he lives by himself in that house.” Hands pointed and dipped, performing gesture acrobatics as she continued. “He said he was going to mow his lawn today. I told him that was good because his yard needed it.” Julie groaned and placed a hand over her face. “I told him you didn’t have anyone to mow your grass and how long it was getting. So, he might come around and take care of it.”

“Ma!” Julie waved both hands, defeated. So, now I’m a pathetic hermit. “I told you I was going to find someone to take care of the landscaping and lawn soon. Why are you begging a neighbor I haven’t even met yet?”

“You’ve got too much going on, having to help me this week along with work. And, if you do hire someone, they’re going to charge an arm and a leg. You’re already paying for the mess at my house that we didn’t cause. And, everything with Steve...” She cursed in Italian. “I didn’t beg anyone. He was nice enough to offer.”

Julie narrowed her eyes and sighed. 

“I’ll cook him a bowl of pasta with some of those meatballs and sauce I made yesterday. That will be a fair trade.” She smiled. “Giulia, he’s really nice looking.”

“Ma…” Julie mumbled.

“He’s your age.” She seemed extremely pleased with herself. The roar of a mower got both their attention. “There. See. He does what he says he’s going to do. Already out there mowing his grass.”

Julie followed her mother’s quick steps to the glass. They both peered out. Dean Winchester steered a lawnmower around the perimeter or his thirty by forty patch of yard.

Her mom’s hand patted her shoulder. “I’ll be in the kitchen. He looks like a man that likes to eat.”

Dean made his way toward the edge of the fence that divided both their yards. She studied his profile, concentrating on the task at hand. The pair of jeans he wore, faded and loose, hung lower on his hips than the pair of well fitting ones she’d seared into her brain. His grey t-shirt made up for it. The fabric was tight. Everywhere. Even riding up a bit to display some skin around his waist. And his biceps. Jesus. The muscles in his arms were threatening to rip the sleeves to shreds like the Incredible Hulk.

His gaze rose up from the mower and shot over in her direction. She cursed and jumped behind the curtain. Smooth. What are you going to do if he does come over and mow your lawn, Ex-Lax? You’ll have to talk to him, thank him. You don’t want to come across as an unappreciative bitch.

The lawnmower engine turned into a gut-twisting countdown. The longer it went on, the sooner the possibility that it would turn off. She paced in the living room, out of view from the glass door. Pots and pans clanged in the kitchen. Anxiety built up and reached a painful crescendo when the engine died down.

“Shit.” She whispered. Her brain worked out the logistics. He’s gonna have to go around the corner and up the street with the damn mower. Then, up the drive. Or, maybe he’ll start in the front? Nah. It’ll be too much trouble. He probably just said it to placate mom. She peeked out the glass to locate him. When she didn’t see him, her heart sped up again. He might be in the shed by his driveway. Looking, she saw the door to the detached shed alongside the Impala was still open. Yeah, he’s probably putting the mower back.

Then, Dean appeared. He rounded the corner of her house, having walked up her driveway and stopped. He looked over to the sliding glass door. She gulped.

“Dammit, Ma.” She whispered. A deep inhale prepared her to go out and introduce herself. She swung the door open and slammed shut behind her harder than intended. Her body tensed at the sound. Smooth. It took every ounce of courage for her to turn in Dean’s general direction. He was twenty feet from her. The air around her felt like it shot up twenty degrees due to the proximity of his body. 

Dean waved from the driveway. “Hiya. Did your mother fill you in on the lawn service scheduled for today?” The deep voice questioned as he eyed her with hesitation. He took a tentative step on the concrete path and strolled closer.

She smiled and dug her hands in her back jean pockets. “I believe you may have been unknowingly duped into manual labor. I’m sorry.”

Dean flashed a smile and Julie broke into little pieces. He waved both dirty hands in the air. Grass stains criss-crossed over the chest of his grey shirt where he’d wiped. He was a sweaty masterpiece. “I’d shake your hand, but…” He shrugged.

“I’m Julie,” she nodded.

He nodded back. “Dean.” He took a few more steps, then stopped an arm’s length in front of her. Jesus. Was he for real? He was even more gorgeous in high definition. Her heart might stop if he got closer. His eyes locked with hers for some seconds, before his gaze did a quick assessment, traveling down her figure and back up. Then, he licked his lips and smiled at full wattage. Beating stopped. “Your mom mentioned she’s staying with you while some stuff gets taken care of at her house. Nice of you.”

Julie shook her head, forcing a language she thought was English spill from her mouth in response. Words escaped that she seemingly had no control over. “No brainer. We’ll drive each other nuts by tomorrow. But, you do what you have to for family.”

“Not everyone would.” He muttered in soft response, still smiling. “Well, I’m going to get started in the front, then shoot up the right side of the yard, and wrap around back.” His finger drew his plot of attack in the air.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it.” The sound of the sliding door behind Julie forced her eyes shut. Please don’t embarrass me anymore than you have, Ma.

“Dean-ah! Thank you so much for this!”

“No problem, Brigida.” Julie grinned at the way he pronounced her mother’s name. “What are neighbors for?” He smiled.

“Do you like pasta and meatballs?”

“I like all things Italian.” He grinned and gave Julie a side glance. She felt another blush racing over what she knew was her already red and inflamed cheeks.

“Good. Giulia will bring some out for you to eat under there when you’re done.” Julie knew her mom was pointing to the covered patio. 

He waved a hand. “That’s not necessary…”

“Yes, it is. You’ll stay and eat something.” Before he could protest again, she added, “It’s the least we could do, right Giulia?”

Julie smiled. “Of course, Ma. Please, Dean, let us occupy even more of your time today.” The sarcastic tone was lost on her mother, as usual.

Dean, however, laughed. “Twist my arm. I’ll have even more reason to finish in a hurry.”

“Good. Giulia, will you help me in the kitchen?”

“Sure, be right there.”

Her mom smiled and left them alone.

Julie shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”

“I enjoy mowing.” He shrugged and stared at her again for a few seconds. “Besides, it’s been forever since I’ve had someone cook for me.”

She smiled. “Well, you’re in for a treat, then. My mom is an amazing cook.”

He clapped his hands together. “Awesome.” He pointed to the driveway. “Gonna get started.” He nodded and disappeared.

Julie exhaled and escaped into the house.

I believe I’ve just been set up by my mother on a date with my hot neighbor.

~~~~~ 

“I raised you better, Giulia.”

“Ma, I get the hospitality gene. It’s just not something you can shake.” Julie grabbed two water bottles from the fridge. “But, the silver tray… really? Where did you even find that?”

Brigida gave her the side eye. “I found it in one of the boxes in the basement you haven’t bothered to unpack yet.”

Julie nodded, peeking out the front bay window by the breakfast nook. The mower’s engine could be heard off to the left of the house. She imagined Dean riding up the ten foot wide patch of lawn and popping around the corner any moment. “The wedding gifts box,” Julie mumbled. “Ten years worth of stuff that never got used during our entire time together. I should have donated it instead of hauling it here.”

“Ah, you’re always throwing things out.” Brigida deposited two pasta bowls atop the tray lined with a placemat. The aroma of tomatoes, basil and garlic overwhelmed the kitchen in the best way possible.

“Donating isn’t throwing out.”

“It is when you don’t even use the stuff first.”

“Ma…”

Her mom’s fingers wrapped over Julie’s wrist. “Giulia, do your mother a favor. Enjoy some time with a nice lookin’ man. I’d like to see you smile again.” Moments passed and Brigida’s eyes shined like glass in the sunlight pouring through the window. Her lids blinked in quick succession.

The request tugged at her heart. “Okay, Ma.” Brigida nodded and dipped a saucepan over the bowls. Three enormous meatballs were ladled in one. “I’m guessing that one’s for Dean?”

“You can have as many as you want. But, you’ll tell me just one like you always do.”

Julie rested her chin on the top of her mom’s head and gave her a side squeeze. “I love you, Ma.”

“Watch the sauce.” She scolded.

Part 3

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