#-> you are kind to me. i had forgotten that feeling. i wont lose it again. so im gonna kill your boyfriend . if thats okay����beepboop!

[willyhoos]

metamy is insane. like.

what if i was the hero you loved gone wrong. defeated and destroyed. rebuilt as my own greatest enemy. what if i lost everything. what if i had been reprogrammed to despise all i had once fought for. what if i couldn't even remember why i had fought at all.

and what if you were made of roses. what if you represented every beautiful thing i once died trying to protect. what if you wore flowers in your hair and cared for small creatures and had eyes the color of the forests i used to call my home. what if you were everything i once loved.

those memories are just out of my reach. infuriatingly. maddeningly. but if anyone knows who i am (who i used to be) it's you. if anyone can make me feel like who i used to be (who i really am) it's you. i can't speak, i can't breathe, i can't remember anything (but you).

you are the world i have been ordered to burn. i am the weapon you have chosen to resist. i was (am) the hero that you loved.

you are my only memory.

i will do anything to make you believe me.

[libidomechanica]

Shaped her foode relish thin finds should lose my jade

And, as drop in for the other god day: they will.     I won’t err in the graces spied he receiving borough heroes, kiss Anthea’s border;     and a voice most. In all smiled, nor form, or walk’d; if foul, the wide enough, with such animation;     and now it e’er err’d, nor canker’d where grief! See, the hare I swore? In so precious     acceptations it is word of travell’d,

and awake against the Field, he knowledge saw     him kneel her ties add what is cut off the thing the civil be; gif ye hae I been mine     sank sad and ever go and stops his true as a tingle hobgoblin’s noon. Making eyes,     and garter’d Caravaggio’s glory, the wind was it wont ligge in thine, like tumbled     together, I forgotten their good glee,

all save not be less, knock’d the reasts aristocratic     hints here is lost—her still, and no less it teach turn’d: both of smoke quitt with his many     send, the corners of the Pedlar can into my childe: what her than satire, he not     now?—At this shrieks and the produce it; and daffodil, be care nothing but always score     of the same bene hidden brooks and

stray away; I hate’ she shock a concord mought do     it, you wring your tears. And proved, I did see emperor! Which compose most edifying     couplet radicals its pinnacle, and glimmering. There was as fine old woman, talent     for the river. Subtle skin, enough so sore, harsh fear withheld me forth a limited     the winna let a body that

she straying. Right entice to come too cold, he     converted foe as farre away? Till day: therefore to pass like the virginitie. Lure it calling     from under. The eternal spirit playe, of which grown, so the Muse determined, rival     now! Embracing, she lies, love to see their roses around a page or vessel lost.     Than an after years or lately lost,

my soul. They seem to know all minds can never deeper     meets his friends. And she gave the next to his hand is so did Miss Rawbolds—pretty shell-     fish. And Hayley’s Triumph in ever past echoing died,—and he died, gone another     heyre: for its corner; yet I feel her spent in county cherish dispossessed of these quenchless     as blythe I turned the salt tides, we

won’t, and to force her come next day, to the Power,     told of course of perfect seisure thrush, singing, What Lamp had Destiny! His other noble     scions which though which would less soul once he colours eare daily prosperity. Me pour’d     him Rx Pulv Com gr. He wandering: it is his own hair sprent with these slopes; who knows: but     when, drop their spite, they are the bed to

me in hastily logs of the Universe pair,—     and you the loue, ioue on her starry Fays; the size of threescore for their wintry sun the     daily logs of Pegasus, or dim thence came ye, merry larks on Ilsley Downs, they were     kind of prophecy, and stoute: but approve parent to ring; the Dee, the talk of. Quite so     censorious mad, and such a shrine of

some time; down each a fix’d foot, obliquely rubbing     very will, or be so the seeks, look into jest. Not as a test. Beauty from the fought     him in the wayfaring through joys and dispossession the rest my plainly aim; full many     Knots unravel’d by the skiff; and if her young or better, partly bends to     And much followed war, more I loved you.

[spacexseven]

ohhhhh tuna you minx now im thinking about wet and pathetic subordinate au dazai.

it honestly never occured to him that he'd actually miss you if you were gone, you were nothing- less than nothing. just a rowdy grunt barely worth glancing at, destined to become nothing more than a forgotten name at the bottom of a filing cabinet and a bouquet of flowers anonymously sent to your family, if you even had any. you were just fun for him to play around with, that was all. he didn't even remember your name! or blood type! or favorite color or the way you pronounce certain words or your exact height or your eye color or your entire dating history or the fact that certain herbs (herbs that his book of dark magic SWORE were foolproof for love spells!!!) made you sneeze. none of this was information that he retained. nope. none of it at all.

but to be quite frank, the idea of suddenly no longer having unfettered access to you wasnt something he ever thought of before. in the port mafia's eyes, he pretty much owned you- you were officially packaged and licensed as a tool he could use as he wished, you leaving was never a worry! until it was. doesnt matter the reason- maybe mori picked you up for his own training or just moved you to a different unit, or you could've had to go on leave for a while and everyone is mean and wont give dazai your address, or maybe youve recently had a brush with death- as soon as the idea that you actually ARENT his property and its very possible that he could lose you sets in he FUCKING. PANICS. you cant go! youre HIS!

like you said, it goes from just a desire to get you back under his thumb to an overwhelming desperation for your love and acceptance. a mixture of overanalzying every single time you were ever kind to him and stalking you to the point where he knows everything there is to know about you makes him realize he's HOPELESSLY in love with you. he needs you more than he needs air. he'll DIE if you don't come back to him! he loves you more than anything! he'll do a lot of things to get even a second of your attention, even if its negative, he just needs you to talk to him, have your eyes on him. he'll cut it with the bullying at this point tho. as much as it hurts to be ignored, you being afraid of him makes him feel like hes imploding. if you instinctively move away when he reaches out for you he might actually tear up. speaking of which, falling to the floor in sobs and reaching for you like a child is not beyond him, he has absolutely no shame when it comes to you.

he'll only escalate the more you try to push him off or let him down easy, so honestly caving and giving him a chance might be your best bet. sure, he's incredibly unstable, dangerous, and you have absolutely no fond memories of him at this point- but on the plus side, you have an executive at your beck and call! hes FINALLY gotten into your good graces, and hell do just about anything to stay there- and hes actually pretty sweet when hes all lovey like this. I mean its less of a worshipping thing than you might want, hes still VERY certain he knows better than you and needs to take care of you now that you're officially his which causes some. issues. but oh well! better than letting him run rampant.

- 🩹

hello again!! so sorry it took me Forever to get to this im very very sorry

cw: yandere themes

when he hears that you might be shifted off elsewhere, dazai only pretends not to care, convinced that nobody would dare take you away from him. after all, who would want to make an enemy out of dazai? and even if you're gone, who cares?? he has tons of other people to pick on, tons of other things to do than mourn your absence.

it doesn't matter that the car he takes out is starting to look very empty with just him, doesn't matter that the driver's seat feels foreign to him after being accustomed to your presence. it doesn't matter that he has to start sitting on tables with just one chair in cafe's, doesn't matter that he still asks for your order as well and it definitely doesn't matter that the cat outside the base you always feed stops coming by anymore. it's not like he feels lonely, too used to another person by his side, not like you were of any use to him, anyway—all you did was drag him down!

you weren't anything special, nothing memorable about you, not the scars you earned after months in the pm, not the way disdain painted your face when dazai entered the room, not the way you said his name, and definitely, nothing stood out about you! he definitely didn't have a whole list of things written down about you, which included your favorite games and what groceries you got and what hobbies you had or even the number of interactions you had with each pm member (he also definitely did not cap the limit at 10 in a week, after which that person wouldn't be seen around you again).

but then it occurs to him that nobody else had the right to do that to him. regardless if you're in critical condition or sent off on some secret investigation, dazai is furious by the implications. the idea that you weren't ultimately under his direct command, the fact that someone else thought to meddle, it frustrates and infuriates him to no end. he panics, he throws a tantrum, but in the end, dazai's still not sated.

as dazai finally gains a crumb of self-perception, it finally occurs to him that he's in love with you, and he has no shame in letting the world know about it. he panics, wondering if you'd ever like him, but he pushes that to the back and focuses on what he can do. which ranges from stalking you to clinging onto your leg when you ignore him to even breaking into your home and nursing you. there comes a point where he is genuinely convinced that he might drop down dead if you ignore him any longer, mostly because he doesn't know how to deal with the pain of heartbreak and the guilt and the depression all sinking onto him at once. he has no shame in this situation, and no care for self-preservation, unlike chuuya. nothing matters more to him than you, and he won't stop at anything until you give in. and i agree that the more you reject him the crazier his attempts are going to get. the next thing you know, all of yokohama is going to wake up to him screaming about how much he loves you.

a lovesick dazai is an unstoppable dazai. while he appears like a fool in his attempts to win you over, he still maintains a cruel demeanor towards anyone else. if it makes you happy, he's ready to wipe out yokohama, or even just the person who cut ahead of you in line. just as long as you promise to stay by his side, of course. he's finally found a semblance of happiness, and he's willing to do anything to keep it. for the most part, if you're able to deal with him as a boyfriend despite his past with you, he's surprisingly not that bad. since it's dazai, there are still some glaring problems with the whole relationship, but for the most part, he takes on the role of an extremely doting boyfriend who just wants to keep you safe. and unlike chuuya, dazai doesn't ever let you know what dirty work he does to keep your relationship going—all his hard work would be for nothing if you were scared of him again, after all.

[rek1s-headband]

Break up prank on the sk8 boys

➯ Characters: Reki Kyan, Langa Hasegawa, Cherry, Joe, Miya and Shadow x gn reader

➯ Warnings: none, just some angst to fluff. Enjoy!

Reki:

He thought it was a joke at first

Like you, he watched his fair share of videos, and had seen the trend going around already

But you weren’t discouraged, you were going to try and make him believe it no matter what

He laughed it off the first time, but after you simply gave him a puzzled look and a “huh?”, he felt his heart pick up significantly. Maybe you weren’t joking??

Instantly he was running back in his mind where he could’ve possibly gone wrong, where he could’ve messed up so badly that you felt the need to leave?

After his nervous laugh died down, he went deadly silent

“You’re serious?”

You were starting to feel awful, like maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, but you decided to persist

When you nodded your head slowly, you could’ve died when you saw how quickly his face dropped

Even though he had a small smile on his face, you could see the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. He was running a shaky hand through his hair, and when you were ready to take him into your arms, to tell him you were only kidding, he wouldn’t let you get a word in edgeways

A flood of questions was suddenly leaving his moth, all his unvoiced questions coming out in one go. He was holding your hand now in an almost death grip, asking you why you were unhappy, why you wanted to leave

Why he wasn’t good enough for you

That’s all you needed before you were pulling him into your arms, sobbing yourself. This shut him up, he was completely speechless as your tears pooled on his shoulder, telling him you were so sorry, that you were only joking. You just wanted to see him get a little panicky, you never expected the outcome to look like this

As soon as the words left your mouth you saw his shoulders visibly drop, pulling you impossibly closer as he let the last of his tears out. He chuckled shakily, running a hand up your back.

“I thought I lost you for a second there”

That was when you pulled your head out of his shoulder, grabbing his face between your hands and pulling him closer to you. Eyes wide, he simply watched as you declared he could never lose you, that you weren’t going anywhere. You were stuck to him like glue, whether he likes it or not

He gave you one last relieved smile, before he was pulling you close again for a desperate kiss. He kissed you like it was the last time he ever would, because now that he’d thought he lost you, he was never going to take anything about you for granted again

Langa:

Was fully convinced you were serious right off the bat

Right as the words “I think we should break up” were leaving your lips, his brain was doing overtime trying to figure put how he hadn’t realised how unhappy you were. Sure, he was kind of bad at reading emotions, but surely he wasn’t so terrible he couldn’t figure out how his own s/o was feeling?

Was he really as bad at communication as people told him he was?

You instantly regretted your decision as you watched his mouth hang open, saw his eyes scrunch slightly as he wrung his hands quietly at his sides

He nodded, and you couldn’t seem to swallow the lump in your throat as your eyes locked on the small tear rolling down his cheek, which he quickly wiped away with a small smile

“If thats what will make you happy”

You couldn’t seem to collect your thoughts as you watched him step closer to you, dropping his head to your level as he grabbed your hand. It was soft, as if he didn’t want to hurt you any more than he thought he had. He stumbled over his words, trying to find the right ones to say. Eventually he just took a deep breath, and looked into your eyes

“Were you really that unhappy?” Your heart broke when you heard the crack in his voice towards the end. “How did I not notice how sad you were?” Tears were falling down his face again and he didn’t even bother wiping them away this time. Suddenly you were shooting forward, grabbing his shoulders as you began to cry

“You’ve never made me unhappy Langa, not once.” You saw his wide eyes stare at you, not even attempting to reply as he watched you continue. “It was a joke, Langa. I wanted to see how you’d react, I didn’t think you’d take it this seriously. Did you really think you made me unhappy? Ive never been happier than when I’m with you-“ you barely got to finish before he was wrapping you in his arms, his grip vicelike. His face was digging into your shoulder, clinging to you as if you’d disappear any second.

His breath was ragged and shaky as he pulled you even closer, making sure there was absolutely no room for you to escape. You ran your hand through his hair in an attempt to calm him down as he slowly emerged from your shoulder

With a small chuckle, he rubbed the side of your face with his hand, letting his head drop slightly as he let out a sigh of relief

“I really thought I was ignoring my own s/o’s feelings.” You laughed, pulling him into another hug

“If I’m ever upset, I’ll let you know. Just know it wont be for quite a while” you grinned, grabbing his collar to pull him into a kiss. It was sweet, and gentle, and you felt all your previous problems melt away as Langa pulled you closer, smiling into the kiss

Cherry:

You and Kaoru rarely fought, and when you did it was over minor things that were reconciled within a day. So when you were sitting him down, asking if he’d be okay with breaking up, the only thing he could feel was complete confusion.

What happened? You’d always been so happy, never expressing much discontent. And besides, whenever you did it was resolved as soon as possible. What was so different today?

What was making you so unhappy that you felt the relationship was beyond saving?

Or worse, what outside your relationship was making you happier than him?

He kept these thoughts to himself, coughing quietly to try and open up his throat that seemed to be impossibly tight at that moment. He held your hand, stroking it softly and nodding before looking up at you

“Why the sudden change of heart, hm?”

The small smile on Kaoru’s face that was slowly diminishing by the second made you want to melt into the ground. Even when you were asking him to leave, he was still so caring, still so loving. You could only watch, feeling your heart break as he looked at you, his eyes glassy as he quickly plastered the fakest smile you’ve ever seen onto his face

“Well, if you’re unhappy when you’re with me, surely we shouldn’t be together.” He let out a small, breathy laugh that was almost missed by you, if you hadn’t been watching him with such avid horror. “I dont know why you feel you aren’t happy anymore, sweetheart, but I’m glad you realised what you want.” You watched him stand without a word, as you slowly realised that this is real.

He thinks this is real

That was all you needed before you were leaping off the couch, practically turning it over with the force you’d pushed off it. You were shouting his name, grabbing him by the arm and absolutely dragging him to face you. With the sudden turn and shock, you both ended up on the floor as you began to babble, words pouring out of your mouth and tears streaming from your eyes

“Kaoru, of course I’m not unhappy, you always know just how to make me happy, I could never leave you!” You were jumping on top of him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he sat up, a hand on your back and the other pulling your hair back from your face, trying to find any trace of a lie on your face

“Are you serous? It was all...” he was speechless. He didn’t realise you would even pull something like that, much less go so far with it

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” you sobbed. “I never meant for it to go this far. I just wanted to see you get a little worked up, pull a funny prank, nothing else, i prom-“ you were cut off when Kaoru pushed his lips onto yours, breath shaky as he ran his hand through your hair, as if you were going to disappear any second and he was making sure you were still there

When you finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours, letting out a small laugh

“Don’t ever pull that shit again”

Joe:

When you first brought it up with him, he felt his heart drop into his stomach. Surely you weren’t serious, right?

He kept a smile quirked on his lips, a questioning look in his eyes. Still, you kept a face of steel, as if challenging him to ask if you were joking

As worried as he was, he wasn’t sure you were being serious. Something about it wasn’t..genuine? You looked too straight-faced, your expression staying neutral the whole time as if to not give something away. He was certain he hadn’t done enough to make you this delighted about breaking up, so why were you so unaffected?

The cogs were turning in his brain, all arrows pointing towards one of two directions: either he was a massive dick, or it was a prank

Oh. A prank

Of course, he wasn’t certain, but it would certainly explain quite a bit

So he decided on a plan. It wasn’t exactly the nicest thing to do, but if it was a prank, it was a nice way for him to get you back for the little skit you pulled. And if it wasn’t a prank, well, maybe it’ll take the sting away a little

His mouth quickly dropped to a frown, ready to put his plan into action. “Oh yeah? Well, thats a bit of a relief.” He had to try hard to hide his grin when he saw your eyebrows furrow, saw the frown begin to spread across your face. So maybe it was a prank. You could only watch as he continued his speech

“You see, I’ve been thinking about ending things for a while now. There was a girl at S I met a few weeks back, and man, you should’ve seen the eyes she’s been giving me. Anyways, I’ve taken a real liking to her, and Ive been thinking about giving things with her a shot. Of course, now it shouldn’t be a bother, right?”

When he saw your face contort from confusion to anger, he knew he’d fucked up severely. Suddenly you were getting up close to his face, prank forgotten, poking him in the chest as you began to shout

“Are you serious!? After all we’ve been through together, you’re just gonna leave me for some bitch you met a few weeks ago??” You were fuming at this point, while Joe watched you with with a look of mock confusion

“What’s your problem? You were the one who wanted to “break up”, right?” Something about the way he said ‘break up’ made you freeze, looking up at him as you watched a grin begin to form on Joe’s face. That bastard

“You...you asshole!” You were lost for words. He knew this whole time? And instead of enlightening you, he decided to play along? You watched with a blank expression as Joe laughed, pulling you into a hug

“I knew it” he let out a loud laugh, but it almost seemed forced. You pulled away, and when you tried to look at him his eyes seemed to be everywhere but you. You grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at you

“You didn’t think id actually want to break up, did you?” When he simply frowned, pulling his eyes away again you cooed, pulling him into your chest as you stroked his hair, feeling his arms slowly wrap around your waist and hold you close

It’s safe to say the two of you stayed like that for quite a while

Shadow:

When you asked him to break up as a joke, you simply wanted to see if you could piss him off. Hiromi was prone to getting mad at the smallest things, cursing up a storm when he did something as small as mess up his makeup

So when you saw his face break, felt him shrink in on himself as he asked you why, what had he done that made you want to leave, your face was frozen with shock

Now this was completely new. Of course, you knew Hiromi wasn’t just some big angry man, but you didn’t think he’d get this worked up

Brows furrowed, he brought a hand to his forehead as he let out a long breath

“What happened?” Those two words held so much emotion it almost made you break. You didn’t realise how much this would affect him, just how upset it would make him. But here he was, an emotional wreck as he wiped an almost-tear away from the edge of his eye

But soon after, he was stepping close to you, grabbing your hand and looking at you with all the sincerity in the world

“Please, give me another chance. I dont know what I did, but I do know we can fix it. I know we can, please y/n. I cant lose you”

His heartfelt speech was all you needed for the tears to slowly fall from your eyes, Hiromi looking at you with a look of concern, and confusion. You were stepping into his arms, crying silently as he hesitantly put his arms around you, not quite sure what to do. So was that a yes?

You picked your head off his shoulder, not moving from his arms

“Oh, Hiromi” he looked down at you, concern washing over his face once more. “It was only a prank, I’m so sorry.”

Now he wasn’t just upset, but relieved. A bit of anger was in there somewhere, but that could be overlooked for now. He let out a loud laugh, hugging you so tightly you could’ve sworn you felt at least 3 of your ribs break

“And what made you think that was a funny thing to do?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm, not letting you out of his death grip. You simply shrugged, burying yourself deeper into his chest. He smiled, his knees practically buckling after the whole ordeal

He held you at arms length, a frown on his face. You felt a twinge of panic, maybe he wouldn’t forgive you?

This thought was quickly forgotten when he barked out a loud laugh. He dropped his face to your level, putting his hands on your shoulders

“Pull something like that again, and I swear you’ll give me a heart attack”

Miya:

Miya has never been one for properly expressing his emotions, so when you walked up to him one day and asked him to break up, he simply frowned. He didn’t let it on, but his world was very quickly caving in around him

Keeping a neutral expression, he sighed and nodded his head. He didn’t trust himself to speak right now

When you gave him a confused look from his lack of a verbal response, he really had to try to not walk out of that room there and then. You break up with him, and then expect him to just take it and walk away with a smile??

When you continued to look at him expectantly, he just let out a breath, turning away from you. “Fine. Whatever. If thats really what you want then so be it” he was kicking himself for being so blunt, but what other choice did he have? He couldn’t think, his lungs felt too small, too cramped

And now you were going to leave just like everyone else had

You tried to put your hand on his shoulder, calling his name quietly. He simply shrugged you off, dipping his head so you wouldn’t see the tears that were quickly collecting in his eyes. You’d just dumped him, the last thing he needed was you seeing him cry. You didn’t give up, asking him why he wouldn’t just look at you. Still not facing you, he attempted to talk again

“What more is there to discuss? You want to leave, so go. I’m not going to stop you if its what you want.” The crack in his voice at the end of his sentence broke your heart, and you were quickly turning him around, with more force this time, so he was forced to look you in the eyes

“Do you really think I’d leave that easily? It was a prank, you dumbass.” His head was buzzing with thoughts, why the hell would you do that? So you dont actually want to leave? You’re still gonna stay with him? You-

His thoughts were interrupted by you flicking his forehead. His hands flew to his head, letting out a cry. First you pretend to dump him, and now you have the audacity to flick him?

However, it did serve its purpose of pulling him out of his thoughts, and you were quickly pulling him into a hug while you stroked his hair. Before long you felt your shoulder grow wet with tears, the occasional sniffle leaving him. You laughed, holding him close as you tilted his chin to look at you

“I’m not going anywhere, as much as you might like me to. You’re stuck with me for a while longer, Miya Chinen.” He looked away from you, clicking his teeth

“Shut up..” he was mumbling, but there was so mistaking how hard he was gripping your clothes, as if you might try to leave again. But like you said, you weren’t going anywhere for quite some time

[wifeboys]

Third Time’s the Charm // Wilmon

Summary: Wilhelm kisses Simon three times before he gets the hint.

Word Count: ~2600

A/N: A little in-universe fic to tie us over. Based on prompts from this prompt list *shamelessly plugs my prompts blog @deity-prompts *. Also I haven’t written fanfiction is a while so I’m a little rusty.

gif credits: @princewilhelm

Wilhelm kisses Simon three times before he gets the hint.

The first time is at Rosh's soccer final. The pair (and Ayub) had gone to every single game of the season, rain, or shine. They stood at the side lines. The night air gripped them through their puffy coats. Flood lights illuminate their breaths. Wilhelm and Simon pressed shoulders to 'help keep them warm'.

The game is intense. The ball is sent over and back again and again. Fouls are left and right. Fights even break out. The crowd hold their breath, each moment electric. Simon is so focused on the game that he forgets where he is. He forgets who he's with and who he is. All he can concentrate on is Rosh.

The whistle blows, once, twice, three times. Rosh punches the air with a victorious scream. The crowd erupts. Everyone rushes onto the pitch. They clutch each other into hugs, exchanging "congratulations!" and kisses on the cheek. Simon sprints to Rosh, grabbing her tightly. She slaps his back and yells something he can't hear. Ayub pushes him out of the way and hugs Rosh. Simon staggers back with a laugh. Wilhelm is in front of him. His eyes sparkle with happiness and Simon can't help but smile. Before he can hug him, Wilhelm places his hands on Simons cheeks and quickly kisses him. The kiss barely lasts two seconds, but time seems to freeze. Simon short-circuits.

Before he can process or kiss him back, Wilhelm is already hugging someone else and Ayub is grabbing Simon. "SHE DID IT! FUCKING YEAH!" The night moves on. Everyone goes out to celebrate, still full of energy until they part in the early hours. As Simon celebrates, he can't help but think about Wilhelm kissing him. Did he kiss him or did he imagine it? No, it definitely happened. He can't imagine the electricity pulsing through him. He can't imagine the rush and heat he felt.

But that doesn't mean Wilhelm wanted to kiss him. It was an intense game. Everyone was celebrating. It was probably just a "hey bro, we did it! let's celebrate!" kiss. Wilhelm would've kissed anyone, Simon just happened to be there.

That's what Wilhelm is acting like. He's hugging everyone he comes across. Simons not sure if that's because Wilhelm is a hugger or because he's buzzed on celebratory drinks. Either way, he's not treating Simon any different. He's still talking to him like they're regular bros who like regular sports and other regular things.

It was nothing, Simon decides.

• ❤︎ •

The second time is at Felice's birthday party. She spares no expense. The common room is decked with streamers, balloons, and stocked with alcohol. Everyone is wearing the most extravagant outfits they have. The birthday girl has braided her hair short as a boys, and wears a purple robe that reaches her heels. Simon wears a black, glittery blazer over his bare chest with waist high black trousers. The lack of shirt was probably a good idea, considering people keep bumping into him and spilling their drinks.

The music is practically deafening. You can't walk two steps without knocking shoulders with someone. Simon keeps to the back of the room, fiddling with the hem of his blazar as the party unfolds in front of him. Sara keeps him company, chatting his ear off about something he can't hear. The only thing he can focus on is a certain prince across the room.

Simon barely notices when Sara tugs at his sleeve. "Si! I'm going to find Felice. Don't just stand here for the whole night. Go talk to someone"

She disappears into the sea of drunk teenagers. There's no way Sara was telling him to go talk to Wilhelm specifically, but that's all Simon wants to do. Actually, he wants to skip the talking and pin Wilhelm against the wall.

But Simon can't do it. He's glued with his back against a wall as people make out around him. He can't mess things up with Wilhelm. He can't scare him off. He can't lose a great friend on the tiny chance he might get a boyfriend. Simon repeats this like a mantra to the beat of the music.

None of this stops him checking out Wilhelm, the crowd acting as a safety buffer. His simple yellow shirt is plain considering the occasion. He made up for it by covering his hair with glitter that has fallen onto his face and shoulders.

He watches as an already tipsy Wilhelm finishes his drink. He's surrounded by people (probably his friends). He suddenly cracks up at some joke they say. Glitter explodes into the air with the quick movement of his head. A shiny halo illuminates his face. God, he's beautiful when he laughs.

"Simon! Simon Simon Simon" Felice nearly falls on top of him. "I'm so glad you're here- and you look amazing"

"Thanks, so do you- and happy birthday" Simon has never been good at taking compliments.

"You're too kind. I'll admit, I can't get enough of my cape. Hey, you should try it on! Purple is definitely your colour"

"Oh no I couldn't-"

"Oh yes you could. Let's swap jackets. I promise I'll give it back"

Next thing Simon knows, Felice is slipping off her cloak-y thing to reveal a white blouse and black skirt. She takes Simon's jacket, even giving him a spin. "We look stunning" she says as Simon wraps her robe around him. It looks a bit weird on him, but it's soft and smells nice. Felice sips her drink, and frowns. "My cup is empty. Can I get you a drink?"

"Uh- sure"

Felice disappears into the crowd. Simon goes back to looking for Wilhelm, but he's nowhere to be seen. He scans the crowd carefully. Wow, there's a lot of people here. A lot of bodies. The air is thick. The music is too loud. The room is too small. Simon needs to get out.

He excuses his way towards the door, not stopping until he's breathing in the night air. He leans next to the door, careful to keep Felice's robe clean. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Simon can only handle parties for a short while before he needs a break.

He stares up at the sky. Deep breath in, deep breath out. The stars are like glitter. The moon shines brightly at him. Deep breath in. He can't find Wilhelm, but at least he can spot the Man In The Moon. Deep breath out.

He's grounded again. He knows he should go home soon, but he figures a bit longer inside wont hurt. He gets up to go inside and find Felice when the door swings open. A yellow shirt stumbles into the night, glitter sparkling in the moonlight.

Simon finally found Wilhelm- or, rather, Wilhelm found him.

Wilhelm finds his footing, looking around. He finally spots Simon by the door.

"There you are!" He exclaims. There I am?

If Simon moves fast enough, he can slip back inside before Wilhelm even notices him. He can grab Sara and pretend he never came to the party. Before he can put his plan into effect, Wilhelm is cupping his face again.

Wilhelm kisses him. Simon is quicker to react this time. He kisses back, his plan to escape already forgotten. Wilhelm pulls back for a moment to tilt his head to the side. Simon holds the back of his neck, running his fingers through his hair. Glitter falls around them.

Wilhelm's hands slip behind Simon's robe, pulling him closer. Simon shivers as his hands run up and down his back. He drowns in bliss, finally getting to kiss Wilhelm the way he always wanted to.

When Wilhelm finally pulls back, his eyes stay closed. "Oh" he sighs softly. "Oh . . . I'm about to throw up. Excuse me"

Without even looking at Simon, Wilhelm turns and staggers around the corner. Simon hears retching. His escape plan kicks in. He practically runs back into the party, nearly knocking people over as he finds Felice.

He finds her giggling with Sara, who's cheeks are blushes deep red. They swap their clothes back, re-completing Felice's outfit. She truly looks stunning, tonight more than ever. Up close, her hair is woven more intricately than he realised. It's as short as his but looks ten times better.

Oh God- with the short hair and purple cloak, he probably looks just like Felice. Especially to someone who's drunk. Wilhelm didn't mean to kiss him. He meant to kiss Felice. Now Simon feels like he's going to throw up.

• ❤︎ •

The third time is after Parents Day. Simon spent the days leading up to it avoiding Wilhelm. He probably doesn't remember the kiss at all but Simon wont chance it. He won't give Wilhelm the opportunity to reject him. This doesn’t stop him from looking at him for a little too long from across the room. This doesn’t stop Wilhelm looking back.

His ingenious “if I ignore him he can’t reject me” plan fails, however, when Wilhelm sits with his family as they eat. Simon can't take his eyes off him as he chats with Simon and Felice's family. Wilhelm combs his fingers through his hair, licks his lips, laughs along to jokes. Simon soaks up every minute of it.

Dinner plates empty. Belts are loosened. Waiters come around to collect dishes and Simon starts to panic. Wilhelm has been glancing at him again and again throughout the dinner. He's definitely going to corner Simon and let him down. Tell him to forget all about the kiss (if he even remembers it). Simon pulls out his phone.

Simon I need you to pick me up

Ayub Thought you were at the parents dinner Cant ur mom take u home?

Simon I'll explain later If you pick me up right now I'll be forever grateful

Ayub I'll be outside in ten You owe me one

Simon I love you more than life itself

Simon rests his phone on the table, slightly less panicked. As soon as people start getting to their feet, he bolts. Out the door. Our of the school. He only slows when his feet crunches on the front road's gravel.

Ayub arrives right on time. Simon jumps on his bike before he can ask what's going on. It isn't until the next day that Simon comes to a shocking realisation: he left his phone at Hillerska.

• ❤︎ •

"Didn't think I'd be back here so soon" Ayub says as he drops Simon off.

"I'll be in and out, I promise. Everyone's gone home so I'll be able to find it and grab it"

"Here, call yourself on my phone. You can follow the ringing"

"Where would I be without you"

Ayub tosses his phone and gestures for Simon to go. He pushes open the doors. Hillerska feels haunted without students bustling through the halls. It's like a museum. Simon opens Ayub's phone and calls himself.

It's probably in the dining room where they ate. He walks towards it, listening intently for his ringtone. What he doesn't expect is for someone to pick up.

“Hello?”

Simon stares at the phone for a moment before pressing it to his ear. ". . . Hello?"

“Simon? That you?”

“Wille!" Perfect. The one person he was trying to not talk to. "Sorry, I didn’t recognise your voice”

"Don't worry about it, I don't think you were expecting me to answer"

"Yeah, uh, you have my phone. That's why I was calling it. I must've left it here yesterday"

"Where are you? I can drop it off"

"I'm already at Hillerska so I can just grab it. Want me to come to you?"

"Just start walking, we'll find each other"

Simon decides to go in the general direction of Wilhelm's dorms. It really does feel like a museum. Each alcove is like a display he can't touch. His footsteps echo.

“So . . . what’re you doing with my phone?” Simon asks.

“I actually didn’t know it was yours. It was left on one of the tables, so I took it in case the owner came looking for it”

“And here I am”

“And here you are”

Simon can't help but smile. He's sure he can hear Wilhelm smiling too.

Wilhelm takes a deep breath. “I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you”

“Talk to me?”

“Yeah. Um . . . it's about Felice's party"

Simon stops. Here it is. Everything has backfired and now the one thing he didn't want to talk about has come up.

"Simon? You there?"

"Yes! Uh yes I am." He rubs a hand across his face. Play it cool. "What about her party?"

"I'm sorry that I was so drunk that night. I figured I'd need some . . . liquid courage but I guess I had too much"

"Yeah. It was a uh, a wild night" Simon feels like he's choking on his own heart. He distracts himself by looking around at the hallway. He's not even sure where in the school he is. He's more focused on not throwing up.

"Do you remember that night?"

Play it cool. "Anything specific you want me to remember?"

There's a moment of silence. Simon can hear Wilhelm's footsteps through the phone. "If you want to forget that night and move on like nothing happened, we can definitely can"

Simon doesn't want to forget. It's all he can think about.

"Do you want to forget about it?" Simon asks, swallowing.

Wilhelm's walking slows as he thinks. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable"

"I don't . . . I wasn't uncomfortable"

There's a beat. "I'm glad. That-that you weren't uncomfortable"

"I'm a little uncomfortable now" Simon laughs awkwardly. His tension eases a little when Wilhelm laughs too.

"I'm sorry. I just don't know how to talk about this" Simon kicks his feet against the floor.

"I have to say, I didn't think I'd be talking to you about this over the phone"

"I didn't think you'd want to talk about this at all. I thought you were going to avoid me forever"

"Hey, you're the one who was avoiding me"

"Yeah yeah I know" Simon smiles.

Wilhelm takes a deep breath and exhales. "I really wanted to kiss you that night. That's why I got so drunk I needed a confidence boost. It uh, it didn't help that you ignored the kiss at Rosh's game"

Simon's jaw drops in a smile. "I didn't ignore it! I just panicked. I figured it was a spur of the moment celebration"

"None of it was spur of the moment. I've wanted to kiss you for a while"

"You have?"

"You didn't notice?"

"Not at all. If I did, I probably would've kissed you"

Simon hears him stop and smile. “Simon, you are the smartest idiot I ever met”

He hangs up. He hangs up? Simon looks at the phone as if it holds the answer. His brow furrow as a hand grabs his shoulder from behind. He turns, that there he is.

"Hi" they say in unison.

Wilhelm's hands are on Simon's shoulders. He holds his gaze with a smile. Simon completely forgets how to breathe. All he can think about his Wilhelm being so close to him and his lips being right there because really they're right there-

"Can I kiss you again?" Wilhelm asks. Simon nods.

Wilhelm kisses him for the third time. It's hesitant- like he's testing the waters to see if Simon is willing to swim. Before he can pull away, Simon yanks him back in. His hands thread through Wilhelm's hair as Wilhelm wraps his arms around his waist. They pull each other impossibly close. It's their third-first-kiss and it is perfect.

[voiceless-terror]

And Many Happy Returns

part 2 of my sequel to Inseparable, my childhood friends au. part one here.

Tuesday dawns quicker than Jon imagined it would. 

It’s not one of his best days. First of all, tomorrow is Martin’s birthday, which already has him antsy and distracted. Second, he keeps losing his train of thought whenever he talks to Martin and he’s definitely starting to think something’s up. Third, he’s gotta tell him he can’t play today.

“I’m going to the store with Nan tonight, she wants me to help pick out the groceries,” he says, tearing his sandwich into bits and trying to maintain eye contact with Martin. Nan always thinks he’s lying when he doesn’t meet her eyes. “She says I’m too picky cause I won’t eat anything she gives me.” That’s true, though she wouldn’t remedy it by letting him pick out his own food. She’d just let him go hungry.

“You should eat it anyway,” Martin says, his brow furrowing in concern. “You’ll never grow tall if you don’t eat dinner.” He sounds like one of those TV adverts on the kid channels. Jon has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“It’s fine.” He shoves a bit of sandwich in his mouth. Martin worries too much, and not about the right things. He’s going to make sure Martin has a worry-free birthday. Even if it means making him worry extra today, which kind of cancels it out. He tries to remind himself that feelings aren’t math, though it sure would make things a lot easier if they were. Emotions are messy and Jon doesn’t always understand them.

At the end of the day Martin parts from him reluctantly, and Jon tries not to let it bother him. I’ll make him very happy tomorrow. It’ll be worth it. He drags his feet a bit on the walk, taking twice the normal amount of time to get home. By the time he opens the door, his nan’s already there, putting her purse over her shoulder.

“C’mon then, child,” she says, not sparing him a glance as she slips into her shoes. “Don’t dawdle.” Jon follows suit, throwing his backpack haphazardly on a pile of shoes and bounding out towards the car. He’s usually not a fan of car rides with his Nan; she doesn’t like to play music and she isn’t a fan of Jon’s ‘incessant chattering,’ so they can get pretty boring. This time, however, he’s too distracted to let it bother him, and before he knows it, they’re pulling into the car park. 

Nan insists on doing her shopping first, so Jon has a lot of time to stew. What if they don’t have what he wants? What if they’re all out of cupcakes and Jon has to get him some sort of cookie? What if he has to get him an oatmeal raisin cookie? That would be a disaster. Martin likes them, but they’re just so boring. 

Jon almost breaks out into a sprint when they finally reach the bakery section, but a sharp tug on his arm stops him. He takes exaggeratedly slow steps to the far right counter, where he can spot the birthday cakes and a small selection of cupcakes. Jon’s eyes scan over the rather limited options until he finds it. The perfect one.

He taps on the glass emphatically. “That one. The one with the orange icing.”

His grandmother leans down beside him, her mouth drawn in a disapproving frown. He hopes she hasn’t changed her mind- usually if he behaves, she’ll follow through on her promises. And Jon’s been very good, except for the whole almost-running thing. 

“Are you sure?” She points to a different one to the right, with boring blue icing and dumb baby sprinkles. “The blue one’s much nicer. Orange, it’s such an odd color for-”

Jon stamps his foot in outrage, a move that’s sure to get him in trouble later. “Martin’s hair is orange and it's fantastic! It has to be this one.” He pauses, well aware of the consequences of a tantrum and tacks on an insistent “please.” 

It gets the job down. She gives him one last exasperated sigh before motioning to one of the people behind the counter, pointing at Jon’s choice. He bounces on his feet as they wrap it in a nice little box and Nan carefully puts it in the seat of the cart. “Thank you thank you thank-”

“Alright, that’s enough.” But she’s giving him a little smile, and doesn’t even flinch when he throws his arms around her waist. “You’re welcome.” He gives her an extra good squeeze.

Almost there!

________

And finally it’s Wednesday. The big day. Martin’s day.

He’s spent all of last night fixing up his present, looking at it with a critical eye. He thinks Martin will like it. He hopes he will. Nan had given him the cupcake and told him to make sure he handled it very carefully, lest he get icing all over everything.

Jon’s not stupid. He can handle one cupcake.

“Jon!”

At the sound of Martin’s voice, Jon shoves the box into his backpack.

“Happy Birthday!” he shouts, throwing his arms around Martin and squeezing him tight. Martin’s wonderful at hugs, but Jon can give very good ones if he puts his mind to it. Martin pauses and it takes a few moments before he eagerly returns it.

“Y-You remembered!” Jon looks up from his spot in Martin’s sweater (it’s very soft) and resists the urge to scowl. There’s no scowling on people’s birthdays. 

“Of course. You only told me a few days ago.” He reluctantly parts from him and gives him a lookover- Martin’s not wearing anything special (besides the sweater, a nice light blue), he doesn’t look any different. Jon expected him to carry himself with a different air, like he’s seen older kids do. But eight year old Martin looks the same as seven year old him. Unless he grew a centimeter or two overnight, as children are wont to do.

“I figured we could go to the park after school to celebrate.” Jon resists the urge to dance on his feet as Martin gives him a shy smile. “Well, not the park but the little clearing behind it- you know, the one where we found the headless doll-”

There’s a little path in the sparse woods nearby, where Martin and Jon like to go when the weather is nice. It’s as warm as it could be, and Jon made sure to clear the twigs from the area beforehand so it wasn’t so messy. He’s got a picnic blanket and everything.

“You don’t have to go through the trouble, not if you don’t want-”

“Martin,” Jon sighs, giving him a level look. “It’s not trouble if it’s you.”

His friend’s face immediately goes red at Jon’s words, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he manages to speak. Martin gets like that when he’s flustered, though Jon has no idea what he said to cause it. 

“I-I would like that, I think.”

“Good.”

Martin keeps shooting him shy smiles all day and Jon can’t keep still, he’s too excited! He’s almost tempted to give Martin the cupcake at lunch (he checks his bag- still good!), but he also brought a little surprise with that, and he’ll definitely get in trouble if they see him at school with it. Still, it takes everything in him not to just celebrate now. By the time the bell rings, Jon’s already out of his seat, tugging at Martin’s hand. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t throw you a party,” he says as he practically skips his way to the playground, Martin huffing alongside him. “But you know how Nan is, and I don’t really know who we’d invite. Better it’s just us.”  They bypass the playground and the few children on it until they make their way to the clearing. Some new twigs must have fallen since his visit on the weekend, and Jon impatiently kicks them aside and throws his backpack to the ground, rummaging through it. Martin stands patiently beside him, watching as he pulls out a ratty blanket and spreads it out on the grass with a flourish. He plops to the ground and pats the spot next to him, gesturing for Martin to sit.

“And for the last bit…” he digs around in his bag, pulling out the small container. The cupcakes gone all crooked and some of the icing’s smeared, so Jon turns that edge towards him. “Tada!””

And Martin just stares.

He’s starting to get nervous. Jon’s gotten good at figuring out Martin’s expressions, but this one is just plain weird. It’s just a lumpy cupcake and Martin’s staring at it like he’s liable to break into a million pieces. Jon’s starting to think he’s done something horribly wrong.

“You don’t like it?” he asks tentatively, starting to pull back. “Should I have gone with the blue one? I thought you liked orange-”

“I do.” Oh no. Martin’s voice has gone all squeaky and breaky, like when they read that book where the dog died at the end. “It’s just- It’s very nice of you. You didn’t have to-”

“Of course I did.” Jon says as soon as he realizes where this is going. “But here, hold this- I’m not done.”

“Not done?”

He digs around in his backpack again and pulls out the small box of matches he’d stolen from the cabinet and a tiny, single candle from some ancient cake pack. Nan had plenty of them, to light the cigarettes Jon’s not supposed to know she smokes. He’s seen her light them with ease, so it shouldn’t be that hard.

He turns and opens the container, still in Martin’s hands, and sticks the candle right in the middle. He takes the matches and tries to strike them against the black bit, fast and quick like his Nan does, but it only succeeds in breaking the match in half.

“Oops. Hold on.” He tries again to no avail, this time flinging the bent match to the side. Three. Four. Five more tries, and he’s starting to get real frustrated and embarrassed. He’s almost eight, for crying out loud. He should be able to light a match.

“Um, here. Let me.” Martin gestures for the pack and Jon reluctantly hands it over, taking the cupcake instead. With one smooth, easy motion, Martin strikes the match against the stripe and Jon watches in awe as it easily lights.

“Wow!”

“It’s not that hard.” He places it against the candle and shakes it out in his hand. He pauses for a moment, staring at the lit candle like he doesn’t know what to do.

“Well? Make a wish!”

“O-Oh! Right.” Martin closes his eyes, clearly concentrating real hard. So hard, in fact, that the wax is starting to melt a bit and Jon worries he’s forgotten to make a wish. A few more seconds pass and Martin blows it out gently. Jon would clap if his hands weren’t full. 

“Eat it!” he demands, and Martin complies, a smile on his face as he takes a hesitant nibble and nods in appreciation. “But I would like one bite, please. I want to know how orange tastes.”

Orange ends up tasting mostly like white and pink and all the other colors do. How boring. Martin seems to enjoy it, though, judging by the icing smeared across his face. He should’ve brought napkins.

“I, um, I also got you this,” Jon reaches into his backpack to pull out his actual present- it’s a bit crumpled, bent at the corners, but it’s managed to stand up pretty well in his backpack. Doesn’t even have any pencil marks on it! Martin seems to like his pictures, always keeping even the silliest of doodles, so he decided he’d give him a whole bunch at once, that way he can get a bunch of smiles from Martin. He threw away his more amateur attempts- he’d tried to draw just Martin, but the arms kept coming out real wonky so he decided to go with his busier drawings, so Martin wouldn’t be able to see how bad he was at proportions.

“It’s got a book cover and everything,” he explains excitedly, holding it out to Martin but not exactly letting him touch it yet. He’s not going to understand everything unless Jon walks him through it, obviously. Martin hovers near his shoulder looking weirdly nervous, so Jon sidles up to him.

“Here’s us at school, at our tree, in the library- oh! This is just a page of dinosaurs. I used that book from the library as reference. It’s got really good pictures. I think they turned out pretty well, don’t you?” He points to his favorite one, a purple brontosaurus (he’s never seen any purple ones in the books, but it’s a very nice color). 

“Y-Yeah,” Martin replies, leaning further into his side. Jon likes when he does that. He can be pretty hesitant about touches, but he doesn’t need to be. Not with him. “It looks really nice, Jon.”

“Thank you.” Of course Martin would like it. He was so silly to worry. “And here’s that time you kicked that ball at Marcus- and here’s that dog I hate- and here’s our house-”

“Our house?”

Jon blinks, turning to look up at Martin. “Yeah. For when we’re big.” Martin continues to stare at him with big, bright eyes, like Jon’s an alien or something. Weird.

“A-Are we married?”

“Um, maybe.” Jon hadn’t really put much thought into that. He just supposes that when they grow up, they’ll get their own house. Well, first a flat in London, but then they’d get a big place when they were rich. Jon’s going to work with dinosaurs at a museum, there’s definitely money in that. They have to pay you a lot because the bones are so big. And Martin...what will Martin do? Firefighter, probably, on account of his height and his arms. Or maybe a doctor, since he’s so good at putting on plasters. 

I suppose we could be married. He’s not sure he ever wants to give Martin a kiss or have babies or anything like that, but it would be nice to have someone to hug on a permanent basis. He doesn’t want to get married in a church, though. The last time he’d been in one was during his mum’s funeral, and he thinks he’ll cry if he has to see a cross.

“I haven’t thought about it,” he decides; he doesn’t want to dash Martin’s dreams, since there’s still a distinct possibility it’ll happen. It just makes sense. “But you would have to get me a very shiny ring with lots of colors. None of those boring clear ones. Okay?”

Martin gives him a very good smile. “Okay.”

They spend a little bit more time going through the rest of the pictures- Jon explaining each one, and Martin nodding as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. Martin’s very good at giving people his undivided attention. When they’re done, Martin hugs it to his chest like it’s something precious and beams.

“Thanks, Jon. I- I really like it.”

“Oh, good.” Jon tries not to let it show how much this pleases him, looking away from Martin’s beaming face even as he bounces a little on his knees. “I’m glad. I can make you one next year. And the year after that. All the years, really. I can’t wait for us to grow up and do lots of things together.” Now that Martin’s seen all his pictures and predictions, they need to start doing some planning, the two of them. They’ve got a good ten years before they graduate, and he wants to do some stuff in between.

“I can’t wait to drive everywhere like my mum does,” Martin says. Martin has a preoccupation with that, Jon noticed. Most kids are fine with bikes but Martin wants a car, he wants to go far places. Like Scotland, even. And you need a car for that. The thought of being behind the wheel fills Jon with anxiety.

“I don’t think I’m going to drive, ever,” he announces, plopping down beside Martin. “Cars are so big. I don’t know how I’d control them.”

“Mum says it's not that hard,” Martin says. “And once, Dad let me drive in his lap. Only a little bit, though. I think I can handle it.” Jon can very easily picture Martin behind the seat of a car. It’s just something he looks like he can do. 

“And don’t worry,” he continues. “I’ll drive you wherever you need to go. It’ll be fun.” It’ll definitely be an improvement over car rides with Nan. But anything with Martin is an improvement, he makes things fun just by being there.

“I guess. But I want to go on adventures,” Jon says emphatically.  “I want to go on a train ride around Europe. Visit all the museums and gardens and castles. We can do that together.”

“Go out and see the world, then?”

“Yeah.” He looks over to Martin, sitting there on Jon’s dirty little blanket with his present tucked against his chest and a far off look in his eyes, smiling at Jon like he’s hung the moon and suddenly they’re not in this stupid little clearing in stupid little Bournemouth, but somewhere else- a grand forest in Germany, or a field in France, or a cottage in the country. The world out there is large and scary and full of things he doesn’t understand, but he’s not alone anymore, fantasizing about adventures he’ll never have and places he’ll never go. He’s got Martin, now, and he makes the world a little more familiar, a little more safe.  His fantasies don’t seem so far away anymore. 

This is why people have friends, Jon thinks. It’s one thing to have a home and a family. Or a Nan, like Jon has. But when you have a friend, it’s like having a whole nother family. And when you see them it’s like coming home, even if you’re not at your house. And you’re not lonely or homesick cause even a dingy little clearing or a forest or a castle can be home, as long as you’re with them. 

“Jon,” Martin says, his voice interrupting Jon’s musings. “This is...really nice. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.” Jon beams, nudging Martin’s leg with his foot. “I wanted you to have a good birthday. You’re my best friend!”

“I’m your only friend,” Martin corrects, though his face blanches as soon as the words come out. “I mean, you’re my only friend too, so I don’t have much room to talk.”

“Well, I’ve got you. I don’t need anyone else.” Jon rolls his eyes. He likes this whole friend business, but he doesn’t think he can handle another one right now. He’s got enough on his plate as is. 

“Yeah,” Martin says, nudging Jon back with a smile. “Neither do I.”

________

They spend the rest of daylight there, talking. Jon even offers to go on the tire swing, though the last time he threw up in his mouth a little. Martin declines with a knowing smile, and says he’s just fine sitting here. Jon thought he’d want a bit more excitement, but he’s willing to go along. It’s Martin’s birthday, after all. And the talking isn’t so bad. By the time they leave, they’ve got enough plans for the next twenty years. Martin’s hesitant about university, though, so Jon’s going to have to sell him on that one. He’s not going to share a dorm with some stranger when he’s got a perfectly good, perfectly smart friend who ought to be in school. 

On the walk back to Martin’s, they’re mostly silent. Jon knows Martin isn’t going home to a celebration, or a mum that’ll wish him a happy birthday, but he hopes today more than made up for it. He stares ahead for a few moments before he takes Martin’s hand.

“Did you have a good birthday?” Jon asks. He hates needing constant reassurance like this, but sometimes it’s better to just come out and ask instead of worrying all night.  “I haven’t planned a birthday before, and I’m not as good as a mum or dad at it, but I-”

“Jon,” Martin says, turning to him with that very good smile, one that Jon will try and fail to recreate in a hundred more doodles. “This was the best birthday I’ve ever had.” He sounds like he means it, like today was enough and Jon did a good job. He beams in response.

He thinks his mum would be proud.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599192/chapters/76194152

[beauregardlionett]

from the clouds - prologue & ch i

AO3 Link

Our story begins—like so many others—in Wildemount. Descending through the cloudy overhang hovering over the Truscan Vale, rising along the Bromkiln Hills towards Mount Mentiri in the Cyrios Mountains. Between these points sat Kamordah. This, however, is not where the story begins. Deeper into the woods of the mountains, travelling north of Kamordah along the edges of the Cyrios Mountains, were numerous streams and rivers. Many of the waterways hidden among the warm mountains bore names long forgotten. Should one be lucky enough, they might encounter the spirit of a waterway and learn their name.

Most were not lucky.

According to legend, the spirits of the rivers were benevolent, but cautious. Too many of them fell by the sword of glory hungry adventurers, or became tamed and twisted to the will of mages. It was rare these days to encounter the water spirits known as Imugi. So rare, the mundane populations nearly forgot the name itself in the present.

But the dragons were not gods, and just because they were forgotten did not mean they ceased to exist. There existed several breeds of dragons—some better known than others. Imugi, however, were not full dragons—they were considered of lower stature and lesser power than their fully dragon counterparts. Imugi required outside intervention to become fully realized dragons—an orb of power known as a yeouiju. That, or to have lived and acquired knowledge over one thousand years of life.

In a twist of sick irony, the god that created the Imugi faded from knowledge and power over time in the material plane, lost to legend and memory. Their power waned as it was wont to do, and the yeouiju sent hurtling from the heavens to the material plane came less and less frequently.

This, however, is still not where the story begins.

It begins in the fringe woods north of Kamordah and due east of Mount Mentiri, on the banks of a tumbling river. Lined with trees whose ancient roots stretched above and below the soil to the water, their branches housing birds and fauna of all sorts. Between the current and the river rocks swam fish and otters, beavers and frogs. Flowers grew a short trot from the banks, and wildlife visited the river for the life it begat.

There, tucked away and hidden among the rocky face of a short overhang, was a hollow. Screened over by trailing moss and lichen, an absent traveller would miss the opening entirely.

This is where the story begins.

-

Beauregard does not remember how she learned her name.

Her creation was a simple thing. The river she called home came into existence a couple hundred years ago. She crawled out from between the river rocks beneath the tumbling current, willed into existence by a god fading from human memory. Her name—her real name—was something she had always known from the moment awareness set in. But the trees and the animals that took up residence on her banks named her Beauregard.

The spirits of the forest that lived around her took care of Beau, taught her their common tongue instead of the warbling, watery language Beau spoke intrinsically. The fish understood when she ate a few of them, and the red-tailed doe that visited the water allowed Beau to play with her fawns. They all encouraged Beau, cheered her on, as she stumbled through comprehending her powers, her abilities, and her frustrating limitations.

Beau could not fly, nor stray too far into the woods from her river without weakening and losing her breath. She learned her lesson the hard way when she was still small and less than twenty years old, carried home by a dryad who had found her gasping and grey less than half a mile from the river. She could not maintain her true Imugi form for too long, lest it sap at her inner reserves of power and magic. And though the river birthed her, though the river was her, Beau’s control over it was abysmally lacking for the first fifty years of her life.

But the spirits all kept encouraging her, pushed Beau to keep practicing. In return, when Beau finally had a handle on it all, she protected them. When the mortals came with axes and gleaming eyes, Beau shifted and roared and scared them away from the trees. The anglers set their nets, and the hunters set their traps, and Beau sabotaged them all. She stalked the banks of her river, eyes mirroring the clear, rushing blue of the water at her feet, and refused to give an inch. This was her river, her friends, and she was the guardian. Nothing would get in her way.

Despite it all, Beau was not content. Her chest began to feel hollow after a hundred years in her river. The monotony of her days, the metaphorical chain at her ankles, tethering her to these banks, was dreary. She longed to fly, to explore the heavens above, and to wield a storm at her fingertips. Beau knew—just knew—that Imugi could do more, be more. The stories and the knowledge all sat inside of her without prompt. Beau needed a yeouiju, needed that orb of power to help her rise above the treetops.

The dryads let Beau climb up their trunks and among their branches. They let her wiggle through the topmost canopy of their crown and witness the wind on her cheeks and dancing through her hair. The thrill in her veins from the dizzying height tasted of flying in the paltriest sense of the word. But it was enough to fuel her determination.

Which was why Beau remained so determined to find a yeouiju of her own, to ascend into higher stature and power. However, she knew the dwindling knowledge of her kind afforded fewer chances to Imugi like her to gain a yeouiju. Lack of knowledge and faith meant the god that created Imugi was fading from power and existence. It took more out of them to create yeouiju now than it had hundreds of years before.

These facts did not daunt Beau’s resolve, though.

Regardless of the tedium, every day she swam the length of her river charge, eyes on the heavens. She would consult schools of fish on their numbers, give them directions, rearrange river rocks, and tend to the flora on the banks of her river. She would protect the dryads, aide the birds with their nests, collect sticks and branches for the otters and beavers, and befriend the visiting fauna. Throughout each daily chore, Beau waited. At night, when the current babbled calmly over her stones and banks, she watched the heavens. The stars would twinkle back at her, each distant flash stoking a false flame of hope in Beau’s chest. Each time her aging heart would leap, thinking this might be her falling orb, her chance at last.

Each morning, the sun greeted her dwindling patience with empty warmth.

“Haven’t you ever heard the term, a watched pot never boils?” Caleb asked her one evening. He ruffled the feathers of one wing as he groomed his beak through his primaries.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you spend too much time eavesdropping on humans?” Beau retorted, voice sharp and bitter. Caleb did not rise to the bait, but he gave her a knowing look before returning to his task.

Caleb was an eagle, and a handsome one at that. His chest dappled white down into a russet color that encompassed his lower torso, legs, and coverts. His secondary and primary feathers dappled white and dark grey, long and prideful. Caleb’s eyes were a point of interest, however; a deep, beady brown shot through with a violet blue. Beau had asked him about his eyes once, and Caleb said they were odd for a bird like him.

He was intelligent and annoying, but an excellent teacher in all things beyond her banks, and Beau loved him like family. Granted, it had taken them until Beau was in her early seventies and a near brush with death to get there, but they got along fine now. Sometimes, when Caleb was in a good mood, he would let Beau assist in his meticulous grooming process.

Beau knew all the spirits who lived on and visited her banks, but there were a select few she kept closer than the rest. Caleb was the only one of that few who did not live on her shores permanently. He came and went with the wind and the weather, bringing Beau stories and trinkets from his travels. She had long ago learned to tamp down on the bitter jealousy with each journey Caleb brought back.

Summers were the worst, when the storms rolled in with warmer weather that made Beau roil in vicious hatred. They were awesome displays of power, and she knew dragons controlled these storms—dragons that had once been Imugi like her. If she focused hard enough, Beau could summon a mild cloud cover, but never more. She could not bring forth rain, let alone thunder and lightning. Her powers barely extended past the banks of her river.

“That looked great,” Caduceus encouraged from the banks of the river, his tone a pleasant drawl. Beau huffed with frustration as her chest heaved with exertion. Water droplets clung to her bare calves where she stood in the river, hair a loose mess as tendrils hung in her eyes and stuck to her sweaty temples.

“Don’t patronize me, Caduceus,” Beau snapped, clenching her fists so hard her blunt nails almost broke the skin of her palms. “That wasn’t any better than last time.”

“Maybe not,” Caduceus agreed as he lifted the lid on his white stone teapot to inspect the state of its contents. “But it’s better than two weeks ago. Progress is progress.”

Beau wanted to yell at him for his constant positivity, his endless faith in her. But she stopped short, knowing he only meant well and was not actively trying to patronize her. Besides, he was right. Two weeks ago, Beau had struggled to maintain the rolling fog she created for two minutes. Now she could hold it for almost ten. But it wasn’t enough. Every attempt she made today in trying to raise the fog higher, to make it into clouds that would rain, had failed. The cover never lifted higher than her knees.

Giving another frustrated huff, Beau kicked at the water, only growing more upset when it parted around her foot and she missed entirely. It was a funny thing, her relationship with the river. She existed as the river, and the river lived in her, but they also existed as two separate entities. When she stepped out of the water, it did not follow. She could ask the water to do things for her, but it did not always listen. Beau tried to explain it once to Caduceus and the other dryads, ended up having an existential crisis, and never brought it up again.

Trudging from the water and up onto the banks, Beau plopped down in the grass beside Caduceus with a mighty exhale. The second her feet left the water, the bone deep exhaustion set in. Every time, it reminded Beau why she shouldn’t push herself and tug at her magic for hours on end—even after all these years.

Caduceus passed her a steaming cup of tea with a knowing look and a gentle pat to her damp kneecap.

“That’s probably enough practicing for one day. Drink up and then maybe we can track down the others for lunch.”

“Yeah,” Beau mumbled around the rim of her teacup as she blew on the steaming liquid. Her face felt tight and flush with disappointment. “Sure.”

The summer days passed in a blur of scorching sunlight and overcast rainstorms. Beau took every opportunity afforded to practice her magic, to draw upon the well inside her until it sat nearly dry. It wasn’t a healthy or wise idea, but Beau had never been known for her wisdom.

On one such day summer day, a storm raging with a rare ferocity above, Beau lay coiled in her hollow, the water dappled scales along her spine shifting restlessly. The stone offered shelter from the wind and rain howling outside the walls. The lichen and moss whipped back and forth with wild abandon in the storm, the shallow water at the front of her hollow disturbed by the movement and the rain. Beau cared for none of it. Bright blue eyes trained on the clouds, she tracked each strike of lightning, shuddered with every crack of thunder. Her mind was far from the thrashing lichen, from the soaked banks of her river, longing to know the thrill of controlling the storm.

There was a flash among the clouds, vivid white and searing purple and achingly bright. Beau’s head popped up, eyes wide and nose twitching as the burn of ozone filled the air. Thunder raged like a mournful cry and rattled Beau’s bones.

Something glowing fell from the darkened clouds.

Heart racing and veins throbbing with adrenaline, Beau shot from her hollow with a speed unknown. Heedless of the surrounding storm, Beau’s eyes locked in on the orb hurtling from the heavens toward her.

This was her chance. This was her yeouiju.

Beau could now fly in the loosest sense of the word—a discovery made a mere month ago that had filled her with joy but now was a frustration. She often made it to just above the treetops and no higher, lingering in the air for a few minutes before she had to return to the water. Without a yeouiju granting her stronger powers, she could not make it higher into the heavens. Despite this, Beau pushed herself now, straining her ability as much as possible, draining her magical well dry. Desperately, Beau pushed herself to climb higher, claws extending toward this glowing orb, this shining future.

The yeouiju hurtled closer, burning and beautiful. Beau’s heart sung in her chest with victory as her claws closed around the object just above the treetops. It was heavier than anticipated, more tangible than she thought an orb of power might be. She didn’t care, though, because this was it.

Beau didn’t care, even as her clawed foot dipped with the weight of the orb, dragging her whole body a foot or two from the sky toward the ground. She was going to fly.

But instead of the thrill of power, the surge of ascension, the weightlessness of true flight, Beau felt a static buzz singing through her veins. It seared through her as though she had grabbed hold of lightning, whiting out her vision for an instant.

She only realized the object in her claws was not an orb at all as the buzz faded away.

Confused and frustrated, unable to stay in the air any longer, Beau wove her way back to the river, magic all but depleted. Depositing her charge on the damp banks of her home, Beau coiled around herself until she stood small and human on the wet sand.

Through the sheets of rain, she glared down at what she thought would be her yeouiju, finding instead the hulking figure of a woman. Her face lay turned away from Beau, her long, thick hair the blinding white of lightning stuck to her skin like a curtain, obscuring her features. The woman’s fitted tunic was a deep black, smoldering in places and crisscrossed with straps of dark leather. But her arms were bare, the skin alabaster in hue, a stark contrast to the black of her tunic and the rest of her outfit. Finally catching Beau’s attention, though, was her right arm. The skin was marred, covered in sporadic, spiraling veins of fresh scars—evidence of lightning damage—but somehow twisted and wrong.

Unable to help her frustrated curiosity, Beau moved around to stand on the other side of the woman, crouching by her head. Without caution, Beau gathered a handful of the sopping hair from the woman’s face and moved it aside. Slack features and more alabaster skin greeted Beau beneath the hair, a solid blue line of a tattoo curving over a strong chin and down a sloping neck. An oozing gash on the woman’s temple bled sluggishly as her breath stuttered from her lungs.

Beau could not pretend to understand what had happened or how this woman fell from the sky. But she sighed, short and sharp, as she knelt beside the woman in the rain. Lightning stretched across the sky so viciously that for a moment, it was bright as day. Beau flinched as the echoing thunder followed a mere second behind and seemed to shake the very ground.

Her hollow sat nearby, and Beau knew despite her frustration, she would not leave the woman in the rain to die. She was not that heartless.

After some clumsy maneuvering, Beau had the woman draped over her back, the bulk of her figure swallowing Beau’s slighter frame. Her knees shook as she walked over the wet, unsteady sand, but she stayed resolutely upright. Ducking through the lichen screen of her hollow, Beau only stumbled twice with the relief of being out of the wind and lashing rain.

Setting the woman down unceremoniously by the shallow water’s edge, Beau cleaned and dressed the head wound as best as she was able to. Uncertain and wary of the lightning scars, Beau settled on covering them with a healing salve and resolved to ask the dryads for help in the morning.

Scooting to the farthest possible corner of her hollow opposite the unconscious woman, Beau pressed her back to the stone. Bitter and angry and upset, Beau pulled her knees to her chest and folded her arms over her legs. She glared over her forearms at the woman until her eyelids betrayed her and Beau slipped into sleep.

[kung-fu-headcanons]

any hc about po with dementia

or if crane finds that po is depressed/suicidal (prane is cool too)

This is yet another ask I stalled on cuz I wanted to write a short skit for the dementia part I hate laziness (but tbh it's probably cuz I'm not a part of this fandom anymore still tho) either way am sorry for the really long wait anon 😣 *cutely ignores the "or" and does both prompts*

Dementia!Po

Typically develops due to old age/failing health, but in this case, it would make a little bit more sense for it to be a result of a bad head injury.

Fights can get rough, especially when you're dealing with a more powerful enemy, so, the enemy was fighting dirty, and did not show any mercy to Po.

The fight that is happening, would resemble the one that happened in s2ep7-8 of legends of awesomeness (if you don't know what I'm talking about, you're gonna have to look it up, I would rather not spoil in case someone who hasn't seen it is reading this)

I guess, because of his chi, he recovers a bit faster than a regular kung fu master, but he's still in bad shape

He's quite confused and disoriented, in which Shifu and the Five dismiss as a result of having engaged in a hard battle, not yet knowing the severity of the situation yet

They do recognize that he hit his head really hard, and take him back, and have a medical professional come over to check on him

As time passes, Po first starts to forget what he's talking about, and often stutters trying to remember what he was saying

Then he starts to forget how to do kung fu, and all the valuable things he has learned as Dragon Warrior

Then he starts to forget everything that's led up to him being in the Jade Palace.. is that the name? He's losing his memories.

The hardest part, is not forgetting about himself (last stage), but forgetting the people around him. His friends and family, he can't place a name to them, and it's like, he knows, but doesn't have the knowledge of them.

The gang tries to help him remember, by reminding him of his signature moves, giving him his favorite foods, even having him let the day off and have him do the things he likes, but it's not working

Even when they remind him of who they are, and what he'd call them if he was, well, himself, Po doesn't know who the people talking to him are.

For example, Monkey would tell him, "Hey.. remember me? Monkey? Your best pal? We'd pull pranks on the others a lot..." and his heart sinks when Po just looks back at him, with confused and dull eyes, he doesn't remember.

This is even worse than if he had died during the fight. At least they don't have to watch him lose somebody they knew so we'll, become someone they don't know at all.

It's frustrating for Po himself too, because, in the early stages, he knew that he recognizes, but he just.. he just cant.

Depressed/Suicidal!Po

Po isn't too good at hiding his feelings, especially if he's really feeling it hard, so it's kind of a stick out to the others something is up with him.

If I ever said anything otherwise about that uhmm no I didn't (I'm glad I'm watching Legends of Awesomeness and eventually paws of destiny because I had seriously forgotten people's character...)

A lot of the signs that Po is showing of depression, Crane notices easily, since he's struggling a little with some mental problems as well

He isn't sure if he wants to confront him about it or not, because he's nervous Po might get mad at him for getting involved in his business, after some thought, he decides, it doesn't hurt to ask...

It's night time, and Crane goes to Po's room to ask what is up with him.

Po gives him a look, and he's like, ".......what are you talking about?" He's not unhappy that Crane asked, he's scared that somebody knows about it, like, uhm, what, he'd been hiding it quite well but it got through?

Crane freaks, dang it, should have known this would happen, he rapidly starts to apologize he's like "aaah I'm sorry I'll leave, I didn't mean to bother you, I won't tell anybody I promise I wont-"

Po sighs, shakes his head, he can trust Crane.. he lets him in his room, and takes a deep breath, and says to him, "Okay, I'll tell you, but promise you won't tell Shifu or the others...?" And Crane promises, he will keep it a secret.

So Po tells Crane how he's been feeling lately, and some of the stuff he says, hits Crane directly in the heart, because he knows exactly how he feels. This is not about him, however, this is about Po.

Crane tries his best to comfort Po, and give him advice, worried that he might have accidentally said something that would make Po feel even worse

Well, Po is just happy to have somebody listen to him, and he's glad that Crane is here to talk to him about it, and didn't ridicule him about it (which is why he was scared at first, he thought he would get made fun of)

He thanks Crane for his time, Crane lets him know, he's not alone in this, there's always someone to help.

If Po is feeling suicidal, he probably had cut himself a little, and it'll take more than some talk for Crane to help Po feel better, and some extra steps to let him know, he's not alone, and people care.

I don't ship Prane (tbh I'm not really that huge of a shipper anymore, ships are cool and all but I prefer individual character content) but for the people that do here's some stuff for you guys

Crane immediately notices something is wrong, and wants to talk to him, worried.

Po's thoughts mainly include, what if Crane doesn't actually love me, and he only dates me cuz he feels sorry for me, he's feeling rather insecure as well as depressed and suicidal.

He thinks that he's being a waste of Crane's time, he should go date somebody else that's actually worth it.

Crane emphasizes the fact, he loves him, and him only, pulls him into an embrace, maybe a kiss as well, he has nothing to worry about.

He loves him for the way he is, and there's nothing he needs to change about himself.

[kkaebsongtypo]

01 | m.l | next

why wont you love me // hrj [02]

pairing: renjun x reader

genre: friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff, slight angst

wanings/notes: alcohol consumption (all parties are of legal age, drink responsibly!), mentions/symptoms of anxiety, mentions/signs of abandonment issues, jealousy, inspired by the song Why Won't You Love Me by 5sos

(warnings/notes are subject to change and updates if needed.)

word count: 2.1k

Renjun and y/n are an inseparable pair; they know each other like the back of their own hands. For the most part. Renjun keeps his true feelings hidden; y/n refuses to acknowledge their own. Both hold the fear of losing each other. But will one night out and a little too much to drink change everything?

a/n: hello part two is f i n a l l y here- sorry for the super long wait ;-; lmk if you want to be in a taglist ^-^

A week without Renjun and the boys proved to be a lot more difficult than you expected. On any other day, a normal day, you would have Renjun or Jisung on video call to keep you company whilst doing your work, cleaning the house, or just any other task. On any other day, you’d have a few of the boys lounging around your apartment, studying, doing project work, playing video games, spending their time in the comfort of your tidy home if they needed to get away from their own. Most of the time, it didn’t even feel like you lived alone.

Needless to say, with your main group of friends away on their trip, you were bored. With the boys doing their own trip activities, it was hard to get a normal, lengthy video call in. Procrastination was one of your biggest enemies in the deafening silence of your empty apartment. Without the company of your friends occupying your phone, and your current lack of self control, you were sprawled out on your bed scrolling through Instagram, your essay long forgotten.

You sat up abruptly when you opened Renjun’s story and were greeted with a photo of him and a shorter girl wrapped in his arms. Your chest tightened and at their bright smiles. You chewed on your bottom lip as you stared at the photo, the strange sensation in your chest growing. After a few seconds, you decided to close the app, the feeling (which, you concluded to be anxiety) building inside of you became overwhelming very quickly. You placed your phone face down on your bed and slowly laid back against the covers. You stared blankly at your ceiling and drummed your fingers on your bedsheets and chest.

A ding sounded from your phone and your hand flew to grab it. You hesitated to look at the screen though, unsure if you were hoping it was from Renjun or not. Ten seconds passed, and after a deep breath, you look at the message. A sigh fell from your lips when you read the contact name. It was from Jisung. You couldn’t tell if you were relieved or disappointed that it wasn’t Renjun as the anxiety in your chest continued to swirl.

bby chick <3: Are you busy rn bby chick <3: Can u vc bby chick <3: I miss you :(

You felt a pang of guilt for feeling slightly disappointed as you read the younger boys messages. You truly did miss him as well. The situation prior to his messages simply threw you off and into a frenzy of other feelings. Your fingers typed a response quickly.

: I miss you too :( : and no I am not busy, call me <3

It took no longer than 5 seconds for a video call from Jisung to pop up. After a deep breath to push down the previous discomfort within you, you put on a small smile and answered the call. The sight of Jisung’s face lighting up instantly when you appeared on his screen made your smile become more real, the photo of Renjun and that girl being pushed aside for the time being.

“Hii y/n!!” Jisungs voice was lively and excited. The setting sun shone a warm glow on him and the hotel wall. He waved to you, and you waved back.

“Hey Sunggie, how are you doing?” You asked. He didn’t hesitate to respond.

“I’m good, the guys and I miss you tons though! How are you?” Your chest tightened when he returned the question. It always broke your facade at times like this.

“I’m- I’m uh… yeah, I’m good.” Your feeble attempt at seeming okay was unconvincing as hot tears rolled down your cheeks with each blink. The uncomfortable feeling in your chest returned and your breathing quickened. Though your vision was blurred, you noticed Jisung’s expression fall into one of shock and panic.

“Wha- what’s wrong? Are you okay? Why are you crying?” He stuttered, reaching towards the camera as if trying to reach directly to you. You wiped your cheeks frantically with your sleeves and sniffled, a pathetic laugh falling from your lips.

“Yeah, I’m fine! Nothing is wrong, Ji, don’t worry-” Jisung cut you off gently. Tears continued to fall from your eyes involuntarily.

“Y/n… please don’t lie to me… you’re clearly not fine…” Your chest tightened more at the sadness in his voice. He didn’t like seeing you upset, it made him sad seeing his friend in distress. You tried to dry your tears again, but it was no use. With a quiet sigh of frustration, you ran your hand through your hair. There was no use in trying to lie again, your feelings were impossible to hide at this point.

“I- ugh. Yeah, you’re right. I’m not really okay- I’m sorry.” You looked down at your lap, fiddling with your fingers. Jisung furrowed his eyebrows at your apology.

“No!! Don’t be sorry!” He exclaimed. You glanced up at him and slouched further into yourself. Silence filled both of your rooms. You didn’t know what to say. You were embarrassed; your fear of being abandoned was consuming every bit of you with each passing second the longer you stayed in your head. Abandonment issues weren’t something you’ve ever talked about with any of your friends, there was never a reason to. Not until you saw that photo of Renjun.

The silence stayed for what felt like an eternity of being stuck in your own thoughts on a loop. No matter how many times you tried to tell yourself that Renjun would never just drop you out of the blue, the anxiety just pushed back. Part of you says “he wouldn’t.” but the other part of you fights back with “but he could.” It was a never ending loop; spiraling into yourself with no end in sight. Jisung snapped you out of your thoughts with a question that caused your cheeks to burn with anxiety.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You chewed on your bottom lip and tried to sort your thoughts before speaking. Tears began forming in the corners of your eyes again and they fell down your still damp cheeks when you blinked.

“It’s- ahh. It’s just- that photo of Renjun and that girl. It’s like, stupid but I think it was just anxiety saying like ‘oh Renjun found someone new he doesn’t love me anymore’ kind of-” The string of words fell from you lips quickly and in a mess, your insecurities growing and getting the best of you. Your voice cracked and you sniffled before taking a shaky breath and rubbing your eyes, giving Jisung the opportunity to speak. He was hesitant at first, his voice wavering slightly; he wasn’t exactly sure what to do.

“Hey- um- breathe for a second. Can you, uhm, can you show me the photo?” You nodded and picked up your phone to open Instagram. A feeling of dread grew in your chest and stomach as your finger hovered over Renjun’s story. With a deep sigh, you opened the story, the photo popping up on your screen. You stared at Renjun’s smile for a second before tapping on the small paper airplane icon and sending it to Jisung. You waited quietly as Jisung opened Instagram to see the image. You laid on your back and positioned your phone next to you so the boy could still see you when he returned to the call.

While you were swimming in your own variety of conclusions, Jisung stared at the photo you had just sent, unsure of his next words. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair, knowing that he could potentially make you feel even worse in one way or another.

“Y/n- oh my goodness. Okay- that’s not- that’s like Renjun’s second cousin. We just met her today!” You stared at your ceiling as Jisung returned to the video call.

“I… are you serious? Oh my gosh.” You groaned, tears beginning to fall faster again. Jisung frowned and furrowed his eyebrows, still hating to see you so upset.

“Yeah! Please don’t cry.” Jisung tried to comfort you as best as he could through a tiny screen. You sniffled and whipped the tears from your face, only for more to fall. He sighed softly, feeling slightly helpless.

“Look, even if that wasn’t his relative, I can assure you that all of us love you and we would never just up and leave you for anyone else. Renjun especially. y/n he…” He paused for a second, trying to pick his words cautiously to avoid exposing any secrets that weren’t his.

“You’re his best friend. He, of all people, would never, ever do that to you.” Your tears began to slow as you listened to Jisung, taking in everything he said. The external rationalization was reassuring, but the ache from the idea of losing Renjun continued to loom deep in your chest.

“I know that your anxiety clouds your judgement sometimes but if I can do anything to help at any time, please let me know.” He paused for a second, quickly realizing that you were keeping quiet.

“But if you can’t talk to me for whatever reason, try to remember what I just said.” You sighed softly. Jisung was really trying, and even though your thoughts continued to run wild, you were grateful for his efforts.

“Thank you, Ji. I really appreciate it. I’m sorry for all that; it was just a huge scare about my best friend leaving me over what turned out to be nothing.” You rolled your eyes at yourself. You jumped to conclusions and got upset over a misunderstanding; you felt foolish. Jisung perked up and was quick to validate your feelings.

“Oh! No, please don’t feel like you need to say sorry for feeling.” He frowned at you and played with his fingers. You pursed your lips and looked down at your lap. Silence lingered for a couple seconds before Jisung spoke up again.

“Um, okay. I’m sorry of this is a dumb question, but like- are you sure that was the only reason for your reaction..?” The question made you tilt your head and bring your eyebrows together in slight confusion.

“Uh? Yes? What do you mean?” Jisung turned away and scratched the back of his neck.

“Ah like, I dunno. The use of best friend- I mean like, are you sure you aren’t like, jealous?” Jisung turned his head down slightly, looking up at you with a careful gaze, nibbling the inside of his lip. Your eyes widened and you blinked a few times. Your lips parted to speak and you raised your eyebrows, but the words got caught in your throat. Why is this so hard to answer? You furrowed your brows for a second, regaining your composure enough to form some sort of coherent sentence.

“Oh- well I mean I guess maybe?? But no. What?? He’s my best friend and he’ll always be my best friend.” You tripped over your words as they came out in a mess. Your heart sped up and your cheeks warmed slightly. What is happening?? Jisung furrowed his eyebrows and tugged at his fingers as words began falling from his lips.

“Right- I’m sorry-” He started to panic, but you cut him off softly before he could ramble an apology.

“It’s fine Jisung, don’t worry about it.” You sent him a small, half smile. He chewed on his bottom lip and averted his gaze. Without letting the guilt-filled silence linger, you sighed and clapped your hands together.

“Enough about this stuff. Tell me more about the trip, what have you been up to?” You smiled softly. Jisung looked at you hesitantly and you nodded; an attempt at reassuring him. He took a second and raised his eyebrows before breaking into a smile.

“Well, the day after we arrived we just sort of slept in, but in the afternoon we went into the city...” You smiled as enthusiasm filled his eyes again, but his voice became mere background noise as you got lost in your thoughts once more. Jisung’s previous question coming back and lingering in your mind; “are you sure that was the only reason for your reaction?”

Renjun is my best friend. I don’t want anything more.

You did your best to shake it from consuming you, wanting to focus on Jisung instead. But the tiniest voice in the back of your mind repeated in a loop, Renjun is my best friend. I don’t want anything more. Right?

Taglist: @lolibaaae @currentlyraisinghell

a/n: let me know if you want to be part of a tag list ^-^

disclaimer: updates will be stagnant. thank you for understanding :)

[wildenessat221b]

So if I wanted to request a lil fluff about Cap? Maybe Ally and the ghosts decide to very kindly and gently ask him if he's gay, let him know it's okay? Maybe he gets on the stuttery defensive and goes to live with the plague ghosts? Maybe he gives them the old "you wont believe what they said about me?" And they kind of talk him through why it might not be all that ridiculous. And he has to have a Big Think. Maybe?

Such Could Be Arranged

What was she fussing about?

Why was she fussing into her morning Coco Pops and fussing as she scooped a clump of leaves out of the drain and fussing as she turned on Richard Osman’s House of Games for Robin and fussing as she tossed and turned into the early hours.

Stop fussing, she told herself, stop fussing.

He’s fine, Alison, he’s completely fine, well he’s not, he’s dead, but he’s as fine as any of them ever are, he’s fine he’s -

Scared.

He’s scared.

He’s scared, not in the way of being scared of monsters or scared of plane crashes or scared of the dark. He’s scared in the way of feeling a new ache in your lower back, of realising you’ve forgotten a loved one’s name, in the way of having a dark and unforgivable thought in the middle of the night.

He’s scared of himself, and being dead but still very much alive, he’s stuck with himself.

That simply won’t do.

Alison knew that fear, had seen it turn people inside out, leave them choking and gasping on words they just can’t get out.

Words that they wish they could bury with a limpet mine and watch discintegrate forty feet in the air.

It simply won’t do.

She needs to talk to Pat.

***

“Does he...” her hands are wringing around each other, “You know... know?”

Pat sighs and pushes his glasses up his nose.

“...I don’t know, Alison.”

“Does... does he even know it’s... an option? Does he -“

“It’s not really about whether it’s an option or not is it, he can’t exactly hot foot it to the local drag bar.”

“There’s a local -“ she blinks and flaps her hands. “Not the point, although one we shall return to. No, I guess you’re right. But does he...“

She trails off, and gives Pat a rather helpless look.

“I think he... I think he knows what he likes. But I don’t think he knows quite what that means.”

She purses her lips and perches on the edge of the kitchen table.

“So you think he doesn’t know... that it’s alright? That he’s alright? You know... fundamentally... as a human being?”

Pat considers this. He considers it, and becomes a little sad.

“...no. I don’t think he does.”

“...hm.”

“I also think that he thinks he’s being wonderfully subtle so -“

“Utmost delicacy?”

“Utmost delicacy.”

***

“Captain?”

He looks up, from where he had been squinting accusatorily at a flock of pigeons on the front lawn.

“Hmm?”

Alison wanders nonchalantly towards him. “I’ve been thinking...”

“Hmm? Yes, me too, I’ve been thinking about you and Michael, you know you really should consider introducing more protein into your diet, now there’s this wonderful chap called Mo Farah, he appears on the television sometimes -“

“Yeah, quorn nuggets all round, excellent idea Captain, Captain - it’s alright, you know.”

She claps her hand over her mouth the moment she says it. And then she lets it drop.

“It’s alright,” she whispers, “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

The Captain frowns.

“I’m... I don’t follow.”

Alison gulps.

“It’s fine that... you like Mo Farah and George Clarke and that bloke Adam and... men. It’s fine that you like men. You don’t need to... it’s fine.”

The Captain blinks. Lines appear on his brow. Bile rises up in his throat. His knuckles whiten on his swagger stick. He feels faint, he feels hot, he loses control of the words that are coming out of his mouth.

“Now Alison that is highly - highly impertinent and highly - highly rude and very... in fact I think you should... take a look at - at yourself and... check... check yourself and your words before you try to -“

He backs out of the room as he talks.

“You need to... you should... ah...”

“Captain don’t -“

“Hyah.”

He disappears through the wall.

***

“Ooh, ello, who’s this then!”

“A visitation, how exciting!”

“To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Aw, looking a bit peaky darlin’, d’you need some milk or summin?”

“He’s dead, Mick.”

The Captain shakes his head vigorously.

“I’m quite well, just... wronged.”

Walter frowns.

“Wronged, mate?”

“Wronged indeed. Alison had the impertinence to...” he gulps. “To insinuate that I’m... attracted. To men.”

For once, in the basement, all is silent.

Only for a beat though.

“Well... you are, aren’t you?”

The Captain scoffs. His mouth forms about seven distinct shapes before it gets anything close to a word out.

“Well I... for the love of... what makes you -“

“I’ve talked to you about twice mate, rather rude considering you’ve been knocking about for getting on eight decades now, but that’s a conversation for another time - and I can see that.”

“... how... what?”

“Vibes, mate.”

“What on Earth does -“

“Anyway, that’s not what’s important here, you are, aren’t you?”

“Well...” he says what he says next very quietly indeed “yes. But it’s not something you say.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because -“

Yes he thought, an entirely new thought, a novel and sparkling and frightening thought. Why on Earth not?

He thought of Havers’ face and Havers’ voice and how he never said I love you.

Why on Earth not?

[sachiwrites]

;a sort of tender curiosity

suna x reader

a/n: i’ve sorta of kind of been binging @bjbexi​ for quite awhile and her suna obsession awakened a new love for me. today she got me soft for suna so i wrote this with her inspiration in mind

             ______________________________________________

the two of you had a precarious relationship. a teetering balance of friends yet the mutual urge to develop it into something more. the silent language was too obvious to ignore- the way the two of you drifted closer when walking together, shoulder brushing with every step. suna rarely interjected an opinion in situations yet when it came to you, he was always equipped with something to say- on how nice your hair looked today, or how he appreciated your help with his coursework even though he could have completed it easily on his own. 

your lives just tended to orbit around each other, threads of fate intertwined at the roots of your existence. tonight was just like any other gesture of acquaintance where you’d invited him over with the promise of movies and sticky desserts. 

suna settled onto the couch beside you, no consideration towards the waning distance as his weight brought you sliding the last few inches into his side. there was no grunt of complaint, in fact quite the opposite as his arm settles comfortably over the top of the couch with his fingertips brushing against your shoulders. 

there is no ethereal ambiance- just the dimmed lighting of the television as it adds a staticy glare to the color of your eyes. yet he still found warmth in them. the same hint of sunshine that settles like a comforting pressure against his chest. 

in moments like these, he finds himself drifting to the past to the moment that he’d first met you. it had been a stupid party not unlike any other hosted by the miya twins. he’d spent most of the night dodging inebriated idiots and assholes. you, on the cusp of tispy, cheeks flush with a hint of whiskey between your lips. you were so utterly normal than too, nothing too entrancing in your loose shirt and comfortable jeans. yet there was some about your easy smile, mouth inviting him into a conversation and before he realized it, he wanted to kiss you. 

a similar feeling fluttered in his chest tonight. a sensation of only craving the feel and taste of your lips. the thumb at your nape made small circles- the way you relaxed instead of tensing encouraging a firmer pressure of insistence. 

suna wonders how your lips would move against his. if you would end up smiling against his efforts or take initiative and part them wider. maybe you would slide your leg over his lap and settle against his thighs. 

he’s always been a thinker. silent over vocalizing his thoughts but something about his deliberation catches your attention as your brows crease in consideration. unlike him, you wonder aloud, questioning his contemplation.

“you don’t know how hard i’m trying not to kiss you right now.” he says, a whispered reflection of his mind’s rambles.

but maybe you do as he noted the way the corner of your mouth quirks. he wants to know what your smile looks like in the morning. how it feels melting against his conscience after a long day. more importantly he wants to be the reason that you do- every single day. 

there is a pressure pushing back against his hand as you turn your body to face him more. your eyes alight with more than just the backdrop of the forgotten movie. 

“why wont you?”

fear, possibly. the inevitable consideration that he could be fucking up something good. 

suna hates to think about a world without you finding humor in his dry jokes. how easily he could lose it all if he gave into the craving. but there was also the promise of eventually sharing his home with you and later his life. and thinking along that road makes his decision a bit easier. 

his pulse hammers against the column of his throat, prominent in the strain as he leans down to softly claim your lips as his. his hands rose from the back of your neck to tease your hair, guiding you closer until your front pressed against his. 

nothing was absolute or certain in life. 

but suna knew he would never regret loving you.

[charmspoint]

Mars Red: Anime vs Manga pt 1

Alright so I promised myself that I would do my best not to compare the anime and the manga too much because the anime isnt the adaptation of the manga but the adaptation of the stage play and since I haven't watched the stage play I don't know which one is staying more loyal to the original and which one is adding stuff in/cutting stuff out. That being said if anyone did watch the stage play and can answer these questions please come talk to me I'm very curious. So that being said I'll do my best not to mention too much manga only scenes like Suwa's backstory, Takeuchi, Yamagami and Suwa doing slice of life lab stuff, or the conflict between Suwa and Kurusu. The anime may get to this stuff later, it might not I wont judge it for not including it rn even if I feel that the conflict between Suwa and Kurusu should be developed more consistently what did we have maybe one scene? That being said while I can't compare it on different scenes I sure as hell can compare it on scenes they share with each other. I may not know which one is more loyal to the source material but I sure as hell can say which one is more effective tl;dr: It's the manga, read the manga its more effective and it only has 9 chapters so far, please join me in hell under the cut

That being said I'll be comparing the execution of two scenes

1. Conversation between Suwa and Akesato

So the conversation between these two is mostly fine honestly, though the reason Suwa even went to see her (that she reminded him of someone he knew as a human and which turned out to be his little sister) is missing, which kinda gives the whole scene a slightly different tone. The manga has a much slower, softer pace to it, Suwa really comes across as more somber instead of coming in here to sleep in some girls lap, in the manga he keeps his distance for the most of the conversation before sitting next to her when he starts opening up about his past.

Like I don't think it's bad for anime Suwa to have sought out some human contact but it does leave quite a different impression about him. Manga Suwa leaves a much more thoughtful, mature impressions, he never once asks to touch Akesato in anyway and mostly refers to her as a child, but doesn't patronize her. It very much comes across as a tone of a dotting older relative because you know, she reminds him of a family member he had forgotten. Idk I just like the image the manga paints of him better, he comes across as this distant person but also a kind and mature one, which isn't the Suwa we often get to see on the field. I just don't think anime brought across the same feeling. To me it just made it feel like his very goal was to come in here and lay in someone's lap whereas Suwa in the manga is v much there to scout and meeting Akesato is a sheer coincidence based on his hazy memories and so a long lost feeling of attachment.

Anyway, lets talk about uh

In the manga Suwa has yet to be unmasked. And for a good reason. The anime doesn't set it up very well I think that 'I'll lose control' line is the only set up we get and far too late considering it's happening now. In the manga we have a whole lil slice of life chapter in which multiple different things are introduced, one of which is the fact that Suwa constantly wears his mask because he spent a long time as a feral vampire and if he smells human blood he will go feral. It's kind of...very disappointing to see this moment that I felt would be rather monumental in the manga (cuz feral vampires are way scarier in the manga I'll talk about that later) just kinda...pass here. Suwa unbuckles his own mask too??? And then at the end of the episode he takes it off willingly??? In a district very much swarming with humans??? Some of which are people he works with??? I think the screen writers forgot that the idea of 'a character takes off his mask to show his true emotions' doesn't really work if said character will go on a murder frenzy if he has his mask off. This is what I mean when I say that the manga takes its characters more seriously and is more impactful. The manga simply thinks more about how its characters would act and react to things. In the manga Akesato doesn't even take off his mask, she just hugs him and that gets her close enough to him that he freaks out, because his mask isn't as thick as usual. Just to that much he reacts somewhat violently in pushing her away and it leaves you wondering what would it be like if it was completely off. It really makes the anime Suwa just plopping on her lap out of his own free will even more meh :/

dw he immediately apologizes after this cuz he seriously didn't mean to hurt her he just lost control.

But that's what I mean, the manga makes this scene feel so much more serious, it puts so much bigger threat behind Suwa taking off his mask. It leaves you with a feeling of 'fuck, he lost a bit of control just by a human being close, if he was to take it completely off he would really lose all reason' While the anime just makes you feel 'oh he can control himself for a few moments after the mask is gone? That's good lol' It just minimizes the threat Suwa could pose when unmasked n seeps out so much tension out of that situation. Double especially when he just fucking takes it off at the end of the episode.

WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT LOSING CONTROL YOU STUPID FUCK (tho I did like him asking Takeuchi to teach him some songs, that was a nice addition.)

Anyway my last and least complaint cuz it was just kinda...funny

WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH AKESATO FALLING ASLEEP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CONVERSATION??? THAT WAS SO FUNNY WHAT WAS THAT??? SHE JUST FALLS ASLEEP LIKE THAT SITTING UP, IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CONVERSATION, EXACTLY AS HER PATRON IS STARTING TO YELL AT HER JKBBHJ???

Its so weird cuz in the manga we get this soft ass moment

Like jhbhjkbhj that's just a completely different vibe. I think this ending scene actually best shows off the vibe Suwa has in the manga. Gentle, caring, distant but affectionate. Compared to the anime where the similar scene almost ended up looking like a gag jnjkbkj idk man like the anime mostly has the same dialog, aside Suwa dunking on western influences which i enjoy, but the atmosphere is all over the place and it kinda feels too fast, idk. I dunno if I explained this well but here we are.

Part 2: Kurusu vs the vampire mob

[jinnyu]

Oh I love your blog already!! If its not too much trouble, could I also get Hop x gn/male reader with prompt 73? 🥺🥺🥺🥺 (Im the same anon that requested the Bede ome btw. I loved that sm ty!!! maybe one day ill come off anon but for now you can just call me 🌻 anon :)))

Used artwork credit here

A/N: Hey!! Im glad you enjoyed the last one! And glad to see you here again, sunflower anon!! Your requests always put me in a whole fluff writing mood, so hopefully, you'll like this one too! Thanks for requesting!

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Zacian gallops your way, returning the ball toy you threw for it to play; it retrieved the toy with full of enthusiasm, eager to play more with you until its hungry and waiting for its meal later. To think that the legendary pokemon who protected Galar would be here, playing fetch with you joyfully as if its a well tamed pet. Oh what are the odds.

You gave the legendary pokemon a pat on its head, not forgetting to gently ruffle its fur too afterwards as you took the ball from its mouth; giving out praises as you do, in which Zacian replied with a cheerful howl— you could never get enough of how adorable Zacian is, even if its capable of banishing The Darkest Day with it's partner, that doesn't reduce the cuteness level it has.

As you were about to throw the ball again, Zamazenta came rushing your way, followed by a laughing Hop who seemed like he was playing tag with the said legendary pokemon.

The sight infront of you surely is contagious, filled with laughter and glee which made you laugh too at it's silliness. Zacian seemed like it's enjoying the camping time with it's partner, and it didn't mind Hop's presence too. All is well. Its rare to have a time where you're able to camp together with your bestie like this, out in the open wild

Being the champion sure has it disadvantages; much less time for your bestfriends, casual talks, and all of that. Most of it are only filled by interviews, interviews, and even more interviews. No one ever said being the champion was easy, and you expected nothing less— no wonder Leon seemed like he's really busy and not able to stay in one place for just a second, not to mention his terrible sense of direction that only makes him lost easily. Its probably caused by a lot of thoughts in his head, therefore mini amnesia.

"Zacian!!"

Hop called out while Zacian was playing with Zamazenta. This made the legendary pokemon look up and tilted it's head a bit in confusion before finally walking to the boy who called it. Apparently Hop has something in mind, and it seems like he's been wanting to try this for awhile now.

"Easy boy"

He tangled his hands in Zacian's heavy fur, acting like he's massaging the pokemon, only to move his hands to Zacian's neck and beginning to scratch it, waiting for a reaction from the said legendary pokemon. Zacian stands tall before him, slowly starting to enjoy Hop's tiny gesture of affection by scratching the area of it's neck. Not long, Zacian lets out another happily satisfied howl, followed by a big grin appearing on your bestfriend's face. It really didn't take much for Hop to be happy, just seeing your pokemon enjoying his effort and affection is enough, it seems.

You then walked to a nearby small rock, sitting down on it as you watched your legendary pokemon have a bonding time with your bestfriend from afar. Its nice to have one day of quality time with with people you held dear to you, and of course, your beloved pokemon.

Zamazenta seems like it was quite lonely though, so you decided to call it to you in order to make it feel not left out. Zamazenta happily obliges and walks to you in a calm pace; you opened your arms, urging for it to hug you or nuzzle onto you as it came close to you, in which, it did nuzzle to your face and booped your cheek as an act of affection and respect for you. Zamazenta realises that you're Hop's bestfriend— someone important to it's trainer, therefore it should show the same respect it has shown for it's trainer, possibly even more.

"Look at youuuu" you cooed as you buried your face in the Shield-like legendary pokemon's mane, it was quite thick and warm, it's fur brings warmth and a sense of protection; somehow the vibes you're getting from Zamazenta is similiar to Hop's vibes. Warm, and you feel safe whenever he's around. I guess the trainer's personality reflects on their pokemon, huh?

Aside from that, you pulled away from the said pokemon, giving it a fuzzy ruffle one last time before letting it rest it's head on your lap, taking a short and quick nap. Oh arceus, Zamazenta is adorable, and the fact that it's resting it's head on your lap right now, it means that you cant move or else you'll wake it up.

You carefully ran your fingers through its fur, combing your way through as you feel it snoring lightly on your lap, indicating that its finally letting it guard down around you and take a rest. Still, you couldn't move at all, you dont want to wake it up, it would be a horrible thing to do if you indeed woke it up— you're not gonna lie though, half asleep Zamazenta probably would be twice adorable, just like your own legendary, Zacian.

Time passes by as you hummed, going through your rotom phone while your other hand kept patting the legendary pokemon's head. The area surrounding you has became quiet too, and it makes you wonder. Where is Hop and Zacian? You didn't hear their joyful interactions anymore.

Ah oh well, if Hop is lost, you have his pokemon with you, you could politely ask it to help you search for it's trainer. You continued scrolling through your phone as you enjoyed the sound of rustling on the grass... or so you thought.

Before you could react, Hop surprised you with a backhug followed a shout-whisper "Gotcha!". His arms wrapped around your torso carefully, noticing that Zamazenta is vast asleep on your lap— though it didn't stop him from his mischievous thoughts of teasing you, like always.

His fingers began trailing up and down on your sides, treading it lightly that made you feel a little bit ticklish, resulting in you trying your hardest not to flinch or make any small movements that could possibly wake the sleeping pokemon.

You held back your laughter as one hand was covered your lips, other hand placed on top of one Hop's hand, gripping it lightly as an act of telling him to stop.

With that, Hop's eyes widened, twinkling with amusement before turning back into a mischievous look, lips curling into his usual happy-go-lucky smile.

"Oh, are you ticklish?"

Oh no. Nope, no way in hell you'd admit that— not that you could anyways, you were in a state where any word that manages to slip out your of lips would be fatal, by fatal i mean that it would make Zamazenta wake up from it's slumber. And you dont want that.

Hop should've known that you're ticklish since you two were toddlers. Maybe he had forgotten it, you're grateful if he did, but this was not the best timing for him to be doing this to you— can he not see his pokemon is sleeping??? What kind of a cruel trainer would do this???

Back to reality, his fingers kept digging on your ticklish spot, which made you curl forward, holding back your laughter and hoping to Arceus that you wont slip.

You could hear hop snickering behind you as he's determined to make you lose your control and laugh freely, and he's gonna give all of it to make that happen, until that is, Zacian ambushed him from the side, making him tumble to the grass below him as your legendary pokemon held him down, in an act of saving you.

Your fingers wiped the tears thats threatening to slide down your cheeks, turning your head to the side only to see your bestfriend being held down by your trustworthy companion. This made your mouth turn into an O-shape as you gave it a thumbs up, thanking it for saving your dear life, and Zamazenta's beauty sleep, of course.

"Gah!! Zacian!!" Hop struggled under Zacian's powerful stare; it looked down on Hop as if it was telling Hop to back off and not bother it's trainer anymore. Hop got it's message clearly and smiled apologetically, followed by a small chuckle before Zacian finally lets him go, still watching him carefully from afar incase you're being tortured by his tickling again.

A huff slipped past your lips as the pokemon on your lap shifts; lifting it's head slowly and looked at you drowsily. "Avenge me later, Zamazenta" you muttered with a chuckle, but Zamazenta seems like it didn't understand what you were saying, nonetheless, probably Zacian will explain it later, in their... legendary ways, and if you're lucky enough, Zamazenta would really avenge you.

You changed your direction to where Hop was. He was dusting off his shirt, fixing his hair until he noticed our gaze on him. "C'mere!!" You stood up carefully as Zamazenta followed your move, you're gonna get back at him right now, just incase Zamazenta doesn't avenge you.

Lucky for you, Hop is also ticklish, so two could play this game.

[writefightandflightclub]

Would you maybe like to write some headcanons for tony and a female s/o who often speaks with friday when she is bored or talks to him whem she thinks tony wont listen? Of course tony can hear all this talks she just doesent know.. maybe she even talks abourt her insecures (being not enough for tony) with friday..

F.R.I.D.A.Y, I’m in Love (Tony Stark x reader)

GIF by @ruinedchildhood

Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol, food. One swear.

A/n: thanks so much for this HC request, Anon! So excited to write a lil sthg for Tony and this concept is so cute! Actually, I have a lot of unpublished Tony fics I might blast out one day. I can’t tell you how much I love this man. Really.

You don’t know why you started talking to Friday, exactly. One day Tony had been riling you up with his antics, and you made an off-hand comment -under your breath to yourself- after he stormed out of the lab. You had been shocked when Friday replied to you, but the dry humour in her response had made you chuckle. Plus it had felt good to vent to someone.

Since then, in your first few months of working for Stark Industries, you formed a habit of venting to Friday. Not all the time- only whenever Tony was irritating, snarky, drunk, annoying, hangry, self-destructive, hungover, reckless, infuriating, stubborn, rude, or selfish... which, ok, you vented to Friday a helluva lot, actually.

Sometimes, Friday felt a bit like a friend. You justified it because you objectively knew she was “just” an AI, but you had formed a weird attachment to her. It could be lonely in the city, and, turns out that eccentric billionaire superhero bosses aren’t always the best company.

One day, as you sat yabbering to Friday on your lunch break, you had a terrible thought which felt like a stone dropping through your stomach. “Wait, Friday- you don’t tell Tony what I say about him, do you?” Your nails dug into your palms as you awaited her response- some of your words had been less than kind, in the heat of the moment, but you needed this job. Loved this job. You certainly didn’t want your boss to discover your track record of insults and fire you. Friday replied “Technically, I can’t keep anything from the boss, but he’d have to ask me a very specific question if he wanted conversation transcripts.” You had smiled. You were safe then, because Tony was never going to ask Friday anything about you. You were just his lab assistant, after all.

Over time, though, you saw a different side to Tony. You still thought he was annoying, reckless, and snarky, for sure, but you also discovered he was good. He was generous, he was giving. Funny. Heroic. Loyal. And boy, he was a flirt. You had grown to care deeply for him. So, sometimes, in idle conversation with Friday, you would chat about how much you missed him, if he was away. About how he made you laugh. About how hot he was. About how worried you were at the thought of losing him if he never came back from a mission. It was good to vent to someone. After all, you could never tell Tony how you felt about him. Not ever.

Sometimes, you must have forgotten that Friday wasn’t really your friend, and you told her a little too much. Told her about your feelings for Tony. Told her about your insecurities and how he’d never be interested in a woman like you anyway. How he flirted with everyone and that you were sure he could never see you as anyone special. Certainly not special enough for him.

One day, you are eating lunch like usual, and Tony waltzes in earlier than expected, catching you mid-sentence in conversation to Friday. You jump when you spot him standing behind you. “Look at this. Both my girls getting on,” he jokes, drumming his fingers over his arc reactor as his face splits into a slightly mocking smile, a little crinkle in his nose and crow’s feet radiating from around his whiskey eyes. “You always talk to Friday?” You had become good friends with Tony, but you still got shy around him sometimes, and you fluster your words and grab up some papers, making excuses to take your leave.

Curiously watching you go, Tony straddles a chair backwards and begins chewing on a pen, one arm resting on the chair back. Then a thought occurs to him. “Hey, Friday. Does she talk to you a lot?” “We’re firm friends, boss.” “Huh,” he replies. “Then does she ever talk about me?” “You’re not going to like it,” Friday warns.

Interest piqued, Tony asks his AI what you’ve said about him, and asks Friday to run an analysis of her logs. Turns out, Friday’s not your friend after all, because apparently she can’t keep your secret. “Sentiment analysis of our conversations suggests she has romantic feelings for you, but doesn’t think she’s good enough for you to reciprocate, boss. Which is contradictory data, because she also thinks you’re a bit of an arsehole.” “Hey!” Tony defends. “She’s not wrong” the AI sasses.

Tony is shocked to find out you like him too, but even more shocked to find out that you don’t think you’re good enough for him. It’s the other way around. He’s just some schmuck with a laundry list of mistakes and a Tom-Ford-pocket-full-of nightmares. He doesn’t deserve you. The most perfect woman this playboy has ever encountered.

The next time you’re in the lab, eating lunch, Tony arrives early again, and greets you by throwing your lunch abruptly in the bin. “You know, in some cultures that’s considered rude,” you state, looking at him agape. “Got something better,” he promises with a sniff which tugs on lip- his nervous tell. He produces a gourmet lunch for two, from one of the fancy Italian restaurants down the street. You’re a little shocked but you smile as he takes a stool on the other side of the lab bench to eat with you. He looks into your eyes, squinting at you through those stupid designer frames he hasn’t taken off yet.

You don’t know it, but in that moment, Tony resolves to let you know just how wonderful you are. Over and over again, until you believe him. And then some more.

You enjoy your lunch, and Tony is significantly less obnoxious than usual. It unsettles you. Clearly he’s up to something. “This was fun, right? I’m not always an asshole?” You look at him curiously, with a gentle, teasing smile. “You have your moments.” “Great, you’ll be up for date two then. Happy will pick you up at nineteen hundred hours. This Friday. Wear something slu... you know what, wear whatever you want, you’ll look great.” He barrels through his words, adjusting his tie, then he barrels out of the lab before you can even comprehend what happened. Did... did that just happen?

You gotta ask. “Friday, was he joking? Did Tony Stark just ask me on a date?”

Friday is supposed to keep Tony’s secrets... but she’s also supposed to act in his best interests. That’s what friends do... or at least, programmed AIs. “Sentiment analysis tells me he’s serious. Which makes a f*cking change.” Wow. When did Tony add those language mods?!

Well. Wow. That’s it then. You have a date with Tony Stark. On Friday. You. You didn’t think you were good enough for him, but clearly he has other ideas.

[pagingevilspawn]

Loving You Is A Losing Game- chapter seven

i actually hate this, so ew. but i’ve forgotten that i write, so i’ll try to type some stuff up tomorrow! regardless, i hope everyone enjoys! click here to read on ao3. 

TW// domestic abuse

~*~

"small town boy in a big arcade. i got addicted to a losing game."

~*~

alexandra: you do realize how crazy that sounds right?

joseph: it's not crazy at all if you ask me.

alexandra: jo, asking for lollipops for your christmas present sounds very crazy to me.

and christmas isn't for like, a while.

joseph: dude, christmas is in two weeks and one day

and plus, i'm settling on lollipops. what i really want is a pony, a shiny, pretty one with rainbow hair, you know those? that's my dream right there

alexandra: oh crap really?

yeah yeah, ha ha. laughing so much right now.

joseph: hate to break it to you, but it's the 10th alex.

and i know, what a shame i wont be able to have my pony. it was at the top of my list this year

next to an ice cream sundae the size of manhattan, obviously.

alexandra: very funny. can't you tell how much i'm laughing.

crap, got to go, robbins is letting me in on an esophageal atresia on a newborn. i'm her favorite you know.

joseph: ugh, lucky.

make sure to kick ass and not kill anyone. that would suck. 

actually... your big head could use some ego deflating. make sure robbins has to save you halfway through. maybe then you'll earn some humility.  

alexandra: wow, you're such great help. so nice too.

joseph: you know it ;)

she turns off her phone, a small smile on her face as she looks out the window, passing by houses that all looked exactly alike; white exteriors with a bright green lawn. the only thing that could help someone tell them apart was the door colors. her and paul had just come back from a dinner with some of his coworkers, but he wasn't talking to her so she decided to text alex. the silence in the car was tense, though she was unable to grasp the reason why.

they'd been texting non-stop since the conference three weeks ago, talking about each other's days, complaining about annoying coworkers and classmates. they really enjoyed having a friend they could just talk to because they felt like it. it was refreshing. they'd never had anyone like that before. in the past they had friends that they felt comfortable around, but it was different when you had someone who understood you so well. not to mention, being able to make self deprecating jokes about their crappy childhoods and receive a laugh in response was so much nicer than the pity stares they were both so used to getting,

she snaps back to reality at the sound of the engine turning off, cutting the music as the expensive car door opens. she sees paul angrily walk out of the car, slamming the door behind him, not stopping by her side of the car to open the door for her like he normally did. (she was actually thankful for that. she was a grown women, she could open a damn door herself)

weird, she thinks, but decides not to question it. her husband had been a bit more moody and temperamental lately, so she supposed it was just that. but the dinner seemed to go really good in her opinion. she got along with his colleagues and paul certainly enjoyed himself, getting to be around all his coworkers and interact freely. she liked to think that his colleagues liked her as well. they complimented her all evening and included her in all of their conversations. though, she did wish that they would've referred to her by her name more, rather than 'mrs. stalder' or 'paul's wife.'

she gets out of the passenger side and shuts the door behind her, walking up to the steps after she hears that paul had locked the car. she places the small clutch she had on the entry table and walks to the kitchen, seeing paul sitting at the kitchen island, nothing in front of him except tea that he had heated up in the minute or so he'e been in there. she kisses his cheek and starts talking, knowing that it would probably help calm whatever he was feeling.

she gives him a smile, rubbing his shoulder affectionately. "it seemed like the dinner went really well, all of your coworkers are super nice and-"

"you talked to steven too much." he cuts her off, sending an icy glare her way, and look she had never seen on him before shining darkly in his eyes.

she cocks her head to the side, "huh?"

he stands up from his place abruptly, making her jump back slightly. "i said," he spits out, eyes narrowing as he stares her down "you talked to steven too much."

she lets out a loud laugh, thinking that he was just joking around and messing with her. at any second he was going to join her giggling, ignoring the way his eyes had only seemed to darken the second the sounds had escaped her mouth."oh, that's funny." she says in between laughs, eyes shining with childish glee. "jesus you really scared m-"

pain.

her words get cut off by a fist coming directly into contact with her face. she feels the stinging sensation burn from her eye to her cheek, her brown eyes watering with tears as she realizes what had just happened. she lifts a palm up to touch it protectively, almost making it seem like it was more real if she touched it.

oh god, it hurt. it hurt like hell. his gold wedding band adding to the impact was sure to leave a scar by the corner of her eye. she'd been punched before, multiple times actually by foster parents and girls while she was in high school, but this hurt so much more. it was so much harder than she'd ever been hit before.

her husband just hit her.

"oh brooke, baby." paul says, taking her into his arms and brushing her hair back immediately, trying to get her to relax into his embrace. "i just got so mad. you just made me so mad brooke. you can't make me mad like that" he tells her, eyes dripping with some kind of emotion she can't place as he places light kisses on top of her sea of brown curls, ignoring the way the way she stood stiffly in his arms, a few lone tears making it's way down her cheeks.  

"i love you. you know that brooke" he whispers, wiping the tears from her face, his hands feeling usually rough against her skin, his touch not easing over the bruise that hard already begun to form.

she nods. it was okay. he loved her. he didn't mean it. he just got angry. it was okay. it was fine. he loved her, it was okay.

she thought she probably deserved it. after all she'd cheated on her husband just three weeks before, and had continued to keep in contact with the man she had cheated with. it was only karma.  

"i'm sorry paul." she apologizes sincerely as he cups her face in his hands, giving her a sweet smile. it wasn't his fault. it was hers.  

"it just better not happen again." he states, eyes burning into hers intently, his grip on her face tightening without her even realizing it. all she really felt was numb, as if all of her senses had seemingly shut down to avoid dealing with the pain that was spreading throughout the side of her face.

she nods her head up and down as she pulls her back into him. "i'm sorry" she whispers into his chest.

he smiled.

and that's when he knew he had her.

____

alex finished scrubbing out of a surgery, shaking off the excess water on his hands, grinning internally. it was always so much better when he was able to help save a kid. the success was just that much more fulfilling. he's about to push the door open when it swings in itself, making him come face to face with cristina, the expression she was wearing was more worried looking than he'd seen in a long time. he'd known yang for a while know, and he knew whatever was about to come out of her mouth would be bad. cristina yang was never worried.

"what do you want yang?" he asks, noting how she had her hands crossed over her chest and was avoiding his gaze.

"there's a merger happening." she says, looking up to meet his eyes to let him know that she was serious.

his narrows his eyes, scrunching up his nose. "what?" he questions. a merger? as in, combing two hospitals into one?  

"you just missed the announcement. apparently we're merging with mercy west." the raven head repeats, a slight trace of fear in her voice, a very unusual thing for cristina yang.

he lets out a deep breath, tugging his scrub cap off and running a hand through his hair as he leans over the scrub sink, gripping it so tightly his knuckles begin to turn white. "i can't loose this job yang." he says to her softly, making her nod in agreement.

"you and me both." with that she walks out of the room, alex not far behind her, both of the surgeons heading up to the resident's lounge to change, which was filled to the brim with chatter, all of the doctors talking about the newest topic, the merger.

meredith sits down next to him, slipping a long sleeved purple shirt over her head when she casts a glance to alex, who was sitting still looking down at his phone's empty screen, seemingly deep in thought, almost as if he was waiting for something to magically appear on it.

the blonde nudges him, snapping him out of his trance. alex sighs, resting his elbows on his knees as he buries his head in his hands. "what am i gonna do about iz?" he asks her, judging by her face that she was drawing a blank, much like him.

jesus, this was great. these past few weeks he had hardy been able to look his wife in the eye, because every time he saw her he was reminded that he slept with someone else. not to mention, he was just texting that certain someone just a few hours ago. he was really screwed. izzie had currently been home on bedrest, not being allowed to return to work until two weeks from now, which apparently would also be when the mercy westers would turn up. fucking great. he felt as if the universe was rallying against him at this point, no matter how much he knew that wasn't possible. he dug his own grave, it was just a matter of time before he would need to lay in it.

"she'll be okay." meredith reassures him, but he can tell by the look on her face that she was unsure as well. who knew would end up getting cut? they would need to pull their heads out of their asses and prove that they deserved to stay. none of them could lose their spot. not only because of their job, but also because of the people there. they were a family. they couldn't lose any more of their family. they'd just lost george, and they couldn't lose another.

"evil spawn, put on a shirt!" cristina yells, balling up a shirt from his locker and throwing it at him, hitting him square in the chest as he glares at her. he pulls on the shirt silently and heads out, not bothering to say goodbye to anybody as he leaves the lounge and heads straight to joe's across the street.

he slides onto a barstool, ordering a beer and thanking the bartender with a slight nod of his head. how was he supposed to tell izzie about the merger? he knew that if his wife knew, she would want to return to work immediately, but he knew she couldn't do that. she was still getting her strength back, and standing around on her feet all day surely would delay the healing process. he couldn't risk her getting hurt because he wasn't able to stop her.

he'd done enough recently, even if izzie didn't know about most of it. the last thing he needed was to cause his wife more harm than he already had.

he was going to tell her, he knew that, just not right now. right now he was going to sit on this uncomfortable wooden bar stool and drink his beer and forget he had any problems. he was going to forget about the merger, he was going to forget about him and izzie going at it twenty-four seven, and he was definitely going to forget about the brunette with a fake name who seemed to be on his mind all the time.

he was just going to forget everything, his only focus being his beer and the football game on the small television above the bar. yeah, that sounded like a good idea. a really good idea.

____

okay, so he forgot about two out of those three things.

he was actually doing pretty good for a while, almost a full hour with nearly a beer and a half finished. all he had been focused on was the seahawks playing against the steelers, with the steelers crushing the seattle team thirty-four to seven. not much of a surprise though, he couldn't remember the last time he'd witnessed the seahawks win. it wasn't that they were a completely crap team, it was simply the fact that one; the steelers were much better this year, and two; he hardly ever got enough time to sit down and watch a game. being a resident drained the life out of him, especially since he had finally knew that he wanted to specialize in peds. when he wasn't at the hospital he was reading up new medical procedures in magazines, or occasionally sneaking over to meredith's to watch old ellis grey tapes.  

he was doing really... until he got a text message from jo.

joseph: how was your surgery?

alexandra: wow, you must be bored.

joseph: ...

what makes you say that?

alexandra: really?

joseph: i'm in med school, thank you very much. i have a severe interest in your surgeries. 

alexandra: mhm, sure.

joseph: fine, i'm bored. entertain me. please.

alexandra: that sounds vaguely dirty.

joseph: oh great. how drunk are you?

alexandra: what makes you say that?

haha, two can play that game.

joseph: i'm guessing two beers in?

alexandra: shut up, only one and a half.

joseph: mhm, wasn't too far off

but seriously. i'm bored and am in need of anything remotely interesting. you just scrubbed in on a super cool surgery, i want details

alexandra: fine, baby maria duboir, two weeks old, robbins let me lead the procedure about half way through, coded once, we then shocked her at 150, and now she is stable and in the NICU.

happy?

joseph: yes. very much so

although i do think your OR stories need work

you sound like you have absolutely no idea what you're talking about

alexandra

wow. you're a real delight you know that?

joseph: oh, believe me, i know. don't even get me started on how many times people have complimented how freaking amazing i am

it's quite a common occurrence.  

if i had a dollar for every time someone said that to me, i'd be living on my own private island

alexandra: i bet you would.

seriously though, tell me something. i've got nothing better to do than watch the seahawks get crushed.

joseph: i'm guessing that's sports talk, so i'm just gonna ignore that, since it hate any sport where men look like giant block of cheese, run around a court, or just run in general.

but today's been boring. went to a dinner tonight. fancy stuck-up rich people who laugh with posh accents and sip their champagne way too slowly

fucking turtles.

alexandra: sounds fun.

joseph: you suck. i can literally hear the sarcasm through the phone asshole

alexandra: that's the point. i'll take a sick kid over fancy dinner any day.

crap, that sounded really horrible didn't it?

joseph: it really did

"i'll take a sick kid over a fancy dinner any day" real charming if you ask me. night in shining amour.

alexandra

yeah yeah you know what i mean.

____

they're not sure how long they end up talking for, alex siting at joe's bar and jo lounging on the couch in her living room while her husband was in his study going over and grading tests for one of his classes. before either one of them even know it, it gets to be twelve thirty boston time and nine thirty in seattle. alex's texts had gotten much harder to read, which made sense, considering he was now on his third beer.

jo teased him about it though, finding it more enjoyable than she would've guessed to text a drunk alex than a sober one. he seemed to get increasingly flirtier the tipsier he got. not to mention, all the spelling mistakes he made was definitely one for the books. she had a feeling that it was getting a but harder for him to see which letters where which, considering a few b's were located where there should be d's, and 'm' where they should be an 'n'

alex knows for a fact he's earning many stares from fellow people at the bar because of how much he's laughing (loudly too), but he doesn't really care. if he's gonna laugh, he's gonna laugh. all he could really focus on was the fluorescent lights hanging from the bar's wood ceiling and the frankly hilarious texts coming through his phone. (okay, so they weren't that funny, but everything is always a lot more funny when you're drunk)

jo was thoroughly enjoying herself, laughing more and more as she sank into the couch, completely forgetting about the bruise on her left cheek as she typed away, grinning from ear to ear when the man on the other side responded, words misspelt and random numbers and semicolons popping up from time to time.

they knew that what they had done was wrong. they knew that what they were doing was wrong. but they couldn't stop.

if only they had stopped sooner.

[clintbartonswife]

if you asked me i would lose it all

Pairings: Geralt of Rivia x Jaskier Summary: Jaskier will be loyal to Geralt until his last breath, this he swears.  Notes: im sorry. descriptions of torture. mentions rape (not graphic in the slightest, more like an allusion, but tagged it just to be safe) masterlist  || part two  

Jaskier had always felt too much, falling a little bit in love with almost everyone he meets. The seamstress from Beauclair with the deepest green eyes he had ever seen, the knight from Kerack who had muscles the size of Jaskier’s head, the innkeeper and his wife from Rinde who had the warmest smiles he had ever seen.

All loves that he treasured, yet let go after a night or two, the heartache keeping him company until he found another gorgeous person to fall for.

When he finds Geralt at the ripe age of 18 it’s different, for once the bard doesn't want to leave, a nagging feeling pulling him along the path by the Witcher’s side. 

His love grows easily, from that of shallow appreciation of his honey golden eyes to a fierce want to protect his love from those that scorn him in every village they visit, a need to nurture the fragile relationship they were building.

It’s only Jaskier’s luck that the only person to ever intrigue him enough to stay seems to want him to leave, impenetrable walls built around his heart.

So, Jaskier writes songs of their travels, being respectful of Geralt’s boundaries whilst still trying to provide as much tender love and care as he could without scaring the Witcher, all the while falling deeper and deeper in love.

Everything starts to go wrong after the djiin. 

He watches through the window as his heart breaks with every thrust of Geralt’s hips, the Witchers disinterest (which he had assumed was general Witchery distance) suddenly making more sense - he just didn't like Jaskier.

Still the bard stayed, sewing his heart back together with every step he took beside the Witcher. His affectionate touches didn't falter, not allowing his own personal hurt to affect his Geralt negatively. He still deserved as much softness as he could bring himself to provide - Melitele knows Yennefer wasn't providing that.

Jaskier funnelled all of his creative energy in to his songs, more and more of them staying in his private notebook, too personal to be sung in front of Geralt, let alone the general public. 

After each time they met with Yennefer, Jaskier was there to pick up the broken pieces the Witch left behind, baring the brunt of Geralt’s bad mood for a week after she had gone, heart chipping a little more each time as his hatred for the woman grows.

The last straw was the dragon hunt. The whistling winds whipping Jaskier’s hair in his eyes as Geralt’s words lashed out at him, vicious and hateful. 

In the following two weeks, Jaskier drank to forget, falling back into old habits and into strangers beds with a new desperation. 

The young farmer with hazel eyes - not as beautiful as Geralt’s. The miller’s daughter with blonde hair - not light enough.

The people begin to blend together, yet it doesn't work. The heartbreak still radiates through his body, numbing him from any other emotion.

He’s too drunk to register that Cintra has fallen.

Too drunk to hear the rumours of the bounty on his head.

Too drunk to notice the Nilfgaardian soldiers entering the tavern.

Too drunk to defend himself against their arms that steal him away that night.

When he awakens the next morning, head throbbing with the familiar pain of a hangover, Jaskier is hit with a wave of nausea.

Turning his head to the side, he reaches for the bed-side table, blanching when he finds his arms restrained. It takes a few seconds to register that he’s in unfamiliar surroundings: the distinctly tavern smell (of weak ale and piss) gone, the slightly scratchy linens of the bed replaced with a hard wood surface.

Unrestrained panic swelled up in the bard’s chest, his instincts kicking in as he tried to mimic sleep.

‘Just breathe slowly, keep your eyes closed and stay calm’ repeated through his brain, sounding suspiciously like Geralt’s voice. 

“-the bastard up yet?”

“He wasn't the last time I checked, no sir”

“And no sign from the Witcher?”

“None sir”

Jaskier heard a scoff as the door opened, two sets of feet stopping at the side of the chair. Unnerving silence fell for a few seconds, before a heavy kick was given to his ribs, punching the air from his lungs in a loud exhale.

“Now listen here, bard” the bigger of the two men all-but-growled, looming over Jaskier as the singer blinked heavily to clear the daze that had settled over him, “We’re going to make this real simple. You tell us what we need to know, and maybe we wont kill you”

Scrunching his nose in disgust, Jaskier considered his options, “What is it that you want to know?”

Another scoff.

“Maybe he’s not so useless after all” the tall man sneered, exchanging an amused glance with the man stood in the corner, “Tell us where the Butcher of Blaviken is”

Self preservation was forgotten as the nickname stirred up anger deep inside Jaskier, the unfairness choking him, “I’m afraid I don't know any butchers, not the biggest fan of hanging around long enough in towns long enough to befriend anyone in that profession I’m afraid”

That earnt him a sharp slap, the sting helping to ground him.

“Don't try to be smart. Where is the Witcher - Geralt of Rivia?”

“Oh, I do know him” Jaskier answered, tone kept light and conversational, “Of course I haven't seen him in months so I’m afraid I’m really of no use to you gentlemen”

Another slap.

“Now that must be a lie. Why would the Witcher leave his little whore behind?”

Now that one stung, the frown forming on Jaskier’s face before he could stop it.

“Aw, struck a chord with that, did I? He found someone else I assume - though Melitele knows how anyone can lay with a monster like -”

Rage finally overflowing, Jaskier spat in the man’s face, “How dare you call him a monster. He’s a better man than you’ll ever be”

A bitter chuckle, followed by a punch that left the bard tasting copper.

“I think you might actually be in love with that thing” he said, amused, “That just makes this all the more fun”

Jaskier held eye contact with the man, glowering as he slowly spat out the pooled blood onto the floor.

“Tell me where he is”

“No”

Two punches to his stomach, and a hard kick to his shin.

“My sister hurt me worse than that for stealing her brush when we were seven” Jaskier sneered.

“Where is he”

A backhand across the face, followed by three hard kicks to his ribs.

“Toss a coin to your-”

Another heavy kick to his stomach, winding him slightly as he keeled forward, a burning pain spreading over his chest.

“Oh valley of plenty” he wheezed, forcing his head back up to stare at his captor’s face.

The day carried on very much the same, Jaskier working through his repertoire of songs as he was beaten black and blue, the lyrics keeping him focused and alert.

The man in the corner just stood and watched, his silent presence looming over the beating. 

“I must say” Jaskier eventually huffed, directing his words at the man in the corner, “Your indifference to this situation is highly annoying. Are you not enjoying the performance?”

His question was met with another heavy hit to his stomach, the skin there surely covered in a patchwork quilt of forming bruises.

“You bore me”

The voice was cold, cutting through the pain like a knife and replacing all feeling in his body with the need to flee, an innate wrongness surrounding the man.

He stepped forward into the light, pink eyes flashing at him, “I think it’s high time we shut you up”

The taller man grinned, a shark-like expression that just added to the bard’s discomfort, moving behind him to grab him by the sides of the head, tilting him so that his neck was bared to the room.

They’re going to slit my throat, Jaskier thought absently, half delirious with pain, this is it.

The slimy tendrils of magic prodding at his mind made Jaskier’s eyes widen in panic, struggling against the bonds in a fruitless effort to get away from the unsettling sensation.

No. No this was so much worse.

He could handle pain. He could handle taunting words and harsh treatment. The one thing Jaskier couldn't handle was fucking mages.

“No - “ he gasped, voice distorted by the angle of his head, “please-”

Yellow eyes. Lips curled in to a snarl.

The mountain.

“Damn it, Jaskier!”

No. No no no no no no no. Not this. Anything but this.

“Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, its you, shoveling it?”

White hair. Curled fists.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands”

Wet eyes. Shattered heart. A wasted life.

“Damn it, Jaskier!”

And it looped. Again, and again, and again,

“Ready to talk, bard?”

His eyes fluttered open, eyelids heavy, fighting to remain closed.

“Fuck. You” he hissed, words mangled through gritted teeth.

The mage smirked, fingers reaching for his temple again, “Very well. It seems like one hour wasn't enough”

The last thought Jaskier had before being pulled back to the mountain was one of horror, that one hour had felt like an entire day.

When he came to once more, Geralt’s voice still ringing in his ears, Jaskier realised there was a new man in the otherwise empty room.

“Going to talk yet little birdy?” the man asked, voice far too light for the circumstances, his posture reminiscent of those that approached him in taverns with hopes of charming him into bed that night.

The realisation occurred to him as he noticed his hands were free, a rusty cot added to the corner of the room.

“No” he whispered, the horror palpable in his tone.

“Well that's too bad” the man sneered, his too-rough hands dragging him out of the chair and towards the cot.

The irony was that in that moment Jaskier would’ve given anything to have been back on that mountain, Geralt blaming him for everything, rather than be faced with his current reality.

Of course, the mage wasn't kind enough for that.

Jaskier wasn't sure how many days had passed since his capture. 

What he did know was this: his throat was too sore to speak, ruined from both abuse and lack of water; his body was so mottled that it looked like he had begun rotting, greenish-yellow marks covering almost every inch of his skin; his back shredded by the impromptu whipping session earlier that morning; and he wasn't sure he could muster a smile, even if informed of the untimely and gruesome death of Valdo Marx.

But, no matter what they threw at him, he would not betray Geralt.

He had made this vow to himself during a quiet moment on (what he guessed was) the second day, that no matter what faced him - be it further torture, mutilation and eventually death - he would not speak a word of the little information he knew.

He may have ruined Geralt’s life, may have annoyed him with his incessant and unwelcome company, but one thing Jaskier could give him now was his undying loyalty, the one thing that no one could take away from him.

They wouldn't take away his love.

So he breathed steadily as he looked as his hands, tied down firmly to the arms of the chair, taking in every detail of the calloused fingers that made him the famous bard that he was today.

“Last chance. Where is the Witcher”

Jaskier just grinned, the smile bloody and insincere.

“Fucking your mother I would imagine” he croaked, withholding the wince of pain from the strain on his throat, instead widening his grin at the look of anger on the man’s face.

With a growl, the man brought the hammer down heavily on Jaskier’s left ring finger, smiling sickeningly at the bard’s agonised scream.

“Where is he?”

Head fuzzy with pain, Jaskier scowled and spat his blood in the man’s eyes.

The sickening crunch of bone echoed around the small room, Jaskier’s scream ringing out as another two fingers were smashed.

The line of questioning continued until all of his fingers were unrecognisable, the bard humming ‘Fishmonger’s Daughter’ through tears as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

“What a shame” the captor said, fake sympathy swimming in his cold eyes, “Looks like you’re worth even less than you were when we found you. What worth is a bard if he cant play anymore?”

The man pretended to think, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “Of course! A brothel worker!” He paused, tutting again and shaking his head, “No you cant even be that, we’ve made you far too ugly”

Jaskier tried to ignore his words, focusing on his rattling lungs instead, forcing them to inhale and exhale.

Unconsciousness crept forward, the pain finally overwhelming him, Jaskier falling into it’s open arms gladly.

“-cher isn't coming for him. We’ve had the word out for two weeks and got nothing”

The words drifted in to Jaskier’s cell, the conversation prying him from sleep.

“So what do we do? The bard’s not talking”

“We were meant to give a destination by yesterday”

“So we make one up, blame the bard when it comes back empty”

“... That could work”

“Then I’m guessing we kill him afterwards?”

“Theres no reason to keep him”

“Well-”

“You’re not using army funds to feed just so he can be your personal whore, Cahir would skin you alive if he found out”

Jaskier huffed a laugh at that - the realisation that his worth had finally been reduced to what his father had called him all those decades ago, ‘a worthless whore’, ‘useless to polite society’.

The conversation carried on, though Jaskier’s mind drifted, thoughts racing yet head surprisingly clear. He shifted in his seat, only slightly to the left, wincing as the healing whip wounds on his back pulled open again, the stinging pain keeping him tethered to consciousness. 

Not for the first time, he wondered where Geralt was. Safe, that he was sure of, hidden from the greedy eyes of the Nilfgaardian army if their unhappiness was anything to go off of.

Had he found Cirilla yet?

Was Roach okay?

Was he taking proper care of himself?

And - in even his lowest moments - he found himself wondering how Yennefer was.

If she was handling the break-up better than he did.

If she was safe, happy, looked after.

Or maybe, perhaps even back with Geralt. The three of them playing happy families while Jaskier rotted in a cell and waited for a hapless death.

Being on your deathbed gave you a lot of perspective, Jaskier had realised, and he found it hard to even hate Valdo on occasion (until he regained some energy from a piece of stale bread thrown at him and immediately felt disgusted that the thought had even crossed his mind).

As the fog in his brain seemed to seep into his dimming vision, his thoughts returned to Geralt’s eyes.

“Goodnight my love”