#Apartment Tiger Sky Tower

[dubaidesign]

REAL ESTATE DUBAI: APARTMENTS FOR SALE

[infinitesplinters]

Sinking Stones Fly

Stranger shadowing, a clasping passage down in the body that heats from skin to stove and back. This fluttering arrythmia, conifer of the hidden forest, kept where none could hope to place their nails or fist. Bale playing Cheney, this upside down becomes the real world silent. Death is not the koan, for we fall apart like two stones skipping over a reflected cloud burst: thunder edging the liquid hues. I'm not the ballast or parapet, just a lonesome forager for the phone. Let me to let go. Whatever home feels like. Dirt roads & leaves across the missing pavement. Falling like paint from a messy easel. Mom's in the hospital for chest electricity again, to give this scarecrow a start. Give the ground, to lay down upon, I am more than full of the sky falling apart. Little chicks scattering the ramparts where once make-believe towers had been. I was holding on the death's head mint, this new tea for sleeping, this blanket to clutch as the next election rolls into town - Bradbury fairs. Allergic to the thorns on the cross, blood under toe nails driven apart. The buzzards & the ballet speaking tongues all the way to the tiger's den. When I am sold under cascades lush again, the fire found is desired south for a long-let blues, to be swept into, to break apart again, to be made anew for a season to subside.

[plumbingboys20]

How can smart technology be used for leak detection in homes?

What is Smart Leak Detection?

What Is Smart Leak Detection? Just as its name suggests, smart leak detection utilizes technology – such as sensors and Wi-Fi connectivity — to monitor your home for leaks in real time. Are made to determine water leaks at the most early stages and then send alarm indication on a phone corner of house holder or different involved contrivances. This will save from expensive harm to the structure of a home, appliances and property inside.

Why Traditional Leak Detection Methods Fall Short

Bustling city streets are filled with the sound of a tiger; the sound of your footsteps as you walk through them leeches into an orchestra that neither has harmony nor rhythm.Lights from sky-scrapers which are huge and high in the sky at night pierce into their night's black expanse, sending a strange light cascading around the metropolis.Swarms of people flow through the gaps between skyscrapers looking like lone figures standing at the hub of an otherwise teeming world.Crowds line the streets, and the air hangs heavy with the smells from both exhaust gases and steaming pots of food being sizzled up commingling it all.Yet--though the noise is deafening and never-ending--there is still an inherent energy which runs through the city, a non-stop heartbeat that sends if forward into night.

How Smart Technology for Leak Detection Works

Smart leak detection systems utilize a combination of sensors, smart devices, and mobile apps to keep homeowners informed about the condition of their plumbing system. Here’s how these systems generally work:

Sensors: Smart water leak sensors are installed in areas prone to leaks, such as under sinks, near water heaters, or behind washing machines. These sensors can detect the presence of water or changes in humidity levels.

Wi-Fi Connectivity: Most smart leak detectors are Wi-Fi-enabled, allowing them to communicate with a central hub or directly with a smartphone app. This connectivity ensures that homeowners can monitor their home from anywhere in the world.

Mobile App Notifications: Once a sensor detects a leak, it sends an immediate alert to the homeowner’s smartphone, notifying them of the issue. This allows for quick action, such as shutting off the water supply remotely or calling a plumber.

Automated Shut-off Valves: Some advanced systems come with automated shut-off valves that can turn off the water supply as soon as a leak is detected. This prevents further damage, especially if the homeowner is not present to address the leak right away.

Benefits of Smart Leak Detection in Homes

Implementing smart leak detection technology in your home offers numerous advantages that go beyond just detecting leaks. Here are some of the top benefits:

1. Preventing Costly Water Damage

Water damage is one of the most expensive and disruptive issues a homeowner can face. Even a small, slow leak can lead to mold growth, structural damage, and ruined personal belongings. Smart leak detectors can identify leaks early, preventing significant damage and reducing repair costs.

2. Saving Water and Reducing Utility Bills

Leaks, even minor ones, can waste a considerable amount of water over time, driving up utility bills. Smart leak detection systems help to conserve water by identifying leaks and ensuring they are addressed promptly. This not only benefits the environment but also saves homeowners money on their monthly bills.

3. Remote Monitoring and Control

Between the liveliness of city streets, a platform echoes with din and blends into a raucous symphony.Momentary ray ships of towering apartments for starring red light in the night sky, those palaces below start getting their futuristic garb too.Looking at the flow of these people between buildings, every single one is a lone ranger amidst so much activity.Smells of cooking food and engine exhaust ha still create an intoxicating brew of aromas in your nostrils.Having lived through so busy and confused existence, there can be nothing but vitality coursing through the city--just a sheer pulse driving at music speed out every other message.

4. Reducing Insurance Premiums

Many home insurance companies offer discounts to homeowners who install smart leak detection systems. Since these systems reduce the risk of extensive water damage, they lower the likelihood of filing a costly insurance claim. As a result, homeowners can benefit from reduced premiums.

5. Customizable Alerts and Monitoring

With smart leak detection technology and app, homeowners can select what kind of alerts they wish to receive. You can use your outlets to create notifications for yourself, in the basement or kitchen.GetDirectoryName(配置名) * DirHomeDir (configuration name)* Outlets.btn UFUNCTION(Function_HomeDIRToButtons) dir. On the other hand, a lot of systems work with both smart thermostat products and our favorite home invasion security company (where Continuum has failed most often…) combining intoistic General all purpose management.

Key Features to Look for in a Smart Leak Detection System

When choosing a smart leak detection system, there are several important features to consider. These features will determine how effective the system is in detecting leaks and preventing damage.

1. Accuracy and Sensitivity

A good system should be highly accurate and sensitive enough to detect even the smallest leaks. Look for sensors that can detect changes in humidity, temperature, or water flow. Read More :- Drain & Sewer Cleaning

2. Wi-Fi and App Compatibility

Ensure that the system you choose is Wi-Fi-enabled and compatible with your smartphone. This will allow you to receive real-time alerts and monitor your home remotely.

3. Automated Shut-off Valves

For added protection, opt for a system that includes automated shut-off valves. These valves can stop the water flow immediately after detecting a leak, preventing further damage.

4. Battery Backup

Some systems are powered by electricity, but it’s important to have a battery backup in case of a power outage. This ensures that your leak detection system remains operational even during emergencies.

5. Integration with Other Smart Home Devices

If you already have other smart home devices installed, look for a leak detection system that can integrate with them. This will allow you to create a unified smart home experience, where different devices work together to ensure your home’s safety and efficiency.

Where to Install Smart Leak Detectors in Your Home

To maximize the effectiveness of your smart leak detection system, it’s important to install sensors in the right locations. Here are some key areas where leaks are most likely to occur:

Under sinks: Leaky faucets and pipes can cause damage to cabinetry and flooring.

Near water heaters: Water heaters are prone to leaks, especially as they age.

Behind washing machines: Hoses connected to washing machines can become loose or damaged over time, leading to leaks.

In basements: Basements are vulnerable to water damage due to sump pump failures, groundwater seepage, or pipe leaks.

Near dishwashers: Dishwashers can develop leaks due to faulty connections or worn-out seals.

By strategically placing leak detectors in these areas, you can ensure that potential issues are caught early.

The Role of AI in Smart Leak Detection

Smart Leak Detection & AI Artifical Intelliegence (AI) is becoming more and most integral a portion of smart leak detection. More recently, modern systems have begun to look at water usage behaviour through the lens of AI and determine if that behavior is different with respect to what patterns shows a possibility for water leakage. For instance, a sensor can detect an abnormal spike in water use when the house is empty and warn that there may be leak. As time goes on, these systems will learn the average usage patterns in your home, which can increase their ability to spot leaks even more.

The Future of Leak Detection in Smart Homes

As smart technology continues to evolve, we can expect even more advanced features in leak detection systems. Future systems may include better AI integration, more robust sensor networks, and even predictive analytics that can identify potential leaks before they occur. Additionally, we may see more affordable options for homeowners, making smart leak detection accessible to a wider audience.

Conclusion

The way smart technology has been innovated, leaks in our homes have improved the detection and prevention process. Smart leak detection systems gives you the piece of mind that comes with realtime monitoring, automated alerts and even remote control. Homeowners can keep leaks in check with a smart leak detection system that could save their property from water damage, cut utility bills and even lower insurance rates.

[travelwithajeet]

Thrilling Adventures Await: Top Adventure Destinations in Uttarakhand

Uttarakhand tourism, often referred to as the "Land of the Gods," is a paradise for adventure enthusiasts. Nestled in the lap of the Himalayas, this northern Indian state offers an array of thrilling activities that cater to both novice and seasoned adventurers. From white-water rafting to trekking through rugged terrains, Uttarakhand promises an unforgettable experience for all. In this blog, we will explore the top adventure destinations in Uttarakhand, each offering a unique blend of excitement and natural beauty.

Rishikesh: The Adventure Capital

Rishikesh tourism, commonly referred to as the "Yoga Capital of the World," is a popular destination for adventurous pursuits. The Ganges River, flowing through this holy town, provides the perfect setting for white-water rafting. With rapids ranging from Grade I to Grade V, Rishikesh offers an adrenaline-pumping experience for all levels of rafters. Apart from rafting, you can also indulge in bungee jumping, cliff jumping, and zip-lining. The nearby Rajaji National Park is ideal for wildlife safaris and bird watching.

Auli: A Skiing Paradise

Auli is a picturesque destination in Uttarakhand that transforms into a winter wonderland during the snow season. Known for its pristine slopes and stunning vistas, Auli is a haven for skiing and snowboarding enthusiasts. The Auli Ski Resort offers well-maintained ski tracks and professional instructors for beginners. During the summer months, Auli is equally captivating with opportunities for trekking, camping, and exploring the lush green meadows.

Jim Corbett National Park: Wildlife and Adventure

Jim Corbett National Park, India's oldest national park, is renowned for its rich biodiversity and thrilling wildlife safaris. Home to the majestic Bengal tiger, elephants, leopards, and a variety of bird species, the park offers an exhilarating experience for wildlife lovers. Jeep safaris and elephant safaris are popular ways to explore the dense forests and spot wildlife in their natural habitat. For the more adventurous, river rafting on the Kosi River is an exciting option.

Chopta: The Mini Switzerland of India

Some call Chopta the "Mini Switzerland of India," but it's actually a hidden gem in Uttarakhand. This serene destination is the starting point for several treks, including the famous Tungnath-Chandrashila trek. The trek to Tungnath, the highest Shiva temple in the world, and further to Chandrashila peak, offers breathtaking views of the Himalayan ranges. Camping in Chopta amidst the lush greenery and under the starlit sky is an experience like no other.

Valley of Flowers: A Trekker's Delight

The Valley of Flowers, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is a stunning high-altitude valley adorned with a vibrant carpet of alpine flowers. This trek is a must-do for nature lovers and adventure seekers alike. The trail takes you through dense forests, sparkling streams, and blooming meadows, culminating in the enchanting valley. The nearby Hemkund Sahib, a revered Sikh shrine, adds a spiritual touch to this adventurous journey.

Nainital: Paragliding and Boating

Nainital tourism, a popular hill station, offers a mix of adventure and leisure. The Naini Lake is perfect for boating, with options for paddle boating and rowing. For a bird's-eye view of the picturesque landscape, paragliding is a thrilling activity you shouldn't miss. The surrounding hills also provide excellent trekking and rock climbing opportunities. A cable car journey will take you to the Snow View Point, which provides expansive views of the Himalayas covered with snow.

Har Ki Dun: A Trek to Remember

Har Ki Dun, known as the "Valley of Gods," is a remote and pristine valley located in the Garhwal Himalayas. This moderate trek takes you through ancient villages, dense forests, and alpine meadows, offering a glimpse into the local culture and traditions. The valley is surrounded by towering peaks and is a paradise for nature photographers. The trek also provides opportunities for camping by riversides and exploring hidden waterfalls.

Conclusion

Uttarakhand's diverse landscapes and adventurous spirit make it a top destination for thrill-seekers. Whether you're rafting down the Ganges in Rishikesh, skiing in Auli, or trekking through the Valley of Flowers, each adventure promises to leave you with lasting memories. So, pack your bags, embrace the excitement, and explore the top adventure destinations in Uttarakhand for an experience of a lifetime.

For more travel stories and tips, follow me at Travelwithajeet and stay tuned for the latest updates and guides to make your travel experiences unforgettable!

[djzoeveli]

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[dubai-properties-2024]

A Sky-High Haven of Opulence: Faradis Tower by Tiger Group

Introduction: Soaring majestically against the Sharjah skyline, Faradis Tower by Tiger Group beckons with its awe-inspiring architecture and promises of a life defined by lavishness and comfort. Nestled in the prestigious neighborhood of Al Mamzar, this residential masterpiece is a testament to the harmonious blend of modern design and timeless elegance.

Perfectly Positioned: Al Mamzar, Sharjah's Jewel

Location: Located in the heart of Al Mamzar, Sharjah's coveted gem, Faradis Tower enjoys a prime position that offers the best of both worlds. With Al Mamzar Beach just a stone's throw away, residents can bask in the golden rays of the sun or take leisurely walks along the pristine shoreline. The tower's proximity to esteemed shopping malls, fine dining establishments, renowned schools, and state-of-the-art healthcare facilities ensures that every convenience is within easy reach.

A Payment Plan Tailored to Your Needs

Payment Plan: Faradis Tower understands that owning a piece of this luxurious haven should be attainable for all. With a flexible payment plan meticulously crafted by Tiger Group, aspiring homeowners can embark on their journey towards unparalleled opulence. With options for down payments and installment plans, the path to owning an exquisite apartment in Faradis Tower becomes both accessible and manageable.

Where Luxury Meets Space: Indulge in Unparalleled Grandeur

Apartment Spaces: Step into a world where luxury knows no bounds as Faradis Tower unveils its meticulously designed apartments. From spacious studios to comfortable one-bedroom units and expansive two-bedroom residences, every square inch of these living spaces is a testament to elegance and refinement. Thoughtfully planned layouts maximize space utilization, creating a harmonious blend of sophistication and practicality.

Tiger Group: Pioneers of Excellence

Developer: Behind the magnificence of Faradis Tower stands Tiger Group, a name synonymous with excellence in the UAE's construction, real estate, and hospitality sectors. With a rich legacy of delivering top-quality projects, Tiger Group has consistently exceeded expectations, setting new benchmarks for the industry. The unrivaled expertise and unwavering commitment to customer satisfaction make Tiger Group the driving force behind the creation of Faradis Tower.

Indulge in Extravagance: A World of Unparalleled Amenities

Amenities: Faradis Tower is not just a residence; it's an invitation to a life of indulgence. The tower boasts a state-of-the-art fitness center, where residents can sculpt their bodies and nurture their well-being. On the rooftop, a sparkling swimming pool provides a breathtaking oasis, offering panoramic views of the surrounding cityscape. Safety and security are paramount at Faradis Tower, with advanced systems and round-the-clock surveillance ensuring residents' peace of mind. Dedicated parking spaces further enhance convenience and accessibility for residents and their guests.

Conclusion: Faradis Tower by Tiger Group is a symphony of luxury and grandeur, where dreams reach new heights. With its enviable location, flexible payment plans, meticulously designed apartments, and world-class amenities, this residential haven stands as a testament to refined living. Whether you seek a tranquil sanctuary or a lucrative investment opportunity, Faradis Tower promises a life beyond compare—an opulent haven where every desire is fulfilled, and every aspiration is realized.

[theriveroflight]

Fanfiction Year in Review

I found this post from around two years ago, and decided to do it again. I wasn’t tagged by anyone, I just…wanted to do it haha. And now that I’ve published my last fic for 2022, I figured it was time to look back.

1. list of completed fics

There are uh. 165 of these so.

Miraculous Ladybug:

heart vs duty

five times adrien called his father "papa" and one time gabriel called adrien "son"

moving on (moving closer)

walking in the night

and firecrackers flash in us

i wish things were different

a marriage of cultures

for the sake of niceties

to tell the truth

coming home to the family you don't have (yet)

of power plays & attempts at happiness

clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere

what's your (true) name?

choosing my confessions

hr's worst nightmares

been picking up the pieces of our hearts

and now for something completely different

we might just get away with it

as the world caves in

touch the sky

knight, pawn, rook, queen

and I wonder if you'd like to meet

the path leading us back home

when they made me (they broke the mold)

sweet summer

walk a mile in your shoes

meet me in the pouring rain

dive into a new life

evidence you want me

utterly incorrigible

serendipitous

such arrogance

the bouquet toss (and other asinine traditions)

drawing a rainbow

charades & chases

you are not here to conform

photograph of our hearts

ladybug and chat noir's shelter for teens

over the horizon

work in progress

best-laid plans

The Ballad of King Cobra

Wherever Life Takes You

adrift

i am my mother's daughter

unorthodox conflict resolution

practice kisses

Through It All

A Summer in Tibet

the rule of being a selkie (and other societal norms)

the enrollment paperwork (and other seemingly dull tasks)

the coronation (and other foreboding ceremonies)

pet friendly apartments

give me just one day to ask her one question

us against the world (like it's always been)

but i settle for a ghost

innocuous thrill, big invisible spark

maybe the real ghost was the friends we made along the way

(re)union

reminiscence

...and that is a tragedy

there was a hope when we found a bridge (defiance)

secret moments, stolen kisses

i want to hate you for the rest of my life

a dance is like a conversation

hypothesis

yeah, we're rolling with the thunder

singing along (howling at the moon)

don't give a fuck about tomorrow

with pride, ladybug and chat noir

between reflection and truth

it's the right time to come alive (baby do you wanna try?)

in the void there is silence (there is solace)

choking on your alibi (destiny is calling me)

prelude

make the biggest scene

fealty

a modern concerto

through the fire and flames

from ice to fire

playing with fire (the arsonist remix)

i've got a nightttime shudder (and a tiger within)

a bridge of ladybirds

gestures of true love

not-so-staged

Transactions

Fluctuations

let me learn you right

familiar

my kingdom come undone

with a little help from your friends!

The Traveling Guardianship of Macaron Baking

Salvation

Around and Around

narrative

it is not dark here (the light has blinded me)

Forsaken

the depths of the city

and i'm fine, i'm fine on my own

let's show them we are better

the property of resistance

the tower

a modern-day knight

i am what i've pretended to be

a drop in the ocean

and i see your face in every crowd

separation anxiety

i am the monster you created

laughter

personal tragedies

hearts racing, eyes on the prize

but papa, i'm in love with a criminal

you are a liar (and i'm a fool for believing)

put him out of her misery

down down down to the devil he goes

i'll make myself a fool (for you)

Housing Arrangements

avoid getting stung (feel the dragon's breath)

Ace Attorney:

An Honest Conversation

in the mourning we'll rise

attempted

operation: obtain bird

the badge & burden

death, reversed

it's criminal, really

all your freedom, caffeine (how you're looking at me)

adieu

for in this river all is found

Turnabout Revival

history repeats itself

stop and smell the flowers

the most beautiful of flowers (the deadliest of thorns)

cross swords again [DGS]

in defense of a killer

rest (it's all over now)

all this late night talking

the quest for various truths (and universe domination)

hopes for the future

overwhelmed by (love for) you [DGS]

procedural meeting

the sweet scent of forgiveness

Escaping Together [plvpw]

Honesty [plvpw]

i learn to dance again (with you at my side)

[REDACTED] (dw it'll be up soon)

charting a map of our relationship [plvpw]

RWBY:

perpetual motion

lost and found

Corvid

driving home to nowhere

Half-Life: vortessence

Professor Layton:

reunion redux

feelings crisis

you and me (and you too)

The Curious Nature of Cats

find me in a place we belong

The Nature of Cowardice

Professor Layton versus the Email Inbox

The Last Two Pieces

On the Case!

plant your eggs in someone else's nest

ghosts lingering around the corner

Reckless

Reminders

and if I want your love (got to open up)

2. Number of words written

According to AO3: 401758

I know this amount is different but I was shit at tracking my writing whoops

3. Most popular

By kudos: five times adrien called his father "papa" and one time gabriel called adrien "son"

By hits: same!

4. Personal favorite

I...don't know? A lot of my work was written with limited time, so I am not as proud of it as I would be otherwise.

I think maybe "history repeats itself".

5. Favorite scene

An as of yet unpublished scene from a change in our internal law.

6. A fic/scene that challenged you

Towards the end of Fanfic Wars I was really struggling to get myself together. I think you can see the burnout in my last couple FFW fics to be honest...

7. A line you're proud of

"I wanted to stay," he responds, a quiet confession in itself.

Wrote this today, but it isn't incorrect to say I'm not proud of it.

8. A touching comment

This isn't in the comments but in the form of a bookmark -- someone used the bookmark tags feature to feature my work as a personal favorite! :D

9. Something that inspired your writing

Getting into PL really revitalized me in a lot of ways, and I am grateful for that, at least. Even if it was at a little bit of an inopportune time.

10. Proudest accomplishment

Probably what I did during February! I wrote over 50k that month, despite it being only 28 days.

11. Goals for 2023?

I want to finish timeloop fic. And just finish more fics in general. I also want to write more femslash -- in 2022, the amount of femslash I’ve written overtook the amount of slash, which I’m proud of because I’m doing my part to make femslash more represented in fandom.

Now that I've reached over one million words on AO3 it feels weird. Like there isn't really another goal to aspire to. I've had my sights on it since...2020? Maybe? And now that I'm finally there I don't really know what to do with it.

Thank you all for accompanying me on this journey.

[ellsbclls]

White Winged Dove

warnings ➛ COUNTRY!TOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!!!! smut, baby! (PLEASE do not interact if you are a minor), hurt/comfort, minor angst, happy ending: guaranteed!, a handful of swear words, and y/n has no choice but to have a country accent, i don’t make the rules here. extended warnings will be under the cut!

word count ➛ 9.5K

authors note ➛ i saw that gifset of tom taking a shower in cherry and my brain short circuited, so here! have a cupcake!

synopsis ➛ Tom feels like his world is falling apart, so he turns to you, the only person that reminds him of home.

extended warnings ➛ nsfw, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected f/m intercourse (please practice safe sex, kiddos! wrap it before you whack it!), a tiny tiny tiny sliver of blood!play if you squint with one eye closed.

You remember the night in waves, docile, fleeting waves that tease the rim of your consciousness before reeling back. Golden whiskey licks at the seam of your lips with each pass of the bottle, and the pond is glittering beneath the blinking trails of all the lightning bugs — tens of hundreds of fireflies, dancing in the night’s misty skyglow, rivaling the pale moonlight.

You remember the night in waves, but he is a mighty current.

You can’t scrub the memory of him from your mind, that bleak, hopeless expression that hollowed out his features. You remember how your heart split into a million little shards the second it appeared, and just when you thought there was nothing left to break, his fragile voice pleaded for you to take him somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far.

By the time the sun spilled past your window pane, you were nothing but a drowsy amalgamation of lithe limbs, coated in morning glow as it spilled through the glass.

But behind your eyelids lives an imprint of the night before — a shimmering reflection of the night sky, and the moments that unraveled beneath its sweeping gaze.

9:17PM — You’re belting into your hairbrush, not a care in the world, and pouring your heart and soul out to a crowd of none. Somewhere between all of your clumsy twirls and impromptu choreography, you stumble over the shoebox that was poking out from under your bed, and a flurry of damp tresses and musical giggles fan across your comforter.

The walls in your house have always been notoriously thin, but what could you possibly expect from the weathered planks of wood paneling that lined your bedroom? You could hear your father’s creaky footsteps whenever he ransacked the fridge for leftovers in the dead of night, and the heavy thump of laundry that your mother would throw down to the basement, but once your radio crackles to life, and Stevie’s enchanting croon permeates the air, all those subtle nuances fades to a dull, lifeless roar.

With each passing note, the white winged dove becomes you, and you soar above endless miles of  Mississippi wood. There’s not a soul that can drag you back to the outskirts of town, force you to confront what may become of you when you land, there’s no room for trepidation where you go. There, in your own little corner of the woods, it’s just you, Stevie Nicks, and the moon.

And, technically, Thomas.

Minutes have gone by, you still can’t find the strength, nor the energy, to lift yourself up, and as your downy blankets hug your tired frame, you remain blissfully ignorant of your peeping tom.

Thomas, affectionately penned Tommy, has been your best friend, your confidante, since the very first day of kindergarten. You had pulled a pack of scented markers from your tiny, pink barbie backpack during free time, and he had pulled out the empty seat beside you, plucking, sniffing, and ultimately discarding each and every pen until the box was empty. When you asked him which one was his favorite, he asked you the very same in response, just so you’d “coincidentally” have a shared affinity for coconuts. He was oddly endearing, which is a trait that’s always stuck with him. So, even at a young age, you never wondered if he was just using you for your nice possessions, or trying to take advantage of your courtesy — he always offered himself to you at face value, and you never stopped taking as much of him as you could get.

Had you been aware that your childhood friend was waiting expectantly at your window, you may have handled your alone time with a tad more discretion — but you weren’t, and each act of your private concert forces him into an even harder position. To what extent does he let you embarrass yourself before he makes his presence known, and for how long will you bury your head in the sand before the embarrassment mulls over? He sees your stage dive as a golden opportunity, and seizes it before you begin to stir.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three short, mild raps, uttered in quick succession, jostle you from your lavish daydreams like a bucket of ice water, and you have to squint just to make out his fair features amidst all the darkness shrouding them.

“Tommy?” A flash of his soft, earthy hues tame the wild drum of your heart, confirming your suspicions, and you fight the urge to chuckle when he innocently waves at you.

“Well don’t get all shy on me now. Come in.” You open the window just enough for him to slip through its frame, allowing your eyes to graze the sculpted plains of his back, and admire, albeit shamelessly, how his muscles ripple beneath his fitted t-shirt.

Yet, there’s something about him being in your room, towering over fixtures that once towered over him, that makes you feel uneasy. A part of you adores the way he instantly makes himself at home, but the remainder is doused in fear, fretting over his wandering hands and what they may discover, surveying little trinkets and souvenirs that decorate your desk.

“Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here, has it?” He notes, absentmindedly shaking the contents of a snowglobe your grandma brought you from New York, a miniature skyline of Manhattan continuously buried in a flurry of snow. Most of your playdates took place in his house, so as your friendship flourished past elementary school, and the time that spanned between your meetings grew shorter and shorter, you’d found yourselves frequenting his home for all of your endeavors. It was just easier that way.

That’s the sole reason you rarely visited your room. It surely wasn’t the suffocating atmosphere that plagued your home, or your hormonal, angst ridden brain convincing you that you’d scare him to the high heavens if he caught a glimpse of your relationship with your family — how dismal it is. How you build entire worlds, cycle through dozens of bountiful lives, in the luxury of your mind in hopes of retreating.

You’d be lying if you said the poster of Zac Efron, now lurking precariously behind his shoulder, wasn’t a glaring reason as well.

“Yeah, couple things here and there, but it’s pretty much the same.” You try to be discreet as you wander around your own room, Destination: Tiger Beat. Once you reach it, you rise up on your tiptoes to cover as much of the poster as humanly possible, but scramble for an excuse once you notice him turning. “You actually left something the last time you were here. It’s on the top shelf.”

RIP! The poster is crumpled in your grasp no sooner than his back turns to you. You’d have to give a formal apology to your wildcat once you were left to your own devices, but until then, he was banished to the most unsuspecting corner of your room.

“Jesus Christ Y/N,” His thumb fondly strokes a small, yellowed testament to your friendship, a weathered page of loose leaf etched in awry plumes of ink that perfectly encapsulate his very essence — egregiously passionate, regardless of the outcome. He had written it when he was about seven, intending to give it to the “girl of his dreams” once he met her. You can still hear his sweet, little voice echo between your ears, endearingly mistaking his r’s for w’s. “You kept this?”

“Of course I did.“ Candor coats your tongue before you catch yourself, the tail end of your answer turning to dust as soon as it hits the air. You can’t bring yourself to admit just how many restless nights you’ve allowed yourself to clamber up that oak dresser, just to read that letter over, and over, and over again, praying that if you had stared at it for long enough, his messy scrawl would transform into the words you yearned for most — that it was meant for you, that he’s loved you from the very start. “Wasn’t sure if you were planning to repurpose it for some other lucky gal.”

You lock eyes with him for the first time since he appeared at your window, and stowed beneath his reservation are faint embers of warmth, kindling behind ebony curtains as you indulge in the hearth of his gaze. Lifetimes seemingly pass before his eyes are flickering back down to his hands, and it prompts you to offer him the note. “You can have it back.”

“No, you keep it.” Your brows pinch together, and a thousand questions collect on the tip of your tongue. You wonder if he recalls the same memory you do, if he remembers the significance buried in that little scrap of paper, but ultimately choose not to dwell on it. He knows just how much you love to collect memorabilia — keep cherished memories stowed away for safekeeping — he’s just being thoughtful. “Consider it undeniable proof that I know how to read and write.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in here about knowing how to read.” You tease, catching your tongue between your canines as a smirk conquers your lips.

“Ya got me,” He chuckles, smile reaching for, but never quite meeting, his faraway stare. You are so accustomed to his teasing quips, his usual flair for the dramatics, that this half-hearted attempt at replicating it fills you with discomfort. He tries to punctuate his words by tossing his arms to the sky, but they don’t reach high enough to convince you that he’s okay. Something is plaguing him, and you won’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“Tommy,” His name is sweet on your tongue, all honeyed vowels and soft, descant consonants that command his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’, I just-“ he’s avoiding your eyes, which is a clever strategy on his part. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his are a stained glass mosaic, a vibrant display of all his emotions, and you — you are but an avid observer.

“Hey, look at me,” Two slender digits underline the curve of his jaw, and with a firm grasp of his chin, leave him no choice but to meet your gaze, tender and resolute all the same. “ You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I can tell when someone’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I just, I need to get out of here, and I thought I’d ask my favorite distraction to accompany me.” He stumbles over his words, faltering over his messy façade, but you’d rather this over nothing at all.

“And where might we be goin’?” You query. You can tell that this is going to be a long night, but luckily for him, you don’t have any plans that can’t be rescheduled. Your adoring fans will just have to wait another night.

“Somewhere… Anywhere,” He murmurs hopefully, and your heart nearly sinks to the floor. You’ve never seen such a chasm of joy, not in those bright, amber orbs you study so adamantly. You’d almost deem it pain, whatever’s tugging at the frame of his optics, whatever’s depriving them of that usual, warm glow. “as long as it’s far from here.”

9:39PM — “Watch your step.”

“Can you help me?” You whine — one hand reaching out for his assistance, the other firmly clasped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is an awkward incline just below you, only a few inches off the ground, but tall enough to make you stumble, and he could already see you bumping your knees on the way down, so he offers his elbow as a point of leverage.

“Atta girl, you’ve got it.” He coos, reluctantly abandoning your grip once you’re safely on the ground.

Mystical, and buzzing with life, you introduce him to the farthest corner of the woodlands. Whenever the walls of your room become suffocating, your legs always give out right about here. 

Your secret hideaway. 

Where you let your most worrisome thoughts roam free, and when those thoughts seemingly wander into nothingness, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, and fail to realize that they haven’t disappeared, they just don’t belong to you anymore. They belong to the babbling brook, constantly replenishing itself and its inhabitants with fresh, spring water, belong to the frogs and crickets as they fill the night with their moonlit ballad, they belong to the night, and it’s reflection, as it wades across the face of the creek; dotted with lightning bugs or the cosmos themself, you weren’t sure. All you know is that you always returned, as if a piece of you was tethered to the very spot.

“Where are we?” He wonders aloud, raking his fingers through his downy, chestnut locks as he explores his surroundings.

“I don’t exactly know.” You confess, making yourself comfortable on the ground. Most nights, you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into the brook, but you know Tom like the back of your hand, know what kind of ideas might venture through that rascally mind of his when he spots you near the water. So, you play it safe, pulling your knees up to your chest as you peer up at him from a safe distance. “It’s nice, though. Quiet. Good place to let your thoughts wander.”

“You ever take a dip in here?” Predictable. You stifle the urge to laugh at his query, sinking ivory veneers into your pillowy bottom lip, and shake your head in response.  “Hell, if I were you, with my own nature-made swimmin’ pool, I’d bring all the boys around.”

“You know I don’t waste my time with no silly boys.” You sigh, sending him a wistful glare. 

“You sure about that?” He counters, mimicking your perked brow with eerie precision.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You huff. God doesn’t build boys the same way he built him, he took his time crafting that statuesque frame, implemented hawk-eyed precision for each and every beguiling detail you’ve come to adore. He is a man, tried and true, from his sharp, angular structure to the neverending bounds of his heart, but rather than inflate his ego moreso, you let him assume the worst. “You can take a dip if you want, though. I wouldn’t mind.”

You wonder if he can tell just how little you’d mind as a mischievous glint highlights his amber hues, but before he can even open his mouth, you’ve already pinpointed the source of his glower, already voicing your adamant refusal. “No, absolutely not. Not a chance, Tommy.”

“But why not?” He whines, bellowing over your feeble chant, conjuring the most convincing set of pleading eyes he can muster. “It’s dark, it’s humid, and ain’t no one around to tell us not to.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to not do that.” You scoff, scooting further away from him and the strength of his hopeful gaze.

“I hate to pull out the big guns, but... what if I told you that it’d make me feel so much better if you accompanied me?” You’re left to wonder what the big guns are supposed to be, if they aren’t the way he is encroaching on your personal space, crawling up the length of your legs until there is only a sliver of space between you. 

“I’d remind you that there are much drier ways to make you feel better.” You could feel your warm breath fanning across his lips, distracting you with the scent of minty toothpaste and your vanilla chapstick, ultimately failing to notice his hands, and how they’re positioned just below your waist.

It would only take one swift move to reach the small of your back, two to scoop you up in his arms, and about six more to drag you into the pond — kicking and screaming, but successfully so.

And he doesn’t chance it.

SPLASH! You’re no sooner submerged in the brooks’ murky depths, reaching out for lily pads and cattails that fail to provide you leverage, and your screams bubble into thick, smothered embers of a once irate flame. He better pray you never emerge from usunder, because he’s merely a howl away from being swept up in the tide — the tide being your arms as they force him to the bottom of the crick.

“Y/N,” your name scrambles between the slosh of the water and the pounding in your ears, but you manage to break the surface and blink spare drops of water from your eyes.

“I was drowning!’ You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water as you kick, and splash, and writhe around in the stygian abyss.

“In two feet of water? I beg to differ.” You can barely make out his comeback over his fit of giggles, but a part of you would rather this bright, teasing version of himself that what you’ve been dreading beforehand. Taking his outstretched hand, you stumble to your feet and, much to your dismay, find yourself standing in about two feet of water (which, in your defense, is a far more daunting threat to someone your size as opposed to his). You cool his inflating ego with a cold splash of water, dispersing tiny droplets from your fingers as they wave in front of his face.

You splash around in the water for what feels like forever, transforming stray lily pads into makeshift hats, dressing to the nines in the latest collection of aquatic couture, and as the moon casts a pale spotlight on the babbling brook, you occupy it’s centre, huddled in one another’s embrace, swaying back and forth amidst the shallow pools.

10:02 — You're still wet.

Drenched, really.

You’ve resorted to wringing out your hair with your bare hands, twisting the dampened locks between your fists until water pours from the follicles. You’d never once pondered the benefits of freshwater landings, but you were about to find out. A glare threatened to slice through the air, but immediately wavered at the sight of him — desolate, void, so lost in his thoughts that you’d wondered if he were even there.

God, you’re worried sick. You’ve dealt with bouts of sadness, sprinkles of melancholy, but this was downright depressing. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you tried, and that’s what worried you the most.

Thomas, your best friend, your crush, your light — the best parts of you all wrapped up in a clumsy little package while the best parts of him threaten to snatch up your heart, as if it wasn’t already his.

“Tommy?” You break him out of his reverie, but press on, scooching closer to his form, dangerously standoffish, like an uncaged animal winding up to attack, until you cross the threshold into his personal space. With a sturdy hold on his bicep, he melts into the palm of your hand, practically leaning all of his weight into you, stealing a reprieve you didn’t know he needed. “You can talk to me, y’know. It’s just us.”

“She left, Y/N.” The evening air seems still, in perfect tandem with your breath as you fear what might come out once you finally exhale. You know he’d shove all of his feelings down if he caught you shedding a single tear, and this isn’t about you, it never has been. So you hold your breath, latching onto the heavy silence that follows his confession, and pray that your chest is strong enough to smother the sob bubbling beneath its surface.

Fortunately, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “The closet was empty, and all her cookbooks were gone. I looked downstairs and there was nothin’ there.” You don’t know if he’s finished, watching as he toys with a loose string on his jeans, but he breaks his own silence with a newfound waver in his voice.  “I had a feelin’ she was ‘bout to leave, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I thought I had a lil’ bit more time to say goodbye.”

Edie was a good mother, the best of mothers, and never had she drawn a line when it came to who she nurtured. When you were little kids, you’d race each other to his house once the school bell rang, tiny little bodies weaving through the stalks of corn that prefaced the farm. She would follow the shuffling crops with a heavy eye, leading you to the porch with her raspy, whimsical chime, and crouch down to envelop the both of you in a tight hug when you emerged. She was the best of mothers.

But she wasn’t the best of wives. You were both far too young to notice the signs — the nights where you found her sound asleep on the sofa by her own volition, the packed suitcase that hid underneath the stairwell to the basement, the hesitance that laced her tone when she said I love you to his father — and something tells you she wanted to keep it that way. 

Her son didn’t need to worry about his parents, and how fast they were falling out of love, and whether they really loved each other in the first place. Her son just needed to be a kid, and that is a belief she devoted the best years of her life to.

But he isn’t a kid anymore.

That’s why she fled in the middle of night, leaving nothing but a ruby encrusted ring on his dresser — her class ring. The same one he’d snatch from her jewelry box whenever she wasn’t looking. The same one he used to propose to you at the wee age of four, promising you as much of the world as a toddler could imagine.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he recounts every detail, and every fiber of your being yearns to just schoop him up in your arms, hold all his broken pieces together with the strongest embrace you can muster. He doesn’t deserve that type of pain, shouldn’t have to relive it, and yet he takes it upon himself to tell you everything, to relive it for your own selfish gain.

You grow envious of the way the moon trails kisses down the slope of his nose, across the high rise of his cheeks, and over the swell of his bottom lip. There were times where you’d find traces of his mother in Tom’s features, lining the curve of his warm smile or, when the sun hit them just right, speckling his earthy hues with tiny rods of gold. Tonight, he is shrouded in a celestial spotlight, mesmerized by its waning body, and if you squint just enough, you’ll find her longing stare hidden beneath his own.

“And the worst part is that I ain’t even mad at her. Not even a lil’ bit.” He concludes, talking more to the sky than to you. “Not even at all.” When his gaze falls back to you, you can only try to cover up the betrayal, wipe the back of your arm across your tear-stained cheeks before he notices they’re even misty.

You inevitably fail, expelling a wistful sigh as he pulls you into his side, comfortingly running his hand over your bicep as he murmurs sweet nothings into the night.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want you to find out like this,” You furrow your brows, and wonder just how he would want to break the news to you. Would he let you find out for yourself, or would he bring you out to the plantation, and let you sink into the soil until the news began to blossom in the fields? Would they be cornstalks? And would they reach for the sky just like her?  “I didn’t wanna make you cry, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice is a wash of dulcet tones, fingers soothingly raking through his damp tendrils in a silent bid to comfort him. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can take it.” You’re quick to clamber to your knees, wrapping him up in an airtight embrace, keeping him from wallowing into a puddle of tears. “I’m right here, Tommy.”

“I know,” he sputters, with an edge of sorrow to his tone.

“I’m right here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You promise.

“Don’t say that” He whispers, and shatters any trace of consolation looming over the encounter. Your brow furrows, your heart pounds against your chest, and for a fleeting second, you feel like you're caught in a lie. What if he knows? What if he can tell just how much you’d surrender to be with him? What if he doesn’t want it?  

“Why not?” You’re near hysterics, praying that the intensity in your eyes makes up for the tremor in your voice. “Why not? I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.” 

“I just don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep, Y/N.” That sullen gaze resurfaces, chills the air with it’s haunting presence — that hollow stare which fosters the remnants of a bright, contagious joy, and carves a pit, just as empty, in the well of your stomach, one that aches to be satiated. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his palm lingers against your cheek, trying to smooth out the heavy creases in your expression with the gentle stroke of his thumb.  “Hell, I don’t want you to promise that in the first place. You deserve more than all this, you deserve the best this life has to offer you, and I’m not gonna keep you from all o’ that.”

You’ve lost track of your heart long ago, it’s dizzying tempo rivaling a hummingbird, nearly undetectable as it flitted uncontrollably, knocking against your ribs until its ultimate descent to the pit of your stomach. 

You pray that he can one day see everything that you see in him, that loving himself is as easy for him as it is for you; you hope that there is a life where he never has to feel as small, or inconvenient, as he confessed, and you wish that this would eventually be that life.

You decide that it’s time to put an end to wishful thinking. 

“Let me make something clear to you, Thomas.” You cup his jaw, firmly, and utter each word without a trace of uncertainty. “I’m not sure exactly what I want from life yet. I don’t know if I wanna spend the rest of it in this little ol’ town, or just pack my things and go as far as the wind will take me. I couldn’t tell you if I tried, but… that’s okay.” Slowly but surely, your lips give way to a sheepish grin, feeling lighter, freer, the further into your declaration. “It’s okay, because there’s one thing that’s for certain, and it’s that I’m all yours. It don’t matter how far I go, I’m always gonna come home to you.”

The silence is deafening. 

All your emotions hang in the air, crippling your air supply with insurmountable regret. But his gaze is what terrifies you the most; just as suffocating, but in a way that sweeps the air from your lungs. You knew that there would always come a time where all the unrequited feelings you’ve harbored would finally boil to the surface, fueled by the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as one sided as you thought; but under the void of his empty gaze, you wonder if you’d made a huge mistake. 

Or maybe there really is nothing — nothing to reciprocate, nothing to subdue you, nothing to salvage what little remained of your friendship after such a loaded confession — and so you scramble to assemble an apology convincing enough to overshadow your lapse in judgement.

But he doesn’t even spare you the chance, swallowing your half-hearted excuses with the firm press of his lips, pouring a lifetime of ardent desire, of longing, into the hollow of your mouth. It’s crystal clear that you’re his, the realization comes borderline cathartic. There has never been a day where your heart has not beat for him, and only him, forever threatening to spring from your chest and return to its rightful owner. The days, the months, the years of back and forth felt like a cruel jest from the fates, but now you were here, bundled in the warmth of his strong embrace, tongues curling against one another in an endless battle for dominance, and you would endure it all over again if this was where it lead

He searches for some sign of absolution, paws up and down your back in hopes of grounding himself, and you reverently provide, mustering what little strength you have left to crawl into his lap, brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans without a trace of subtlety, offering him the most sacred parts of you in hopes of bringing him home.

“Y/N,” he sighs raggedly, a half hearted attempt to gain your attention, one that proves unsuccessful as his pleas whittle into a frail, insipid shadow of what they could be. You’re too busy acquainting yourself with the plains of his body, embedding a trail of deep red marks into the column of his neck as your hands slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He’s built like a greek statue, you don’t even need to discard his shirt to indulge in the taut muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. “Y/N, darlin’, wait.” He interrupts your greedy ministrations by fastening his digits around your wrists. This is the point of no return, you can feel the fragile divide between friends and lovers, splintering beneath the weight of your heart, and yet you fail to concern yourself.

His digits are free to roam the high plains of your cheeks, pioneering the flushed expanse with beacons of soft, arching butterfly kisses until there’s no skin to cover, ultimately pressing his forehead against yours. ”You don’t- I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” Seems almost redundant, you muse, to wonder if you want him when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. You are a pillar of salt, and as he showers you in a knee buckling torrent of kisses, you melt into the palm of his hands. If the way you’re draped against his form isn’t evidence enough, then the wetness pooling between your thighs most certainly will be, he’ll come across that confirmation once he tends to the spot you need him most.

You trace the cleft of his chin in delicate pursuit, whining as he tears his lips from their languid path, and peer through your inky lashes to meet his gaze once more. “I want this, Tom. I want you.”

“You have me. I’m all yours.” He echoes your words back to you, reverently, delivering a sacred vow from the hearth of your soul, ove you have, and will continue to, dedicate your humble living to, and you seal that promise with a bruising kiss. 

The weight of his palm melts into the small of your back, pulling your chest flush against his own as it sweeps up your spine, and you moan against his lips when your nipples press up against his sturdy chest, aching to be freed as they strain against their gossamer confines. 

You’ve only had the pleasure of making out with Tom for less than five minutes, but you can already tell that it ranks high on your list of favorite pastimes. Soft, pink petals brush against your own like they’re a flourishing canvas, and he’s trying to even out the brushstrokes, but all he leaves is a scorching flush in his wake, and your clothing, despite being bathed in pond water, do little to ease the blistering heat. It’s suffocating you, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away so that you can rid yourself of the article.

Besides, the less fabric separating you from his anchoring, toned embrace, the better.

“I’m all dirty,” Your meek voice collapses into a fit of giggles, and your feeble attempt to wring out your clothes is thwarted by his hands, venturing up, up, up, and under the hem of your skirt at a teasing pace, savoring the feeling of your warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips. You can tell he’s as desperate as you are, confronted with acres of new terrain to explore, and only so little of his patience to spare.

“I know, I’m sorry angel.” His voice is soft, and soothing, and riddled with mischief. Even if there is even an ounce of truth in his apology, you can still make out the devilish grin that toys at the corner of his mouth. “May I, m’lady?” He croons teasingly, flashing those whiskey glazed hues in a way that you could never refuse. 

“Proceed, good sir.” You counter in the most refined timbre you can dictate, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he bunches the hem of your dress in his palms, hoisting it over your head to expose the breathtaking contours and curves of your body. You can’t remember what compelled you to forego your bra, but the thought is soon pushed to the corner of your mind, making room for the warm, fuzzy feeling that conquers your insides when Tom lays his eyes on you, bared to him and only him. His gaze alone makes you feel like you are a spectacle to behold, the most enchanting vision to ever cross his line of sight. If there was even a speck of insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind, the sight of Tom’s eyes, blown wide with adoration as they worship every sinful inch of your skin, instantly quells those fears. 

He struggles to find his words, to occupy this infinite silence with anything, everything, as his calloused palms caress the sides of your waist, but all he can manage is a husky growl. One that prefaces the reappearance of his tongue, and its feverish descent from the column of your neck to the tops of your breasts, bathing your skin with gluttonous, broad strokes, and coaxing pretty, little whines from the back of your throat.

There is something so unhinged in his actions, so carnal, it summons another wave of arousal to pool against your soiled panties, knowing you have such a strong clutch on his resolve. Though, another branch of your mind races at a mile a minute, consumed by the endless possibilities that come equipped with Tom’s skill. 

You try not to dwell on the little flings that came before you, especially now, in the afterglow of your confession. The taunting, pitious gazes you shared with his hookups in the hallowed halls of your alma mater, toting a reminder that they could indulge in everything you yearned for, scorched you more than the thought of the act itself — but the rumors were just plain inescapable. If even a fraction of them hold a candle to the truth, then you are in for one hell of a night.

“You’re just as sweet as I imagined, angel.” Angel. The nickname sends sparks flying in the well of your stomach. “Can’t wait to taste that perfect little pussy. Just know it’s gonna be even sweeter when you cum all over my fingers.”

You whine softly at his words, but clench hard around nothing, aching to be filled by those unbearably long, slender digits. Nothing could have prepared you for the scene unraveling below you — his lips latched around the stiff peak of your nipple, a husky groan reverberating around the pebbled surface, and head slightly moving against the palm of your hand as your fingers tug at his chestnut locks. The long, covetous laps of his tongue mingling with the vibrations of his contented little hums make you desperate for more, arching, writhing, trembling against him in hopes of finding a semblance of relief for the ache between your thighs.

“Tommy, please.” You plead in the most convincing, fucked out tone you can muster, but he doesn’t budge, showering your other bud with a flurry of quick, relentless kitten licks. Even mother nature joins in his relentless teasing, making you squirm as the gentle breeze blows cool, summer air against the glistening bud.

This is torture, a blissful, euphoric form of torture that, despite your irritability, you would surrender to time and time again. But you fail to notice just how hard your canines puncture the swell of your bottom lip, too immersed in the stroke of his tongue, in the ghost of pleasure that stirs in the pit of your stomach each time you rut against his clothed cock. A sharp, metallic tang seeps into your mouth, hitting the tip of your tongue and forcing a trembling whimper to the front of your mouth.

The pitiful sound piques Tom’s interest, and before you can wipe the blood from your lip, your face is already cradled between his palms. “Fuck, Y/N, look at you,” His eye were wide with concern, and your heart sputters over the blistering scorch of need his compassion arises in you. “C’mere.” Dropping his forehead against your own, his tongue tentatively brushes the curve of your lips, lapping up every last drop of blood that is smeared against it. He applies pressure to the wound, cauterizes it with a searing dance of bloodstained brims, as his one hand weaves into your damp locks. You barely know how to respond, but your body compensates with an untapped sense of hunger, scraping your teeth against his lower lip as you desperately claw at the toned valley of his back.

“Please, Tommy, please. I’m dripping.” You mewl, teetering over the perilous edge of delusion, foraging between your stomachs in search of his free hand. Yet another wave of arousal pools between your thighs at the sight of him, with his puffy, saliva stained lips slightly parted, and his eyes blown wide with the insatiable need to indulge himself, to spoil you. Once your fingers circle around his wrist, you guide his hand to the apex of your thighs and urge him to feel for himself, applying the lightest of pressure against his fingers, urging him to caress your tender lips through the sodden barrier of your panties. To feel what he’s done to you. “You feel that? It’s all for you.”

“All for me,” he echoes back, mesmerized, cognac hues fading into obsidian orbs as he rubs deliberately teasing circles over your covered clit. “And you ask oh so pretty. Let me take care of you, my pretty girl.” Before you even get the chance to reply, he’s pushing your panties to the side, dipping the pad of his middle finger between your silky folds — feeling, exploring, acquainting himself with the tight ring of muscle that he plans on stretching open. 

His hesitation is nothing more than a plight at this point, you are more than willing to take anything he has to offer, and he can gather that much from the wild gleam in your eyes, so he slowly works one finger into your snug, velvety walls and curses under his breath at how heavenly you feel. You’re unlike anything he’s had before, far exceeding the lengths of his imagination as you softly clench around his digit, and it only takes a few seconds to adjust to the lithe intrusion, your walls already twitching against his shallow, testing thrusts, before he adds another.

“So fuckin’ perfect, darlin’. Love the way your pretty little cunt takes me.” A thin sheen of sweat coats your forehead as he rocks his digits at a leisurely pace. Tom is obsessed with the tiny frown forming between your brows, almost like you’re confused by the amount of pleasure building between your legs, struggling to keep your eyes open, your juices spilling past your opening to trickle down the palm of his hand. To say your experience is limited is a bit of an understatement — the whopping two men you’ve slept with prior were merely amateurs in comparison to your lover. Even if there was enough air in your lungs to articulate it, you don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ve never been fingerfucked. Period. The embarrassment almost swallows you whole.

But even without anything to compare it to, you’re convinced that you’re receiving the upper echelon of experiences.

As his pace quickens, prodding against your pulsing walls with an onslaught of keen, ravaging thrusts, you’re too busy gasping for air to notice how he’s switched his angle. Now the heel of his hand is rubbing against your bundle of nerves with each stroke, applying just enough pressure to light a spark without ever setting you off, and as the pads of his fingers pound against your sweet spot, you are reduced to a limbless puddle in his hands, doused in an ethereal glow that only he could surface. “God, Y/N, you look like an angel. My pretty little angel— ‘bout to cum all over my fingers.” he panted, voice biting the air with a wolfish gleam, canines peaking past his thin lips.

“Tommy, I’m so close.” You aren’t sure if you can hold on for much longer, dangling on the coattails of insurmountable bliss, finding a new reason to fall apart with each lewd kiss or sharp thrust. Your orgasm is already creeping up, threatening to crash over you each time he plunges into your slick heat, but you know that you want to feel him — all of him — stretching you to unimaginable lengths as he sinks into your tight little hole for the first time. “I wanna feel you. I wanna- I need to cum on your cock.”

Tom’s brows meet in the middle, and you wonder if you’ve strewn too far, surrendered the remainder of your common sense to lust and her shameless palms. “Such a filthy little mouth for such a good girl.” He whispers, wondering aloud, his free hand abandoning the nape of your neck to cup your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to drag it down before letting it spring back to its pouty default. “You will, angel, you will, but I gotta get you ready first.” He reassures you, and you remember just how prominent his length is, straining against the denim cage of his jeans, and attribute his wavering tone to the sheer restraint he’s been exhibiting. But you have to admit — if his fingers are only a fraction of his length, then you are not sure just how much of him you’ll be able to handle. The thought sends you barrelling toward your climax, but not without the help of his thumb, pressing up to rub fervent, clumsy circles against your clit, his husky tenor cooing sweet words of encouragement into the space just below your ear. “I can feel you, angel, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

With one final thrust, he buries his fingers to the hilt, caressing your g-spot with a tentative come hither motion, until you are ridden with overwhelming waves of pleasure. All you can feel are your tender walls tightening around his fingers, and your thighs starting to tremble under the weight of your high. But he is spellbound, mesmerized by the swirling vision of you at your most content, eyelids hanging low over your blown out hues, your hips absentmindedly grinding against his hand, meeting his timid rhythm as he tries to work you through your aftershocks.

Emptiness soon replaces the stretch of his fingers once he slips them out, but a twitch of excitement follows the path of his slick hand, and you can’t stop from outright moaning at his shameless display.

“Just what I thought,” he murmurs. You are too captivated by the sight of his lips — pink, and kiss-weathered, and frankly obscene —  opening wide to welcome his slick fingers, gracing his taste buds with your juices, and humming around them as they coat his tongue in an intoxicating elixir . “Open up, pretty girl,” You‘re torn from your trance by the pressure of his digits, knocking against your bottom lip, begging for entry. “Come taste how sweet you are.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you graciously welcome his fingers, putting on a show as you swirl your tongue between the two digits, moaning softly as the bittersweet taste that hits your tastebuds. You aren’t prepared for the shallow, tentative thrust of his digits, or how he starts up a slow, steady rhythm against the back of your tongue — but god do you welcome it, softly gagging with each steady downstroke, spit already dribbling down your chin as you try to keep up with his quickening pace.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He offers you a ginger smile, one that makes the tears pooling in your eyes worth gagging for. “Good girl. Good, good girl. I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You try to reply over his digits, but your words are muffled and faint as they thud against the wall of your lips. Luckily, he’s coherent enough to notice that you’d like to speak — and who is he to stifle that sweet little voice of yours? “Thank you,” you pant, fluttering your tear-stained lashes up at him as you clamber to fill your lungs, disputing your feverish pleas as you wriggle away from the outline of his cock. The sensation of his waterlogged jeans rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you keening over him, pushing you further from his crotch, and closer to his embrace, back arched with a near-feline agility.

“Can I?” you ask, kneading your palms over his thighs, feigning innocence as you inch closer and closer to his zipper with each upstroke, and he nods, granting you permission to free him from his denim confines. In one fluid motion, your one hand unzips his fly as the other helps him kick off the remainder of his offending items, and you have to resist the urge to drool at the sight of his cock springing from his boxers, let alone his sinfully perfect, exposed form.

He’s a little bit larger than you expected — what he lacks in length, he makes up in girth, but there isn’t much to make up for in the first place. His shaft is decorated with pretty, ivory veins, ones that would no doubt twitch beneath the hot, heavy weight of your tongue, and the crown of his cock is flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of precum that makes your mouth feel conveniently dry. Your walls twitch at the disheartening reminder of your emptiness, but all out spasm as his fingers eclipse the circumference of his cock, using your juices to leisurely pump himself.

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh, a flurry of giggles floating beneath your words as you reach out to touch him, hovering just above the tip in order to send him a cautionary glance — one he hurriedly accepts, nodding his head fervently as he stutters into his grasp. A rosy hue blooms across the valley of your cheekbones as you encircle him, covering whatever he can’t as he all but bucks into your palm. His heart strains against his chest upon the realization that his hand easily dwarfs your own, watches your smaller fingers barely curl around his engorged shaft and fights the urge to cum right then and there.

No, he needs to feel you.

“Are you sure?” He asks once more, granting you a final chance to salvage what little scraps remain of your childhood friendship, but you are already committed, determined to devour every last, glorious piece of him, to prove that he is the rightful owner of you, all of you, every shimmering shade of you.The sentiment would be almost derisive if not so loving, so noble, and yet you dismiss it with three, chaste kisses upon the outline of his profile — against his forehead, the notch on the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, warm and inviting.

“I’m certain.” You promise, merely a breaths width away from his lips.

You have never been more certain of a decision in your life, desperate to feel him nestled deep inside you, to blur the line where he begins and you end. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, their pressure neither here nor there as they coax a hiss out of him, and you line him up with your entrance, tossing your head back as you waste no time breaching your needy hole with the bulbous head of his cock.

It’s blindingly clear that you have been given the reins, what with Tom’s finger’s seeking refuge in the soil beneath him, a low groan rumbling beneath his chest, his eyes rapt with an unspoken urgency as they survey the spot where you connect, and you relish in your paramount. Your knees dig deeper into the ground as you lower yourself onto him, and with little resistance, your walls steadily welcome inch after inch with a searing embrace, etching every delicious ridge and vein of his length to memory until he bottoms out, and you’re left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. There is a dull pain laced in the stretch of your opening, intermingling with the remnants of your last orgasm, and as you twitch and pulse around his girth, he appears like an dream before you, sifting through a thick haze of desire, wispy curls clinging to the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and eyes blown wide with ripples of pleasure, of lust, that long to be indulged.

Once you’ve adjusted to him, you test a few shallow, tentative rolls of your hips, lifting yourself off the tiniest bit before filling yourself up again. He just feels so perfect, like god spent a little extra time molding him just for you, rubbing against parts of you that have never known such ecstasy until now, and you struggle to find a rhythm amidst all these new, dizzying sensations. “Poor little thing, you’re so worked up, you barely know how to take my cock.” It’s funny, how he can make such degrading words sound so sympathetic, and regardless, your body responds long before your brain can register, wildly spasming around his cock. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to return, digging into the curve of your hips to assist you, working you over his length in long, plundering strokes that steal the air from your lungs. “That feel better, angel?”

“Mhmm,” you shakily nod your head, fingers finding purchase in the broad expanse of his shoulders as you dig your nails into the freckled expanse, flooding his senses with the weak little uh, uh, uh’s tumbling from your lips each time you’re impaled on his cock. If he could lap up every hitch of your breath, every wayward sigh, he’d be drunk off the height of your unbridled joy. Hell, he can barely sustain himself as is, ravenously lapping up the beads of sweat clinging to your temple, swirling his tongue around your earlobe in its descent. Yes, yes, he’s swept up in sultry waves of you, and as your pelvis kisses his, as the air is filled with the sounds of your hips snapping against his own, he’s less and less concerned about emerging from your enchanting depths. “You got another one for me, angel? I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby, I know you got another one.” He’s delirious, clawing at the altar of your hips, and nowhere near as close to finishing as you are, but god is he eager to tear another orgasm out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a furnace, taunting flames of embarrassment licking up your insides, pooling in the small of your back, racing up your cheeks, at such arduous lengths as to mix with the coil of pleasure tightening in your core. Tom seizes the opportunity to find some leverage, pulling his knees up to rest on either side of you, planting his feet on the ground so that he can thrust up into your sopping cunt at a punishing pace, and you both can already feel the tell-tale signs of your building pleasure. “It’s okay, Y/N, you can let go.” Nothing more than a faint whisper, you indulge in the way his cock massages your inner walls, how your name sounds so filthy, yet beguiling, as it slips from his slightly ajar lips, how it blends so well with the weak little moans of his own name rolling off your tongue. “Let go for me. I wanna feel that perfect little pussy cum all over me.” His hand dips between your sweat slick forms, firmly swiping his fingers over your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, turning circles into your favorite shape, and his change in position makes the crown of his cock curve into your g-spot each time he pounds into you — so your helpless to the crescendo of pleasure that washes over you. 

A broken, startled shriek tears through your lungs, and you topple over his thighs, digging crescent shaped indents into his knees as you surrender to your climax, walls fluttering and contracting over his length as he works you over the edge.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He coos encouragingly, reaching his hand out to cup the weight of your breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked bud as his pace eases up, and it isn’t until now that you realize he’s leaning back, holding himself up by his forearms while he drinks in your pleasure-ridden form. “My sweet, sweet girl.” You can tell he’s holding back by the way his hips still stutter up into your overstimulated heat, how his cheeks, his forehead, all of his features are set with a heavy flush, how you aren’t filled to the brim with his cum — and you simply won’t allow that. 

“It’s okay, Tommy.” You whisper, carefully lowering yourself until your chest is aligned with his own, sharply exhaling as you feel him push up against your tender core. Your eyes are soft, and dazed, and oh so pretty, glittering beneath a thin layer of unshed tears, but this is about him, it’s always been about him, and as his cock twitches amidst your spasming walls, you firmly believe that you can handle another orgasm if he can coax it from you.  “Keep goin’, it’s okay. I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel all of you.”

“Y/N—” His voice is stern, but your lips are fierce, stealing whatever argument may have been building in the cavern of his mouth as you weakly tilt your hips downward, offering yourself to him once more. When he muscles up enough strength to tear himself away, he only finds a bounty of understanding, of devotion, of love, teeming at the brim of your eyes, and he needs no words to indulge himself, to yield to a mesmerising whirlpool of you, you, shimmering you.

Tom wraps one arm around your back, holding you close to his chest while you scatter soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder, smoothing his palm over your damp tresses as he hoists one leg over his hip, prying your legs even further apart so he can fuck up into you — impossibly tighter, and tormentingly more responsive as he slams into your overstimulated cunt. You can feel every square inch of him now, every long sweeping vein, the tiny sliver of skin hidden beneath his tip, it’s all crystal clear as he plunges into your weepy core, and you’re so cockdrunk, so fucked out of your mind, that you don’t even notice your hips slanting down to meet his thrusts. You’re just that greedy for another orgasm, hellbent on tumbling over yet again as he fills you to the brim.

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to that precipice once again, the coil in his stomach pulled taut with your whimpered chant of his name, with each strong pulse of your cunt tightening over him. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, stuttering into your hips with a loud, frenzied groan, and finally teeters off the edge, dragging you down with him as you sink your teeth into his shoulder blade, pumping his hot seed into you, coating your walls with hot spurts of cum as you milk him for every last drop, the crude sound of your arousal mixing with his own making you shudder.

You both lay there for a second, safe in each other’s warm embrace, basking in the aftermath of your fortuned affair, and you cowered beneath the sky and it’s constellation clad ceiling, feeling infinitesimal, but oh so contented, beneath its glorious gaze. There, wrapped up in one another, two splintered halves mending, healing, into the whole they were destined to become — the sky was but a star in comparison to your light, your bright, everlasting light.

How did we get here? You wonder. How, oh, how is he finally mine?

You follow the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the moon lounges across his curly lashes in a silver chaise — you survey him at his most vulnerable — and determine that you have more than enough time to find the answer. As long as he’s here, by your side, you don’t plan to wander too far.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! PLEASE LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT, IF YOU ENJOYED!

TAGLIST: @devotion @reawritesthings​

[solicuttle]

Body Swap

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: None (?)

Characters: Saiki Kusuo, Akechi Touma, Saiko Metori, Teruhashi Kokomi

Kusuke’s latest experiments have had unforeseen consequences... suddenly you’ve switched bodies with...

-----

Saiki Kusuo

Holy shit imagine having this much power,,, the fact that you haven’t taken over the world (yet) is signaling your dwindling self-control. You sneezed and blew up an entire building. You can literally teleport! You teleported to Paris to see the Eiffel Tower and nearly gave the real Saiki a heart attack. After you almost teleported in front of Kaidou, the real Saiki banned you from using his psychic powers. Sorry but you just can’t help yourself!

The real Saiki would much rather you stay at home, but he doesn’t want you to run into the weirdo that is his father or worse – run into Kusuke. On the plus side, you did get to spend the entire day gawking at yourself because the real Saiki could not leave you alone.

It is a bit tiring hearing people think – and suddenly you have to avoid Teruhashi’s flirting, Aiura’s flirting, everybody’s flirting!! Since when did Saiki get so romantically popular? Acting so unbothered is hard, how Saiki does it is beyond you.

You suddenly have a weird craving for sweets too.

Bonus: Saiki absolutely hates being in your body. People keep surprising him and appearing out of nowhere! On the plus side, Teruhashi, Kaidou, and Nendou don’t disturb him as much… On the downside he has to make sure you don’t blow his secret!

-----

Akechi Touma

How is his head not splitting apart??? You think so fast, so quickly about almost everything. You tried to say “hello” to someone and ended up debating with yourself about the origins of the word. You could be thinking “the sky is pretty” and suddenly you’re thinking about “why is the sky pretty”, “am I the only one who thinks so”, “has the sky ever been ugly”—

Long story short you think. A lot. And talk a lot too. You can’t help yourself, everything’s so interesting! Things you didn’t have an interest in before are suddenly appealing; and you keep getting these weird urges to stalk Saiki… now you’re following the pink-haired male around? Why. Because your brain said, “hurr durr Saiki interesting.”

On the plus side, if you stay close to Teruhashi your brain has a meltdown and you don’t have to think so much. On the downside Teruhashi’s going to think you’re a creep.

Bonus: Akechi is floored. Is this how normal people think? He feels tranquil, like he’s just discovered inner peace of sorts. He’s achieved enlightenment. If people randomly see your body meditating blame Akechi.

------

Saiko Metori

It’s like you fart money. You nearly tripped over a rock and got caught by 3 different bodyguards. The offending rock was incinerated in your presence. With a gold-plated flamethrower. Life as Saiko is different. You could say, “I want this item” and get 10 copies of it (and an exclusive version of it). You’d gotten angry at someone who’d insulted you and your bodyguards had beat them up immediately.

Woah. Don’t let this power get to your head, young one. Too late you bought an entire factory to produce your favorite food item. The real Saiko threw a fit when you switch bodies, so you just have to drag him around you know.

You met his father too – not really though, because his father is so shiny you can’t even look him in the eye. This must be what they mean when they say someone’s made of money. You also have a pet tiger now! Cool. And you have the ability to get almost anything you want too…

Saiko has “pleaded” with you to not act different; you’d stuck out your hand for a “commoner” to pick up and Saiko had fainted. Apparently, his hand is worth a lot.

Bonus: Saiko cannot handle being a commoner at all. You have to take him everywhere. It’s weird to struggle for money or not have caviar at a moment notice. He doesn’t like this at all. He tried to order his butlers and they had the audacity to ignore him! Because of that, you implement a rule that the butlers have to listen to the Saiko in your body. If you use those privileges after you switch back … 😏

-----

Teruhashi Kokomi

You are now perfect incarnate. You are darling of the masses, of the world. You are God itself. Being Teruhashi is terrifying. You can literally feel the charm that surrounds you like a halo, the way people swoon (from jealousy or admiration) whenever you walk by. The feeling of people saying “oh” is quite nice too. You can get almost anything you want by using her devastating beauty!

Life should be perfect as Teruhashi! But being Teruhashi is hard. Despite never ever looking ugly, you never make mistakes. While that sounds nice you physically cannot say anything negative (without veiling it first) nor can you do anything particularly disgusting. If you can bend the rules to make it seem like you are doing these “crass and vulgar” actions to maintain the perfect, pretty girl image then perhaps you could survive a bit longer.

You have a weird attraction to Saiki now, whenever he walks by you feel urges to make him say “oh”. It’s terrifying.

Bonus: Teruhashi cannot stand this. People don’t say “Oh” whenever she walks by!! She’s being ignored! She did not build up the perfect pretty girl image for it to be stolen from her. On the good side, she can finally experience her own persona being reflected at her – Teruhashi’s hard work has paid off. She does not leave your side until this ordeal is over.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

The Answer

Requested by: anonymous (“Congrats on reaching over 2.5k followers! I was wondering if I could request something with Joe trying to talk the reader out of doing something stupid, but in a funny way?”)

Summary: When Valentine’s Day turns unexpectedly stressful, your favorite coworker Joe Mazzello is there to offer moral support. I may have gotten a little carried away with this one, but it’s all in the spirit of the holiday! 😂 I hope you enjoy it. 💗

Warnings: Language. 

Word Count: 2.2k. 

You can find all my writing here!

Oh my god, this man is about to ask me to marry him.

You are suddenly aware of every immaterial detail, because this is the sort of night you’re supposed to remember forever. This is the sort of night, the sort of story, you’ll be retelling all your life: to parents, to friends, to overly-chatty hairstylists, to coworkers, to children, to grandchildren. The music is slow, sophisticated, French. The dress you’re wearing is lavender and just a stitch too tight in the ribs. The tablecloth is white, the flowers in the centerpiece ruby-red roses. The candlelight bathes Ryan’s face in hot, flickering gold. And he’s smiling, broadly, artfully, like he knows something you don’t. Like maybe he always will.

You’re trying to follow what he’s talking about, but you can’t. It’s some meandering summation of your last two years together: meeting at your mutual friend Sarah’s New Year’s Eve party, numbers tapped into each other’s iPhones, sushi and green tea, browsing through book stores, murky movie theaters and hands entwining on shared armrests, Fourth of July picnics where you socialized gamely with one another’s extended families, kisses that started out light and fleeting in the chilly lobbies of restaurants like this one and turned into hours spent in the rustling shadows of your bedroom. And although the details sometimes evade you, the arc of Ryan’s story is clear: that the journey was perfectly linear, every piece in place, every want and ritual accounted for. That the time has come for the inevitable conclusion.

He reaches across the table to take your hands in his. The last of your beef bourguignon lays unclaimed and forgotten in its bowl. Your appetite has vanished entirely.

“Pierre,” Ryan tells the moustached waiter, grinning triumphantly. “Could you bring out dessert now, please?”

You hear your chair squeal as you bolt to your feet. Your ankles wobble as you balance on your strappy, rather painful silver heels, the ones Ryan likes so much. “I’ll be right back,” you announce. You flash him a reassuring, innocent smile. You gesture apologetically to the wine and water glasses, like it’s all their fault. The perfect fall guys. How dare they interrupt this magical evening.

Ryan suspects nothing. Or—worse, far far worse—he doesn’t care. “Sure, baby. Take your time.”

You zigzag, rather unsteadily, around the restaurant tables—all those other nameless candle-lit couples reminiscing and giggling and feeding each other spoonfuls of quivering chocolate mousse—and crash through the restroom door. There are two college-aged girls touching up their makeup, stark and bone-white under the florescent lights, and they peer quizzically over at you. You take shelter in the nearest stall and lock the door.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” You stare at the wall, waiting for a sign. There’s an artsy black-and-white picture of the Eiffel Tower hanging there. Another trivial detail to one day tell your grandchildren about. “Oh my god,” you moan again.

You root through your purse, pull out your iPhone, and find Joe Mazzello in your contacts. You’ve never called him before; you have his number solely in case of work-related emergencies. But your fingers are moving swiftly, almost autonomically; and time is rolling irrevocably forward like a freight train.

“This is clearly a pocket dial,” Joe says as soon as he answers. “There’s no way you’re thinking about me and my subpar sandwich-making abilities on Valentine’s Day.” He’s right about his sandwich skills; they’re honestly abysmal. He’s the worst employee at Quiznos. He always spills the honey mustard everywhere. You, on the other hand, take great pride in your consistently neat, uniform application of condiments. But, nevertheless, Joe is your favorite coworker. Your favorite coworker by a margin that ships could sail through like a drawbridge.

“Help,” you croak.

“Uh...?” Joe’s voice changes. He’s not exactly serious yet—you’re not really sure what a serious Joe Mazzello would even sound like—but he’s definitely apprehensive. “Are you locked in a trunk somewhere...?”

“Wait, no, sorry. I’m not being kidnapped. I’m at L’amour Vrai.”

“Oh, nice!” But he doesn’t sound that thrilled about it. “With Ryan, I’m assuming.”

“Yeah, therein lies the problem.”

Joe is confounded. “...Did he forget to bring you a massive teddy bear and a heart-shaped box of Ferrero Rocher, or...?”

“I think he’s going to ask me to marry him,” you say in a rush, breathlessly. “He’s been rambling about our relationship and being weird and sentimental all through dinner and I think dessert is going to be, like, a giant bowl of chocolate mousse with a ring hidden in the bottom or something and now I’m hiding in the bathroom.”

“And you don’t even like chocolate mousse,” Joe notes.

“That’s not really the point, but yeah, true.”

“So what are you going to do?”

You don’t have an answer. You don’t even have threads of thoughts that could be woven into words. Because no matter how seamless and fated Ryan’s story of your relationship sounds, you feel that something is missing. You’ve always felt that way. And you’ve waited—patiently, undemandingly, faithfully—for that one last piece of surety to drop out of the sky and click into place for the past seven-hundred and forty-four days. You’ve waited for indelible magnetism, for that sensation of free-falling, for love; you’ve waited until you started to suspect those things didn’t exist at all except in fiction. But sometimes, just recently, you think you might be catching glimpses of them: in how Joe sends you a clandestine smirk when a customer is agonizing over whether they want cheddar or swiss, in how he invents new combinations of fountain drinks for you to taste and rank on a highly scientific ten-point scale (Cherry Coke-Dr. Pepper is the current champion at 8.5/10), in how he complains incessantly about having to close but will wipe down the same counter fifteen times while you count the money in the register so you don’t have to lock up alone. And those transitory glimpses are enough to show you exactly what a lifetime with Ryan would mean living without.

“You don’t want to say yes,” Joe realizes quietly. “You wouldn’t be freaking out and hyperventilating in the bathroom if you did.”

“I don’t think I can say no.”

Joe snorts. “Lady, this isn’t the sixteenth century. You’re not being traded to this guy for some cows or a military alliance or a duchy in Germany. You can always say no.”

“But we’re in the middle of this fancy restaurant and he’s got the staff in on it, and everyone is going to stare when he asks me, they’ll probably start clapping and making TikToks and I’m going to look like a total bitch if I don’t say yes.”

“Well, yeah,” Joe says, a little darkly. “That was probably the plan. To put you in a position where you felt like you didn’t have a choice.” And you recall that Joe doesn’t seem to like Ryan very much, hasn’t said a single nice thing about him in the six months that have passed since Joe joined the illustrious Quiznos team.

“Maybe I should say yes and then after tonight never speak to him again.”

“You’re...gonna ghost your fiancé? You legitimately think that’s a better plan?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s only going to get harder to back out as this thing picks up momentum. The families will get involved. There will be dress fittings, venue shopping, cake tasting...oh, wait, actually, don’t back out until after the cake tasting. And invite me.”

“I could fake my own death. Or enlist in the Peace Corps. I’ve always wanted to see Mongolia.”

“But then you’d have to give up your promising career in sandwich making.”

“They might have Quiznos in Mongolia.” You sigh, defeated. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t be bothering you with this. I’m definitely ruining your Valentine’s Day.”

“There’s not much to ruin, honestly. I’m re-watching Tiger King and eating my weight in Skittles.”

Oh, right; Joe and his girlfriend Julie broke up last week. And come to think of it, despite the fact that you don’t have any identifiable reason to feel this way, you’ve never really liked Julie either. “I’ll gladly trade you.”

“I mean, sure, I fucking love chocolate mousse. My apartment is only three blocks away. I can hurry over there and put on your dress and heels and earrings or whatever you’re wearing, but I feel like Ryan might catch on.”

You laugh, your first real, involuntary, jolting laugh of the day. “Genius. Let’s do it.”

“You can say no,” Joe tells you, seriously now. This, as it turns out, is what a serious Joe Mazzello sounds like: warm, concerned, measured, his typically frenetic energy temporarily wrangled. “If he asks you to marry him and you want to say no, you can say no.”

“Okay,” you reply, taking a deep breath, resolved.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll say no.”

“Cool.” Joe sounds pleased; proud, even.

“Alright. I’m gonna go. Thanks, Joe. Seriously. Thank you so much.”

“No problem. You can mop up my next honey mustard spill as a show of gratitude.”

“Deal,” you say with a smile, and then you hang up.

Waiting for you back at the table is the moustached waiter cheerfully playing a violin, Ryan’s luminous grin, and a glass chalice full of chocolate mousse. Jesus christ. Chocolate fucking mousse.

Ryan motions for you to take a bite. You obediently sit down, pick up your spoon with a quaking hand, dip it into the center of the chocolate mousse...and lift out a diamond ring. You unleash a gasp of horror that Ryan mistakes for—or, perhaps, is determined to believe is—elation.

Ryan plucks the ring off your spoon, wipes it clean with a red cloth napkin, and slips out of his chair to kneel at your feet. Blood is pounding frantically in your ears. Your courage has evaporated. Your legs feel numb, jellylike, boneless. How the hell are you going to walk out of here after you say no? How the hell are you going to say no at all?

Ryan is reciting some generic, Hallmark-card speech. The other restaurant patrons are beaming, clapping, already assuming your answer. Ryan asks you the question. Your trembling hand is now resting at the base of your flushed throat like a noose. Your words are ghosts.

“I...” you sputter. “I...um...”

“Go ahead,” Ryan says, nodding, smooth and undaunted. And suddenly you know that Joe was right; every single part of this was planned. Ryan turns to the crowd. “Aw, folks, give her a hand, she’s shy!”

And as they cheer and whistle encouragingly, as Ryan waits for your acquiescence, as your hope for those things you’ve only caught glimpses of begins to wither like autumn leaves, someone steps between you and Ryan and fills up the hollow, hungry space left by your silence. It’s Joe.

“No no no,” he tells Ryan. His voice is ostensibly matter-of-fact and yet formidable. “She’s not shy. She’s just trying to figure out her answer. And she doesn’t need some random strangers in a French restaurant to help her out with that.” Joe looks at you and raises his eyebrows. “Go ahead. Whenever you’re ready.”

“What the...?!” Ryan exclaims, his eyes shifting from you to Joe. The other patrons are extremely bewildered. The waiter’s violin playing screeches to a halt.

“No,” you say, your courage flooding back in, a slow smile igniting across your face.

Ryan doesn’t understand. “No...?”

“No. My answer is no. The past two years have been nice, but this is over now. I’m not right for you, Ryan. You’re not right for me either. And I think you know that. So goodbye.”

You stand, sling your purse over your shoulder, and follow Joe out of L’amour Vrai; but not before you yank off your silver high heels and leave them there on the restaurant floor. The other guests are in scandalized uproar now. Ryan is still kneeling, furious and in shock. Outside it is bitingly cold and your breath turns to fog in the night air; the chilly concrete sidewalk soothes the aching soles of your feet.

Joe is ecstatic, his eyes gleaming under the streetlights as you walk together. “That was incredible! Did you see his face?! He totally thought he was going to be able to bully you into saying yes and you were not having it, you are a beast my dear, I hope some of those people put you on TikTok, I hope you get TikTok famous for being freaking awesome, then you can get rich and buy a mansion and let me live in the pool house and I’ll never have to work or suffer another honey-mustard-related catastrophe again—”

“Joe.” You stop him abruptly, resting a palm against his chest, gazing up at him beneath the cold stars. And after a moment he understands, and he kisses you. You catch more than a glimpse of those beautiful things you’d feared might not exist. They light up like the goddamn Eiffel Tower.

“I’ve wanted that for six months,” Joe says as he pulls away, softly, shakily, smiling almost shyly.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I think I have too.”

Joe takes your face in his hands and kisses you again. He tastes like heat and harmony and laughter and Skittles; but more than all of that, he tastes like love.

[phis-corner]

tightrope (songfic)

Some people long for a life that is simple and planned

Tied with a ribbon

Some people won't sail the sea 'cause they're safer on land

To follow what's written

“Marinette, this is Dick, our son. He’s also training on trapeze, and since he’s your age, we decided to instruct you together.” Mary tells her.

Four-year-old Marinette Dupain-Cheng beams and holds out her hand. “Hello! I’m Marinette. It’s nice to meet you!”

The boy, who has dark hair and the bluest eyes she’s ever seen, takes it and smiles brightly. “I’m Dick. It’s nice to meet you too.”

That was the beginning of a long journey. Mary and John, Dick’s parents, otherwise known as the Flying Graysons, instructed them in the art of trapeze for two years before they performed in their first show at age six. Robin and Swallow soared through the air, twisting and flipping as they propelled their bodies with the bars. They received the loudest applause, second only to the Flying Graysons themselves.

But I'd follow you to the great unknown

Off to a world we call our own

Marinette and Dick spent their days flying off the bars, throwing and catching each other and playful competition. Swallow and Robin, Haly’s youngest performers, continued to greet the crowd with joyful smiles wherever they went.

Dick was her best friend. They did nearly everything together, whether it be snacking on funnel cake or seeing who could do more backflips in a row. All the performers and staff at Haly’s knew they were inseparable.

Or so they thought, anyway. All good things must come to a close.

Hand in my hand

And we promised to never let go

We're walking a tightrope

High in the sky

We can see the whole world down below

We're walking a tightrope

One day, when they were eight, her parents, who ran the catering service, received the news. Her grandfather, who owned a bakery in Paris, had died and left it to Tom. They were going to move to France to manage the bakery.

She was going to leave the circus. Marinette was going to leave the feeling of weightless flight, the joy of tumbling through the air, behind.

Marinette was going to leave Dick behind.

She didn’t want to leave. But there was nothing she could do. The bakery needed someone to take over, and that someone was her parents. At least she was fluent in French, as well as Romani.

On their last day, she and Dick clutched each other like the world was ending, which, in a way, it was. Haly’s was a travelling circus, which meant that they didn’t use phones and letters were almost impossible to send.

“Don’t forget me.” Marinette whispered, blinking away her tears. “If you’re ever in Paris, expect me to be there.”

“I will. Don’t you dare forget me either.” Dick replied, trying hard to keep his own tears at bay.

“Marinette, sweetie, it’s time to go.” Sabine said gently. Reluctantly, the two children pulled apart and said their last words to each other for another eight years. 

Only when they landed in France did Marinette allow herself to cry, to mourn the loss of her first partner.

Never sure, never know how far we could fall

But it's all an adventure

That comes with a breathtaking view

Walking a tightrope with you

With you

With you

Paris was… different. After spending her entire life travelling the world, Marinette was finally rooted down in one place. And she was lonely. 

Sure, she had friends, but Marinette found herself searching the people around her for a playful smile, kind blue eyes, and gleaming dark hair. She missed her best friend, missed doing flips and twists on the trapeze with him.

Her parents signed her up for gymnastics. It wasn’t the same.

At night, she would stare at the night sky from her balcony, and imagine that, wherever Dick was in the world, he was doing the same. 

There was a gaping hole in Dick’s life, wherever he went. She had taken up so much of it, and now that Marinette was in France, he noticed her absence at every turn.

The first time he performed as a Flying Grayson instead of Robin, without Sparrow at his side, tears threatened to spill over his smile. It got more bearable over time, but only just. Every time he took to the skies on the trapeze, even when he saw a little girl eating funnel cake. Everything reminded him of dark blue hair and gleaming bluebell eyes, tiny freckles and a smile like the sun itself.

He found himself looking at the night sky more often than not, identifying the constellations and thinking of her.

A year later, he stood over his parents’ limp bodies and a growing pool of blood, and wished that she were there to comfort him like she always was, and not living in a bakery in Paris.

Dick donned a mask and cape and his family’s colors and became Robin again, but this time as a sidekick to Batman, helping him take down criminals and bring them to justice. He soared through the skies at night with his grappling hook, even doing a quadruple somersault off Wayne Enterprises, but it just wasn’t the same as before.

Marinette became Ladybug at thirteen.

She was suddenly thrust into a world of heroes and villains, a world of magical jewelry and evil butterflies and mini gods that granted you powers. She spent her days at school or fighting akumas, her nights on patrol incorporating extra flips in between every swing, remembering a time where another boy, with black hair instead of blonde, and blue eyes instead of green, soared alongside her.

Marinette gave Adrien his umbrella back the next day. Alya thought she had a crush on the blonde, but she couldn’t bring herself to forget Dick. If she tried to see Adrien romantically, she would just see another boy over him. 

A boy she hadn’t seen in five years.

Mountains and valleys, and all that will come in between

Desert and ocean

You pulled me in and together we're lost in a dream

Always in motion

Robin formed the Young Justice along with Aqualad, Kid Flash, Superboy, and Miss Martian when he was nearly thirteen. Half a year later, the League sends them to Paris to investigate a potential threat.

They prepared for a lot of things, but seeing a huge baby with terrible color coordination knock over the Eiffel Tower was not one of them. A girl dressed in red with black polka dots that fought with a yoyo and a boy clad in black leather with cat ears on his head were not accounted for either.

Robin noticed the way the female heroine almost flies through the air, like she’s been doing it her entire life.

Ladybug and Chat Noir were grateful for the added help during akuma attacks. Hawkmoth was caught and revealed to be Gabriel Agreste within another three months. Chat, who turned out to be his son Adrien, gave up his miraculous after that. He just wanted to live a normal life. 

Robin and his teammates offered Ladybug a spot on their team, and the League approved of their choice. Ladybug accepted, and moved into Mount Justice not long after.

Ladybug was surprised the first time the Young Justice showed up to an attack, but she easily worked them into her plan and captured the akuma. They offered their resources and skills to fight the akumas faster and track down Hawkmoth. Gabriel Agreste was arrested not long after, and Adrien no longer wanted to be a hero after that, which was understandable.

Master Fu transferred Guardianship to her following Hawkmoth’s defeat and Young Justice, backed by the Justice League, offered her a spot on their team. Ladybug agreed, as she was now the Guardian and not escaping the hero's life anytime soon, nor was she willing to leave it.

Marinette told her parents about Ladybug, and gained their approval to move into Mount Justice. To her classmates in Paris, she told them she was going to America to study.

Ladybug rotated through various miraculouses throughout the day to keep her identity hidden, for the time being. She still wasn’t comfortable with so many people knowing, even after telling her parents. Luckily, Robin was the same. From what she gathered, only Kid Flash knew his identity.

She tried hard to ignore the pang in her heart every time she saw the dark-haired, cheerful boy, dressed in the Flying Graysons’ colors with her partner’s name. Because there was no way that this Robin was Dick.

Dick, as far as she knew, was still in Haly’s with his parents. Not dividing his time between Gotham City and Mount Justice. Not being a partner to the rest of the Young Justice team and the sidekick to the Dark Knight, whom he called his father.

So I risk it all just to be with you

And I risk it all for this life we choose

Ladybug proved herself useful to the team, calling up her Lucky Charm in the stickiest solutions and always finding a way out. She was clever and quick to think on her feet in battle, choosing to outwit her opponents instead of beating them through brute force. When it was needed, she would merge with another miraculous or use a completely different form, whatever was necessary for them to win. The Tiger miraculous proved extremely useful for covert op missions.

She also constantly baked treats for everyone. Ladybug taught M’gann how to actually bake a good cake, and would give them pastries when they looked like they needed to be cheered up.

They also discovered that being the Guardian came with new powers. Robin received a fairly deep cut on his right arm from a mission, but Ladybug stopped him from stitching it up, instead muttering an incantation in an unrecognizable language. Her fingers glowed white, and she traced them over the wound, closing it instantly, not even leaving a scar behind.

When Marinette wasn’t baking for her teammates or designing, she found herself heading to the training room. The room had a wide variety of resources, including trapeze equipment. She walks into the room in her Multimouse transformation, as to give Tikki a break, and freezes in place.

Robin is swinging on the trapeze, sailing through the air with a carefree smile on his face and doing a quadruple somersault- the Flying Graysons’ signature move- like it was second nature. He moves with an elegance that she has only ever seen in one other person, and all of a sudden, the name, the colors, the familiar energy, everything makes sense.

Multimouse warms up as fast as she can, and climbs up the rungs to the platform opposite him with a grin. She recognizes the routine, the one they used to do back in the day as Robin and Sparrow at Haly’s. Without missing a beat, she launches herself onto the bar, seamlessly picking up where he was and weaving herself in.

When the time comes for her to let go and for him to catch her, she gives him a trusting smile and releases her hold, soaring, flying forward, right into his hands, which clasp around her wrists in an achingly familiar way. I’ve found you at last.

Robin- Dick- grins at her, and Multimouse smiles back, as wide as she can, because she’s finally found him again, after so many years apart. 

Hand in my hand

And you promised to never let go

We're walking a tightrope

High in the sky

We can see the whole world down below

We're walking a tightrope

When Robin has a bit of free time at Mount Justice, he finds himself climbing the rungs to the trapeze platform and immersing himself in the old routine he used to do with her. The lively dance they used to do in the air is still cheerful, but without a partner, it’s more melancholy than he’d like to admit.

He notices Multimouse walk in and freeze when she sees him. This was the first time she’d seen him on trapeze, so Robin assumes it’s just the shock. He lets go of the bar and easily turns a quadruple somersault with an exhilarated smile on his face before grabbing the bar again.

Multimouse climbs up to the opposite platform with a smile, and easily falls into the routine alongside him. She does Sparrow’s flips and twists with the grace of a person born to fly and an overjoyed smile on her face.

For a while, Robin swings through the air with his first friend and first partner. When the time comes, Multimouse- Marinette- easily lets go of her bar and soars towards him, a trusting smile on her face, and he grins brilliantly back, hands clasping her wrists tight. I’ve found you at last. The message resonates between them, and he launches her back into the air towards her own bar, laughing as she flips twice before grabbing it.

They are so immersed in their aerial dance, so immersed in each other, that they don’t see the rest of the team enter to watch the two birds fly. 

Marinette’s eyes shine with laughter and joy as she takes in the sight of the one she wished she could share the entire world with. Dick’s smile could melt ice with its brilliance as he sees the person he’s missed every single day for six years.

When they both land on the floor as the routine ends, Dick immediately pulls her into a hug, squeezing her as tight as he can. She returns it with just as much, if not more, strength.

“Mari.” He whispers. “It’s you. I found you again.”

“Dick. Robin, mon oiseau. I’ve missed you so much.” Marinette replies, a single happy tear slipping down her cheek.

In the heat of the moment, she makes an impulsive decision and yanks him down by his cape and presses her lips to his. Dick eagerly returns the kiss, and soon, they’re clutching each other like the world is ending (though it was quite the opposite) and their lips firmly glued together, sending bursts of warmth through them.

Wally clears his throat, and they spring apart, only just noticing the other people in the room. “What exactly happened? You guys were doing this super cool trapeze thing like you’ve been practicing it together for years, then you’re saying stuff about ‘finding each other’ and making out like your life depends on it?”

Multimouse and Robin turn bright red, but their smiles stay on their faces. “Well, uh, how do I explain this?” Multimouse turns to Robin, who gives her a thumbs up. “Basically, today was asterous, as Robin would say. As it turns out, our civilian identities were childhood friends and grew up performing in the circus together. I had to move to France when I was eight and we lost contact after that. I was going to train in the gym when I saw Robin doing our old routine, and then everything just sort of clicked and I realized it was him.”

Robin chuckles, wrapping an arm around her waist. “That just about sums it up. I knew it was her when Mouse just seamlessly joined the routine. Although I was suspicious after that last mission. Nobody pulls off a flyaway like Sparrow.”

Multimouse lightly punched his shoulder. “Says the one who does a quadruple somersault as easily as he breathes.” They leaned in for a second kiss, smiling, and the team took that as their cue to leave them be.

Never sure. Will you catch me if I should fall?

Well, it's all an adventure

That comes with a breathtaking view

Marinette, detransformed for once with one of Dick’s domino masks over her face, sits on top of Mount Justice with her partner by her side, enjoying the night sky from their location.

She leans into him, and Dick pulls her in close, huddled under a blanket as they watch the stars glimmer over Happy Harbor.

“You know,” Marinette says quietly, “I used to look at the sky every night in Paris and hope that you were seeing the same stars that I was.”

Dick laughs, such a beautiful sound, blue eyes sparkling. “Really? I used to look at the night sky and think of you too, lubirea mia. It’s so interesting, how things work out.”

“One could say it was… whelming? Did I use that right?” Marinette reaches up and pushes a stray lock of midnight hair out of his face.

Her boyfriend simply chuckles and pulls her in for a kiss as the sun slowly makes the horizon burst with color, shedding its light on a beautiful world.

Walking a tightrope with you

With you

With you

With you

With you

With you

[scribbleb-red]

Neil is a lying liar who lies AU

A Morning AU - with a fab prompt from @djhedy

There’s a new boy in Andrew’s class and there’s something not quite right about him. He’s mouthy and sharp, the kinda kid that should end up in detention three times a week but never does.

They are seven years old, though the new kid looks five, with eyes like a wide open sky. 

He is very pretty - that’s why Andrew notices him first - he looks like a fairy prince. 

And it’s because Andrew is watching that he notices though: the kid is a big bad lying liar who lies. 

The day he joined, the kid said his name was ‘Stefan’ to Mrs Stewart and ‘Chris’ to Mr Brasenose. The next day he was just ‘Neil’ and was given a fond, exasperated warning to keep his make believe in the playground. 

 But the kid didn’t stop lying.

Some lies were big and others were small. 

On a Tuesday, Neil announced that he’d had a huge feast for breakfast - listing all the foods and making everyone’s mouth water with the descriptions. (But Andrew saw how he winced nd held his stomach like it was empty.)

On a Thursday, Neil said he grew up in England and proceeded to spend the next week speaking in a post English accent. (But he later admits at lunch it was just a couple months).

On a Friday, Neil whispers that his house is haunted and he’s scared to go home for the weekend. (There’s a little too much truth shining through those eyes as he talks about the ghost in his house. Andrew doesn’t doubt that he’s scared of something).

The following Monday, Neil explains his bruises by saying he spent the week learning to skateboard. 

“My cousin visited and let me use her skate board. It was pretty rad.” 

(Andrew eyes the split lip, it could be true. But then he sees the hand shape around Neil’s thin wrist and knows the truth: it’s a lie.)

Through it all, Andrew is very quiet and very alone. He knows how this goes - he’s seven years old with more cracks in his heart than a fifty year romantic - but he kinda enjoys Neil’s lies and how he gets away with them.

He particularly likes the outrageous ones: 

My father parachuted into Paris because he’s a spy. He died landing on the Eiffel Tower. I once wrestled a monster. I won but it stole all my mom’s apples. I’m telling the truth. My tongue goes green when I lie. I met Kevin Day.

Andrew won’t pretend he’s not intrigued. He thinks Neil is interesting and his lies are ones he can often hold in the dark, imagining over and over when he’s hurt and wishing to be anyone, anywhere but here.

Plus Neil is funny - he always snarks at the teachers and gets away with the most ridiculous things. Other kids always want to play with him because his games are brilliant - epic journeys, castles and wizards, magical tigers, patchwork villains made from the skin of children. 

Some of Neil’s tall tales are part fairytales, part nightmares.  And Andrew isn’t sure which part Neil actually belongs to. There are times where he’s the brightest, prettiest boy on the playground. And times where his eyes are haunted, mouth wicked cruel. And then there are times like today, where Neil is quiet and blank - a little too familiar to what Andrew sees in the mirror these days, looking like someone has scooped out his insides and left nothing but darkness behind in its wake. 

Andrew almost talks to him then. 

Almost.

But he doesn't. Not for another few weeks. Not until Neil's facing down Greg Doyle - the fight has the vibe of a hissing kitten against a rottweiler. 

 There's no way Neil can win. Greg is a third grader and big beside. 

But Neil doesn't look scared. He looks ferocious.

Not that appearances are going to help. Neil could have the sharpest claws of them all and he'd still weigh nothing against Greg. Neil dodges and ducks the first few blows. He snipes and snarks, that liar's mouth rattling off stories of how he took down a SWAT team once.

But dumb luck can’t do everything and finally Greg gets a thump in, straight across Neil’s jaw - hard enough to make him stagger. 

"So much for a SWAT team, fucking liar." 

There are gasps at the bad word from the growing first and second grade audience. 

"Tongue turns green," Neil says. He spits out blood.

Andrew's had enough when he sees the blood. 

Neil might be an idiot but Andrew knows that there's no way to win this one on alone He steps forward and puts himself between Neil and Greg. 

"Oooo who's this, your boyfriend?" 

Andrew would roll his eyes, but can't be bothered. He is the tallest kid in their year at nearly 4'5. He can look the nine year old Greg in the eye without trouble and he can see the bigger kid calculating his chances of taking Andrew on instead of the skinny little creature that was Neil "motor mouth" Josten.

"Back off," he says. He doesn't inflect. He watched a cartoon where a character spoke completely flat and it was really scary so he figures this might make Greg cower too. "Leave him alone."

Greg nearly steps into Andrew's space but someone has started a whisper: 

Andrew Doe is the kid who killed his parents. Andrew Doe is the kid that burned a house down. Andrew Doe is the kid who took on Bertie Becker from fifth grade and flushed his head down the loo.

It's the last one that gives away the source of these rumours - Neil has started a chain of Chinese whispers. And Greg hears them swirling from mouth to mouth, ear to ear, each more terrifying than the last. It makes Andrew want to grin, so he does. Greg actually whimpers.

The crowd laughs when Greg runs away - he can’t save face when he’s fleeing from a first grader. 

Andrew feels triumphant. 

 Especially when Neil steps up beside him, shy smile and summer sky eyes. “Thanks Andrew.” 

 Neil Josten knows his name, Andrew thinks. Wow wow wow.

Neil’s mouth is swollen but he’s still the prettiest boy in the playground so Andrew doesn’t say anything. 

“Want to play a game?” Neil says. 

 Andrew shrugs. 

 “Yes or no?” Neil says again. “I won’t force you but I’d like to play with you to if you’d like to play with me.”

Andrew thinks about it before saying yes. 

It’s the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

*

They start with games - make believe quests and imaginary journeys. They visit magical worlds in their heads and fall about laughing when one of them (mostly Andrew) doesn’t break character even for class.

They become inseparable - two boys with home lives full of ghosts but dreams that can take them anywhere. The lying liar is the better story teller but the stoic hero a better actor. And sometimes in games they hide their truths - violent families and horrifying pasts.

Neil shows Andrew his scars, “I sometimes say they’re from a shark or ninjas and stuff but...” 

“That’s from an iron.” 

“Yeah.”

In turn, Andrew tells Neil about his foster family. 

“We could poison him,” Neil says. “I heard we can make poison from apple cores. Applesenic or something.”

If only it were that simple.

It happens just before the end of the year - summer is nearly there and Andrew can only imagine how fun it'll be having a friend to adventure with for the first time. And then he finds out that his foster family is getting rid of him. He'll be packed off at the end of term.

"I think mom and I will move too," Neil admits. "We never hang around anywhere long." 

"Because of your dad?" 

"Yeah..." Neil plays with the hem of his t-shirt. "He's in prison but mom is still terrified. She moves us a lot." 

"Maybe you can move to the same place as me."

They pretend that the world isn't going to split them apart. 

They pretend that they're going to have the summer together. 

And the year after. 

That they'll start middle school together. 

And be best friends all the way to the end of high school.

And go to the same college.

"We could play exy together all the way through," Neil says. It's his new obsession. 

"I'm not going to play stickball. I prefer playing games with you." 

"We can play games on the court. You can be the fierce dragon and I'll be the knight that looks after you."

"You'd steal all my dragon gold." 

"Would not." 

Andrew raises one eyebrow. 

"Okay, yes I would. I'd be the knight trying to take your gold. But I'd be sneaky about it." Neil's laughter is high and bright. "Does that mean you'll play with me?" 

"Yeah okay," Andrew says.

But it doesn't work out that way. 

Neil vanishes like sun behind a mountain the day after term ends. 

Andrew's bags are packed. He's dumped in a new home near the beach. He hates the beach. He misses Neil the way his lungs miss oxygen when he's stuck in the swell of a wave.

He does play exy though. 

He does it because he figures one day he'll find Neil on a court too. 

He'll either face him down or by some miracle they'll be on the same team. 

He'll find Neil again. He will.  

He tells himself this every day. 

Even when it feels like a lie.

*

Something like an epilogue

Years pass before Andrew hears anything about the little boy who - for two semesters when he was seven - was his best friend. So many years that if it weren't for one polaroid from a cheeky arcade photo-booth, he might have let the idea of Neil go.

But he keeps the photo with him - through home after home, through Cass and Drake and juvie and Aaron and Nicky. He hides it in books, folds it into pockets. Makes sure to hold onto Neil and the memories of those few happy months.

He plays exy. Keeps track of other teams and their players. The sport does nothing for him - but sometimes he closes his eyes and imagines Neil with his flashing blue eyes mischievous smile and that long ago conversation. He remembers why he's doing this.

At 13, he asks Pig Higgins to do a search on Neil's name but the policeman refuses. 

At 14, he goes through the entire directory for California and when that's exhausted, he starts searching every state from West to East. 

He calls 362 Jostens across the USA. None are Neil.

When he turns 16, he uses a fake and has two small dragons outlined on the top of his left shoulder. 

When he's 17 he meets Riko and Kevin Day. He remembers Neil once saying he'd met Kevin and wonders if that was true or just one of Neil's many many lies. He turns the Ravens down.

He signs two weeks later with the Palmetto State Foxes - taking his brother and cousin with him. 

He watches as the lists of drafted players on other teams go up. There's no Chris or Stefan or Abram - not with the matching face Andrew wants. There's no sign of a Neil Josten.

Andrew smooths out the photo at night, slipping it between the pages of Whitman's Leaves of Grass every morning. 

Maybe it's time to put the memory of Neil to rest, but he can't. 

Neil is one of those beautiful ghosts that he can't help but hold onto. The one unspoilt thing in his memory.

Unspoilt, that is, until a Monday when Kevin Day announces he's recruiting a nobody from a nothing town in the middle of nowhere Arizona and the nobody's name is Neil.

"Neil what?" 

"Josten. Want to see his tape?" 

"Nope," Andrew says. But his heart is a thunderdrum, hope cutting through the medicated hyper mania easy as a knife through butter. "Actually yes, gimme the tapes little birdie." 

Kevin grimaces at his nickname but says nothing until they’re watching the tape. And then he can’t shut up about the player’s potential, his speed and natural flare on the Court. 

It's not Andrew’s Neil. 

But it is too. 

The striker on the court is a brunette with dark eyes but he runs like Neil. He's ferocious and plays like it's the last thing keeping him afloat. He has that little flick of his racquet before he goes to score, a telltale that would never get passed Andrew but no one else seemed to have noticed. 

Andrew says as much to Kevin. 

"Exactly," Kevin says. "That's why we have to have him."

So they go to Millport. 

And Andrew knows Neil well enough to anticipate that he'll run. 

Knows him well enough to trip him with a racquet and catch him as he falls. 

Neil hasn't grown much either - he's still small and sharp and far too pretty to be real.

"Stupid little liar, you should watch where you put your feet." Andrew wishes he were sober. Wishes he didn't have to greet Neil with this grin splitting his face. 

Wishes wishes wishes. 

But his one wish has already come true, Neil is here with him. Warm and lithe and alive.

"Drew?" Neil says, but the word is choked and breathless. Neil’s voice does something to Andrew’s insides and Andrew feels the muscles beneath his hands warring between flight and relief. 

"Neil," he replies. 

"Oh my god, Drew." 

And then Neil's arms are around Andrew's shoulders, and his face is turning into his neck and Andrew realises they're hugging and he shouldn't want to hug back but he does. He does because it's Neil. His friend. His pipe dream. The little boy with the pathological need to lie and an imagination that could create whole worlds from a handful of dust. 

He hugs Neil tight. 

Never wants to let go.

Kevin of course ruins the moment. 

But Neil isn't going to say no to the Foxes. Not now. 

And even though Andrew can recognise the lies slipping passed Neil's lips, he doesn't tell Wymack. Doesn't call out his idiot's new ouchies. Doesn't answer any questions when Kevin demands answers.

"Sign," he speaks only to Neil. He means, Stay with me. "We can play a game. Yes or no?" 

"Yes," Neil says and his smile is a little wild, a lot wonderful. "Let's play a game."

The End.

[whirlybirdwhat]

East Sea of Monsters - Chapter 22

Jimbe has always dreamed of suns

--

Shoutout to the wonderful @soccersarah01 who beta’d this fic for me - love you!!!

-

Read the entire series on Ao3 for better quality and author’s notes, especially warnings for content within the fic!! Tag “Ficart” on my blog should also show some fanart and podfics for this fic, as well as the link to translations! give them some love!

Sun - Jimbe

-

Jimbe is the first son of the sea, and he has always dreamed of suns.

Bright, red and bloody – passionate declarations of dreams and something better. A cry of understanding, in the one burned onto his chest, and a shout to the dream of a queen, a race, a kingdom - heralded overhead in bright colors, lighting up the sky.

Suns are red, and yellow, and orange.

Suns mean freedom – mean something better than this.

In his dreams, Jimbe is always reaching out to them. His webbed hand reaching and reaching – for the horizon, for a flag, for his queen, for Fisher Tiger, for something more.

He never seems to reach it.

All he has, when he wakes up, is his hand clutching his own heart, his own personal sun.

It isn’t the same. He’s never grasped that red sun.

Yet now –

Now, in a battlefield beneath a darkened sky, in a war with death in every heartbeat, in a massacre, a hell, Jimbe holds a dying sun.

This sun – it is not red, or bloody, or bright.

This sun is dark, and dying, and a supernova of the deepest pits of hell.

Jimbe holds Luffy as he explodes into something Jimbe can’t quite see, ripping past the Veil and into oblivion; watches Luffy erupt into grief covered by a brother’s blood, holding a sun brighter, and darker, and far more terrifying than anything Jimbe’s eyes have ever seen before.

(There’s something wet running down his face. He thinks his eyes are bleeding.)

Portgas D. Ace dies in his brother’s arms, a burning hellfire finally flickering out, and Jimbe can finally hold the sun.

(As men die and admirals fall, and the world is shaken apart by a grief and monster with insatiable hunger, he wishes he couldn’t.)

-

When Jimbe fights him for the first and last time, Ace is as the sun incarnate - the sun burning - even as he chokes on his own ashes and flares through sea water.

Jimbe had wondered, at first, what kind of strength it took for a devil fruit user to use his powers through the hate of the sea. It wasn’t a kind of strength he had attributed to the young warlord.

Then, Jimbe remembers the bones shaped into the hull of the Spadille; remembers the way Ace cracks apart in the corner of his eyes, and thinks it isn’t strength at all.

He knows the stories of the East. Every fishman does – the way waters corrupt, the way the waters are dark, and the way that monsters lurk beneath their surface, far deadlier than those at the bottom of the sea.

(They say the East has no seafloor – that it aches, forever, a wound into the world’s side, dark and infected. That it was the void from whence all hell poured forth, that it was death.)

Fisher Tiger had told him more, when he could bear to speak of it – monsters in chains, the way slaves and guards alike went missing in the night, the way people had sharper teeth than any animal, there, and were twice as bloody.

(Fisher Tiger hears the story of the bottomless East and laughs.

Dark waters, he says, eyes far away and hands aching for a weapon, are not endless. But you don’t want to know what’s at the bottom. Better it be endless, bottomless, then to know what’s there.

He doesn’t speak of the demon from the seafloor he met at the tower of gods.

Jimbe doesn’t ask.)

By the fire in Ace’s eyes and the unholy fire cracking from underneath his skin, there is no other sea that he could have possibly come from.

(A demon – a demon, a son of the devil-)

Jimbe fights Ace for five days. He hungers, and he thirsts, and he’s so tired, but Ace does not falter in the face of Jimbe’s sea, so he must keep going.

Jimbe burns, ropes of fire winding their way up his arms and down his back. Haki is useless when every hit cracks apart Ace’s skin, molding to his fists because of inhuman capability instead of any devil fruit, and the sea fears nothing but the devil.

(And it can only drown false ones.)

Ace lands a punch on the third day, one imbued with haki and fire and false fire. It hits Jimbe on the side of his face, and even as Ace stumbles and chokes on the way his skin cracks apart, Jimbe burns.

It cracks into his skin, searing apart scales and flesh, and he is marked by hellfire.

The other burns will fade, the ones littering his hands and feet, the ones made by false fire, devil fruit fire. The one on his face, burned into the side like a flame, and the ones wrapping around his forearms by scorching hands, will forever remain.

A reminder, some will say, but Jimbe will remember the way the flag burned at Fishman island by hellfire, and will know it is a sign of war to come.

Ace burns away the fog around them, on this island, showing the secrets of the world, and Jimbe fights surrounded by monstrous spades.

Monsters in human shape that tower above the trees, monsters without faces, monsters with too many teeth and too many limbs, monsters that smiled and cheered as their captain burned through saltwater.

Jimbe falls on the fifth day, a smile gracing his face toward an enemy that is so much more than him.

It is a miracle when Whitebeard arrives.

Otherwise Jimbe thinks he might have followed that sun to see where it may have set.

-

After Marineford, Jimbe shakes at night. He can’t speak of what he saw there, when the sun fell from the sky and became red and dark; when gouges were scarred into the ground and left bloody men in their wake.

After Marineford, Jimbe has another scar from a demon.

This one is not a mark of war.

It is a claim, directly around Jimbe’s heart, as if his future captain understood that the sun there was more precious than anything else.

(A dream)

It scares him, sometimes, that he wants to follow the man who fell the Navy - who ate the hearts and souls and flesh of admirals and spit them back out as dead men walking.

It scares him that he wants to follow Straw Hat Luffy, who wears a crown made of straw - made with room for the horns that sprout off his head -who will be king and who lives a trail of hell in his wake.

Jimbe does not remember Marineford well.

He does not remember –

(The island’s name no longer exists in his memory.

Don’t bring him there, Rayleigh had said, as they followed a submarine towards Amazon Lily. You will all be dead come morning.

Rayleigh smiled like a creature of the deep sometimes.

Jimbe wondered why he didn’t trust it.

Aye, Jimbe, fresh from a war, had agreed, and they didn’t go to Amazon Lily.

They went to–)

The aftermath, beyond the words that fought whatever beast lived in Luffy’s chest, born of loneliness and hell.

Jimbe shakes after Marineford, but now, under the sea, he will not forget the demon who saved an island.

(The brother of the demon who burned their flag.)

Luffy soars overheard, and defeats a legend made of wood and an army made of flesh. 1,000 men are unaccounted for in the aftermath.

Jimbe does not question it, and offers his blood to a demon who doesn’t need it.

(In the end, it wasn’t about blood anyway. It was about the things that bind men, the things like suns on Jimbe’s chest and the vows that still ring in his head.)

Luffy, full of teeth and bloody fangs, smiles at him, then, and Jimbe no longer belongs to himself.

-

In Impel Down, when Ace is chained to the wall next to Jimbe, the very first thing the demon does is laugh.

“It stayed!”

The scar on Jimbe’s face burns.

“You couldn’t bother to say hello?”

Ace laughs again, sparks flying out of his throat despite the sea stone wrapped around his limbs, and Jimbe knows that all the legends are true. “Why would I? There’s more important things going on.” He dismisses, and he is smiling, mouth glowing, despite their situation.

“Hmph,” Jimbe huffs, and settles down for the long wait.

Next to him, the breath of a demon settles into something slower, and though Jimbe’s eyes are long adjusted to the dark, the soft glow of Ace’s heart beat is a comfort.

(He wonders, when Fisher Tiger was chained next to monsters, if he ever felt this way.)

He does not sleep that first night in a cell with a demon. Jimbe, instead, listens to the thrumming of the sea outside his cell, and tries not to think about how the stone sinks around Ace and the hotness in his cell.

He tries not to think of the wet spots all over the walls, the gouges in the corner, and the way men enter and never leave Impel Down’s cold, cold walls.

Across from him, a man made of sand smirks, his hair still impossibly greased and jewels still lining his hand.

“So,” the Crocodile drawls, “They caught you too? A little hunger, picking us off one by one.”

Jimbe has heard how Monkey D. Luffy saved a country on the behest of a single friend; how the Crocodile was the first to fall and Moria didn’t come long after; how even the Marines whisper that he is hungry and Monkey D. Garp laughs at the lists of missing marines following Straw Hat battles.

A man, who hungered for the top.

Who hungered for dreams.

Odd, that Crocodile would assume Jimbe was next.

“No.” He says at last, the word drawn out. “No,” he repeats, and it echoes around the room, “he did not get me.”

The Crocodile cackles then, and it is nothing like Whitebeard’s Gurararara or King Neptune’s Hohohoho – it, instead, is dark like rumbling sands at night, without form or shape in the dark, and Jimbe shivers. “You will,” the Crocodile says. “You’re already marked for it.”

Jimbe has never met Monkey D. Luffy in his life, and the burn scars that arc about his face in a flaming pattern of death are invisible to his beloved crew, to the king, to anyone who isn’t–

Oh, Jimbe thinks and doesn’t say aloud, looking at the Crocodile once more. Oh.

He is glad Ace is the demon he is sharing his cell with.

Then, at the very least, he knows his heart won’t be ripped out of his chest while he sleeps.

-

On Fishman Island, at the bottom of the sea that is brighter than the East, there is a feast, and then a pirate challenges an emperor.

Jimbe is not surprised.

He cannot be.

(Hey, Jimbe, did’ya know I have a little brother?)

He can only watch, as a ship of dreams, of monsters, sails off into the sea without him; can only know that his home, his captain is leaving him.

(Aladine says Jimbe is different after Marineford – that every man who set foot upon that island is. It was war, Jimbe dismisses, but they have fought in wars before, have fought admirals before.

It’s different, fighting a demon, fighting with a demon, fighting for a demon.

It’s different when a demon eats you whole.)

Jimbe wants to go home.

-

Jimbe sees Garp the Fist once before Marineford.

It is in Impel Down, and he is crying from a thousand different eyes.

“Ace,” the grandfather of a dying child says, and it hurts. “Why, dammit! Why!”

His voice is like a choir of growls out of harmony. Still, Ace relaxes in his chains as if it were a lullaby.

“Gramps,” Ace acknowledges, and there is no anger there. “You know… you know why.”

Son of the Devil, Jimbe knows, but it’s more than that, isn’t it? More than Jimbe can see with two eyes made of mortality rather than death.

Garp crumbles, and it is as if Jimbe is seeing the fall of something great.

It’s horrible.

It won’t be the last one he sees today.

Garp leaves after that, to the chuckles of the Crocodile and the howls of the other inmates. There’s bloody marks and gouges on the ground where he was, but there is also something in Ace’s grasp.

It isn’t a key.

Jimbe can’t exactly see what it is, only that when Garp left Ace lunged for some empty spot on the ground, hand slipping out of a cuff with the ease of someone made molten, of someone with scars running down his hand due to a missing pinkie.

(How-?)

When Ace leaves, he leaves behind ash marks and burning droplets at Impel Down. He also leaves something feather soft, that Jimbe can’t quite see, but feels like the comfort of ages.

(Later, when Luffy arrives, he will look into the cell and see not Jimbe, but the place Ace left behind. He will pick up what Garp, what Ace, left between cell bars and he will not smile.

Instead, he will put it into his pocket to the sound of the Crocodile’s jeers.

Did’ya know I have a little brother? Ace had asked Jimbe.

(He knows, now.)

On the way up, when men are eaten alive, the Crocodile will slink next to Jimbe and whisper,

Did you know that the hungry one isn’t the first demon to break out of these walls?

And Jimbe will be left with the reminder that Impel Down has never been able to hold the monsters of the world–

And that they roam free.)

-

At Marineford, Jimbe stood with an emperor against three admirals (stood with men against a monster).

(Or so he is told.)

Now, he stands before an Emperor and does not shake.

A man who is to follow the future king of the pirates, a man who is to follow Luffy, a demon who has daggers in his mouth and boiling blood in his veins, cannot afford to be afraid of a mere emperor.

Big Mom’s eyes are hungry as she stares into Jimbe, but he does not flinch.

He is claimed - by marks around his own personal sun, by a king, by a monster, by a conqueror.

He is not Big Mom’s any longer.

He never was, from the moment Luffy looked into his eyes and took him.

(Jimbe cannot afford to be afraid of  a mere hunger any longer. )

An emperor rages, a deal is done,  and Luffy laughs so bright and loud it burns like the sun, as chaos reigns again, conforming to his will.

Jimbe has never felt so alive –

(Not since before Marineford – not since before the world fell apart.)

-

Jimbe sees Luffy and Ace together twice in his lifetime.

One is at Marineford, when brothers fought together, when the sun went out and the world went black.

(He does not remember it well – Ace’s smile was something almost too private to bear, even as blasts of Conqueror’s Haki illuminated the truth.)

The second, again, is at Marineford, but in it’s bloody aftermath.

When Luffy rings in an era, blood scarred on to his arm by his own hands - a call to his crew, to his family - he stops by the place where his brother died.

Jimbe wonders if this was what Loguetown was like, to see a king stand in ashes.

(The Devil King did not cry at Loguetown, only laughed.

Luffy is crying.)

He sees Luffy cradle bits of Ace’s bonfire in his arms, the only person who could bear to touch it, and sees brothers reunite for one last time.

(There is a chill over Marineford, as Luffy draws in the ashes of Ace’s own body turned funeral pyre. Jimbe can’t read what he writes, but there is a spark, somewhere, in Luffy’s eyes, and something in the air breathes more easily.)

Days after, Marineford sinks to the bottom of the sea, its ravines and cracks from a monster's grief too terrible to sustain – Luffy’s rage, his echoing cry for a new era, is its final send off.

Jimbe wonders if the Eastern sailors found their way home, at the bottom of the sea.

(There’s no sun down at the bottom of the sea.

Jimbe would hate to drown like that.)

-

In the middle of a raging ocean just off of an Emperor’s domain, Jimbe is home, he’s home he’s home he’s home, aboard this ship of dreams but–

He can’t stay.

He can’t.

There is an emperor chasing them, and Jimbe is not scared and he is strong, but his crew–

His beloved crew–

They love him.

He cannot abandon them here, to the mercy of hungry monsters.

(He cannot take them with him, to the crew of a hungry demon.)

Jimbe tells Luffy, soaked and shaking, as such.

“I CANNOT ABANDON THEM NOW!”

And Luffy–

Luffy, who Jimbe held dying in a battlefield that hazes from his memory, who Jimbe watched rise, who went a dark supernova–

Becomes a sun again.

“JIMBE!” Luffy says, and his teeth are snarling and his eyes are hungry, “I AM YOUR CAPTAIN NOW!”

And Jimbe finally holds the red sun of dreams in his grasp.

(Jimbe is the first son of the sea, and his dream is the sun.

Red, bloody, and free.)

[pumpkinpatchkid]

Got Your Back - 001

Pairing: Atsushi x F!Reader Soulmates

Rating: 18+ (eventually)

Warnings: Reckless behaviour, toxic thoughts, parental abuse, clothes being destroyed (no nudity), cursing, PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF ANYTHING ELSE NEEDS TO BE PUT IN THE WARNINGS <3

Soul mates. The one person that always had your back, literally and figuratively. When you’re born, there’s a permanent mark on your back that represents the person you’re destined to spend the rest of your life with. If one was a gifted, like yourself, there was an almost one hundred percent possibility you were paired up with another. Those who didn’t possess supernatural abilities had the thing that their soulmate treasured the most on their back. From birth, the large white tiger was prominent against your skin, and it grew with you, your whole life. At 18, it had covered the entirety of your back, yet the person it represented still hadn’t entered your life.

When? When will I meet them? You sighed as you examined the large feline in the mirror. Another morning, another search for a job to keep you going. It had been 3 weeks since you’d run from your parents and ended up in Yokohama. 3 weeks was all it took for the money you had run with to dwindle as you paid for a rundown little shack to keep yourself alive.

You tore yourself away from your reflection and began to rummage through your small duffel bag of clothes, hoping you still had some job-searching appropriate attire. At the bottom of the bag, you pulled out a neatly folded white shirt and your nicest black jeans, throwing them on after picking your freshly washed “lucky underwear set” from the line.

You ran your fingers through your hair, and pulled on your battered boots, making do before grabbing your key and half charged phone off the side, leaving the shack quietly and locking the door behind you.

You made your way down the trail that led into Yokohama’s smaller side of town and started your search for job openings in every window you passed. You weren’t entirely sure how much time had passed on your search, but your hopes began to fade.

Looks like another loss.

As you gazed into the buildings, you found yourself losing touch with reality, which you were brought back to as you walked straight into somebody.

“I’m so sorry” You instinctively said, looking at the floor as if ready for your punishment. The person you ran into began to laugh. You looked up to find a tall, beautiful brunette, with bandages poking out from under his shirt. He offered you a hand.

“No, I’m the one to apologize, pretty thing. Name’s Dazai Osamu.” You nodded and took his hand, where he began examining yours.

“Y/N L/N.” You watched this Dazai man carefully, as he investigated your palm, knuckles, fingers and wrist. He hummed and dropped your hand, seemingly satisfied.

“Is... everything okay, Dazai-san?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. He nodded, and a charming, yet mischievous grin spread across his face.

“So, L/N-chan. I’ll help you with whatever you’re looking for, and then you have to strangle me.” He beamed, as if proud of the proposal he just gave you. Your jaw slacked and you looked at him as if he’d grown 3 heads.

“S-Strangle you??” You sputtered out. Dazai nodded with a newfound enthusiasm and threw his hands into the air.

“To death!” He sang. Your face paled as you watched him. Then you began to laugh.

This man has well and truly lost his mind. You shrugged, re-composing yourself and hummed.

“I suppose I could humour you, Dazai-san. Say you could find me a job? If you can help me do that then we’ll figure out where to go from there.” You laughed as Dazai punched the air victoriously, eyes brimming with tears.

What a weirdo... You rolled your eyes when he turned his back to you and raised your eyebrow once again as he started to walk off into the now expanding crowd.

“I hear there’s lots of jobs going on the other side of here. Why don’t I accompany you?” He grinned, gesturing for you to follow his lead. You smiled at the eccentric man ahead of you and began to take your stride next to him. The walk was pleasant and filled with chatter. Dazai had guessed that you hadn’t been in Yokahoma long. He’d said you’d looked a little lost and claimed that’s why he “flew in to help like your knight in shining armour”. You couldn’t help but find yourself laughing at the man, his company was light-hearted, and his little quips undeniably made you smile. In all, he was quite sweet.

And not bad on the eye either... Maybe my soulmate got mixed up? He doesn’t look like someone to possess a tiger to me.

You were about to reply with something Dazai had said, before stopping in your tracks. You inhaled and the smell of smoke was thick in your nostrils. You spun to the direction the smell was strongest to see nasty black plumes of smoke dominating the otherwise blue sky. Without thinking you bolted to the scene of the fire, guided by your sense of smell, and the black towers above you.

When you reached the scene an apartment complex was ablaze, from the second story to maybe the fifth. Flames licked the outside world from where windows used to be, and a heavy congregation of people crowded the area. You pushed through them, eyes scanning for the victims. Ambulances and fire fighters were already at the scene, tending to the people pulled from the building.

Your heart began to lift, until you saw a woman on her knees, sobbing and crying out as she was being restrained in the arms of a fire fighter.

“My children! They’re in there!! Please, please! Get them out of there! My babies!” She was screaming at the man holding her back. You couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying to her as you’d already jumped, using the frames of the shattered windows to pull yourself to the third floor.

You burst in through the opening and were blanketed in darkness.

“Hot Blood, Eye of the Winged Serpent...” You muttered under your breath. A sudden flash stunned your world momentarily before reds and oranges, flecked with golds cleared your vision.

Much better.

With no sign of life in the room you entered, you began barging through the rooms of the floor, searching for the victims before moving onto the next, flames licking at your skin and scorching your clothes; it was a warmth you welcomed. As you rose your foot to kick down the next, your ears perked up as you could hear crying and begging come from across the hall. You spun and smiled, satisfied, as the door broke from its hinges giving you perfect access to the flame encased room. There, your eyes locked on to two white hot bodies, small and quivering in the middle of the room.

“Hey! Hey, it’s alright, I’m here to help.” You spoke above the crackling of the fire, approaching the two children with caution. A little boy, blackened from the smoke, eyes streaming, and clothes burned from his body, was cowering next to a little girl, laid under a large piece of furniture. She was sobbing for help.

“Please get my sister out! Help us please!” The little boy cried, coughing harshly. He used his body to protect the smaller girl beside him as a large flame lashed out at the three of you. You jumped between the children and the fire, shielding them both.

“It’s alright. We’ll get your sister out, Kiddo. And you two. You’ll both be alright, okay? Now try and calm your breathing. We can’t have you taking in any more smoke, can we?” You smiled softly at him.

As you turned to the little girl, you noticed some of her hair had been burned off, and the furniture had pinned her legs. You grabbed the corner of the large... bookshelf? it looked like, but you weren’t stopping to take a better look. You hoisted the object from off her, and the little boy dragged her into him. She let out a sob and clung to her brother. You scanned her over quickly, to find two broken legs.

Shit. This isn’t going to be easy.

“Alright buddy, I’m going to carry your sister, so I need you to hop on my back, alright? I’m gonna get you out of here.” You crouched in front of the pair, cradling the little girl in your arms, as her brother clambered onto your back.

“Ready? Hold tight.” You spoke to the pair, before taking off down the hall, staying low, and made your way back to the room you’d burst into. You clambered out of the hole in the wall and stood on the small ledge attached to the outside of the building, tightening your grip on the little one in your arms. You pulled the little boy by his arm to your front and held him close.

“We’re gonna jump, okay? Whatever you do, do not let go of me.” The pair nodded, heeding your instructions, before you let go. You heard the crowd below you scream, and your back hit the concrete below you, forcing yourself into a roll as your arms shielded the youngsters against your chest.

As you stopped rolling, you lay flat on your back, only meters away from the sobbing mother. She screamed when she saw her children and ran to them. She scooped them up, and thanked you through choked cries, cradling her babies. You nodded before hoisting your body from the floor. You made a quick exit, slipping through the large audience and made your way onto the next street, slumping against the wall. You looked down at your charred clothes, large patches of material missing and burnt to a crisp.

Least my underwear’s intact. Knew this set was lucky.

You chuckled to yourself and pushed yourself from the wall and stretched. As you were about to make an exit, calling it quits for one day, a familiar figure blocked your path. Dazai was stood there.

He must’ve followed me. Crap.

Two figures shifted to stand beside Dazai. One was a tell young man, with glasses and long blonde hair in a ponytail. He was adorned in a suit and in his left hand was a notebook. He stood silently and pushed his glasses up his nose with his free hand. The other was an older man. His long silver hair covered his shoulders, and you couldn’t take your eyes away from his kind, grey ones. Dazai was beaming. The older gentleman stepped forwards and was the only one to speak to you.

“I think you should come with us.”

[fatandnerdy30]

Hi mom!! I was wondering if maybe you'd write some spiderman into the spiderverse g/t? like maybe Peter B. and Miles' universes are different sizes and Miles is v very smol 👉👈

Yes I can! And I did! I hope you like it!

"No!" Miles was being sucked into the glitching tunnel, shooting a web to grab onto something, but it was impossible. Every web he shot was broken a moment later by the force. He was too late to reach the lever to turn it off, and he was getting closer and closer until finally, he watched Kingpin waving with a sick grin on his face as Miles was pulled into the light screaming.

And popped out screaming, his senses screaming at him that he was in danger. 'No duh!' he thought in a panic. 

Suddenly a shadow fell over him and Miles reached out for it, shooting a web and attaching to it, thinking it was a building. But he thought differently as he got closer and felt heat radiating off it, and when he slammed into the side of it, he expected to hit glass, not something squishy.

"Miles!?" Peter's voice rang around the boy and with a gasp, said boy looked around for his mentor, but he was too high up to see anyone. So how could Peter have spoken to him? And why was it so loud?

"Peter? Where are you?" His arms were getting tired so he let the webbing go. He was expecting it to stay in the same place, but it seemed to fall...or rather, Miles was rising. "What the hell!?" he cried and grabbed onto the moving building. Suddenly, it wasn't sky he was looking at. It was a face...a gigantic face! 

"Miles, what are you doing here!?" Peter's voice came from the face that was in front of Miles. The boy was confused, scared and just a bit terrified as his mind blared he was in danger louder than it ever had since he'd gotten these powers. "Hello? Miles?" Another shadow fell over the boy and he cried out, jumping from whatever he was holding onto, shooting out a web, but this Peter giant was too big and he was too far, none of his webs would reach.

"Holy crap!" The black-suited boy was flailing his arms, staring up at Peter with fright and pleading in his eyes. He didn't wanna die like this! Then, out of nowhere, giant Peter moved and the boy found himself landing on something soft and bouncing a few times before finally stopping. He tensed a moment before falling on his back, pulling his mask off, because this must be a dream and took a deep breath. "I thought I was gonna die!" he laughed.

"I thought that too," Peter said and Miles felt himself being lifted and turned his head to see fingers towering over him, curling a bit almost like a living cage. The boy shot up and moved, but out of nowhere another hand closed over him, trapping him in dark heat. "None of that," Peter's voice rang around him as Miles felt himself being lifted anymore. "Let's get you somewhere safe and then we'll talk." 

Miles felt himself being moved and saw the light for a moment before he was dumped into a brown hammock-like fabric that definitely wasn't a pocket. He felt each one of his mentor's footsteps as he walked through the bustling streets, the voices around Miles were loud and obnoxious, but also terrifying by the sheer volume. The boy sat down and pulled his knees to his chest, hiding his face in them. He was gonna get Kingpin for this.

Finally, Peter made his way home, sighing as he leaned against the elevator door. He was running an errand when he heard a tiny scream that sounded too familiar and looked up to see Miles falling from the damn sky! He wasn't expecting this to happen today. He'd said his goodbyes a year ago and never expected to see the kid again after going to his realm. Peter hadn't been comfortable being stuffed into a body too small for him and was glad when he came home. 

But, this caused another problem altogether. He unlocked his apartment and rushed inside, all but slamming the door. "Hey there, tiger." MJ's voice came from the kitchen as she banged a few pots around. "Did you get the eggs?" She poked her head out and instantly went on alert, pulling out her communicator. "Should I call them?"

Peter shook his head and dragged his hands down his face. "No. It's not anything bad...I mean, it's bad, but not world-ending bad." He took his coat off with care and draped it over the hook, reaching into the pocket. "Come on...Miles, cooperate with me!" Finally, he grabbed the boy who was dodging his fingers and was able to pull him up, keeping the boy in his fist. "We have another problem." 

He sat on the couch and slowly opened his hand over the coffee table, a small object falling with a tiny 'oof'."What is that?" Mary-jane sat next to him and peered down at Miles who turned to look at her with terror-filled curiosity. Her eyes lit up. "He's adorable!" she tucked her red hair behind her ears and lowered her hand to Miles, sticking out her pointer finger. "I'm MJ," she introduced herself. 

Miles looked at the huge finger in front of him and blushed at the pretty giant in front of him. "M-Miles." Reaching out, he grabbed the woman's finger and shook it. But when she pulled away, he came with her, his fingers sticking to her skin. "Oh! S-sorry, sorry....I um...I haven't learned to control it when I'm nervous," he said with a shy laugh. 

"Stop hitting on my girlfriend and tell me why you're here. How did you get here?" Peter poked the tiny boy in the stomach, grinning as he doubled over and glared up at the giant. 

"I was fighting with Kingpin when he shoved me in a room and the doors locked...that's when he opened the glitch where you came from a year ago. I didn't even know he still had that technology! I was so scared!" He shivered. "And now, I'm stuck here." He sat on the table heavily, bringing his knees up to his chest and rocking. "I just wanna go home, man! I never asked to come here!"

Peter nodded. "I understand...but until we can figure this out, let's get some food, huh?" He put his hand down on the table next to Miles and smiled at him. This was gonna be tough...

[notinthemaps]

Know before you go and what I’ve learned from traveling:

It’s not a race. I was always so bummed about the number of countries I’ve been to compared to other people my age until I understood that the number of places visited is not what traveling is about at all. It’s not important about how many places you’ve been but the depth you’ve explored them. I have been to some beautiful places all around the world that I am insanely grateful for and it’s incredibly toxic to compare my journey to others.

Traveling is an absolute privilege. Before you spew “everyone can travel, it can be done so cheap!” recognize where you come from. 

Before you book that trip to Haiti or Cambodia to “go build a school” or volunteer at an orphanage, research the hidden harm that is involved with your short term stay. Your good intentions can actually be causing harm within these communities. 

This also accounts for volunteering at animal and wildlife sanctuaries as well. You could unknowingly be volunteering at a place that secretly participated in “canned hunting”. So many sanctuaries have been accused of this in the past and I’m sure they’re still out there. Now, not all places are bad, just make sure your money and time are going towards something that will really help ethical animals and wildlife sanctuaries. This is where it’s important to do your research.

Clean. Get rid of shit. Simplify to the necessities. Pack light. The weight of your luggage is equally proportionate to your misery while traveling. I’ve learned this the hard way. 

You have the power to choose love. Always choose to love.

Stop the exploitation of animals as you travel. Meaning the Luwak cafes in Indonesia where you drink the coffee after the Luwak has digested the coffee beans. Stop swimming with dolphins, participating in lion walks, taking photos next to chained up tigers, riding elephants, camels, and donkeys/mules. These animals are most likely not taken care of very well. There have been times where I have been guilty of giving in to attending these places because they sound great (who doesn’t want a photo with a lion next to you?) but in hindsight, these attractions are most likely incredibly unethical and there’s a lot of physical/emotional harm that is involved with the training the animals.

Reduce your use of plastic abroad. 

Going alone is okay. If we all waited for someone to travel with us, we’d be waiting for a very, very long time. So, please go even if you have no one to go with. There are millions of people all over the world that are just waiting to meet you. Some of them you’ll meet in a hostel room and you’ll end up spending the night walking through the street markets, some of them you’ll meet at a bar and discover new corners of a city you didn’t know existed, some of them you’ll meet sitting on a bench at a bus stop and you’ll end up sharing the best coffee you’ve probably ever had, some of them you’ll meet watching the sunset on the beach and you’ll end up sharing stories and laughing with them until the morning and some of them will end up being your best friends. And sometimes you’re going to be alone and going on tours, to the movies, or to restaurants sounds scary to do by yourself at first but soon enough you’ll learn that it is completely okay to be alone. Solo does not mean lonely.

Don’t say you don’t like anything until you try it more than once.

Save your change.

One of the most reassuring things in this world is that you are never stuck anywhere. You are never unable to leave.

Don’t avoid taking care of your mental health when abroad. Traveling is exhausting and not always rainbows and butterflies. Your mind and body are still important. 

Write about your favorite moments, your least favorite moments, ideas, people you’ve met, strangers you’ve walked past on the street, favorite quotes, words to remember, what the sky looked like at 7pm, new songs you’ve discovered and what they mean to you, places you want to go or places you’ve been, write about your passions, how you feel in this exact moment, draw out the mountains, scribble all over the pages. And when that one gets full, buy a new one. Reread it in 2 years, 20 years, when you need a good laugh, when you’re upset and can’t get out of bed, read it to your children. You need to remember these moments in your life. They are so important.

Spend less time on social media. It’s no secret that social media is addictive and it’s really good at taking away precious moments. It’s important to not be glued to your phone or laptop while abroad. Social media will always be there for you when you get home.

Traveling is overly romanticized. It is very hard work. It does not solve all the problems that you have at home. And traveling is not what it looks like on Instagram. Please don’t feel bad because your experience doesn’t feel the way that it looks like it should on Instagram. 

When you’re eating, really taste your food. Talk to the locals. Immerse yourself fully into this new culture. When you’re out hiking, let go of your phone. This is how you’re going to get the best experience possible. Live in the moment. 

Take photos. It is physically impossible to remember all these moments in your life. Someday down the road, maybe when you’re feeling a little depressed or bored, you can grab your camera and scroll through these photos that’ll remind you of some of the best times of your life. Ask permission before you take a photo of someone. Ask permission to post it on social media (if these are your intentions) and let them know 1,000s of people will have access or will be seeing these photos. Remember: kids can never consent. Just don’t take photos in orphanages or schools. It’s really important to be respectful. People are not props.

Usually, no one wants to hear more than a few sentences about your trip when you come home other than your mom. And the references you make months after your trip, “when I was in...” will sometimes result in an eye roll. Shake it off. I know it can be hurtful but it’s best to just keep it to a minimum for your own sanity. 

It’s okay to look like a tourist. Visit the big touristy places and take your picture pushing against the Leaning Tower of Pisa. You’re not better than every other traveler just because you skipped the popular areas. 

Learn the basics of the language before you go. “where’s the bathroom? how are you? what's your name? My name is..” Always remember it’s your fault for not learning the language of the country you're in, it’s never anyone else's fault for not knowing English. Keep the language barrier frustration to a minimum. Hand gestures, a smile, and patience can go a long way!

You’ll probably get sick at some point. Be prepared for it with a little first aid kit! It’s always a good idea to have insurance. 

It’s important to not judge the way in which other people travel. I’ve met people who have planned their travel to the point where they do not participate in any tourist activities and live off one meal a day and then I’ve met people who pay for every excursion in every city they go to. And I find my initial thoughts to be “...but why?” and I eventually snap out of it and realize it’s not my place to judge how people travel. Everyone experiences places in their own unique, meaningful way. And I mean who really cares if someone is traveling the world full time on mom and dad's money? It doesn’t affect you. 

Cheesy souvenirs are never worth it. Collect sea glass, your train tickets, plane tickets, maps, stickers, and coins. Chances are those Colosseum magnets you bought in Rome were really made in China. Support the locals if you’re going to buy souvenirs.

Slow down.

Google the tipping etiquette within the country you’re visiting before you go. Some places it’s rude, some places it’s the only income someone has. Don’t be the person who “didn’t know” when the information is a 5-second google away. 

Jetlag freaking sucks but it happens to all of us.

Be prepared to be uncomfortable and be open-minded. You’ll probably wash your clothes in a bucket or sink, sleep in dirty beds or on airport floors, be forced to eat with your hands even though you’ve never done it or go without toilet paper for weeks at a time! It’s all apart of the journey. 

The world is not as bad and scary as the news makes it out to be.

Nothing will ever go as you expect it to. Plans go out the door. I learned this the hard way. In fact, I am sure every traveler has learned this the hard way. You’ll miss flights, you’ll get flat tires on road trips, you’ll end up spending a lot more money than you expected, you’ll miss buses, you’ll have to run to trains to get to them on time, I promise you’ll have a dead battery when all you want to do is call mom to make you feel better, the hostel you wanted will be full, your dumb airline will lose all your luggage, things will get canceled and you’ll spend many unexpected nights crying but despite all the struggles that traveling brings upon us, it is always worth it. The tears, sore shoulders and blistered feet are always worth it. There’s no point in getting mad that your plan fell through.

We are all going to make mistakes as travelers. We have to become better researchers and better listeners. Ignoring the requests of locals or the cultural differences is absolute ignorance and another example of flaunting your privilege. Just because you are a tourist and contributing to the economy of other countries does not mean it’s okay to be disrespectful and act as you please. However, we’re going to make mistakes and it’s important to not beat yourself up over it. What’s important is how we respond. Don’t be scared to ask questions.