#He’d be so dramatic too with his theater kid self | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

glade-constellation · 1 year

Text

Not Built For This

Sun x Reader

Summary : Sun is having a difficult time, finally cracking under the stress of his job after a run in with a rude parent. You’re there to comfort him.

Trigger Warning(s) : Mentions of abusive/neglectful parent and alcohol, accidental self harm, mention of decommissioning

Rating : T, SFW

Word Count : 2053

Extra : Just a little one-shot I wrote a while ago, sometime in January of this year. I apologize if it’s a little odd. I wrote it when I was having a bad time myself, but I really enjoy how it came out and wanted to share.

“Because I wasn’t built for this!”

Sun threw his hands into the air, bells on his wrist ringing out softly, before he fell to the floor in a ball. You knew he couldn’t cry. Fazbear was at least smart enough to not build their bots with working tear ducts and have them start sparking like a lit firework. But you swore, in that moment, Sun’s eyes glassed over with unshed tears. His shaking frame leaked of such pure anguish you wondered if he’d been built with a human soul. Even covered in stray marker lines and spots of sparkling glitter, he looked so violently drowned in his own emotional pain that you felt it yourself.

“I wasn’t built to do any of this! The ‘daycare attendant’ wasn’t even a role when the Plex was first built! Why do you think we had so many complaints over the years? Why I seem too overbearing or Moon sometimes acts far too frightening for the kids? That’s what we were built for. Performances. Short bursts of dramatic entertainment. Comedy and tragedy. We were theater performers.”

The hiccuping static coming from his voice box was too close to sounding like a cry. His frame creaked and groaned, sounding as if about to combust. Knowing how little maintenance the two of them received, the possibility was too high for your liking. “Sun, honey, I need you to listen-“

“The kids weren’t even supposed to be near us! We were supposed to be up on a stage, only interacting when engaging with the crowd.”

You took a step forward, hands rising as if to reach out to him, “Sun, please, you’re going to hurt-”

A soft crunching sound filled the air. “We’re had to learn all of this ourselves, no help from anyone. Playtime, time outs, kissing the boo-boos away, we’ve had to learn all of it by watching others. People who didn’t even like working here, didn’t like us.”

He didn’t even notice the now dented rays in his hands. “Sunny, please-”

“I try my hardest every day to be the best I can be and do the best I can do with what very limited resources I was given and no one seems to care about anything I do meaning Fazbear hates us and we’re so close to being decommissioned for something we can’t even help-”

“SUN!”

Besides the rattling of his frame, there was finally silence. You stood over his curled body, hands gently but firmly placed on the sides of his face. Even without visible pupils, you could see when his eyes finally focused with yours. With slow movements, you softly began to remove his hands from his now bent rays. “You’re hurting yourself.”

Slowly, hesitantly, he moves his hands with yours. He slides them towards you, reaching but not touching. An unasked request for comfort. As you reach to pull him forward, he grabs your hips and does the same. There’s a moment in the silence when he simply holds you to him. Then the dam finally breaks.

Sun buries his face into your stomach and sobs.

It’s not quiet or soft, full of shaky breaths and muffled whimpers. It’s not like the daycare kids who threw fits with sharp huffs and cries. Sun folds into you and he screams, static scratching through his voice box. It’s loud and aching and broken, so defeated that your own heart couldn’t help but break with him. He grips you like a lifeline as he cries, frame shivering and vibrating so roughly yours afraid he might actually begin to fall apart. A star in threat of collapsing in on itself.

You let him cry. You hold him as he screams and you try not to cry yourself. Your hand moves from his shoulder to one of his rays, gently tracing it in a way you knew calmed him down.

It’s a while before he finally calms down enough to speak coherent words, but what he says only breaks you farther. “I’m sorry,” drops from his mouth, so strained in static you almost can’t make it out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeats it over and over like a mantra. You open your mouth, going to shush him, but freeze as he continues. “Please please please, don’t decommission us, don’t throw us out. I can do this, I can do this, I’m not broken, just a small mishap. Won’t happen again, I can do it, I’m sorry.”

You’re having not of that.

Pull his face away from you, you drop down to your knees. Your gaze is firm as you stare into his eyes. “Sun, you listen to me and you listen to me good. This wasn’t your fault. None of this was. You said it yourself, you weren’t built for this. Nothing about what you do in the daycare is part of a program you or Moon own.”

You stop for a moment, just long enough to cup your hands against the sides of his face. He’s still crying, but he’s listening, and that’s what matters right now. “But you want to know something? That makes what you do in here so fucking brilliant. You care for these kids almost every day, playing with them and cleaning their messes and kissing their hurts away, and you do it so much better than any of the human assistants I’ve seen sulking in here before me. You may not have been built for this but you do it so beautifully that I wouldn’t have known any better unless you or Moon told me. The fact that you had to learn how to do all of this while locked away in here with no help but your own two eyes is frankly far more astounding than Fazbears’ ability to create your AIs. How you haven’t lost it up until now is a fucking wonder.” You shake your head, chuckling.

“But maybe that’s just a testament to you two’s innate ability to love with all your being. When you two commit to loving something, you give yourself away to it. I watch you with those kids all the time and you treat them like a parent would their own children. As a parent should love their children. You spend hours upon hours keeping this daycare in working order without any help, not because you’re programmed to but because you love doing it. That kind of emotion isn’t something you can just replicate. The level of humanity I see in you and Moon far surpasses most of actual humanity that exists on this Earth today.

“If some kid’s abusive bitch of a mother wants to come in and call you a worthless machine because her kid love you far more than her, you take any word that comes out of her mouth with a fucking grain of salt. That’s her problem to work through, not yours. She doesn’t see what you do here. She obviously doesn’t see what you do for her own kid every single day she’s off getting drunk.

“What matters is what those who actually care about you think. The kids love you. Both of you. They were freaking out the day you guys went to maintenance, some actually started crying. Made all those Get Well cards for you two, remember? I highly doubt Fazbear is going to decommission one of their most beloved animatronics from one drunk lady’s comment. They’d have hell to pay.” You bring him forward, just enough to plant a soft kiss on his forehead. “Hell that I would raise for you.”

Sun falls forwards slightly, head hitting your chest as he pulls you close again. He moves you to the side just slightly, throwing a leg under you so you’re no longer resting on your knees. You throw an arm over his shoulder as he begins to rock the both of you, your other hand coming up to the back of his faceplate to hold him. It's another moment before either of you speak.

You can hear Sun mumble something, but whatever was said is buried in the sound of his fans buzzing on overdrive. You hum in question as you trace patterns aimlessly on his shoulder. “Thank you,” he says again, “Moon says it too.” You feel more than see when his rays shrink slightly into his faceplate, “I’m sorry.”

You snort, “Hey, what did I just say? No more of that. It’s okay.”

“It’s really not.” He pulls back from you, eyes looking down instead of towards you. “That was really childish on my part. Parents complain all the time. That shouldn’t have affected me that much.”

You shush him, placing a hand over his mouth despite knowing that wasn’t going to do much. It still had the desired outcome of shutting him up. “Sun, did you listen to anything I just said?” He nodded, and you quickly continued before he started up again. “I didn’t explicitly say it, but everything I just explained can also be used to say that both you and Moon are extremely overworked.” You give a huff as you roll your eyes, “Give an AI sentience and then make them work until the break. Typical Fazbear right there.”

You feel the speaker behind Sun’s faceplate vibrate as he speaks up, “But we were built to work-”

There’s an audible smack as you facepalm. “Oh my god, I spill my guts out trying to calm you down and you listened to none of it,” you groan. You grab his chin to tilt his face towards yours, “Sunny, honey, it doesn’t matter that it was just one parent telling you something you’ve already heard and gotten over before. You may have been built to work tirelessly but you literally just said you weren’t built to handle this kind of work. Plus, I don’t think Fazbear takes into account that they build living beings. Straw on the camel’s back and all that. You and Moon have one too many things going on up in that pretty little head right now. It couldn’t handle the additional yelling and triggered all your pent up emotions. It’s normal. Happens to me too. Don’t apologize for simply being alive.”

You drop your hand as you finish, watching as Sun blinks at you. His rays flex in and out in no particular pattern, something you’ve realized means he’s having an internal conversation. He finally seems to come back into focus after a moment, simply staring before moving a hand to gently cup your cheek. You laugh slightly as his hand covers the right side of your head but lean into it. He looks like he wants to smile, but whatever he’s thinking is obviously weighing on him. “You. . .really see us as people.”

You can't quite tell if it was a statement or a question, but you nod all the same. A confused look crossed your face, “I mean, yeah? You may be made of metal and silicone, and held together by desperation and glitter glue since the mechanics can’t do their job for shit, but that doesn’t change the fact that you have just as much intelligence and emotion as any human. Probably more, not gonna lie. I’ve seen Moon hack into things he really shouldn’t more times than I would like to admit. You have this unbelievable talent to read a person’s body language from across the room and change the mood of the whole room to fit their needs.

“And like I mentioned earlier, you two don’t half ass anything. When you give, you do so with your whole being. Simple machines don’t have things like love and trust. You two are the definition of it.”

You could feel as Sun ran his thumb across your cheek as you spoke. As you looked back up at him, you were greeted with a soft look. Sun’s rays slowly pinwheeled around his head as he smiled at you. His hand moved from the side of your head to the back as he pulled you forward. Your breath caught suddenly, your heart beat suddenly too obvious inside you.

He seemed to second guess himself at the last second, or maybe you had simply read too much into that act. Hugging you close, Sun reciprocated your earlier forehead kiss. “Thank you,” he mumbled softly.

#Writing of the Glade #fnaf #fnaf sb #fnaf dca #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sun #fnaf sundrop #sundrop #fnaf moon #fnaf moondrop #moondrop #fnaf y/n #fnaf dca x y/n #fnaf dca x reader #fnaf sun x y/n #fnaf sun x reader

129 notes · View notes

kaseyskat · 2 years

Text

hi hello everyone so this episode gave me really, REALLY big normal feels and a good amount of hermie feelings too and i've channeled that in the best way i know how: a 2k-long conversation about feelings. enjoy the oakworthies <3~

The King of Hell is enthusiastically speaking with Taylor (and Link by proxy: and Scary is hanging around them, as though she stands a chance at surprise murdering the literal king of hell) when Normal sneaks away from the group.

Hermie shouldn’t care. In fact, there’s still a nagging voice in the back of his head, one that whispers about how Normal, the first person who had seen him in a way nobody ever has before, the one who had been kind and reassuring and truly the heart of the group like Hermie had told him so long ago, only wanted a perfect version of Hermie. It was embarrassing, and humiliating, especially when he’d been quietly lurking in the entire group as they bickered and argued, left to the background once again.

And yet…

…he remembers the way that Normal had looked after the encounter, the defeated look in his eyes, the slump to his shoulders after the broad declaration that he could finally like himself. It was so painfully relatable, Hermie only lingers with the rest of the group – with a father who does not reconize him, and people who are only his friends by proxy – for a few more seconds before he slinks off with a resigned sigh after his self-declared will they, won’t they partner.

It would seem like having an uninterested father is common ground. Normal doesn’t look nearly as enthused about the encounter as Hermie would’ve thought for him; instead, he drops to the ground once he’s a reasonable distance away, slumping with his face in his hands. He does a pretty good job of holding his emotions back in ways that even Hermie himself is impressed by, but in the moment, he just looks sad.

Hermie’s own feelings, he thinks, can wait in the face of this.

When he approaches, Normal jerks like he’s reacting to the sound of footprints alone, wiping at his eyes as though that would do anything; they’re red enough as proof of what, exactly, he had slunk off on his own to do. Pathetic, the voice in Hermie’s head sneers, but he bats it away because all he can see is…

…himself.

“Oh, hey Hermie,” Normal mutters when he finally glances up, and his voice too his glum, stripped of its characteristic chipper and dull around the edges. “I… sorry. I don’t think I apologized to you yet.”

“I’m not really mad at you, you know,” Hermie says lightly, schooling himself into his more familiar, more flirtatious persona– his own real feelings can wait. “I just had to be all dramatic, you know how us theater kids are.”

He thought it would make Normal laugh; or at the very least, make him nod along in agreement. Instead, Normal just shakes his head, and then buries it a little further into his arms, wound tightly around his knees in a way that just makes him look small. “No, it’s okay,” he says, his voice warbling. “I think I really screwed up this time… I mean, Scary’s no closer to admitting her mistakes or forgiving us, Link is still so angry, Taylor is literally in pieces… and clearly, my moment of pride really hurt you, and I just…”

Hermie frowns, and he takes a seat, scooting close to Normal. “What… was it like?” he voices, his voice smaller than he had intended.

“What, the Pride level?” Normal asks, and when Hermie only makes a small noise of affirmation, he continues.” Well, it was… intense. It was like all the feelings I’ve been keeping inside were just… out, and free, because I had no shame in feeling them. It was like… I guess, it was like being on stage? Except the stage was just, the average world, and the role I was playing was just myself, and people just liked it? And it was exhilarating, because I knew what I wanted, who I was, in a way that I could never have predicted, and I just…”

He shudders, here, his face all buried in his hands again so that Hermie cannot see his expression. “That must be why I was able to be so… confident,” he says, quietly, almost shamefully. “About… us. About this.”

Something inside of Hermie goes ice-cold.

“In my head, I had everything I wanted,” Normal continues. “Real friends. A social life. People who just… loved me, no questions asked. And I also had you, and I won’t lie, that wasn’t something I realized I wanted so badly until it was in front of me, until you were in front of me and I just knew that beyond anything, beyond the popularity and the friendships and loving myself, there was something else I wanted. Something real. Something more realistic. And I really, really never meant for that to hurt you, Hermie, I swear! I thought… I really thought…”

“You’re a little stupid sometimes, you know that?” Hermie interrupts; it spills from his lips unbidden, uncontrolled, and even Normal himself blinks owllishly at the tone of his voice, peering up from where he had been all closed off and buried. “I think you were the one who told me that being someone likeable, someone worthy, wasn’t important in the long run, as long as you were unapologetically yourself. Even when you didn’t know what that meant yet.”

It is brutally honest for him; he kinda tries to avoid these kinds of talks, because Normal is startlingly good at turning it right back around. This time, though, he just sniffs, rubbing at his red, red eyes, still sullen, still sad.

Normal Oak, Hermie decides, does not look nearly as attractive when he’s sad.

“It still feels so wrong,” Normal whispers. “How am I supposed to fix the world when I can’t even fix myself, or my friendships?”

“Well, you could start by not being so hard on yourself for everything,” Hermie says– light-hearted, because despite the way he digs deep into the character he’s playing, the loving friend of Normal’s that can give him the advice he needs to continue, the one favor he owes Normal… he doesn’t actually really know much of what he’s talking about.

“Yeah…” Normal seems to consider this, slowly coming out of his shell as he finally sits more upright, pulling his head out of his arms and blinking owlishly at Hermie once again. “I am still sorry, though.”

“Ugh, please stop apologizing, you’re starting to make me feel bad,” Hermie complains.

He expects that Normal will argue; or that he will list all the reasons why he’s actually in the right for being so apologetic, as he usually does. The strange glint in Normal’s eyes should’ve given away his actions, but Hermie finds himself drawn to it instead, staring at the way that Normal leans forwards without even a second to think about the implications.

And then, Normal is kissing him.

It’s not a good kiss. Hermie’s never actually had his first kiss – not a real one, anyways – but he’s had plenty of stage kisses and he knows right away that this is not a good kiss. Normal’s braces are in the way, and he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, but Hermie blinks surprisingly and instinctively kisses him right back. For a first kiss, a real first kiss, it could definitely be worse, he concludes; at least Normal is enthusiastic.

Hermie’s cheeks are burning, even the side that’s all burnt up already, as Normal pulls away, eyes alluring and half-lidded.

For a moment, there’s silence. Normal touches his own lips in surprise, like he didn’t know he was going to do that, and Hermie snorts, the laughter teased right out of him. “That was awful,” he wheezes.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Normal immediately responds, and he jumps backwards, his cheeks a bright red– bright enough that they bring out his freckles in a very strange, endearing kind of way. “I don’t know what I was thinking, I just wanted to show you it was real, that I meant what I did in my haze, but that was… so impulsive of me, fuck, I’m sorry–”

“Relax, I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” Hermie drawls, and as Normal’s gaze darts back up to Hermie’s, he plasters his best seductive gaze onto his face, curling his lips just right. “You were trying to let me know you like me, right? For… me?” It comes out far more vulnerable and needy than he intends, and he instantly regrets the words, but his demeanor doesn’t shift in the slightest, composure kept perfectly.

“Of course!” Normal says instantly, immediately. “That was kinda the thing I was so sorry about like, of course I like you! I just never felt like… well, it all came out so wrong, that’s all. I don’t think I liked myself enough to even let myself consider the thought of liking someone else, but… of course it’s you. You mean so much to me, and I just…”

This time, Hermie takes the initiative, and he leans forwards, only hesitating to reach out and guide Normal forwards. It’s okay if he doesn’t know how to kiss; Hermie can show him.

(Not that Hermie really has that much experience, but it’s definitely more than whatever Normal has, which means Hermie has the advantage and he’ll take it, thank you very much).

Normal squeaks as Hermie kisses him, but he’s enthusiastic, letting Hermie tilt his head and lean into the kiss this time. It’s still bad, in the way that Normal’s breath stinks and he absolutely has no idea what he’s doing, but Hermie, despite himself, finds it endearing.

Damn him. He’s always found Normal’s… unique charm to be endearing. It was never an act, was it?

…maybe that’s why he’d been so jealous of a hell version of himself.

This time, when he pulls away for air, he stays close, pressing his forehead gently against Normal’s as Normal too inhales, his cheeks still bright red. “No more flirting with hell versions of me, got it?” he teases, and Normal somehow flushes harder, looking like he wants to crawl into his jersey and never return.

“I really did think it was the real you, by the way,” he says, quietly and almost shamefully just like before. “And I was so excited, because… I knew, I knew you’d be there for me no matter what. And that really does mean the world to me; I think you mean the world to me. Is that too forward?”

“You have a big heart,” Hermie informs him, and he snorts, tugging Normal into his chest; Normal goes willingly, arms wrapping around him in the barest form of a hug. “Never change.”

He doesn’t know how long they sit there. Normal, at least, seems comfortable in Hermie’s arms, and he’s warm, and strangely soft, and even though really, Hermie has no idea what he’s doing, at least this feels right. His jealousy feels like a thing from the past, because really he knows – just like he knew from the beginning, the way that his feelings had been hurt but in a way that just felt like some cosmic deity using them for laughs and comedy instead of anything real – that Normal doesn’t have the spoons to actually do something mean spirited, not even towards his friends.

Even if they did have to go to the eighth level of hell because of him.

God, Normal was just so cute.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Scary’s voice used to be welcoming – a reminder about his role, even though Hermie had been loathe to listen and had only dragged himself through it by reminding himself about his character – but now she just sounds bored and mildly annoyed, even though she’s done nothing in the time they’ve been down here. Pathetic. “We’re getting a move on, you can stop being such weirdos now.”

“Guess it’s time to go,” Normal whispers, his voice shaky and thin. “At least we can do this together?”

It’s what he’s been preaching this entire time, to no avail. Well, Hermie thinks, the one benefit of the group forgetting about my existence is that I can wholeheartedly support Normal without him getting any backlash for it. That’s something, right?

“Together,” he agrees out loud, and then he helps Normal to his feet, and they turn to face the world hand in hand; together.

#kasey writes stuff #oakworthy #dndads spoilers #normal oak #hermie the unworthy #they make me INSANE #i think my hermie characterization is still a little shaky so if he's ooc. oh well #they deserve a proper gross little kiss #anyways thank you will campos for giving me a blorbo of all time

71 notes · View notes

writing-how-did-i-get-here · 6 months

Text

I'm gonna start queuing my work! I don't know who will see this, but I hope you like reading it, I made a revision to some stuff and this is chapter one of a book I'm writing, it's gonna jump from time to time, so it's gonna be a while before you get back to the beginning, but I'm putting it on here because I don't intend to market this and I have other work too I will market, this though is just a cool lil book .Also, nobody is taxing my books.

Link to the intro - INTRO

Chapter 1 - The one friend I had.

TW, Mentions of suicide/implied suicide (not the main character). mentions of schizophrenia/implied a little bit though appealed later? some horror?

So, after years upon years of sitting in solitude, a hermit, hidden from the world, I had no friends. Yet one day, just in the span of a few minutes of being there, after the car had just arrived, Kerix showed up. He walked up to me and asked me a simple question, “Hey, you seem nice, and around thirteen too, that’s cool, what’s your name?”, and it was the first time I’d heard the question in years, it had been so long since someone really wanted to meet me, since someone thought it worthwhile, thought I was worthwhile, then Kerix walked up to me without a second thought and went off on a tangent about indie animation and upcoming games and for a moment I forgot about the childhood wasted in solitude, all the time I had spent alone, all the time I had to myself. Because of him

School started that fall, three years ago, the first year of high school, it was great, middle school sucked for me. The kids were relentless, and being vulnerable with nobody to defend me made it really suck for three years, I wasn’t in the best place. Yet this year was better, people told me it was because I was getting older, because high school was just better, I never believed them. He radiated a kind of energy, nobody messed with us, they didn’t want to, we looked happy. That year was great, we did everything together, we wrote together, he wrote stories, I wrote poetry, any other kid would have bullied me for it, yet he recited it in an overemphasized shakespeare accent. Things were great for that year, and the year after, and the year after, and now this year he’s missing and everything has gone to shit. He was my best friend, so much so that we had been calling each other by our tags rather than our names. He was Kerix, and I was Jay. Things were going well, until he went missing last week.

So far the only lead I have is the note he left for me, it has a bit of blood on the corner and it might be written in blood? I don’t know, or red pen, I was always the theater kid of the two of us, so I doubt he’d do something that dramatic. Unless of course he was taken, kidnapped maybe? By some evil organization, it sounds like something he would do, upset some big bad guy and get kidnapped? Wait, am I the prince in this scenario, am I saving the princess? Was he doing this as self sacrifice, turning himself in to save the planet and everyone on it from destruction? I think I may have resorted to making up scenarios to keep myself sane, but I have to detectivize this mess, I haven’t got much time, or maybe I do? This is complicated.

Well, maybe the other kids know something? His sister? No,I don’t think Riley has the mental capacity, being five and all, to hold any potentially useful information at the moment, though getting her side of the story could be useful later. I should question someone, this is outrageous, I know he told me not to look, but if he knows anything about me, he knows I am incredibly determined and will stop at nothing, or maybe I’m just really stubborn, either way it’s a good thing, solving the mystery of his disappearance. Unless he’s dead, that would suck, maybe I shouldn’t be working to find him, what if he had a good reason for saying that? What if he started a pyramid scheme and ran off to live on an island somewhere, if that’s the case, I’m going to be very mad he didn’t bring me along, I could’ve set up the database and everything.

So I have pretty much no legitimate leads other than asking his also grieving family, which makes me a bit of a douche to do, and there’s a chance he’s dead. It could have been suicide, that’s what they’re all saying, but I know it wasn’t, he wouldn’t, he was happy, not with the world, but with everything he had with all of us. Maybe the world is doing horrific, and maybe things are falling apart in the world, and maybe it was too much, but I doubt it. I’m going with the “he was kidnapped” theory for now. I have to, it’s all I have to go off of, I hope he was.

Kerix wouldn’t have killed himself, no matter what, he might’ve had his moments, but he would never go that far, and he’s honest, if he were writing a suicide note, it would be obvious, he wouldn’t hide something so incredibly important. I know he’s out there, I know it, he has to be, he just has to- The doorbell rings, I’m home alone, like most afternoons, scribbling in a journal I’ve now dedicated to my search for Kerix. I know I shouldn’t open the door, but it’s tempting, then I hear a voice, it’s him, it really is, it is. “Hey, Jay! Could you let me in, I need somewhere to stay for a while, just enough to hide for a little bit, please?” And I know he could be kidnapped, this could be a trap, but I don’t care, I rush over, unlock the door and pull it open… but, there’s nobody there, just the wind blowing, it’s warm outside, warmer than in here anyways. I step back to take my sandals and slip them on, I walk outside, I live on a hill. A hill where if someone were here, I’d know, there isn’t anywhere to go, he wouldn’t ding dong ditch me here, right? He’s a good guy, he couldn't have, it’s impossible to get out of sight that fast, we have a fence, and no bushes. I think in horror I might know in my heart that he’s gone, that I’m in denial, that maybe this is really it, that I’m hallucinating, hearing his voice. Then I remember that isn’t how denial works and I skipped over several important stages of grief and that I’m just a fuckin idiot and overreacting. I might be imagining things out of trauma, but I’m not gonna psychoanalyze this for an hour, I’ve got a friend to find.

I walk back inside and shut the door, I swear I see a figure out of the corner of my eye as I do, almost certain it was there. It’s weird, it seemed so real, I ignore it, instead focusing on the matter at hand. Finding the happy go lucky dude I’m proud to call my best friend forever, and I know it sounds stupid and like a girly thing to say, but hey, I’m a bit girly sometimes, so what? I walk back to my usual chair but not before I see a hand and a pair of incredibly human looking eyes disappear behind the corner of the doorway leading to the living room. “Holy shit”, “I’m either crazy or going to die", the first thoughts that ran through my head.

#my writing #writeblr #writing #book writing #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #writerscommunity #??? are these the right tags please tell me if they're not.

0 notes

regina-del-cielo · 3 years

Text

I’m going to write some Nile/Lykon bonding headcanons that are so self-indulgent

Obviously, this is a ‘Lykon didn’t die’ situation (and I’m assuming Quynh is there too because All is Good and Nothing Hurts ok?)

He goes by Luke these days, mostly because he really liked Star Wars – all his aliases start with an L, because like Nicky he has a chronic inability to respond to any name that doesn’t sound like his own

He and Joe are prank kings and constantly competing over who has the best one-liner

When they take breaks Lykon takes Booker under his arm with a quip of ‘let the Married Couples go have their Honeymoons, we Free Men are going to have So Much Fun’ and they travel the world together. Shenanigans Ensue

Per my previous headcanon, Lykon is left-handed and Nicky is ambidextrous (most likely left-handed forced to use the right hand), so they share an entire set of ‘specifically built for lefties’ supplies in their most used safe houses. Like Nicky, Lykon also double wields when he uses guns (which is more often than he’d like to, spears have become quite cumbersome in modern warfare)

When Nile is introduced to the Guard, she has a bit of a hard time with Lykon because he reminds her so much of her little brother that it hurts even looking at him for too long

Lykon, on the other hand, is ready to go Full Golden Retriever on her, and while he’s waiting for Nile to adjust he’s basically vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass

(but he’s a considerate man and is perfectly willing to give her space, and ‘seriously Andromache did you have to shoot her?!’)

Nicky, Joe and Booker tease Lykon to death because ‘even the new kid has less of a baby face than you man’

Lykon absolutely adores her name and is so ready to infodump her on all the little cool facts he knows about the Nile River. Which are. A Lot.

Nile responds to this by trading Star Wars Trivia from the new movies Lykon didn’t have the time to see yet and OH BOY THEY’RE TOTALLY SETTING UP TEAM MOVIE NIGHTS

(nothing drives home the fact that Nile is A Kid like Lykon saying that the ‘recent movie’ he’s obsessed with is The Lion King and Nile, completely deadpan, telling him that she was born the year it came out in theaters)

(Quynh and Andy laugh hysterically for two hours while Lykon goes to Dramatically Lie Down and Bemoan the Weight of his Years. Booker asks if this means he’ll stop blasting The Circle of Life in the car every time he takes shotgun. Nicky and Joe protest, because they actually like that soundtrack, stop complaining)

Now that turbans have fallen out of style for men in most countries (much to Lykon’s complete displeasure), he either keeps his hair shorn (with cheeky shaved designs if he’s feeling it) or lets it grow into an afro

But when Nile is looking up some new hairstyle she’d wanted to try but couldn’t because of Marine regulations, he offers for her to try it on him first so she can exercise the movements before making it on herself

He also offers to help her braid her hair where she can’t reach or simply when her arms grow tired

Nile sees a drawing from Joe of Lykon with a turban on and asks him to teach her how to make one

Lykon almost starts crying and runs to get his scarves. They make a fashion show out of it; Quynh helps with the matching outfits, ‘if you have to show off, then do it in style!’

Joe and Lykon are Very Particular™ about having the Proper Hair Products in every safe house, and liberally share them with Nile the first time she has to redo her hair. Lykon also shares his Secret Tricks from when conditioner was Not A Thing, because you never know what could happen

When it takes Lykon’s turn to train Nile in combat, instead of handing her a weapon he gets out a Wii console and sets up Dance Dance Revolution. “You’d be surprised how much battle footwork resembles this game”

(He’s the best of them at dance games, but she destroys them all at Mario Kart)

Nile and Lykon are at the perfect opposite of the temperature tolerance spectrum: while Nile can deal with the cold much better than most of the Guard excluding Andy, Lykon can function without too much fuss even when temperatures go higher than 40°C, as long as humidity isn’t too heavy. He’s the true desert boy, even more than Joe. The only person who can deal with heat better than him is Quynh, because she doesn’t flinch at high humidity percentages

It happens sometimes that undercover ops require the Guard to play couples that aren’t actually paired up in real life. Lykon and Nile, however, can only play siblings. The first time they tried to kiss ‘for show’ they started laughing and cringing so hard that it was clearly impossible for them to look romantically entangled

(Nile is great at playing Andy or Quynh’s wife, though. Lykon’s best ‘romantic performances’ are, not so surprisingly, with Joe, because they both take it like it’s a Theatre Production and somehow make it work)

When Nile gets to her inevitable ‘immortal adrenaline junkie’ phase, her worst enabler is Lykon. Him, Nile and Joe become the Squad’s Professional Yeeters™

Nile sets up an encrypted Spotify team account and creates a playlist for each of them. Lykon’s contains Beyoncé’s entire discography, and their duet of ‘All The Single Ladies’ is still one of the best karaoke performances in the history of the Guard

#the old guard #my ponderings #lykon #nile freeman #the First Brother #THE QUEEN IS DEAD LONG LIVE THE QUEEN #Nile is all of us and We Have No Choice but To Stan #be the Lykon content you want to see in the world #some of these sprang from my head fully formed like Athena in the myth and then they wouldn't leave me alone #so I'm dragging you all with me on the 'Nile and Lykon Sibling Shenanigans' Train #did I make Lykon a Star Wars nerd? Yes I did #The Immortals Are Not Immune To Lightsabers Propaganda #also I love the idea of Lykon having taken to modernity like a duck to water (together with Joe and Booker)#he's still a 20-year-old at heart ok? Let him act like it

284 notes · View notes

clanwarrior-tumbly · 3 years

Note

What about Tamaki with a reader who knows a lot about flower language so they leave him little flowers as gifts but never tell him it's them cause they don't want to break Tamaki's spirit since he 'believes' it's haruhi. (But he only says that he thinks it's haruhi cause he's afraid of reader finding out that he has a crush on them). And then Kyoya decides to finally help you two get together so he gives Tamaki subtle hints, and then bamn. Confession.

—🌱 (if tumblr eats this ask i will proceed to blast myself into space/also i'm sorry if this is too long and complicated </3)

No worries, this is a perfect idea haha!

.........

An orange blossom.

A symbol of chastity, purity, and loveliness.

It was obvious that Tamaki knew its meaning right away, given he was well-versed in the language of flowers.

Over the past week or so, he’s been left one flower at his usual hosting table. A new day meant a new flower would show up. He had his suspicions of some secret admirer who didn’t dare to show their face, nor leave any indication of their identity.

This certainly perplexed the princely-type; at home, in class, and at the club..he kept asking himself the same question:

Who?

Who was the one trying to profess their love to him in such a subtle way?

He managed to narrow it down to two people he’s gotten close to recently: you and Haruhi. There was no doubt it had to be one of you.

But he knew that it wasn’t like Haruhi to leave flowers all around, especially ones with deep meanings like the orange blossom in his hand.

Which means it could only be-

‘No..’ He shook his head. ‘It may be true but...what if this is just a friendly gesture? They could never possibly see me..the same way that I see them, right? I got it! I’ll just convince myself that this is all Haruhi’s-!!’

“Tamaki, there’s guests waiting for you. So if you’re quite finished with whatever warped fantasy you're immersed in..”

With a small scream, Tamaki whirled around to see Kyoya standing there. His face was burning red, but thankfully the ravenette didn’t hear his thoughts whatsoever, so he regained his composure quickly.

He had no time to sulk over this matter, so he tucked the blossom into his pocket and smiled, turning on his charm as he went over to entertain his guests.

..........

“Will you ever tell him?”

“I don’t know..maybe someday.” You sighed as you sat beside Mori at lunchtime. Honey arrived soon after, joining you both at the table.

You decided to confide in the two about your crush on Tamaki and the flowers you’ve been leaving for him as hints. But after dropping off the orange blossom yesterday, you felt like it was slowly becoming a lost cause because you’re certain he only had eyes for one woman: Haruhi.

You didn’t want to risk shattering his spirit and forcing him to reject you. It would be an awful situation for everyone involved.

“Tama-chan still doesn’t know??”

“I’m pretty sure he thinks it’s Haruhi.” Your voice lowered into a despondent murmur.

“But Haru-chan doesn’t know much about flowers or their meanings,” Honey pouted. “I’m a hundred--no..two hundred percent sure that if you’re honest-!”

“Mitsukuni. Eat your food before it gets cold."

“....okaaay, Takashiiii..” He went back to eating his lunch, like a kid who was being scolded by his parent.

“He’ll figure it out soon, I’m sure.” Mori tried to reassure you.

“Yeah, I can only hope. He can be a real airhead, though..” You sighed.

And so the remainder of your lunch was quiet.

...........

During the last hour of the meeting, after the guests were gone, the hosts saw that their leader wasn’t his usual cheerful-self. Even the guests have noted that he seemed perturbed about something, but he just kept making excuse after excuse.

Kyoya knew very well what was wrong, so he insisted that he and Tamaki talked outside the music room.

But even in the empty hallway he continued to mope around, dodging his longtime friend’s questions and making up lies until-

“You’re not in love with Haruhi. You just convinced yourself this was true out of fear of being taken for a fool by [y/n], your real crush.”

“A fool?!!” Tamaki gawked, turning slightly pale as he stared at him. “Is that all I really am to you, Mommy??!”

“From my observations, yes.”

“!!!!!”

“Now don’t go sulking again,” Kyoya warned. “Not until you tell me..who, out of all the people you know, is highly familiar with flower symbolism?”

“W-Well..[y/n], right?”

“And who told you that they have a lovely garden and regularly visit commoner flower shops?

“...[y/n]...”

“So you know for sure it’s not Haruhi...nor some "friendly gesture.” With a sigh, he closed his notebook, although he perked up at the sound of footsteps approaching, looking behind him to see you. “Oh, hello, [y/n]. I had assumed you’ve gone home for the day."

“Ah, Kyoya-senpai. Hi.” You stopped to catch your breath. “S-Sorry I didn’t show up today, I was behind on a lecture and....Tamaki-senpai?”

The aforementioned blonde yelped and hid behind Kyoya, although he did a terrible job at it as the latter merely stepped aside. “It’s now or never, Tamaki."

And with that, he walked away, leaving you both alone in the hall.

“So...anything interesting happen at the club?"

Tamaki tensed up. "U-Um, no..it was quite an uneventful day, at least for me." He rubbed his arm. "That's..a nice flower you got there.”

“Thanks.” You awkwardly held up the red rose in your grasp. Of course, there were countless ones decorating the music room, and the hosts always seemed to have an endless stash of them to gift to the ladies.

But this rose was much different, even Tamaki knew.

You could tell he was frozen on the spot, so you sighed and walked over, taking his hand to place the rose in it. “Yes, it was me who left all those flowers for you.”

“It was?? I knew it--wait..how much of our conversation did you hear???"

“Not a lot, but at least my fears weren’t confirmed.” You smiled sweetly at him. “Guess I tend to overthink stuff as much as you do, huh?”

Usually this is where he’d respond back with some cheesy romantic quip. But he couldn’t find the right words this time around. It didn’t help that you were now holding both of his hands either, but you were patient, knowing that he desperately wanted to say something to you.

“[Y/n], I’m..truly touched by your gifts.” He managed to speak at last. "Each flower you've bestowed upon me seems as though it was freshly-picked from the Garden of Eden itself. You spoke to me through these flowers..but..even though I knew what they’ve been trying to tell me...part of me was oh-so very afraid of being...wrong.”

Tears glistened in his violet eyes, though you couldn’t tell if they were for dramatic effect or legitimate. Nevertheless, your smile grew as you listened to his speech.

Eventually he did get to his point: he was in love with you but was terrified of what you might think--that he was too immature or aloof or incompetent to ever be more than just a friend.

You just chuckled, shaking your head. “I was afraid to tell you for the same reasons. I knew you could’ve gone for any girl in this school, so..uh...I guess I’m a lucky person, huh?”

“Why, I’d consider myself the lucky one, here. But does this mean...” He tilted his head like a curious puppy, gazing at you intensely. “..you accept my confession?”

“Yeah, more or less. If I didn’t things would be real awkward right-!!”

All of the sudden you were pulled closer to his chest, trapping you in a tight hug. But you simply wrapped your arms around him, before breathing a small sigh of relief.

You were surprised, yet pleased, that things turned out this way.

Meanwhile in Tamaki’s "Theater of the Mind", fireworks were going off and he was prancing around with joyful tears streaming down his cheeks. But in reality he just smiled and closed his eyes as he squeezed you tightly, his heart full of love and joy.

Earlier today he had lost those, but..

You have become his new love and joy.

#clanask #stem anon #ohshc x reader #ouran highschool host club x reader #tamaki suoh x reader #tamaki x reader #tamaki suoh

162 notes · View notes

get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

Text

#1 Victory Royale

✧ pairing: college student!spinner x student!afab!reader

✧ word count: 4.4k

✧ warnings: college au/no quirks, light angst, mostly soft/fluff, smut, could be hate fucking if you squint, afab reader but no pronouns, this is pretty tame, by like my standards, I wrote this at work, not really a warning, but it felt like you needed to know that

✧ summary: relationships suck and Spinner is starting to think maybe he does too

✧ ao3 mirror

✧ a/n: Hey y'all, welcome back to more college au bs from me. This is set in the same universe once again as all my other college pieces. A very sweet anon asked if we'd ever get to see more of Spinner, so here he is! Also with another cameo from shiggy's bitch (endearing) cause I can't help myself.

“Ughhhhhh….”

Spinner’s groaning echoed through the tiny apartment, the heavy sound of creaking couch cushions under his weight following.

“What?” his long-suffering roommate shouted out their bedroom door, rapidly shoving clothing and a toothbrush into an overnight bag.

“Uggghhhhhhh!”

He let out with another, louder dying animal wail. He’d been like this since they woke up—wallowing in some strange concoction of self pity and Red Bull on the kitchen floor when they walked in for water two hours ago.

“Motherfucker,” they mumbled, tossing their bag to the floor and marching, more than a little disgruntled, into the hall. “What do you want?”

Spinner was sitting upside down on the couch now, feet up against the wall tapestry and cotton candy hair splayed out on the floor. He stared blankly as his friend came into view—arms crossed, frowning at him from the end of the hall—and opened his mouth once more, letting out another garbled grunt that had one of the neighbors pounding twice on the wall to shut his dramatic ass up.

“Dude seriously, are you gonna tell me who pissed in your cereal or are you just gonna scream until the guys next door kick a hole through our wall?”

They almost felt bad as he looked away, sniffing and letting himself slump farther off the sofa until he was sprawled completely on the hardwood and staring, glassy eyed, up at the ceiling.

When he finally spoke a full sentence, his gaze was locked on the water stain above him from a year ago when the upstairs neighbors flooded their apartment trying to make jungle juice in the bathtub.

“I don’t know, I’m just in my feels as the kids say,” he sounded so dejected—strange for someone who was perpetually energized to a frustrating degree—that their shoulders immediately slumped from a hardass square to a softer, more sympathetic angle

They padded over to join him on the floor.

“Care to elaborate, oh roomie of mine?”

There was a pause and Spinner tapped his nails against the hardwood idly before responding.

“I guess I’m just feeling, like, fucking I don’t know,” he sighed, knocking his head against the dusty boards, “left out I guess? That’s not quite right, but it’s just Magne mentioned last time she came to The League meeting that Jin was seeing somebody and it just got me all introspective and weird…”

“Hm,” his roommate hummed thoughtfully and studied the way the textured white ceiling gave way to the rings of brown water damage, like a dead and dying flower, “I thought you and Jin weren’t ever that serious?”

“We weren’t,” Spinner groaned again and rubbed his eyes. “We went on like, one date a year ago and I haven’t thought about it really at all since then. I’m not sure why hearing he’s got someone else now made me so fucking...jealous I guess.”

“I mean, maybe you just never really gave yourself the time to process it?” they asked and received only an annoyed huff and accompanying groan. “Sorry, should have asked if you were looking for advice or just wanting to rant. My bad.”

“No, it’s fine. I think it’s just…”

Spinner trailed off and they shifted as the hard floor bit at their back and made it ache. The muscles were sore already as it was, and Tomura blowing their fucking back a few times a week wasn’t really helping. They’d created some kind of perpetually horny monster, but something told them cracking a joke about it wasn’t really going to help the situation much. Thankfully, Spinner found his way to filling the silence a minute later.

“I don’t think it has anything specifically to do with Jin. Yeah I liked him, we’re still really good friends and I don’t feel like I need him to be more than that. It’s just that—and this is gonna make me sound like a massive asshole—but with you and your new fucking boyfie and now even Jin finding someone to date I just keep seeing reminders everywhere of how motherfucking isolated I am.”

“Oh,” they felt their face burn a bit, guilt frothing as they were forced to acknowledge the fact that in all the time they’ve spent holed up with Tomura, Spinner had been discarded like an old Steam game, bought impulsively on sale and never played again. “I’m sorry I haven’t been prioritizing you—”

“No, no, no shut the fuck with that,” he waved his hand to cut them off and pushed himself up on his palms. “I know I’m not being fair about it, and I really am happy for you guys, but idk man….I just feel like I’m never gonna find that you know?”

Beside him, his roommate remained sprawled out on the floor like a homicide tape outline and was just as deadly quiet.

“I just,” he continued, running an angry hand through his hair, “I know I could be such a good partner. Like I’m funny and I’m not a fucking creep, which is actually a plus to most people.”

He shot a side glance down and they rolled their eyes, sitting up and knocking his shoulder roughly till he toppled back to the dirty floor and they stood above him.

“Fuck off,” they chuckled.

His roommate watched as the laughter seemed to infect him like a bad cold, creeping down the back of his throat and shaking in his chest.

“No I’m serious, I would be such a fucking great boyfriend. I give goddamn top quality cuddles and I actually know how to do laundry, what more does one need truly?”

“Damn bro, you’ve known how to fold your own clothes this whole time?”

The giggling spread into the quiet space, rocking through both their shoulders and leaving the air feeling light—fresh like the first nights of Spring. When it finally petered out into friendly silence, they were both far lighter.

“I just like the way you fold my t-shirts, the sleeves don’t get those weird creases when you do it,” he muttered and stood, doing his best to fix the wild pink locks that stood on end from his fidgeting.

“Yeah I’m sure,” his roommate rolled their eyes and turned back down the hall.

When they left for the night to stay over with their boyfriend, Spinner tried not to acknowledge the way he subconsciously glared at their back as they walked out the door, skipping yet another League meeting to swap spit with that guy from their English class.

He tried even harder not to think of how their bed would be warm and their legs would have legs to tangle with, their chest have a chest to lay against, while he heated up instant noodles in the microwave and fell asleep alone on their living room couch.

Not to mention that tonight was the big tournament with that new group on campus. He was really banking on his bff (best fucking friend as they were always sure to clarify) and him teaming up to crush those assholes from The Commission or whatever they called themselves.

Fucking lame as shit name in his opinion.

In any case, he’d have to settle for Magne again, and she was such a loose cannon they were sure to get their asses handed to them. She was a great fucking tank, he’d be the first to admit, but strategy was not a strong point of hers and they desperately needed that tonight.

He could feel the sinking weight of failure rolling in the pit of his stomach already even as he dragged himself into his room to tug on an old pair of jeans.

It bothered him way more than it should, the idea of losing some gaming tournament that, by all means held little to no actual significance.

Spinner knew the stock he’d started placing in games was growing to an unhealthy degree.

He knew that.

But self awareness rarely did anything to alleviate the irrational fear of failing at one of the only remaining consistencies in his life.

It stung worse when the tournament kicked off and by the third round, Spinner was the only remaining League member in the brackets.

“Fucking shit…” he muttered to himself, the small basement room alight with the blue glow of the monitor and the sound of frantically smashing controllers.

Behind him on the couch—stolen long ago from the theater building—Magne held him by the shoulders as he grit his teeth and leaned into the movement of his avatar on screen.

“You got this babe,” she shouted, cheek pressed up to his ear. “Make ‘em eat shit for me!”

“I would if you stopped distracting me,” Spinner hissed back.

Really it wasn’t Magne’s aggressive and somewhat bloodthirsty style of encouragement that shook his focus so badly.

It was his opponent.

The fucking president of The Commission sat, thighs spread and pressed to his, resting your weight on your elbows and snarling beside him in the couch.

Your face was split in this heart stopping grin as you quite deftly dodged all his attempts to get a hit in and managed to land a few of your own in the process.

And you looked really hot doing it.

Which was definitely just a side effect of the punch he (didn’t) drink and the body heat fueled temperature of the room—sweaty skin against sweaty skin making his mind wander against his will.

The shifting in his seat was absolutely just to illogically make him move faster and had nothing to do with how tight his pants now seemed.

So much for not being a fucking creep.

Your teammates were gathered in a circle behind you, enraptured and exuding the kind of smug confidence that said quite clearly The League was fucked from the second they walked in.

Not even two minutes later your hands were thrown up, punching the air and your team piling over the back of the couch to drown you in a sea of celebratory limbs.

Spinner felt himself deflating even as he was toppled off the couch by your screaming members and The League collectively cursed in the background.

Truthfully he’d known the chances of winning were slim.

Ever since his roommate started getting busy with classes and clubs that ‘looked good on their resume,’ The League had gone downhill rapidly. It was a problem since long before that Shigaraki guy swooped in and stole them away, but Spinner couldn’t stop himself from lowkey holding that against him.

The League had consumed so much of his life in college, functioning as a haven where he was finally respected and belonged to an extent he’d never experienced before.

The stink of failure and loss, not of the game but the only space he’d ever really occupied without complaint, burned his face and made the room feel more suffocating than usual.

Magne looked as though she wanted to give him one of her signature—and admittedly very comforting—hugs, but the deadly look of disappointment on Spinner’s face must have made her think twice.

The rest of his team seemed to read this sudden downward shift in the room as they began to filter out, climbing the steps onto street level and away from the suddenly stuffy, uncomfortable meeting spot. Normally everyone would stay and finish off the drinks snuck past the janitorial staff, eating Doritos until well past midnight. This time they couldn’t wait to be rid of him.

He couldn’t really blame them.

The multimedia building was a strange place after hours. Once Spinner might have called it something rare and liminal, now it felt more like a prison.

He stood, packing up the consoles a bit more roughly than necessary when someone cleared their throat behind him.

He turned to see you, standing alone with hands on your hips and scowling like you were the one who just got their gaming reputation ruined.

“Dude what the fuck was that?”

Spinner bristled at the knife sharp point of your tone.

“Really?” he asked incredulously. “You seriously waited around to rub your win in my face?”

You rolled your eyes and took a step closer around the couch. “I’m not talking about the fucking game dumbass. Why the hell are you pouting like I stole your fucking candy or some shit? You ruined the vibes man.”

“If anyone was ruining the vibes, it was you and your cocky ass team.”

Spinner felt himself stepping closer too, pulled in by the celestial weight that accompanied any kindling argument.

“Me?” you pointed to your chest and scoffed, “Wow, I was really hoping you’d actually possess a bit of emotional maturity, but if this is how you get after a loss I’m not shocked your fucking club is bleeding members.”

At some point the two of you had gravitated close enough that he felt the puff of your last breath on his cheeks. Two comets, ready and willing to collide.

“I’m not being the asshole in this situation, you know that right?” Spinner glared down his nose at you, heart pounding in his ears. “Maybe you shouldn’t make fucking unfounded assumptions about people you don’t know.”

“So then why are your panties in a twist over a fucking game?” you retorted.

He was peripherally aware that your eyes had taken on the same laser focused quality as they had during the last round. Determined and locked onto him without sparing a glance to anything else.

It was this same undivided attention that he’d envied in you as you played, and as Spinner felt it trained on him, his pants once again felt uncomfortably restrictive.

“It’s not about the fucking game okay!?” his voice came out hoarse and far more petulant than he’s been aiming for.

Though he quickly felt the embarrassment give rise to a secondary heat as you both breathed each other’s air and searched the face across from you.

“Then what is it about?”

That strange, unexplainable, inexplicable rush of potential filled the small gap that remained between your bodies—the kind of tension Spinner was beginning to think he’d never feel again.

He’d kissed plenty of people. Almost more than he’d like to admit, or that they’d like to admit more accurately.

But when his flickering eyes found your hard stare still and unwavering from his, it felt incredibly natural to lean in and press his lips against your fading frown.

It was slow going, the few centimeters that separated you seemed like miles as he moved slowly, never breaking eye contact until his mouth was finally slotted over yours and you weren’t pushing him away.

There was still a bit of lingering confusion, as this was decidedly not what either of you appeared to be expecting from the prior conversation. That coupled with the fact that Spinner wasn’t entirely sure he remembered your first name made the feeling of your tongue prodding at the seam of his lips all the more startling.

When he gasped, you slid your hands up his chest and licked into his mouth. Tongue tangling between breaths, Spinner felt himself getting lost in the familiar and coveted taste of another mouth, another body, another hand that grasped, that desired, that wanted him.

***

Your knees dug into the cushions on either side of Spinner’s thighs as you bounced in his lap. He fought to keep his eyes open against the pleasure of his cock sinking into you over and over again, so he could watch the way your head was thrown back and your chest heaved with the exertion.

He dug his hands into your hips and let his head hit the back of the couch, feet planted on the floor to help his hips thrust up into you, earning him some of the prettiest, stifled moans he’d ever heard.

Truthfully, he had not expected to fuck you. He figured you might be down to just make out for a bit until the cleaning staff came and booted you from the building, but both your pants had quite quickly and naturally found their way to the floor.

Neither of you spoke much, which he was thankful for. That would have been far too complicated of a conversation, especially considering you really didn’t know each other all that well.

Spinner usually liked to do a bit of ‘getting to know you’ type activities before he hooked up with people, which he did with surprising frequency for somebody so starved for a long term thing. Sex just fucking felt good and it was this eagerness that was his downfall. Most people he’d fucked around with seemed to read the urge to get into their pants as a diminished interest or emotional attraction and Spinner ended up with more friends with benefits than actual friends...or benefits.

Regardless, it was fine by him that the only form of communication passing between you for now were scattered groans of pleasure and the wet slap of your ass against his thighs.

He’d nearly forgotten how fucking amazing pussy felt.

For no particular reason, Spinner had always found himself fooling around with bodies more similar to his own. Not that he had any real preference, though the lack of experience often made him a bit nervous in the whole ‘pleasing your partner’ department, despite many helpful lessons from his roommate.

That was all to say that Spinner was incredibly thankful you reached down to guide his hand that had clumsily begun rubbing circles on your clit. That is until you simply knocked it away and went back to riding his dick like a fucking champ.

Then he did speak.

“Wanna make you cum,” he mumbled and really did sound like he was pouting this time.

You peered down at him, slowing your pace so you sat flush in his lap, grinding his cock deep against your walls. Spinner keened as you clenched around him, pussy so deliciously warm he felt himself near to drowning in the feel of you.

“Mm fuck,” you panted, leaning in to steal a few more messy kisses from him before lifting up and enveloping him in the slick heat all over again. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No,” he nipped at the column or your throat, careful not to leave any lasting marks just in case. “If I’m finishing, you’re fucking finishing.”

You pulled back and stared at him for a moment. He felt you purposefully tightening around him just so he would squirm under your curious gaze. After a moment you smirked and rolled your eyes again, taking his hand and guiding his fingers back to that little nub just above where his thick length was seated inside you.

Spinner was proud of his dick, it was hefty but not so long that it was a hassle to fit—just enough to reach all the important bits. He was sensitive as hell too most of the time, so just about any pressure felt amazing. But the best part of it was watching whoever he was fucking fall apart on his goddamn perfect cock.

So when you whispered, “Like this,” and showed him the rhythm and motion you liked, he pulled himself back from the brink to pay attention, speeding up until that look of cooled control slid right off your face.

“Ahh, yes fuck...” the words tumbled from you freely now. “Shit, yeah just like that—”

Spinner could get fucking drunk off the low groan that left you as he planted his feet more firmly and bucked his hips up. He must have hit something good by the way you choked and moaned boarding on too loud, though he had neither the heart nor self control to stop you.

“Feel good?” he grunted, picking up the pace and force he thrust into you, so that you had to loop your arms around his neck and hold tightly as he speared you on his cock.

“Fuck...yes..” you whimpered into his shoulder which did wonders for his ego.

Spinner kept up his rubbing frantic patterns on your clit and feeling the gradual constriction of your walls around him—the coil growing tight and ready to snap. He nudged your cheek with his until you pulled back a bit to face him.

“I want to see you,” he murmured, sucking your tongue into his mouth for a moment and tearing himself away so he could watch as you came undone around him.

You gave him a strange, soft look and pressed your forehead to his, eyes zoned in on only him.

The rest of the room, the whole fucking basement and campus melted away under that stare.

Your nipples peaked through your shirt, brushing against his as you were jostled into him by the movement of your hips. As you reached your peak, words devolved into increasingly breathy gasps. It took Spinner an incredible amount of concentration not to fucking paint your insides then and there.

Your pussy was so goddamn tight and warm and milking him just right, it was a fucking impressive feat to remain staunchly at the edge of his peak as your mouth fell open and your fingernails scratched at his back when you finally came—the telltale spasms around his cock and the near sobs coming from you more than enough indication.

He lost himself well and truly then.

Lost in the false sense of intimacy that came with being allowed to see you fall apart, this person he barely knew yet made him feel immensely important in that moment. Your breath and spit was in his mouth, the smell and feel of you soaking his length pushed him beyond the realm of conscious thought.

There was only a deep and burning need to be closer to you. So, so much closer.

His hands moved of their own accord, hooking under your thighs and flipping your bodies so your back hit the cushions and he hovered above you. The angle allowed him to slide deeper, pulling out and thrusting his hips in fast, hard strokes that hurtled him towards release.

Spinner couldn’t keep himself quite now either, panting and moaning and gasping unashamedly with his eyes screwed shut as you took his cock so unbelievably well.

It wasn’t until your hands, softer than he’d imagined, cupped his jaw and pulled him down to meet you that he was brought back down from whatever higher plane of existence his impending orgasm whisked him too.

Your lips weren’t nearly as frantic as the rocking of his thighs, the slap of his balls against your ass. The sweetness was an odd but welcome contrast.

“I’m gonna—fucking mm...” he tried so hard to get his tongue to form the words but he could feel himself slipping further as you started clamping around his length again.

“I know,” you breathed against his lips, faces pressed together and unmoving eyes steady on his own. “Ahh, inside if you want.”

He did want.

Oh fuck did he want nothing more in that moment to stay sunk in your warmth and pump you so full, but the last few remaining logical braincells reminded him that was not a great idea. Not without a more in-depth conversation neither of you was in a state to have.

“Shouldn’t...” he groaned and moved to pull out but your ankles locked around his ass and forced him back down.

“It’s okay,” you huffed and rocked into him, squeezing around the sensitive head of his dick just once, just right and that did him in.

It was something in the way you looked at him, so that he could feel nothing but secure—nothing but safe wrapped up in you. Something about the way you pressed him closer, in the movement of your thumb on his cheek.

It scratched some deep seated, lonely itch in Spinner.

Made it feel like this meant a hell of a lot more than it probably did.

In seconds he was blowing his fucking load right into you, milking himself in your heat until he was spent and overstimulated. You were kind enough to pull him to you, turning your bodies so you laid side by side on the coach, his softening cock slipping from you in a gush of release.

For a minute or so, neither of you spoke, just stared, long and comfortable at the stranger you’d just fucked on the gaming club couch.

Well.

Fucked wasn’t really the word he’d use at that point to describe what you’d just done, but anything more than that felt presumptuous.

You broke the silence as he nuzzled into your palm.

“You really needed that didn’t you?”

Spinner couldn’t help the familiar, infectious laugh that rattled in his chest. He liked the smile it earned him, far more genuine than any others you’d worn that night.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

You hummed, nodding in response. “Mm, me too.”

And somehow, for no real logical reason, Spinner knew you understood. That you felt the same isolation, the same starvation for love, for holding weight in someone else’s world.

That the games were just a placeholder, a way to fill the space, to get lost in other lives, in other stories where he did matter. Where his actions had foreseeable and measurable worth. That’s why it hurt to lose. Not for the glory, but for the destruction of the only remaining diversion from how empty his reality felt.

Even if it wasn’t really.

Even if there were friends and benefits and friends who offered both. His roommate could let him rest his head in their lap on movie nights or sleep in his bed on occasion when the heat went out and he got cold too quickly. But none of that quite filled the hole like you now, holding his face and knowing the struggle without him having to explain it.

Nothing like you pulling him in and kissing him too familiarly for someone he’d only known a day.

Magne used to say something about shit like this. Something like how people bond in train cars when there’s a rat eating a slice of pizza and you all watch it happen. Some weird camaraderie forged in the shared experience of life being a little fucking freaky a lot of the time.

That was how it felt when you slipped your leg between his and brushed your lips together again. Content to lay, half naked in the media building basement, making out with some guy you beat at Smash and fucked right after.

Reveling in the brief but meaningful feeling of mattering in some small, strange way to someone else.

Of holding weight.

Of being held.

#spinner x reader #shuichi iguchi x reader #spinner x y/n #spinner x you #college au #mha angst #student!reader

100 notes · View notes

missjennskiario · 3 years

Text

Hello HSMTMTS nation and hello Portwell nation,

Long time. First of all, we got the season 3 announcement yesterday!!! Exciting!! A few things to unpack. First, with the news of a renewal came a brief synopsis about the plot of season 3:

“That seems like the reasoning behind the next season of Disney+’s High School Musical: The Musical: The Series, which will send its characters off from their regular lives and to “the ultimate summer at sleepaway camp, complete with campfires, summer romances and curfew-less nights” when it returns for a third season.” (from this Vulture article https://www.vulture.com/2021/09/hsm-tm-ts-season-3-will-head-to-the-theater-camp.html)

I FINALLY get to share my summer camp prediction/headcannon that I’ve been stirring around since it was rumored back in early summer:

The summer camp the Wildcats end up at is the camp EJ and Nini met at. I think this could open HUGE doors in way of character development for both Nini and EJ. First, during Nini’s last stay at that camp she was boy-obsessed, and unsure of her talents. Now, she has realized her own self worth outside of boys and has a record deal in the works. During EJ’s last summer he was selfish, vindictive, guarded, and willing to do whatever it took to get what he wanted. Now going into this summer, he’s discovered new hobbies (hey, AV club) and been able to step outside himself and become a much more grounded, and humble person.

I think it would be wonderful to see both of them struggle with keeping their heads about them and confronting being in this familiar place as these new people. However, I want to see them succeed. This should be a plot device to solidify their development not have it backslide. Maybe old camp rivalries test them to see just how much they’ve changed, and maybe new ones will too (I would love to see North High end up at the same camp and be forced to work with the Wildcats but more on that later).

I definitely see EJ and Nini being driving forces in this season. Not in a pushing other people to the background way or anything like that, but in a “they know the camp the best and they’re two team leaders for different recon missions” way.

Speaking of recon missions and rivals, let’s revisit the East/North high alliance. I see a really fun and interesting “unlikely alliance/the enemy of my enemy is my friend” dynamic playing out here, especially if the writers really wanna push Ricky/Lily. I think there could be great set-up for this in the first episode alone. Stay with me here:

It starts with the East High kids on a bus to camp. There’s some banter and Ricky seems too engrossed in his phone to keep up with what’s going on. We see he’s texting Lily and he’s trying to keep it a secret from the other Wildcats cause he isn’t sure how to tell them. They show up and as they’re unloading they see another bus pulling in and out pour the North High kids. They argue and groan at each other and Mr. Theatre Dad Mazzarra plays peacemaker (along with the poor unwitting camp counselor). There’s a scene between Jenn and Zack where she tells him that if the North High kids sabotage this for the East High kids there will be hell to pay. There’s cute little moments with the couples, friend banter, etc. as they settle in. Ricky sneaks off to meet Lily and they turn up at the all-camp meeting late walking in exactly 30 sec. after each other (Kourtney and Carlos timed it). After the meeting, another group of kids approach them. They’re from a performing arts school that just opened up and is VERY prestigious (or I even see them being from YAC interesting. There are more interesting dynamics with Nini that could play out there). The other kids talent and experience threaten even the most seasoned kids of the groups and they go back to their respective spots in camp feeling uneasy. There’s a similar situation with their director and Jenn/Mazzarra/Zack.

Later that night, the girls cabin is talking and freaking out about these new kids, then they get a knock on their door. The boys are having the same thoughts. They sit in the cabin talking when there’s ANOTHER knock on the door. This time it’s the North High kids lead by Lily and Antoine. They suggest a truce and an alliance to take these other kids down. The East High kids agree and the episode ends on a tight-shot of a handshake between two of the kids. The rest of the season, hijinks ensue.

(tim, hire me!)

I think this could open doors for interactions between characters we don’t normally see together or would usually have no reason to be together. Maybe Big Red and Antoine get stuck on a recon mission together. Maybe Lily and Gina put their power to good use to take the other kids down (Gina 1.0 moments but for good this time). I also see it offering new conflicts that don’t heavily center around love-triangles and relationships. It would be interesting and fresh.

As for guest appearances and new characters, Kevin McHale has said he’d love to be a camp counselor and I FULLY endorse that. I’d love to see him as the nervous mediator between the grumpy and dramatic directors. I don’t have any casting choices in mind yet for new characters but like I said I’d love kids from EJ and Nini’s summer to show up and if the rival school is YAC, I’d love to see Nini have to confront those kids too.

That’s all I have for now but I’m sure I’ll have more thoughts the more information we get, so stay tuned.

#Portwell #hsmtmts #gina porter #ej caswell #ashlyn caswell #big red #ricky bowen #kourtney greene #sebastian Matthew-Smith #carlos rodriguez #high school musical the musical the series

24 notes · View notes

bi-demon-ium · 3 years

Text

@suppenzeit your tags on that gifset..... im tagging you because i dont wanna clog up someone elses gifset post thing but like. I TOO WONDER EVERY DAY what would have happened had kate not knocked those guys out and he’d successfully kidnapped mr benedict. i know i’ve talked about it before (i think on one of the Long Post(TM)s?) but like just???

okay first of all on the crack side of things: you KNOW curtain has a whole evil monologue planned. he has a dramatic window to silhouette against and turn around for the dramatic reveal. he’s got the perfect chair and restraints picked out for him to be tied to. etc. this is all Incredibly Dramatic theater kid of him.

on the other hand, ANGST. like. at this point mr benedict has no idea curtain has anything to do with this. at this point as far as he knows his brother has been missing for almost 30 years. he hasn’t seen him since that fateful day, he doesn’t know anything about him.

so like. mr benedict waking up and like. seeing his brother? realizing? hes happy to see him but then like. realizing what’s going on and the hurt, the heartbreak and guilt and anger, all of it just. there.

or like. curtain is expecting--well, shock, anger, or self righteousness, maybe he even thinks benedict has figured it out by now (he doesn’t seem shocked when mr benedict knows in the finale, but to be fair, by then he knows about the Child Spies so) so he expects anger and self righteousness but instead like. first shock. then pure joy. like genuinely his brother looks so happy to see him. and then confusion (he’s tied up) and then realization (the people that took him, they were there for plans he was fighting, they hurt his friends, they hurt him, and his brother sent them--) and then just. genuine heartbreak. maybe if he wasn’t looking right at him for the first time in years he’d be angrier but all he can think is nathaniel, nathaniel, nathaniel and this is my fault, i abandoned you, and what have you done?

and curtain was not expecting this, somehow, he’s a dramatic ho and had planned for the classic supervillain monologue hero tries to be like self righteous but instead his brother is just like [crying] nathaniel??????

(also very funny is the image of curtain being like *striking a dramatic pose silhouetted against the dramatic window* hello, nicky.

and he’s picturing his brother will straighten up and go into a self righteous rant about heroism and not hurting people or whatever but instead he just takes one look at him and Bursts Into Tears. and curtain is like. I Did Not Plan For This. benedict is like i want to get out of these ropes so i can hug you you stupid idiot. he is not even processing what all this means imagine waking up and your brother who you havent seen in 30 years is just There. it is so awkward. jeffers and any guards in the room awkwardly look away.)

like obviously for the overall plot implications this is bad, like, mr benedict is kind of the leader and helps them figure out intel and shit by knowing about curtain and more (not that they’re incapable without him but like, a) they also incapacitated the others most likely, and b) he did figure out some important stuff that helped, and c) i dont know if the kids ever got there) but like...... just on the idea of this moment happening, him waking up and finding out this guy he was fighting was his brother the whole time, that his brother knew, that his brother hurt his friends and kidnapped him, that his brother was doing all of this, and that his brother was standing right in front of him making that stupid face he always made when he won a game of chess, and he missed him but also what the fuck and also is this his fault and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA im losing my mind <3

#yes this is on my fics list why do you ask #i love crack and angst <3 #the mysterious benedict society #nicholas benedict #mr curtain #mr benedict stop blaming yourself challenge

14 notes · View notes

lovelivingmydreams · 4 years

Text

A might have been part 4

Alright! Final part for now! @kingcreativityau au part 4. Please enjoy! More might come later!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Acting and singing became a wonderful additional coping tool for Thomas all throughout his school career and even after College. Which was when Thomas tried to get a grip on his personality for the first time and actually connected with them. Everyone was very excited and nervous. But Patton gladly took charge. They didn’t tell Thomas their names, Deceit said he wasn’t ready for them to be more than caricatures yet, so they stuck with their titles. Deceit and Remus stayed behind for the same reason. “Okay, so my morality, logic and my creativity… Is there… I mean…” Thomas bit his lip nervously. There was one part of his personality he’d been treating like a person in his head for years. Had he actually known about his sides on some level since middle school?

“You called?” Virgil popped up with a teasing smirk, making Thomas jump in surprise.

“Kiddo! There you are! Thomas this is your Anxiety,” Patton grinned brightly. “What’s up?” Virgil asked with a two fingered salute. “Oh… Hi?” Thomas smiled tentatively. “Now Thomas, remember, he’s a bit of a Debby downer sometimes but he has good intentions,” Roman assured him making Virgil roll his eyes. Thomas nodded. “Yeah you’re right,” he nodded. Then he smiled carefully at Virgil who gave him a shy smile back, which was somehow reassuring to Thomas. The young man relaxed, easing the pressure Virgil had been struggling with all day. “Well… Um it was nice meeting you all. I’ll… See you guys around?” “We’re always with you kiddo,” Patton assured Thomas. “We are aspects of your personality after all,” Logan pointed out. “And we shall always strive to help you to be the best you can be!” Roman declared. “Or, you know, keep you alive at least,” Virgil shrugged. After that Thomas would occasionally converse with them directly when he was struggling with something. Then Vine came along, Patton's brilliant suggestion actually, and they became characters. Even Virgil got skits both as anxiety and as the villain/best friend to Roman’s prince. The fans insisting he and Roman were lovers got a laugh out of all of them. And then they appeared as themselves on youtube and Thomas started to have group discussions with them. Virgil was reluctant at first and only made a brief cameo during the first two episodes. But the fans demanded more so he got his own episode and somehow the fanders lost their minds. Jan, Remus, Roman and Virgil had a good laugh when Logan learned he and Patton were paired up almost as often as Virgil and Roman were. Patton just thought it was cute. Roman was delighted with all the attention of course. Virgil though, couldn’t help but wonder if he was really helping or making everything harder. His and Roman’s best friends/mortal enemies banter carried over from the vines, and he knew that none of the jabs and insults were sincere or meant to be hurtful, but some hit too close to home regardless of their intent. And Logan sometimes made good points to shut him down. And even Patton tried putting him on the sidelines. And maybe that was where he belonged. They all had their own room now. Remus and Janus’ being near the willow, Roman, Patton and Logan at the front of the mind and Virgil was in the middle. And maybe he shouldn’t be. Maybe he shouldn’t even be here to begin with. He should just leave. Before he did something he couldn’t take back that hurt the others. This had lasted too long already. He shouldn’t be pushing his luck. So he ducked out. Or he tried. Apparently he was needed. And everyone made that very clear. And things were good for a while after that… until Janus showed up.

“What was that?” Virgil demanded after he had made sure the others were doing alright after the whole theater ordeal. And it was Roman’s condition he wanted to talk about. “Virgin! How ya doing!? You’re so busy lately we haven’t gone monster hunting in forever!” Remus grinned as he popped up from seemingly nowhere. Virgil allowed himself a moment to smile at Remus. He couldn’t help that his best friend was being a dramatic jerk. And he had a point. It’d been too long since Virgil had taken the time to hang out with Remus. He could make excuses all day, but fact remained he’d been neglecting him. An issue he could still make right.

“You're right. How about we go nightmare hunting later? You, me and Roman. Like old times?” Virgil suggested.

Remus grinned widely at that. “Promise?”

Virgil nodded. “You go tell Roman to get ready. I'll be there in a sec,” he assured him. And so he was left alone with the yellow clad side.

“Well?” he demanded.

“Thomas is simply at a point in his journey where it was time he got to know me. Your little dilemma just presented a good opportunity to introduce myself. Nothing more,” Janus explained patiently.

“I don't give a damn about you talking to Thomas! It's how you went about it!” Virgil demanded. Then he took a deep breath to reign in his temper. “Listen, I get that it’s been frustrating for you and Remus to hide away like this, but just… remember that we’re your friends okay? That’s all,” Virgil pleaded. “I get where you were coming from today. I really do. But Joan is Thomas’ best friend. And trust between friends is so important. It just wasn’t the right call today,” he explained more calmly. He missed the haunted expression that flashed over Janus’ face. The master of deception had his face back under control in a second. Even if he didn’t have a grip on the stinging in his heart or behind his eyes yet. “Of course Virgil. I’ll keep that in mind,” he promised. And he felt slightly moved when Virgil just took his word for it and bid him goodbye to go see Remus and Roman. The fanders going wild over Deceit with theories and cosplays and art and all the ships was a topic of happy conversation amongst the sides and it was decided to just let bygones be bygones. Dee had his introduction and next time he was needed he’d help Thomas see him in a less black and white way. Jan made a cameo at Halloween where he reminisced on the Halloween pranks the ‘dark sides’ used to play on everyone when they were kids in vague terms that got the fans theorizing on Remus’ identity like crazy. And then… The callback. “How could you?” Virgil demanded when he found Janus after being shut out of Roman’s room with little more than the explanation that he was busy. Patton insisted he was fine, which he was not and Logan insisted that he was ‘not in need of any assistance at the moment’. So Virgil was left with only one thing to do and that was confronting the cause of all this.

“It’s not my fault Roman insisted on pleasing Patton rather than fulfilling his purpose,” Deceit argued bitterly. “Roman was doing his job perfectly fine. If you hadn’t meddled we might’ve actually gotten to something… I mean what were you thinking when benching Logan? And bullying Thomas in the stands like that… Did you even care that you hurt Princey? Did you notice we were all miserable when you were having your one man party? Or did you just choose not to see?” Janus was taken aback by Virgil’s passion. He'd only wanted Thomas to… he'd done that so everyone would be happy. It just hadn't ended how he thought it would. Roman wasn't supposed to be selfless. He was the ego for heaven's sake! King would’ve never…

Oh no… that was his mistake wasn't it? He'd predicted Roman's actions based off of Him. He didn’t know the lighter creativity as well as he knew his brother. They'd been pleasant acquaintances, casual friends even. But they never got as close as Roman as with any of the others.

Janus' scales itched as if to remind him of their part in this. And yet Janus had selfishly insisted on keeping them as a guard against the others. If he hadn't, maybe he could've seen more of this noble side to Roman. Seen him grow from the self-centered, attention seeking, dramatic into… well still all of that but with a true desire to improve. To be better than his worst impulses for his friends.

He'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone. But Virgil was not done. “So congrats Janus. Thomas knows he’s a liar. And everyone in the mindscape feels miserable. But hey, at least you were right. That’s all that matters right?” Virgil bit and when the serpentine side still failed to answer it somehow made him even angrier than if he had tried to defend himself. At least then it would show Virgil was wrong in his thinking somewhere. He needed Jan to say he was magnifying , or jumping to conclusions or whatever. Just something. “You better hope I manage to clean up some of the mess you made,” he warned. “I can’t believe I ever believed you cared about us. About anyone but yourself,” he scoffed as he turned around and left. That finally made Janus snap out of his frozen stare. He started to follow, ready to grab Virgil's hand and explain himself. “Virgil wait…” “Save it Jan! An apology from you means nothing!” Virgil was just mad. He probably would’ve been willing to at least listen once he’d calmed down… But those words… Janus felt as if he was punched in the gut. And the way he chose to deal with this was… Well… “Kiddo? Where is Roman?” Patton wondered as he saw Virgil head to the dreamscape, followed by a litter of shadow kittens. Sadly that last bit wasn’t a startling sight anymore. Everyone was having so much stress and thoughts, Virgil could not keep up. Ignoring them, Logan said, wasn’t going to be less draining than facing them directly in the long run. And Virgil knew he was right. But with the aftershock of Janus’ brilliant performance still echoing through the Thomassphere, Virgil didn’t have the time to acknowledge them, let alone face them. He had to help Patton out so he wouldn’t overwork himself in trying to cheer everyone up. Make sure Logan felt helpful and listened to. Most importantly he had to show Roman that he was there for him, no matter what.

Roman couldn’t even stand the color yellow at the moment. Even his interactions with Remus had gotten strained. That was another thing. Since Roman couldn’t bring it up to spend time with his brother due to his closeness with the snake, Virgil had also had to assure him that he was still important to them. It was just a weird situation right now.

In the past, Virgil would have dragged them both to the imagination to talk things out, but in this instance Roman wasn’t angry with Remus. It was just that none of them could really deal with his antics right now and that meant that hanging out with him would very soon lead to Janus being called to them and… Right. Virgil was exhausted and surrounded by physical manifestations of everyone’s stress and worries 24/7. Good job Jan. “I had him rest up, I’m going to take the night shift today. He’s been working too hard lately,” Virgil explained, thinking back to the grateful smile Roman had given him as he went to bed. It made him feel slightly better he‘d done that right. It had even made a kitten or two disappear. Patton glanced down at the dozen kittens that were left. “So have you,” he pointed out. Virgil chuckled lamely. “Guess we all need a break,” he sighed. “Break what? Your skull?” Virgil nearly jumped out of his skin and Patton wasn’t any better. “Remus? Dude what are you…?” “Just coming to hang out with my good ol’ buddy! But if we are going to crack skulls, can I go first?” Virgil, in a panic, shoved Remus against a wall and clamped his hand over his mouth. “Shush! If you talk like that in here Thomas’ll hear you!” he reminded his chaotic friend. Then the blood drained from is face and he jumped back with a look of disgust. “You licked me!” he exclaimed as he looked at his hand. Instead of saliva there was some sort of slime or mucus dripping from his palm. Gross. He grabbed a towel to white it off. Normally he'd laugh it off, because what did he expect to happen? But now he couldn't handle another thing going wrong.

“Well you surprised me Virgie! I didn’t know you liked it that way. But I’m going to have to decline. Romie would kill me if I took his man,” he teased Virgil rolled his eyes. Remus loved the ships and liked bringing them up whenever possible. “But about that skull breaking…” Suddenly Patton and Virgil recoiled at the images Remus’ train of thought had wrought. Patrick, Thomas imagined he’d… No. “Thomas don’t! What the heck dude!” he exclaimed as he held his head trying not to add to the litter. He was getting close to a break down, he could just feel it. This was all too much.

“You can’t be thinking like that Kiddo!” Patton agreed. It was a long restless night. The only good thing that came out of it was Logan managing to take a huge weight off of Virgil’s chest and in doing so allowing Thomas to breathe a little easier as well.

“You sure you’re okay?” Virgil asked once again as he finished taking care of Roman’s head once he got him back to his room. “I told you I’m fine Virgil. Thank you. For looking after me now and trying to protect me earlier. It is much appreciated,” he smiled tiredly. “Of course…” Virgil shrugged. Picking up a shadow puppy and petting it. Letting the guilt be for a bit. “I just wish-”

“None of that!” Roman insisted with a wave of his hand. “You have been working yourself ragged trying to protect us all. Remus showing up just was too much for all of us.” “I’m sorry about that,” Remus offered sheepishly making both men jump. “Dude!” Virgil hissed as he recovered from his surprise. “Remus! Would it kill you to use a door?” Roman asked as he clutched at his racing heart. Remus' sheepish look was so unexpected that both of them forgot about their annoyance instantly.

“Rem, you good dude?” Virgil wondered.

“Did I hurt you for realsies?” Remus asked his brother carefully. Roman had always been able to handle rough housing just fine. But during the discussion it had occurred to Remus that his brother might not be at full strength right now.

Roman gave Remus a reassuring smile. “Don't worry Remus. This,” he gestured to the bandaging on his head, “is just Virgil being overly thorough. I'll be back to dragon slaying in no time,” he promised. Virgil gave Roman a glare and a shove for that.

“Hey! I am injured! Have some compassion!” Roman whined.

“Either you're fine or you need to be handled with care. Can't have it both ways Princey,” Virgil pointed out with a teasing smirk.

Roman pouted at that, making his audience laugh which was the point. He was delighted to see the puppy and a few kittens disappearing. He loathed seeing them in such numbers around his friend.

“I did have a lot of fun today though!” Remus grinned.

Virgil let out a sigh and smiled. He didn’t, but if the twins were okay, then that was all that mattered.

“Well, now that Thomas knows I suppose you'll be out and about more in the future,” Roman told him, making his brother grin from ear to ear.

They relaxed and talked for a while, no one mentioning Janus or his part in today's events. Even Remus knew not go bring that up. Or perhaps he was too distracted by a million other things to do so.

“Well, nice catching up! But I’ll let you lovebirds have your privacy,” Remus announced as he got up from the bed.

“Where are you going?” Roman asked.

Remus snickered. “My room. Did I scramble your brain Roro?”

Roman ignored the charming visual, tugging at his sash and frowning.

“You don't have to go back there… Just because Deceit said that's where you are supposed to be… he lies… he does whatever it takes…” He clenched his hands into fists around the sash. He was trying so hard to keep composure that the hand on his shoulder made him jump. He looked up. Virgil was smiling at him, not reassuring, but understanding. He gave him a squeeze and turned to Remus.

“If you want we can move you next to my room. You don't have to of course,” he told Remus.

The resident gremlin grinned back at the two of them. “Aw, that’s disgustingly sweet of you V. But I’ll stick with double d in the back. I don't want to catch the sap bug you all suffer from up here.” He made a gagging sound and turned to leave.

“If you change your mind, we'll be here okay,” Virgil reminded him.

Remus gave them a dismissive wave and left.

“Shouldn't we stop him? Who knows what that snake'll have him do next?” Roman worried ready to chase after his brother.

“I’d love to, but that’s not how Remus works,” Virgil sighed.

Roman hated that he was right. He just hoped his brother wouldn't get burned the way he was.

The tension in the mindscape calmed down, somewhat. But then… the wedding came.

Long before they even got there, Virgil was exhausted. Roman could see that and the event did not give his hooded friend a chance to rest. So Before Thomas got home, Roman took a page out of Virgil’s book and forced the anxious side to sleep. He brought him to Remus in the back of the mind.

“Keep him safe until I come to collect him alright?”

Remus nodded knowing that ‘safe' actually meant away from Deceit.

Or as he was now known publicly, Janus.

Remus was shaking. He'd heard every word. He thought Janus was his friend. He'd sworn that he wasn't bad… but then of course… what made him trust the word of the master of lies?

He wanted to scream, to hit something, to… then he looked up and saw Roman staring at him. A wild look in his eyes.

“Just Listen!” Patton's voice came from the distance.

“Guys?” a groggy voice from behind Remus. Virgil… “What are you doing?”

Remus and Roman were still staring. Having a silent conversation with just their eyes. They'd promised, but this was different. Virgil would be happier with his old friend back rather than two bad copies he had to split his time between right?

It was like their thoughts were synching up. They could see every bit of hurt they had caused Thomas, Virgil and the others by being apart. Together they might be able to fix everything. They reached out their hands.

“Wait! Please don't!” Virgil pleaded. The twins cast their one true friend one last grateful look and then they were gone.

King grinned victoriously as he as once again one. He was different, he could already tell, but that didn't have to be a bad thing.

His eye landed on Morality and he grinned cruelly. The blast of his rebirth had brought Morality to his knees before him, as he should be.

“There you go,” he praised as he held his sword out, daring morality to try something.

“Bow before the king,” he commanded.

He took a moment to commend Morality for his clever ruse. Even bowed to him, relishing in how each word and gesture made Morality shrink and tremble. And he hadn't even begun to play yet.

Suddenly there was a soft gasp behind him. He looked back and spotted fear. Oh good. In all the commotion he'd almost forgotten he was here. He stared up at him in wide eyed disbelief. It was a lot to take in he supposed. Him being back with this brand new look. He should probably greet him properly. “Ah, Fear,” he smiled, showing he remembered him. There was no need for him to worry that he would have to start from scratch with him yet again. He knew everything.

They were going to have so much fun together!

“How are you doing my old friend?”

#ts sides #sanders sides #kingcreativityau #there now i can have peace

111 notes · View notes

juliandev0rak · 3 years

Text

Into The Wild

Chapter 5: Honeysuckle

✧ Into The Wild Series ✧ playlist ✧

Words: 3023

At the beginning of the summer Asra and Willa did a tarot reading, just for fun and mostly as an excuse for Willa to show off the cards she’d designed and painted herself. It had been a simple one card pull to symbolize the theme of the summer, and she’d pulled the star— symbolizing hope, faith, and rebirth. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now, looking back at the last few weeks of summer, Willa has realized just how correct that prediction was.

She can’t remember the last time she was this happy and excited for the future. The last few years have been hard on her own, and joining the staff of Camp Vesuvia had been a last-ditch effort to fix things, to make something of herself, to find a place to belong. And as her tarot deck had predicted, she’d done all of those things. Though there was no way the cards could have predicted Muriel, or how much Willa has grown to like him in just a few short weeks.

After the movie night, specifically after the cuddling in the dark and goodbye cheek kisses, she’d been afraid he would disappear. But Muriel had kept his promise to be around more, and they’ve spent the last few days almost entirely together. He’s joined her at meals, sat with her every night at the campfire, and even helped her with work. volunteering in the arts and crafts cabin when his own work was slow.

And Willa had been just as eager to see him, she’d even followed him around on a patrol one evening. It should have been scary to be in the forest after dark like that, but she’d never had so much fun in her life holding the flashlight and listening to Muriel tell stories about his work to pass the time. That’s another change, he actually talks to her now. And whether it’s due to her persistent encouragement finally wearing him down or the tentative trust they’ve built up over a few weeks of friendship, Willa is very glad for the change.

In all of the busy days of work and evenings spent sitting close together by the fire, time has moved fast. Only one week remains before the end of the summer. Only one week remains until Willa has to drive back down the mountain and back to whatever remains of her solitary life in the city. She supposes she’ll have to look for a new job, and that she’ll simply have to forget about how wonderful things have been here at Camp Vesuvia.

Willa doesn’t want to think about forgetting Muriel yet, the thought hurts too much to consider though the deadline for accepting it grows ever nearer.

With only seven days left till the end of camp, it’s time for the culminating event of the summer— the annual talent show. It’s all the campers have been able to talk about for days, and most camp activities have been halted to allow them to practice their talents. Willa had been asked to judge, but she decided to leave that job to Asra and Julian. They’ve been bickering all day about the criteria used to find a winner and what “defines talent”. The winners will get prize money, a trophy, and most importantly— the glory of winning Camp Vesuvia’s talent show.

The air is full of excitement, and as Willa enters the amphitheater she can’t help but be swept up in the festive mood. Lucio has been busy with the decorations, he’s got an eye for dramatic decor and somehow managed to turn the outdoor stage into a real theater experience. There are lights strung through the trees, a red curtain creating a backstage area, and he even managed to convince the kitchen staff to bring out the popcorn machine.

As the campers file in, Willa takes her seat in the back, making sure to save the seat next to her for Muriel. When she saw him earlier in the day he’d promised to be there even though “talent shows aren’t his thing”, as he’d told her in no uncertain terms. Nadia takes to the stage to start the show and Willa searches the crowd, not spotting Muriel anywhere. Portia waves Willa over to sit with her and Asra, but she shakes her head. She’ll wait a little longer for him.

The first act goes up, one of the older campers sings a Taylor Swift song. She’s actually really good and Willa gives her a standing ovation when she finishes. The camper gets a ten from Julian and an eight from Asra which causes a squabble between the judges which Nadia has to break up. The judges are almost better entertainment than the show itself, and by the time the second competitor takes the stage Willa’s nearly forgotten the empty seat next to her. But sometime in the middle of the next act Muriel arrives, silently taking the open seat.

“Sorry I’m late,” Muriel says.

Willa scooches over to make more room for him on the bench, giving him a smile in greeting. “I’m glad you made it.”

“What did I miss?”

“The first camper sang a cover of ‘You Belong With Me’, and then Julian and Asra fought over the scores. Someone needs to take those score cards away from them before a physical fight breaks out,” Willa laughs, eyeing the judges warily.

The corner of Muriel’s mouth quirks up in amusement. “Sounds like them.”

The next act features a bunch of card tricks involving audience participation. “Is this your card?” the boy asks, holding up the King of Hearts for another camper to inspect. It turns out that it wasn’t the right card, and the judges give out a measly 5 and 3 as scores.

Willa sneaks a glance at Muriel as the judges deliberate and finds him already looking at her. Instead of looking away they both stare for a minute, only breaking eye contact when applause signals the next act taking the stage. Willa clears her throat, hoping the moment of staring wasn’t as awkward as she fears it was.

“Did you ever compete in a talent show?” Muriel asks, his voice pulling her out of her thoughts. He keeps his volume at a polite whisper so as not to disturb the performance.

“I was homeschooled so I didn't have much of a chance, but my brothers and I would put on our own talent shows,” Willa whispers back. “We used to charge our parents a dollar to watch the show.”

“What was your talent?”

“Singing, I wanted to be on Broadway when I was a kid. As I got older I realized I’m not that great of an actor,” Willa says, smiling at the memory of her younger self tap dancing her way across the barn.

“I think you’d be good at it.” Muriel sounds earnest, as if he really means the compliment.

“Thanks, but I think you’ll have to hear me sing first before you make that judgement,” Willa laughs.

“I’d like to hear you sing.”

Willa blushes at the comment, ducking her chin into her scarf to hide her face. “Maybe someday.”

“But I’m not going to karaoke.”

“That’s ok, it’s a bit much even for me,” she says, trying to keep her tone even as he continues to look directly at her.

A strong breeze moves through the trees around them and Muriel suppresses a shiver, his shoulder bumping hers. Willa wonders again why he doesn't bundle up in more clothing, maybe the cold doesn’t bother him like it bothers her. The thought reminds her of the present she made him and Willa turns to him excitedly.“I brought you something.”

“Huh?”

Willa reaches into her tote bag, digging past her water bottle and various scrunchies and nearly-empty packs of gum. Finally she locates the gift and pulls it out for Muriel to see. “I made you a scarf!’’

“You… made this?” Muriel takes the green knit scarf out of her hands, inspecting the repeating pattern with interest. “Why?”

“I wanted to! It gets cold here at night. I know you have to patrol outside a lot and I thought you might like something to keep you warm.” Willa reaches for the scarf again and he lets her take it. “May I?”

Muriel inclines his head slightly and allows her to wrap the scarf around his neck. When he lifts his head he’s smiling and Willa exhales in relief. He likes it.

The talent show goes on, though Willa and Muriel admittedly don’t pay much attention to it. There are musical acts, dancing, and every sort of talent in between and though Asra and Julian continue to bicker a little, as the night continues they seem to get it together. They manage to at least avoid breaking out the score cards as weapons.

With only a few acts remaining the tensions are high, and the crowd has only gotten louder. Willa looks over at Muriel and notices how uncomfortable he looks at the increased volume and chaos. He seems like he wants to leave, and Willa can’t blame him, it is a bit much. Since she’s not technically on duty tonight, and she wants to spend more time with him, Willa concocts a new plan for the evening.

“Would you like to go get some cocoa? The kitchen should still be open,” she suggests.

Muriel looks up, eyes wide in relief. “That’d be nice.”

“Let’s go then! I need a snack.” Willa grabs his hand on the pretense of pulling him up from his seat, but he doesn’t pull his hand away once he’s up. As they leave the amphitheater his fingers weave through hers and he holds her hand more tightly.

“Are we allowed to be in here this late?” Muriel asks as they enter the kitchen building. It’s warm and brightly lit, a nice reprieve from the dark path they’d had to navigate to walk here.

Willa crosses over to the cabinet where mugs are stored, reaching up on her tiptoes to grab two mugs. “Wellll… not technically, but I’m friends with the kitchen staff so it’s fine!”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Muriel stands by the door, uncertainty clouding his expression.

“Muriel it’s fine, I promise. Come here and help me measure the cocoa,” she beckons him over, holding a spoon out for him to take. They make their cocoa, stirring warm milk and chocolate powder together until it's smooth.

Willa holds her mug up to her nose, inhaling the chocolate scent. “Do you want marshmallows?”

“Only if they aren’t burnt to a crisp. Maybe I should handle them,” Muriel laughs, and Willa turns to him with a surprised grin.

“Wait, was that a joke?”

“I can be funny.” He plops two marshmallows into his mug and puts three in Willa’s.

“Thanks.” Willa holds her mug up, clinking it against Muriel’s in cheers.

They sip their cocoa in silence, enjoying the quiet after a night of too much noise. Out of the corner of her eyes Willa notices Muriel watching her and she wonders if he’ll say something or if she should first. He beats her to it, setting his mug down on the counter before he turns to face her more fully.

“What will you do after this summer?” he asks.

Of course he would bring up the one topic she most wants to avoid. “I’m not quite sure, I guess I’ll move back to the city and start looking for another job,” Willa sighs.

“So you’re leaving.”

Willa takes a sip of her cocoa, trying to decipher his tone as she thinks of a response. He sounds almost sad, and she can’t imagine it’s on her behalf. “I think I have to, I can’t stay here with no campers around, I wouldn’t have a job.”

Muriel’s hair falls into his face, leaving half of it in shadow, but Willa can still see him frown. “Why are you spending time with me, why aren’t you out there with your friends?”

“You are my friend and I like spending time with you, I like you,” she says. “We’ve been over this.”

“Why do you give me things? I don’t ever give you anything in return,” Muriel looks frustrated now and Willa fights the urge to reach out and take his hand. She gives him his space, keeping her hands firmly planted on her mug.

“You give me plenty, Muriel. I know this will sound cheesy but your friendship is a gift, being around you is the best part of my day,” Willa explains. “You don’t have to give me anything.”

Muriel still looks frustrated and confused, and Willa sighs in defeat. She’s leaving in a week, it’s now or never. If Muriel isn’t getting the picture she’ll just have to draw him a new one. Though part of her wants to just bury these emotions and not risk ruining things, she's never been one to shy away from her feelings. Even if he doesn’t feel the same way as her it’s only fair that he knows how she feels.

Before she can overthink it any more Willa blurts out, “The truth is Muriel, I like you.”

He tilts his head to the side in confusion. “You already said that?”

“No, I like you, as in romantically,” Willa pauses. Muriel stares at her blankly as if he doesn’t understand her words, but now that she’s started talking it’s hard to stop.

“I’ve liked you for weeks now, actually, ever since that night when you taught me how to roast marshmallows. And I know summer’s ending soon so I feel like I have to tell you now or I’ll never get a chance and I know I’ll regret it forever if I don’t. I don’t want to be an old lady still thinking about that crush I had in my twenties that went nowhere because I was too afraid to tell him so uh, here I am telling you…” Willa trails off, wondering if Muriel might need medical attention, he looks very pale.

“You like me?” he repeats.

“I do,” Willa nods.

Muriel continues to stare at her in silence and Willa doesn’t know what to say. Finally, the tension breaks and Muriel grabs his jacket off of the coat rack by the door. “I should go.” Before she can process what he’s said Muriel opens the door, practically running outside.

“Muriel, wait!” Willa stands in the doorway calling after him, but he doesn't turn. She briefly considers going after him but that might only make things worse.

Instead, she takes a seat on the doorstep, feeling like she wants to disappear into the dirt. For a second, tears well up behind her eyes but she blinks them away, feeling silly for caring so much. He’d run away. She’d told him she liked him and he’d left, there could be no clearer sign of rejection.

“Well, that went well didn’t it,” Willa mutters sarcastically, using her sleeve to wipe at her damp eyes. “I need to go clean something.”

She heads back into the kitchen, trying to ignore the well of emotions she feels as she washes the mug Muriel had been holding only minutes ago. She watches the cocoa wash down the drain, feeling like her own life might be headed in that direction.

Her tarot reading from the beginning of the summer feels like a sick joke now, she should’ve pulled the tower instead, that would be a more accurate depiction of the summer. At least she’s leaving soon, Muriel won’t have to worry about bumping into her anymore. And she won’t have to see him, she won’t have to walk around camp being reminded of him and how she’d ruined things.

After a few minutes of listlessly scrubbing already clean kitchen counters, Willa takes a seat on the doorstep again. The sudden sound of footsteps approaching startles her and she turns towards the path, wondering if perhaps Muriel has come back after all. She’s surprised, and a little disappointed, to find Nadia instead.

The camp director gives her a soft smile in greeting and gestures to the step, “Is there room for one more?”

“Of course.” Willa scoots over to make room for her.

Nadia looks at Willa with a raised eyebrow, taking in her tear-stained face and red eyes. “I saw Muriel on the way here, he looked quite disturbed.”

“That’s my fault, I scared him off.” Willa fiddles with the edges of her scarf as she speaks, picking at a loose thread.

“I’ve known Muriel for many years now, and while he is a very capable, kind person he does not always know how to react to people. Especially not pretty girls,” Nadia smiles, nudging Willa with her shoulder.

Willa tries to laugh, though the sound comes out as more of a weak sniffle. “How did you know I liked him?”

Nadia laughs, “Oh Willa, the whole camp knows.”

“Of course they do,” Willa shakes her head in dismay. “Well clearly Muriel doesn’t feel the same way, he ran away from me after I told him.”

“As I said, he doesn’t always know how to react. Give him some space, give him some time,” Nadia counsels. Willa would normally agree but she has no more time, she can’t be patient.

“I’m out of time, Nadia. Camp is over in a week,” Willa frowns. “And I think it’s pretty clear that he doesn’t like me.”

“He likes you,” Nadia states, her tone the no-nonsense matter of fact one she uses when directing campers. “I’m certain of that.”

Willa stares down at the dirt, wondering how Nadia could possibly be certain of that. “Even if he does like me there’s no point, it doesn’t matter if I'm leaving.”

“Where’s that eternal optimist who stepped into my office at the beginning of the summer?” Nadia asks, putting a comforting hand on Willa’s shoulder to draw her attention. “Would it change anything if I told you that you don’t have to leave Camp Vesuvia?”

“What?”

“Would you like to stay?”

✧

#willa wednesday #only one more chapter to go i can hardly believe it #but as summer comes to an end so must this mini fic series #im love them #willa clary #muriel the arcana #apprentice willa #milla

12 notes · View notes

no6secretsanta · 4 years

Text

Stay

From @pigeonsimba to @crowmunculus

The winter chill bites into Nezumi’s skin, tugging his hood back with icy fingers and nipping at his nose and ears until his whole head aches.

Well, aches more, as Nezumi already has a tension headache from clenching his teeth all throughout play practice. Why is it so hard for them to get it?

He knows No. 6 has never been a hub for the arts—that, in fact, until eight years ago, the arts and any other form of self-expression was illegal—but since the wall was torn down and the citizens of No. 6 and West Block were encouraged to mingle, Nezumi would have thought at least some talent might have managed to slip through.

But no. The whole group is a pile of steaming shit.

Nezumi has been working with the troupe for a little over half a year, and they are still as miserable as when he first stepped through the door and ripped their run-through of Into the Woods to shreds. He barely managed to whip them into shape before showtime, and he only deigned to intercede because he could not bear to see a musical butchered so thoroughly in front of a live audience. The end result was passable, but apparently so improved from the group’s prior performances that the actors begged Nezumi to stay on as their director.

Nezumi had been steadfastly against it, but Shion insinuated it might be good for him, and Karan started making obvious comments about how great Nezumi was at theater, and finally Inukashi cracked and told him to fucking agree to the job already so he could stop mooching off of Karan’s goodwill.

Nezumi viciously regrets letting himself be bullied into taking the position. The worst of the volunteers act with all the charisma of wooden dolls; the best are sycophantic hams who howl their lines into the audience and throw themselves upon the stage props like “drama” means “dramatics.” Nezumi wants to cull the whole theater, but he’s already invested so much time into it that he’s loath to start over with a fresh crop of amateurs.

It seems No. 6 will always be a seat of disappointment and frustration for him, no matter how nicely the city functioned now under the Restructural Committee. It’s nights like this when Nezumi wishes he was still on the road.

When he was traveling the world with nothing but the clothes on his back and his knife at his hip, he only had nature and his thoughts to contend with. The land never disappointed him the way people did; though it tested him almost as much.

He had staggered, starving, over endless yellowing plains; been bitten and stung by animals and insects he hadn’t known the names of; his skin had blistered from trekking over golden hills of sand under the relentless sun; he had hallucinated from hypothermia and nearly died in the mountains outside No. 4.

But Nezumi had always been a survivor, and for every time he skirted death, he gained a little more appreciation for the world around him. It had power he could never wield, power the human race would never possess nor fully understand. Elyurias had shown him his first taste of the wonder of the unknown, however bitter that lesson had been.

Alone in the wilderness, there is no one to blame but yourself if things go wrong. The elements are punishing, but they are impartial. The sun doesn’t burn him to show its might; the rivers’ currents don’t snatch at his ankles to bring him to his knees; the trees don’t shed their leaves to rob him of shelter and food. The elements don’t care whether he lived or died. Nezumi means nothing to them and they have nothing to prove.

Nezumi had traveled the world for seven years, and even though he knew there was more to see, there had come a morning when he woke and the stillness in his chest said that it was enough; it was time to make good on his promise and attempt to put down roots.

So far, Nezumi has done well to keep the wanderlust to a low murmur in his chest, but sometimes, the roots still feel like choking tethers. He misses the days when he only had himself to rely on, the freedom of knowing that if someone’s company no longer suited him, or a job grew stagnant, he could simply pick up and move on.

Nezumi’s pocket vibrates and the reverie slips away in an exasperated cloud of breath when he checks his phone’s lit-up screen. It’s Midori, the most veteran actor in the troupe and resident thorn in Nezumi’s side. The woman is a prima donna in every sense of the word, but that’s not why she’s on Nezumi’s shit list: prima donnas he could deal with, but Midori is a frustrating mix of loudly entitled and deeply self-conscious. She demands starring roles, only to repeatedly ask for praise and reassurance of her abilities.

He presses the silence button and stuffs the phone back in his pocket. He’s already late and he’s almost to Shion’s house, and he doesn’t want to exacerbate his headache or Midori’s fragile self-worth by spitting venom into a receiver.

Yet another thing to miss about wandering through the wilderness: no phones. Every mile walked in blessed silence.

Nezumi mounts the stairs to Shion’s apartment and fumbles to pull the spare key Shion gave him out of his pocket and shove it into the lock. The brass door knob is so cold the metal burns in his hand as he turns it and slips inside.

Only the lamp beside the couch is on, but the apartment is small enough that the soft light is enough to illuminate the whole space. The front door opens onto a neat little kitchen, and beyond that is the living room, outfitted with a small dining table, an armchair, and a couch and coffee table. Two long bookcases span the length of the back wall, their shelves and tops stacked with novels half pilfered from the underground room and half collected by Shion over the years. The heaps atop the bookcases are high enough that they block the windows behind, so in the afternoons, the sunlight has to steal through the crevices of the towers like a thief, painting irregular patterns on the laminate floors and over the thick-fibered rug that lays beneath the coffee table. The bedroom and bathroom lay off to the right, completing the tour of Shion’s humble abode.

It’s odd to enter the house and realize that it’s Shion’s home. It’s a far step up from the underground room, and certainly much nicer than any of the places Nezumi has lived in since.

Nezumi makes a cursory glance around the quiet living space, but he doesn’t see Shion. He frowns and checks his phone for missed texts or calls, but there’s only the ones from Midori.

Maybe he stepped out? Nezumi is more than a half an hour late, after all, but it would be very out of character for Shion to walk out when he is expecting guests.

The bedroom door is shut and silent, and Nezumi wonders whether Shion is changing. Or possibly he’s asleep, Nezumi considers drily. It wouldn’t be the first time Shion invited him over, only to pass out in the middle of the visit.

Well, if Shion did forget he invited Nezumi over, or accidently fell asleep in his room, Nezumi isn’t going to just turn around and return to his room at Karan’s bakery. It’s too freaking cold out and his stomach is growling like a wild animal, so Nezumi removes his shoes and pads into the kitchen in search of something small and quiet to eat.

A snatch of deep blue fabric catches his eye as he moves toward the cabinet to grab a bowl: a tie thrown over the back of the dining room table chair. Shion’s leather briefcase lays splayed over the table, its papers peeking out of the lip where the buckle isn’t fastened properly.

The corner of Nezumi’s mouth quirks up. He had always thought of Shion as a neat person—after all, Shion threw a fit about the state of the underground room and systematically organized the whole space, and only a neat freak would do something so pointless when they knew full well Nezumi was just going to come back and muck it up again. But after returning to No. 6 and reacquainting himself with Shion, Nezumi discovered that Shion isn’t quite as uptight as he thought.

Shion is by no means untidy, but he has habitual ways of making messes: clothes strewn over his bed, cartons left on countertops, reading glasses and mugs and paperwork abandoned on the coffee table for days before Shion remembers to put them away.

Maybe Shion had been more Type A when he was sixteen, and his time working in the real world has forced him to bend in the interest of saving time, but Nezumi has a different theory: Shion had been on his best behavior in the underground room because he had always thought of it as Nezumi’s home and himself a guest staying there.

Nezumi knows he hadn’t been an easy person to live with, and he can’t say with certainty that if Shion had left messes around the underground room that he wouldn’t have used them as ammunition to threaten and criticize Shion when he felt they were getting too close.

Nezumi presses his lips together as every slight, and scowl, and unkindness he’d shown Shion when they were kids flits through his memory. No, he hadn’t been the easiest person to live with, and despite Shion’s constant probing and declarations of affection, there had always been a wall between them—mostly of Nezumi’s making, but at least part of the distance between them came from Shion’s stubborn misjudgments of his character.

Neither of them understood themselves well then, and that had made it impossible for them to understand each other.

But that was the past, and Nezumi has learned not to hold onto the things he can’t change. He and Shion aren’t the same people now, and they have agreed to start from scratch. Still, he can’t help the surprise he feels when Shion acts contrary to his perceptions, or the pangs of guilt when memories of his past conduct rise unbidden to his mind.

Nezumi peers over the countertop and finds Shion’s shiny dress shoes kicked off against the side of the heavy coffee table. A fogged-up plate cover rests atop the table, laid upon a dish towel to protect the lacquer, and Nezumi abandons foraging for a bowl to investigate. He spots a tuft of white against the dark gray of the couch and realizes that Shion is not sleeping in the bedroom after all.

The couch isn’t long enough for him to stretch out, so Shion is curled on his side in the fetal position, half of his face pressed so snugly into one of the throw pillows that Nezumi suspects he’ll have the lines and seams imprinted on his cheek when he wakes. The top few buttons of Shion’s shirt are undone, as are the buttons at his wrists, the sleeves rolled back to reveal the pale skin of his arms. Nezumi’s gaze traces the edges of the red scar wending its way around Shion’s neck, following its path until it slips beneath the collar of his shirt. He looks peaceful, and Nezumi feels some of the tension ebb out of his head and shoulders as he studies the sleeping man.

It’s odd to think of him—them—that way, as a “man.” On the road, Nezumi always remembered Shion as he had been: cute and heartbreakingly earnest, with his fluffy white hair, big brown eyes, and even bigger ideas. Nezumi had found him equal parts endearing and maddening. But the years have shaped Shion into a man of consequence and elegance.

When he walks into a room, the gravity shifts in his direction; Nezumi’s seen it on televised programs and in person. People are drawn to Shion like bees to a brilliant flower, and Nezumi has never seen someone who’s able to resist Shion’s easy charm; everyone caught in conversation with him leaves smiling and murmuring praises, no exceptions.

Nezumi always joked about Shion being royalty, but he never imagined Shion might actually become No. 6’s new era prince. Calling him Your Highness and Your Majesty seem less like teases now than his actual titles.

But Nezumi doesn’t call Shion those nicknames anymore. The first time he slipped into his old habit, Shion had given him such a look that Nezumi almost excused himself from Karan’s bakery and skipped town again. Apparently, being part of the Restructural Committee has made Shion painfully conscious of how tyrannical governments can be, and he will no longer tolerate Nezumi referring to him as No. 6’s ruler, even in jest.

That’s new: being deferential to Shion. Nezumi isn’t sure whether he’s so cautious because he’s changed enough that he cares about getting into—and staying in—Shion’s good graces, or if it’s that Shion has just become that much more intense.

Shion’s always been too much for him to handle: too warm, too stubborn, too bright, too naive. Too human. The winter they spent together in the underground room was the happiest and most terrifying winter of Nezumi’s life. West Block taught him never to get attached to anything, because he never knew when it would be snatched from him. Nezumi didn’t know how to throw Shion away, and he didn’t know how to keep him safe, so every moment they spent together was like slowly drowning.

The time away from each other has worked wonders on Nezumi’s emotional growth, and he had thought he was ready to come back and face Shion as equals, but Shion is still too much for him. The important difference between now and then, however, is that Nezumi doesn’t want to run from the challenge. He doesn’t need to fight to live anymore and Shion certainly doesn’t need his protection, so that leaves them free to be human together.

Only, Nezumi is still learning how to fully be himself in front of someone he actually wants to see every day. A transient life doesn’t give one much practice on building lasting relationships. But he’s working on it, and this new, grown-up Shion doesn’t seem to be in a rush to prise him apart.

A yellow sticky note is stuck to the top of the plate cover, and when Nezumi cranes his head to read the cramped script, a smile steals over his face. The note says, “Wake me up before you eat!” The words “wake me up” are darkened and underlined several times, a warning that this isn’t a request; it’s an order.

Nezumi has ignored Shion’s verbal instructions to wake him many times before, so he’s not sure why Shion thinks emphatic notes are going to have more weight. God knows Shion needs the sleep. He’s up at 5:00 a.m., works until the sun is far below the horizon, only to come home and continue working. If he passes out on the couch from exhaustion, Nezumi figures he shouldn’t mess with the natural order of things.

But, well… Shion did invite him over, and tonight Nezumi is feeling like a little company.

So, he muses to himself, how should I go about this?

One time, he woke Shion by dropping a stack of books on the table. He thought it would be funny to see him jump at the loud noise, but Shion screamed instead, scaring the shit out of them both. Shion was surly with him for the rest of the afternoon, but he paid Nezumi back the next morning by sneaking into his room at the bakery at the ass-crack of dawn and dumping an armful of paperbacks onto Nezumi’s head before he skipped off to work. That was some cold-served revenge Nezumi hadn’t expected and wouldn’t soon forget.

Tonight, Nezumi decides he’d rather wake Shion gently, so as to avoid any vengeful repercussions.

He reaches for Shion’s shoulder and gives him a light shake. A low groan of resistance rumbles in Shion’s throat and Nezumi gives him another nudge. “Shion. You asked for this, remember?”

Shion’s brow creases and he burrows his face deeper into the pillow, until all Nezumi can see is the mess of his sleep-mussed hair. Nezumi’s mouth twitches. Cute.

The mischievous part of his brain tells him to blow in Shion’s ear, but the rational side knows better. Nezumi slips his fingers into the soft strands of Shion’s hair and gives it a ruffle. It’s criminally soft and warm against his winter-chilled fingers.

“Wake up, Shion,” Nezumi whispers, combing the snowy locks behind his ear. “I’m hungry.”

Finally, Shion lifts his head and squints at him. “Mm. Hey. Did you just get here?” he manages, just before a huge yawn claims him.

Nezumi slides his fingers once more through Shion’s downy hair while he’s too sleepy to really notice, then folds his arms over his chest.

Shion sits up and stretches his legs out in front of him, bumping his feet against the base of the coffee table. “How was work?”

Nezumi screws his mouth to the side, but his headache has dissipated and he can’t drum up the level of annoyance he felt on the walk over, so he answers with a blasé, “Fine. Everyone still sucks.”

Shion flashes him a quick, sleepy smile and nods at the table. “I made dinner.”

Nezumi plucks the fogged-up plate cover off the dish and discovers dinner is chili. “Finally got around to using that crockpot, huh?”

“It was really easy to make. You just throw the ingredients in there and time does the rest.”

“Mhm…. You know you’re supposed to refrigerate this, or keep it in the pot until it’s ready to be served?”

Shion shrugs. “It hasn’t been out that long.”

“It’s gone cold. How long have you been sleeping on the couch? Do you even know what time it is?” Nezumi glances over at the microwave clock.

Shion slants a look at him. “Time to stop being mean to me. I just woke up from a nap, and you know how I get when I’m woken up from a nap.”

Nezumi feigns a cringe. “Yes. All too well.” He takes the bowl and crosses the room to pop it in the microwave.

When he turns back around, he finds Shion tidying the living room, heaping the dish towel, the plate cover, and his fancy work shoes into his arms before moving to the kitchen table for his tie and bag. He still looks half asleep. Nezumi leans back against the counter and watches Shion stumble around in the half light, his hands full of his mess.

For all that Shion has grown, he’s still very much the boy Nezumi remembers: soft and effortless and searching. Teenaged Nezumi had been a fortress, but Shion’s goodness always fleet-footed its way up the ramparts.

Shion’s quiet tenacity used to scare him. Now it feels like a blessing that someone cares enough to try to breach his walls. If Nezumi hadn’t had the memories of Shion’s warmth through the lonely nights of travel, he wasn’t sure what paths he would have taken, or if the journey would ever have led him back to No. 6.

Shion catches him staring and pauses on the other side of the island counter. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“I haven’t made a sound.”

“Your eyes are laughing at me.”

Nezumi snorts. “My, we really are in a bad mood, aren’t we?”

Shion’s shoulders drop and he sighs. “Yeah, sorry. Today was…long.” He shifts the heap he has collected in his arms and turns to the dining table, weighing his chances of success should he try to add the paper-laden briefcase to his horde.

“You should go to bed,” Nezumi says. “You look one object away from crumpling to the floor. I’ll clean up and leave once I’m done with eating.”

“No, I want to have dinner with you tonight. That’s why I invited you over. I just…” Shion hums in thought, still sizing up the briefcase. He clicks his tongue. “Oh, never mind. I give up,” Shion huffs, and dumps the collection in his arms onto the far end of the table to be fussed over at a time when he has more brain power to deal with it.

Nezumi chuckles, and turns to the beeping microwave to retrieve his food.

Shion settles himself in his designated chair, and Nezumi takes up the seat across from him.

“Where’s your bowl?” Nezumi asks. “You said you wanted to eat dinner with me.”

“Hm? Oh…” Shion colors slightly. “Right, well… I was hungry when I got home, and it was a while before you were supposed to come over, so I already ate.”

Nezumi raises an eyebrow. “And you were asleep before I even got here. I wonder why I came over at all. These are not the actions of a host looking forward to his guest.”

“I was looking forward to you coming over,” Shion insists. “I would have called you to cancel, if I wasn’t. And falling asleep was not on purpose.”

“It was on purpose enough that you had the forethought to leave a note to wake you up.”

Shion has no defense for that, apparently, and drops his gaze to the steam rising from the chili bowl. Nezumi bites down on a smile.

“I can make a small bowl for myself, if you want to eat together,” Shion offers, but Nezumi waves him off.

“Just keep me company and I’ll consider you forgiven.”

The chili is delicious, the perfect balance of spices and liquid consistency. But then, it’s Karan’s recipe, so of course it’s perfect.

When Nezumi first arrived in No. 6, he stayed in a room on the cusp between what used to be West Block territory and Lost Town. He remained there, alone, for a week, fussing over when and where and how he would announce to Shion he was back. He finally resolved upon visiting Karan first, since she was the mini boss in this situation.

Karan hugged him before he even finished reintroducing himself, and things snowballed from there. A month later, Nezumi found himself moved into Shion’s old room in the Lost Town bakery and having family dinners with Karan, Shion, Inukashi, baby Shionn, and occasionally Rikiga. The warm family atmosphere is at once disorienting, uncomfortable, and deeply satisfying. Being part of a greater whole appeals to a part of himself that Nezumi hadn’t even realized he had been missing.

The biggest perk of living with Karan, however, is that Nezumi has his pick of the most delicious foods and pastries imaginable. Nezumi has experienced some extremely novel, odd, and mouth-watering cuisines while traveling abroad, but Karan’s cooking could compete with the best of them. She makes simple things, comfort food, but every recipe is executed perfectly, and Nezumi would take common food made well over fancy dishes any day.

Shion rests his chin in his hand and says nothing as Nezumi eats. He looks more alert now. The glossy film of sleep has faded from his eyes, and Shion’s gaze is back to its usual level of penetrating. Shion’s ability to stare like he can see past all your bullshit directly into your soul hasn’t changed one bit. In fact, being a member of No. 6’s governing body seems to have made his perceptions more astute.

This is both a comfort and a cause of deep uneasiness.

“You must like it,” Shion says, “because you’re not saying anything.”

Nezumi spoons another bite into his mouth and chews on that comment. “I’m not sure I like what you’re insinuating. It sounds like you think I only talk to criticize.”

Shion straightens. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Fishing for compliments, then?” Nezumi shrugs a shoulder. “Alright. Karan’s recipe is really delicious. You must give her my praises.”

Shion turns face away and shakes his head, but Nezumi still catches the curve of his incredulous smirk. Nighttime sparring is Nezumi’s preferred type, because Shion is usually too tired to win.

“Deliver the praises yourself,” Shion says. “You live there, not me.”

“I compliment Karan all the time. But I don’t think it means as much coming from me.”

“It means a lot. Mom loves you.”

Nezumi hums a sound of assent and decides to be civil and ask, “How was your day, then?”

“Fine.” Shion leans back in his chair and folds his arms across his chest. “Everyone still sucks.”

Nezumi points his spoon at him. “Touché.”

Shion laughs lightly, but a moment later his face sours and he sighs. “Talking about work after work is depressing. Can we talk about something better?”

“I would love to, but I don’t think either of us do much else but work and read, Shion. And last time I tried to discuss literature with you over dinner, you told me to stop.”

Shion leans his elbows on the table and laces his fingers together, his expression serious. “You were playing devil’s advocate too much. I don’t get why people do that. If we’re having a discussion about something, I want to know your opinion, not an opposing opinion for opposition’s sake. And if it is actually your opinion, then don’t hide behind ‘playing devil’s advocate.’ Just be honest about it; otherwise, you come off as an uppity snob, parroting views that aren’t even yours just to pick a fight.”

“…I feel like you’ve been sitting on that diatribe for quite some time.”

“I was thinking about it all week,” Shion admits. “People in the office do it, too, all the time, and it drives me crazy.”

Nezumi nods his head slowly. “Duly noted. Anything else you’ve been stewing on that you want to share?”

Shion’s expression goes quiet. His interlaced fingers tense, but he holds Nezumi’s gaze and says lightly, “No. That’s it.”

The temperature in the room drops a few degrees. Okay… That’s concerning. Nezumi focuses on scraping the last remnants of chili from his bowl to mask his confusion. What did Shion have on his mind that he didn’t want to share?

Did I offend him?

Shion hasn’t seemed irritated or guarded around him lately, but then Nezumi doesn’t know him as well as he used to. Shion’s basically a politician now and is well-versed in evading uncomfortable questions and bending truths. But even though Shion has gained some important networking skills, he hasn’t changed that much in essentials; he’s still straightforward and fiercely opinionated. If Nezumi pisses him off, Shion lets him have it right then and there. So whatever it is, it’s a touchy enough subject that even Shion balks at mentioning it.

Does he want me to back off?

Nezumi’s stomach twists, and his appetite shrinks in the shadow of his thoughts. It’s barely been any time at all since Shion welcomed him back. He couldn’t be sick of him yet… Right?

Nezumi knew reuniting with Shion wouldn’t be seamless. They would have to relearn each other; they’re different now, and there’s no pretending that difference away when they’re in close quarters with one another. He had expected anger and hurt when he and Shion finally faced each other again, but Shion has shown him nothing but warmth. Shion’s emotions are more muted at twenty-four years old than they were at sixteen, but he is no less gracious or willing to throw open his home to Nezumi again.

Nezumi had been grateful for the warm welcome. It was proof that Shion still wanted him around, but he also recognizes that Shion’s willingness to try again merely meant Nezumi had gotten his foot in the door.

Nezumi knows very well he’s on probation.

The seven years of separation that had brought Nezumi so much clarity had apparently caused Shion a lot of pain. Nezumi has picked up enough from Karan and Inukashi to piece together the broken picture of Shion’s life in the first four years of their separation: anxiety, depression, periods of simmering misdirected anger. As happy as Shion’s friends and family are that Nezumi made good on his promise and returned—as happy as Shion claims to be—they have reservations about letting him slip back into Shion’s life. They want definitive proof that he’s here to stay, and will not make a ruin of Shion’s feelings a second time.

Nezumi thought he gave Shion that proof when he agreed to move in with Karan. He thought he’s shown his dedication through the family dinners, and casual conversations, and solicitude for Shion’s personal space over the last few months, but maybe he’s growing too slowly for it to work. Maybe for all the progress Nezumi has made he isn’t enough for Shion anymore.

In West Block, Shion needed him; he was marooned and uncertain, and Nezumi was his only support and source of information. But Nezumi isn’t Shion’s whole world now. Shion has work, and friends, and a mother who loves him, and he’s gotten by just fine while they were apart. Maybe he’s realized that Nezumi no longer fits into his life the way he used to.

“Nezumi? What’re you thinking about?”

Nezumi glares down into his empty bowl. He never wants to return to the angry, caged person he had been, but sometimes he remembers what a bitter hell it is to care about another person, and he wishes he could push away the feelings instead of letting them burn through him.

“Nezumi?” Shion reaches across the table and pokes his bowl with the tip of his pointer finger. “Are you alright?”

“Fine. Just thinking about what you said earlier, about being honest.” Nezumi pushes out his chair and stands. “Easier said than done sometimes.”

He takes the bowl to the kitchen sink and begins to wash it. Midway through soaping the spoon with the sponge, he hears Shion’s soft footfalls on the tile behind him. His presence pricks at the back of Nezumi’s neck like heat, but he keeps his attention on the sink.

“You can use the dishwasher, you know….”

“Old habit,” Nezumi answers. He rinses the spoon off, places it in the drying rack, and moves on to the bowl.

Stupid, Nezumi curses himself. Old habits indeed. He’s too old to be covering his insecurity with fits of pique.

And what is he so upset about, anyway? Shion hasn’t said he’s unhappy or he wants him to leave. He could be hiding something entirely different—he could be hiding nothing at all. Maybe Shion’s just tired. Maybe they’re both very tired and being weird for no reason and everything will settle itself in the morning.

Nezumi scrubs the bowl until the brilliant blue of the glass is completely eclipsed by soap.

“I made you mad,” Shion says like a revelation. “Why?”

Why? Nezumi doesn’t have to do any deep meditation on the question. He’s upset because he has feelings now and everything is inconvenient. Every one of Shion’s smiles makes him hopeful, and every frown and cautious reply sends his mind into a paranoid spiral. And although he’s in tune enough with his emotions now to acknowledge what he’s feeling, his stubborn pride is still an obstacle to expressing them.

So here he is, acting like a spoiled child about something that isn’t even confirmed.

Nezumi splashes a bit of water over the bowl and drops it onto the bottom of the sink with suds still clinging to the rim. He scrubs the water from his hands with a cloth and faces Shion.

“I’m not mad,” Nezumi mutters. “I’m…” Off balance. Terrified. Utterly inept. “Confused,” he hedges.

Shion bites his lip, his dark eyes wide and searching, and Nezumi tries not to sound like too much of an insecure fool when he says, “You lied to me just now. There’s something on your mind.”

Annnnd, now I sound accusatory. Nice. Shion doesn’t answer immediately and it makes the moment so much worse.

Why did he have to be a masochist and call him out? He should have ignored the awkwardness and enjoyed Shion’s company instead. If Shion is uncertain of their relationship, he could have used tonight to convince him it’s worth giving them another chance. Instead, he’s forced Shion to tip his hand.

With every silent second that passes, Shion looks more uncomfortable and Nezumi wants to crawl out of his skin. He can’t stand the nervous tilt to Shion’s expression. Nezumi turns back toward the sink and runs the water over the bowl again, just to have a reason to escape Shion’s gaze, no matter how transparent.

“I didn’t want to bring it up yet,” Shion says softly behind him. The words trace a line of cold down Nezumi’s spine. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react, and I didn’t—” Shion pauses and clears his throat.

The bowl is clean, but Nezumi keeps the water running, staring down at the stream and dissociating while he waits for Shion to deliver the critical blow.

“It’s only been a few months, and I know you’re still settling in at Mom’s,” Shion continues. “I didn’t want to put too much pressure on you.”

Pressure? Nezumi’s racing heart makes it very difficult to think properly, but he vaguely realizes Shion’s words are a strange lead up to telling him to hit the road.

Nezumi flicks the faucet off and half turns to peer at him. Shion straightens when their eyes meet and a combination of relief and agitation flits over his face before falling into a guilty sort of apprehension.

“I was afraid,” Shion says. “I didn’t want to scare you away when things have been going so well.”

“Scare me away…how?” Nezumi is thankful he’s such an accomplished actor, because it allows him to deliver the question with completely calm curiosity. Internally, he is a mess of electricity. Shion doesn’t want to scare him away, which means Shion wants to keep him close. His heart is pounding so hard his head feels like it’s going to explode.

Shion opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, then turns his burning face aside and fixes his eyes on the front door. He’s raking his thumbnail so deeply and incessantly against the second knuckle of his pointer finger that he seems in danger of rubbing the skin raw.

“I wanted to ask…” Shion mumbles to the door, “whether you might consider…staying here.”

Nezumi drums his fingers quietly on the counter but otherwise stays very still as he probes, “Here as in…?”

“Here. My house.”

The faucet releases an errant drop into the sink; the faint plop is thunderous in the silence stretched taut between them. Nezumi clears his throat and turns his body the rest of the way to face Shion straight on. Shion glances at him sidewise, probably trying to read his expression, but as Nezumi is keeping his face carefully devoid of emotion, Shion will get nothing.

Nezumi leans back, crosses his arms across his chest, and asks as casually as humanly possible, “You want me to stay over tonight?”

He’s pretty sure Shion doesn’t mean anything suggestive by it, considering they are not romantically involved anymore—yet?—but even as a platonic invitation it makes Nezumi’s breath catch in his throat.

Shion eyes Nezumi up and down, and although he knows Shion’s probably just trying to get a read on him, a flash of heat skitters over Nezumi’s skin. He shifts fractionally and Shion’s eyebrows twitch up in equal measure. Shion stops pretending to be fascinated with the door, and Nezumi has a sense that he’s given something crucial away.

“No. Well—not exactly,” Shion says. “I want you to move in with me.”

Nezumi’s mind sticks.

Move in. Shion isn’t trying to get rid of him. In fact, Shion isn’t tired of him at all. He wants to live with him again.

Which is…terrifying? Exciting? Baffling and blessed and wholly unexpected. Nezumi isn’t sure how to feel about this sudden invitation, because he hasn’t belonged somewhere in years. He had never thought he was the type to stay put.

Until Shion.

His whole impetus for slowing down and returning was Shion. They’ve been stuck in each other’s orbits since they were twelve years old, and Nezumi has finally reached the point where he’s ready to submit to the gravity of them. But that’s a two-way street, and Nezumi expected he would have to match Shion’s patience if he ever had a chance of winning him back. If he and Shion ended up together, this time it wouldn’t be an arrangement of convenience or necessity; it would be because they had chosen to build a life side by side.

And Shion is asking me to live with him again.

Nezumi realizes he’s been silent too long when Shion starts twitch and flutter, a telltale sign he’s about to launch into a nervous ramble. God, Nezumi is so grateful time hasn’t trained that quirk out of him.

“I know it’s kind of… Kind of quick, maybe?” Shion babbles. “And maybe it’s a little backwards, since we’re not…together anymore, yet, and people usually move in after they’re already together, but…” He flushes, but pushes through the stumble quickly. “But we’ve done it before, and it worked then, and I think it will work just as well now. Better, even. We’re older, and we both know what we want out of life—and each other.”

Not the most coherent speech, but Nezumi agrees with all the sentiments. Even so, he finds himself asking, “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Maybe it’s a dumb question in light of Shion’s confession, but Nezumi has to ask it. He has to hear the answer in order to quell the doubts bubbling up from the darkest parts of his mind, the parts that have grown quieter as he’s grown, but still whisper he’s not worth it, that he’s twisted and broken and taints any goodness that comes his way.

“I’m sure,” Shion says. “I’ve thought a lot about it and I realized something.” He takes a deep breath and stares directly into Nezumi’s eyes as he says, “I don’t need you anymore, Nezumi. I can get on just fine without you; I know that. But I want you in my life. And it seems like you want that too?”

“Yes.” Nezumi’s answer lacks Shion’s conviction, but it’s alright; Shion knows him well enough to realize he wouldn’t agree to something so serious if he isn’t committed. “I would like that.”

Shion releases a small breath. “So it’s a yes?” He slides a bit closer along the counter. “You’ll move in? You don’t have to. I know it’s fast and you’re used to being alone. I won’t be offended if you need more time.”

“I don’t. I’ve had plenty of time to think too, you know.”

“Right,” Shion laughs lightly. “Okay. Good.”

Nezumi and Shion smile at each other in the wake of their new understanding. Despite the wintry draft slipping in under the front door, the kitchen feels warm.

Too warm.

“I’m not as clean as you,” Nezumi blurts. Moving in together is fun in theory and Nezumi definitely wants to, but it’s only fair he be upfront about what Shion’s about to get stuck with.

Shion’s smile is incandescent. “I know. It’s fine.”

“And I’m told I still kick in my sleep.”

“I have a queen bed now, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I shower in the mornings, and it takes at least twenty minutes, so you’ll have to factor that in when you get up for work.”

“I shower at night, so I think it’ll be fine.” Shion pauses. “But twenty minutes is a long time. What do you do in there for so long?”

Nezumi ignores the question and launches into his next point. “You’re going to need more bookcases. At least two more. I have a shit ton of books; they barely fit in my room as it is.”

Shion glances at his back wall. “I’ve been meaning to buy more anyway.” He raises his eyebrows. “Anything else?”

A million other things, but Nezumi decides that’s enough for the moment. Shion’s eyes are wide and full of laughter and the bit of scar peeking out from his unbuttoned collar is all of a sudden very distracting.

“You better not change your mind about this,” warns Nezumi. “Once I move in, I’m not leaving again.”

Shion’s eyes flash. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

Nezumi can’t help but smile when he answers, “A promise.”

Shion lifts his chin and nods, evidently pleased. They regard each other shyly for a moment before Shion decides to diffuse the tension by announcing they’re going to watch a movie.

Ten minutes in and Nezumi pretends not to notice when Shion’s head starts to nod. Twenty minutes in, and Shion is back to being face-down on the throw pillow. Nezumi abandons the movie-watching farce and watches Shion sleep instead.

This is what I’m signing up for, Nezumi thinks, shaking his head. Night after night of Shion asleep and defenseless on the couch. He cards his fingers through the fluffy white hair at the nape of Shion’s neck.

He can hardly wait.

#no6 #no.6 #no. 6 #no 6 #pigeonsimba #crowmunculus #no6secretsanta #fanfiction #submission

26 notes · View notes

give-seconds · 4 years

Text

Back to You

Summary: You and Mark are all each other have, he’s easily the most important person to you. But something happens and you both are slowly separated, so you work your hardest to be accepted into a college in Korea so you can find your way back to a home with him again.

Masterlist | Main Masterlist

---Part 10

Three years ago

“Y/n!” Mark calls as he runs down the steps of the school to where you’re waiting.

You smile worriedly as you watch him, afraid he’d trip and break something. “Did something happen? You’re more excited than normal.”

He comes to a stop in front of you, smiling widely. “I got us tickets to see that movie you wanted to see!”

You feel a smile spread across your face. “Really?”

He nods his head excitedly. “And I already talked to Anne and Jack about it, so you don’t have to worry about them saying no.”

“And you have the tickets?”

“Yeah, let me show you.” He reached into his back pocket to grab his phone, quickly unlocking it, and turning the screen to show you the confirmation e-mail. “It was this movie, right? The one about the girlfriend and the kids?”

You snort at his description, leaning closer to look at the screen. “Nice description, but yeah. That’s the right movie.”

“I even made sure to get seats in the back, just like you like,” he grinned, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

In all your years of knowing Mark, he had never been this organized. The last time he tried to buy movie tickets, he had ended up only buying them in a theater an hour away. He wasn’t intentionally un-organized, rather, he was just in too much of a hurry to double-check his facts. So the fact he even remembered to talk to your foster parents is surprising, to say the least.

“What’s the occasion?”

He tilts his head to the side, laughing slightly, “Don’t be silly, it’s just for us. There isn’t any occasion.”

But when his eyes met yours, you could see something was wrong. When he was showing you the tickets, he had been genuinely excited. But now, there was something else, something sad.

“Okay,” you whisper, nodding your head. You don’t know what’s wrong, but he’ll tell you when he’s ready. There have never been secrets between you two and that won’t ever change.

He shakes his head, excitement taking over once again. He links his arm with yours to get you to start walking again. “Awesome! Then I say we also stop at the smoothie place and try the last flavor we haven’t had yet.”

---

“I don’t want school to start,” Jaemin whines, dropping his phone dramatically onto the picnic table.

Chuckling, you look up from the Korean practice book Jaemin bought you. He was now your self-proclaimed Korean teacher. “You’ve already said that five times, I think I got it.”

He pouts, making a point to slouch his shoulders. “But you don’t care.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

He lets out a dejected humph, turning his body away from you.

You laugh, marking your place and setting the book on the table. “Aw, did I hurt your feelings?”

He jokingly glares at you, opening his mouth to respond.

“Y/n?” A voice cuts him off, and you and Jaemin look towards the speaker. Smiling, you wave Donghyuck over. “I was just about to text you.”

“Oh?” You watch as he makes his way over to the table you and Jaemin are sat at, scooting over slightly as he takes a seat next to you. “What for?”

“I was just going to ask you a question,” he says before abruptly turning his attention to Jaemin, eyes lit with recognition. “You’re Jeno’s roommate right?”

Jaemin smiles. “That’s me! You’re the boy who borrowed his English book right?”

Donghyuck chuckles. “That’s our child, we split the cost on one book and trade-off using it when we need it. Just so happens my class is first.”

You snort. “Won’t that be hard when it comes to studying?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “That’s a problem for another time.”

You and Jaemin chuckle at what is sure to turn into a disaster, and Donghyuck smiles softly at you.

“Anyway, what was the question you wanted to ask?”

“Oh right.” Donghyuck looks away from you, looking up and around at the trees before looking back at you. “You mentioned at dinner that you liked scary movies, and one of the Buddy coupons is for the movie theater. I checked, and the theater has a new American horror movie showing and I wanted to know if you wanted to go?”

“Sure!” you respond immediately, surprising Donghyuck with the fast answer. “When do you want to go?”

“Well, our first day is tomorrow, right? Let’s go out to celebrate?”

You nod your head, smiling brightly. “Sounds like a plan.”

To say you were surprised was an understatement. Not only did he remember the type of movie you like, but also made a point to find one in English.

“Awesome! Then I guess I’ll get going.” He stands up from the table, smiling slightly at Jaemin before turning his attention back to you. “Text me when your last class is and we’ll make a plan from there.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow.”

He waves to you both, continuing the way he was going before he saw you.

“You’re not even going to ask what the movie is about?” Jaemin asks as soon as Donghyuck had walked far enough away.

You shrug your shoulders, turning back to Jaemin. “I don’t care what we see. If he wants to go,

I’ll go. Plus, it’s a free movie. Who am I to complain?”

“Look at you, taking advantage of someone. I’m so proud.”

“Jokes on you, I don’t know what ‘taking advantage’ means.”

---

“How was your first day of classes?” Donghyuck asks as the bus starts moving, his cheeks slightly red from the running you two had just done.

You hadn’t had the time to talk before, seeing as Donghyuck had read the bus schedule wrong and you two had ten minutes to make it from your class to your dorm to drop off your bag and then to the bus stop. Overall, the most running you’ve done in a while.

“It was pretty okay, it isn’t too hard so that’s good. How did you like your classes?”

“It went pretty good, I’m excited for the year.” He pauses, a small smile spreading across his face. “I’m excited to be on my own these next few years.”

You turn your attention away from the city outside the window to look at him. The thing you remember most from your graduation was how sad everyone was to leave. The majority of your classmates didn’t want to leave the security of the known around them, even if that meant they were moving towards something better.

So to hear someone else who seems to have the same hopes- that is, excited to prove that we can survive and grow without the direction of adults in our life- is not something you expected to hear.

And maybe you’re reading too much into the situation, but you had begun to think there was something wrong with wanting to leave and never come back.

You smile, nodding your head slightly. “I get it, being on our own is exciting.” You bring your hands up to make air quotes for the “our own. ”

He looks away from whatever he was focusing on in front of him to direct his smile to you. “How are you liking Korea so far?”

“Oh, I love it. I love the-” you scrunch your face, drumming your fingers against each other as you try to think of the right phase. “I love how different the city is from Vancouver. Not only is the city nice, but I love the people here.”

He laughs, “You mean Minhyung-Hyung?”

“No not just him.” You raise your hand to playfully slap his shoulder as you would Mark or Jaemin, stopping before you can hit him as the thought that if you were to hit him, it might make him uncomfortable flashes through your mind. Instead, you bring your hand to rub the back of your neck. “Jaemin is a great friend. I also hope we can become close friends.”

His smile widens and he nods his head. “I also hope we become close, I need you to tell me all of Hyung’s secrets.”

---

You smile a thank you as Donghyuck holds the door open for you, stepping to the side awkwardly and looking at him to show you where to go.

“I already bought the tickets,” he says, leading you in the direction of the snack counter. “All that’s left is to buy the snacks.”

“Oh, is that also covered by the school? I don’t want to waste your money.”

“Yeah, it’s covered.”

“I haven’t been to the movies in a very long time,” you say as you come to a stop in the line. You smile at an excited boy in front of you whose hands are pressed against the glass display separating him and the candy.

“Really? Well, how about we go get something to eat after the movie?”

You open your mouth, ready to ask him about the money.

“And before you can ask,” he adds, turning to look at you knowingly. “I have a coupon for one of the restaurants around here. Like a package deal.”

You repeat the word ‘package’ in your head a few times hoping it isn’t an important word to understand the sentence. Ignoring the unfamiliar word, you turn to look up at him. “Sounds fun! It’s really cool that the school pays for these things.”

He smiles at you, eyes briefly flicking away from yours. “Yeah, from what I understand they’re proud of our foreign program.”

You nod your head, turning your attention back to the kid, who is happily bouncing with his candy. You smile, following him and his mom with your eyes as he excitedly drags her to a theater with a poster for an animated movie on the outside.

You and Donghyuck walk to the cashier, and it suddenly hits you how weird it is that only one cashier is working.

“Do you know what you want, y/n?”

“Oh I don’t know, I didn’t get anything last time I went.”

“What?” Donghyuck gasps. “No, we can’t be having that.”

You smile at his dramatic reaction, opening your mouth to defend yourself.

“Your friend is right Miss,” the cashier – a girl around your age – says, cutting you off with a warm smile. “I’ll give you one thing on the house.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t. Plus, we already have a-” you pause, trying to think of the word. You laugh quietly at yourself as nothing seems to come to mind. Note to self, English lessons are not good for Korean. “Thing. We have a thing.”

Donghyuck laughs with you, and you’re happy to see the cashier chuckling softly as well. But you’re pretty sure that’s because of Donghyuck’s contagious laugh.“And thank you for that, but we're getting you something.”

He turns his attention back to the cashier. “I don’t mind paying for it, thank you for the offer though.”

She smiles warmly at him, waving her hands in front of her. “No, we have to right this wrong. And if I have to personally pay for this one thing, so be it.”

Donghyuck nods his head dramatically, and without turning to look at you, says. “You heard the lady, pick your item or have it picked for you.”

You bring your attention to the cashier, still in disbelief at the sudden team-up. But when you meet her eyes, she simply nods her head at you, warm smile still spread across her face.

“I never said I wouldn’t get anything,” you mumble, looking down at the display case in defeat. After a quick scan of the contents in the case, you look back up at the cashier. “Can I have something with chocolate, please? I don’t know what most of these are.”

She nods her head, already moving to open the case. “One thing with chocolate coming right up.”

“Good job, y/n, I knew you could do it,” Donghyuck says, patting your back in mock congratulations.

“Let me tell you something Lee Donghyuck.” You whack his arm away from you, pointing at him for dramatic effect. “I don’t like losing, and you can ask Mark about this. I’ll get you back for this.”

He smirks, pushing your finger away from him. “If this is what you call losing, I’m excited to see how you ‘get me back.’”

---

Donghyuck hadn’t meant to lie, not at first. As dramatic as he was, he never lied; it was a personal pet peeve of his.

But after spending a lot of time with you touring the campus and sitting through boring introductions, he had learned that you were pretty self-sufficient.

And by that, he meant you never let him pay for things.

Whenever he tried to buy you a drink from the coffee shop by the auditorium, you always paid for yourself. And whenever he just surprised you with a treat of some kind, you’d either show up the next day with a surprise of your own.

He found it the strangest thing.

And so, he took it upon himself to get you to let him pay for something. At first, he just tried the simple “don’t worry about paying me back, I don’t mind” trick. But you always insisted that you would pay next time or just shove cash at him.

He was about to give up, he had been trying ever since he met you to buy you something and had yet to succeed.

It wasn’t until he was looking at the tickets to a nearby museum that it hit him. If he wasn’t actually paying for it, you couldn’t pay him back. He also realized that if he said everything was paid for by the school, it would be suspicious. It was now a game of picking and choosing.

When he got the advertisement for the movie, he knew it would be the perfect place to try out his new plan.

At first, he felt bad about lying, and when he thought of telling you he did it all for some stupid challenge he made up, he felt plain dumb.

Then he saw how excited you were when you agreed to go to the movies with him, and any thought of telling you disappeared.

He knows offering to pay for dinner might have been too much, especially if he told you he lied about the school paying for it. But when you said you hadn’t been to the movies in a long time, he wanted to make it special for you.

A lifetime of not lying can excuse this one time, especially if it’s for a good cause.

---

Sorry that took so long! I had exams and writers block working against me. Anyways, thank you to @pastelsicheng for helping me edit this!

I would love to know what you thought about this and I hope you all have a great day/night!

Previous | Next

#NCT #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct mark #nct haechan #lee donghyuck #nct jaemin #mark lee #na jaemin #haechan x reader #kpop scenarios #kpop #kpop imagines

17 notes · View notes

littlemdzsdump · 4 years

Text

talent show

tiny high school xicheng is my fix

The mic screeches a lot if anyone even breathes at it the wrong way. So Jiang Cheng is not quite keen on using it in the next 15 minutes.

But he doesn’t really have much of a choice now, does he?

Their school talent had just had that to work with, since their investments usually went to sports. With their decade-long streak of first place at statewide and national competitions, of course Sector High would channel all of their funding into the biggest and best sports facilities for their students. It left mildly amaetur musicians like Jiang Cheng (and wildly expressive theater kids like his brother) reeling while struggling to find a small corner of self expression.

It had always been the biggest and baddest sports kids. The football team was obviously the kings dining at this high school table, followed closed by the lacrosse kids. Soccer was there as well, because they’ve been the most resilient team since their start, keeping the school victorious unbeatable title safe. Then the rest of the high school food chain was followed by other mildly impressive clubs like the A.I. STEM Committee and Model U.N.

In a student population of over 9,000, you could count the musicians and artists on two hands.

Okay that could be a slight overkill. Maybe Jiang Cheng was exaggerating. Maybe he wasn’t popular enough to know that many people who played the guitar or sang harmonies. But it doesn’t change the fact that the arts field was being bullied out of their school system.

What was more was the grand gestures. Girls and boys alike, swooned at the idea of a hubby running to them after a goal on whatever sort of field. Or wearing a large sweaty jersey and painting their faces colors of blue and yellow or whatever they were now (the student reps liked to change that around often). Jiang Cheng never looked good in any of the colors and the noise of the cheers and hoots of field games were alway too loud.

Jiang Cheng preferred the quiet ambiance of their single arts classroom. It was at the end of the third floor, with a window that looked out to the green lush surrounding their school instead of the two large football fields.

It was a nice change.

Jiang Cheng preferred the solitude of still and quietness with his soft voice humming to the strums of a guitar. He preferred hearing his timbre echo in the space of drawings and empty tables. Which is why it’s kind of weird that he was standing behind a dark curtain now, clutching his acoustic guitar tightly in his hands.

Well despite the crappy microphone he’s using in the school auditorium tonight, he had something to prove.

Busy reassuring himself, Jiang Cheng almost misses his cue to go on stage. He’d completely blanked out when they began introducing him. If it weren’t for his brother giving him a hard push behind the curtain, he wouldn’t have made it out on time.

But he also wouldn’t have stumbled onto the stage if Wei Ying just nudged him.

Snickers ripple through the audience as Jiang Cheng walks up to the microphone. When he gets in front of the mic stand, he begins to put his guitar strap on. Maybe he didn’t see the distance between the guitar and the stand well, for the head of his instrument hits a bit against the mic.

Obviously the mic howls its feedback.

Those near the front of the stage groan immediately, some people throwing their hands over their ears.

Jiang Cheng winces, but immediately regains himself, clutching onto the mic and pushing is deeper into the mic stand. He doesn’t know what that’s supposed to do but it works to silence the feedback. Disgruntled noises and hisses of annoyance ripple over the high school audience. It does little to calm his already shaky nerves.

Luckily there weren’t too many people at the talent show tonight; but it was still a bigger crowd than he had ever performed to. Jiang Cheng clears his throat as softly as he can, careful not to breathe too hard onto the mic and stares out at the people before him.

He can’t make out any faces in the blob of the audience in front of him. The stage lights shine too brightly. Jiang Cheng just hopes in his heart that the right person is there to hear him.

Someone boos in the back, but they’re quickly hushed by snickers and laughing.

Jiang Cheng uses that as a cue to start singing.

He’s never believed that he’s had a particularly loud voice. It’s not something dramatic and deep like Wei Ying, whenever he recites the main lead lines. But it’s also not soft like their friend Nie Huisaing when he hums to himself in the soundbooth.

Jiang Cheng’s voice carries where it needs to. It accompanies the chords of his guitar like hands would when they’re intertwined. Jiang Cheng never was immersed in the arts like Wei Ying or even as much as his sister was. All he’d ever picked up from the various instruments his parents made him play was the piano and even then it wasn’t enjoyable. He’d picked up the guitar at a random garage sale and has been teaching himself ever since.

Jiang Cheng was by no means professional or talented, but he loved what he sang.

Jiang Cheng lets his voice swell with the bridge of the song, changing the key as he sings the final refrain.

It’s a stupid love song that he’ll never admit to writing. But he’s never going to be embarrassed about singing it out loud. Because every single word that he sings, he means.

Jiang Cheng lets his voice carry out the last notes of his song, a confession in actual honesty. When his breath catches onto the microphone, it (blessedly) does not howl with feedback.

There is a pin drop silence after his performance.

It feels like the longest pause in his life and Jiang Cheng’s hand feels clammy from where it’s still wrapped around the neck of the guitar. But the silence doesn’t last.

Suddenly the audience breaks out in hoots and hollers above the applause that rains down on him. Jiang Cheng still can’t see anyone clearly with how bright the stage lights shine. But he sends an awkward wave back and exits the stage. He steps towards the side stage, taking off his guitar as he walks behind the curtain.

The applause is still loud behind him and for a moment Jiang Cheng is scared to leave backstage. A few people clap congratulatory hands on his back and arm and all Jiang Cheng can do is nod a small thanks back. His feet halt their steps down the steps that would lead to the audience.

He doesn’t know the answer that would await him if he dared to step out and face it.

So he doesn’t.

Jiang Cheng sits behind the curtain for the duration and all the way to the end of the show. His performance leaves no aftertaste in many people’s minds, disappearing after a few short minutes.

Jiang Cheng wonders if he would even remember what he sang.

He’s too busy being lost in his thoughts to notice that the talent show has long ended. He’s only startled back to reality when the main lights of the back stage darken. Jiang Cheng’s breath hitches in surprise. Quickly picking up his guitar, he gets up and leaves the dark backstage. Just as he’s about to get to the stage door, he hears the resounding lock from the outside.

Great, Jiang Cheng thinks and quickly backtracks back to the stage to leave from there.

Jiang Cheng puts the guitar strap on, going back up to the stage.

The stage lights are duller now then when he was on stage. So it takes a minute for him to realize that someone is sitting in the first row near the stage.

Specifically, he notices this when he’s halfway off the stage, almost dangling off the stage.

“Ah. Xicheng-ge” Jiang Cheng splutters. Jiang Cheng jumps the rest of the way down. He almost (very nearly) breaks his ankle when he lands, but he regains his balance in the nick of time.

Lan Xichen, soccer captain, stands up immediately, not even letting Jiang Cheng walk halfway to him.

“Xichen-ge,” Jiang Cheng repeats again when the senior is close to him again. Lan Xichen simply stares at him, a soft look on his face. Jiang Cheng doesn’t really see that, just hears the deafening silence between them.

“I...I sang it. Because I just...wanted to share it with you…” Jiang Cheng explains awkwardly. He plays with the guitar strap on the front of his chest, staring down at the centimeters between their shoes.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t dare to look up, anticipating the blunt rejection (or the nicely wrapped one because it’s Lan Xichen, but a rejection nonetheless) and willing himself to receive it when a gentle hand tilts his face up to meet Lan Xichen’s eyes.

The softest kiss lands on his lips. It lasts just a few seconds. But it is enough to make Jiang Cheng understand.

“Play it again,” Lan XIchen urges, finger flicking Jiang Cheng’s chin lightly.

The younger student smiles, easily complying.

27 notes · View notes