#I think people tend to forget even the 'red' hair is described as 'brown with glints of coppery red'

[luanna801]

Celegorm being blond is interesting since Tolkien later made such a big deal about how blond hair only shows up among the Noldor as a result of intermarriage with the Vanyar (as in Finarfin's family). Yet Celegorm's known ancestry is 100% Noldor. I wonder if Tolkien would have revised Celegorm's coloring to fit with his later ideas about hair color in the different Elven branches (Christopher Tolkien seems to have assumed so, as he cites that as his reason for removing the reference), or if he would have kept Celegorm as a rare exception to the rule, or if he just wasn't thinking about it enough to be consistent (very possible).

Does Nerdanel have red hair?

Nerdanel and Celegorm's Hair Colour

Hi Anon! Dawn Felagund has already done an excellent job discussing and assembling all the evidence on this in her Character Biography of Nerdanel (in the section "And the Requisite Discussion of Hair Color").

For the Anon who asked about Celegorm's hair colour, Dawn also covers that at length in the Celegorm Bio (section "A Digression on Hair"). I'll get to the other characters you requested later.

I highly recommend giving both bios a read, but here's the tl;dr:

The published Silmarillion says nothing about either character's hair colours.

A quotation from Tolkien published in the linguistic journal Vinyar Tengwar (Issue 41, pg. 9) reveals that Nerdanel "had brown hair"*.

In the Quenta Silmarillion published in The History of Middle-earth Vol. 5: The Lost Road, in the section "Of Beren and Tinúviel", Christopher reveals that he removed from the published Silmarillion a clause applying to Celegorm: "golden was his long hair"*.

*These citations are from Dawn's bios but I double-checked both.

There are your quotes! Brunette Nerdanel, blond Celegorm. But as always -- happy imagining and transforming.

[roseykat]

KINKTOBER DAY 14

TITLE: Some things are better left unknown

PAIRINGS: Bang Chan x Felix x reader

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate every single interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

SUMMARY: a threesome with Chanlix where you’re yet to discover a very sobering truth about the pair of them.

TAGS: explicit language, threesome, oral sex (f!reader receiving), porn with plot, use of the name 'baby girl' and 'angel', swearing, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex but protected anal sex, double penetration, big dick!Chan agenda, praise, slight body worship if you squint, kissing/making out.

A/N: Aussie line fucks hard, bye. (If there are mistakes, I will fix them. Currently running on v low sleep)

KINKTOBER23 - MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @mal-lunar-28 @luneskies @queenmea604 @kibs-and-bits @kbitties @aaasia111 @fairy-lixie @dreamingaboutjisung

-

Milk, nori, rice, raw tuna, coffee, yoghurt, bread, and eggs. 

This was all Chan sent you to the supermarket for. All of which could have been easily picked up from the convenience store down the road. Maybe minus the raw tuna which has to be high grade since Chan wanted to make an attempt at onigiri for the first time. However, you would’ve saved an entire trip to the busy supermarket.

Not to mention, grocery shopping sucks in general. At least that is when you’re on your own. In your apartment that you share with your good friends Chan and Felix, two people are responsible for the shopping per week which rotates each time. 

If you’re with Felix, sometimes you both tend to muck around. Not to mention forgetting almost a quarter of things on the shopping list which ends in a stern lecture from Chan. On that matter, if you’re with Chan, it’s an in-and-out task at the store in less than ten minutes. 

Efficient and practically timeless.

Even though it’s no trivial matter, you manage to get through the pointless shopping before heading home to the apartment. These could’ve been picked up at the convenience store, you think to yourself again. A sigh leaves your lips as you unlock the door, bumping it open further with your hip as you slide your shoes off. 

“I’m back. Remind me to buy an umbrella next time-”

Your body freezes on the spot. The bag of items falls from your possession, collapsing onto the floor. Something inside it broke but it’s nowhere near enough a distraction for what is in front of your eyes. 

Maybe you need your vision checked because if your eyes weren’t deceiving you, then you wouldn’t have just seen Chan and a topless Felix who are both making out. The two of them sat on the edge of the bed, still lip-locked until they caught onto your presence.  

For the few seconds you stood there, rooted to the ground, felt the absolute longest.

Neither of them was as internally panicked as you when they noticed you standing there. Nor did they have hundreds of questions zapping around their brains in the span of a few seconds. It was like your entire vocabulary had turned to dust and were blown away because there were no words to describe what the hell was happening. 

Maybe it was a dream. 

“T-That was quick,” Chan stammers with an awkward chuckle, breaking away from Felix, almost pretending like nothing just happened. 

Felix looked like a complete mess. Dark brown hair mangled - clearly from Chan either running his fingers through it or tugging it - the air gets stuck in your throat with those two theories in mind, painting very interesting visuals and an odd sensation in your stomach. 

Chan looked equally dishevelled. There’s a dark red splotch peeking above his collarbone that you had no trouble guessing how it got there. On top of that, his pants were already half undone, and his lips were bitten red and wet, and they both looked so…so…

“What…the fuck…” you manage to speak once your mind has cleared the only one per cent of its capacity to grasp the circumstances.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Felix quickly says as he stands up from Chan’s lap and walks over to you.

It was useless for him to try to take advantage of your shell-shocked state because once your surprise had completely thawed out, your words started coming back to you. 

“Oh my god, what am I even doing?” You ask, clamping your hands over your eyes, ready to head right back out of the apartment. “I’m heading out.”

“Wait!” Chan calls out, arm outstretched towards your direction. “You don’t…you don’t have to go. If you want, you can maybe join us. If…if you like.”

Join them? Blindsided by those words, there was no trouble for the difficulty you had in trying to figure out if you heard right or just imagined what Chan said. Why would he ask you that question? But more importantly, why were they hooking up in the first place? It was evident that there had been something going on between Felix and Chan - unless this was just a new one-time thing. 

However, even if it wasn’t, you had been left out of the secret. Nonetheless, you quickly came to your senses. Whether they hook up or not is none of your business. 

“J-Join you?” You stammer. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Chan emphasises. “It’d be rude to not let you in on the fun.” 

You definitely weren’t hearing things, and this wasn’t a dream. 

At first, you can’t understand why you’re even considering their request, but there is one piece of information that sprung to mind and that’s your sex life. It hasn’t been entirely sex-filled as you’d like it to be, not to mention your slight lack of experience with threesomes wasn’t vast - but it also wasn’t limited either, especially after that encounter you once had with two of their friends Changbin and Hyunjin on a separate occasion. Although, they didn’t need to know that at all. 

That being said, this takes the cake. You can’t even comprehend what Chan or Felix are like in bed but, the opportunity seemed too ridiculously hot to pass up. 

“You...you want me to-“

“Like Channie said, if you want,” Lix assures you, interrupting your babbling. 

You aren’t somewhat surprised that Felix would ever want a threesome. He’s had sexual partners here and there in the past, multiple ones at a time. However, Chan never struck you as the type to have sex with more than one person. Even after a year of living with him and getting to know him, he’s still pretty private and exclusive. 

With the matter at hand and the more you think about the prospect in front of you, you aren’t opposed to the idea. So with your brain taking full control of your body, you hesitantly step over the discarded groceries lying on the ground. This is happening. Felix picks up on the right cue and extends his hand out to you as you take it gently. 

He guides you over to the edge of the bed where Chan is still sitting, but as you’re led over, he rises to his feet. There were a few seconds where you’re a little bit bewildered by what’s going on, but when you look into Chan’s dark eyes and as he takes your free hand, you become more centred.

Before you know it, he leans down to kiss you and kisses you good. You’ve never felt anything like it and as Felix releases your hand and sneaks behind your body, your mind starts turning into jelly. He gently swipes your hair to the other side of your shoulder while his other hand freely roams around your waist, underneath your shirt to feel the heat of your skin. His mouth places chaste kisses from your shoulder up to your neck. 

It feels so heavenly to be sandwiched between them; Felix kissing, biting softly over your skin while Chan continues to explore your mouth. It was impossible to think that just a few minutes ago, you were at the grocery store and now a complete world shift just seems to be occurring within that time frame. 

Chan breaks away from you for a second, kissing you tenderly one last time before sitting back down on the bed and moving up to the headboard. God this is really happening. You’re too deep in it now to not follow him like a lost, yet obedient puppy. You can see that he’s hard and want to touch him so badly but-

“Sit between me and face towards Felix,” he instructs before you can even reach for him. 

Your cheeks burn. While you have no idea what’s entirely in store, your body is getting excited and very obviously, so is Felix. He crawls over to you once you’re snug in between Chan’s legs before he tugs your shirt up from the hem and tosses it aside. Then, he finds your lips and kisses you until you have to silently beg and chase him for it.

Squirming in place, you feel hot and subjugated by Chan sitting behind you - snaking and trailing his hands around your now half-bare body, and Felix in front of him, who’s now gone on to give his supposed man some attention too.

He’s up on his knees with his body so close to you that you can feel the heat from him. Chan tilts his head up from resting on your shoulder and lets Felix take what he wants. The slick wet sounds of them both kissing along with the tiny moans you can feel in your ear, makes you shiver all over. You’re only still comprehending this all, that this is still actually happening. 

“So needy,” Chan says as he breaks away from him, inches away from his face when Felix hears and feels you unbuckling his belt. He straightens back up and consumes how flustered you are, observing the way you blink up at him pleadingly, displaying how badly you want it now. 

Felix smirks, gently grabbing your face with one hand and lowering down just enough to kiss you senseless again. But he cannot stray away from his other plans so frees himself from your lips to help slide your pants off down and discards them to the side. 

Immediately, you can see where this is going. 

“Aw, look how bad you want it,” Felix comments, swiping his thumb over the damp spot of your underwear with enough pressure for you to muffle a whine by biting down on your lip. You do want it bad and already seem to be losing a fight to the pleasure Felix is barely giving you. 

“Don’t tease her too much,” Chan cautions. 

Felix doesn’t seem to hear the warning for him as he helps you shimmy your underwear down. From there, Chan takes over. He hooks both of his legs over yours and separates them to not just expose you for Felix but to hold you down for what’s about to unfold. 

Heat accelerates through your cheeks as you feel embarrassed. At this point, your brain hasn’t caught up with the fact that you never show this much skin, let alone any skin in front of either of them. But that was going to be an afterthought for you when Felix distracts your mind by gently prying your legs open from your bent knees.

Pathetic whimpers slip past your lips as Felix lies down on his stomach, his face inches away from your pussy while he pets and glides his two fingers in between your folds. 

Your head shoots back onto Chan’s shoulder, very narrowly missing his face, “f-fuck…oh my god.”

Without warning, you feel the tip of Felix’s tongue lap a few times over your clit. If it weren’t for Chan acting as a human restraint to hold you down, there would’ve been a solid chance of you lurching forward. His arms are still wrapped around your abdomen, preventing you from moving forward so that you can take what Felix is giving you. 

It’s cruel, but Chan thinks it’s necessary for you to feel everything. Which you do when your hands grip each of Chan’s thighs, nearly squashing him backwards between you and the wall. 

“How does it feel?” he asks you. 

“F-Felix, mmm-” you breathe out his name, unable to answer properly and feel some vibrations from Chan’s chest to suggest that he was chuckling. Mainly at the fact that you weren’t able to directly answer his question. 

But it’s not long until the room quickly fills with your whimpers and moans mingled with the beautiful wet sounds as Felix keeps eating out your pussy. Tingly sensations spread like wildfire throughout every cell in your body from his mouth. It’s gradually becoming impracticable to keep up with his tongue. Not that you’ve ever imagined it before, but he does give good oral, good enough to put your breathing pace out of whack when he sucks on your clit. 

He’s not afraid of enjoying himself either. You can hear and feel his moans reverberate throughout your lower half. It even adds to the sensation of bliss that’s forming a knot in the pit of your stomach. So even though you don’t know, this is as good for Felix as it is for you. To him, it’s like going to heaven. 

What you also didn’t seem to know was when Chan unclasped your bra from behind your back and placed it to the side. His hands went from just holding you to now groping and playing with your tits as your body continued to melt into Felix’s mouth. 

“You’re loud aren’t you?” Chan whispers in your ear, rolling both of your nipples in between his thumbs and fingers to make you mewl and squirm. The different methods of pleasure send interesting messages to your brain that only make that crest of ecstasy build higher. 

You can only mewl until coherent words appear in his brain and out through his mouth, “s-sorry.”

Felix’s head game is so ridiculously mind-blowing that it makes you forget what language you speak.

Chan chuckles, purring into your ear, “don’t be sorry. You just can’t help it can you?” 

His hand circles up to your jaw, tilting it towards his face. He confirms in his mind how much of a mess you are. Cheeks stained pink with a fucked up expression that reads ‘I need more’, to which Chan reaches down and kisses you, sloppy and lazy. 

The velvety feel of your mouth when you open up more is slick with warmth. It’s starting to become more obvious how close you are when you start moaning repeatedly into Chan’s mouth. 

“I’m going to fuck you after this,” he breaks away, just inches from his lips again. 

You never would’ve guessed that Chan was even capable of forming such a dirty sentence. Then again, you never would’ve guessed that you would ever be in the position that you’re in now - having a threesome with your two housemates. 

“I’m…you’re gonna make me cum,” you sob, turning your head towards Chan on his shoulder, almost as if you were trying to escape the expansion of euphoria. He couldn’t help but kiss your forehead, waiting for you to brace for that wave. 

“Yeah?” Chan rouses. “Want to cum for us baby girl?”

You nod, too helpless to form an answer when you’re on the cusp of a forceful orgasm. He underestimated the strength he needed to hold you down, especially when you’re about to cum. So just when he needed to add more force, your body stiffens. Your legs so desperately crave to clamp around Felix’s head to help triage the pleasure, but it’s no use when Chan has you completely locked in. 

Your eyelids flutter, head pressing back further into Chan’s shoulder, “yes! I’m cumming!” 

With ragged, heavy breathing, the all-consuming pleasure takes you by the throat as the pleasure surges without control. Even though you’re being held down, it doesn’t stop your body from quivering. It lasts for what feels like an entire minute – one of the best orgasms you think you’ve ever experienced. 

Felix’s tongue slows down to a snail's pace, licking a few final stripes before kissing his way up your body, from your clit, abdomen, and then up to the base of your throat. His chin glistens as he adorns a smug smile. 

“Fuck…” you sigh out defeatedly, the aftermath of experiencing a volume of pleasure was starting to take its toll. “Oh my god.”

Chan kisses the side of your head, “sound so beautiful when you cum. Lix, switch with me so I can fuck her, yeah?”

“Wait-“ you pause, trying to reorient yourself as you hold onto Chan’s forearm for support. “I wanna ride you.” 

Felix looks down at you, “you sure angel? Channie isn’t exactly small.” 

From that statement alone, it was obvious to you that Felix was speaking from experience, a strong indication that they had in fact mucked around at least once in the past if not multiple times. But it didn’t matter if Chan or Felix for that matter was packing twelve inches, you needed to have something inside you to tame that need of feeling full. 

“I want to ride you-“ you nod to Chan – “but I want you to fuck me at the same time-“ you indicate towards Felix.

Neither of them expected you to be into that. Then again, they didn’t necessarily expect you to join them in bed either so anything was a surprise to them at this point. Chan and Felix can’t deny how insanely hot it is to hear you not only ask for them to do something but specifically ask you to do that. 

“Are you sure baby?” Chan has to ask you for assurance. 

“I can…I can take both of you.”  

Still stunned at your answer, Felix ushers to Chan, “you heard her.” 

He cannot lie and say that he’s not excited, because he is – they both are. So while Felix goes into the bedside table for a condom and lube, you move yourself off of Chan, turn around and start unbuckling his belt and helping him take his jeans off, almost like you’re in a rush. The imprint of his hard dick is enough to make your mouth water, and as Felix said, Chan definitely isn’t small. 

“Easy, I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, reorienting himself on the bed so that his head is on the pillow.  

Felix returns with the items he needs to help prep you, taking it as a sign to straddle over Chan’s legs and slowly tug his black boxers down. His cock springs onto his abdomen, the dark pink tip reaching just under his belly button. He had to be at least eight inches. Maybe just under, just.

“Ready angel?” Felix asks, kneeling behind you as you straddle Chan. The position would allow you to not only ride Chan but to take Felix from behind too, a dream so delicious that you can’t help but wonder how it was still all possible. 

“Yes,” you mutter. 

“Okay then,” he replies. 

Chan then holds the base of his cock steady for you, watching you slowly take those eight inches. The tip of his dick gently slots into your pussy, taking your time with sinking down. The warm heat engulfs his length, already sending shockwaves throughout his lower half. 

“That’s it, baby,” Chan says encouragingly, his fingertips delicately massaging over the skin of your things. “Good girl.”

You bite down on your bottom lip at the extraordinary stretch. In the meantime, Felix squirts a dollop of the lube onto his fingers to warm it up a bit before applying it to your hole.

He thumbs over it, sending shivers up your spine. It’s vital to him to make sure that you’re prepped well for him to fuck your ass. So he starts small by slowly inserting the tip of his finger, before gradually using slow yet long strokes, enough to make your head loll back. 

Felix has to express in awe when he sees the result of your efforts to fully envelope Chan’s length, “look at that. You took all of him, angel.” 

You know very well that you have because you can feel him in places that other men in your past haven’t reached. The stretch still sings a bit but it could easily be confused with the gorgeous satisfaction of Chan filling you right out. 

“So…big,” you strain out, scratching your nails down Chan’s abdomen, almost like a cat, just not as painful. 

Meanwhile, as Felix has slowly been stretching your hole out with his fingers, he uses his teeth and his free hand to peel the foil back of the condom packet. He had already freed himself from his jeans when he went to reach for the lube beside the bed so was hard and ready to roll the condom down his cock.   

“M’ready Lix,” you say to him, unable to see the smile you brought to his face from how eager you are. 

“I know baby, just one second,” he replies before aligning his cock with your hole. 

Very carefully and slowly, he starts pushing his tip in. Your eyes flutter shut, steadying your breathing in the process in preparation to take all of him as well. Chan rubs up and down your arm, distracting you from the temporary sting. With the lube doing its job, Felix can continue to push in at a leisurely pace right until he has the majority of his cock wrapped up by you. 

“Doing so well Y/N,” Chan says reassuringly. “Just stay like this for a bit until you’re ready to move yeah?” 

You nod, allowing your body and muscles to relax and ease into the pleasure that’s starting to fade out the burn. It’s difficult to comprehend a fuller feeling than this; to have two cocks stuffed in you to the hilt, and after a few moments of getting used to it, you slowly start to move. 

“Mmm, yes fuck,” you sigh with satisfaction, using your hands on Chan’s abdomen to steady your body as you being to move your hips. “You both…feel so fucking good inside me.”

Your words were difficult for Felix to not listen to who was trying to ward off from thrusting for a little bit until you were comfortable with him starting to fuck you. It wasn’t until your movements became a bit quicker that he began to catch up to your pace. Very quickly did the room turn into a space brimming with moans, wet sounds, and the sound of skin slapping. It was plenty to add to the intense sensation you were hurtling towards.  

Chan’s eyes are fixated on watching your pussy swallow his cock with every long stroke you take on him, “oh my god.”

With his tank top still on, Chan lifts it by the hem and holds onto it with his teeth. It wasn’t just to make sure that your hands weren’t going to be slipping on him as you use his abdomen to support yourself when you rock down, but it was also to restrict a whole bunch of moans that were about to rip through his chest. But even that couldn’t put a lid on the groans and growls rumbling from him. 

“Taking us both so well angel,” Felix says exasperatedly in your ear. 

His deep yet velvety voice has you leaning back slightly so that half of your back is pressed against his chest. With the help of you turning your head towards his face, Felix’s mouth crashes onto yours, almost tasting the remnants of yourself from before. He kisses you passionately, moaning into your mouth like he’s going to die if he doesn’t. 

“Fucking perfect,” he growls, diverging from your mouth to dive into your neck to suck a few hickies in and groping your tits from behind. “Can’t get enough of you dammit.” 

You sob out as he pinches your nipples, but also when Chan reaches down to your pussy, finds your clit and begins to rub in perfect motions, “god – fuck, I can’t…s’too much!” 

Their cocks hit spots so phenomenally that each time they stroke over them, your holes involuntarily clench around them. Not to mention the total stimulation they were feeding you. 

Felix’s hips haven’t faltered since they started pumping forward into your ass. The upward curvature of his cock seemed to be scratching the part of your brain that is responsible for making your eyes roll back. Chan’s dick on the other hand had you shaking. The length and girth were sickeningly satisfying. 

“Not gonna last,” you whine, still keeping up the same pace when you rock down on Chan and feel Felix continue to thrust in and out. “So close…” 

The hem of Chan’s shirt is long gone from his mouth, already given up on trying to suppress whatever was going to come out, “gonna cum for us again, huh? Such a good girl, taking us both at the same time.” 

Chan couldn’t lie either, but he was close a long time ago, probably the second you decided that you wanted to ride him. Felix happened to be on the same page. He couldn’t get over this entire situation, finding it so fucking hot that even just a dream of it would be a blessing. 

Words start to slip away from your brain once more. Aside from your orgasm swimming towards an astronomical high, you try to cling to that amazing feeling before it eventually disappears. But all good things come to an end. Your nails dig into Chan’s thighs while Felix has one arm barred just under your chest as the other hand doesn’t let up on your nipple. It throws your pace off balance and staggers your breathing when you start reaching that very pinnacle of euphoria. 

“Yes! Fuck, I’m cumming!” You scream out. 

Your thighs clamp around the frame of Chan’s lower half, shaking and shivering in place as the pleasure reaches its apex. Felix didn’t let up on his pace, fucking you all through your orgasm as Chan replaces your motions by fucking upwards and into you. Both of your holes spasm and contract around their dicks, enough to actually make them cum by the time you’ve reached the height of your orgasm. 

“I’m gonna cum, holy fuck, s’too good,” Felix’s head rests on your back, watching his cock disappear in and out of you before he starts to bust inside of the condom. His fingernails brutally dig into your hips when he cums. 

Your moans easily fill up the room once more now that you have no choice but to succumb to the euphoria when your orgasm hits its hardest. Chan’s head tips back further into the pillow, eyes screwed tight shut as he’s hit with a tsunami of pleasure. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he exclaims loudly, his chest heaving up and down as he spills inside of you. He’s lucky that he did because as the pleasure reached a point where it was too much for you to bear, you slowly lean forward towards Chan, their cocks sliding out of you in the process. 

On each exhale your body shudders, like the surges of aftershocks while the pleasure slowly plateaus. From this angle, Felix can still see you contracting, watching Chan’s cum leak from your pussy. If he wasn’t so fucked out, he would’ve had the energy to eat you out again. 

In saying that, he is the first to recover and come to his senses a bit faster than either you or Chan. He takes the condom off, ties it, and discards it in the rubbish bin in the corner of the room before putting his boxers back on. Meanwhile, you’re still panting trying to catch your breath, resting on top of Chan’s body, you feel his hand run soothingly up and down your spine. 

“Such a good girl for us,” he says caringly. “Felt so good.”

Felix sits beside you both at the top of the bed. He cards a gentle hand through your hair, observing your distant expression, “you there baby?” 

You blink up at him and nod, your brain still trying to process that sort of orgasm. 

“When you’re ready, we’ll get you cleaned up yeah?” He smiles softly down at you. 

As the minutes ticked by, Felix lent you a helping hand to stand up when you were ready. Even though you were wobbly on your feet, he still guided you to the bathroom and ran a nice hot shower. Both Felix and Chan joined you in a bid to make sure you knew that they were there, dousing you with as much praise as an individual could get – and they meant every word. 

When you were ready to hop out, Chan fetched you one of his warm jerseys and placed it straight over your body before telling you to hop in his bed while he went to gather up the towels and clothes from the bathroom. Just as he was picking up the last items, Felix caught him right as he was about to walk out. 

“She okay?” Chan asks him. 

Felix nods reassuringly, “out like a light.”

“Alright then,” he sighs contently. “She’ll probably be asleep for the rest of the day.”

“Mm,” he hums, staring at a space just to the side of Chan who picks up on the subtle behaviour. 

“Is there something wrong?” Chan asks as a slight concern balloons in his chest. 

“When are you going to tell her?” Felix asks. 

Chan stares at him, trying to figure out what he means, “tell her what?” 

He rolls his eyes and chuckles, “that you like her, idiot. That we like her.” 

That had been a distant thought for Chan for some time. The possibility of that ever working out between the three of you seemed like a long shot. You only all slept together. There was no depth to it other than that even though deep down, Chan would’ve liked it to be for the sole purpose that he likes you. But it’s not just him.

It’s also the one standing at the doorframe, staring right back at Chan; Felix. 

[justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms]

Hello! I’ve never done a matchup before, so I’m sorry if it’s too much! Could I get romantic Star Rail, Demon Slayer, and Genshin matchups? ^^

Pronouns/Sexuality: I use she/her pronouns! My sexuality is a bit complex right now, but I know I fall somewhere under the asexual umbrella. I'm not quick to catch feelings, but when I do, I’m whipped. In terms of romance, I'm attracted to masculine presenting people (ex. cis men, trans men, and non-binaries!)

Zodiac/MBTI: Gemini / INFP

Appearance: Brown eyes. Slightly below shoulder-length denim blue hair with blonde ends - my hair is typically swept to the side, covering my right eye. I stand at 5'1" and am slender for my height. I have pale skin with a few beauty marks on my neck and the side of my face. My fashion style leans toward goth/emo, and I have a few ear piercings, along with a septum piercing!

Personality: On a first impression, I come off as intimidating and aloof. I’ve had friends tell me that I looked like I wanted to kill them when we met and was surprised as I'm really just unsure about how to socialize and unintentionally appear unfriendly. Beyond that, I'm a laidback and open-minded individual. I tend to reflect too much, unconsciously psychoanalyzing myself/others. I'd describe myself as a pessimist, and my thoughts can sometimes dwell in dark places that I get stuck in sometimes. Isound monotonous, which I find hilarious because I tend to deliver the darkest jokes with a straight face, leaving people confused. I often playfully pretend to have a god/superiority complex; I'm known for my biting sarcasm, snarkiness, stubbornness, and occasional sassiness. However, I'm also logical and prioritize thinking with my head before my heart. My demeanor can switch between being playfully sarcastic and being timid and awkward, depending on how well I know someone. I have a tendency to be a people pleaser, even going so far as to sacrifice my own well-being for people I don't even know well. I’m a good listener, but I severely lack charisma.

Likes: Drawing, sword collecting, history, playing/watching video games, writing, TTRPGs, rain/thunderstorms, my five cats, metal/rock music, the colors blue/purple/red, the moon, and star-gazing.

Dislikes: People who can’t maintain an open mind, the color green, being in the sun, doctors, heights, and people who are immature, blindly optimistic, or excessively loud.

Extra Information: I'm scatterbrained and forgetful with doing certain things (ex. Taking medicine, eating breakfast, etc.) I also tend to do better with people similar to me, personality, interest, or backstory wise! But also maybe someone who would push me to leave my comfort zone or pull me out of my pessimism.

Thank you! ✨

Hi! Oh my goodness! It's so exciting being someone's first matchup request! Thank you for your request! Sorry it took a while. I hope you like your matchups!

In Honkai Star Rail, I match you with...

Caelus matches your sarcastic nature well. However, while you’re more open about saying those things out loud, Caelus is more the type to keep them to himself, until you’re alone.

Then the sass comes out in full force as you both talk about your days.

Caelus is reasonably mature and open minded, so arguments will rarely happen. He also strikes me as a bit of a people pleaser. But don’t think that will stop him from expressing his opinion.

Video game dates! Caelus loves video games and is pretty flexible about what you play. Whether it’s a multiplayer where you’re on a team or facing off, or a single player where you take turns with the controller, Caelus just enjoys sharing one of his main hobbies with you.

Will take you stargazing. The Star Rail is great for that since there’s stars everywhere you look. But Caelus also enjoys finding good stargazing spots when you get to a new planet.

There’s always a whole new sky to look at and you can learn about it together.

In Demon Slayer, I match you with...

Giyu’s another one who loves your sarcastic nature. He thinks it’s a nice change from the overly optimistic people he’s surrounded by on a daily basis.

Your stubborn streak is something he’s more familiar with. Between Inosuke and Tanjiro, as well as the other hashira, there are a lot of stubborn people in his life.

He can be a bit close minded sometimes but, as shown when he accepted Nezuko, Giyu can open up to ideas that he’s initially sceptical of.

Not a loud person and appreciates that you’re not overly loud either. He enjoys being able to spend quiet time with you reading or watching you draw.

His favourite moments are when you’re relaxing together and there’s gentle rain outside. He can very easily fall asleep like that.

I see Giyu as someone who doesn’t mind cats. He resonates with them. They remind him a lot of himself. So needless to say, he will get along well with your cats; he doesn’t pester them but he’ll give them affection when they approach him.

In Genshin Impact, I match you with...

Diluc enjoys being able to spend time with you. He appreciates the peace and quiet after time spent in the Angel’s Share. Whether that involves watching you draw, reading something you’ve written, or relaxing in silence, he loves every moment of it.

He’s also glad you’re a good listener because after a shift at the tavern, Diluc enjoys talking about all the patrons he encountered. It’s a good method of decompensating.

He likes your cats but he’s not sure whether he genuinely likes them or because you like them. Either way, they remind him a lot of Diona which leads to some interesting interactions.

Like Caelus, Diluc enjoys stargazing with you. He’ll take you into the vineyards where no one will disturb the two of you and lay out a blanket to rest on.

In a house as old as Dawn Winery, there’s sure to be a decent collection of swords. Diluc is more than happy to let you add to it as you see fit. He’s happy with his claymor but it can’t hurt to have a selection at hand.

[linawritesocs]

oh boy we're really doing this it's rollo's vp

listen, i know it's january 2023, but i'm still obsessed with the masquerade event and i want to make more content with that event and nbc students the urge to write masquerade vignettes is so strong.

so! sol adopted rollo's assistant and i adopted his vp. they are our sons now. and here's a profile i made for my boy!

also i should mention that this is how i personally see him and he doesn't belong to me BUT. we got no canon info so I CAN DO WHAT I WANT

name: cole rayne [コール- ・レイン]

age: 18 y/o

gender: male

species: human

birth date: july 29

zodiac sign: leo

height: 174 cm

hair color: his hair is more brown in canon, but tbh i see his hair being a bit more pink? i prefer to use "faded pink" for him, but it looks more "pale violet red" here.

eye color: his eyes are the same color as his hair and again, they look more pale violet red here.

homeland: ???

family: father, mother, grandfather, grandmother, three younger sisters

school: noble bell college

dorm: ??? (do i look like i'm good at coming up with dorm names)

school year: third year

occupation: student

club: none, just like sebastian, he prefers to check up on other clubs with rollo.

best subject: astrology

dominant hand: right-handed

favorite food: junk food and anything that you don't have to cook yourself and can easily buy anywhere.

least favorite food: his spicy food tolerance is extremely low, so yeah, he hates food like that.

hobbies: surfing the net, gaming, online shopping

talent: none. he's not particularly good at anything and he's not really trying to get better at anything.

unique magic: "disobeying the order". whenever cole misbehaves, forgets/refuses to do something or simply does something stupid, he can easily make anyone forget about it and he can get away with it that way. it sounds very useful, however, it has its weaknesses: cole can wipe someone's memory only if cole let that person down or "disobeyed their order", so it's not like he can always do that, he must do something bad before he's able to use his magic. and also, his magic has its limits and he can use it only three times a day. he accumulates blot very quickly as well, so he must be careful with it, he actually has almost overblotted once.. but no one remembers it. and if he uses his magic too often on a specific person, that person will start slowly losing their memories and if cole doesn't stop, they can end up forgetting even their own name. that person may also start feeling very tired most of the time and lose the ability to sleep.

dislikes: working, studying

personality: cole is a very easygoing and carefree person, who loves having fun and hanging out with other people. he's also very interested in romance and dating, so you can often see him flirting with someone.. and failing. he's actually very awkward, even though he doesn't seem like that type of person. though he claims that being awkward makes him even cuter and someone will definitely fall in love with him one day. he's very serious about it and if someone makes fun of him for being single, he will literally fight them. even though most people would describe cole as "energetic", he's a lot more lazy than they think and he refuses to do anything that he sees as "pointless" or "meaningless", which is pretty much.. everything. he tends to use his unique magic very often, so that he doesn't have to do any work and he can make other people do his job. but again, his magic does have its limits, so he makes sure to behave when he's not able to use it. also, even though he hates paper work and other "boring" tasks, he's very good at things that require talking to people and making connections, so yeah, there's a reason why he's still the vice president. he also often offers rollo his help with more personal stuff, like simply listening to him talk or helping with his problems that are not related to the student council's work even though rollo doesn't trust him enough to ask for his help and cole just appears out of nowhere and goes "hey, you need anything? :D" he's also the guy who makes tea whenever the student council is having a meeting and yes, he has to force himself to make it sometimes because of how lazy he is, but there is a reason why he doesn't let anyone else do it. and yes, that reason is "maybe if he shows that he can do at least something useful, he won't get kicked out". he also has a 13 year old boy's sense of humor, which means that he has the same password he uses for everything and it's "coleisthebest69420lolol"

notable relationships:

when cole just became the vice president, he thought rollo was a bit scary and he didn't know how to act around him. however, he quickly got used to his company and like two weeks later he already was like "HEYYYY WHAT'S UP BUDDY HOW ARE YOU FE- okay. okay, sorry, president. sorry, it won't happen again. sorry." he actually tries to get to know rollo better and he often asks him about his hobbies, interests, friends, family- oh, okay, it's a touchy subject, okay. now that he's a third-year and has more experience, cole claims that he knows how to talk to rollo now and he's proud of being his vice president.. but he became one not because of being good at his job, but because of his luck. he's also the type to randomly give rollo dating advice even though he did tell him muiltiple times that he doesn't need it. but cole thinks he does.

cole likes to call sebastian his best friend, though their relationship wasn't that good when they just met. cole kept annoying him and he didn't respect his personal space at all, trying to become closer with him. their relationship eventually got better, mostly thanks to sebastian enjoying doing the work that cole was supposed to do. LIKE HELLO HE CAN JUST MAKE THIS GUY DO EVERYTHING FOR HIM AND HE WON'T MIND, LET'S GO. and cole is the one who does most of the talking, if sebastian doesn't feel confident or comfortable enough. cole is secretly jealous of him though, because he thinks and knows that sebastian is much more talented than him and he's also jealous of his looks. it's not like cole is not pretty, it's just.. he thinks the assistant boy is more beautiful than him. but even though he's jealous of him, he's actually very protective of him and if sebastian gets bullied by someone, he's already here and he's ready to beat that person up.

cole met merrill during nrc students' visit to nbc and he thought he was interesting right when he saw him. he had a lot of fun talking to him and he jokingly tried to flirt with him once and he did not expect merrill to flirt back. so he ran away and hid behind sebastian because he is not strong enough for this. their dynamic is actually kinda funny because of how 😄😆😜🤣 cole usually is, but when it comes to merrill, he immediately goes 😳👉👈 they kept talking online after merrill had to go back to nrc and they're very close now.. but cole is still too scared to make the first move. he will punch anyone who makes fun of him for that.

fun facts:

he's actually not from the city of flowers and he lived in a small village before moving there, so he's kind of.. you know. he's a country boy, even though he absolutely loves the internet and knows all the latest trends. his family thought he should go to nrc at first and they thought he would feel right at home there, however, they realized that if he goes to a school like nrc, his behavior will most likely get worse, so they sent him to nbc, hoping that he will become more responsible there. his mom also comes from the city of flowers, so she knew a lot about it and she told cole everything he needed to know.

his sisters are much younger than him, the oldest one is 10 years old and the youngest one was born when he already started attending nbc and he was able to finally meet her only after coming back home for the summer break. he's not the best older brother though and his little sisters are much more hardworking than him.

his nrc dorm would most likely be heartslabyul and his phone case design is a reference to that.

even though the original npcs don't really have a height difference, cole is much shorter than sebastian and rollo. he's also the same height as avery.

if sebastian is inspired by snowball, it can be said that cole's disney counterpart is phoebus and his unique magic is a reference to phoebus being the captain of frollo's guard and going against him. however, cole's magic somehow manages to be a much darker, but also funnier version of it, because if his disney counterpart stopped following his boss's orders because he realized that he's been working for an evil and cruel man.. cole just uses his magic because he's lazy and he doesn't want to work. the dark part is that he mostly uses his magic on rollo, so it means he's been brainwashing the student council president for like.. a year or two. y-yeah.

no one knows about cole's unique magic because they obviously wouldn't remember him using it on them/in front of them and he also hasn't told anyone either. he also doesn't see a reason why he should talk about his unique magic, if their president's mood gets worse whenever magic is mentioned.

just like sebastian, he likes romance media a lot, though he doesn't really have a cute reason for it. it's just that romance media is one of the things that actually makes him feel something. for example, other student council members have noticed that cole is usually more interested in romance movies and comedies, but he's mostly emotionless when he watches something else, even horror movies.

according to molly, malleus's cousin who goes to nbc and hangs out with rollo, cole and sebastian, cole most likely has depression because they used their unique magic on him which allows them to understand other people's feelings better and they found nothing but emptiness inside of him, which explains why he finds everything tiring and he doesn't have any motivation.

cole becoming rollo's vp was the only moment in his life when he actually tried to achieve something. he tried to get the vice president position just because it sounded fun and he had nothing to do, also his mom said that he should try "doing something great" so that his life feels more meaningful. he got it mostly thanks to his luck, because most people were too scared to work with rollo and thought they didn't deserve it. cole was scared of him as well but he managed to get over his fear and rollo thought the student council could use a sociable and extroverted person like cole. also cole's grades were surprisingly good for a guy like him.. totally not because of his unique magic. totally. so it's actually kind of wholesome, cole doesn't want to get kicked out and he even agrees to do the work he finds boring so that rollo won't get mad at him, but only because being a part of the council is the only thing that makes his life more interesting and fun.

he also secretly works for seth's sister, luna, who ended up in twisted wonderland after trying to find her brother. the reason? uh.. she's pretty. that's it, really. he does start questioning her motives when he ends up getting attached to rollo and seth and realizes that luna is actually not a good person.

[hansensgirl]

push it to the limit.

summary. | As he watches you ogle the man who would pop champagne moments before touching heaven, he puts his foot on the gas pedal and his hand on one of the levers, ready to push it to the limit. Maybe this time, you’ll finally notice him.

warnings. | Non/Dubcon, watersports, obsessive behaviour, coercion, bribery, dark themes, drinking (champagne), hate fucking, unprotected sex, rough sex, public sex, dumbification, degradation, dirty talk, humiliation, breeding kink, choking, allusions to anal, reader is really rude (so is Niki), *sexism/misogyny/paying for sex (see a/n), and more. 18+, MINORS DNI.

word count. | 8.4k

pairings. | Dark!Niki Lauda x Reader, James Hunt x Reader (it’s one-sided).

author’s note. | please enjoy, and please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. *he talks about paying you for sex as a way to degrade you, it’s brief and in german! it does not reflect anything about me or my blog. we are pro-sex work here! it’s just fiction.

“Look! There he is!” a small voice tells you, pointing somewhere with a great distance. You’re not sure how he manages to spot his favourite racer from so far. Among the sea of heads, your younger brother sits on your shoulders. You can feel him touching you down to your bones, and you try to ignore the pain just for him. “You sure? You said that five times before, y’know,” you denote, and you hear the six-year-old groan. “Yes, I’m sure! Look, he’s drinking that nasty stuff like always,” he adds, and you realize he’s talking about James’s signature champagne.

“It’s not nasty,” you mumble under your breath, remembering the way the pleasant liquid felt and tasted against your tongue. Sticky gold is what you’d describe it as, and you recall how it stained your skin. Shaky hands are bound to tremor even more under pressure, and your friend is an absolute clutz. It’s no wonder she made such a mess, as it is one of her best traits. But a particular pair of hands that seemed to have Midas’s touch cleaned you up, and you still to this day wish you were awake to thank them. You have many regrets, but that’s just a small one.

“Can we go closer to the fence? I want to try and talk to him,” your brother politely requests, and you let out a heavy sigh. Your mouth is pressed in a line, and you begin to shift your feet. You’ve got boots made of suede, a brown colour that always seems to go best with your all-black outfits. There’s a matching jacket on you as well, and it has fur on the cuffs and collar.

“What’s the marvel of watching it in person rather than watching it on television? Out here, we struggle so much, and you can barely even watch them properly. On the television, well, you see it all, and you can be as comfortable as you want,” you wonder out loud, and the child holds onto you tightly. He squeezes your head tightly, and the ribbon in your hair begins to fall in your face. It’s white silk, with a lovely hem to it. You save it for these races your sibling always wants to go to. Your other coloured ones are left for daily excursions, and sometimes a good party, too.

“Excuse me!” you loudly call out, and other women cast you nasty glares. You’ve seen those same looks one too many times, and you don’t pay any mind to them. If they truly care about their spots, they’d stand up and fight for them. But they’re just like babies with a piece of candy in their tiny fists. Maybe a jellybean, or perhaps even a pack of those oh so enjoyable Sour Patch Kids. “Why do you like only him?” you ask, raising both your eyebrows as you get closer to the fence. “I like James and Niki!” he exclaims loudly, and you loop your fingers between the holes of the fence.

“Niki? As in Niki Lauda? That arrogant, Austrian asshole?” you question in shock, not minding your foul language at all. “Yes! The guy that Dad hates. He’s cool, and he’s fast,” he explains, rolling his eyes. “Honestly? There’s nothing cool about him. He’s just… fast. James is the cool one,” you argue, and you can hear him groaning. “You like James Hunt because he looked at you that one time,” he snaps back in annoyance, and you sigh dreamily in remembrance. “Exactly! Now I need to look for Niki, I wanna say hi to him!” your brother exclaims, and your eyes scan the entrance area for Niki Lauda.

“Don’t just say hi to him; ask him for an autograph! We can sell it to one of his fans afterwards. They’re always dying for anything of his,” you propose, and your brother simply ignores the swindling ways that you’ve inherited from your grandfather since you were a kid. It’s the reason why you tend to find purses with deep pockets and smooth zippers that don’t pinch on the inner fabric. You reach into your bag, and you grab a marker that you’ve always got with you.

The crowd gets louder and louder, almost as if you’ve got headphones on your head and you want to turn down the volume, but you keep hitting the wrong button. A woman shrieks in your left ear, and a man whoops in the other. More bodies press against you, and with the marker in between two of your digits, you hope that you don’t return home with billions of bruises. On the big screen, recaps from the previous races are being played. It’s win after win, all on behalf of Niki Lauda and his incredible luck that doesn’t seem to have any end.

You’re finally able to make out what people are screaming; the curly-haired man’s name. “Niki! I love you!” they all shout, and you wonder if any of them like James. It seems like you haven’t found your people, and maybe just for today, you’re the odd one out. “Seems like you’re not the only one that has Niki amongst their favourites,” you grumble, and your brother lets out a giggle. A few moments later, he sits up far more proper on your shoulders. The hand with the marker in it grabs onto one of his legs, and you make sure he doesn’t fall down and ends up being the true loser of this race.

“Niki! I’m your biggest fan!” he shouts at the top of his lungs, using his full voice and then some. You look over to the entrance, and you spot the brooding Austrian wrapped in red walking out with a deep frown on his face. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but your brother doesn’t care about your deep annoyance towards his idol. Niki shoots a look over to where you’re both standing, and your brother waves his arms from side to side, trying to get the racer’s attention. Even if he doesn’t, you have a feeling that Niki will be more displeased than anything.

It only makes sense, as he always acts that way with his fans though they’re the only people who appreciate him.

His nose is upturned, and he tries to pinpoint your brother and his powerful screams. High-pitched yet so loud, it’s no wonder why his tantrums are the root for almost all household headaches. “He’s looking over here,” you tell him, and your brother nods. “Yeah, because of me! He’s going to come, and I’m going to meet him!” he squeals, somehow connecting none existent dots to fuel a form of hope that dwindles inside him. You can be mean, but you’re not cruel. So you won’t be a realist, and you’ll let the youth on your shoulders believe what he wants to think.

“And when you meet him, ask him to sign something,” you advise, not letting go of your chance to make a few hundred dollars. He doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s pondering whether or not he should do it. “Niki! I love you!” the woman next to you screams as if she’s using every bit of her energy to get him to notice her. Your head already starts to ache just a bit, and you wish you brought some form of a pain killer. Niki saunters over to the fence, and for some reason, you don’t feel proper behind the fence.

It’s the way he carries himself with the highest of heads, a sort of confidence dragging with his every step. He knows he can do anything right now, and everybody except you would love him for it. He could make an entire turn and not greet his fans, and they’ll laugh it off. You’ve witnessed his haughtiness, and there’s no doubt inside you that you’ll see it again. “Niki! Good luck on the race!” a person says, and the rest of the crowd laughs at them.

“Dude, he doesn’t need your luck,” someone next to them says before elbowing the poor fan’s ribs. You can hear them wince in pain before they start to scream at the racer once again. Niki raises his hands up to his chest, almost as if he’s surrendering to something. That bratty smirk of his is replaced by a cheerful smile, and while everyone adores it, you see right through the façade. “Hello, everyone!” he greets, and you already want to roll your eyes until they fall back into your skull.

Niki stands right in front of you, and you try to look somewhere other than his face. Your view darts wildly until you finally settle on looking at the exceptionally boring asphalt underneath your feet. The screaming quiets down, and you wonder if everything is okay. “Uhm, Mr. Niki Lauda? I love you! I’m such a big fan! I watch all of your races, and I try to go to them all! Can I have an autograph?” your brother gleefully expresses, and you snap your head up at his words.

Much to your dismay, you lock gazes with the man you hate most in this entire stadium. His eyes are rather dull, yet they’ve got a sort of darkness in them that makes you feel just a tad bit uneasy. Both begrudgingly and excitedly, you hand the marker to your brother, who, in turn, gives it to his idol. Niki takes it gratefully, and he raises his least dominant hand. The other fans try to reach for it, for him. But he ignores them, and he gives a high-five to your brother.

You can’t hear the sound of their palms meeting because the displeasure of the crowd drowns it all out. “What do you want me to write it on?” Niki questions, taking the cap off of the marker. “Uhm, my shirt?” he offers, stretching the red fabric towards the elder. You observe as the racer awkwardly signs his name on your brother’s clothing, and you know that your Mother is going to be more than angry. Your Father, on the other hand, will be filled with pride and excitement.

“Thank you so much!” the child squeals, and Niki simply waves his hand as if it was no big deal to him. But you know that deep down inside, he was probably a bit annoyed. “Do you want an autograph, Miss?” Niki asks, and you take note of how his demeanour has changed. His features are softer, and his eyes seem to be lit up. “Oh, uh, no, thank you. I’m waiting for James. I love him a lot,” you tell him, pushing your shoulders back in confidence. The people around you let out gasps, and they follow their sounds up with whispers that aren’t so hushed.

Niki’s face drops, and you give him your fakest smile. He stares at you, almost as if he wants to lash out and scream. Maybe even call you a name or two. “That’s alright,” he assures after a while, and you have the urge to say something snarky. He hands the marker back to your brother, who is too busy being in awe of his favourite racer to listen to you being on your worst behaviour. Niki walks off, but this time, his stride lacks his boldness. “He’s so cool!” your brother squeals, staring at the Sharpie. You sigh, knowing that you two will constantly butt heads over Niki.

“Well, I beg to disagree.”

“Niki! Is everything okay?” one of the mechanics asks, and the star nods his head mindlessly. Instead of pressing him for some sort of answer, he leaves Niki alone to mull all by himself. There is not one person who dares to talk to him before the race unless it has to do with the car or the competition itself. It’s out of pure fear because nobody likes to face the Austrian’s wrath. From screaming way too loudly to piercing, uncomfortable stares, he never knows how to properly communicate with others.

He gazes at you from just a few mere metres away. His eyes are like ice, and he hopes you can feel the coldness from where you are. He really fucking hopes you do. You’ve got that sultry look to you, and it’s not cast towards him. No, it isn’t at all, and it irks him all the way to his bones. You ogle James fucking Hunt. Of all the other inferior racers there, you choose to admire James, and Niki hates you both for that. At every single race, he’s seen you show up to, you never look at him.

You don’t acknowledge him at all. It doesn't just hurt his ego; it also breaks his heart. Your preference and love for the Englishman injure those butterflies inside Niki’s stomach, and yet they still continue to flutter. The funniest, most ironic part of everything is that the races you attend always end with Niki being the winner. Never James. But you still idolize him over the Austrian, and he’s tired of it.

“Make sure it goes fast, okay? Fast, but nothing should catch on fire or malfunction,” Niki tells his technicians, and they halt what they’re doing. “But, Sir-” one of them starts, and Niki closes his fist for them. “No,” he simply states before crossing his arms once again. Niki looks back over to you, and you’ve now got a smile on your face. He loves the sight, but he knows his adoration will turn sour in a few seconds once he follows your line of gaze. So he chooses not to, and he decides to use you as his motivation.

The racers all go to their cars, and they pull their helmets on. Some are dressed in black, some in white, and only two in red. James and Niki. Niki is surrounded by his team, and James has twice the number of people next to him. Along with mechanics are girls in short skirts with jackets similar to yours. Deep down, you wish you could switch places with one of them, but maybe it isn’t as good as it seems to be. Perhaps your spot behind the fence with your younger sibling is what’s meant for you.

Your neck is more than exhausted. Your shoulders have a unique pain to them, one that not even doctors can begin to describe. Your bones are in desperate need of a crack, and your muscles crave a lengthy stretch that’ll leave you shaking. Yet, you continue to stand there with no complaints ready to fly off your tongue. The whooping behind you is so loud, but you’ve gotten used to it. “C’mon, Niki! You can do it!” your brother cries out, clapping his hands in excitement.

Niki flashes a thumbs up, and he looks at you one last time. As he watches you ogle the man who would pop champagne moments before touching heaven, he puts his foot on the gas pedal and his hand on one of the levers, ready to push it to the limit. Maybe this time, you’ll finally notice him. Perhaps this time, you’ll realize he’s the best racer there is. He takes a deep breath, and he reassures himself that he’ll win as always.

“I have a feeling Niki is going to win this one,” the lady next to you says, and her friends nod their heads in utter agreement. You want to ask why she thinks that, but you’ve already left a bad taste in the crowd’s mouth. “Do you think Niki will win?” you ask your brother, looking up at him as best as you can. “I think so, but maybe James will surprise us!” he predicts, and you nod your head. “I hope James wins,” you whisper under your breath. Your bottom lip falls victim to your teeth, and you gnaw on it out of stress.

You keep your sights on James, and occasionally, you glance at Niki. Perhaps it’s simply just morbid curiosity that’s eating at you because there’s no way you’d just casually look at a man you despise with all your heart. As all the racers go to their designated spots in their cars, excitement fills your stomach. But it’s mixed with fear, as anything can go wrong at these tracks, and that’s the last thing you want to happen. You get lost in your thoughts, thinking about all possibilities.

Who will win? Who will get hurt? Who will get angry? Who will become sad? You ask yourself all these questions that don’t truly matter much to your life, and yet you still try to find an answer inside of you.

Suddenly, the sound of engines revving and then taking off fills your ears. Screams follow them up, and you realize that the race has started. You wait until every single car leaves your view before looking at the scoreboard. You can’t bear to watch them risk their lives while you stand not so comfortably yet safe behind a fence. “Oh my God! James is in the first place!” you squeal like a kid in a candy store, and your brother claps.

Some of the people around you cheer for James, and others for Niki. But you ignore them, and you simply focus on what the orangish-yellow neon lights say. Some names switch spots rapidly, perhaps too quickly for you to keep up with. But you stay trained on the upper two; I. HUN, II. LAU. The former stays on top for most of the race, and the latter switches with him every now and then. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” you nervously mumble, hoping that the Englishman stays on top.

“Seems like your favourite is going to win,” the known lady cleverly smirks, and you give her the side-eye. “Yes, because he’s good at what he does,” you confidently agree, hoping that you won’t have to eat your words in the next few minutes. She chuckles before shaking her head. “No wonder you don’t like Niki Lauda,” she expresses, shaking her head practically in some form of awe. “What are you talking about?” you annoyingly press, already growing tired of whatever conversation she’s trying to make.

“You’re both egotistical and full of yourselves. You do it because that’s who you are, and Niki does it for his own reasons, like pure enjoyment. It’s so obvious for you to dislike him because he’s a reflection of you, and you hate that,” she states, proud of herself for whatever reasons. “That’s dumb, and so are you. He does it because that’s who he is. I do it because I don’t like some people—such as yourself—and because I have plenty of reasons to be prideful. Not egotistical,” you snap, and she raises her hands as if she’s surrendering.

“Sure, whatever you say.”

Your mood has turned absolutely irritable, and the bitterness has claimed you entirely. You realize that you haven’t checked the places since before speaking to the lady, and you get excited. Flicking your head up, you expect to have your preferred person’s name at the very top, but instead, you see the name of the one and only Niki Lauda. I. LAU, II. HUN. “No, no, no!” you panic, watching as James stays in second place. None of the names change places at all, and you find yourself to be absolutely crushed. “Yes, yes, yes!” the crowd cheers and your face has fallen in disappointment.

Niki’s name gets announced, and everyone is absolutely elated. Everyone apart from you. Your brother celebrates the win from his high spot, and everybody jumps for joy. You stay silent, and you try your hardest to not swallow your pride. Each driver gets out of their cars slowly, and they congratulate the Austrian with smiles on their faces. You stare at him callously before you notice that James is still grinning. Despite not winning entirely, he never actually lost. So there’s no reason for you to be so dull and gloomy.

He walks off with his posse of men and women, and you realize maybe it’s time for you to head home as well. “So, your favourite won,” you say to your brother, and he giggles. “Yep! And yours lost!” he jokes, and you let out a forced giggle. “Yeah, yeah,” you brush off, making your way through the energetic body of people you strongly dislike.

Niki is engulfed in overly suffocating hugs. Some hands shake him, and some even slap him on the back, not so lightly. He doesn’t know which pairs belong to which bodies, and yet he goes with them all anyway. “You did great, Niki!” one voice praises. “Yeah, great job, Niki!” another adds. He thanks everybody in one sentence, and he pulls away once they start to mingle amongst themselves. The fantastic win of his isn’t what’s on his mind. It’s the thing that’s been etched and burned into his brain for him to think about, even though it should be appreciated now.

No. You’re what’s on Niki’s mind, and he has no intention of letting you leave.

He looks over at the swarm of heads that may have drowned you, and he can’t find you there. Not one trace of you is left behind, and his blood boils. Do you truly hate him to the point where you can’t even stay back for a few more seconds? Niki swears in Austrian under his breath, and he frustratingly walks over to the crowd. Fingers that aren’t yours reach out for him, and he ignores them all. “Have any of you seen that woman with the little boy on her shoulders?” he angrily questions, cracking his knuckles in anticipation.

His heart is still clamouring wildly in his chest, practically beating against him to be let out. “Uhm, she just left… She went that way! But I could easily replace her if you want…” a woman flirts, and Niki completely ignores her words after he gets what he wants. He leaves abruptly, and they are still yelling after him. “So eine verdammte Schlampe. Ich kann es kaum erwarten, dir eine Lektion zu erteilen, du hast darum gebettelt, seit ich dich gesehen habe,” he grumbles, walking through the crowded entrance.

Niki emerges with perseverance and even more anger than before. He searches through the sea of racing enthusiasts, and he spots you being bent over. It’s a wildly lewd position for you to be in, and Niki finds himself feeling flushed and displeased at the way you let others leer at you. He should be the only one to see you that way, nobody else. The Austrian wants to storm his way to you, to grab you and drag you somewhere more private so that he can put you in your place, but he knows the current setting isn’t right.

“Uhm, Mr. Lauda? Would you like a drink in honour of your win? It’ll be on us!” a shy waitress offers, appearing out of nowhere. He jumps in fear, but he quickly calms down. “Well…” he ponders, even though he’s not a fan of drinking after a race. In a trice, the lightbulb in his brain goes off. It shines brightly, and a clever idea starts to nag him. “Do you, uh, mind doing me a favour? I’ll even pay you extra,” he quickly prompts, and the waitress smirks. “Sure!” she agrees, carefully balancing the glasses on her tray.

“I need you to take all these glasses—maybe add some more champagne and make sure they’re really full—to that person over there,” he instructs, pointing to where you are. He watches as you wave to your family, who drives off without you. “The one with the brown jacket?” she double checks, and he nods in assurance. “Yeah, that one. Take them to her, and tell her they’re from someone who adores her and her love for champagne quite a bit,” Niki directs while trying to hold in a villain-like laugh.

“Ok! Then I just leave?” she asks, tilting her head innocently. “Yes. And don’t mention my name or anything about me at all,” he adds quickly before placing a hundred-dollar bill on the tray. The waitress slips it into her pocket before walking to where you’re standing idly. Niki watches the innocent worker make her way towards you until he realizes he should hide away before she makes a mistake.

“Excuse me, ma’am? Hi, I have something for you,” a waitress tells you, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “I- What? I never ordered anything, I think you have the wrong person,” you tell her, turning your back and facing elsewhere. “No! I have the right person. They said they’re someone who adores you and your love for champagne!” she gleefully clarifies, and only one person comes to mind. James. You let out an excited, eager gasp. One that can’t be rivalled by any of Niki’s fans from his win.

She hands you the two full glasses, and you can just tell that the golden liquid is of high quality. You get drunk quickly, perhaps a little too easily. But that’s never stopped you from enjoying yourself at all. “Thank you so much! Oh, and I’m sorry for being rude at first,” you softly whisper to her, and she simply waves you away. “No worries,” she reassures, and she walks off before you can finish your first glass.

Tilting your head back, you bring the first flute to your mouth and you down everything it has to offer in just a few gulps. The drink slides down your throat with such ease. It’s brut, and it has a sort of bitter yet sweet taste to it. Sighing, you smack your lips and take whatever is left of the first glass gratefully. You then switch the glasses around with shaky yet skillful hands. “Thank you, James, for being such a lovely guy,” you murmur to yourself, dragging out the last letters of each word.

The alcohol quickly settles inside you, and it starts to distort you as always. Blurry eyes and a hazy mind, you’ve turned into a drunken mess in a matter of a few seconds. You slowly sip on your second and last glass before your temptations grow tired of your sluggishness. You down the entire thing until there’s a small drop at the bottom that just won’t budge. You let out a tiny sound of amazement, and you find yourself wanting to have some more. You lick your lips, trying to search for a slight hint of the sort of melon flavour until it goes away.

“Uhm? Does anyone know where that waitress went?” you ask loudly, and those who hear you shake their heads ‘no.’ “Damn,” you frustratingly mutter, lightly stomping your foot against the concrete. You roll your head backwards, in both a stretch and a habit. Your mind feels heavy, but your bones and muscles are even more burdensome. You bring your skull back to its normal position, and you decide to go look for her. Stumbling clumsily, you walk back into the dreaded arena where everyone is still celebrating Niki Lauda’s victory.

Niki watches you amongst a crowd of fans who are trying to form some sort of discussion with him. They hound him with all kinds of questions, some about the race itself and some about the esteemed racer and his personal life. Like a hunter stalking his prey, his eyes stay trained on you until you disappear behind the red door that leads to rooms that only named people are allowed to go to. “So, what are you going to do now, Mr. Lauda? How are you going to celebrate?” one of them asks, with a sort of sultry tone to their voice that he fails to notice.

“I have plans with a friend of mine for tonight,” he briefly states before pushing through them and following you into the stadium. “Can I join?” another asks, and he simply ignores them as they call after Niki with even more curiosity. It’s not hard to spot someone in bright red overalls suddenly walking into somewhere he shouldn’t be, but it’s easy to pay no mind to him because he’s a champion and most people who see him aren’t.

“Where, where, where are you, kleine Maus?” he hauntingly calls out, and his voice echoes back. Niki can hear the sound of your shoes clicking against the ground, and he decides to follow it. He tries his hardest to calm his heart down, but it’s hard to both hold your breath and make sure you’re not nearing cardiac arrest. The racer quickens the paces of his feet, practically jogging towards you as you decide to turn around and forget about the champagne.

Your jacket slips off your shoulders as you whip your body around, and suddenly, you’re pushed against a wall. The brick is painted over with a sort of cream colour. You begin to panic as strong hands keep you from fighting your attacker. “Du bellst wohl nicht nur, kleine Maus,” he notes out loud, and you don’t understand a word of what he’s saying. The voice is familiar, though, except for the fact it’s a few octaves deeper than you last heard.

“Niki?” you question, halting your flailing fists and restless legs. “Yes, kleine Maus?” the man questions and your jaw drops in shock. “What the fuck?! Are you insane? Get off of me!” you scream loudly, and his hopes of getting you still begin to die like a flower in the wintertime. Niki grabs ahold of your wrists in his dominant hand, and he swiftly turns you around and stomps on your ankles. “Help!” you cry out, but his other hand presses your face against the wall.

“Shut up, shut the fuck up,” he orders in your ear, pushing your white ribbon out of your face. You listen to him, but you disobey his commands at the same time. Writhing around, you try to escape the claws that squeeze you tightly, and you fail miserably. “Cute. Now stop fighting me, or else I’ll hurt you so badly you wouldn’t be able to go to anyone for help,” he threatens, and you gulp thickly in fear. Your saliva tastes of alcohol still, and you regret ever coming to the race.

“Good girl. See? That wasn’t so hard. All you need to do is listen to me,” Niki instructs, talking down to you like you’re some child who doesn’t know any better. “Why?” you choke out through gritted teeth. Your cheekbones rub against the brick, and the pain is gruesome. “Because I need to put you in your place. Do you seriously think you can just mouth off to me like that? To disrespect me like that? To prefer that pathetic racer over me?” he asks, and you let out a whimper. Each of his words sinks into you like needles filled with anesthesia.

They numb your mind until you realize what’s really happening, but by then, it’s too late.

“Well, obviously, I prefer James over you! Look at you, you’re rude, and you’re a horrible, shitty person. Now get off of me!” you lash out, even though your body doesn’t move. Niki simply laughs like a maniac, and you find yourself wanting to take back your words. “Maybe I’m so rude because I like you. Like how little boys tease little girls when they have crushes. You do know what a crush is, right? Just making sure since you’re so cold-hearted. Bet you don’t know anything other than hatred,” he spits, and you’re pretty offended.

“I know what you’re talking about! I’ve had feelings for people, okay?” you bite back, and Niki becomes curious. “Really? Let me guess. James Hunt? Some old boyfriend of yours? A man at a party who cleaned you up because you don’t know how to take care of yourself?” the Austrian questions, and you don’t realize who he’s talking about until you look at his hands. They’re the same as those gracious ones, except they’re more rough and lack gentleness. “That was you?” you ask, and you’ve lost all fight in your body at the realization.

“Well, of course, kleine Maus. Someone had to watch your back, and that someone is me! Du bist nicht so klug, wie du dich selbst darstellst, ganz ehrlich. But that’s okay, it’ll be okay. It’ll be just alright now that I’m here to put you in your place,” he reassures you, and you don’t even have the energy to ask him what he means. “Look, I’m sorry, I really am. I’ve learnt my lesson now, can you let me go? I won’t tell anyone, Sir, I promise!” you plea and your words start to blur into one another.

“I don’t think you’re sorry, kleine Maus. I need to do what’s necessary because I’m fucking tired of you and your bullshit,” Niki snaps, and you whimper from the harsh tone of his words. His change in behaviour gives you whiplash, and you realize that there’s no way out of whatever he has planned for you. “So careless, so mean, so ignorant… So clumsy. I guess you aren’t as independent or as strong as you claim to be,” he whispers, and he causes tears to sting your almost empty eyes. They hurt, and they carry such maliciousness to them that you can’t help but be terrified of Niki.

A hand comes up to the waist of your jeans. They flare out at the bottom, and well, they look pretty damn good on you. But maybe a little too good because they make Niki think wild thoughts. He expertly takes the buttons out of their holes, and he unzips your rusted zipper. “P- Please, Niki,” you beg one last time, but Niki ignores you. He pulls down your pants against your protests, and he lets them get tangled with your tired feet. Your bare ass is exposed to the cool air of the arena, and goosebumps begin to rise on your skin.

“Such a lovely ass, kleine Maus. Maybe I should fuck it instead of doing what I had planned. Would you like that?” Niki politely asks, and your eyes nearly fall out of your skull. “N- No, thank you, Niki,” you shakily reject, and he nods. “You see, unlike you, I’m not so mean. So I’ll spare you, but only this once,” he cheerfully tells you, acting as if you’re supposed to start jumping up and down at his words. The closest thing to gratitude he’ll ever get from you is silence.

Niki still has a tight grip on your hands, and with your legs now immobilized from the mess by your feet, you can’t do much to save yourself. He wraps his arm around your waist, and he grabs at the crotch of your panties with no care at all. The cotton bunches up, and his fingers graze lightly against your folds. You try to ignore his touch, but he does the opposite and forces you to focus on it. He’s frozen, and you’re waiting for his next malevolent move. You can hear his heavy breathing, and he angles his digits upwards so he can touch you even more.

You press a fist against the wall, and you try to brace yourself as best as you can. Unexpectedly, a fierce pain strikes you in your hips, and it hurts more than you can describe. His hand has left you, and you can feel the air breeze against your pussy. Your panties are on the floor, ripped into a shred of fabric that no longer has any good use other than reminding you of how you could’ve avoided this entire situation. “I’ll get you better ones, don’t worry,” he reassures you in a humorous manner, and you squeeze your eyes shut in annoyance.

Instead of having your hips jut out for easy access, he pushes your torso against the wall until there’s a pressure inside your stomach. Instead of pain, it’s a sort of tingling sensation that makes your eyes bulge out in shock. “Uhm...” you hesitate, and his ears perk up. “What is it?” he frustratingly asks you, and his harsh tone snivelling. “N- Nevermind,” you mumble, and you just try to take deep breaths. “Are you ever going to shut up?” Niki questions as his other hand skillfully unzips his red overalls.

He’s wearing a simple pair of shorts and a t-shirt for the hot weather and occasional coolness. You keep quiet, not sure if you should answer him or not. Niki grumbles in another language that you don’t understand, and you realize that no matter what you do, you’ll always make him angry. Even your begging doesn’t bring you any fruits of labour. Only disappointment.

His shorts join the pile of clothing on the ground, many colours clashing that leave his eyes to be sore. Sunset pink panties, pale blue jeans, vibrant red overalls, and black shorts. It’s a fashionista’s worst nightmare. His hard cock is left in his boxers, and he’s just too impatient to fully undress. He throbs out of want and need, with a swollen tip that leaks with pre-cum. “I know this isn’t so… What’s the word you people use? ...Ah, romantic! I know this isn’t so romantic, but it’s not supposed to be. I’m the only one who’s supposed to enjoy this, not you. So I don’t care if you want to fake a smile or anything like that, all you need to do is not say anything,” he explains, and you nod your head.

“O- Okay, Niki,” you assure, and he lets out a groan that is followed by his tongue clicking against his pearly teeth. “Dumb whore,” he spits, and his hand wraps around your throat. You’re inebriated beyond belief, and you don’t realize he can crush your windpipe in a split second until he whispers in your ear. “Can’t do one thing right, can you?” he retorts. The grip he has on your wrists suddenly loosens up, but you’re too sluggish to fight him. And even if you try, you’ll end up a pathetic loser with even less honour than before.

The fat tip of his large cock presses against your mildly slick pussy. “You’re already wet for me, kleine Maus! Oh, such a whore. You say you don’t want this, yet your little cunt is telling me otherwise. Maybe you should use it to think instead of your empty brain. You’d end up in better places if you did so,” he advises, and you try to tune him out. But he’s like an alarm that just won’t stop until you do something, and yet, you’re helpless. “Ich kann es kaum erwarten, dich zu meiner Hure zu machen. Wie viel verlangen Sie? Einen Dollar? So oder so, du wirst von mir gefickt werden,” Niki snickers, and you have a feeling his words lack kindness.

But who the hell are you to worry about kindness?

Niki pushes his hips forward as his cock slowly sheathes itself inside of your tight pussy. The way you hug him makes him moan immediately, and he wonders if he’s the first you’ve ever had. “Jesus Fucking Christ, you’re so right, kleine Maus,” he groans, slowly bottoming out inside of you. You’re biting down on your wobbly bottom lip, trying your hardest to keep quiet and not let out any cries. The pain is searing. It’s the worst thing you’ve ever felt, and it ingrains itself into your mind until it’s all but an illusion. You’re practically about to be torn in half from his cock, and you’re at an impasse.

The racer curses as his balls rest against your ass, heavy and swollen. He’s deep inside you, filling you up until you’re bursting and you don’t know what to focus on; the pressure in your stomach that just seems to grow with each passing second, or the pain that leisurely turns into pleasure you’ll be addicted to? Everything is so much all at once. “Feel that, kleine Maus? Do you feel how deep inside you I am? Good, because you’ll have to get used to it,” he tells you, and you writhe around.

“So desperate already…” he whispers, watching as you can’t stand still at all. Niki’s hand leaves the base of his cock, as he thrusts his hips forward to elicit a reaction from you. He holds onto you tightly, and your body jerks from his movement. Your swollen stomach is pushed further against the wall, much to your dismay. You let out a gasp, and you try to close your legs as much as Niki will let you. He chuckles before he drags his cock backwards. His tip is the only thing inside you, and he suddenly begins to pump into you roughly. “Oh my God,” you whimper quietly, and your words are drowned out by the sound of skin against skin.

He thrusts up into you at a quick pace, one that your fingers or past lovers could never rival. It seems as though he’s fast when it comes to almost anything. “Die beste Muschi, die ich je hatte,” Niki whispers. Your pussy slickens up as he fucks you, coating him with your sticky wetness. The sight is something to behold, and his cock slips in and out of you with each thrust. “Make some pretty noises, kleine Maus. I want to hear how much of a slut you are for my cock,” he demands, and a loud moan moves past your lips without warning. It’s lewd and pornographic, yet it’s not as debauched as the sounds your wet pussy makes.

“Yeah, that’s more like it, hure,” Niki praises, and you mewl once his cock begins to touch that sweet spot of yours. It makes you go dizzy and hazy, and it also makes your legs weak. You involuntarily stop clenching your thighs together. Each thrust brings you against the wall, and you feel like you’re about to explode. Your pussy clenches down on Niki’s cock tightly, and his motions stutter. “Are you going to come already, my little slut?” he questions, slowing down his thrusts just to see you get frustrated. But the reaction you have is quite the opposite of what he wants, and he’s confused.

You let out a shaky breath that is filled with relief. You try to cross your legs together and push your ass backwards so that you’re far from the wall, even if it means that you’re closer to Niki. Your efforts don’t do much, and you want to wail in defeat. Niki observes you carefully before he shoves you back against the wall. You cry out before whispering a simple ‘please’ to him. He doesn’t realize what you’re talking about until he watches you place one of your hands on your stomach. You splay your fingers out delicately, and Niki chuckles.

The hold he has on your hips goes away, and he reaches for your hand. “Shh, it’s okay,” he reassures, and you furrow your eyebrows in both confusion and surprise. Niki pulls his cock out of you until you’re an empty, gaping mess. Suddenly, he presses down on your bladder until warmth trickles down your legs, soaking the fabric at your feet. A few tears leak from your eyes, and Niki watches as you burn up with embarrassment and shame. The pain and pressure in your abdomen go away as you finally alleviate yourself.

“Dreckig, dreckig, kleine Maus,” he degrades, and you don’t have it in you to be offended. The streams of liquid eventually come to an end, and you’re so ashamed. You press your face against the wall and wait for Niki’s next word. But he doesn’t say anything at all. Zip, zilch, nada. Instead, he pulls his hand away from your stomach and uses it to silently guide his cock back to your drooling, aching hole. “Couldn’t help yourself, I know. It’s okay, it’s not entirely your fault, liebling,” Niki tells you, even though he’s more patronizing than comforting.

“Es ist nicht deine Schuld, dass du nicht weißt, wie man etwas richtig macht. Keine Manieren, keine Höflichkeiten... Ich verstehe, dass du so bist, aber ich bin hier, um dich zu ändern. Ich bin hier, um dir beizubringen, dass du unter mir stehst und dass du nichts anderes tun solltest, als meine Hure zu sein und mich zu verehren,” he continues, and you’ve decided to give up entirely. You forehead rests on the white brick, and Niki begins to fuck you roughly once again.

He pounds against your sweet spot relentlessly, not one error in his rhythmic thrusts. “Poor little thing acts all tough until it comes down to it… And now look at you, you’re a complete mess with my cock stuffed inside this perfect pussy,” Niki grunts, leaning his body forward. His chest is right up against your back, and his chin rests on your sweaty shoulder. Your white ribbon is a tangled mess, the two ends of it twisting together and falling in your face. The silk material is no longer cooling, and the styling purpose of it has lost its touch.

The plunges of his cock are more deep than quick, and each shove of his hips sends you spiralling in pleasure. “F- Fuck,” you moan, seeing stars in your vision as your legs twitch from overwhelming gratification. “Yeah, you like that? You like the way my cock makes your pussy feel, kleine Maus?” he questions, and he further pushes his head down until his mentum digs into your skin. You wail loudly out of pain before nodding your head desperately. Niki squeezes the sides of your neck even more, but he also pushes down on your windpipe until you’re gasping for air.

You wheeze resoundingly, and the sound of you suffering for breath sends even more blood down to Niki’s pulsating cock. “Say it, tell me how much you love my cock and how much of a slut you are for me,” he demands, and you grasp at whatever’s left in your vocabulary. “I- I love your cock, Niki. I’m such a slut for you and your cock. You make me feel so good. I love your cock so much,” you pathetically mewl, and you can feel a form of tightening building up in you. Your lower abdomen burns up with searing flames, ones that trail all the way down to where you’re both connected.

You get wetter and wetter, more loud and desirous as your climax builds up. It’s like a staggering tower that reaches up to the sky and past the clouds; it has an end, but it keeps growing. “Are you going to come, kleine Maus? Are you going to come around my fat cock? I know you are. C’mon, do it,” Niki urges, and you moan his name loudly. “Do it, come on my cock right fucking now, or else I’ll make this worse for you,” he demands, and your back arches violently. You let out a gasp as your jaw goes slack. Red fills your vision, and you’re clamping down on his cock.

You moan his name loudly, and your juices coat his already sticky cock. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mewl, digging your nails into your skin as you struggle to keep quiet like he ordered you to do. Your pussy spasms wildly, and your clit throbs, desperate for a few fingers to rub it. Your legs shake just a little bit, and you find yourself meeting Niki at his every thrust, desperate to keep going. Your ass moves backwards, and his hips move forwards, and the Austrian fucks you through your orgasm. Your nerves have sparks flying from them, and every part of you is sensitive.

“You’re so pretty when you come, kleine Maus. You look just like a desperate whore,” Niki grunts, and he can feel himself inching closer to his own climax. It’s like the light at the end of a tunnel or the chequered flag that usually waits for him at the race track before he’s announced to be the winner. “I’m gonna come inside you, kleine Maus, even if you don’t want me to. I’m going to fill you up with my seed and make you all nice and round. That way, you’ll know who you belong to, and you won’t be whoring around for the James Hunt you love so much,” he whispers in your ear, and you rapidly shake your head.

No, no, no, no.

“Yes, yes, yes, kleine Maus, you’re going to take my seed because I said so. Now stop fighting me,” he moans in your ear, and his thrusts grow sloppy and lazy. Niki shallowly fucks into you, and his balls begin to tighten up. His chest rises and falls, and he can feel his high beginning to climb up to the sky. Up, up, up, and away. Niki moans out the little pet name he’s applied to you, and he entirely shoves his cock inside you until he can’t move anymore. Growling, he comes inside you without a care in the world.

The raging, red tip of his fat cock is so deep. White ropes of his seed shoot into your womb, filling you up until you’re an upset, messy cumdump. “This is all you’re good for, kleine Maus,” Niki whispers in your ear, reminding you of your so-called place that he believes you belong in. His cum drips down your inner walls and leaks past his cock, and your fluids mix with each other. Niki’s cock twitches inside of you, but he remains as hard as a rock.

“Can’t wait to see you with my baby, kleine Maus. And I can’t wait to see James’s face when he sees you with me. Er wird so schockiert sein, dass sein Gesichtsausdruck unbezahlbar sein wird,” Niki laughs wickedly, and you can’t imagine you’ll ever meet anyone as cruel or as twisted as he is. “Can you get off of me now? I want to go home, and I want to stay as far away from you as I can,” you snap in both annoyance and exhaustion. “Nu-uh,” he tuts in a disciplinary manner. “You’re not going anywhere, kleine Maus,” Niki tells you. He tilts his head up until his lips touch the skin of your ear.

“I still have to celebrate my win with you, and I’ll make sure to push you to the limit, kleine Maus.”

[deardragonbook]

Stupid things that I’m terrible at in my writing

Knowing your weaknesses is important, you know what to avoid and what to improve. Sometimes those weaknesses are stupid. Here’s a list of some of mine: 

Time Skips. People say time skips are bad writing, I don’t understand that. Like, people say it’s cheating because you can just say this development happened, but, you can just start the book with a character with this development done anyway? You don’t start with a blank slate, your character should know some things. 

Anyway, when I say time skips I don’t mean the really long ones people usually refer to. I mean a couple of months, I hate when a couple of months go by in the book. Maybe it’s because I need to skip to christmas or summer, maybe you just don’t have the time in the book to show them settling down into a new home. 

Any book taking place in schools obviously uses time skips because you’re putting an entire school year in a book (usually). And as someone who read a lot of books growing up with schools, you’d think I’d be accustomed to seeing these little skips in time and would know how to do them? Nope. Just, no. I do it when necessary, but I do try so very hard to avoid them. And I have to be extra careful with them when they do happen. 

Description. So, I can’t really visualise things in my head, weird as I’m such a big reader. Like, if you tell me to visualise a red star (a common test for aphantasia) I see a line that moves really quickly trying to form the shape of a star (but never quite doing it) and a slight red flashing light in the lower left corner, and this is me really concentrating and trying to visualise. Because of this I tend to draw my characters so I don’t need to visualise them! Except, I don’t always have a drawing on me and sometimes I just trust my memory! 

And that is how I manage to write brown haired green eyes characters with black hair and brown eyes. Even when the colour of their eyes is a really important detail later on in the books... 

I also always forget to describe characters again when I start writing the next book in a series, same goes for locations. Although I’m pretty good at describing locations, like the words flow better than images, I just forget to do it. 

Similar to time skips, keeping track of time. Did the story take place over a month? A week? A year? How should I know? What do you mean I wrote it? 

I usually remedy this by just keeping a separate piece of paper with a line and major events along with the days. I’ll probably do a post about this later. But sometimes I’m trying to write more casually and forget or don’t bother and it’s chaos. Pure chaos time magic. 

I could write a book about chaos time magic. I’m visualising a young girl who’s father is a time traveller, talking about responsibility and the importance of following the rules. But her mother is the literal goddess of chaos and speaks of the importance of following your heart and how the world has no balance and chaos is it’s natural state. And she just wants to explore. She has a galaxy cape, this staff with a clock at the end and really messy hair. Also under her super formal galaxy cape she just wears pijamas because they’re more comfortable... I think I may have gone off topic. 

Which tells me that I should probably include staying on topic in this.  We’ve all had an outline we strayed from. That’s fine and normal. But not every author (although definitely not few either) carefully outlines a standalone book and then starts writing a series, a series I have already written the first draft to a third book and that’s nowhere near the last one. I tried. I really did. I have no idea how to do this. I don’t know if I ever will. 

Anyway, I think I’ll end this here. There are surely more things I struggle with, but I can’t really think of anymore at this very moment. I’m sure the longer I write the more things I’ll begin to notice. 

As usual,  check out my socials and book here.

What’s your biggest writing struggle? 

[adelaidedrubman]

👁️, 🤥, 💥, 🍟, 🍧, 🙈, 🌏, 📣 and ☁️ for Jestiny for the oc emoji asks!! (Sorry for sending so many asjsjsjs)

AHHH please never apologize thank you so much for sending!!

👁️ EYE - what colour are their eyes? do people notice their eyes? is there anything special about them (shows emotion easily, literally magical...)?

they’re light brown with warm gold tones, i usually describe them somewhere in the range of tawny or amber. (her fcs are hazel, but i omit the green tones bc brown eye supremacy.) they’re fairly round and wide, i have certain narrators describe them as “doe eyes” fairly often. her eyes aren’t her most noticeable feature, usually they’re overshadowed by the red hair. but they do get attention, she has a very expressive face overall and eyes are included. probably most notable is that she rolls them very often, and with great feeling.

🤥 LYING - are they good liars? do they have tells to show they're lying?

she’s pretty good! she has a lot of empty bravado that carries her in situations she needs to bluff her way through, and she has a decent poker face. she doesn’t really have any tells for when she’s lying, she primarily lies by omission and can affirmatively lie with a straight face as well. but if called out on a lie she has tells, her nose tends to twitch any time she’s surprised or taken off guard by something or trying to quickly process information. so if someone questions her honesty and she is lying and wasn’t prepared to address it, that might give it away to anyone who knows her or is just observant. if too stressed by scrutiny she also tends to overcompensate with nervous rambling, so that's a big tell.

💥 COLLISON - what emotions do they have trouble dealing with?

most of them. she tends to redirect any emotions that make her feel sad or helpless into anger because it feels safer for her, she struggles in particular with processing grief, guilt, and fear. and love is it’s own block, of course.

🍟 FRIES - do they order food often? or they prefer to cook their own food?

semi often. she tries to be frugal since she’s often struggling with limited financial resources and minimize eating out, but she often fails to pre plan or just forget to eat and tends to grab what’s available, so that means lots of fast foods and snacks. she’s plenty competent at cooking staples and will do so on occasion, but there’s usually things she’d rather be doing so full homecooked meals are rare. lots of frozen pizzas and sandwiches and a fridge full of rotting vegetables she really did think she would use this time.

🍧 SHAVED ICE - do they still have any objects from their childhood? what significance does it have to them? what would their reaction be if they lost it?

answered here!

🙈 SEE-NO-EVIL - whats a side of your oc that they don't want to show other people?

answered here!

🌏 EARTH - will they give up the world for someone they love? is this decision easy for them?

yes. you could even say she’d do it, reflect many times on all the people she’s hurt, and decide with heavy guilt but resoluteness she’d do it all over again.

📣 MEGAPHONE - how loud are they? what do they speak like? got a voice claim?

answered here!

☁️ CLOUD - a soft headcanon

jessie has a hidden fondness for amateur photography and scrapbooking, although she tends to throw her projects away every time she moves or just starts feeling too restless about her clutter.

[georgiasfm]

╰  ･ﾟ. * 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐀𝐘 ;

[ scarlett leithold, cis female, she/her ] have you seen GEORGIA CALLOWAY lately ? yeah, i heard they're TWENTY TWO years old and a REALITY TV STAR/PODCAST HOST now in charleston city. i mean, i don’t know if it’s their LEO vibes or that they’re -OBSTINATE and -CAPRICIOUS but also +GREGARIOUS and +EMPYREAN but they remind me of MIND GAMES by BANKS. here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble around here. 

hey besties ! i’m ley , i’m 20 ( well .... i will be at midnight ) , i go by she / her pronouns , and i’m livin’ in the est timezone ! i unfortunately have a super busy weekend bc it’s my birthday , so i won’t be able to be around as much as i want to be. but i’m gonna do my best to as active as possible ! thankfully i wrote this intro ahead of time so for once it isn’t a complete disaster ( it’s still not good tho so don’t have high expectations ) anyways , here’s miss georgia calloway !! 

𝐈  . 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬  :

FULL NAME  :  georgia belle calloway .       AGE  :  twenty - two  .   DATE OF BIRTH  :  july 23rd . ASTROLOGY SIGNS  :  leo sun , aquarius moon , pisces ascendant .   GENDER  : cis woman  .   PRONOUNS  :  she / her / hers  .   SEXUALITY  :  bisexual .       MOTHER  :  diane calloway  :  former pageant  &  debutante queen turned stay at home mom / trophy wife .   FATHER  :  jack calloway  :  career politician  &  mayor of charleston .  SIBLINGS  :  georgia is the middle child of five kids . two older brothers , two younger sisters .  POSITIVE TRAITS  :  gregarious  ,  vehement  ,  alluring  , venturesome  ,  empyrean , altruistic  . NEGATIVE TRAITS  :  obstinate  ,  reticent  ,  flighty  ,  temerarious  ,  capricious  .   AESTHETICS  :  the patter of raindrops against glass windows , the lingering scent cigarettes mixed with sweet perfume , drinking honey whiskey out of red solo cups ,  watching constellations with exhausted eyes , sneaking out by means of the vine trellis , leaving texts unanswered for days , a box of pageant awards hidden away in the closet , secrets that weigh more than gold on cherry stained lips , bending every rule just enough to get away with it , wrinkled white satin dresses and knee high ruffled socks , one too many bottomless mimosas at brunch , hearts drawn on fogged glass mirrors , lollipop stained lips . CHARACTER INSPO  :  brooke davis ( one tree hill ) , sarah cameron ( obx ) , lux lisbon ( the virgin suicides ) , jackie burkhart ( that 70s show ) . 

click here for a quick trip to her pinterest bc it describes her better than i ever could !!

( tw ; infidelity , death , drunk driving )

𝐈𝐈 .  𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝  :

       from the second she was born , georgia was treated as her mother’s little doll. diane had been ecstatic the day she found out she was with child for the second time , and even more ecstatic to find out she would be having their first little girl. she was dressed up in pink dresses and frilly socks , shown off to all of the women country or her mother’s weekly book club nights. she was the apple of her parent’s eyes , until she wasn’t. with brunette tresses  &  honey brown eyes , georgia was adored by everyone .... her beauty noted with claims that she would grow up to be a heartbreaker. her mother thrived on the compliments ; the subtle reminders to what her own childhood had been like. she had always planned on having a little girl that she could do pageants with just like she had with her own mother , and darling little georgia was perfect for that. at such a young age , georgia fell in love with the pageants. she thrived in the spotlight , with all eyes on her. and just like her mother , she won every competion she was entered in , until she didn’t. by the age of nine , georgia was starting to grow bored of the constant pageants and recitals , wanting to explore other interests. by that point , diane’s interest in her had worn off and moved onto the next child , a five year old with beautiful blonde curls and dimpled cheeks. georgia grew to know the subtle ache of rejection , and from that day forward , did everything she could to win back her mother’s affection. 

      from the outside , the calloway’s came off as the picture perfect family. but from the inside ? things were quite the opposite. georgia’s parents had unmeetable expectations for their children. get perfect grades , nothing below a b acceptable. sit down , look pretty , and shut up. don’t cause a scandal. their love was entirely conditional , only being shown when their was something they believed deserved rewarding. if you were to ask georgia , she wouldn’t be able to tell you the last time her mother actually hugged her for genuine reasons , and not to manipulate her into doing what she wanted. their father was rarely home , always away working or traveling for work. it became obvious that he was having an affair –– multiple affairs , but diane just looked the other way. the calloway family was very prominent in charleston , especially with her father being elected mayor , and their was nothing that diane would allow to ruin their image. even if it cost her own happiness.

       things got considerably more difficult around the calloway home when georgia was sixteen. her eldest brother had gone out for a night of fun with a group of friends , and made the fatal mistake of getting into a car with someone who was far too drunk to drive. georgia will never forget the conversation she overheard from the living room that night ; “ they were drunk. lost control of the vehicle. died on impact. ” it tore the family apart , dividing them even more than they already were. georgia couldn’t stand the silence of her home after her brother’s death. so she started partying constantly , going on 48 hour benders and staying out long past her curfew. she couldn’t even recognize herself in the mirror. gone was their innocent little girl , the apple of their eyes. even this couldn’t get the attention of her parents , they barely even noticed she was gone most of the time ; all they did was yell at her to not make them look like fools. 

        for her whole life , georgia followed her parent’s rules. after graduating high school , she was expected required to go college and get a degree , but georgia just couldn’t be bothered. this is the one time she went against her parent’s wishes. her fear of being stuck here forever , with the same life as her parents ; a husband that doesn’t love her and miserable children , won out over the need for approval from her parents. so she ran off to la , and landed herself on love island usa after being approached by a producer. georgia is reality tv gold , and quickly became a fan favorite. her most memorable moment being after she got her heart broken on live tv , when she purposely held up a lighter to set off fire alarms ; and then laid on the ground getting drenched by the sprinklers. so now she’s single again after being made a fool of in front of the world , back home with parents that hate her for bringing them unwanted attention , and stuck in the city she tried to get away from. but , she’s got a podcast. it’s called the bimbo summit and it’s pretty much the only thing bringing her joy right now. it started as a way for her to expose some behind the scenes shit from love island , but now it’s just for fun. 

𝐈𝐈𝐈 .  𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲  :

georgia is the girl that’s not easy to forget. she’s outgoing and amiable , but stubborn and not easy to push over. she was the one that moms would warn their kids to stay away from in high school ; she leaves a trail of destruction wherever she goes , no matter how hard she tries not to. she has the purest of intentions , genuinely just wanting love  &  happiness for herself and everyone around her , but it seems like the universe has different plans. 

she almost has this air of melancholy surrounding her ? like even when she’s happy and smiling , you can still sense it or see in her eyes that she’s not truly happy 

very charismatic , she’s a major people pleaser so she’ll put everyone else’s feelings before her own . she just wants everyone to be happy even if it means she ends up being miserable . 

georgia’s a selective oversharer . she’ll tell you all these useless little facts so you think she’s opening up when in reality you don’t truly know her because she refuses to talk about the things that matter . 

she’s trusting once she gets to know someone , but if you break that trust even once she’s not very quick to forgive. she’ll hear you out , but it’s unlikely that she’ll ever let you back in. 

she is completely unhinged. somehow picks the worst possible decision every time a problem arises. she’s not much of a logical thinker , and tends to let her heart make decisions for her. it’s gotten her into a world of trouble one too many times , and yet she’s never learnt her lesson. 

she’s also a serial dater. in her pea brain attention = love so she’ll flock to wherever she gets that. she likes the validation of relationships but hates the commitment , so pretty much all of her relationships end before they ever really start. 

don’t ever tell georgia she can’t do something. she’s a stubborn bitch and she’ll either do it immediately just to spite you or dedicate her entire life to proving you wrong and that’s not something anyone needs to deal with.

very opinionated and not afraid to make sure you know !! she will stand up for what she’s believes in without even a second of hesitation.

she would not be caught dead looking unpresentable .... she’ll do her hair and a full face of make up even if she’s waking up at 4am. and don’t even bother to ask her to go out after she’s done her skin care routine .... there’s no chance 

doesn’t really know how to handle her emotions ? so when she’s hurt she tends to just .... shut down & push everyone away 

she is a hardcore adrenaline junkie , she does so much stupid shit just for the thrill. making spontaneous and impulsive decisions is her favorite pass time.  she just holds a lot of emotion in , so anything that will release all of that or make her feel anything other than the things she’s avoiding are very much welcomed.

[moonlightjeno]

ten things and then some | l.j

𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 :: jeno x reader 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞 :: based on the poem from 10 things i hate about you if you haven’t watched it fo yourself a favor and go watch the movie bc it’s a m a z i n g. ty 𝕨𝕔 :: 15.5k this is the longest thing i’ve ever written wow. 𝕒/𝕟 :: y’all jeno fits the concept to this p e r f e c t l y, and no i am not being biased :) and a massive massive thank you to @smoljh​ for helping me and giving me feedback, you’re the sweetest. and ofc to my soulmate girl yk i love you to the moon and back, and i hope you enjoy this piece @mangotexts​ ( truly the best hype woman anyone could ask for ).

everything in bold is part of the poem, from “10 things i hate about you”

I hate the way you talk to me,

Sweetheart. love. angel. The words that spin from his mouth every time you hear him talk to you, made you aggravated. It was a constant stream of words that had begun as a prick of annoyance. Every time, he opened his mouth, looking at you with his dark brown eyes. 

“Earth to y/n” the snapping of fingers disrupts your train of thought, eyes glancing back to the dark-haired boy on the other side of the school grounds, before landing back on your friend. 

“What?” the words slip from your mouth with disinterest, a lack of concern for whatever your friend had been rambling on about for the past five minutes. The small amount of conversation you’d registered was she’d been talking about a party that johnny suh, school alumni, and constant talk around school grounds were throwing as a “welcome to the end of high school”. Though as parties went, you were almost sure that it would encompass school graduates, seniors, and the occasional sophomores and freshmen that would manage to sneak their way in, eyes glittering with excitement as they entered their first high school party. 

“Are you coming?” her words were drawn out as if she’d ask you five times before, she might have, and it was only now that you had finally heard the question. The question slightly baffles you, because everyone in school knew you didn’t go to parties since freshman year. 

“Uh, no. you know what i think of parties, they’re a waste. An excuse for seniors to think they're above everyone else, as they tell off the younger students that they’ve deemed aren’t ‘cool’ or mature enough, while the freshman walks around with some sort of desperate hope in their eyes as if the world will drastically change if they show up at a senior party. Someone should tell them” you say, looking past your friend whose excited smile has dimmed to a small frown, eyes slightly annoyed, something that doesn’t surprise you at this point. It isn’t a secret what you think of parties either, even if you are best friends with the queen of parties herself. You stop yourself before your eyes have a change of drifting to the brown-haired boy with a leather jacket that tends to sit by the foot of the football field, whom you can’t seem to find, probably smoking the thought is bitter and places a scowl on your face before you look back at your friend,  “nothing changes''.

“Just once, one time is all i ask of you” the pleas that come from your friend make you focus on her, her hair is loose ruffled by the light wind that has blown over the course of your conversation. It’s almost enough for you to agree to go to the stupid party, when you see her glance towards mark lee, the boy she’s been crushing on for as long as you’ve known her. It hadn’t surprised you, that she’d fallen for him, when you saw him. The boy who made most girls swoon, but who had somehow managed to beat all the stereotypes of “hot” because mark was also talented, more than you’d like to admit when it came to music, he’d helped you a couple of times when you’d been stuck on a composition, always a smile on his face. so when she glanced towards him, the glittering in her eyes and rose tainted cheeks as mark looked back, flashing a small smile, you couldn’t help but give in. 

“I’m going to regret this,” you say, the words a mix of a grunt and an exasperated sigh, but your friend is almost jumping up and down, giving you a quick hug and promising that you wouldn’t regret it, not at all, you’d have the greatest time before she was turning around a skip in her step. A smile graces your face at your friend’s happiness, and it remains there unfaltering until you hear “hello love”

Brown hair made its way into your view, as jeno’s face presented itself in front of you, a cocky smile grazing his features that made your smile falter and eventually turn into a scowl.

“What” the word isn’t a question, more like a complaint as you try to turn around and head in the opposite direction, away from jeno and his sweet words. But his voice trails behind you only a couple of steps away before he’s next to you leather jacket glaring against the end of the summer sun, and you wonder only for a second how he isn’t passing out from the heat. 

“Oh come on angel, a lil smile wouldn’t kill you” his words are filled with a tone you can only describe as intolerable, making you slightly gag.

“A smile wouldn’t kill me, but i might kill you” you smile at him, a grin adorning your features, “luv” the words that left your mouth are meant to push jeno away and have him leave you alone, but the boy is persistent and though his smirk falters slightly at the glare you give him, the grin is up and running again as he stops in front of you. 

“And then who would you have to glare and fight with luv?” the moment the words leave his mouth he turns away, proud of his line. The dumbass, you think, insults quickly forming in your head and ready to be thrown out towards him but your phone pings, and you thumb it open. The message “see you at the party angel” makes your blood boil slightly, but you can’t hide the way your cheeks slightly turn red and the smile that slowly grazes your face before you make a vulgar gesture to the sweet mouthed boy, and turn away.

As much as you hated to admit, you looked forward to the party only just slightly more than you did five minutes ago, the small nicknames swarming around your head. 

And the way you cut your hair.

The too-loud music and blinding lights that could be heard and seen from multiple blocks away, and you almost stopped in your tracks, ready to turn around and head back home. But a pull from your friend as she squealed in excitement at maybe having a chance with mark managed to keep your feet moving towards the flashing lights. 

Strong alcohol, tequila, or vodka is something you’re hoping they have at the party so that you can attempt to get away from the sex-craved teenagers that are lined up against the walls, pushing against each other. Just walking into the house, and the stench of cigarettes, weed, and sweat floats through the air almost enough to make you gag, as your nose scrunches up at the sight and smell. 

Drinks are set far too far from the entrance of the house, the kitchen seems to be miles away not close enough for your liking until you finally reach it. Johnny, black-haired slicked back, the sunflower tattoo on his forearm a stark contrast to the leather jacket he wears and it makes you smile just slightly at the different personalities the dark-haired boy has.  Yet you can’t deny his loud and extravagant personality as he talks from person to person whether senior or freshman, making drinks, even if some of the spillover the sides, you sit by one of the stools ready to get a mixed drink of whatever the alumni is able to concoct before getting the courage and energy to head back into the party and socialize with people you really have no interest in socializing. 

In the short minute that it takes johnny to get your drink, the lemon drink shot with a strong tequila is set in front of you just as your friend has left you with the only warning being a sharp look, as she smiled to a brown-haired boy that you can only presume to be Mark, by the way, her face flushes, and she takes a swig from the drink in her hand before leaving you, and you yell a sharp “go get em” before gulping down the liquid inside the red solo cup. 

Alcohol you’d forgotten burned down your throat, it’s lingering sharp and bitter taste leaving a tang in your mouth as it traveled down your mouth. You forget that the effect of the drink doesn’t come into effect a little later, where you are jumping up and down on the table, dancing from side to side as the music pumps through your blood and body. You won’t be able to tell that it’s the alcohol that you’d sworn you wouldn’t drink unless surrounded by friends, but most definitely not in a social gathering, that makes you jump from table to table and grab other’s next you as you dance with them. Hair slightly plastered to your face from the sweat, and though you’re dancing your words are slightly fuzzy from the multiple drinks you’d had from random tables you’d pass by.

A sharp tug and pull gets you off the current table and you begin to complain, wanting to continue to let loose to the rhythm of some constant beat song that sounds all too vaguely familiar to your ears, but the arms that are wrapped around you feel oddly warm and comfortable and the protest die slightly on your lips as you turn around to see who’s holding onto you. 

Dark brown hair, almost black frames the boy’s face perfectly and you want to run your fingers through it. Some sense of longing for love and being loved passes through you, and now you’ve realized how drunk you truly are as you push down the emotions of attraction to the boy in front of your face showing only the traces of what would be a smile if he wasn’t so concerned for your safety. 

“y/n?” the boy asks, and you’re still in a light haze of alcohol that buzzes through your skin and blood making everything fuzzy that you can’t quite picture whose face it is in front of you, whose voice that is soft and gentle towards you and sounds so familiar, to which you only manage to nod your head slightly hair falling in front of your eyes as you smile. It’s small, fluttering, and the boy in front of you smiles too, as he repeats your name, and then the words that leave his mouth make him click into place. 

“y/n? Luv? How much have you had?” The word luv, makes you push away from the strong arms that hold you, the classic leather jacket that tends to adorn his body has somehow managed to be wrapped around you, and you realize that you are no longer inside the house with loud music. Instead the music and flashing lights have been replaced by trees and twinkling lights that flash in the dark sky and the distant background of loud music that is too low for your ears to register anything more than a constant drone. Your smile has been replaced by a scowl, and you grunt at the jacket you’re wearing, hating to admit that it’s warm and comforting. You try to speak, the words a slur before you hurl, holding onto your stomach as the content of your lunch and too much alcohol are spilled on the grass floor in front of you. 

The acid from your stomach burns your tongue, a bitter taste seems to linger even as you chug down the water that jeno offers you, a small smile gracing his features. And you blame the alcohol, but you smile back at him, and can’t think that maybe he isn’t as bad as you thought he was. You can’t shake the feeling of his hand wrapped around your waist, another holding up your hair as you hurled, and coughed no mocking grin or satisfactory smirk making their way onto his face. Instead a small smile was present, his dark hair that you finally admitted to yourself, made him look hot, was tousled and messy by the wind and it looked cute. 

You blame the day’s events and the words that were thrown at you at the beginning of the party making you head straight to the intoxicating drinks. You blame the chemicals that are still in your system, as you sit on the grass dragging jeno to sit next to you, hand intertwined with his. The grass that is cool against your touch, making your skin feel less hot, less sticky, and more conscious. You blame the alcohol and everything it changes in your core, for letting you lean your head against jeno’s shoulder, as his arm wraps around your shoulders pulling you in only slightly, scared to scare you away. You most definitely blame the alcohol as the words that fall from your mouth as you hold onto jeno’s calloused hand. 

“I like it” the words are a mumble, whispered into the night air, and it causes jeno to turn just slightly his lips almost touching the crown of your head, “like what?” he whispers back, and you can almost swear a small kiss is placed on the crown of your head. 

           “Luv” 

I hate the way you drive my car.

It seems that the stars want you to hate jeno more than you already do, as he half carries you half drags you to your parked car. The moon shines on the car surfaces mixing in with the dull yellow lights from the evenly spaced streetlights. You wished that you could walk straight, but you still stumble a little, your steps not sturdy until jeno has placed his arm around your waist lifting you up, that you manage to walk to the old vintage car that is parked under one of the dimmed out streetlights. 

The sequence of opening the door and you get inside the car occurs in a slight blur, but you find yourself on the passenger seat, head resting against the cool window that makes you jump slightly from the contact. It isn’t until you turn your head as the engine roars to life underneath you that you see jeno by the wheel, adjusting the rear view mirrors to his height and gripping the steering wheel. 

Time seemed to stop as you lay in the grass, head tucked in between jeno’s shoulder and his head. It stopped when the last words that had left your mouth had made jeno’s smile widen and his eyes match the moon that shone brightly above the two of you. The droning music has stopped, flashing lights no longer as constant as they were when you had first dragged jeno into the cool grass. In that position did you two lay for hours, a comfortable understanding and silence settling between the two of you until your breaths became constant and your eyes had begun to droop threatening to close that jeno shook you lightly. The only response he got was a small humm that you were still awake, as he pulled you up and started to make your way to the car. Something that seemed almost impossible as jeno had absolutely no idea where the fuck your car was and you didn’t seem to quite remember in your hald drunken half sober very much about to fall asleep state.

Jeno could have almost jumped from joy when he’d seen your eyes brighten up at the sight of a beat-up old red mustang, and you pointed towards it. The moment he had opened the passenger door you had climbed inside curling up next to the door like a cat, and he couldn’t help but think that you were adorable, even when you snapped at him for taking your keys. It was a different side of you that he’d never seen, and he doubted many people did see. One where you weren’t putting on a sort of facade of hating everything around you, but instead you let your eyes relax holding a sort of brightness and glow jeno hadn’t seen before but now couldn’t stop himself from looking at. Stop, jeno scolded himself as he turned to look at the road, car roaring to life.  

“Nu-uh” you grunted at seeing jeno aggressively change gears, “stop being so aggressive,” you say as you sit up. The smile that adorned jeno’s face turns into a grin, as he continues to aggressively switch gears as he turns the corner, and you regret ever thinking he was kind. 

“My car doesn’t deserve this” you grunt out, and jeno chuckles looking at you from the side, and he loosens his grip slightly on the gear stick. 

“You mean my presence? I’m gonna have to agree, sweetheart” you’re not sure if it’s the light trace of chemicals that still surround your brain, or if you’ve really wanted to do this for a while but you don’t stop your fist as it punches jeno in the arm. 

“The fuck” leaves jeno’s lips, as he rubs his arm where you’d hit him and you do a little dance on your seat, “don’t hurt my car dumbass” is your only answer before you continue to laugh at the face of confusion and mocked hurt that jeno fakes. 

Your laugh rings around the car, and echoes through the street, as the windows at some point where rolled down. The way jeno looks confused makes you laugh harder, and he turns just slightly, his eyes narrow and eyebrows slightly scrunches, and he looks like a confused dog. Alcohol might have made you hit him, but you can’t fathom why you would be laughing at jeno, no not at him but with him as his laugh has joined yours as he drives the car down the street. The ridiculousness of the night catches up with, making you hold onto your stomach as jeno parks into your driveway smile never faltering. 

From the way, both of your eyes shine from joy and amusement one could almost swear that the two of you were friends, almost lovers by the way jeno looked at you. But no one was looking at two in the morning, and no one can be there to tell you that the way you two look at each other is in a new way. No gazes filled with mocked sympathy or non-wanted flirtatious remarks, instead, you two seem to gaze into each other’s eyes for what seems too long if it weren’t that neither of you seemed to mind. 

And because you are still slightly tipsy, and the stars and moon make jeno look like some sort of angel as his hair is illuminated by a white light, that lights up his face making his eyes a warmer brown that they usually are that you think about opening up yourself to him. Maybe he isn’t as bad as you think, maybe just maybe the nicknames he gives you make you feel a flutter because he could be someone to trust. 

Possibilities for the maybes and wants to fill your head, and you don’t realize your eyes have fluttered shut and you are leaning in only slightly a sway towards where jeno is until you feel his hand on your shoulder stopping you, a pitiful gaze grazes his features and you are almost sure you want to go crawl in a hole. Instead, you push him back, opening the car door and slamming it behind you, chin held up as you walk back towards your house, the water in your eyes threatening to spill. But you manage to make it, as you walk into your house, and slam the door behind you the words “maybe not now” replaying in your head, because why the fuck would he actually like you. 

You don’t notice when you go to sleep music blasting from your headphones that you’ve wrapped yourself in the leather jacket that smells slightly of cat and boy, the lingering stench of cigarettes and fire from the jacket given to you by the boy who had managed to hold your heart for only a second. 

 I hate it when you stare. 

              in and out. Your breaths match the classes metronome, a constant beat to keep your breaths even and focused on whatever the teacher is saying, which happens to be the importance of pentatonic scales when composing a new song. He drones on about the way modern pop music isn’t really music and that the same fours chords and rhythmic patterns are used over and over again with a slight variety to them. You would have looked around the class, taking in the beautiful instruments that are set on display around the class, most of them hanging on hooks and nicks that cause the brass instruments to gleam in the classroom light. Admiring the way the guitars were filed neatly, basses next to them and the small ukuleles that the school's “hipsters” would pretend to play every so often at the talent shows. Some of the guitars and ukuleles were decorated by the art classes, the flowers blooming from one end to the other making it impossible to tell the difference between where the original brandished wood begins and ends. It almost seems at times like the flowers in full bloom are consuming the wood, taking away its air and nutrients that then allow the students to play melodica tunes without the professor yelling at them to tune their instruments. You would be admiring the piano that lay at the front of the class where your professor is currently pacing back and forth, his hands waving in grandiose gestures that make you cough an attempt to hide the rising laughter in your throat. The piano that you’d heard most of the students in the class play and almost lull everyone to tears or sleep depending on who it was, as the keys would rise and fall with each stroke. 

Admire. Stare at the instrument you longed to strum and let out the bundle of emotions that were piled up in your stomach, taught and knotted together waiting to be untang;ed by the strum and finger pattern of the acoustic guitar. That’s what you would be doing if you weren’t slightly interested in the way that your professor was taking down and criticizing modern day music which you could only nod your head too, agreeing with most of his points. The rest of your class seemed to be disgusted, their faces shriveling and eyes rolling to the back of their heads. 

“Well yeah, music today doesn’t, well shouldn’t really constitute for “real” music. It shouldn’t be dictated by a constant talk of sex and the drugs, what about the power in music? The way that it is in itself a universal language?” you speak out of turn, your arm coming down slightly aching from having to hold it up for so long with no acknowledgment. The moment you speak you can almost feel the class sigh and grunt, their heads dropping slightly. 

“Now miss y/n” his voice is grainy and unpleasant, but you nod, eyes defiant at whatever critique will come your way even if you just agreed with your professors point of view, “did i ask for your opinion on the universal language and power it has on your feelings” 

“Well no but-”

            “No buts” you want to roll your eyes and flip him off, and decide to do both as you sigh, “not like you’d understand what that is” you mumble loud enough for your the boy at your right to hear you and his mouth falls slightly open, and you roll your eyes flipping him off as he turns around facing the scribbled blackboard.  

You can feel eyes staring at you, analyzing the way you bite onto the top of your pen or how you doodle across the margin of your paper, random notes and lyrics that pop into your head as your professor drones on and on about the theory of music. It’s a pity you think that it’s those eyes that make you want to stand up and hit someone, those eyes that seem to want to dig a whole through your brain are what cause the feeling of uneasiness in your stomach every-time you turn around. 

in and out. The metronome beeps constant again, and you loosen the grip on your pencil. Turning around slowly before locking gaze with jeno, who seems startled, you turned around and looked at him in the first place. Replaced is the mocking grin by a sheepish smile, and you can almost swear there’s a speck of guilt in his brown eyes as he looks at you with a small pleading look until you flip him off, mouthing the words “fuck you” into the air. But he seems to register them as he breaks the contact, eyes darkening and head bowing down just slightly, making a small smile graces your features. 

Tick tick tick - ring. The bell goes off and you can’t seem to get up and out of your seat quick enough, following pursuit of the other students that have already packed and are counting down the seconds until class is over. You’re almost at the door, fingers stretching to reach the handle when you feel a light tap on your shoulder, a brush of your hair to the side, as you swirl around. You bite down the curse that is about to slip through your lips as your professor stands in front of you an amused smile on his face as he tells you that even though you’re an exemplary student you should tone down on the whole “power to the people” role you hold and you have to stop yourself from turning around and walking away. “Uh sure…” you are ready to leave, feet beginning to turn but your professor isn’t done and he holds you back telling you about the inconveniences of being a teacher at this day and age and you wonder what the man had wanted to be if not a teacher but the question and pity are quickly erased when he tells you that you about the end of the year assignment, “a project of sorts” he drawls, one hand stroking the light beard that sticks in odd patchy places around his face. “that will test what you’ve learned this year” you say nothing, waiting for what the punch the goal of the assignment is, “a song based off shakespeare’s sonnets” 

You don’t have time to clap and jump from joy at the assignment and thank your professor before the fire alarm goes off and you are walking towards the football field. You don’t have the time to register the way people are looking at you, the way jeno is staring at you with a goofy smile and hopeful eyes as the intro chords play to i.f.l.y  by bazzi and he gazes towards the crows that has gathered around him, eyes finding yours. 

I hate your big dumb combat boots,

The clunk of boots against the aluminium causes the bleachers to shake slightly, a vibration of clashing echoing through the field as it mixes in with jeno’s voice. The dark haired boy that scares the school away on most days bounces along from one side of the bleachers to the other. 

You can feel the warmth spread to your cheeks, the heat spreading through your body and you shake your head slightly at whatever is going because you truly aren’t quite sure. The only thing you know is that it seems to be the whole school’s eyes are darting from you to jeno, who can’t seem to take his eyes off even as he jumps from one row of bleachers to the next the microphone on his hand a he raps along to the lyrics to the song. Lyrics that sound as familiar as a midnight drive and cooling moonlit fields. 

*

The way he conveys the words and raps is not something you hadn’t heard before, you’d heard him speak his poems to you that late night in the midst of summer heat when you had been in a need of escape from the world that surrounded you. The summer heat had been too much, too suffocating that in a whim you’d driven to the highest point in the city. City skyline had been laid before you, the hues of the city changing as the sun slowly dipped itself over the buildings, and it seemed to want to disappear like you did. Slowly, leaving a mark in the world as it reached past the buildings and water that lay far beyond the city, stretching it’s red flames that would slowly flicker and turn into different hues of pink and purple. It was mesmerizing, a way to get away as the sun went down and the moon shone brighter than the city lights, no amount of light pollution that littered the air enough to you were in your own world. Your mind travelled to that safe and peaceful place that would only come out when you were surrounded by the twinkle of stars that seemed to flicker hope, while the moon remained a constant reminder of the light in the darkness. That is until the crunch of leaves behind you, a sign of the coming autumn disturbed you from your silent peace.

Moonlight shone on black boots, the combat boots seemed to dull the moonlight, taking away all it’s light by absorbing it as it crunched the leaves underneath them and stopped in front of you. Eyes landed on a hooded figure, their black hoodie being slightly too big, as it drooped over their frame, reaching slightly past their hip, where you could see the tears in the boys jeans, and you hated to admit that the outfit wasn’t bad. The boy’s face wasn’t visible from the shadows caused by the moonlight, but it wasn’t that it mattered as you went back to looking at the city below you, waiting for the boy in front of you to sit down next to you. It would have normally bothered you to be disturbed in what you had claimed to be your “spot” but maybe it was the way the boy held his head down, or the way the stars shone and illuminated portions of his face, maybe it was just that there was a mutual understanding between the two people that had seeked comfort in the middle of the night underneath the stars. For whatever the reason, you stayed next to each other not touching, not leaning against each other but there was a sense of comfort by each other’s presence and a mutual knowledge of what each wanted. The silence was one of comfort, a blanket that seemed to surround the field that two of you sat in, and when the boy with the worn out combat boots began to speak, a light melody and rhythm to his words all you could do was nod along and enjoy the melodic and soothing sound of his voice. His words shocked you, reaching somewhere inside of you that seemed to be dormant for a long long time. 

“Summer’s been lonely, time seems wasted and passing.  But when the stars shine, and the sun goes, Summer becomes a lil less lonely Little less wasted Because when i'm with you  Time’s gonna stop” 

You couldn’t help but feel drawn to the warm voice that rapped next to, as he talked about lost time and love that seems to be a long lasting one that makes you feel like you’re gonna burst from everything that you feel for them only for them to leave in a quick second. And though you don’t know the boy next to you, you don't know his story, you don’t know why he decided on this very day much like you too climb to the top of the hill and admire the busy world from afar, you know the melody. The song that follows his heart, it’s something out of a movie you think, the way the two of you met, lost souls finding themselves by watching everything around them fade into the dark. You don’t know each other but you do, you know the way his song goes and it’s an understanding beyond words beyond actions as the two of you sit next to each other, hours passed midnight a boy with combat boots that crunch through leaves and a voice with thoughts that seem to connect to everything around you, and you. A lost soul with music in heart, that sways and calms down in the brightening moon of the night, as you give each other mutual company in a field of moonlit flowers, and blinking concrete. 

*

Jeno has made his way down the bleachers, his cheeks are red and you can’t help but feel amused and honored. Because as much as he annoys you and makes you want to hit something you can’t deny the way your heart flutters when he smiles at you as he is doing right now, steps bringing you closer and closer to you, his warned out combat boots make you laugh because you’d never seen him wear anything else. You can feel the anger fade away from the week, anger at him for embarrassing you, anger for not feeling loved like you wanted to be loved, but there was a sort of bond that was formed when the school's resident bad boy decides to sing a love song to someone he’s hurt and cares for. There’s something vulnerable by the way he looks at you, a light in his eyes and embarrassment and all of a sudden he’s in front of you. Faces only centimeters away, his breaths fanning your face slightly, their heavy and uneven but he’s smiling tune slightly off-key as he sings the last verse. 

“So I guess what i'm saying” the mic is lowered, and the space between the two becomes your own world. No longer are aware of the hundreds of teenagers surrounding you, some of the whistling others video taping. 

“I guess what i'm saying” you hum back, smiles adorning both of your faces, 

“I fucking love you”

And the way you read my mind.

It seemed as if the world had suddenly shifted. No longer where you are grounded on earth, goals set to go to the other side of the world away from your family, instead you feel alleviated. Where the ground used to be now there was air, a lightness to your movements and words that weren’t there before. It isn’t that the world suddenly changed, the clouds didn’t suddenly become more bright, the world didn’t suddenly become a bright ball of colors and sunshine. 

Falling for someone was based upon the little moments spent together. The way the world seemed to feel a little less heavy, a little less lonely when brown eyes would meet yours, greeting you with a lopsided smile. You had read in books that falling was like falling asleep, slowly and then so quickly that you didn’t even notice the way your heart would take skips when hand touched hand, calloused fingers from constant strumming of a guitar, grazing yours. They say it’s supposed to be too fast for you to notice, as if you were in a dream state that you had fallen into and slowly when your heart is shattered or turned over do you wake up from the dream-like state wishing you had stayed in it. In your opinion falling was neither of those, and it was both. 

Falling was being dragged out of an arena, filled with a whole school student body, where laughter trailed behind you as the boy with worn out combat boots took you to the place you first met. It was the way his eyes would light up their dark brown becoming a lighter color, almost matching his honey colored hair when the sun would hit him from behind, when he looked at you while you talked about the project you were working on. Falling seemed to be the way that the first sentences after the boy sang bazzi’s confession song was a banter over why the song was chosen, you two debating which of his songs was better, an ongoing debate whether smile or i.f.l.y was a better show of emotion. The argument lasted the whole car ride, you drove and it hadn’t taken much convincing after you threatened to keep his leather jacket, that you had shoved back at him only previously that morning. It was only a matter of seconds after that conversation, that jeno pride smile on his face opened the passenger's seat to the beat up mustang and let you slightly, well more like lecture him on how to be gentle on the old car. If jeno would have been tested on the way that your hands would flit back and forth, moving from side to side and up and down making grand gestures and soft ones in order to justify and further prove your point, jeno was sure he would ace the test. But if it came to what you were talking about, how he shouldn’t force the car to change gears or how one button should be pressed before the other he would have passed, he loved hearing you talk passionately about anything and as much as he loved to get on your nerves to see you get flustered cheeks growing slightly red, but would have failed on purpose just for you to smack him in the arm. The punch, which he would never admit kinda hurt the first time you’d hit him what seemed like ages ago, but was really only a season ago, had softened and felt now more like a “you’re stupid but i don’t mind it”, it made him smile. Banter that flitted back and forth between the two of you, constant little arguments that weren’t truly arguments but more of a facade at the emotions and hidden feelings that grew between the two of you. 

The coming winter air was sharp against your ungloved hand, making you shake it up and down, which only caused jeno to look at you with a confused look. 

“You know luv” the nickname no longer made your blood boil, and you’d finally admitted to yourself that it made you feel warm, “there are pockets for a reason” he put his own hands in the stitched pockets of his leather jacket for emphasis, and you huffed. 

“And then how would i be able to carry this?” you lifted your hand, the what had been hot chocolate was now cold all thanks to the new barista at the cafe, jungwoo you think his name was. Your fingers that had seeped up all the warmth they could get from the previously steaming cup of hot chocolate were now pink at the ends, the cold biting into them, and you slightly shook from the cold air you hadn’t been ready for these type of temperature when jeno had sent you a message this morning, the contact “soft bad boy” appearing repeatedly in your phone, with the vague instructions to get ready to go out in the span of fifteen minutes, he’s been by your door in fifteen minutes leading you to your car where he opened the driver's seat for you as he headed into the passenger. It had taken you arriving at the snow covered school to realize where jeno was taking you, and when you had realized it was the school protests were coming. Questions such as “jeno? It’s winter break, why the fuck are we in school?” and “fuck it’s cold”, or jeno’s favorite which you were almost sure he would forever tease you about, “my hands weren’t made for this” you’d been talking about the numbing of feeling in your thumbs when you had been holding the chocolate, keys, phone and wallet in your hands because your jeans had been made without proper pockets. Fuck the patriarchy you hat thought. Jeno has heard the whole situation out of context, and has made it his life goal to tease you on and on about your small hands. It was torture. 

“You could ask for help?” his little bow almost made you laugh, but you rolled your eyes pride getting in front of his help

“And hear you brag about how you don’t feel the cold” you sigh, changing the drink from one hand to the next letting the pocket in your hoodie heat up your hand slightly, “no thank you”. The next thing you know though, is jeno’s jacket is placed around your shoulders, their warmth heating up your bones, and his hands are wrapped around yours, “no, i’d just do this” his voice is next to you, breath stirring the hairs at your ears, warmth sweeps through your body, by the contact his skin makes with yours, and for a second you want to turn around and kiss him. You want to know what it’s like to kiss his lips that seem so soft, want to know what it feels like to wrap your arms around his neck while you kiss him, and play with the black strands of hair at the back of his neck. The feeling doesn’t leave as much as you try to push it away, as jeno holds your hands and drags you towards the school gate, and into the music room.

Falling is about the invisible things. Falling is noticing the way he can read your mind like no one else can, falling is making dumb jokes at each other smiles on both of your faces, it is the way you seem to have conversations about what you want from the world at two am and still poke fun at each other in a passing by through school. Falling you think you finally understand, isn’t singing i.f.l.y by bazzi in front of the whole student body because you don’t want someone to be mad at you, no. falling is the way from summer to fall to winter you get to know each other, until your hearts seem to be in-sync with each other, as jeno who fiddles with the rings on his fingers tells you to sit down on a chair in the music room. It is the way he picks up the guitar your breath catches on everytime you see it, the flowers swallowing and making the wood more vibrant than it was, and looks at you in the eyes. Falling is how his hands tremble slightly when he begins to strum the guitar, and his husky voice fills the empty room, as he sings about the way you make him feel less alone, and part of the universe.

But there’s a thing about falling, there’s the way that you can feel your eyes tear up when he finishes a goofy smile plastered on his face, the last g chord ringing throughout the room and into the hallways. When you fall, you can never tell when the bottom hits, you can never be prepared for the way the ground lurches before you, a slap in the face, right as you let go of the moon boy in front of you breaths still a little uneven from the shared kiss, which made a star fall seem small. Once that rock bottom is hit, the world falls back into place and you aren’t held at freefall, when you hear the “click” and whoops and yells from the hallway and you try to ignore the invasion trying to take in the boy in front of you, until your phone dings and then so does his. A new text message from an unknown contact, with a photo image attached,

“Turns out the bad boy took the bet after all, and y/n isn’t as cold hearted as they seem”

I hate you so much it makes me sick;

Crashing, falling and burning. Emotions that seem to curse through you days, a weeks later after the text is sent, the one that follows is worse. 

“Turns out, jeno was being paid all along to make cold-hearted y/n to fall for him. If you don't trust us, ask him” you knew the message was a taunt, a test to see if you would break but you’d plummeted down down down, and the way jeno’s eyes had shuttered and the light was no longer the way gave you the answer you wanted. 

A breaking point is what they call you’ve heard when one can no longer hold in the anger or sadness or any sort of emotion that seems to be too much. The breaking point that causes one to lose control over their actions, or thoughts because things you thought to be true, are flipped on their side, and the worst part is you wanted yourself not fall for the boy with the easy smile that shone like the moon, and sweet words that made your blood boil and melt all at once. 

Sick, that’s how you felt when you pushed him away, leather jacket dropping with a heavy thud onto the wooden floor. A twisting and turning of emotions rammed through you, anger coming out strong as you shoved him away again before walking out of the room, leaving jeno mouth wide open as if he’d wanted to say something, hands clenching and unclenching as if he’d grabbed onto to you or hadn’t let you check your phone it would change the world worked. The light that had shone in his eyes left, it seemed to be squashed out by the water that threatened to escape because it was true, he had been paid. It isn’t something that made him particularly, it wasn’t that he wasn’t intrigued by you, from the night you two first met all those months ago under the moonlight. 

Payment, green paper that would be slipped into his hand by haechan, a fellow senior he barely knew apart from the school’s biggest flirt accompanied by na jaemin, he did wonder at times how they weren’t at each other’s throats most of the time, but substantially he truly didn’t care. It didn’t matter to him the more he got to know you, the more he held your hand and felt the way his heart would swell and at times skip a beat or two, maybe even three if you looked at him with light in your eyes, laughter ringing in his ears from a joke he had said. 

The first time he’d been offered the paper, fifty bucks to see if the cold hearted bitch that everyone seemed to fear was capable of giving her heart to someone, he had denied because as much as the world thought of him as a cold hearted human being he truly just didn’t want to be bothered or be torn apart from his music and dance.  The second time haechan offered, he accepted on a whim. There had been a sort of argument in music class, you leading the conversation against something he couldn’t quite remember but he remembered you taking down student after student, a defiant look in your eyes as you gave point after point on what you believed was right. He had accepted, because seeing you standing on top of your chair, passion driving you away from the textbook and to speak clearly voice ringing through the room, made him wonder if it was even possible and if he gave up with what he thought was to be your overly cold demour then at least he's earned some money and the freshman that had walked up to him that morning telling him about the plan they’d set up would work. The plan chenle, a boy who was taller than him, but a freshman nonetheless broke it down in simple steps, it was entertaining to say the least, the way he discussed how he would get his new found jisung to go out with your sister, but that would only be possible if you would date. If he wanted to lie to himself, he would say that he accepted the deal because he wanted to help the kids out, but he was never one to not follow the truth. But now, his hands feel cold and empty, lips still feeling the ghost of yours against his, and he remembers a quote he read not long ago on the story of how the sun died everyday in order to let the moon live at night. 

Jeno is sure that he should be the sun that should die, not because the sun was where the world gravitated towards but because you were the moon. The moon that seemed to hold him together and stand by him even after the lies that are spun about his background at school so when you walk out the door, and he sees the tear’s shining beneath the classroom lights he knows he’s lost. If only you knew that he had stopped taking any sort of money the moment he caught feelings, if you only knew the money that he’d earned had gone to help his fostered cats that hung out by his house every now and then. But even if you did now it didn’t make him any better than Haechan who had sent out the text message, informing the world about the stupidities and decisions he made and had regretted two weeks later when you had scolded him about how to drive your car. 

Sick. From your stomach to your head a loud and never ending thump went on and on like the metronome in the music room all those weeks ago. The headache seemed mocking of your developed feelings for jeno, and you could feel your heart twist into itself, as you went over the events of the last few months. What was real, what was done as an act, you didn;t know but you hated it. You hated the way he made you feel, hated the way one text one yes or luv had led you into this snowball and fall that had hit harder than you’d ever wanted it. You hated him so much, it made you sick. 

It even makes me rhyme.

Melodies follow structured patterns, like the rhythm to a song and the lyrics that accompany it, never missing a beat a simple dun dun dun that tends to lead people into a dance like trance. Yet that was the problem with melodies, it was the way that they held onto certain chords, following the same stroke of keys the same vocal riff or bass slap that would drive you insane but would also drive modern days love songs whether they dealt with the infatuation that was love or the consequences of that love which lead to the inevitable heartbreak all followed the same sort of patterns and lines. 

Rhyming, that’s what you did as you recited the end of the year Shakespeare inspired song. A mixture of words with similar sounding words with the same syllables, like car and stare or hate and fate a juxtaposition between the two. Rhymes where everything you tended to avoid, the stereotypical and overused notes digging into your brain, playing and replaying over and over but you didn’t care anymore, as you recited the scribbled lines on the old piece of notebook paper. Some of the yellow had faded from the drops of tears that had dropped weeks ago, as your mind thought of jeno, his smile no longer the same comfort it held when he drove you out to the beach and led you late at night to admire the stars and watch the sunset. Some of the blue ink bleeding through, making smudges across the paper you were to run in, the doodles that had been scratched and re-drawn only to be scratched and drawn in different shapes the notes written down almost everywhere except in the five bar staff that was supposed to hold the notes. 

The shaky breath you let out helps you calm down as you look out into the pinned up pictures of the bedroom wall and the view that gives out to the dying sun set out in the horizon making space for the ever present and shining moon in the blue now purple and lilac sky. Hands grip at the paper, making it crinkle slightly at the force being used, and you read halfway through the lines you can’t fully get through before tears begin to spring up at your eyes. 

I hate it, i hate the way you’re always right.  I hate it when you lie. 

The words feel raw, and posion, vile seems to rise up at your throat the further you go down, and thought the tears don’t fall heavily they steam. A dashing race down your cheeks and back into the yellow notebook paper, as if they were being recycled. The words on the page breaking you, the emotions a sway of everything they say you aren’t, written by you to the boy who shared his heart and then stole it taking it far far away. Salty water drops onto the paper, until they dry up and then they fall again the next time you read them, and you read them and fix them and read them again rhymes embedded into your brain until the tears no longer fall and the paper is no longer in crinkles. 

I hate it when you make me laugh,

The memory flits back to you when you are met with brown eyes on the first day back from winter break. The air is no longer sharp and threatening to cut into you, but nevertheless you wear your sweater, hoodie slightly up, headphones popped into both ears. You didn't realize the figure in front of you, until you’d bumped into the halfway through a new invented dance move you had decided to create as you bopped and moved to the music that surged through your headphones. The toppling into one another was fast, rushed almost as you collided against each other, a stutter back from both of you before you saw who exactly you had crashed into. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, you should have realized who the boy was from the worn out combat boots that had been dyed black again, and the leather jacket that had a couple of new patches adorning it’s sleeves. 

“Sorry” jeno murmurs, but you don’t hear music still flooding in, and you are too focused on the way his eyes shift from your face to your hoodie, and then back to your face not being able to look straight at you, it causes you to scoff. Of course he was able go behind my back, get paid to play with me, and when he gets caught he can’t even look me in the eye, the thoughts are slightly disappointing but not surprising - boys you had learned tended to follow patterns. It isn’t until jeno shifts his focus entirely from you, brown eyes darkening that you are intrigued by the change emotion, guilt and a sort of plead to apologize is wiped from his face and you soon realize the purple haired boy, who couldn’t help himself from laughing at your situation, calling more students to him that had set jeno off. 

“If it isn’t the schools biggest joke” haechan’s voice is mocking, and you truly don’t know why the rest of the student body is laughing with him, when there isn’t anything humorous, sadly this is what you expect from the school by this point, it happened in ninth grade there was nothing to say it wouldn’t happen again. You think about ignoring his comments, there truly was no use getting involved, haechan just wanted a reaction, that is until he flaunted his money around, the constant taunt of how you had been manipulated thanks to the douchebag in front of you not leaving your mind for a second and you’d had enough. Haechan or his group of friends couldn’t have stopped you even if they tried, as you walked up to him, hood down, the rings on your fingers shining in the morning sun, as you punched him. 

“Bitch!” his voice broke as the word escaped his lips, blood beginning to swell on the side of his face, “i have a photoshoot tomorrow” you punched again in response, this time his lip was cut, and you snickered. 

“Hmmmm” you hummed looking at the boy’s eyes, they held anger and a hint of mist that threatened to escape and not being the schools ‘perfect’ boy, “guess they’ll have to find someone else, you know someone that’s actually, how do i say this in the nicest way possible” placing a hand on your chin you pretend to think about it before a grin spreads on your face, “nevermind there isn’t a nice way because you don’t deserve shit. rot in hell fucker” the last word is almost a yell as you’ve turned around and have walked away from the scene, a shit eating grin on your face, at the look of defeat Haechan held. 

It isn’t the way Haechan looks at you with disgust, no that gives you some sense of pride by taking him on, it’s the way jeno’s eyes are filled with pride and warmth. A plea to hear him out at least just once, and as much as you try to deny it his eyes take you back to hot chocolates on random days, snowball fights late at night and random drives through the city to calm you down, music blasted through the stereo of your old car. Memories of him being next to you, arms around yours holding onto you as if you would disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. Memories that as much as you wished wouldn’t flood up every time you saw him did and though you kept telling yourself that it was just an act, you can’t help but think that maybe just maybe not all of it was an act. The hope you hold close to your heart, is what leads you to be stuck back in the place that the mess started, stuck inside the music room yet again, jeno hand centimeters away from yours which just gets you to sit far far away from him. 

“So…” he starts, fiddling with the bracelets that adorn his wrists.

“So…you gonna say something or can i go because i have class to attend to” the words come out harsh, as your annoyance slightly rises, mixed in with being emotionally exhausted you really weren’t here to sit around the boy who had played with you. 

“The cafeteira is having french fries today” the second the words leave jeno’s lips he regrets them, because how stupid is he to start an apology by talking about food, when he looks at you he sees you laughing. Laughing so hard that he manages to walk closer to you so that you are only a couple of feet away from each other, but it isn’t a laugh that fills up the room. Your laugh is dry and humourless, empty and broken, it reminds him of the way one laughs when they have nothing to lose and have given up all hope.

“You know” you start, willing the tears to not fall, your voice to not break because just being in the room with him feels like too much, like one wrong step and the glue that has tapped your heart back together might diffuse into thin air, “for a second, a short second i thought you were gonna say something meaningful” the words are like poison, as you spit them out wanting them to strike and hurt the black haired boy with the perfectly chiseled face to hurt as much as you do, as you begin to head out of the room, the tears threatening to spill again. You’re about to reach the door before you hear your name being called, and you wouldn’t have stopped if it weren’t for the desperation that was laced with his words. If it weren’t for the words that followed your name, “Summer’s been lonely, time seems wasted and passing” the lyrics, the way they roll off his tongue as if he’s heard them a million times catch your breath and make you turn around. 

“Stop” you hold your hand out in emphasis, trying to calm your beating heart down, trying to stop the idea that this boy, the one that held your heart and broke it is the same boy that made you feel at peace in a day of chaos, on a midsummer night. But he tries again to talk, a small smile on the ghost of his lips and you have the urge to laugh and smile at him. 

“Just stop” you almost plead, and jeno takes a deep breath, waiting for you to continue, “stop because dam you have no right to sing that. You had no right, no right at all to make me laugh like no one else that day and day’s after, you had no right”  

Even worse when you make me cry.

Jeno has never been one to convey emotions with words. It was never, his forte as people call it, but in the music room that felt stuffed and almost suffocating he reached for words. Any word that might be sufficient, no, not sufficient, words that would convey his truth. Somehow, some way to get rid of that look of disgust, anger and defeat in your eyes that made his heart ache. He can feel you pull farther and farther away even if you are only a couple of feet away from, a couple of inches until if he held his arm out he could catch your hand in his. There was some part of him that thought the moment you two shared what seemed to be years ago, would help, would stop your eyes from shining every-time a light would hit them, the tears he knew you were holding back, because you weren’t one to cry in front of others threatening to spill.  In response, he could feel his heart ache for longer, his hands clam up, eyes look at yours pleadingly. 

“I know” his voice is defeated, almost as broken as you feel and the way it still manages to pull at your heart makes you look up at him, willing if only for one second, or to prove yourself that you can listen to him. The pause seems to make the room feel slightly more bearable, less stuffy, a little less suffocating, because two words are more than just an acknowledgement at the past but also at the present and the recent fuck ups. You hear more than see jeno take another shaky breath before he opens his mouth, closes it and opens again, a hand squeezing his eyes shut before he begins. 

“I know” the words are repeated again, and you aren’t sure what to make of them but he isn’t done, “i fucked up” you scoff, and jeno has a faint smile, “i know that anything that i say will seriously not make up for anything i did because no one in there right mind would ever accept to what i did. No one who knows you, would ever even consider agreeing to being paid to approach you. No one, because being around you, getting to know you is a gift itself. And yes i did agree at the beginning, it’s a long story” the words become clustered, a mumble and you want to leave again, because they feel like an excuse, 

“A long story, that still ended with you winning right?” the words snap from you before you stop them, and jeno is left wordless for a second before his eyes focus in again, mind running at a million, “yes?”

“No. no, i mean no” the sound that escapes from his lips confuses you, it’s a grunt and a sigh but he looks exhausted, “this isn’t going well”

“You think?” The question is more of a fact but that doesn’t stop jeno’s lips twitching slightly upwards, and you're mirroring his. Banter is good? I guess jeno thinks. 

“What i mean” he starts again for the uptenth time, “is that the moment i saw you smile, the moment i got to know you, not the cold exterior you present the moment you laughed at something stupid i said, because for some odd reason you seem to find my jokes funny when no one else does. The moment you... i saw you, eyes dazed as they looked at the sky i knew that the whole thing was stupid. And i stopped it, i promised i stopped taking money from haechan the second i knew you because you didn’t deserve that. Does that make me any less of a shitty person? No it really doesn’t” he stops for a second, catching his breath and you're trying your best to not let the tears drop to not scream or yell or hit him over and over again, but he makes it so hard. So fucking hard when his voice and eyes seem to convey everything you need to hear, everything you want to hear, but then the word money is said and you remember what he did and you can feel yourself recoil back, but not before a silent tear slips. 

“It doesn’t make me a better person if i had stopped the moment i had accepted the deal because I considered it. But y/n the way I feel about you, the way you manage to center me and be the single thing that keeps me afloat in this hell hole. The way that being next you whether it’s holding your hand that tends to be cold because you hate wearing gloves in winter and rather let them freeze'' another smile, and another tear slips making its way down your cheek, “can make me so happy and completely infatuated to the point i don’t know what to do with myself. It is the way I can feel your body next to mine hours after you’ve gone home from one of our random late night drives, or the way you steal my jacket and then i can feel you with me even when you are in class. It’s the way the stars and moon seemed to align that summer day, when we were both lost and found each other in the same lyrics, the same words and melody that sang to us. So yes, i was so stupid, so dam stupid for ever thinking i could be anything other than a stranger to you, and accepting that. But I can feel the way my heart seems to forget how to beat, anytime you look at me, and you smile, and unlike what the world wants us to believe. You aren’t my sun, or my stars. You are the center of the universe that i stand for, the moon that no matter how much i tried to get away from continues to rise and remain even on the never ending days, because i didn’t mean it all those months ago in the bleachers when i just wanted you to stop being mad at me for being the dumb ass i am, and i will never be the best when it comes to words and emotions luv, but i mean it now. I truly truly am sorry, and -” his voice breaks, and his hands shake, a tear slips from his eyes and you can see it’s reflection by the light. 

“St…” you take a breath, the word not leaving your throat, your breaths are shaky and jeno tries to reach out to you, tries to wipe away the silent flow of tears that continues to stream down your face, “stop”. The word finally manage to leave your lips, harsher than you wanted them too but it stops jeno from grabbing your hand, from taking away the warmth of his hand against your cheek, his eyes that had begun to light up slightly to be shut down again, as if someone had doused water on him. 

“Luv…” the moment the words leave his lips you know you have to leave, because if he does say those words, the ones you know you’ve been dreading to hear because you feel the same way. Because you have fallen and though you have hit rock bottom, and have been smacked back into reality your heart has never stopped reaching towards his. It doesn’t help, when his eyes look at yours with love, and you want to forgive him, you want everything to be okay, and in order for that to happen you can’t break down in front of him. Slowly do you shake your head, arms wrapping around your body as if they could provide some type of warmth, and heat up your bones, give warmth back into your eyes the way they do when you look at jeno. Which is why you don’t look at him, why you turn away leaving his arm outstretched and hanging. You can feel his eyes trail you, as you open the door the noise of the outside world rushing into the room, startling you for a second, but jeno doesn’t seem to hear it. The only thing he can focus on is you leaving, your footstep getting farther away, and his world becoming a little darker, more grey. The last thing he sees is your - well what used to be his - grey hoodie, the marking of sharpie that have been used to doodle on the piece of clothing one late night, flashing before the wooden door closes shut, surrounding him in a lonely silence again. 

I hate it when you’re not around,

The world seems to mock you for falling for lee jeno. The black haired boy seemed to follow you everywhere you went no matter how far away you tried to get away from the memories that plagued you. Days had passed since the world had yet again seemed to shift on its axis, and you had seen jeno less and less, but that didn’t stop your mind from making you remember his laugh anytime you heard a bad joke. 

No longer did brown eyes meet yours right after school ended in the cafe next to school, you weren’t greeted by the easy smile, that turned eyes into moons, or called the obnoxious pet names of angel and luv that used to make you want to punch a wall, only for you to find the words to be missing from your everyday life. Moments when the radio would play the song about summer and hazy love would worm their way into your heart, and it was like he was there. Smiling at you, his hand intertwined with yours as you drove your car to the top of the mountain where you first met, and just when the chorus would hit the two of you would belt out the song at the top of your lungs. It was only when the song ended, the melody fading into the back and replaced by the rapid voices of an ad for some car dealership you really didn’t care for, that you would look to find an empty seat beside you. No boy with a leather jacket, and combat boots that might have been propped up on the dashboard much to your protests, instead the seats were either empty and cold with no presence or soul in them, and the car would suddenly feel small and distant. 

Other times, the pang of not hearing his laughter diffuse into the air, over your clumsy self either tripping over words or almost falling over due to there being a small rock in the sidewalk. The problem wasn’t that you didn’t have friends. Your best friend, the same one that had dragged you into that party all those months ago, would never miss a beat to be with you, to take you out for a random karaoke night or a late night drive on her car. It wasn’t that you didn’t love them, you loved how they would always make time for the small nuisance you would bother them about, even if it was just to tell them about a new meme you’d found but the way their presence would fill only a small space in your heart made it hard. Especially because you would see how happy they were anytime they talked about Mark, the stories of their lazy dates filled your heart with happiness and joy. It had become a habit to prioritize other’s happiness above your own, and soon it became a habit to prioritize getting jeno out of your memories out of the place in your heart he had seemed to crawl into and not leave. 

Memories you come to realize are fleeting, and unpredictable. They are made from what one process to be from the emotions they feel in the current moment that the memory is being stored into your brain. The thing about memories, it’s a thing that they don’t tell you in 12th grade biology class. School or teachers don’t teach you about the different emotions and images that memories bring along with them. The figments that surround every memory you have for the past year seem to somehow always lead back to jeno. He comes when you think about your favorite drink, hot chocolate, and the drink transports you back to jeno bringing you hot chocolate late at night after long after hour practices. His black hair makes a presence, when you think about the essay you had to turn in a week ago, you don’t remember much of the project but your brain, against your conscious will remembers the way jeno’s hair felt through your fingers as you played with his hair one late afternoon. The threads come together slowly, on a random day, in which the sun seems to almost be desperate to stay on the earth’s surface, as it turns the buildings around it into purple hues. It almost seems like it’s gasping for air, and as the purple slowly turns into pink and lastly disappears beyond the horizon it’s last breath taken and long gone you realize something. Like the sun, and the threads that are tied together in order to form memories, in order to form the segments of life that when pieces together form a picture that lets one create the story of a person or a setting, jeno seems to form in front of you. You sit on top of the mountain where you first met, but this time you are alone, the skyline displayed out in front of you. The trees have lost their leaves and some of them even still have some white specks of snow in them, that with one push of wind would make the tremble and shiver, letting go of the white covering. 

Jeno is next to you, his hand only a mere centimeter from yours, but you continue to look at the sky, the buildings that go on for as long as you can see. His memory, the way you rest your head on his shoulder and he listens and listens no judgement ever from his eyes, only support and encouragement to let you choose what will make you happy. A memory that repeats over and over again, but that isn’t your favorite memory from jeno. The last memory that forms in your head, after the roadtrips, to sweet make out sessions that led you two to leave whatever homework you had to work on for another time, or the sweet messages left at your phone that would bring a smile to your face even if he just texted you about the weather, to then get a back hug as he called you angel. 

Your favorite memory was the day you had been on the exact same spot you where now, except jeno had been next to you, breathing a little harder than normal he had just shown you a dance routine he’s been working on for as long as you could remember. His eyes didn’t shine like they usually did, they didn’t take in the light around him, and his face didn’t have traces of a grin that you had grown so used too. Instead he pushed you away, dark roots from his bleached hair he had decided to try out for the month had begun to show and you could see the stress that seemed to suffocate him. This was a different side of jeno, a side you hadn't seen, one that you tried to approach with a joke, only to be quickly shut down. A small argument over school and life had formed, in which you two had gone from being right next to each other to being feet apart, a scowl on your face, the same one that jeno bore. It was this memory that was your favorite because it had been the first time you had truly seen jeno be vulnerable, it had been the first time from the weeks you had gotten to know each other that you felt that the walls on walls he built around himself, the walls you built around yourself had been torn down. There had been no shared kisses, no shared moments in which one hadn’t jokingly filtered with the other until the first droplet fell down jeno’s face. The only reason you had seen it was because the sun, punctual as always, had descended flickers of light reflecting in his face. It was a small action but enough that there was some part that managed to push aside your pride and you approached him, arms wrapping around his waist. The memory makes you remember that it took him a second to wrap his arms around you, but in that moment, it seemed as only for a second in which you could provide some support for the boy in front of you, then he could give you the support you needed. Threads of the memory are vague, movements in which you can’t fully pinpoint what happened in between or later, in which you know that at one point music had begun to make its way up the mountain from one of the daily parties the teens would throw, but you two held onto each other. The song, isn’t one you can seem to recall, but it wasn’t one that people slow dance too, it wasn’t one in which you are supposed to hold onto the boy in front of you arms around his neck, as his eyes looked into yours, smiles grazing both of your features as your foreheads touched, a small kiss placed on your forehead. Moonlight cascading the both of you, pushing away the shadows that surrounded you both. 

It was any memory that you had in which jeno took part, in which you could feel him next to you, that was your favorite. Memories, you remember reading somewhere are your subconscious telling you something, it is the way the body and mind admit what you are too scared to take in for yourself. Memories of jeno next to you, and then not are what make you realize how much you hate not having the black haired boy, with the overly kind personality next to you. 

And the fact you didn’t call.

Days turn into months, as the winter snow leaves the tree’s branches leaving them barren. Only for the spring rain and occasional sun to let the leaves and flowers begin to spring back up again. Teachers are at the point in the year whether they aren’t quite sure if they want to give everyone in the class a pass just so they don’t have to hear the constant complaining on the amount of assignments a student has due by tomorrow, or if they’ll give more work, more assessments as a sort of payback for the hardships they’ve had to endure throughout the year.  

You are in music class, your professor going over the final assessments guidelines one last time before they are presented at the start of class tomorrow. The weight of the written sonnet feels heavy, and though the physical copy of the assignment is types out neatly somewhere in your computer, the original draft that you had begun to draft all those months ago is crumpled up in your jacket pocket, a constant reminder of everything you want and everything that you feel you can’t have. 

If you close your eyes just for a second you can see yourself back in your room, until the space changes and you are no longer in your room but are at the school’s roof. The warm spring breeze tangling your hair, and making the page in front of you flutter. You didn’t need the paper, the lyrics to the musical sonnet that had been shakespeare inspired seemed to be embedded into your brain so that when you weren’t thinking about the thousands of words you still had to write when it came to the labs for biology class, or the analysis of catcher in the rye for english class, the words would replay in your head over and over. The soft melody accompanying them. Humming to the song had become a habit, one that had developed like how one realizes that they bit ethier lip, or thumbs when they are stressed or bored. A habit that once you realize it’s there you can’t help but notice it every time you do it. The notebook paper continues to rustle, and you fold it and place it into the pocket of the black jean jacket, taking a deep breath as you do so. Unlike summer nights and winter afternoons, spring doesn't feel suffocating when the sun is out, because the clouds do a job of covering the sun before it burns your skin. The wind dies down, and you begin to humm to the sonnet, the words so familiar you were almost sure if your memory was to be taken, those words would remain embedded, and make their way back up because they were an acceptance of everything you were and everything you felt. 

The final bell has rang, and you can see the swarm of teenage bodies rush out of the school, some go directly to the bus stop in groups, others head to the grass fields that make up most of the school's building. You don’t think much about where others go, don’t dwell much if they get home safely or if their parents will pick them up. Dwelling too much on thoughts a feeling never helped anybody, it’s a mantra that has been drilled into you and almost every other teenager and young adult in this lifetime as movies and books tell you to focus on the present never on the future and most definitely not in the future. Yet you wonder if these books written by great authors that make you question the world around you, or movies that seem to transcend time if the authors themselves that preach about not dwelling too much on one moment if they themselves spent too much time focusing on the sound of their love’s laughter, or the way their nose would scrunch up a reaction to the world around them anytime they found something amusing. You wonder if the person or memory they were told or did think about so much that it caused them heartache had the ability to make them write the poems you had written. So you try to not dwell on the people, no larger than your thumb as they rush from one side of the campus to another, because if you thought about him, it, for too long the memories would rush back in. Instead you look down, the light vertigo causing you to snap back into some realm of reality. 

 Sitting down on the roof’s edge, legs dangling off the edge you continue to hum and sing to the melody that plays in your heart, confession to yourself, a confession to the dark haired boy that captured your heart. The tears seem to swell up over and over as you reach the bridge, and they stream silently, down your face. They run down landing on your hands, on the ripped jeans and doodle converse. Your mind drifts to the memories connected with the lyrics and the fact that as much as you wanted to not want to hear jeno’s voice especially after you had pushed him away, you couldn’t get rid of the way he knew you. He knew you better than at times you almost thought you knew yourself, it was a nuisance the way your heart would skip beats months after everything went down, how it would still accelerate when you two would make eye contact because he had apologized and you don’t know if it was because you had never felt this way before, or because you two kept meeting underneath the moonlight the same song that seemed to connect the two of in one string of fate that you had forgiven him. But forgiveness didn’t mean forgetting, it didn’t mean that you had wished he’d called and you hate him - or lack thereof to do so - when days passed and the beep boop ba a compilation of random noises jeno would make whenever he was confused, and your ringtone for him didn’t disturb you. 

Your voice breaks slightly as the melody in your head falls, fading into a non-existent background. The sun had begun to fall, but you don’t notice, eyes closed as you take in the world around you. Notes ending, song and the hum of love never confessed, never expressed, stolen by the wind. And that’s the thing about having your eyes closed, oblivious to the world and the people around you, because you don’t hear the opening and closing of the slightly rusted door. You don’t notice the boy with a leather jacket, hair almost covering his eyes that are filled with so much love but confusion by the words that leave your mouth. It’s the thing about the wind, that it takes a message and delivers it to whom it wants you unlike a phone call that is directed at who you choose. The wind is a free spirit, and it doesn’t travel far. To be more exact it travels the short span of a mere seconds, a mere feet to jeno whose mouth has fallen at the sound of your voice so raw and pure. It is the wind that calls him to you, the wind that makes him take slow steps to you. 

Wind, a warm breeze in the coming summer air, love that you don’t realize you have, you need until it’s wrapping its arms around you.

                         But mostly i hate the way i don’t hate you.

The moment you feel arms wrapping around you still. Every bone in your body stops moving, your legs stop swinging and your voice catches in your throat. It isn’t until you spot the small cassette tattoo on the wrist of the arms wrapped around you that you breathe again and push yourself back, a curse escaping your lips. Laughter rings in your ears as jeno holds you up from where you sit, and turns you around so that you face him. You begin to push him away, on instinct from weeks of telling yourself that you wanted nothing to do with the boy in front of you. That the way his eyes dimmed, and lips curved down by the light gesture of pushing him away didn’t affect you. It was a mantra, push him away, don’t get hurt, a mantra produced by a time of hurt and fear for being broken again. Something that you had come to realize though in the past week, the past day, past couple of minutes when someone’s arms had warped around you and you had wished it had been jeno, that the heart and the mind don’t always coincide. 

It is when you look up again, and jeno is already looking at you, hair illuminated by the descending sun, as it casted flames dancing across his features, and lighting up his eyes, that you smile. Some sort of smile that repairs something in jeno, because his eyes seem to be filled with hope again and he opens his mouth ready to speak, ready to tell you everything he wanted to say again, mostly to apologize but when he opens his mouth the words seem to be caught in his throat. Stuck, as if there was some force pulling them back, not letting them escape and reach you. Mouth opens and closes again, and it’s the sound of your voice as you call to him, and say something he can’t quite process, blocked by the noise that doesn’t leave his head that he can finally speak again. 

“June 21” those weren’t supposed to be the words that lef this mouth, and your confused look didn’t give him any confidence to continue whatever the hell he was gonna do, which at this point he truly didn’t know because this was supposed to be an apology but he had already apologized. Jeno decided to do his best, and try again, “that was the day we met. The day you helped me finish composing this beautiful song that helped me get into music school. The day where the second i heard you singing off the words i threw out into the open air hoping for someone to grab onto, you did, and my heart seemed to begin it’s freefall” a small smile graced your features, as you remembered the day, not knowing how much life would change. The small smile is all jeno needed to continue, gaining confidence even as happiness filled every inch of you, tears that you promised you wouldn’t shed in front of him steamed but not from sadness or anger this time. This time they were from a place of loss and happiness to the boy whose eyes conveyed so much more than the words he spoke, whose hand had come up to your cheek wiping away the spare tears that would come down. Ever so gentle and full, always him. 

“It was something I didn't think was possible, you know? Coming to this new school, everyone had come up with their own ideas of who i was, because of stories they had heard, only to find you. Headstrong as ever, always standing by whatever you believe even some like pluto is still a planet” you both laugh, it’s a quick one, more like a chuckle but it’s filled with joy, at the memory. “You who didn’t care what the world thought, only that if you put your mind to it you would get it done. I never meant to fall in love with you, never meant to make you cry because of something that shouldn’t have ever happened, I never meant to get you too hate me the way you probably do” his eyes softened, and he pulled away ever so slightly, “but here I am. And i now i most definitely don’t deserve it but y/n, i can’t deny it because since i first heard your voice that late night i think i fell for you, and it has been a constant free fall from there. So when i say it now, i mean it i fucking love you” the end was more of a ramble, a long list of words that made your heart flip and expand in your chest, making your smile grow and you could see the doubt in his eyes, you could see him retreat back into himself, he completely let you go when you spoke up again, “you want to know what i hate the most?” you didn’t wait for a response before speaking again, grabbing his hands in yours, and you willed him to look at you. 

“I hate the way that I don't hate you” you take a step closer to him, your faces so close the sun casting glows on you both. Two shadows becoming one behind you as the sun set, as one confessed to another the way they felt. “Because i don’t hate you, jeno. In fact it’s the opposite, because hate is not even close, not a tiny bit in resemblance to what i feel you for you,

Not even close, Not even a little bit,  Not even at all.” 

adfghjk and it’s finally done !!! i had so so so much fun writing this piece and seriously hope you guys enjoyed it !! im such a sucker for jeno and this movie in general lol. i struggled w the ending so i hope it came out well :) n e ways,,, please please tell me your thoughts on it, what you liked? what you didn’t like? things i could improve on. much love to you all !!

masterlist

[acemoppet]

and kiss you, and kiss you, and kiss you ('til monday)

Written for @drowningbydegrees ‘s artwork for @geraskierreversebang! I had a lot of fun with this one- thank you guys for everything!

Pairings: Geraskier

Tags: Fluff, Kissing, Enby!Jaskier, Fake Dating

Summary: Geralt looks at them dead-on. “I’ll tell you the details later,” he says, “but basically, we’d have to go as lovers.”

Or: Monster of the Week requires Geralt and Jaskier to pose as lovers at a banquet. Only, will they *really* be posing?

They’re just eating breakfast- eggs and ham! A far cry from the bread and jerky they usually scarf down while on the road- when the messenger arrives.

“You the witcher?”

Geralt looks up. “A witcher, yes,” he says, and Jaskier hides a snort into their eggs. “Why?”

The man grins. “Viscountess Alana is looking for you,” he says, dropping a parchment onto the table.

Geralt quickly looks it over- from across the table, Jaskier can just barely make out the outline of an official stamp- before turning back to the messenger. “Now.”

The man just keeps grinning, and gods but isn’t that unnerving. “Now would be nice.”

Geralt and Jaskier exchange a look before Geralt gets up. “Seems we don’t have much of a choice,” he rumbles. “Show us to the Viscountess then.”

Ah, my eggs, Jaskier thinks sadly as Geralt and the messenger step out. Still, they restrict themself to one (1) forlorn sigh before packing up their belongings and joining Geralt and the messenger outside.

It seems the viscountess lives nearby- the town they were just dining in is under her jurisdiction, which is how she must have heard of their presence after they’d entered last night.

“I thought you said there were no jobs in this town,” Jaskier murmurs, just low enough for Geralt to hear them.

“There weren’t,” Geralt replies, eyes still on the messenger merrily leading them.

“Ah,” Jaskier says. “A nobility-specific problem then. Wonderful.”

“Hm.”

The two of them have shared many things over the years they’ve traveled together- food, drink, and on one memorable occasion, even clothes- and a healthy dislike of nobility is just another of those things. Nobles tend to give shit jobs with a smile and threaten to ruin Geralt’s reputation if he so much as talks back- even Jaskier’s hands are tied around them.

All in all, neither of them are looking forward to this job.

In the midst of their rumination (and Jaskier’s mental funeral to the hot breakfast they’ve left behind), they arrive at the Viscountess’ manor. Jaskier would go on to describe it, but honestly when you’ve seen them once, you’ve seen them all. It’s grand, it’s bland, and neither of them would like to be anywhere near where it stands.

Still, it’s not like they can turn this down- if not because of Geralt’s morals not letting him not take a job (and he does have them, the principled persnickety bastard), then because of the risk of being arrested by the lawmen this Viscountess Alana can no doubt influence.

“Onwards,” Jaskier whisper-shouts cheerily, trying to cover up the lack of enthusiasm on both of their parts. Geralt just rolls his eyes- rude!

They enter the manor and are quickly directed to a sitting room. “The Viscountess will be in shortly,” the messenger says, and gods but Jaskier is still hung up on his incessant smile.

“Don’t his cheeks hurt?” they say to Geralt after the man leaves the room. “I mean, really, the man’s got to stop at one point!”

Geralt side-eyes them. “Yeah,” he says, “You’d think.”

“Yeah and- wait.” Jaskier narrows their eyes. “What are you implying, Geralt?”

Geralt looks away, but not before Jaskier sees the curl of an amused smile on his lips- which, rude! Very rude! Before Jaskier can call out his unspeakable rudeness, however, the Viscountess enters the room.

“Witcher,” she says, nodding at Geralt. Then she notices Jaskier. ���And bard. I hope I’ve not kept you waiting.”

Surprisingly she hasn’t. “Not at all, my Lady!” Jaskier says, laying on the charm. The Viscountess smiles, amused. Gods, what is it with people finding them amusing when they’re not trying to be?

In the midst of their irritation, Geralt takes over. “You said you had a problem,” he states- Jaskier knows it’s a question though.

“Yes,” the lady says, gesturing for them to sit as she takes a seat as well. “As I said in my note, there’s been an alarming amount of disappearances from my parties recently…”

Jaskier tunes out the rest of the conversation- Geralt is more than adequate in social situations when he wants to be, and he tends to want to be on jobs. “Takes less time to deal with, and it’s less troublesome,” he says. Which, Jaskier can get behind that.

They take the opportunity to appreciate the room- it’s a very airy space, with tall windows that the morning sun spills through. The furniture is… decadent, for lack of a better word. While Jaskier appreciates the aesthetics, they’re less inclined to do so when they’ve gotten interrupted in the middle of their breakfast. The eggs and ham of nary an hour ago seem so far away, and Jaskier’s stomach cries out in longing- metaphorically of course. Ooh, but there’s an idea for a song…

Jaskier is pulled out of their splendid composition (it’s called “Ode to Warmth”, which is both pretentious enough for Oxenfurt and simple enough for tavern fare, so win-win all around) when Geralt says, “I’ll need to attend the banquet then.”

Geralt? Wanting to attend a banquet?? Ohohoho, this they’ve got to know more about.

The Viscountess nods. “I understand, but how will you lure the- what was it you called?”

“Bruxa.” Oh shit. No wonder the Viscountess is worried- bruxas are bad news.

“Right,” the Viscountess says. “How will you lure the bruxa? If they’re attending my parties as you say, they must be intelligent enough to understand that you’re a witcher.”

Ooooh, clever Viscountess! Jaskier takes a closer look at her- she’s beautiful, actually, with skin a smooth, red-brown ochre and eyes dark and twinkling with intelligence and- ok, so maybe Jaskier has a bit of a competency kink: they chalk that up as a product of imprinting on Geralt- who is, for all of their teasing, the most competent person in all the land- at the tender age of eighteen.

Geralt, as if sensing their attraction, kicks their ankle surreptitiously. They kick back and nearly miss Geralt’s reply. “I can disguise myself,” he says. “Especially if Jaskier attends with me.”

Jaskier takes back every insult they’ve ever bestowed on this man. “Really?” they say, excited at the prospect of fine clothes, fine wine, and fine… company.

The Viscountess looks uncertain. “I’m not sure how that would disguise you,” she says. “Everyone knows that Jaskier the Bard is followed by Geralt of Rivia, and vice versa.”

Truly?! Oh, this day just keeps getting better and better- it’s almost enough to make Jaskier forget the tragedy of this morning’s uninterrupted breakfast!

On a more serious note… “Yes, how do you plan to disguise yourself, Geralt?” Jaskier asks their friend. “We can… maybe do something about your hair? I have some Zerrikanian henna in my bag, but that’s not going to help you lure the bruxa in, is it?”

Geralt looks at them dead-on. “I’ll tell you the details later,” he says, “but basically, we’d have to go as lovers.”

L-lovers?!

“Oh!” The Viscountess says, looking flustered. “I- I did not realize you two were-”

“We’re not,” Geralt says, even as Jaskier starts to finally process his words. “But from what you’ve told me, the bruxa is tending to pick off your guests when they go out with their partners for… fresh air. If we make them think Jaskier and I are going to do that, then they’ll follow us, and I can dispatch them safely.”

It’s… a sound plan, if a bit elaborate. “How will you excuse my presence there then?” Jaskier asks. It’s not like they can use their ex-title as a Kerackian Viscount here.

Geralt turns to them then with a mean smile. “You still have that one doublet from Cintra, don’t you?” he says. “The one that made me look like-”

“‘A sad silk trader,’” Jaskier repeats. Then they freeze. “Geralt, but that’s not my color at all!”

“Tough,” Geralt says, still smiling at them. “You’ll go undercover as a merchant, and I’ll go in as your lover.”

On one hand, having to wear something bland. On the other hand, playing at a relationship with their best friend and secret love of at least a decade now. Truly, it’s a no brainer.

“It’s a good plan,” the Viscountess says. “The banquet is later tonight- I trust you’ll be ready by then?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll show you to your rooms- best of luck.”

---

By rooms, the Viscountess clearly meant one room. “Sorry,” the increasingly-smiley messenger says. “We’re short on rooms because of the banquet tonight- it’s a wonder we even have an empty one!”

And what a room it is! The walls are made of the finest timber, carved with elaborate curlicues that make Jaskier’s head spin. The fire is already on- which is nice, if unnecessary, given that it’s just hitting mid-morning now. But the main attraction is the bed.

Oh, now this is a bed worthy of praise. It’s soft and fluffy, like the clouds outside their balcony (yes, they have a balcony too). The bed is made from what looks like a richer wood- Geralt would know more, as Jaskier cares little for the knowledge of timber used in this area. To top it all off, there are curtains. For the bed.

First they’re going to a banquet, then they’re going as Geralt’s pretend lover, and now they get to stay in a room such as this? Can this day get any better?

“I’ll call some breakfast for you,” the smiley man says as he heads out of the room. ”The meal’s already done for the other guests, but the cooks should be able to serve some eggs and ham, at least.”

Jaskier gasps in delight. Best. Contract. Ever.

Behind them, they hear Geralt huff. They turn around to see him looking at them in familiar amusement and… fondness?

That’s odd, they think, before pushing that thought away. “Gods, what a day, Geralt!” they exclaim, falling back on the bed. “And it’s not even noon yet!”

Geralt hums. “Don’t fall asleep,” he says, shrugging off his armor and swords. “We still need to work out our plan.”

“Ah, right,” Jaskier says, sitting up. “Our plan to… I’m sorry, are we luring the bruxa in or seducing them into a ménage à trois?”

Geralt chuckles- success!- and shakes his head. “Only you, Jaskier,” he says, eyes glinting with mirth as he sits down beside them on the bed. “No, we’re luring them in. Which means we have to convincingly act like lovers.”

Once again, the word “lovers” makes Jaskier’s face go red. “A-ah,” they say. “R-right then.”

Geralt looks at them, amused. “Shying away, bard?” he teases. “What, are your acting skills no good?”

“My acting skills are terrific, thank you very much,” they reply automatically. “Still, it’s not everyday we get to pretend we’re… together.” That’s as close as they can get to the word “lovers” without blushing like a tomato again. “Which is why we should practice!”

...Shit.

Geralt furrows his brows. “Practice?”

“Y-yeah,” they say. They can still salvage this, maybe by saying that they could practice dancing- “You know, like kissing and stuff!” Fuck, ok, never mind.

“‘And stuff?’” Geralt repeats, amused. “I see your reputation is over-inflated.”

“It is not!” Jaskier protests, indignant. “Take that back, you donkey’s arse!”

Geralt scoffs. “Or what?”

“Or I’ll make you!”

Geralt raises a cocky eyebrow, leaning in. “Yeah?” he says. “How?”

There’s a moment where the world stops, narrowing down to the spaces where they breathe and the way Geralt’s eyes seem glued to Jaskier’s mouth. Then Geralt’s lips are on theirs, and Jaskier's head spins.

They clutch at Geralt’s arms, trying hard not to fall over as he kisses them, slow and gentle. It’s soft and wet and so fucking good that Jaskier feels their brain melting out of their ears.

Control yourself, Jaskier thinks wildly, scrabbling for sense as they try to keep their reactions bottled. Then Geralt pushes his tongue into their mouth and Jaskier groans.

“Fuck,” they pant when Geralt finally pulls back. There’s a line of spit connecting their lips, and Jaskier goes cross-eyed trying to follow it before Geralt brings up a finger to break it.

“Speechless, bard?” he teases, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, and oh that’s not fucking fair.

“Y-you wish,” Jaskier says, trying to catch their breath. They try to come up with a witty line, but upon finding nothing, they say fuck it and yank Geralt back in for another kiss.

This time, they’re the one pushing their tongue into Geralt’s mouth, swallowing Geralt’s surprised groan with glee. They bring their hands up, originally to pull on Geralt’s hair just for being a bastard, but then Geralt’s hand is on the back of their neck, thumb rubbing soft circles over the first bone on their spine, and they change course to cradle Geralt’s face instead.

The kiss turns soft, softer than Jaskier ever thought possible. Time melts away as Geralt pulls them into his lap, hands tucking into the spaces at their waist. At one point, Jaskier breaks away for just a breath but dives immediately back in nip at Geralt’s jaw. The sound he makes is addictive, and Jaskier does it again, and again, and again until there are faint lovebites across his entire jawline.

“You know, Geralt,” they murmur, whining when Geralt’s lips find their throat. “If we keep doing this, we’re not going to be pretending to be lovers at the banquet tonight.”

Geralt hums, and fuck if that doesn’t feel good against their throat. “I don’t mind,” he rumbles, nipping at Jaskier’s pulse and making them shiver. “Do you?”

Jaskier pulls his face back up. His eyes are half-lidded and dark, but the fondness in them is clear as day. “Not at all,” they say, smiling as they lean in to kiss him. “Not at all.”

The End.

Okay, fine, not the end. The banquet goes smoothly, even though Jaskier is giddy enough to hurl- they can’t help it! They’re lovers now! Still, Geralt manages to reel them in- it helps that he’s always touching them, soothing their frantic need for touch.

They find an opening at one point to duck out of the party. “You have your dagger?” Geralt whispers, feeling them up behind a stone arch in the garden, and ohoho there’s so many jokes they can make there. Then Geralt’s hand cups the back of their neck, and they’re suddenly overwhelmed with the need to kiss him.

“Yes,” they say before mashing their mouths together. Geralt huffs but kisses them back- he smiles though, laughing at them.

“Stop laughing, you arse,” they mutter into Geralt’s lips, and Geralt’s shoulders shake. “No, seriously, it’s hard to kiss you like this.”

“Can’t help it,” Geralt says, though he stops laughing. “You’re so eager.”

“Oh, like you’re not.”

Geralt hums but finally, finally starts kissing them properly.

Which is of course when the bruxa jumps out.

There’s a screech, and suddenly Jaskier is shoved away. They fall to the ground and immediately turn around, eyes straining to see in the dark night.

There’s the sound of a sword being pulled out of its scabbard- must be Geralt, please be Geralt- a flash of metal, and then one last ear-piercing screech that gets cut off as Geralt most likely cuts their head off. Something lands with a wet thunk some feet ahead of them- must be the head- but Jaskier stops focusing on that as Geralt walks back into view.

“Are you alright?” they say, jumping to their feet. “Fuck, there’s blood on your face-”

“Not mine,” Geralt rumbles, though he allows Jaskier to wipe it away. “I’m not injured- you?”

“Fit as a fiddle, my dear witcher,” they declare. “Though, perhaps my lips ache a bit- would you kiss them better?”

Geralt snorts, and then laughs. “Seriously?” he says, chuckling. “Is that the famous charm I keep hearing about?”

Jaskier scowls. “Well,” they say, pretending to be huffy- yes, they know the line is bad, they’ve found that Geralt’s a sucker for shitty pick-up lines- “if you don’t want to-”

“I didn’t say that.” Geralt steps into their space and tilts their chin up. This close, they can see how Geralt’s eyes flood with adoration- it’s too much and not enough, and Jaskier knows without fail they’ll always feel this way when it comes to this man. “You’re right, should probably kiss you better. Just in case.”

“Just in case,” Jaskier agrees. Then Geralt’s lips find theirs, and the world washes away once more.

[eirian-houpe]

Hydrangea

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Maurice | Moe French Additional Tags: Memories, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, A Monthly Rumbelling August 2021 Series: Part 5 of The Language of Flowers

Summary: Belle is still in hospital after her accident out by the woods. Rumple catches her bookmark just as it is about to slip onto the bed, and together they reminisce about the first time he gave her flowers.

Read on AO3

Hydrangea

Gold sat in the hospital chair, beside the bed in which Belle was still confined. He didn’t want her there, didn’t trust the care she was getting to be what she needed. Now that they’d tended her wounds and given her the blood she needed to replace what was lost, he wanted her home, where he could care for her properly.

It bothered him, too, the way Jefferson had suddenly almost run from the room, on the gods knew what errand. One kindled by the coltsfoot flower that Belle had found on the library doorstep… was it only that morning? It felt like a thousand years ago.

He didn’t speak. He hadn’t for some time. Belle had been reading, and had fallen asleep with her book in her hands, and he didn’t want to disturb her. Only when it seemed the bookmark she held loosely in one hand, and the book that rested on the top of the covers, began to slip, did he reach out and take them gently from her, placing the book face down and open on the tray table beside the bed, while he stared at the bookmark, running his fingers over the pink, heart-shaped flowers that had been pressed and mounted onto the light blue card of the home made bookmark.

“Hydrangea.” Belle’s voice was soft, a little hoarse, and heavy with sleep.

“Sweetheart,” Gold answered, “you should be resting.”

She shook her head, just a little, and persisted, “They were the first flowers you ever gave me. Do you remember?”

Gold closed his eyes, letting his mind slip back into a past, a recent past but one which also felt as though it was hundreds of years ago.

“It wasn’t long after you arrived,” he said - knowing that wasn’t entirely the truth, but knowing also that Belle was still unaware of their previous life, or who they truly were to one another. “You were standing on the street outside of the library with the key in your hand.”

“The library key,” she agreed. “I remember. You wore a red tie. It stood out so much. I thought it was very bold.”

Gold chuckled. “Bold?” he questioned.

“Yes,” Belle said, and blushed. “Dark and broodingly handsome, and this huge statement that I just couldn’t ignore.” She looked down at her fingernails, and played with them until Gold reached out and gently took her hands in his. “I wanted to talk to you, but somehow I couldn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he reassured her. “In the end we got talking.”

“Thanks to the flowers, and the little game you always played.” She looked up, smiling fondly at him, her blush still not faded. “Do you remember what you said, when you brought them…?”

It was a warm enough day that he could fore go the heavy overcoat, in favor of the fine woolen suit when he made his rounds of the town. There were a few stragglers from whom he still needed to collect rent, and that was his first order of business. Then he’d spotted her from the corner of his eye.

He’d seen her before, though usually she looked distressed. Today, however, she seemed the embodiment of excitement. She stood in front of the library doors, clearly holding the key in her hand, bouncing on her toes as though she couldn’t contain herself. It made him smile.

Few things, and even fewer people brought a smile to his face, and he decided then and there that he would get to know this woman; petite, brown hair half pinned up, half falling around her face, and even across the distance he could see the brightness in the blue of her eyes. 

Beautiful he said to himself, then crossed the street, and walked on his way.

Game of Thorns was a reasonable walk but it gave him time to think, to come up with a strategy. He was  - self confessed - a bit of a coward when it came to women, thanks to Milah he supposed, but for him to think a woman as beautiful as the new librarian might even give him the time of day…?

It was then it hit him. Miss French was the florist’s daughter. Had her beauty so affected him that he could forget a simple fact like that?

“What do you want, Gold?” Mo French, as hospitable as ever, spat the words the moment he set foot inside the shop. No wonder his business was barely solvent if he treated all his potential customers that way. Of course, to be fair, the indebted proprietor most likely thought he was there to collect the rent money owed, rather than to purchase flowers, as was his intention, but it didn’t hurt to ruffle a few feathers every now and then. “I told you I’d bring you the rent by close of business today and—”

“Mister French,” he cut the man off, keeping his voice calm, almost convivial. He held up a hand to forestall any other comment by the boorish, irritating imbecile. “I’m sure you’re a man of your word. No, my purpose is not harassment - though I would be quite within my rights to do so - however, I’m here on business of another kind.”

“Oh?” French’s brows knitted in confusion.

“Flowers,” Gold said, and gestured around them. “And when one wishes for flowers, where else would one go except to a florists?”

“Well, in that case…” The man’s attitude changed as though someone had flipped a switch - not that Gold believed it any more than he believed that Mo French would give him the rent before five that evening, but - for now - he was willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt. “What can I do for you, Mister Gold.”

Gold looked around at the many options he had. Roses were a little too forward, in his opinion, and the lilies that caught his eye were somewhat too somber.

“I’m looking for something to bring a little brightness into what I’m sure is a space that needs it. Nothing too ostentatious, but something that would… break the ice between strangers,” he said.

French thought for a while, looking around at his stock, and asked, “Bouquet, or… perhaps something in a vase?”

“That would be lovely,” Gold answered. “Could you make an arrangement with those?” He pointed toward a bucket in which a number of blooms rested; tight balls of flowers, with heart shaped petals, in various colors. “The pink, if you please.”

And so it was, that several moments later, Gold left Game of Thorns with a classic shaped vase in which an arrangements of hydrangeas, green leaves, and the white of baby’s breath had been made.

Belle rubbed the itching tip of her nose with the back of her dirty hands, and blew the hair out of her face as she straightened up from dusting the circulation desk of the library. Already the room was a hundred times better than before just from having removed the paper from the windows, but now her hands were covered in news print, and the dust was making her want to sneeze and rub her eyes.  She had visions of herself ending up looking like some kind of koala.

She chuckled to herself just as the door opened, and a vase of flowers came in, followed by the determined tread of Mister Gold. Besides the flowers, the thing she most noticed was the bold red of his tie, which stood out against the immaculate darkness of his suit as though some kind of beacon.

She’d heard her father speak of the fearsome Mister Gold many times, and usually in some of the most derogatory tones that she’d ever heard him use, but seeing Gold, standing there in the doorway of the library, looking awkward behind the shield of flowers, she didn’t find him at all fearsome, much less objectionable.

“Mister Gold,” she greeted him with a smile. “I’m afraid I’m not quite ready to open the library just yet. It still needs a little attention.”

“Oh, no rush, Miss French,” he answered, taking an almost hesitant step further into the library, “I just thought…” She watched his throat bob as he swallowed, and then finished sheepishly, “Well, these are for you. I thought they might… help to brighten up the place.”

She came around the circulation desk as he offered the vase, and took it from him. “That’s very kind of you,” she said, and she felt herself lighten as she realized she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given her flowers. “Very thoughtful.”

“My pleasure,” he told her, and returned her smile. “And please,” he added, “If there’s any way I can help you with anything you might need to reopen the library, my shop is just across the way.”  She glanced in the direction he indicated, though she already knew the location of his shop - everyone did - but somehow, the offer made her feel… warm inside; special.

…Belle smiled, remembering the moment as Rumple described it, and described how he felt. The warmth of it helped to make her feel lighter, happier than anyone lying in a hospital bed had any business feeling.

“For the first time in as long as I could remember, I just didn’t know what to do with myself,” he confessed, taking her hand in his once more.

“But you did know, Rumple,” she corrected him softly. All of the pressed flowers you hid inside the books you borrowed…” she trailed off a small frown crossing her face.

“Sweetheart?” he prompted. “Are you all right? Do you need me to get someo—”

“Did you ever read any of those books?” she asked, her tone teasing. “Or were they just an excuse to keep… coming into the library?”

“Some,” he said. “One or two.”  He crumpled under the weight of her teasing scrutiny. “All right, barely any. I always meant to… and I started one or two, but then…”

“Then…?”

“Well… I had to get you to notice me… to fall in love with me somehow,” he said, and she knew that behind his teasing, there was a large degree of truth.

“You thought I hadn’t noticed you?” she frowned again. “Every week for years you gave me a pressed flower, hidden in a book… you truly made love a mystery to uncover, with each and every one of those gifts. How could I not notice you, when I cherished and still cherish you so much?”

“Oh, Belle,” he answered, moving to perch on the side of the hospital bed so that he could lean down to kiss her softly.

“I love you, Rumple,” she said.

“And I love you too.”

[iosyuno]

Here

(based off Alessia Cara’s ‘Here’)

Pairing: Taeyong x reader

Genre: i honestly don’t know what to call this

college student! Taeyong

(I guess right now you've got the last laugh)

I'm sorry if I seem uninterested

or I'm not listenin' or I'm indifferent

You tend to end up in these kinds of parties, especially when you’re friends with the university’s ‘popular’ student, Mark Lee.

You were dressed in a not so spectacular outfit, not wanting too much attention drawn to you, you rocked on the balls of your feet with crossed arms over your chest. “Did we have to be this early?” letting out a soft sigh as you rose an eyebrow, unimpressed with this party setup.

College parties. You loved going to parties, including these, but for some odd reason…you weren’t in the mood to go to this one. “Are you ACTUALLY complaining at a party, right now?” Mark asks in disbelief, “You love parties, I don’t know how this is any different from Johnny’s party last week. Or Doyoung’s party the week before! Yuta Nakamoto’s?! What happened to Y/N?!” He nearly shrieks which made you scoff and laugh sarcastically.

“Shouldn’t YOU be the one complaining right now? Didn’t you mention Sana Minatozaki was going to be here?” Teasing him about his supposed undying crush for her the girl, matched with a few of your elbow nudges to his side. His face turns into an unbelievable shade of red. “Wow, that’s a low blow, Y/N L/N.” The brown-haired boy rolls his eyes and makes you laugh at how affected he is.

 _______________________________________________________________

Truly, I ain't got no business here but since my friends are here I just came to kick it but really

“Well that’s sad.” You jump in your seat a bit, knowing you were alone for the last 30 minutes; you look to your right and seated on the bar seat was a that Mark once occupied. You couldn’t help but raise your eyebrows at his statement, “Excuse me?”

“Your drink. Water? Seriously?”

“I’m honestly in no mood to drink.”

“It’s a college party, if you’re here, might as well make the most of it and drink, love.” He stares off somewhere else as he says so, you’re eyeing him from head to toe and vice versa. He was taller than you for sure, the tip of his shoe touching the floor whilst your legs were dangling off the chair. His hair was pushed back, slicked and shined with gel but you’re not going to forget the fact that his jawline was as sharp as a blade; you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least 50% attracted to him. Who was this guy? You’re more interested in meeting the host of this party, Lee Taeyong.

“Taeyong.” The stranger mutters out, loud enough for you to hear it over the booming music. “What?” taken aback, thinking you had said your thoughts out loud again which makes him chuckle lightly. “I’m Taeyong, Lee Taeyong. This is the part where you tell me your name.”

“Oh!” You squeaked out, “Y/N L/N.” clearing your throat and running your fingers through your hair. So this is Lee Taeyong. Well, fuck. “Ah, so YOU’RE Y/N. I thought I’d seen you at Yuta’s and Johnny’s before. You party like there’s no tomorrow.” He grins at the memory, obviously enjoying how he’s recalling it in front of the person he’s describing. You’re usually not fazed whenever someone talks about your ‘partying skills’ but why does this feel different?

________________________________________________________________

I would rather be at home all by myself not in this room With people who don't even care about my well-being I don't dance, don't ask, I don't need a boyfriend

You left out a soft laugh, “You seem disappointed.” Pointing out how he’s currently shamelessly checking you out right now. “I’m not, you just seem so tame right now, and I’m surprised. You came with Mark Lee, right?” looking ‘round the room for your usual party partner and licking over his lips to taste the excess alcohol.

“He’s either grinding on someone in this big ass dance floor,” smirking at the thought of making a short joke about Mark “or taken someone back to his dorm already.” Taeyong nods at your assumption.

“So he wouldn’t mind if I borrowed you for a bit then?”

“Who said you could, anyway?” You retorted.

The taller man pouts and this time you had wondered if his eyes were always that wide and glossy, sporting a puppy dog look. “Aw, why not?” His voice heightens a little, whining and continuously pouting. “Stop that,” you mutter out, looking away from him, giving up anyway. He grins cockily, downing the rest of the content in his cup then letting out a refreshing sigh.

________________________________________________________________

Excuse me if I seem a little unimpressed with this an anti-social pessimist but usually I don't mess with this and I know you mean only the best and your intentions aren't to bother me

“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

That question makes you inwardly cringe.

“Is this your form of flirting, if so, it’s not working.” Swinging your legs back and forth a little, mildly distracting yourself from the presence of dozens of people around you either slobbering each other faces or grinding onto each other on the dance floor. “I’m genuinely asking, Y/N. I’m not trying to get into your pants.” The expressions softens from its usual resting bitch face, peering at him curiously which makes him smile and raise his eyebrows.

You clear didn’t expect that during that evening, you’d be occupied with having deep talks with THE infamous Lee Taeyong.

________________________________________________________________

1 NEW MESSAGE

 [3:34 am] tyong: thanks for helping tonight!! i don’t think i’d get through with cleaning up tonight if you didn’t stay.

[3:36 am] you: ah it’s no problem, i enjoyed staying for live entertainment aka johnny suh lmao

[3:37 am] tyong: i’d like to think you stayed for me so ;)

[3:37 am] you: which is clearly false, lee taeyong.

[3:38 am] you: why are you saved as tyong? thought you’d at least type your contact name in right, lee

[3:40 am] tyong:  i mean i noticed that’s how you pronounced my name and it was cute so, i decided to put it instead of my full name.

[3:41 am] tyong: i even had to add emojis next to your contact name on my phone ‘cause it looked sad with just your full name in ):

[3:43 am] you: go to bed, “tyong”.

[golgafrincham]

The Forest God Ch. 2

Ch. 1 They meet Ch. 2 They meet again Ch. 3 First date

After a morning of tears and stern reprimands familiar to a youngest child, Siv was given a bowl of hot porridge and a lengthy list of chores. It wasn’t until the next day that they were allowed to go and visit the wise woman, on the pretext of delivering some extra food and out of concern for her whereabouts the previous day.

She shook her head. “My child, you have been saved by a benevolent tree spirit. It’s not possible that the god of the forest appeared to you. Ancient gods such as that do not manifest...and not to the likes of us.”

“But...the wolf? His appearance?” Siv insisted.

“Forest spirits have illusion magic.” she turned back to her spinning “you may have dreamed it. Or the spirit may have enlisted the help of another spirit.” 

Siv sighed in frustration, but knew it was no use (and disrespectful) to press any further. “Grandmother, you are older and wiser than I. But....if there is a forest god - where is His shrine? Even if the spirit who helped me is not Him, I promised I would...”

This time it was the elder’s turn to sigh. “The old gods were more demanding than the gods of the mountains and rivers” she explained patiently. “They required offerings and feast days, totems and altars. But not the gods of the earth. Their power came from the thing itself - the forest, the river, the mountain. They didn’t demand shrines or sacrifices from us. If such a thing exists, it was consecrated long before the old gods came to our land, and it’s existence is lost to memory.”

“Child, I am sorry. My teacher taught me how to placate the little forest spirits, the trees and rocks, the sacred herbs. If there was a god of the forest, or a shrine to Him, it was more ancient than her knowledge — and mine.”

Siv was beginning to despair. “But surely, Grandmother, if there are ways to find things that are lost, there must be a way to find something that was lost to memory.”

She didn’t respond, but continued with her spinning in silence.  

When the spindle was full, she set it aside and picked up another. “You could try a little finding spell. But you would still need something from the owner of the thing...Without that, I don’t see how it would work.” she shook her head “I don’t really see how it would work at all.”

“And what else? Usually don’t you give a dreaming tea to the owner and they see where they left the thing they lost?”

“Mmmm.” she responded absently “If you include a piece of that which is lost, or a piece of the owner in the dreaming tea....and cast the charm on yourself...you may dream of it.”

Siv sat for a bit longer under the dark cloud that had formed as the wise woman spoke until there was nothing else to do but bid a respectful farewell.

Later that evening, after a sullen dinner, Siv was brushing off their boots and cloak before turning in. Amid the burrs and bits of grass and leaves, several long gray wolf hairs had woven themself into the brown wool. Frantically, they searched their cloak for more -- seven.

Siv then rummaged through the little baskets near the head of the bed where they put the herbs gathered in the forest. There it was - in a little leather pouch inside one of the baskets, a piece of mushroom used in dreaming tea. Gathering together all the ingredients, they quietly slipped back into the hearth room and put some water in the little kettle.

By the time the moon had risen past the tops of the trees, the charm and tea had done their work and Siv was fast asleep.

In their dream, the endless blue sky was all around them and the trees were below. They were a hawk flying away from home.  They followed the river from the edge of the village until it forked west and tumbled down from the foothills of the little mountains. They circled above a sunny valley with three hills on three sides, on the fourth, the little creek that would become the river flowed south. In the middle of the valley was a clearing and in the center an oak with a trunk as large as a house. The oak’s green canopy seemed to hold up the billowing sky and at the same time, as its leafy branches waved slowly, beckoned down the rays of the sun.

In front of the oak was a large flat rock. The hawk landed, and Siv approached the stone on two human legs. It radiated warmth from being in the sun. They lay down on the rock and started to fall asleep. A cloud passed in front of the sun, but it wasn’t a cloud, it was a huge wolf. The wolf stood over the prone human - Siv could feel it’s hot breath on their neck. They screwed their eyes shut - though whether in anticipation of imminent pain or...something else...it was hard to know. When they opened their eyes again, it wasn’t the wolf, but the forest god towering above them. He bent down and placed a warm hand in the middle of Siv’s chest. The hand grew hot and the flesh and bone of their chest painlessly melted away like ice, allowing Him to reach in. After several breathless moments,  pull out a stone, like fishing a rock out of a river. He held it up and said “this isn’t what I wanted.” then promptly disappeared. A strong wind blew through the branches of the oak, raising gooseflesh all over Siv’s suddenly naked body. 

 Siv awoke groggy and disoriented to their mother tossing back the quilt.

The rest of that day, and the following few days, Siv could only think of how to get there, of how they could explain a sudden winter journey to their parents, but most importantly, what offering they should leave at the shrine. 

After much pleading, they eventually enlisted the aid of the wise woman, who provided the excuse for the journey even though she couldn’t provide any help with the offerings.

The day before mid-winter, Siv packed everything they could possibly need in a large bundle - food and water, flint and tinder, and gifts for the fire. They set off with the wise woman to allay their parents’ fears, but parted ways at the river fork. 

The next day, as the setting sun was beginning to paint the bottom of the clouds red and purple, they finally arrived in the clearing. Unlike the dream vision of a summer clearing with green grasses waving in the breeze, the flat boulder that served as the altar was surrounded by patches of snow and bare ground. It faced an oak at the center of the clearing which looked as ancient as the rocks of the shrine - its massive trunk supported gnarled limbs that twisted into the sky. Unlike the tree in their dream, this one seemed only half-alive, with bare branches twining among the brown leaves and a huge cleft where one of the largest branches had fallen off long ago.

Siv quickly cleared a space to camp for the night and made the first of the small fires that they planned to surround the rock. All night long they tended the fires, going from one to the other to add fuel, alternating between staring into the jumping flames and gazing up at the stars above them.

As the dawn approached, they kindled one last small fire on the large stone and tossed the gifts they had brought into the crackling flames. 

The smoke became a gray veil hanging in the cold morning air. Through it, Siv thought they saw movement near the great oak. 

The next moment, the forest god stood in front of them, silhouetted by pink and orange dawn clouds.

“You came a long way.” He said in a low voice, crossing His arms over His chest.

“I promised that I would find your shrine, and light the fires at the changing of the seasons.”

“You did.” He paused and looked down at the dying fire “You brought presents. Mistletoe and yew - a straw ram?”

Siv nodded. “I...wasn’t sure what was appropriate. Even the wise woman didn’t know.”

“No human has visited here for generations. Your people hadn’t even come to this land when the forest shrine last saw offerings.”

“...?” 

“Didn’t you know, your people were not the first here?” He shook His head. “Hm, it’s been so long that you’ve forgotten there were those who came before. That’s a long time indeed.” “Though humans seem rather forgetful of their own misdeeds.”

“Do you know what they used to leave for me?” Siv shook their head. “No?” “At mid-summer they would leave a roe deer smeared in honey, covered with pollen from the flowers in the field.” “At mid-winter...last night...they would leave a buck, the largest in the forest, smeared with a bit of blood of their clan’s warrior-king. Unless their harvest had been bad. In which case...they would leave their king, covered in the blood of a buck.” “Do you understand?”

Siv’s face blanched and their heart raced as the tips of their fingers began to lose feeling.

“You are not of those people.” He said gently. “You had other gods. Why have you come all the way here?”

Siv’s dry lips trembled as they licked them. “I...promised.”

“Promises are autumn reeds. I have little power outside the forest - I am not your god of thunder and rain or your goddess of the harvest moon. Why did you bother?”

The sun was just beginning to peek over the top of the oak. The first golden rays caught the edges of His antlers, and even though the sun was behind Him, His face was still illuminated with a soft light.

Why? The question seemed absurd to Siv. “You...are a god.”

“I’m...nothing - even among humans I’m no one. The last child of a family with no surname. You are the god of the forest. The trees, the sacred groves, the birds and beasts of the forest all are governed by you...” Siv struggled to find the words to describe what they felt (he’s just so pretty). Everything around the forest god seemed touched by warm sunlight even when it wasn’t. Even trying to look up into His eyes filled Siv with a mixture of dread...and joy. Their voice dropped so low it was barely audible.

“You are the most beautiful...and terrifying….thing I have ever seen. How could I not?”

The forest god lowered his eyelashes and seemed to smile slightly. If the light had been stronger it might almost have been possible to see a wash of pink on His cheeks. “I understand now why your gods enjoyed interfering in human affairs. How easy it would be to get used to all that…” He moved back a pace and waved away Siv’s awestruck praise with one hand “worship.” 

“Speaking of which...did you bring anything else?”

“...” Realizing the god had asked them for something, Siv’s eyes grew wide. “Lord, I am sorry my gifts were so poor - I..didn’t? Bring...anything….I….no?”

“Nothing? Nothing to eat?”

The bag they had brought was on the ground near the altar rock. Siv grabbed at it and began rifling through. “Yes...I have...ah...some bread” they placed it on the rock “and a meat pie…”

“It’s time to eat, don’t you think? Maybe we could share this pie?”

“Lord, it is yours” they held it out to Him.

“No, no, I mean share.” The forest god took the pie and broke it in half, keeping the large half for Himself since he was larger. He sat down on the rock and handed the small half back.

“I am not fond of fire, but it is chilly this morning. You should think of feeding your fire, too.” He suggested helpfully.

Siv nodded numbly and went to fetch some sticks from the small pile they had assembled the previous day. Just as they arranged them on the dying fire the god turned around and, pursing His lips, blew a puff of air which immediately brought the fire back to life.

“This is tasty.” He complimented between bites - it took two. He reached over and broke the bread in half as well, and handed the small half to Siv.

“...” Siv was mesmerized watching the forest god eat - His adam’s apple was as big as their fist. It bobbed up and down with His final swallow. 

The god peered over Siv’s shoulder towards his bag. “Ah...anything else in there you would share?”

“I had a turnip roasting in the embers but…” 

He looked over to the nearest little fire that Siv had put out just before dawn and casually started rummaging His fingers through the orange-tinged embers. After a few seconds His hand emerged with a smoking, blackened lump. He blew on it and dusted off the charred skin before popping it in His mouth whole. 

He chewed thoughtfully for a moment then declared “The meat pie is much better. Your other gifts were fine, but from now on I would prefer meat pies.”

“You, ah, you don’t have anything to drink?”

While they reached for the skin of small ale they’d brought the god continued “Many many years ago I had some honey wine that was left as an offering...it was very nice.” He gave the flustered human an encouraging look.

“I...have ale?” they offered. The god shook his head.

Then they remembered. “I...have one more thing.” They looked down at the ground embarrassed. It’s so pathetic. Why didn’t I bring a sack full of pies?

“...?” 

“It’s just a...I noticed that your garland had withered…” they shifted to the flat altar stone. Along one edge Siv had laid out a garland woven of thin pine branches, ivy, and braided straw interspersed with small sprigs of mistletoe. They couldn’t bear to look at the god to see what His reaction was - disappointment? Pity? Anger?

It was none of those. 

He moved closer to the self-conscious human and, bending his head, snagged the old garland strung between his antlers with one finger and tossed it into the fire.

Siv looked up with surprise as the god spoke to their inner ear…

Please accept…..

They scrambled to pick up the evergreen garland and drape it across the lowered antlers. “Please accept this humble gift. May the sun return again and again to shine on the forest. Like the pine and ivy are evergreen may the forest grow and thrive, may the god of the forest live forever.”

The ancient forest god’s eyes misted over. Such words. He hadn’t heard such words in thousands of years, if at all. This frail mortal wasn’t afraid, they weren’t asking for anything, they weren’t demanding a favor in return for their gift. Their voice was soft, but also sweet and sincere. 

This is how your gods became vain and arrogant - always filling their ears with honey. He thought to himself, but what He really meant was thank you.

He raised Himself to His full height and gave a very slight shake of His head to see the movement of the garland out of the corner of His eye.

“Put out the fires and gather your things.”

[impracticaldemon]

Light and Shadow (Vincent and Theo)

~ Ikemen Vampire fanfiction by impracticaldemon

Words: ~ 2000    Also available on AO3 and FFnet [Teatime Tales: Stories from the Mansion]

Author’s Note: My first attempt at a story for Ikemen Vampire, written for the delightful @hvdra00 drawer of fine chibis. This is a slice of life story, since I’m just getting to know these characters. That said, there is a hint of romance, and perhaps a shadow of conflict to come. Or not. Please let me know what you think, and what kinds of stories you’d enjoy in the future!

Light and Shadow

“I think it’s because she’s so bright—”

Vincent’s soft voice was cut off by a sound midway between a snort and a snicker. A snork? Yeah… and the word was a perfect fit for the person who snorked, that is, Theodorus “Sarcasm” Van Gogh. I glared at him from the open doorway, certain he’d been aware of my presence from the moment I’d arrived.

Theo followed up his snork with a pithy, “Nee.” His red-blond eyebrows quirked maliciously. “Just as well—not much point to being an intelligent snack.”

“I guess this extra syrup is going straight back to the kitchen,” I announced. Theo needed to learn that insulting the help was a bad strategy. “Can’t remember why I brought it in the first place.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Vincent look up from his plate, clearly startled and confused. Argh. Vincent was a sweetheart; he didn’t deserve to be punished for his brother’s failings.

“Mai—”[1]

“Don’t be a pain, knabbele.“  Ah yes, the usual reminder that I was just a snack, to a vampire.

"You need to be nicer, Theo!” Vincent smiled at me, his sky blue eyes and golden hair exactly the colours of a summer day. “You know how he is, Mai. He wouldn’t tease you if he didn’t like you.”

“Mm-hm.” I set the syrup down beside Vincent, as far from Theo as possible given that the two were seated side-by-side as usual.

“Besides…” Vincent reached out and put a gentle hand on my arm, ignoring the syrup. “I didn’t mean bright in that sense; I just didn’t get to finish.”

“That’s a relief. Thought you’d lost your own God-given intelligence, to be saying something like that.” Theo reached across Vincent’s plate with a half-hearted apology, and snagged the syrup. He shot me a look of triumph as he turned his plate of pancakes into a sticky re-enactment of the Great Flood.

“Your pancakes need life-preservers,” I commented snarkily.

Theo grinned, eyes gleaming. “Figures you’d think that way—feeling sorry for the food and all.” His eyes were the exact same colour as his brother’s, but not remotely as sunny. More like crisp autumn than soft summer.

[READ MORE]

“Theo, honestly—Mai, I have a question for you.”

“Sure, Vincent, what is it?” Actually, I’d been hoping he’d finish explaining what he meant by “bright”, if he didn’t mean smart—and did that mean he thought I was dumb? No, that was overthinking things. Vincent was unfailingly kind and cheerful. I had the impression he tended to think the best of people even inside his own head.

“Would you like to join me on a picnic later this afternoon? There’s this place—Napoleon showed it to me—a field of flowers that I think you’d like. I was thinking of checking out the area around it, too, for inspiration.”

I automatically waited for somebody to mention sunflowers, then realized that neither Arthur nor Dazai were present. Not that Vincent ever took it badly, of course, but Theo sometimes got cross about everyone “fixating” on “just one of Vincent’s hundreds of amazing paintings.”

“You’re going on a picnic, Vincent?” Theo was frowning. “It’s pretty hot out there today, and you tend to forget the time—and little things like sunburn and heat-stroke—when you start looking all over nature for inspiration.” Theo adored Vincent, and Vincent’s art—clearly in that order, to be fair—but he seemed to be a city boy at heart. I had the impression he’d prefer Vincent not to ramble as much as he did.

Vincent laughed, and his eyes reflected only affection for his brother, but his hand remained lightly on my forearm, as if to tell me that he was sincere in wanting my company. He had long, thin fingers, and I could see faint traces of colour on his pale skin. I wondered if the paint residue had accumulated just since his arrival in nineteenth century Paris, given that most of the inhabitants of the mansion appeared to have been rejuvenated upon their “change”. It was odd to remember that he was a vampire—his touch was pleasantly warm, for one thing…

“I’d be happy to go with you, Vincent,” I assured him. “Just set a time, and let me check in with Sebastian.”

“Thank you! Could you let me know once you’re sure it’s okay? I don’t want to interfere with your work, but—”

“Sebas used to look after things on his own, remember? I’m sure he can spare the newbie for a couple of hours.” Theo still didn’t look entirely pleased, for some reason, but at least he was tacitly approving my proposed participation in the outing. “You better look after him, okay?” His sharp blue eyes bored into me, demanding an answer.

I forced myself to shrug lightly and look away, though it wasn’t easy. “Of course, Theo. And I’m sure he’ll look after me—right, Vincent?”

“Yes, of course! Not that there will be much need for it.” Vincent sounded almost disappointed, but his soft smile wasn’t dimmed for long. “It’s not as if we’re going very far, and besides, the city is much more dangerous than the countryside, no matter what Theo and Arthur think.” I had to agree with that assessment, based on all the warnings about nineteenth century Paris I’d been given since my arrival.

“Yeah, yeah.” Theo remained patently unconvinced, but he’d gone back to eating his breakfast instead of trying to skewer me with his gaze. “How did you come up with this whole picnic thing, anyway?”

“Oh—Mai mentioned the idea not too long after she arrived. I’ve been wanting to try it out ever since.” It had only been few days ago, but he made it sound longer. “It’s a perfect day for it today, too.”

“Too warm.”

“Not at all—that’s just how it seems when you’re surrounded by buildings and people. Right, Mai?” He looked up at me, and I thought I saw a twinkle in his usually guileless baby blues. Was he actually encouraging me to join him in teasing Theo? I decided he was.

“Vincent’s right, Theo. Everyone knows that the best way to beat the heat is to get out of the city.”

Actually, that was pretty accurate, especially if you lived in twenty-first century Tokyo, like I did. There was nothing quite like August in Tokyo to make you realize just how crowded our trains and streets had become, and just how hot and uncomfortable it was to be so close to so many people. And Tokyo stretched a long way in every direction, too. Suddenly, the prospect of an outing with Vincent in the semi-tamed wilderness surrounding the mansion sounded even better. He was bound to be pleasant company, too, and this would be a great chance to find out more about him. Vincent among wildflowers—

“What are you smirking about?” Darker voice, edgier tone.

“You look so happy!”  Lighter voice, golden butter touched with sweet syrup.

I blinked, and realized that I’d spaced out. I was once again the focus of both pairs of similar-dissimilar light blue eyes.

“I’m not smirking—”

“Sure.”

“I don’t think she is, Theo—”

“—And I was just looking forward to going out with you, Vincent.” Wait, did I make it sound like a date? No, hopefully not. It might help if I stepped away from that angelic golden smile, not to mention the light-but-definitely-still-there touch on my arm.

As if he’d read my intention to move even as I thought it, Vincent lifted his hand away. Theo stood up from the table.

“I’ve got to get going. You probably do too, knabbele, since you’re ditching work early today.”

“Could you ask Sebas if three o'clock works for him, please?”

Once again, they spoke at almost the same time. I ignored Theo—not that he was wrong—and responded to Vincent. “I’ll do that, and let you know.”

“Thanks. …And, Mai?”

I looked back at Vincent. Across the room from me, Theo paused in the act of closing the main dining room door behind him.

“About what I was saying earlier…”

“Yes?” I suddenly felt self-conscious. “I mean—you really don’t need to worry about it.” Okay, that wasn’t exactly true, but I’d meant to bring it up later, when we were off on our own. Of course, Vincent had been talking to Theo in the first place, so he probably wanted to explain with both of us there.

“It’s hard to describe… It’s something about how you’re always working so hard, and how you always try to be kind to the people around you, even if you don’t know them very well.” I waited, but there was no snork this time from Theo, which was both unexpected and suspicious. “Anyway, I was trying to explain to Theo that when I think of you in terms of colours—of painting—you seem very bright to me. Not the kind of brightness that hurts to look at. …Full of light, rather, and content to let it spill over freely. The mansion feels less gloomy these days; I like it.”

I couldn’t take it any more—my face was burning. If Vincent was embarrassed by what he was saying, it didn’t show. There was a faint flush on his cheeks, but I could tell he was just being earnest. He didn’t realize how much his words, combined with his angelic charm, might affect the recipient. Or so I assumed, based on his candour.

“Thank you, Vincent. All of that means a lot to me, although I’m really not sure what I’ve done to deserve your praise.”

“I was just trying to describe what I was seeing. Theo was curious about what I thought of you.”

My eyes turned automatically to the man in question, rather surprised. I’d missed him, though. All I saw was a swirl of brown coat, and then the door closing firmly behind his well-built frame.

“Why would Theo ask that?”

“Hmm?” Vincent looked surprised by the question. “Well, he often asks my opinions of people.” Summer blue eyes sparkled with humour for a few moments. “He doesn’t usually agree with the answer, though! Anyway, I’ll see you later, hopefully?”

It was a gentle reminder to get back to work.

“Barring a butlering emergency, I think we’re good to go!”

I took whatever needed taking off the table, and headed off to the kitchen. More residents would be down shortly, and then there would be Napoleon to wake up —I’d learned to use a pillow to guard against extra kisses—and then lunch to get started. I started musing about what food to bring on our picnic—pancakes were what Vincent liked best, but surely I could find some snacks, or fruit, that would be appropriate? And we’d want something to drink, maybe a well-iced tea…

“You look happier than you usually do after an exchange with Master Theo,” remarked Sebastian, drawing me out of my planning.

“Ah, well, he’s okay once you know how to take him.” I smirked at Sebastian, who raised an eyebrow. “That’s to say, with a large dose of Vincent!”

“So that’s a Vincent-induced smile, is it?” There was a slightly knowing look in his grey eyes that gave me pause, but I ignored the question and moved on to more important things.

“May I leave a bit early today, since Vincent would like me to come with him on a walk and a picnic? And on that topic—what does Vincent like other than pancakes?” For some reason, Theo’s irritable scowl flitted across my mind, and I added: “I suppose I should learn what Theo likes too. Maybe I can find a way to stop the tide of put-downs and weird names.”

Sebastian regarded me thoughtfully, but didn’t say anything right away. “As I believe Master Vincent told you early on, Master Theo only gives pet names—as it were—to those he likes.”

“Well I wish he’d stop treating me as a pet—it’s not that big an improvement on ‘snack’!”

“I see you have him on your mind.”

“What? No—no, really, Sebastian, that’s just not it.” I rolled my eyes. “So let’s focus on Vincent’s picnic, okay?”

“Of course. Do you realize how amazing it is that you’ll be having a picnic with the Vincent Van Gogh? What an incredible opportunity!”

“Honestly, I try not to think of things that way—it’s a little overwhelming.”

Sebastian looked pained, but finally turned his mind to what food and drink might be suitable—and portable—for the occasion. I focussed on the dishes, and tried to remind myself that it was just a picnic. Not a date. Not an indication of anything other than friendly interest from a very nice man who happened to look like an angel. No problem. And if I occasionally wondered about his snarky younger brother, well, naturally one would remind me of the other—right?

[END]

[1] (MC’s confession about the name “Mai”) It was probably a mistake, but when pressed for a name, I gave them the name of the main character from my favourite mobile romance game. I admitted the truth not long after, but by that point everyone was—or claimed to be—used to Mai. To quote Arthur, “it’s short and sweet, like you, so why not?” Responses to this comment were mixed, but that’s a different story. Vincent, at least, appeared to be sincere in his agreement

Tags:  @shell-senji @nalufever @kouei116 (because… Vincent :)

PS:  These stories will likely range from general, through fluff and humour, to smutty.  Feel free to drop a note on this story if you’d like to be tagged in future!

[leonawriter]

Foxes and Spirits and Office Chairs

Read it on AO3

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs, Mononoke

Characters: Atsushi, Kunikida, Dazai, various others mentioned and appearing.

Pairings: Dazai/Chuuya (background).

Summary: There's a fox sitting in Kunikida's chair when Atsushi arrives at work that morning. This would be far stranger if Atsushi didn't have a very concrete suspicion of who that fox was.

...

The day after it's all over, Kunikida is mad that Dazai is late for work, which isn't exactly a rare thing to happen, but neither is Kunikida getting mad over it when they have so much more work to do than normal. The events of the past few days had certainly created enough of a backlog.

He's also, Atsushi notes as he and Kyouka go through the Agency's door, yelling about the fact that somehow, a red fox has managed to sit itself - no, it turns out, not sit, more like curl up - in the middle of Kunikida's chair, so he can't sit down unless he uses a different chair entirely.

Atsushi takes one look at the fox, its ears twitching, and one of its eyes slowly opens. A brown eye.

He blinks. 

The fox blinks right back, and then seems to smile, which is really just its - his - eyes closing into crescents, and his ears twitching again.

Kyouka gives him a curious look when he sighs, but he doesn't know how to explain, and where he'd start even if he did. All he can do is wonder if what he's about to do is going to break any unspoken rules. Although if it does, Ranpo is looking over his way and just looks amused rather than worried, so he can only assume that things are going to be fine.

He walks through the office, over to Kunikida's chair (which is right next to a temporary replacement, which is just like Kunikida to say that it isn't ideal to have to switch chairs or something like that, and reaches out to put his hands around the fox, which he knows isn't sleeping, or dangerous at all.

Well, perhaps the last one isn't so much- it's a point of view thing. And even if the fox has fangs and claws, he's fairly sure he won't use them here, and that's all that matters, really.

"Come on, Dazai-san," he says, already resigned to the fact that this is going to be his life from here on, that the entire office will have to get used to this, "you can't pretend you aren't here all day."

Kunikida stops his tirade and turns to stare at Atsushi, and the fox now dangling in Atsushi's arms, which is likewise staring balefully up at both of them now. His legs are hanging from Atsushi's arms, mostly because he still isn't sure what the accepted way of carrying a fox is, especially when they aren't commonly accepted pets in most parts of the world. 

"Atsushi," Kunikida says, "did you just call that fox Dazai?"  He blinks, and freezes at the whine coming from said fox, and glances over at Ranpo, who is still looking like this is all great fun. "I can understand that it's doing a very good job of interrupting my schedule in that idiot's absence, but-"

"...actually," he says, before Kunikida can go any further, "I'm calling him Dazai because this is Dazai. I- you weren't there? But-"

He's interrupted by laughter - Ranpo's laughter, in fact.

Kunikida just continues to stare at Dazai, the Dazai in his arms, as if the statement is too difficult to put together in his head after hearing it heard said aloud.

"That- that doesn't make any sense," Kunikida says eventually. "Abilities don't work on Dazai. There isn't any ability that should work on that waste of space, and there's no reason why such a ridiculous one as the sort to turn people into animals should work where others have failed!"

Ranpo just keeps laughing. Dazai squirms in his arms, but Atsushi isn't about to trust him not to jump right back onto Kunikida's chair, or worse, cause other sorts of trouble around the office. Like this, it might wind up worse than what they usually have to deal with from him.

"That'd be because it isn't an ability," he finally says, which makes Dazai whine again. Kyouka comes up next to them, looking at both him and the fox and Kunikida and the laughing Ranpo, and seems to be debating just how odd this all is. She'd been involved in things recently more than Kunikida had, toward the end, but hadn't been there for everything. "Though... come to think, why are you like this?" He finally puts his coworker down but makes sure to not let go. "Did you... forget how to turn back again?"

The way Dazai's ears flick and the way he immediately seems to want to not look Atsushi in the eye says a lot. Everything, really. 

"...Kitsune?"

Kyouka only says the one word, but it's what gains the attention of several of the others.

Atsushi nods, biting his lip a little as he does so.

He can still remember the previous evening, having been only one of two people to have been able to reach through the illusions and find his way through to the source of it all, only one of two people who had seen and heard things that no one else could see or hear, or should, for that matter. Things Dazai would never have wanted anyone else to know, except that something had happened to bring it all up again, raw as Atsushi's own memories of the orphanage had been when those had been brought up during the case covering the headmaster's death.

They'd had help. A stranger in odd traditional clothes and marks on his face who had seemed to know what was going on, the same stranger who had been there during the entire rest of their case, before any of the illusions had begun showing themselves in the city streets at all.

The man had acted as if seeing such personal things that Dazai would never have intentionally shared with anyone was completely normal. Stood or sat calmly through it all. Even though he was someone who didn't exactly have any right to any of what he'd walked into-

As if Atsushi himself had that right, when Nakahara- when Chuuya-san had made it plain how uncomfortable he had felt, too.

Then again, there had been a gentleness to the man when he had dealt with Dazai in person that had eased his mind somewhat about that. As well as the way Dazai himself hadn't exactly pushed him away either. In fact, Dazai had seemed oddly curious, both during the worst of it, and when it was all cooling down.

"My mother," Dazai had said, still caught by his own illusions, still needing to pull at the threads of them so that he could figure out who he was again. "She used to live with us, and I think I was almost happy. My father would tell her those three words each night, and she would go to him. But then one day he didn't, and she never came back. Not to him... and not to me."

And what were those three words, the strange man had asked.

"I don't know," Dazai had said. "I've forgotten. I don't even- I don't even remember her face-"

Which was something that Atsushi could sympathise with. He himself couldn't remember the faces - or anything else, for that matter - about his own parents. He'd always assumed somehow that Dazai had had... something, something more, but somehow this feels worse, in a way that he can't quite describe.

Something about having had, and forgetting. Knowing what you've lost.

Atsushi had been there when Dazai had been struggling and vulnerable. He had been there when Chuuya-san had said that everything was reminding him of a story he'd read once, when reading up on folklore, and the man with the gold hair and the markings on his face had smiled, and asked Chuuya-san this time, what those three words were. 

He'd been there when Chuuya-san had said, absently at first-

"Come, love. Sleep."

He'd been there when the four of them - or perhaps the three, considering the way that the strange man had just been smiling - had come to the realisation that the words weren't just an invitation, but a single word, a name, the word kitsune. The word fox.

Dazai's mother had been a kitsune. One that had left her son behind, who had grown up to not know who or what he was, and Atsushi had been the one to thank the strange man after all was said and done, no matter that he said that he hadn't done anything, and had been the one to see Dazai collapsed in the small mafia executive's arms, with two pointed ears and a tail poking out from underneath his coat, and he had also been the one to offer to take him home to the dorms, to tell him that none of what he'd learned would go beyond the three of them, none of it, if Dazai himself didn't want it.

Dazai had just stared at him, wide-eyed, and said rather simply that Chuuya was the one to tell me to come home first, so he gets dibs.

But now Dazai was on four legs in the Agency office, and he was just whining about everything rather than actually being upset, and...

"I thought kitsune tended to have nine tails...?"

"No, that's only when they've lived long enough. Right?"

"Why are you asking me? I'm not the one talking to the fox, here."

"R-right..."

All of which, although perfectly natural questions to be asking, were maybe not the best to bring up there and then, especially not with the potential direction they might go in, which he really hoped didn't happen.

"Given that I still don't believe in anything more supernatural than the extent of our own abilities, I find it hard to think of any of this as anything other than an elaborate prank by someone who still hasn't arrived at work!"

Kunikida's glare is almost enough to make Atsushi begin to apologise without even thinking, even if he isn't doing anything wrong, and it wasn't a prank. In fact, the only thing that stops him from saying sorry even just for the fact that Dazai was being frustrating like he normally was, was the bark that came from the fox - from Dazai - and that was followed up by another, and then another, fox-barks that sounded out loudly in the small space of the office, kon kon kon, just like that.

And then the barks turned into laughter, and Atsushi could hear clapping from over where Ranpo was - Ranpo, who had revealed himself at some point during the entire debacle of the past few days to not be entirely human himself - and Kunikida made an odd whimpering noise before sitting down hard into his seat, which Atsushi vaguely noted still had fox hairs on it.

Because Dazai had turned back into a human-shaped person, albeit sat on his backside on the floor. 

Because Dazai was laughing, and something in Atsushi's chest lightened at the sound of it, now knowing for sure that at least he hadn't done anything wrong by saying what Dazai was, when he himself couldn't.

Because Dazai was currently human enough to laugh like one, but just like the previous evening, two pointed ears stuck up from his head, and an white-tipped orange tail could be seen sticking out from underneath his brown coat, both moving perfectly in time with his moods and responses and not in any way even plausibly some sort of costume.

Knowing Dazai, for all Atsushi knew the only reason he'd been able to shift back when he still wasn't used to this being what he was at all was that he'd been so caught up in laughing at Kunikida, that he'd stopped thinking about it, and had forgotten he didn't know how.

The ears and tail wouldn't budge for most of the rest of the day, however, which was a problem all of its own, considering how they could hardly let Dazai out on cases when he was looking like that, and Dazai himself spent most of the time complaining of how loud everyone was being, and how his chair didn't have nearly enough space for his tail.

...

AN: As said, a lot of those flashback events are part of a crossover story that I keep thinking to myself that I'll write, but put off because I'm not confident enough in how to write the Mononoke side. In short, however-

The Medicine Seller came to Yokohama, and wound up dealing with an Ayakashi that was tied to a case that the ADA was investigating, which triggered off some repressed memories for Dazai, which caused a second case for the Medicine Seller to deal with - until Chuuya basically cooled Dazai down effectively with those three words, because he wasn't just remembering them, but he meant them, too. And yes, Dazai did spend the night over with Chuuya (though probably just sleeping, mostly because of reawakened trauma and the exhaustion that brings, put together with actually feeling safe and comfortable).

I might well write more for this, even if it's not the backstory, to be honest, because as much as I love white-furred nine-tailed fox Dazai that's old as hell, I also love the red-furred Dazai that's still a cub, really, just a tiny cub compared to all those kyuubis.

The myth is based on one I've seen around (and that I saw someone use in an old fic of theirs, somewhere).

[eldritchsurveys]

792.

What would you call your body type? >> I don’t call it anything. Most of the time I’m trying to forget I even have a body.

Are you a morning person? >> Yeah, something like that. Particularly on sunny mornings.

Have you ever been to Target? >> I’ve been to Target many times.

Do you like iced tea? >> Sure, as long as it’s not loaded with sugar.

When is the next time you'll be at work? >> ---

Do you have a savings account? >> I do have a savings account. There’s rarely anything of note in there, though. The only reason there’s a goodly amount in there now is because of the stimulus check -- I took an opportunity to put in the amount of one month’s payment for my computer, just in case my finances got fucked up one month or something.

Has anyone ever hacked your accounts before? >> Not to my knowledge. If so, it was probably an account I’d already abandoned.

What color bedsheets are currently on your bed? >> Grey.

Have you ever been to Disney World? If so, how many times have you been? >> I’ve never been.

Does grammar and capitalization mean anything to you? >> Sure. All forms of language need some kind of rule system in order to be effective, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to communicate with others at all. Even the dialects that people deride for not being “proper” have grammatical rules -- as becomes painfully obvious when non-Black people try to use AAVE lmao. As far as capitalisation is concerned, I use the proper forms of it on surveys (I don’t know why, I just always have) but an “improper”, casual form almost everywhere else on the internet. My familiarity and ease with the English language is pretty well demonstrated by all the different forms of it I switch between on a regular basis, and I enjoy playing with and learning the variations of language like this.

Are you good at wrapping gifts for others? >> Yeah, I can wrap a gift pretty well.

Do you have a dirty clothes hamper in your room? >> No, the hampers are in Sparrow’s room (her room is just bigger, lol).

What would you say is your favorite television show? >> I wouldn’t, really. I like a lot of shows.

Do you enjoy big holiday dinners? >> I don’t really have a feeling about them. They’re not something I care about, but I’m not necessarily averse to them either.

Is your vision good? >> It is.

Is there any piece of jewelry you're constantly wearing? >> Just the jewelry in my piercings.

What is one thing you desire as of now? >> It’s complicated.

What kind of phone do you have? >> Moto g6 Play. The only reason I remember this now is because my headphones always announce the name of whatever it’s connecting to.

If you could move anywhere, where would you choose? >> Somewhere southerly.

Do you have any obsessions? >> I mean, maybe. I just don’t notice anymore.

Do you blog a lot, if at all? >> Not formally. I just reblog stuff on tumblr and sometimes make an original post. Also, I do this.

Is your present hair color, natural? >> Yeah.

What makes you the most angry when it comes to people? >> I just hate how contemptuous other people can be of stuff they don’t understand. Instead of just being like “eh, I don’t grok it, it doesn’t jive with me” it becomes “that’s so sad that people do [x]” or “I’m not a loser, I don’t do [x]” or whatever. Even when it comes to calling people “stupid” and “disgusting” for their opinions or their lifestyles. I am far from being a particularly kind person, but every day I try my best to evaluate people’s actions for what they are and how they affect me instead of just labelling them inferior for not being like me; but people who will call themselves kind in a heartbeat are the first people to just tear into someone for not upholding whatever standard they’ve got built up in their heads for humanity. I’m just sick of it, and it’s why I don’t really get involved with people all that much. There’s always going to be that moment when they say something judgemental, and as it goes, eventually that judgemental attitude is going to be turned on me.

Describe your current outfit? >> It’s just a pair of harem pants, an undershirt, and a thin sleeveless top with a weird design on the front, heh. I don’t know where I got this top from, but I need about 15 more of them. It’s so comfortable.

What was the last thing you ordered online? >> I think the last thing I ordered was a new nightstand.

Have you ever felt as though you were drifting apart from a best friend? >> No.

What color are your eyes? >> Dark brown.

Have you ever worn color contacts? >> Yeah. My first pair were violet, and later on I wore white ones (or one white one, Marilyn Manson-style).

What's the best thing about a hug? >> I don’t know. I don’t receive any of the benefits of hugs. (Inworld hugs are very nice, though. They feel warm.)

Biggest fear? >> Some vague hyper-imaginative stuff about death.

If you have a significant other, how long have you been together? >> Can Calah has been here for about 9 years, I think, and with Sparrow it’s been 8 years. My general idea is that Can Calah was here for about a year before the thing with Sparrow started, so that’s how I measure it.

Do you know any genuinely friendly people? >> Sure.

Do you buy your friends gifts? >> Not usually.

What was the last thing you plugged in? >> My laptop.

How old are you? >> This is my last day being 32.

What color headphones do you own? >> Black.

Have you ever shopped on Urban Outfitters? >> Nope.

Where do you buy the majority of your clothing? >> I don’t really have a place that I buy the majority of my clothing from.

Would you rather wear necklaces or earrings? >> Necklaces.

Do you consider yourself fortunate? >> Sure, in some cases. Not so much in others.

Do you enjoy watching fights? >> No.

Have you ever been in a physical fight? >> Yeah.

Do you tend to talk badly about people? >> No, if there’s one thing I consider myself committed to working on, it’s how I speak about and treat other people -- like I was discussing in an earlier question. I guess it makes up for my lack of emotional attachment.

Where are your parents as of now? >> ---

Does your computer cooperate most of the time? >> Yeah, my machines have always gotten along pretty well with me. I try my best to treat them well and I like to think they operate at their best because of it.

Does your family have any cheesy traditions? >> ---

When did you last go to a book store? >> Whew, good question.

What's the closest book store where you live? >> Maybe Schuler’s.

How much money do you have on you right now? >> I don’t have any money on me, but there’s like five dollars in cash in my wallet-thing.

Favorite personal feature? >> ---

Are you wearing make up at the moment? >> No.

Favorite television channel? >> I don’t have one. My favoured streaming service is Hulu.

Describe any piercings or tattoos you might have? >> Ehhhh I feel like I do this constantly.

Have you ever been fired from a job? >> No. Unless Second Life jobs count, lmao.

Are you currently losing a best friend? >> No.

Describe the worst day of your life: >> ---

Do you play any video games? >> I do.

Would you say you hate anyone? >> I would not say that.

Do you think freckles are cute? >> I don’t have a feeling about them one way or the other.

Last time you went to the mall? >> God... December?

Name something that's your favorite color: >> This cool ring I have.

Have you been to Red Lobster before? >> Yeah, a long time ago. I nearly lost my mind when I tasted a cheddar bay biscuit for the first time.

Do you judge by appearances? >> Judge what, exactly? There is some information I process through appearance, yeah -- like, I assume that a person wearing a Behemoth t-shirt and black jeans with a chain wallet is probably a metalhead. Or that a person with impeccable hair and nails and makeup is probably really fussy about their appearance. The thing is, these are still things that I could possibly be wrong about, but it’d be harmless.

Do you follow a certain religion? >> No.

Who is your role model, if you had to choose? >> I don’t have to choose, and there’s no one I would choose.

Would you rather have nice hair or lips? >> What...

What are you most self conscious about? >> Just... existing. I don’t like being observed at all most of the time.

Do you have any family members who live out of town? >> ---

Do you consider yourself short? >> No. I mean, I am short in comparison to a lot of people, but it’s not something I think about like that.

What room are you in? >> Mine.

Hoodies or jackets? >> Hoodies.

Are you outside a lot? >> Not a lot, no. There’s nowhere to really go, especially nowadays. I’d sit outside more often if I didn’t live in an apartment complex. Like, this would be a great day to just lounge about in a yard.

Have you ever been dumped via text message? >> No.

Do you like dreamcatchers? >> I mean, they’re pretty.

Favorite crayon color? >> ---

What is your favorite letter of the alphabet? >> V. (I don’t know why I have a favourite letter of the alphabet when I don’t have favourites for so many other things. It just be like that.)

Do you hate repetitive people and things? >> Er... like, not as a rule, I guess. But there are some repetitive things I hate, like certain sounds.

Do you think autocorrect is a blessing or curse? >> It’s neither to me, I just don’t use it.

Do you believe in any particular curses? >> I don’t have any experience with curses.

Ever play a Ouija board? >> No, I never got around to making one and now I just don’t care anymore.

What movie scares you the most? >> ---

What was your bedtime as a child? >> Damned if I remember. Probably like eight.

Reason why your favorite holiday is your favorite: >> I just enjoy the vibes. Also, I’ve got a thing for old St Nick.

Do you work with any close friends? >> ---

Do you consider yourself spoiled? >> No.

Do you listen to any country music? >> Sure.

Have you ever taken a keyboarding class? >> No.

Favorite high school teacher: >> ---

Do you ever get drunk? >> I’ve been drunk many times, but it’s not something I get into much these days. I like a good buzz, but anything beyond that is just overkill.

Have you ever had highlights before? >> No.

Favorite number: >> 9 / 19.

Do you still sleep with any stuffed animals? >> I sleep with way more stuffed animals now than I did when I was a child, actually.

What is your biggest regret in life? >> ---

Do you enjoy social situations? >> I enjoy ones I have explicitly chosen and that I have some measure of control over. Not like, control over the conversation or anything, I just mean the interaction is happening in an environment I find comfortable and/or I can leave whenever I feel the need, stuff like that.

Would you say you think you have a mental disorder of some kind? >> I don’t care about whether I have a mental disorder of some kind, I just care about learning to live with myself without punishing myself for not being “normal”.

Are you normally an independent person? >> I have a disordered attachment style which makes me feel like I need to be independent all the time, but I cognitively know better than to think humans really work like that.

Do you have any paintings? >> Yeah.

What is one clothing fad you wish never existed? >> ---

Do you like to be organized? >> Yeah, I really do. It makes me feel peaceful to see an organised space.

Have you ever failed a class before? >> Probably. I also got no credit at all for one class, which is probably worse.

Ever been judged because of your weight? >> I mean, probably, even though I’ve never been particularly over- or underweight. People will judge anything.

What is your favorite breakfast cereal? >> ---

Ever had a wish come true? >> ---

Do you regret meeting any of your exes? >> Nah. It’s not that deep. (It’d probably be that deep if any of them had been, like, violent abusers or something like that. But nah, they were just... people. With all the flaws inherent thereof.)

Do you own any coloring books? >> Yeah, but I never use it anymore, lol.

What's the meanest thing someone's called you? >> I don’t know.

Have you ever bullied someone? >> No.

Do you ever watch Lifetime? >> No.

Ever tried to intentionally sabotage someone's grade? >> No. How would one even go about doing that?

Do you own any brown clothing? >> Yeah, I have one Dark Tower shirt that’s brown. I hardly ever wear it, though, it just fits weird.

What color are your walls painted? >> Off-white or whatever.

Last thing you drank: >> Water. (Wourder.)

Have you ever seen a tornado in person? >> Nope. I hope to see one one day. (hope it isn’t the last thing I see, hah)

Do you have an inground pool at your house? >> No.

What is the first digit of your phone number? >> 6.

What's the prettiest town you've been to? >> *shrug*

Do you tend to sleep a lot? >> Nah, my body seems to err on the side of sleeping less rather than sleeping more.

Silver or gold jewelry? >> Gold.

Do you sometimes celebrate holidays early? >> No.

Have you ever been in love? >> I don’t know.

What's the best gift you've ever received? >> I don’t know.

When was the last time you showered? >> Monday afternoon.

Would you consider yourself attractive? >> No.

Has anyone made you mad today? >> No.

Favorite smell: >> Oh, who knows. There are a lot of good smells in the world.

Are you afraid of insects? >> I’m knee-jerk afraid of some. Like anything that makes a buzzing sound (wasps, bees, flies, whatever), because the sound startles me badly and triggers my flight response. But I know I’m not just overall-afraid of bees or anything because I love bees, love watching them, and I’d totally let a bee just crawl around on me without feeling the same impulse. It’s just that damned sound.

Do you have any children? >> No.

If so, what are their names? >> ---

Would ever consider having children in the future? >> I’ve considered it. And I’ve concluded that I’d rather not.

Have you ever lived on a farm? >> No.

Ever played any sports? >> Briefly, in school.

Do both of your parents have jobs? >> ---

Where is the best place you've been on vacation to? >> New Orleans.

Are you afraid people won't accept you? >> What people? Generally, I’m not fussed about being accepted by just... random people. But I’d want, like, my friends to accept me...

Are you, for the most part, an honest person? >> Yeah.

Did you make prank phone calls as a child? >> No. My father definitely would have whooped my ass for that.

Do you like to make donations? >> I don’t make donations.

Favorite movie at the time being: >> The Fountain.

What is your current ringtone? >> I have no idea what the default ringtone on this phone is, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it.

Meet anyone from your past lately? >> No.

Have you ever called a teen suicide line? >> No.

Have you ever caught something on fire? >> On purpose, sure. Like a cigarette or a candle. Not anything that shouldn’t be aflame.

Ever been obsessed with a show? >> Yep.

What type of perfume or cologne do you use? >> I use a roll-on oil.

What's the last book you read? >> The last book I finished was The King In Yellow. Well, I finished the good stories, anyway.

Dream career: >> ---

Have you ever climbed a mountain before? >> Yeah, but not like, the whole thing.

At what age do you plan to get married? >> I was married at 32.

Ever been in a car accident? >> No.