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starsstuddedsky · 7 months ago

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Blonde Phase

Renjun x gn reader

summary: spontaneous hair decisions always end in regret. that's what you expect to hear when you tell renjun you're bleaching your hair, but instead you find support, and even his help. you should appreciate his wholehearted support but instead it has you wondering: why doesn't he care?

genre: fluff, minimal angst, technically they're in grad school but that's not particularly relevant, non idol au,

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, spontaneous hair decisions (i do not endorse), lmk if I missed any

wc: 4.4k

a/n: in the immortal words of charles boyle, the most intimate thing you can do with a lover is wash their hair. yknow i made fun of him for that until i wrote this. i see it. also its been so long since ive finishing anything, pls forgive me if this is bad. renjun i love u. as always I'd love to hear what you think <3

“I’m bleaching my hair.” If you say it fast enough, Renjun won’t be able to talk you out of it. The plastic bag swings around your wrist as you walk across the parking lot. “I’ve already bought the bleach and gloves and stuff, and I’m going to do it, today.”

He’s quiet for so long you check to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. “Okay.”

You almost drop your phone. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, drawing the word out. “Was I supposed to say something else?”

“Um, yeah?” You say. “You have opinions about literally everything. You talked me out of buying those pants two days ago.” You finally get to your car, tossing the bag onto the passenger seat and half-falling behind the wheel.

“That’s because they were made of polyester, and the thrift store was still charging $15,” he says immediately. “That was a scam.”

“Money is temporary, drip is forever.”

“Those pants would have lasted a year max, before they fell apart, and you still haven’t learned how to sew so you wouldn’t even be able to mend them or upcycle them.”

“You know what, I didn’t buy the pants, so this fight is moot,” you say. You set the phone on speaker, turning the engine on to blast the AC.

“Well, not moot. Technically I won,” Renjun says.

“I’d respect you more if you weren’t insufferable.”

“Here I was thinking you appreciated my insight,” he says. “You even asked for it.”

“I did not!”

“You literally asked about bleaching your hair.”

“I said I was surprised you didn’t have an opinion, not that I wanted to hear it,” you say.

“Semantics,” Renjun says. “So what time do you want to come over?”

You frown. “Tonight?”

“The roommates are out of town for the whole weekend, and I have way better ventilation,” he says. “I’d much rather bleach it without passing out.” He pauses. “You do want help, right?”

“Honestly, I was not expecting support. I was fully ready to fight you on this,” you say.

He snorts. “Come over whenever, I'm not doing anything today.”

“See you in twenty minutes.” You hang up, feeling a strange ball of tension roll around in your gut. That was… too easy? Renjun always has something to say about your admittedly impulsive tendencies. But if he’s going to help you’re not going to reject it—knowing Renjun he’s probably already watching Youtube videos and learning more than you will ever know about bleaching hair.

And it’s Renjun. When have you done anything without his help?

Renjun opens the door wearing a wearied expression. He doesn’t bother to greet you or even smile, just unlocks the door and steps to the side.

“Hi to you, too,” you say, trading your shoes for the spare slippers resting by the doormat. You follow Renjun into the space that serves as kitchen, dining room, living room, and Jaemin’s miniature gym, with weights and mats stacked next to the television.

“Who the hell clogs a toilet and then leaves for the weekend,” Renjun says.

You set down your plastic bag full of hair products and frown. “That’s disgusting.”

Renjun leans against the counter. “And you didn’t have to spend the last forty minutes trying to unclog it.”

“So which of the guys are you going to murder?” You try to guess, running through his roommates: you find it hard to believe Jaemin would do such a thing. Jeno maybe, and Donghyuck would certainly think it’s funny. But, in all honesty, it could have been any of them.

“Don’t know,” Renjun says, “but knowing them, they’ll make a pact to protect each other.”

“Seriously?”

Renjun pauses, gaze sheepish. “It’s what I did when I accidentally killed Jaemin’s little succulent that survived his college dorm.”

You fake a gasp, placing a hand over your chest. “Every day I learn something new about you. That’s devious.”

“I was drunk!” Renjun says, holding up a finger. “And Jeno and Donghyuck pushed me into it, so it was equally their fault.”

“If you say so.” You glance around the apartment. “Where are they all?”

“Jaemin’s visiting family, Jeno has a soccer tournament, and Donghyuck said he’s going camping with Yangyang.” Renjun says, counting off with his fingers.

“Donghyuck and Yangyang are friends?”

“Yeah, according to them they bonded over dealing with me.”

“Those were their exact words?”

“Dealing with my ‘stupid ass,’” Renjun says.

“That’s more on brand.”

Renjun nods.

You think about Yangyang, Renjun’s friend from when he was a kid. You’ve met him a few times now, especially since he’s moved half an hour away from Renjun. He’s fun, always bringing out a chaotic side of Renjun whether it’s dancing on a bar or bringing out angry-Renjun. But Yangyang and Donghyuck?

“That’s a terrible friendship. They’re going to ruin you.”

Renjun nods again, but you see the smile hiding in his eyes. He can rant all he wants, you know he’s excited his friends are getting closer with each other.

You point at the bag. “So where are we doing this?”

You half expect him to lecture you about rash hair decisions but he just gestures to the kitchen. “I figure right here should be fine. The tiles should be pretty easy to clean and probably could use some bleach anyway.”

He drags the chair with a rickety leg from the dining table. You dig through the bag and set everything on the counter. While Renjun cracks a window open, you begin to mix the developer and the bleach, curling your lip at the sharp scent. Renjun joins you, pulling on a pair of gloves.

“Wow that’s strong,” he says, wincing.

“Yeah,” you say. “Definitely a good idea to do it here.”

When the powder is finally combined, you sit on the chair, Renjun following behind you. You section off your hair together, then he grabs the bowl and the brush.

He holds the thick paintbrush brush up against your hair, glancing at you, giving you one last chance to back down. You give him the nod of approval and he shifts back to focusing on your hair, brushing the bleach into it as carefully as he spreads paint on a canvas. He works section by section, carefully drenching your hair with the creamy solution.

“So, are you going to tell me why you decided to do this?”

You can’t resist turning and glancing at him. “I thought you approved.”

“I didn’t try to talk you out of it,” he says, “that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about how you came to this decision.”

You nod until Renjun uses his gloved hand to hold your head straight. “I suppose that’s fair.”

You pause, trying to find the right words. But you find yourself drifting back to Renjun. Why didn’t he ask this before the bleach was in your hair? It’s not like him to keep his opinions to himself. When you first met him, he was yelling at Donghyuck for going to a philosophy seminar just to fight with the notorious bigot of a professor (which Donghyuck did and then got kicked out, and proceeded to get the professor suspended). You only knew Mark back then, a friend from another class who invited you to meet some of his other friends in the dining hall. When Renjun turned to ask what you thought, you said Donghyuck should do what he thinks is right. Renjun didn’t hesitate to call you an idiot then. So why isn’t he calling you an idiot now?

To his credit Renjun doesn’t rush you. He continues to paint the bleach into your hair, content to wait for you to figure out an answer. Except you’re thinking about all the wrong questions. Like, seriously, why do you want him to call you an idiot?

“I want a change,” you finally say. “I’m stuck in a degree that will make me absolutely no money when I graduate, I can’t afford to break my lease, and don’t have any major relationships that need upheaving, so, hair.”

“‘A change?’” Renjun repeats. “Like, you woke up this morning and thought, today I’m going blonde?”

“Like, I have this feeling in my chest, this aching feeling that there’s something I need to do, someone I’m supposed to be, something more than the person I see in the mirror but I’ve made my decisions and I’m happy with my decisions and I genuinely like who I am. So, hair.”

You see Renjun’s hand falter out of the corner of your eye, halfway between the bleach mixture and your hair. He freezes for a heartbeat then continues to move, lifting some hair off your ear, careful not to brush the bleach onto your skin.

“‘So, hair,’” he says.

“Are you really going to repeat everything I say?”

This gets a short laugh from him. “I think the fumes are getting to me already.” He pauses, setting down the brush and stepping in front of you. “For what it’s worth, I like who you are, too. I’m really glad we’re friends.”

You smile at him. “Me too,” you say. “I definitely would have fucked up trying to bleach this on my own.”

“There’s still some bleach left,” Renjun says after he finishes with your roots. “You’re sure you don’t want your eyebrows to match?”

“Why don’t we do your eyebrows,” you say. “Better yet, why don’t we shave them off?”

Renjun sets down the brush. “Okay, no eyebrows.”

You grin at him. “That’s what I thought.”

He helps you get a plastic bag wrapped securely over your head, then sets the timer.

“What do you want to do for the next half hour?” You ask. “Preferably something that requires little to no movement.” You gesture to your head. “We’re not winning any frisbee tournaments tonight.”

“It was one time,” Renjun mutters, shaking his head and stepping around you plop down onto the couch. “We can watch something.”

You follow him, sitting on the other side, a cushion between you. The space feels strangely empty. Though you’ve spent plenty of time alone with Renjun, even alone with him at his apartment, the silence is usually interrupted by one of the guys getting bored of playing League, or coming back because they can’t go out to a bar without someone forgetting their ID, or in desperate need of Renjun’s expert advice (read: Jeno never remembers to ask Renjun to look over his submissions until 12 minutes before they’re due). The cushion between you never stays empty for long but the moments stretch on, only making the distance feel greater.

You wonder, not for the first time, how long it’s been since you’ve thought of Renjun as just a friend. If he was just a friend, you wouldn’t care so much about what he thinks. And if he was just a friend, you wouldn’t care so much that he suddenly doesn’t think.

You sneak a glance at him, fiddling with the remote for a couple seconds before realizing he grabbed the wrong one. He’s certainly always been handsome—that was undeniable from the moment you met him. But more than just being good looking, it’s Renjun himself. Not just those dark eyes, but the way they burn with passion (even when he’s arguing about the proper number of appetizers to order). It’s his perfectly shaped lips, the way they betray how he feels with a slight curve up or down—and his smile. Always, always his smile, beautiful and breathtaking even though you’ve seen it a thousand times.

He turns, a little furrow in his brow. “What?”

“Hm?”

“You’re looking at me funny,” he says. “Did I get bleach in my hair or something?”

You turn to face the TV, trying to pay attention to the show Renjun chose. “I wasn’t looking at you funny,” you say. “I wasn’t even looking at you.”

“If you say so,” Renjun says, “but if there’s a blonde spot anywhere in my hair, I’m so making you pay for it.”

You shake your head. Where the hell did those thoughts come from? Renjun, more than a friend? Sure, you’re close with him and sure, he’s objectively attractive, but you’ve never had those thoughts before. Well, at least not sober.

“Um, why are we watching Singles Inferno?”

“Because I asked and you were too busy not staring at me to answer, so I put it on,” Renjun says. “And don’t you dare try to tell me you don’t like it. I saw you rant on your Instagram story the other day.”

“Okay, but you don’t get it,” you say. “This bitch really has the audacity to to—”

“I saw your post,” Renjun says. “Believe me, I get it.”

“If you didn’t want to hear about it you should not have turned it on, because now I can’t stop,” you say. Renjun rolls his eyes but even as you delve into a full on essay about the horrible men particularly common in dating shows, you see the corners of his lips tilt up into a smile.

The timer goes off halfway through an episode.

“Saved by the buzzer,” Renjun says. “I’m putting a ban on anything reality TV related for the next three hours.”

“You’re the one that brought it up,” you mutter without any real annoyance. Despite his banter, Renjun dutifully listened to your rants, and even got mad along with you.

You drag a chair to the sink while Renjun drapes a towel over your shoulders. He puts on gloves and unwraps the bag, letting your hair fall into the empty sink.

“Close your eyes,” Renjun says gently. He tilts your head back, cupping the back of your head for a moment before pulling the head of the sink faucet out. He runs the water, long enough for you to peek your eyes open.

You’ve gotten used to seeing Renjun focused. He gets a little furrow in his brow, always glaring at his work. Before you were friends, you used to think he was actually angry, that his frowns and short tone were real. You’ve learned since then, it’s not his emotions, it’s his passion. The frown only comes out when he’s focused, trying to be perfect. When he cares.

“Unless you want bleach in them, close your eyes,” Renjun mutters, with absolutely no malice behind the words. His eyes shift to meet yours and that’s how you know you’re right. He can glare and bluster all he wants, he can’t hide his eyes, warm and shining. Like when he’s looking at his art, his gaze is a combination of soft and intense, creating something stronger than affection. Except he’s not looking at his art, he’s looking at you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your heartbeat pick up. Despite every attempt to shut down the thoughts, they race through your head, a stampede grown out of control. Renjun, who you’ve only known a year and a half but who has become one of your closest friends. Renjun, who never fails to share the only opinion you really care about. Renjun, who you can’t imagine life without. Renjun, who you’ve never dared to imagine life with.

He places a hand on your forehead, bringing the faucet closer to rinse your roots while keeping the water from pouring onto your face. You prepare for a cold shock but the water that soaks into your hair is the perfect temperature—not scalding hot, not freezing cold. Some water sprays over his hand, falling onto your eyelids and cheeks.

“Sorry,” Renjun murmurs. He holds the head farther away, running his fingers gently through the roots of your hair. He’s so close you can feel his breath, warm against your temple. You can feel his body, hovering over yours, and maybe it’s just your imagination, but warmth seems to emanate from it.

His friends would laugh at you if you described Renjun as soft to their face, but it’s the only adjective that captures the way he works the water through your hair. Soft and gentle and careful and nothing like the Renjun that has to corral everyone into his car at 3 in the morning. And yet this Renjun doesn’t feel like a stranger to you.

Washing your hair takes a lifetime, but as soon as he steps away and turns off the water, you miss it. You miss him, even though he’s only a couple feet away.

“You can open your eyes now,” he says. As soon as you do, he tosses a towel at you. It hits you in the face before you can get your hands up.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” Renjun says, not sounding sorry at all. He manages to hold back the laugh but still grins at you, unashamed. He steps forward and pats your face dry, with the same gentleness as before, though there’s still a mischievous glint in his eyes. You yank the towel away before he gets any ideas, drying off your face on your down and wrapping it around your hair. You wring it out a couple times before letting go, doing your best to get it to fall evenly around your head.

You raise your eyebrows at Renjun. “Okay, how bad is it?”

“Okay, first of all, I’m insulted that you think there’s any way I’d fuck up you hair,” Renjun says. “And it looks really good. Blonde suits you.”

You take a deep breath and pull out your phone, studying yourself in the mirror and… he’s right. The color is even, somewhere between blonde and orange that is unavoidable when using bleach. Radical hair changes generally end in tears but looking at yourself in the mirror, you don’t feel the usual dissonance. The hair is different but somehow more familiar than the “normal” you that doesn’t feel right anymore.

“I’m right,” Renjun says.

You smile. “Yeah, you are.” You put down your phone, meeting his eyes. “Thank you, Renjun.”

“For what?”

“Doing all of this for me,” you say.

“It’s the least I could do,” he mumbles. “You’re my friend.”

You shake your head. “Thank you anyways.”

Renjun just shrugs and grabs the bowl, rinsing out the bleach in the sink. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s avoiding your eyes.

You do your best to clean up the bleach from the floor, busying yourself until Renjun finishes. You wonder if you’re imagining the tiles getting a little bit whiter. Finally, he turns off the water and glances at you.

“You’re really happy with it?” He asks, sounding more like he doubts you rather than changing his opinion.

“Yeah,” you say, standing up. “I think it’s the ‘me’ of right now, you know?”

“Not really.”

“Like, I feel disjointed, and blonde hair is definitely not me, but it's the me that feels kind of all over the place, so even though it doesn’t look like me, it looks like me.” You wring your hands together, fingers tinged red.

“That makes no sense,” Renjun says, “but I think I get what you mean.” He smiles. “And I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you to have any regrets.”

So he did think this was a potential mistake? Why didn’t he say anything?

Renjun turns back to the sink, but before he can turn the water on, your voice calls his name. “Renjun?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t turn around.

“Why didn’t you fight me on this?”

He doesn’t move for a long moment. You wish you could see his face. “I have been told by certain people,” he begins, which is code for Donghyuck and Yangyang certified their position as Renjun’s worst nightmare. He turns to face you, wiping his hands on a towel.

“That I have a tendency to be overly opinionated in a generally negative direction. And I thought about it, and I realized I'm never really fully supportive, whether it’s a big decision, or, like, coffee, and I’ve always been this way, but, apparently, it’s especially… apparent with you.” He frowns. “This is all coming out wrong. I’m trying to say that it’s different when I’m around you. I’m different.”

Your eyes jump between his, trying to decipher what he’s saying. “Different?”

“I care a lot about you,” Renjun says, “more than anyone, actually.”

“Oh.” You blink once, twice. “Wait, you like me?”

Renjun’s eyes shift to the floor. “Yeah.”

You can’t help but let out a short laugh, reeling at the absurdity of it all. Renjun likes you? But he’s Renjun. Even though he’s the most common main character in your daydreams, you never once realistically thought he might be fantasizing about you too. But he likes you.

“I really didn’t want to say anything, I mean, before anything else you’re my friend, and I don’t want to ruin that,” Renjun says rapidly. “We’re good friends, and I really didn’t want to be the guy that pretends to be your friend but just wants to date you the whole time, that’s really not what I was trying to do, it’s just—”

“Renjun.” You put a hand on his shoulder and he freezes mid sentence, mouth still hanging open a little. Before he can move, you lean closer, the type of line you’d only dare to cross in your dreams.

“I’d like to kiss you,” you say softly. He blinks, eyes darting between your eyes and your lips.

“I’d like that,” he finally breathes. So you kiss him.

It starts light, his lips exactly as you imagined—soft and warm. His arm works its way around your waist, pulling you closer. The other works its way into your hair, still wet and sticking to your head. Renjun kisses like he’s been planning this for a long time, and maybe he has. Every movement is slow and careful, until he’s stolen all your air and even then you don’t want to pull away.

Your bravery fades the minute you meet his eyes. You bury your face into his chest, your cheek resting against your own hand. Renjun wraps both of his arms around you, holding you snugly in place.

“I like you, too,” you say into his chest. It’s the cowards route but if you look him in the eyes the words will never come out. “If it wasn’t obvious.”

“It wasn’t actually,” he says softly. “I think I drove all of my friends insane trying to figure out whether I should confess or not.”

“They all know?” You groan. “We’re never going to hear the end of this.”

“Yeah.” When Renjun laughs, it shakes your whole body. You can feel the rumbling, overtaking his heartbeat. “It’s okay though. It’s worth it.”

You turn your head, emerging from the sanctuary of his chest and tucking your head so that you can see his face. He smiles at you with the familiar warmth you’ve come to expect.

“Yeah,” you say, “it really is.”

Renjun grins.

“Your hair on the other hand…” He says.

“I thought you liked it!”

“I like it,” Renjun says, “but when has Donghyuck ever liked a single change to anyone’s hair?”

“Since when do you care what Donghyuck thinks?”

“I’m just saying now that we’re officially dating, my friends are going to be extra annoying,” Renjun says.

“Extra annoying? I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Don’t underestimate them.”

You groan, pressing your face back into his chest. “It’s not too late to get some hair dye.”

“You are not changing your hair because of my dumbass friends,” Renjun says.

“You like it?”

“You like it,” he says. “That’s the only opinion that really matters.” He pauses then adds, “But yeah. I like it.”

You grin, lifting your head to kiss his cheek. “Maybe we should dye your hair too.”

Renjun snorts. “Oh yeah?”

“We could have matching couples hair.”

He laughs out loud this time. “Maybe we should just get some shirts.”

“Three minutes of dating and you already want matching shirts? Huang Renjun, be honest.” You push off of him until you can place your hands on his shoulders and look him in the eyes. “Are you obsessed with me?”

“Yes,” he says, layering his voice in sarcasm that still isn’t enough to hide the truth of the admission. “All day every day, all I think about is you.”

“Well, see, that can’t be true because if you were that obsessed and I’m this close, you would already be kissing me because—” You forget whatever you were going to say, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when Renjun is kissing you like this. Your hands at his shoulders slink around his neck, while his wrap around your waist, leaning so close to you, you feel your back begin to dip.

Huang Renjun is poison, the kind that turns into a heart-shaped puff of pink when the bottle is opened. You melt into his kiss and it’s still not enough. You could die, right this instant, and you don’t think you’d notice. Death itself wouldn’t be able to tear you away from this moment.

“Renjun!” Donghyuck’s voice thunders through the kitchen. “How dare you? You bastard, you’re cheating?”

You jump apart, turning to see him looming in the doorway. His glare settles on you, and you see the exact moment he realizes he recognizes you.

“Jesus Christ, you could have knocked or something,” Renjun says.

“I live here too,” Donghyuck says automatically. He squints, then looks at Renjun, then back at you. “YN? Your hair is blonde.”

For some reason, you raise your hand and wave at him. “Hey!”

“Oh my god!” Donghyuck cries. “Yangyang owes me thirty dollars!” He races back out the door, screaming something that’s lost as the door swings shut.

You glance at Renjun. “Cheating?”

He frowns at the door, still a crack open. “Did he… seriously think you were someone else? That I was cheating on my unrequited crush?”

His eyes shift to yours. A heartbeat passes and you burst into laughter. His friends might be annoying, but they’re still endearing. You press a messy, smile-infested kiss to his lips and wonder if you’ll ever get used to the giddy feeling.

There’s plenty messy in your life, plenty to doubt. But watching Yangyang and Donghyuck drag their backpacks in (apparently Donghyuck forgot his power bank and they decided to give up on camping) as they attempt to interrogate Renjun on every detail, you can’t help but feel like it doesn’t really matter. You don’t doubt Renjun. You don’t doubt blonde suits you. And you don’t doubt the power of a last minute hair decision, not anymore.

thank you for reading!! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated

#🌟 stars galaxy #nct #nct dream #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct reader #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct dream fluff #nct fluff #renjun #renjun fluff #huang renjun #nct renjun

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pidgecv · 1 year ago

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pre-bed thought dump so i can actually sleep without too many thought swirling around and clogging up my brain (my friends r all asleep so i can’t spam them instead 😔)

i miss turtle posting btw i’ve decided to do more turtle posting again (probs starting tomorrow w some sketches i’ve been hoarding or smth)

man my tumblr activity graph is gonna be wack anyways i finished reading orv, cried a few times, i’m emotionally devastated but at least FINALLY the boy is implied to be back. I have dnd at 9:30am and i have NOT told my parents (worse case i’ll walk there) yet i am. so tired. but my brain is zooming. i can not read very well. but my brain is ZOOMING.

here is a collection of some of my fav late orv chapters (a lot of them aren’t included bc i got tired of taking screenshots every damn chapter istg) ((also i read most of the novel ages ago now so this is from my recent “so the nightmare begins again” bout of hyperfixation))

i think i saved a fuck ton of lines i liked from some of the earlier chapters on my ipad but i don’t think i set my ipad to nightlight earlier and i’m not up for getting blue light biden blasted rn

i’ll go back to turtle posting pretty soon i think since last time i hyperfixated on orv i speedran the stages of hyperfixation and this time i’m even out of novel to read. i have reached my very own conclusion. my phone is lagging to hell when i type it’s taking my letters around a second to appear on the screen but i’m not exactly typing any slower so it backlogs and i can just sit there and watch the words be typed if i go fast enough lollll.

i’ve gotta draw raph in my au man. i gotta make him interesting bc i love him he is literally wonderful i just really suck at drawing him and leo bc rise is an artstyle that’s a total 180 from the stuff i’ve drawn previously. i continue to amass more art styles, soon no one will be safe. I just want to do them justice. they’re not the main character but they’re important and i feel bad for not fleshing them out well yet. i want to write them well and i want to write them with importance. i want every character i write to be with a purpose. to have potential for their own stories. i don’t want them to be hollow side characters, and the first step to achieving that is giving them designs i love. i love to look at and draw. i’ve achieved that with donnie and mikey and i’m starting to with leo but i’m so intimidated by raph because as important as he is as a character to the story i want to write he is by far the hardest for me to draw in the way that i think fits. in the way that i want. because i know what i want in his design and character, but i can’t quite get it right in the context of the artstyle i want to draw my au in. might have to bend some of the stylistic rules i set for myself to get him to work unfortunately.

#cvsays

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intrepidacious · 2 years ago

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I posted 1,534 times in 2022

That's 1,357 more posts than 2021!

376 posts created (25%)

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Blogs I reblogged the most:

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I tagged 1,534 of my posts in 2022

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Longest Tag: 129 characters

#please reblog if you liked this whatsoever :') i'm queuing my replies so i don't clog your dashes but like. i worked hard on this

My Top Posts in 2022:

time after time - masterlist

summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x time witch!reader

series word count: 47.7k+

warnings: f!reader; more or less canon compliant; time loops, canon typical violence, repeated major character death (in a russian doll/supernatural's mystery spot sort of way); slow burn, mutual annoyance to reluctant friends to lovers; negative self-talk; just a lot of angst (but with an eventual happy ending i promise!!)

this series is set after the events of the falcon and the winter soldier and will include spoilers for marvel projects up to and including multiverse of madness

a/n: welcome to the fic i've been thinking about for almost a year!! i am beyond excited and terrified to finally start sharing this. if you want to get notified whenever i post a new chapter, you can follow @intrepidacious-fics and turn on notifications or follow along on my ao3 💚

please mind that my blog is 18+ only, minors and ageless accounts will be blocked

See the full post

303 notes - Posted January 16, 2022

set me free

summary: Once upon a time, a soldier fell from a train. Thankfully, this time, he is found by gentle hands, and a beautiful voice keeps him safe from the cold.

pairing: bucky barnes x nymph!reader

word count: 6.4k

warnings: bucky dealing with the loss of his arm; a pinch of angst for flavour; reader is perceived as female by men in the forties, but what does that really tell us?

a/n: hi. i really like this one. it combines two of my favourite things, fairy tales and 40s!bucky 😌 title is from the song her voice from the little mermaid musical <3

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358 notes - Posted May 18, 2022

moving on

summary: He gets caught up in the lines and the streak of sunshine on your skin, until you catch him staring and raise a questioning eyebrow, so he looks away, reluctantly, unable to hide the small grin that appears on his face.

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 6k

warnings: friends to lovers fluff, a pinch of angst for spice, heavily leaning into the fact that steve can draw and yes that’s a warning, canon compliant apart from. ya know. the moon stuff

a/n: i've been coping with the passing of stephen sondheim last november by listening to sunday in the park with george nonstop ever since. writing this was basically a love letter to that show and maybe the most cathartic thing i’ve ever done.

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396 notes - Posted January 11, 2022

Build a blurb hehehe! 🩹 tending to each other's wounds, 🚪 showing up at the other's door, begging for comfort, 🍯 friends to lovers, 🔥 slow burn - Enjoy >:3

heal me, baby

summary: Your friendship starts with you cleaning up his wounds and Bucky paying to get the blood stains out of your couch. Something else starts, too.

pairing: bucky barnes x nurse!reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: canon typical violence, some fluff, s.h.i.e.l.d. still exists AU, protective bucky strikes again

a/n: lisha heard me request prompts to write something short and decided to go with slow burn. thanks for that, love. happy easter and joyous pesach to those of you who celebrate, i hope you're all well <3

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466 notes - Posted April 17, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

not even a little

summary: The problem of living with Bucky is that he makes it impossible not to fall in love with him. Even though you could list several hundred reasons why it’s a bad idea. And you have.

pairing: roommate!bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5.7k

warnings: pining idiots in love, slightly questionable roomie behaviour, simultaneously the softest and cockiest bucky i've written so far, blink and you miss it throwing shade at iron fist

a/n: this is my very late submission for kathie's (@pellucid-constellations) love letters writing challenge <3 thank you for this lovely idea, writing this was a challenge indeed but that is, as they say, a me problem. also huge shoutout to @barnesafterglow and @sweetascanbee, this really and truly would still not be done without you. love you both 💛

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852 notes - Posted April 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#nika rambles #THIS IS SO LATE BUT IT WOULDN'T LOAD FOR DAYS #not a whole lot of surprises there but yay tat made it to the top five <3 #and moving on as second runner-up aaahh!!#love y'all

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sparrow-stunned · 3 years ago

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hello!! I love your writing, it feels so believable and in character ^^ if you're comfy writing for yan scaramouche, how about 7. "You're weak. You need me." with a traveller!reader who he convinces to join him during his inazuma cutscene?

(optional: he manipulates her with dubcon type stuff due to him noticing she visibly was drawn to him upon meeting him at reconciled stars?)

star light, star bright | yan scaramouche x reader

Writing in character is one of my biggest concerns, so it's such a relief to hear your words! Also, what perfect timing for your prompt, anon! I’ve been wanting to write some yandere Scaramouche drabble but I didn’t really have any ideas. I took some liberties with your prompt (since I misread a little... oops), so I hope it’s still acceptable. I never played unreconciled stars, unfortunately…so I just watched the cutscenes.

Also, I'm not very familiar with Scaramouche as a character yet, especially since there's still so much we don't know about him. Let’s hope I don’t make any egregious mistakes in his portrayal...

notes: traveller!reader doesn’t have a twin or anything, but is still stuck in teyvat, looking for a way to recover their wings to go back to their world.

content warning: yandere behaviour, strangulation, slight electrocution. also scaramouche, because he is his own warning, the sadist.

word count: 1.2k

“See? I warned you to hold your temper,” Scaramouche sneers, leaning over your collapsed body on the factory floor. You try to push yourself up, nails digging into palms, but the miasma suppresses any energy you can muster. He clicks his tongue, as if scolding a child. “You should have listened. That pitiful friend of yours in the Resistance—is he truly worth all these emotions?”

The journey through Teyvat after being trapped in this strange world by the unknown god. The battles to restore peace, in hopes of answers from the seven Archons. All your efforts to get back your wings, for naught. All of it, only to end at the hands of this man.

Revenge. You have to stand up. Fight. For Teppei. But your body refuses. The angrier you become with your helplessness, with him, the more the world swirls into a cloud of indigo haze.

Never have you felt so sapped of strength—not even when you first awoke in this world after being sealed away. After your wings were stolen. You can’t move your arms or legs, but you can raise your head and glare. So you do. “You—!” Throat clogged with hatred, your voice is mere rasp. “If you’re going to kill me, be done with it.”

You brace yourself, but the Balladeer merely raises an eyebrow. “Kill you?” His jeering laughter echoes in your ears, a cycle of mockery that never ends. “Why would I do that, Traveller?”

You should have expected his cruelty. “Then what do you want from me, Harbinger?” you ask, defeated.

He kneels. Threads his hand in your hair. Violently pulls the strands back, dull pain pulsing on your scalp as hair threaten to tear from root, until you’re facing his sadistic smile. His touch is merciless. His words even more so.

“I find you rather interesting, Outlander. A visitor whose origin cannot be traced. On a journey from nowhere, to nowhere. All the secrets that must be hidden in your clever little mind…” With the other hand, he trails a finger down your neck. The edge of his nail presses ever so light, a knife in flesh. Lightness that could draw blood. “Why would I let such a fascinating little toy go to waste? I’m going to keep you.”

The back of your neck prickles from the hidden promise in his voice. You close your eyes, having no response for his unhinged words—

Only to immediately have your eyes fly open, an involuntary jolt as a lightning bolt sparks from his finger into the vulnerable skin of your throat. “I never said you can look away from me, Traveller,” you hear in the distance.

For a second, you see nothing but stars. So far yet so close. Home.

You would weep if you could.

He shakes his head as your shuddering finally passes, the world spinning back into indigo irises. “You have two choices,” he says mildly. As if anything about him was mild. “Either you walk out of this factory with me, willingly… Or.”

The second choice goes unsaid. Not that you needed to hear it. He clearly wasn’t entertaining any other option than the one he offered.

“Join you? Why would I ever join the Fatui?” you spit, vehemence laced in your words, if not your voice. “After all you did—”

"You're not going to the Fatui. You're coming with me." He leans into your ear, grip on your hair tightening. You try not to wince. “The stars, Traveller.” The puff of warm air against sensitive skin sends chills down your spine.

“The stars?” Madness. He is madness incarnate. If only you had the strength to wield your sword. If only you could resist. The memories of your first meeting seem so far. You wonder how you could have ever mistaken him for what he truly is. How you could have been fooled into thinking he was harmless.

The Fatui. The Fools. But I am the fool instead.

“I’m surprised you forgot. Remember what I told you, the last time we met? You were oh so interested.” His voice lowers to a dulcet croon. “The stars are a lie, Traveller. Do you recall now? I wonder if you understand.”

Home. You stare at him, eyes wide. You had begged him for answers, but it had been too late. He disappeared without a trace, leaving you lost and alone. Deep inside, you had been hoping you would meet him again. The knowledge he had... you longed for it. Longed to take to the skies, on real wings. Not wind gliders. Not imitation feathers.

Teppei, you remind yourself. But the anger has already begun bleeding out of your body. He has found your weakness. Punctured your resolve with the promise of knowledge. Promise of home.

Your hesitance does not go unnoticed.

“How the hero has fallen,” Scaramouche murmurs. “You’re so weak now.” His hand tightens around your neck, squeezing a strangled sound from your crushed windpipe. You feebly claw at his hand, black spotting your vision as you gasp for air, but his hold remains unmoving. You are powerless to his whims. “Where would you be, without my guidance? Still so lost. Admit it, Traveller. You need me.”

Finally, just as you’re about to faint, he throws you to the ground, careless and brutal. And then he stands up. Looms over you, harsh shadows on his face as you gasp for breath. Stares at your trembling hand that’s massaging your bruised throat. “If you want to know more about the truth of the sky…” he says, a jeer returning to the delicate lines of his face. Soft yet menacing. Everything about him was like that. “My offer still stands.”

Without the overwhelming hatred, the miasma of the old gods has no hold over you. Movement has been returned to your limbs. Your eyes shift. Your sword is mere metres away. You could lunge for it. You could fight. Let the floor run red with blood in a battle to the death—his or yours.

His gaze sharpens, and for a second, you can still feel his touch. Phantom fingers curled around your throat. A blooming pain. A reminder.

You open your mouth to deny him. “I…” Refuse.

The word is at the tip of your tongue, waiting to be set free. For Teppei. For the resistance.

But you do not choose them.

For home.

You choose yourself instead.

“I… I understand,” you choke out. The words are bitter ash on your tongue.

It is not a yes. It is not a no. But it is enough, for the Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers smirks. “I thought you would,” the Balladeer taunts. When your fists clench in response, he snickers.

His mocking laughter is seared into your mind. It will haunt your dreams—a signal to the beginning of your waking nightmare.

(He’s laughing at your foolishness. He was never planning to tell you. Anything. At. All.)

#yandere scaramouche #yandere scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #scaramouche #yandere #yandere x reader #psyche.answers #psyche.writes

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wordupcomics · 4 years ago

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We would like to see more about the adventures of the boys (Violet, Scoops, Becky and Tobey) when they were teenagers we really love to see our favorite team interacting with each other 💗

Hey Anon! Sorry this took so long! It took me a while to think of things and then when I did I wanted to draw them but by that point I'd already kept you waiting for a while so I only have two drawings but I have a lot of ideas I will share through text instead!

First lets do the moment with the drawings

So it starts with the gang as teenagers, all four of them in detention. The girls and the boys got detention for different reasons, and ask the other why they are there. First Becky and Violet ask Tobey and Scoops why they're there. It's a long answer, so I'll just have Becky sum it up for you

Becky:...So...let me get this straight...Scoops saw Mr. Smith and Mrs. Stevens kissing in the parking lot, and decided to right an article about it and why we should remain loyal to our partners...and then Tobey pointed out that if anyone saw that article he could damage Mr. Smith and Mrs. Stevens marriages and get in trouble. So to avoid getting in trouble you two decided to flush the article down one of the toilets in the boys locker room and it clogged the pipes and flooded the boys locker room and you two got detention for causing damage to school property????

Tobey: Yes we hear the irony that we did that to avoid Scoops getting in trouble and then ultimately got in trouble because of it

Becky: Not even on my list of concerns right now. First of all...why did you have to destroy the article? Why couldn't you have just not published it? You could have hidden it or thrown it away?

Violet: No they should have recycled it!

Scoops: What if I recycled it and someone found it? Or what if I lost it and someone found it? it would spread like wildfire!

Becky: Okay, but why flush it down the toilet??? You could have shred it?

Violet: Or painted over it!

Becky: Or used one of Tobey's robots to destroy it

Violet: Or you guys could have thrown it in my fire pit when you came over next weekend to roast marshmallows!

Tobey and Scoops (realizing they're right): ...

Becky: And secondly (Looks to Violet as they both try to choke down a laugh) Mr. Smith and Mrs. Stevens are married

Scoops: I know, that's why I wrote an article on cheating Becky!

Violet: No, you guys, they're married to each other

Tobey and Scoops: ...What..??

Becky: Mrs. Stevens wanted to keep her last name so she never changed it

Violet: They've been happily married for twenty years

(Tobey and Scoops then realize they got detention for basically no reason at all as Becky and Violet burst out laughing):

Tobey: Oh yeah! And why are you two here, hmm? What bad thing could the two most rule-following students in the school have possibly done to end up in detention with us?

Becky and Violet (paniced): No reason

Scoops: No no no! We told you, now you gotta tell us! What'd you two do?

Violet: ....Well...Becky brought her laptop to school today so we could look at Pretty Princess fanart at lunch...

Scoops: At lunch? A teacher shouldn't give you detention for goofing off on a computer at lunch

Becky: Yeah the problem wasn't when we were looking at it...the problem was the particular fanart that just happened to be on the computer when the teacher passed by...

Tobey: ... What in the world kind of fanart were you two looking at?????

Becky: We were just looking at normal fanart! As it turns out some people one the internet are...messed up and we accidentally ran into some fanart that...um...

Violet: Will haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life...

Becky: and was ultimately deemed "highly inappropriate" by the teacher...

(Tobey and Scoops then burst out laughing):

I'm gonna put some more scenarios under the cut!

Becky begged Tobey to read this amazing book she just loves:

Becky: Have you read it yet?! Wasn't it amazing?!

Tobey: ...Becky you are one of my dearest friends but I have to be honest with you-This was the worst book I have ever had the displeasure to read

Becky: (Yanks the book out of Tobey's hands and "covers it's ears") (Gasps) IT CAN HEAR YOU!!!

Tobey: ....please see a shrink...

Mrs. McCallister is finally ready for Tobey to meet her new boyfriend and Tobey is super nervous. Scoops gets this idea that he'll look up the guy in the phone book, call him, and pretend he's randomly interviewing people on the phone for a school article, when instead he's actually getting information Tobey needs to get to know the guy better so he knows what to expect (fun fact: this man would later become Tobey's stepdad, his name is Alex). Scoops has the phone on speaker so Tobey can hear

After a bunch of oddly specific questions:

Alex, on the other end: ...Are you a friend of Claire's boy, Tobey?

Scoops: ...

Alex: ...

Tobey: ...

Scoops: Bye! (hangs up in panic)

Tobey: SCOOPS!

Scoops: He was on to us! I panicked! What was I supposed to do???

Tobey: NOT THAT! YOU MAY AS WELL HAVE SAID YES!

Scoops wrote an article about WordGirl. He didn't see anything wrong with it...Becky did...

Becky: How could you say that about me!?

Scoops: I didn't think you'd care!

Becky: Well I do!

Scoops: I'm sorry, Becky. I didn't know you felt so insecure about this or I never would have written it, I promise!

Becky: Insecure! I am NOT insecure!

Scoops (raising an eyebrow): ... define insecure

Becky: ...

Scoops: ...

Becky: I'm leaving! (leaves)

Tobey is in the park reading, Violet is also at the park, doing an art show. She walks up to Tobey all sad and sits next to him

Violet: Hi..

Tobey: What's the matter?

Violet: Someone came to my art show and said he thought all my art was terrible...

Tobey: ...Who in the world would say such a thing???

Violet: That guy over there...

Tobey: You know he's probably just jealous of how talented you are and is masking his insecurities behind rude comments

Violet: ... You really think so?

Tobey: Oh yes, I used to do it all the time..I still catch myself doing it to be honest

Violet: Well now I feel bad for him..

Tobey: Well there's nothing you can do about him, so if I were you I'd just go and continue your art show like normal

Violet: You're right Tobey! Thanks! (leaves for her art show)

Tobey: (pulls out his remote) Insult my dear innocent friend? Not on my watch

Becky and Violet talking about Pretty Princess

Becky: I mean...I know none of it is canon but it's still a good idea right?

Violet: Becky! This is the best AU idea I've ever heard!

Becky: (gasps) I'll write fanfiction for it and you draw fanart for it?

Violet: YES!

Becky and Violet: (Excited screams)

Tobey, now officially having given up crime, is doing community service (of his own volition) to make up for his past actions. Becky, Scoops and Violet come up

Becky: How's community service going?

Tobey: It's awful! But I'm glad I'm doing it

Violet: Want some help?

Tobey: No, it wouldn't feel right

Scoops: Well, can we just sit here and keep you company then?

Tobey: ... Of course!

In high school, Violet got into acting and often performed in school plays. Her first play ever she invited all her friends to come see, and of course they were happy to watch her have fun on stage! However when they saw the play it was....horrendous. Worst thing they'd ever seen. After the play was over Violet happily came over to ask them what they thought of it. Important note: Violet and Scoops were dating at the time

Tobey, seeing Violet coming: What do I do??? I can't tell Violet it was terrible! It would break her heart! But I can't lie to her either! That's wrong!

Becky: Tobey, relax, just do what I do

Violet: Hey guys! What'd you think?

Becky: you looked like you were having so much fun!

Tobey and Scoops: Yeah you did!

Violet: I was! But what did you think of the play itself?

Becky: ...Well...honestly you guys mispronounced so many words I couldn't really enjoy it. I mean it's not your fault, no one uses those words anymore but you know...I know how they're pronounced and can't stand when words are pronounced wrong so...

Violet: Oh that makes sense! We'll work on that! Maybe you can tell me how to pronounce them!

Becky: Sure!

Violet: Tobey what did you think?

Tobey: Um...I wasn't really a fan of the genre so I probably didn't enjoy it as much as I could have

Violet: Oh, what kind of genres do you like?

Tobey: ....a consistent one...

Violet: (laughs) You're so silly Tobey! Scoops! What'd you think?

Scoops: ... Um... I loved it of course! I mean, you were in it! And I love you! So how could I not love it!

Becky, having learned from the WordGirl stuff, later told Violet the truth and explained that she didn't like the play at all and only liked that Violet seemed so happy doing it. Violet took this well. Tobey and Scoops however...:

Scoops: PROBLEM PROBLEM PROBLEM!

Tobey: What?

Scoops: The school paper wants me to review the school play! I can't say it was good, that goes against my oath as a reporter! But I can't say it was bad either, I already told Violet I loved it!

Tobey: Ask someone else to do it

Scoops: No one else has the time to take on any more assignments! What am I gonna do?! I don't wanna upset Violet!

Tobey: um...uh...could you post it anonymously?

Those actions eventually lead to Scoops and Violet breaking up (don't worry, they did get back together years later)

Scoops took his and Violet's break up particularly hard, and Tobey tried to cheer him up by finding weird things happening in the city for Scoops to write about. It didn't help a whole lot, but Scoops appreciated Tobey trying to cheer him up. Meanwhile Becky, who by this point all her friends knew she was WordGirl, essentially tried to fix Scoops and Violet's now ended relationship, and between trying to help them, school work, hero work and family life, she ended up stretching herself a little too thin to the point that all her friends had to do an intervention and tell her to stop because it wasn't good for her.

I've mentioned before that Becky's necklace in Word Up in significant and special to her. This necklace was actually made by Scoops, Violet and Tobey. Note the fact that her friends made it isn't the reason it's so important to her, but it is sweet they took the time to make it for her.

For one of his birthdays Tobey invited his friends to a demolition derby. When his friends said they thought it odd he'd be into that, he stated it was his new outlet for seeing destruction now that he was no longer doing crime.

Hmm that's all I have for now! If you are wanting more and have any particular questions or ideas, feel free to send more asks! If they are a little more specific I'll probably get to them a little sooner

#wordgirl #word up #becky botsford #tobey mccallister #violet heaslip #todd scoops ming #scoops ming

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hashtagdex · 4 years ago

Note

ok ok angst 18 and/or fluff 11 for nurseydex?

thank you so much for these! have Both prompts!

“Leave! Me! Alone!” and “I think I’m in love with you”

Usually, Nursey prides him on being a chill guy, but right now he feels like he's going to lose his mind.

He skips the tenth song in the past minute, Tango's knee bumping into his under the table for the third time. It's not like it matters, though. He can hear Tango, Whiskey and Chowder's conversation about last night’s Falcs game against the Devils clear as day even through the music.

His head is throbbing from squinting down at his notes to try and decipher them, his hand is starting to cramp up as he finishes another page, and he can’t get any damn peace.

With a sigh, he puts his pen down, takes his glasses off, and squeezes the bridge of his nose. Studying in the Haus kitchen really wasn’t his brightest idea, but people would’ve come up to him at the library to talk to him and he wouldn’t get shit done upstairs either.

All he wants is to make it up to his room, crawl under his blanket, and not come out again for the rest of the week. But he can't do that, because he has more than twice as many notes left to copy as he's already gone through.

"Woah, Nursey," Tango starts as he wrestles open a protein bar, and the noise of the struggling wrapper grates even more on Nursey's nerves, "you okay? You look really unchill right now."

Tango's knee bumps against his again. Nursey's head snaps up to look at him, scowling as he forces out, "No, Tony, I'm not fucking okay. I have about a million more pages to do, all of my music fucking sucks, and I can still hear you guys through it! And then you just keep fucking knocking into me!"

Chowder reaches out to touch his forearm. "Nursey—"

"Please just leave me alone!"

The moment the words are out of his mouth, Tango’s expression crumbles and Nursey’s heart sinks. Chowder draws his arm back with a sigh. He knows he has no right to snap at Tango, but now the words are out there and his frustration is still running sky fucking high.

Chowder sends him a hard look as he herds the Tadpoles out of the kitchen. He’ll apologize to Tango later, once he’s calmed down, but right now he's stressed and annoyed and there’s still a never ending pile of work left for him.

He swallows the guilt that rises up, slips his glasses back on, and returns to the next page of notes.

He gets about half a page in before he feels strong hands touch and then squeeze his shoulders in a way that's grounding instead of grating.

Dex. It has to be. No one else really knows how to help him when he's overwhelmed like this.

Nursey pulls out one of his earbuds and turns to face Dex. "I really have to get this done, man."

Dex takes his hands off Nursey’s shoulders—Nursey kind of, embarrassingly, misses the pressure—and fixes him with an unimpressed look. “How long have you been studying?”

Nursey’s eyes flick over to the clock on the wall and, wow, alright. “Uh, five hours, give or take?”

When he started, the sun was still up and the kitchen was deserted. Sometime around hour two or three, Chowder, Whiskey, and Tango showed and asked if it’s fine for them to join him. He grunted out a sure, deep in the notes he took in class earlier. Now it’s dark out.

Dex shifts his weight. “And how much of it are you actually absorbing?”

“Not much,” Nursey admits, crossing his legs under the table.

“Okay,” Dex says with a nod, “time for a break then, c’mon.”

“No, Dex,” Nursey protests, “I need to get this done.”

“Nursey, you’re stressed out,” Dex reasons, and yeah, no shit. “If you keep going now, it won’t do you any good. If anything, it’ll make you even more miserable.”

Nursey huffs. “When did you start making sense?”

Dex just sends him a small, soft smile that Nursey only ever sees when they’re alone. “I know your next exam isn’t until next week. You have time, I swear. You can finish tomorrow. Or later, at least. Self care, y’know?”

Nursey tries to say no, he really does, but in the end, he’s weak when it comes to Dex. Yeah, he’s surprised too. “Fine,” he finally relents. Dex’s smile grows and Nursey has to look away.

With a defeated sigh, he collects his stray pieces of paper, puts his pens back into his case, and lets Dex pull him out of the chair, up the stairs, and all the way into his room.

Inside, Nursey drops his stuff on his desk, then pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Do you want me to go? I can get you something for your headache or maybe a snack. I bet you haven’t eaten the whole time,” Dex asks, lingering by the door.

To his surprise, Dex has become one of the most calming presences in Nursey’s life. Dex and calming should be an oxymoron in and of itself, but here he is, craving Dex’s company. “Actually, could you stay?”

Dex’s smile returns. “Sure,” he agrees and steps back into the room as Nursey turns his attention back to his phone.

Nursey starts typing a text to Tango and out of his periphery, he notices Dex pulling something down from Nursey's bunk and settling down into his old bed.

"C’mere.”

Once he’s sent the I'm sorry for earlier, it wasn't chill of me to lash out at you like that, I’m just mad stressed right now to Tango, Nursey looks up. He finds Dex sitting against the board with a pillow behind his back, his legs spread apart, and Nursey’s comforter at the foot of the bed. "What?" Nursey asks as Dex pats the spot between his legs.

“I’m gonna help you relax, c’mon,” Dex says and pats the mattress again.

Nursey quirks up an eyebrow, but he drops his phone and glasses on his desk and makes his way over to the bed anyway. “Don’t massage my face, you’ll just clog my pores,” he warns.

Dex laughs and Nursey feels more tension drain from his shoulders. “I won’t, I promise.”

Once Nursey’s settled in, both of their legs under his comforter, Dex pulls him against his chest. “Is this okay?”

Nursey nods and leans more of his weight against Dex, pillowing his head near Dex's shoulder.

"Good," Dex says and Nursey swears he can hear the smile in his voice.

Dex takes Nursey's right hand into both of his and starts massaging it, applying just the right amount of pressure to ease the pain. Nursey allows himself to sigh and Dex begins to talk.

He launches into a story about his first time on his uncle's lobster boat, five years old and just barely taller than the traps. His voice is softer than it usually is, quiet and soothing close to Nursey's ear, as he tells Nursey about the gentle rocking of the waves. Listening to his steady heartbeat, it keeps getting harder and harder for Nursey to keep his eyes open.

Nursey lets him get halfway through the story, until Dex switches to his other hand, before he interrupts him.

"Dex?"

Dex pauses in the middle of his sentence and hums, but his hands don’t stop moving.

It gives Nursey the courage to go on. “Why are you always doing this? Helping me when I’m overwhelmed? How do you always know what to do?”

“I guess,” Dex starts quietly, it sounds like he’s hesitating, arranging his words carefully, “I guess I’ve been paying attention.”

The thing is, Nursey’s been paying attention too. He’s been paying attention to Dex frowning when he’s working at a particularly vexing project, to Dex’s hands kneading his stress into pie dough, to Dex looking so proud of the team after games and practices, to Dex’s loud laughter when Nursey or Chowder crack a joke, to Dex’s blush spreading across his whole face when Nursey winks at him.

Nursey thought he was the only one paying attention, though.

“Why?” he presses.

Dex’s hands still.

When Dex stays quiet, Nursey prods gently, “Dex.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Dex whispers then.

“You think—”

“No, fuck that,” Dex interrupts, voice louder and more powerful, “I know I’m in love with you.”

Dex doesn’t move to leave and Nursey is grateful for it. His heart is beating in his throat, the words of I’m in love with you too on the tip of his tongue, but they’ll have to talk about this. Like, have an actual adult conversation about their feelings and what they want it to mean for the future.

Nursey also knows he’s way too tired to have it the way they really need to, so he just tangles their fingers together and makes sure Dex feels his smile as he presses a kiss to the back of his hand. After he pulls back, he squeezes it, and Dex squeezes right back.

“Tomorrow,” Nursey promises.

“Okay,” Dex agrees easily, running his thumb along Nursey’s.

“Do you have any more dumb stories?”

Dex digs out a story about a prank he pulled on his older brother when he was ten for Nursey as Nursey drifts off to sleep.

#nurseydex #dexnursey #william poindexter #derek nurse #omgcheckplease #nursey is Stressed and in dire need of a nap #if you wonder how dex knew to show up? frog to frog communication #did i make the falcs play the devils bc bruins played them tonight? yes #i also edited a good chunk of this during the game and my god i forgot how stressful bruins hockey can be #this visual has haunted me for a Long time #i hope you like it!! :)#very sorry it took 2 and a half months #bi-ginny-weasley #answered #my writing

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nbrook29 · 4 years ago

Text

love you to the moon and to saturn

This is part 4 of my Sander in NYC ‘verse. I posted it on ao3, but recently I’ve also been posting my fics on tumblr so here it is 😌

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Warnings: mild sexual content

* * *

Saturday, 10:00

His sleep was anxious, mind too preoccupied with stress to allow him to get a proper rest. The wake up was even worse as mere seconds after he blinked the sleep away from his tired eyes the memories of last night crept back in, flooding him with worry and making his brain replay the argument over and over again like a broken cassette. And then he checked his phone only to find a string of messages and missed calls, all from Sander, causing his stomach to twist with nerves at what they were going to say.

His abrupt leaving had been a dick move and if Sander was pissed, Robbe knew he couldn’t blame him. So he stalled, finger barely swiping at the screen as he was unsure whether to unlock it and face the consequences or maybe throw the phone back on his bedside table and bury himself under the covers to wait for his courage to come back and for his nerves to settle.

Heaving a sigh, he chose option number one because it was the only rational one.

He tapped Sander’s photo, holding his breath without even registering it.

Two seconds later he knew.

He didn’t need to worry.

Sunday 13:00

Robbe hides another smile into his glass at the thought of yesterday’s evening, trying to focus on what Marie is saying. She’s talking animatedly about a guy she met at her new internship, hearts almost flowing out of her eyes as she swoons on the wooden stool and sips her black coffee. She’s the kind of girl who falls in love quickly and falls out of love just as quick. Across from where he’s sitting, he sees Fien and Lucas rolling their eyes at her exaggerated lovesick sighes making him snort in his marshmallow latte.

“Weren’t you obsessed with that lanky guy from Starbucks last week? What happened to him?”

Marie shrugs, tossing her long brown hair back from her shoulders. “I decided he was too old for me.”

“Didn’t you say he was 21?” Robbe interjects with amusement, remembering their group messenger chat he caught up with this morning.

“Exactly!”

They all start bickering about the appropriate age difference in relationships, Robbe watching them as he munches happily on one of the soggy marshmallows he fished out from his cup, trying not to giggle at Lucas’ scandalized face at Marie calling 21 old. Robbe knows from the many stories Lucas has shared so far that his own boyfriend is a senior at college so his reaction is even more entertaining because of that.

It feels good to be around them again, Robbe thinks to himself. He’s been canceling on them way too often those last few weeks and he still feels guilty about it. They’re a fun bunch, their bantery dynamic established since day one when they all chose the middle row to sit in during their morning classes, and then promptly spent half of it bonding over the outrageous occurrence that was the absence of a coffee shop on the campus. Not long after, Robbe also discovered that apart from the passion for filmmaking, they all also like skateboarding. After that, the rest was history.

They were for sure a nice distraction from Robbe’s intrusive thoughts in the beginning of the semester. He lucked out, finding his group, his people, so early on in his college journey. But at some point even their goofiness and honest attempts at cheering him up weren’t enough. Not since the news from Sander came that he’s staying in New York until February and since the thing with Jens.

Now, observing them from over his half-drunk coffee, lips twitching at some of the more creative but still lowkey insults Marie and Lucas throw at each other, he realizes he has really missed them. They’re like siblings, the two of them, constantly bickering and teasing one another, but it’s all good-natured and amusing to watch.

“Oh my god, let it go, children, for the love of god,” Fien cuts in abruptly, before turning her big expectant eyes on Robbe, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger and adding innocently, “I’d finally like to hear about Sobbe’s makeup.”

Heat rushes to Robbe’s cheeks and he scratches at the back of his neck, bashful all of a sudden. She’s the number one fangirl of his relationship, he has learned recently, but in a cute way, not creepy like Aaron sometimes used to be with his invasive questions. She always moans about being forever single, pouting at Robbe for some fluffy snippets and claiming in faux-seriousness that he owes it to the world to share them with others for being lucky enough to have a fairytale-like love story.

Robbe has never disclosed to them how unfairytale-like some of the details are because it’s not his story to tell. But he really likes her so he always indulges her, usually after a bit of teasing. And, sue him, but he’s proud of his relationship and the fact that he of all people can call Sander his boyfriend, so even if he brags a little, he thinks he has good reasons for it.

(He’s still kinda smug when he thinks about the time when he showed the three of them a photo of Sander, a pleased little smile on his face at their reactions and playful threats of stealing him for themselves.)

“Oh yeah, I wanna know too,” Marie agrees excitedly, scooting her chair closer to him. “You’ve been all smiley ever since you came over here so I’m guessing that hottie of yours did something right,” she ends on a teasing note, her waggling eyebrows leaving Robbe no doubts she expects some saucy details.

“Oh my god, stop,” he groans as he hides his face in his hands, his friends giggling at his embarrassment. “It wasn’t like that! We just… finally talked things out.”

Saturday, 18:00 (flashback to last night)

Robbe’s been gnawing on his bottom lip relentlessly, completely unaware, to the point it’s a few bites away from drawing blood. He can’t help but feel nervous, the cursor hovering over the 'accept' button as he's rolling his eyes on himself internally, telling himself to stop making a bigger deal out of this that it needs to be. There is a bit of embarrassment clouding his logical reasoning to be honest, embarrassment about his overreaction last night.

Was it an overreaction? He's still not completely sure, but it's not like avoiding the situation is going to magically fix everything between them. Even though he'd really like that. It feels so awkward to be in this position. Robbe doesn't know what the protocol here is. They bicker, quite often even. Fight a little too, stomping off out of each other’s room grumpily but only over stupid stuff, nothing like this.

He's walking on an unknown ground just hoping he's not going to make things worse. He desperately needs their dynamic back because he's already over it.

Not being able to share the most mundane every day stuff with each other over texts to joke about it, rile the other up or just vent about something stupid like their coffees not being hot enough on a given rainy morning sucks.

So he takes a deep breath and clicks on the button before he works himself into a never-ending second-guessing.

When Sander says a soft hi and smiles at him with the usual warmth in his eyes, something akin to relief courses through him from head to toe.

He gives him his own tentative smile and a short hi, pushing himself higher against the pillows. Before Sander can say anything more, he lets go of what has been weighing down on him the entire day.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, contrite. “About yesterday. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just logged off like that without explanation. And then ignore your messages,” he adds after a pause because that’s what he feels most guilty about. He knows he’d freak out if Sander just cut him off without giving him an opportunity to talk things out, would worry himself sick.

Sander looks conflicted, brows knitted together, like a part of him wants to reassure Robbe because it's in his nature, but the other part is genuinely hurt. Robbe doesn't want compassion. Not for that, because he knows he doesn’t deserve it. Causing Sander distress is the last thing he wants.

"Yeah, it did suck," he finally admits after a moment passes, and Robbe finds comfort in his honesty. It’s a good start. They won’t get anywhere with false niceties and pretending everything’s fine. Robbe tried pretending, yesterday and most of their calls before that, and it got them where they are now.

“I mean, I know you didn’t want to talk about your problems yesterday,” pausing, he scrunches up his nose a bit, “but maybe next time just don’t log off so abruptly so I know you’re okay?” his voice tilts on a hopeful note.

Robbe just nods, feeling shameful, hating that there’s not much more that he can do when he’s talking to him through his computer, and can’t exactly reach out to cuddle up to Sander’s side or kiss the underside of his jaw as a silent apology to then stay close for the rest of the evening as they heal together.

It’s frustrating and disheartening, but it affects them both the same amount and Robbe needs to remember that. Because the truth is, Sander didn’t exactly give him a legitimate reason to doubt him or to think he didn’t miss him. Those full of hurt eyes Sander gave him yesterday at the suggestion have been eating away at him all day.

Robbe just got swallowed by his own insecurities and let the little things that bothered him consume him all instead of, well. Communicating.

Sander was right yesterday. Of course he was.

He knows he has some more apologies to give.

“I’m also sorry for not telling you earlier how I felt,” he keeps pouring his heart out, “and for, you know, assuming you don’t miss me much, and-”

“Woah, hey,” Sander stops him before he can get himself deeper into the spiral. “Robbe, I fucked up too, don’t take it all on yourself.” He adjusts his laptop and Robbe can see his face clearer now, his eyes bloodshot and tired, a clear sign of a sleepless night, and the guilt clogs his throat even more now.

“I should have seen something wasn’t right.” When Robbe shakes his head and goes back to apologizing, Sander shoots him a pointed look that makes him shut up. “I should have, don’t deny it. You know, I took a long walk yesterday after you hung up, to clear my head, but also to get a perspective on our latest talks. And I felt so dumb for not realizing you were not doing okay.”

“Sander, I don’t expect you to read my mind,” Robbe tries to joke, but it falls flat even in his own ears. But he can’t bear those big regretful eyes on him. He doesn't deserve them.

“Baby, I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you the way you needed me to. Please tell me now? What’s been bothering you, hmm?”

Robbe scrubs his face trying to collect his thoughts, to find a concise way to get everything out of his chest, but he doesn’t know where to start.

“It may take a while.”

Sander makes a show of fluffing the pillow he placed against his back and getting himself more comfortable on his bed, sighing with contentment for a better effect.

“Look, I’m in my comfy clothes, got an energy drink on my nightstand, the computer battery is full and I told everyone I’m busy so they won’t nag me with anything. I’m all yours today.” He gives him an encouraging smile, fondness etched into every crevice of his face.

Robbe’s heart does a little skip at his words, Sander’s demeanor so comforting that he feels the last pieces of apprehension ebbing away, the need to vent overpowering the hesitation of showing his vulnerability.

“I think I just found myself overwhelmed with some things,” he admits quietly, picking at his nail, an absent-minded habit when he’s nervous, as he’s trying to find the right words. “A lot has changed in those last few months, almost all at once, and I kinda have trouble coping. And like,” he scoffs at himself, “I’m angry with myself ‘cause I should be enjoying most of it, being in college and majoring in something that I actually like, and it’s great, but I can’t help but focus on all the things that are different now, things that are not so great.”

Before continuing, he flicks his gaze to Sander for a second, only to then cast his eyes back to his lap. “The last two years with you were the happiest of my life, you know? After years of bullshit and constant misery and pretending to be somebody I wasn’t I-,” he sighs, bittersweet smile on his lips,”I finally found my person, you know?”

Sander mirrors his smile, but he’s frowning a little. “But you still have me,” he reminds him softly.

“I know, but it sucks when I can’t just, I don’t know, snuggle up you and forget about stuff. It’s all your fault, by the way, you’ve been too good to me and now I have withdrawal symptoms,” he pouts, and hears Sander chuckling on the other side of the screen.

“You have no idea how much I wish virtual hugs were a thing. And kisses, oh my god, kisses too. I’m so kiss-deprived. Once I finally get my hands on you, I won’t let you go for a week.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

For a short moment, Sander manages to bring a genuine smile on his face, but it quickly disappears when the reality sets back in. There are still almost four long months to get through. He watches Sander’s smile slipping off his face slowly and he knows they’re both thinking about it.

The boy sighs deeply. “You know, sometimes I feel like it was a mistake to-”

Robbe’s eyes snap to him. “No, no, no, don’t think that, it wasn’t a mistake. Please don’t feel guilty or something, that’s the last thing I want you to do,” he stresses. Sander still looks conflicted, and fuck, this is exactly what Robbe wanted to avoid.

“Hey, I’m serious. Look, you not being here is tough, but like I said, it’s just things piling up, changing. Shit like school work that has been piling up and me getting so stressed about the end-of-the-semester project because I still haven’t figured out the details. Plus people moving away, all of that makes it difficult for me to adjust. So don’t go thinking it’s because you’re the center of my universe or something,” he ends his rambling with a feigned-offended huff and Sander easily lets them slip into their usual banter.

“I’m not?! Wow, the things a guy finds out after being such a devoted and doting and loving boyfriend.” He wipes the imaginary tear, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Such a menace, breaking my heart in half on this lovely Saturday afternoon.” He purses his lips in offence and Robbe is grateful for Sander’s attempt to lift the mood, trying to be upbeat.

He feels a tug in his chest thinking about how if Sander was here, he’d be tackling him to the nearest surface to shut him up with tickles and loud smooches and playful jabs in the sides and how they would make much more noise than necessary, acting like the rambunctious teens they are.

That’s going to have to wait too. But he discovers this thought doesn’t hurt as much as it would have yesterday because their conversation right now, this opportunity to vent and Sander’s texts last night, all of it makes him feel better, helps him see he’s not alone.

“I love you,” he blurts out all of a sudden, and it’s something he’s wanted to say since he read his heartfelt texts this morning that almost made him cry in relief.

Sander blinks a couple times, surprised, but then his previously playful face melts into such a fond look it makes Robbe blush like it was the first time he said it.

The I love you too comes right away, soft and quiet, like he’s telling a secret, and it’s heart-stoppingly precious.

To keep himself from drowning in fuzzy feelings, he shoots him a private little smile and steers the conversation back to his friends, telling him how it sucks that it’s they all now live away and how unexpectedly difficult it is to meet up. Robbe’s used to basically having everyone at arm-reach.

“We do video call, obviously, but you know, Milan is all loved up with Ralph in Amsterdam and not that keen on leaving their love nest and Zoe and Senne keep traveling between Genk and Ghent, which with Zoe’s coursework and internship is already a struggle. I don’t think they’re doing that well, actually,” he winces, remembering their last conversation.

If during freshman year somebody had told Robbe who his best friends were going to be, he’d looked at them as if they had grown two heads. Because for real, Jana’s new friend and her roommate? And school’s fuckboy?

But life’s funny like that sometimes. Moving into their apartment in his sophomore year has been one of the best decisions he’s ever made. His number one best decision is currently frowning at him from his dirty screen.

“Oh, that sucks. Do you think they’ll work it out?”

Robbe sighs deeply, propping his chin on the heel of his palm. “Senne has been thinking about finding a job in Genk so I hope so.”

Sander huffs a laugh suddenly, shaking his head. “Wow, I wish I was in his place and there were only 2 hours between us, instead of a whole ass ocean.”

“Yeah, I think once you’re back we’re gonna have a master's degree in that long distance bullshit,” Robbe smiles at him wistfully.

“Ugh, never again though. You’re not getting rid of me, it sucks without you, Robin.” He sounds so grumpy Robbe can’t help the short giggle that escapes him, but deep down he’s happy they both share that sentiment.

They’re staring at each other now, enjoying the moment before Sander shoots him a knowing look. “You haven’t mentioned Jens.”

That sobers him up enough for the fuzzy feelings to disappear from his stomach.

Jens. There’s not much to talk about really. And isn’t that a punch-in-a gut kind of truth considering it was his best friend? Isn’t it heartbreaking that Robbe didn’t even feel like fighting for that relationship and there’s a nagging voice in his head telling him that Jens didn’t either? Just a regular heated argument was enough to finally cut that last string, to put a stop to a friendship that had been hanging by a thread long before. Not that they had noticed.

He felt awful, afterwards. More alone than ever before. But deep down he knew it had only been a matter of time. He just wished Sander had been there to pick up the pieces.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Robbe winces, going back to apologizing once he translates his feelings to words the best he can, hoping he made Sander understand.

The boy pulls a face at him, eyes narrowed as he pretends to give him a stern look. “Enough with apologizing today, okay?” He waits until Robbe nods, albeit begrudgingly, because it’s in his second nature to keep saying sorry when he knows he messed up.

He nestles against his pillows to get more comfortable as he glances to the window, registering that sometime during their call it got completely dark outside, November days getting shorter still. He can feel tiredness starting to creep into his bones, the nervous anticipation before their call he had endured all day wearing him down significantly.

There are still some things he needs to get out of his chest and Sander coaxes them gently one by one, listening to him moaning and groaning about his school course load and how he thinks he’s not skilled enough to come up with interesting ideas and being quick to cut him off and reassure him when Robbe’s words get self-deprecating. He’s so attentive and so patient with him, not even an ounce of judgement in his eyes that Robbe feels the pressure and stress that have accumulated over the last few weeks finally letting go with each word he pours out.

When the conversation eventually steers to Robbe’s uni friends and he admits sheepishly that he kinda ghosted them lately, feeling too blue to go out and have fun, Sander interrupts him mid-sentence.

“You should reach out to them, tonight.”

At Robbe’s unsure look, he continues, “If they’re as cool as you made them out to be, I’m sure they’re gonna understand you needed some time to figure things out.”

He then proceeds to cover his ears and whistle, refusing to talk more until Robbe caves and shoots a text to the group chat, trying to keep it short, but explaining things along the way and making amends. Sander’s very pleased with his persuasion skills, beaming at him when Robbe reads him the replies he gets from Lucas, Marie and Fien, wearing a small smile himself as he rolls his eyes at Sander’s smug face.

Sander then asks about his mom and it’s so sweet because he always makes sure to ask, and Robbe falls for him even more each time he does. He’s a bit reluctant when Robbe tries to make him talk about his recent days, keeps saying this call is not about him, but he gives in before Robbe gets upset about it.

Watching his eyes light up with excitement when he talks about his classes works like a balm for Robbe’s yearning heart, Sander’s genuine happiness making his own struggles worth it. It’s a nice reminder that he’s there to make his dreams come true and that it’s everything Robbe has wished for him.

When Sander talks about shenanigans with his friends, Robbe recalls the TikTok video he watched some days ago.

“Nice Michael Jackson moves, by the way,” he comments, trying to sound innocent, but it ends up coming out a little coyishly as he bites at his finger to hide his smirk.

Confusion clouds Sander’s face but only for a second. Then, his lips stretch in a wide grin and he looks very pleased with the confession. “Have you been stalking me, Robin?”

Robbe shrugs, a picture of innocence as he keeps peeking at him from under his lashes. “I might’ve seen a video or two. They’re all so thirsty for you in the comments though,” he adds, putting a note of faux-jealousy in his voice. He quickly noticed that Sander’s new uni friend is semi-popular on the app so his videos always get a fair share of comments. Ever since Sander appeared in them, the hoard of the guy’s fans has been declaring their love for Robbe’s boyfriend under every video. They mostly make him laugh, but sometimes he’ll roll his eyes at some of the raunchier ones, possessiveness that he didn’t know he had activating in his brain.

He waits for Sander’s cocky comment, but to his utter delight, he blushes deep red and scoffs.

“Shut up, it’s so embarrassing,” hiding his face in his hands, he adds, “All of my friends have been teasing me about it constantly.”

“Aww, poor you, being fawned over must be such a hardship, how do you cope?”

“Oh I don’t know, smartass, you can tell me from experience ‘cause I saw those comments under your old vlogs.”

Robbe huffs a laugh. “They were nowhere near as detailed as yours!”

“What can I say, I’m irresistible,” Sander quips back and yeah, there he is, Robbe’s favorite (cocky) dork. “If I’d known you’re my TikTok fan, I’d have sent you those videos right away so you wouldn’t have to waste your time searching for them."

Robbe sighs. “They are a nice window to your life there,” he replies offhandedly, not even registering the implied double meaning to his words, but the immediate change in Sander’s amused expression makes him aware of the slip.

Fuck.

“So you noticed. That I’ve been texting you less.”

Robbe drops his gaze, pulling the cover further up his body, feeling awkward again. He doesn’t want to make a big deal out of this.

Sander shifts on his bed, scratching at his head. “I felt like I was too much, you know? I wanted to share every silly thing with you, but then, well, it was something Josh said that I should,” he waves vaguely trying to find the right words, “cut back on my ‘running commentary’ ‘cause it’s probably annoying.”

“Tell Josh he’s stupid,” Robbe cuts in with a huff, grumpily beating his pillow into submission to make it more comfortable.

The corners of Sander’s mouth twitch at his comment, but his face remains sheepish. “I think he was mostly joking, but it got stuck in my mind and made me question every message. In the end, I didn’t send like half of them,” he explains softly, voice colored with poorly hidden self-consciousness. “I didn’t want to give you the impression I don't have time for you, I’m sorry.”

And, fuck. They’re both idiots.

Sander’s brows shoot up when Robbe bursts into giggles out of the blue, clearly surprised with the reaction. But at this point, it feels like the only proper thing to do.

“So basically we could have avoided this whole bullshit if we just talk about all this sooner,” he groans at the realization, burying half on his face in his pillow to hide his heated face because he’s a little embarrassed he blew things out of proportion.

There’s a visible relief on Sander’s face too, eyes crinkling as he regards him with a dopey grin, and Robbe knows.

They’re gonna be fine.

“Here I thought we were masters of communication,” Sander sighs with a faux-disappointment, leaning back to smile at the ceiling. “Fuck, no more of assuming shit, what do you think?”

And that sounds like something Robbe can get behind one hundred percent, more than ready to leave their misunderstandings in the past and just do better. So he nods, chin digging into his collarbone uncomfortably with the position he’s lying in, but it doesn’t matter, he’s too preoccupied with staring at his happy face and swimming in his fuzzy feelings.

“Prepare yourself for an onslaught of photos and messages, I’m not messing around,” Sander warns, smiling at Robbe’s soft okay. “You know, just a few days ago I ended up at Pebble Beach, it was cold as all fucks, but the view was just,” he imitates an explosion over his head and Robbe giggles at his childlike enthusiasm. Then, Sander’s face softens and becomes a little sad. “That place is so romantic that it made me feel like shit without you there,” he sighs, and Robbe can relate. “I’ll take you there one day.”

“You’re gonna take me to New York?” Robbe asks, doubt lacing his voice as he cocks his brow which makes Sander scoff in indignance.

“Hell yeah! You don’t believe me? What do you think I’m doing here everyday? I’m scouting the best places for dates, finding the best skateparks and checking out all the museums so I can be the perfect guide for you!” Sander throws his hands, a duh expression on his face, but there’s a wide smile brewing on his lips letting Robbe know he’s not really offended or anything. And, honestly, Robbe just melts with his words.

“I can’t wait, baby,” he sighs dreamily, rubbing his cheek against his pillow as he gazes at him with what he’s sure is the softest look.

Sander narrows his eyes playfully from above the can of Redbull he’s been sipping on. “Don’t ever doubt I’m gonna go out of my way to impress you.”

Robbe blows him a kiss that morphs into a huge yawn, eyelids growing heavy, forcing him to blink repeatedly to stay away which prompts Sander to tease him a little about boring him, but it quickly dies out and he’s just looking at him fondly.

“You should go to sleep.” He ignores Robbe’s melodic neeees, giving him a stern look that was probably supposed to be intimidating, but he looks too amused to keep it up. Once Robbe gets his promise they will see each other tomorrow, Sander sends him several virtual kisses and goodnights before logging off.

Robbe falls asleep with Sander’s beaming face flowing through his mind.

The sleep that comes is unsurprisingly the calmest he’s had in weeks.

Sunday, 18:00

Sander: And?

Robbe: And what?

Sander: Was I right?

Robbe: About?

Sander: About your friends

Robbe: Kinda

Sander: So it means I was 😎

Robbe: :):):) yes

Sander: Thank you sander

Robbe: Thank you sander

Sander: See, you're so precious everybody's in love with you and forgive you in seconds

Robbe: 🙄

Robbe: Precious srsly?

Sander: So precious 🥰

Robbe: Omg

Sander: Haha

Robbe: We're good 😊

Robbe: But I don't think they are in love with me 😂

Sander: They better not be 🤨 I'll fight them all! 🗡💀🧟🤺

Robbe: Dork ❤

Robbe: I think they a little bit in love with u though 🤔

Robbe: They've been babbling all afternoon about how cute you are 🙄

Robbe: A g a i n *yawn*

Sander: They have good taste 🤷♂️

Robbe: Nah they just don't know your annoying habits so that's why

Sander: 😮 I don't have any how dare you badmouthing me like that

Robbe: 🥴

Robbe: You never wash your coffee cups right away so they lay around

Robbe: You always tickle me when you want sth

Robbe: You're full of corny jokes

Robbe: You eat my fries when I don't look

Robbe: You hog the covers

Robbe: And I still remember that Wednesday when you ate my last bag of chips 💔

Sander: Okay first of all

Sander: Wow

Sander: Don't hold back 🥺

Sander: Second of all

Sander: I THOUGHT THOSE CHIPS WERE MILAN'S I TOLD YOU!!!

Robbe: That's what they all say 💔

Sander: You're unfair, I thought I made up for that lil mistake 🍆

Robbe: Well you did 🙈 but I still remember 😝

Sander: Also you love my jokes

Sander: They're awesome 🤧

Robbe: I'm just messing around 😘😘

Sander: 🥰

Robbe: But I swear to god if I have to listen one more time to Marie waxing lyricals about your 'perfect moles' I'm gonna 🤮

Sander: What haha 😂

Robbe: I mean they are but like

Robbe: Chill girl he's not your man 🤨

Sander: That's right cause I'm your man 😏

Robbe: And don't you forget that

Thursday, 3:48

Soft knuckles brush his skin, body arching into the touch that turns his muscles into jelly and sends liquid fire rushing through him. He’s overheated in the best way possible, seeking out Sander’s tongue, but the boy denies him access, smirk well in place as he pulls back, green eyes cloudy from lust. He’s staring at him like he wants to eat him whole and Robbe almost whimpers, bones melting and lids closing when Sander takes the tender flesh of his neck between his teeth and bites at it ever so gently, but just enough to make Robbe see stars.

He sighs as he feels a ghost of touch on his nipple, Sander leaving a trail of kisses down his sternum as he’s moving so teasingly slow to his final destination, and he doesn’t even hesitate, spreading his legs wider around Sander’s hips in a blatant invitation, blushing hot pink when Sander sends him a fox-like grin, mouthing at his inner thigh.

The details get fuzzy for a few seconds, Robbe blinking rapidly to get his surroundings and finding himself on top of Sander, and there’s an inkling at the back of his brain telling him something’s messed up about the logistics here. He decides to ignore it, focusing back on the moment and Sander’s glistening, kiss-swollen lips, on his eyes transfixed on the place where they’re connected, and he leans down, his tongue sweeping over his Sander’s bottom lip before he starts pressing soft, spit-slick kisses into his mouth. He pushes Sander’s hands up over his head and intertwines their fingers, arching his back as he takes over, the rush of pleasure almost overwhelming him.

“Ohmygod, Sander,” Robbe breathes into his mouth. His hands are trailing all over Sander’s chest and stomach now, squeezing and rubbing almost like he’s his personal plaything.

It’s not long before Sander’s warm hands draw him back towards his chest, lips ghosting along Robbe’s, teasing, always teasing, but not granting permission to properly meet, making Robbe impatient and whine in desperation only for Sander to grin wickedly at him. He feels nails dragging along his spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake, stopping at his cheeks, massaging them to his heart content while Robbe can only pant, rocking back and forth and biting his bottom lip to keep from coming.

He’s an oversensitive, blissed out mess, trying to keep his eyes open to take a mental snapshot of Sander’s lust-blown pupils as they watch each other, Sander fucking him slowly and punching the prettiest sounds out of Robbe’s mouth.

Hips stuttering, he drops back down on his elbows to crash his lips against Sander’s, feeling his body tensing he’s so close and-

Eyes shot wide open, blinking harshly against the darkness of the room. His first instinct is to reach out to the other side of the bed, snuggle closer to the source of heat lying next to him, but his brain catches up with his hands quickly and he stops himself mid-reach, groaning as he flops back on the bed, disappointed. He kicks his covers down grumpily, letting cold air hit his overheated skin, frustrated and too awake to go to sleep now.

Fuck.

Thursday, 13:08

*photo attached*

Sander: Good morning x

Robbe: Heeyy sleepyhead 😘

Robbe: You look cute

Sander: I had very interesting dreams last night

Robbe: Oh yeah?

Sander: Yeah I'm still affected by them 😏

Robbe: Stop it I'm at a coffee shop with the guys!

Sander: I'll have to tell you about it tonight then 😈

Robbe: Can't wait 😘

Sander: Today at 16 my time right?

Robbe: Yep :)

Robbe: You know

Sander: Hmm?

Robbe: I might have some of those dreams too last night

Sander: 🥵🥵🥵

Sander: Do tell

Robbe: 🙈

Sander: Now I’m super intrigued 😈

Robbe: How about I tell you tonight

Robbe: With details

Robbe: Lots of them

Sander: Tonight can't come fast enough 😩

Sander: Looks like I will though 😏

Robbe: Omg you're such a dork 😂

Sander: Did it get u hot

Robbe: No wtf 😂

Sander: ☹🥺

Sander: Kay

Sander: I have to get up now

Sander: I'm late 🙄

Sander: Robin it's raining I don't wanna go out 😩

Robbe: Haha get your pretty ass out of bed and go be a good student!

Sander: Ugh fine 🙄

Sander: I love you ❤

Robbe: ❤

Sander: Hey no, not an emoji, tell me you love me ☹

Robbe: Haha

Sander: Come on

Robbe: 🤐

Sander: Robbe

Robbe: Gotta go 😌

Sander: Okay then 😔💔

Robbe: I love you too idiot ❤❤❤💯

Sander: Yesss 🥰

Sander: Hey that's my emoji 😏 so you like it after all

Robbe: 😂 go to class!!!

Sander: I'm going I'm going

Friday, 19:00

Robbe checks his phone for time again, not wanting to be late for his call with Sander, but there’s still about half an hour until he should get going. It’s been a pleasant evening and a while ago he would have never called any time of the day spent with his father ‘pleasant’, but there he is. Enjoying his dinner not only with him but also with his girlfriend of six months that he met in July when the first attempts to salvage the relationship with his dad have been made.

And it’s all because of Sander. The fact that he’s even here speaks volumes about his skill of persuasion. If it hadn’t been for his boyfriend, Robbe would have continued to stew in his own juices and ignored his dad.

“How is Sander doing? New York is a jungle.”

Robbe huffs a laugh. “He’s good, he fits in well in the city vibe. But, um, he needs to stay a bit longer, till February actually ‘cause the school postponed the art show.”

He goes for another bite, frown on his face at the mere reminder of the change of plans.

“You probably hate it, huh?” his father questions.

His only response is to throw him a duuuh look, making his dad snort.

“You should visit him.”

Robbe looks up from over his spaghetti, expecting to see his dad laughing or winking at him, but both him and Margaux are looking at him with unsuspecting smiles, like the suggestion is the most obvious thing in the world.

He exhales a short dad in a laugh, glancing at them back and forth. “I don’t have a spare several thousand euros lying around waiting to be spent on a trip to New York,” he explains, slight exasperation in his voice.

“Oh I don’t think you’d need that much, Robbe,” Margaux smiles at him as she puts away her fork and reaches for her phone. “A few months ago I was actually backpacking with my friend through the East Coast and, wait, let me check, I have everything saved on my AirBnB account.”

Robbe gets back to his dinner as she scrolls on her phone, trying to squish the building hope in his chest away because even if it’s cheaper than he thinks, there’s still no way he can afford it; his equipment and books for school have eaten all of his savings.

“There it is! Look,” she scoots her chair closer to him, his dad peeking at the phone from the other side. “We stayed in Brooklyn for 98$ a day for a double bed, in Bedford to be exact and the conditions were really nice, plus the train station was close by. I’m sure you could find something half as cheap since it’s just you and the room can be tiny, just to sleep really.”

“That’s a reasonable price, I think,” his dad joins in, and then proceeds to ask her questions about her other expenditures while in the city and the flight prices, debating whether it’s better to drive to Frankfurt and take a direct flight from there or maybe decide on a layover flight from Brussels.

They are so into the planning and discussing the best options that they both jump slightly when Robbe speaks again, clearly forgetting he’s sitting right next to them, a picture of confusion.

“Guys, guys, wait. It doesn’t matter if it’s 1500 euros, or even 1000 euros because that’s still a 1000 euros more than I have to spend on a trip anywhere.”

His dad is so enthralled into checking different flights that he barely raises his head from above his phone, replying offhandedly, “I’ll pay for it.”

And, okay, no. Robbe gapes at him like he grew two heads, spluttering, because hell no.

“No way, I won’t take your money, dad.”

His vehement tone finally makes his father properly regard him and he sighs after a second. “Robbe, please don’t treat it as an attempt to buy you or your feelings.”

Straight to the point, his dad, always has been. It definitely is one the reasons for his refusal, but it’s not only that.

Robbe takes a deep breath to calm down. “Look, dad, it’s still lots of money. I can’t-”

“I’m many things, but irresponsible with money I’m definitely not. So if I say that I can pay for it, it means that I can afford it and it won’t affect me.” He gives him a pointed look. Before Robbe can argue again, he continues. “We can treat it as your Christmas gift. And next year’s birthday gift. And last two Christmases gifts as well.”

Robbe thinks about the packages he received from his father those holidays, and how he sent them back without even opening. Then, it definitely felt like buying his affection.

“You’ve been doing good at school, got into the university you wanted, you’ve been more responsible those last few years that I could’ve ever asked from you. Then you worked during the summer because you were adamant about paying for school stuff yourself. I think you earn it, Robbe. If you don’t want to go for other reasons, then that’s fine, but if it’s just about the money, please let me give you this.”

“New York is the kind of place everyone should visit at least one,” Margaux says gently. She has a warm smile that immediately made Robbe like her, despite really trying not to for obvious reasons. “And I think Sander would love for you to come visit too.”

Robbe has been torn before she spoke, but the mention of Sander reminds him of their videocall a while back, Sander telling him about places he was going to show him one day, being his guide and taking him to his favorite spots in the city. He can see it all vividly now when the opportunity is at his fingertips, can’t stop the excitement filling his body at the thought of seeing Sander before that dreadful February, even though he’s still now sure what to do.

While he’s been lost in his thoughts, trying to come to some conclusion, Margaux has been typing away at her phone. “Dates around Christmas are very expensive, but what would you say about, let’s say, December 8th? Til December 17th?”

Robbe wouldn’t even consider Christmas because there’s no way he would leave his mom alone for the holidays, but… the dates Margaux offered seem kinda perfect. His main project is due on December 4th so he wouldn’t have to worry about that and it’d be fine if he missed classes for those several days. Completely unaware, he finds himself making plans in his head before he even made a decision to accept his father’s money, but when his eyes snap to his dad’s, the small smile he gives him lets him know he already knows Robbe’s answer.

December 7th, 22:00

His excitement has been uncontainable the entire day, making him so giddy he had to cancel his regular call with Sander because his boyfriend would figure him out in seconds. And that’s the last thing he wants.

He’s still in shock that he somehow managed to keep it from him, planning a surprise in his head ever since he agreed to his dad’s help and working extra hard at uni to afford missing those 8 days of school. There’s apparently been one close call when Younes almost spilled the beans to Sander during their Zoom, but thank god for Yasmina who managed to effortlessly salvage the secret, improvising and coming up with an easy lie, leaving him unsuspicious of any ploy going on.

And Robbe just. He just can’t wait. He’s been counting hours since last week, his lips yearning to be kissed by his favorite person, body pining for touch and caress.

Lost in the dreams of their reunion, Robbe’s startled by a ping from his phone, lips stretching in a wide smile when he sees a notification from Sander’s instagram. He opens it, curious, melting when he’s greeted with a graffiti sign saying ENKEL LIEFDE, Sander’s style easily recognizable to him. Underneath, there’s a heart and his own handle and that shit never fails to make Robbe heart stutter. There’s a DM from Sander waiting for him as well, the same photo, but Sander’s caption says The High Line needed its own version of my love declaration for you, but unfortunately I couldn’t find enough space for a redo of your gorgeous face Robin :( So I did this :) You like it?

He replies with a bunch of red hearts, likes the post and adds another heart in a comment because there’s never too many of those. Then he flops back on his bed, a smile glued to his face.

Nineteen hours.

#wtfock

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remys-lucky-franc · 3 years ago

Text

Remy x MC (Queen of Thieves) - Kissing Prompt #14

This is the final ‘kiss prompt’ that I have on my request list. I’m sad 😔

I’ve really enjoyed working on these - this wee challenge got me back into the habit of writing regularly which is so nice as I’d been doing ‘sit and stare at a blank page’ thing for months, thank you for inviting me to join in folks.

Prompt #14 - a kiss so desperate that that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished - requested by lovely @mcira for lovely Remy

It’s a sort of a ‘good heist goes bad’ alt-version of the ‘first ever kiss on film’ heist from Remy’s S1. Also, I relocated it to Barcelona because Paris is too inland 😂

Written from MC POV.

Word count ~6100 (marked #long fic if anyone wants to filter it away - adding ‘read more’ isn’t reliable - don’t want to clog anyone’s dash x)

TW: drowning / broken bones

—-

[MORE]

[[MORE]]

—-

I curse, scrambling to keep my balance as the yacht lists suddenly to the right; my arms flailing, thrown backwards trying to grip at the doorway to stay upright. I collide with it and stretch my hands out to save myself as I hit the ground awkwardly: the crack from my arm makes me feel sick to my stomach. Furniture shifts. Decor clatters to the floor. Lights overhead flicker violently. What the hell was that noise? Something has gone very, very wrong.

—-24 hours earlier —-

Remy and I have spent well over a month on this con now, establishing and ingratiating ourselves with the obnoxious specimen that is Parker Vos. Ugh, even his name makes my skin crawl. Tonight we’ve met up for some drinks: Parker’s idea. Remy’s positioned himself between Parker and I at the bar of the plush cocktail lounge and I watch on as Parker charges his glass again, loudly laughing, clapping his hand on Remy’s shoulder. Remy clinks glasses with him, smile jovial, eyes full of myrth; swallowing down the liquor to perfectly conceal the bile I know is steadily rising within his throat. If there is anyone who dislikes Parker Vos more than I do, it’s Remy Chevalier.

Watching Remy work a con has been quite an experience. He knows instinctively what people want to see and hear - oftentimes even before they know themselves. He reads their body language with practiced ease and plays his part to meet The Gilded Poppy’s ends: a master of assuaging insecurities or fuelling egos. And I have never known an ego like Parker’s. He’s spent half of the evening acting like Remy’s his long-lost best friend, and the other half undressing me - his buddy’s ‘wife’ - with cold, soulless eyes.

Parker’s on his feet, moving to refill my champagne flute but I move my hand to cover the top, opening my mouth in a half-protest.

He grins at me as I giggle, “I shouldn’t - I’ve had too much already-”

Tutting and moving my hand away from the opening of glass, he pours another generous serving of fizz. I make a big deal out of rolling my eyes at him and exclaiming that’s he’s ‘such a bad influence’. Inside I’m far from smiling - I hate guys who behave like this.

Parker doesn’t seem to want to let go of my hand, his fingertips trace my palm casually, an amused, self-satisfied grin spread over his face. I feel colour rising rapidly from my chest to the tips of my ears and Parker raises an eyebrow at me - clearly delighted that he’s gotten me flustered - but it’s not his touch or his gaze that’s set me alight. It’s the way that Remy’s eyes burn into me from the next seat, flecks of gold and green glitter like fire and the mask he wears is one that I can’t quite decipher, the only clue to his true feelings being the exaggerated bob of his throat as he continues to pretends he’s oblivious to the game Parker’s playing. I simper as I extract my hand from Parker’s to toast our glasses. I know Remy and I aren’t really married, but Parker doesn’t: this guy really has zero shame.

Remy’s seamlessly switched to wearing a playful smirk as he reaches across me, clinking all three of our glasses together, “Ma cherie, the bubbles are going to her head, Parker - look how flushed she is!”

His free hand reaches up affectionately cupping my cheek and I feel myself sink longingly into his gentle touch, his daring wink makes my heart stutter as Parker drones on, boasting about only ordering the very finest champagne for his friends.

A short time later, Remy excuses himself and he hasn’t even reached the bathroom before Parker has slid across to occupy his stool, angling himself into me just a little closer than could be considered appropriate. He’s such a snake, it takes all my energy to fix a sweet, naïve smile on my face when his hand comes to rest on my arm; the way his touch makes me feel compared to Remy’s is so stark in its contrast. He’s watching my face intently as he smirks at me - always bragging about his wealth and possessions, always looking for any sign that he’s impressing me.

He’s acting shocked that this is is the first time I’ve been to this particular bar, given that it’s one of Barcelona’s hot-spots, wondering out loud why my husband never brought me here before now. I sip daintily at my glass as I tell him this sort of place is generally outside of our budget, that it would only ever be somewhere that we’d come for a special occasion. As Parker nods, sacharrine-sweet condescension guising as sympathy, I think about how Remy was absolutely right when he told me he reckoned Parker gets a real kick out of feeling like the Alpha Male in any room and I lean into it. He’s back onto his favourite brand of champagne again - asking me if I ever tried it before tonight. I have, but I play along, feeding the narrative, telling him exactly what he wants to hear: Remy would be proud of me.

I shake my head wistfully, “It’s really delicious, it’s such a lovely treat to have something so decadent. I can understand it being your favourite, Parker - you have really good taste.”

He sighs, looking almost troubled, “You know it makes me sad that a girl like you can’t have everything her heart desires. I’ve got cases galore of the stuff on my yacht. I have it brought in directly from the vineyard just outside Epernay.” He pauses, quirking his head at me, “Say, have you ever been on a yacht?”

I think about what Remy’s always tells me about the best and most convincing cons: they stick as closely to the truth as possible. I feel a genuine smile blossom as I tell Parker about the little sailboat my grandfather had and how I loved spending time on it with him when I was a little girl. I can hear the warmth in my own voice and I know my eyes are sparkling as I think about those happy memories, but rather than ask me anything about my grandfather or my childhood, Parker patronises me and uses it as another opportunity to play ‘The Big I Am’. He chuckles as he tells me that wasn’t a real boat, then reels off what sounds like the manufacturer’s sales pitch for his top-of-the-range, fully customised yacht. Heaven knows, I really want to punch this guy but I nod, maintaining my rapt expression - all wide-eyed and utterly impressed. As he drones on, my brain wanders thinking how the same conversation would have gone sitting here with Remy instead.

Parker’s incessant boasting continues as he drawls about how much he would love to take me out on his yacht, “I think a girl like you would appreciate a boat like mine you know, and you’d look so good on it.”

Such. A. Creep.

I shoot him a rueful smile before biting my lip and looking down at the my hands. My fake wedding ring sparkles up at me under the low lights of the bar. I can feel Parker’s beady eyes on me watching my every move like I’m his prey. I fidget with the golden band and I know I’m working this con just right when he pushes my hair back from my face and tips my chin upward to look at him. A grin slithers across his face - poison hidden just behind the facade.

“Why don’t you come on the yacht with me this weekend, baby? You can have as much of this champagne as you like - I’ll show you how you deserve to be treated.”

I don’t have to fake being a little taken aback: I know it’s been our objective to get on that yacht, and I knew we were reeling him in, but the blatancy of his invite still knocks me off guard!

I glance towards the bathrooms and see that Remy’s making his way back across the bar. I use the shock of the invitation to my advantage, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth as I tell Parker, “Remy’s coming back.” I look up at him through my lashes and breathe, “Parker, I- I don’t know? It sounds amazing, but honestly, I’m not sure I should.”

Parker searches my dark eyes, voice smug, so confident that his charms have me falling for him; that he’s so irresistible I’d be ready to betray my husband with him, “I think you do know. You just don’t want to hurt Remy, because you’re a sweet girl. But I’ll make a deal with you, I’ll send you the directions to where she’s docked - and I’ll be there waiting. If you come...”, his thumb brushes across my lips and I draw in a sharp breath while my stomach lurches. His voice lowers as he stares at my mouth, “I’ll show you, I can give you everything you ever wanted and more besides.” Then he’s gone, quickly slithering back to his own bar stool, duplicitously clasping and shaking Remy’s hand as he returns, as though he didn’t just proposition his wife.

—-

Remy fumed about the audacity of Parker Vos the whole way back to the penthouse last night. And I thought he disliked the guy before... I’d hate to see how Remy would react if someone hit on his real wife because he is the most convincingly jealous fake-husband I’ve ever seen. And his attitude towards our mark got even worse when Parker text me with the coordinates for Port Vell Marina.

When we got back we debriefed Nikolai on all of the night’s events and came to the conclusion that me going to the yacht alone was not an option. I argued that I was more than capable of handling him but Remy was adamant that Parker was an entitled creep and it was too dangerous. Nikolai agreed with Remy, and when I huffed that he would trust Vivienne to fly solo, I have never seen him look more annoyed. He barked at me that he it was his decision, his responsibility and he refused to put any member of his team into that position alone, especially where there was no option for back up if things started to take a wrong turn. As much as I hated to back down, I knew from his tone that he was being completely honest and I should apologise and accept his decision. We spent the rest of the evening coming up with our next move - for Remy and I to arrive at Parker’s yacht together.

—-

We arrive at the beautiful Marina at Port Vell the following afternoon and I don’t have to feign how impressed I am. It is absolutely stunning - the sun dapples the turquoise blue waters while every gleaming yacht is sleeker and grander than the last.

Remy’s holds my hand firmly as we head towards Berth 26 where Parker’s imposing yacht is docked. Our play this afternoon is that I was heading out to meet Parker when Remy asked where I was going and I couldn’t think of any reason for him not to come along that didn’t seem strange or suspicious.

We reach the yacht and I see Parker. The irritate look on his face is replaced in an instant as he wraps us both in a friendly hug, before ushering us onboard. As he takes my hand to help me up the steps, he shoots me a look as though to enquire ‘why the hell aren’t we alone?’ and I drop my head like I’ve never been more deeply disappointed by anything in my life.

Remy has Parker chatting about the spec of the boat and I fear that he may never shut up about it. We spend at least fifteen minutes in the cockpit as Parker regales us with tales about how he got rid of his last captain, how he prefers to sail the yacht himself: bravado, bravado, bla bla bla. My cheeks hurt from the fake grin I have plastered across my face but I really lose the will to live as he places a captain’s hat on my head, cracking a joke to Remy about female drivers and saying that if I felt brave enough, he might even let me steer later. As we walk I ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ where appropriate, observing the ostentatious gold fixings and over-the-top ornate features and I conclude that no amount of money can buy you class.

When we eventually reach the sun deck, Remy raises an eyebrow at me, “Oh. Ma cherie, I think we may be intruding. Parker, were you expecting other company?”

I cringe as my eyes land on the biggest bunch of roses I’ve ever seen, sat next to a bottle of the same champagne we were drinking in the bar last night. I know Parker is a truly awful person, but I can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. His cheeks colour lightly, clearly having forgotten that he paid someone to set this up for him and his mouth works hard at opening and closing for a few painful seconds before his brain catches up, “Oh! Those? A ‘friend’ of mine was supposed to join me a bit before you both arrived. Then I thought we could have some drinks together, all four of us.”

Remy nods, his expression neutral, but eyes sharp, “I see. And they’re running late?”

Parker shrugs, eyes flicking to look at me as he lies, “She cancelled at the last minute. Something else came up.”

Remy wraps his arm around me making a show of planting a soft kiss on my cheek, his sympathetic words juxtaposed to the smirk apparent in his tone, “How awful, cherie! Good old Parker’s been left in the lurch. And after going to all that trouble too!”

I grimace, “I’m really sorry to hear that, Parker.”

Parker clears his throat, snatching up the champagne bottle, “Yeah. I’ll grab us some glasses.”

As he heads inside, I dig Remy in the ribs with my elbow and hiss, “What the hell was that?!”

Remy grins, his face full of mischief, “It’s obvious that I suspect there’s ‘something going on’ here”, he gestures between me and the roses, “and if he knows I’m willing to fight for you mon couer, it makes you all the more attractive to him...”

Knowing he’s right, but hating it, I pull a face.

He winks at me, “Plus, your Remy wants to have a little fun making him squirm.”

—-

We set sail a little after two-thirty, and as the afternoon progresses, it’s not just Parker who Remy is making squirm. Aside from a variety of vaguely passive aggressive jokes about being stood up and dating disasters - at one point even suggesting that I set Parker up with one of my friends, Remy is possibly the most tactile he’s ever been with me during this con: his hand is either holding mine, on my knee, or touching my face at every given opportunity. And his strategy is working because every single time Remy’s hands are on me, Parker’s eyes follow.

I know it’s all for Parker’s benefit but I just can’t help the way my heart races when Remy touches me. I have to keep telling myself it’s just for the con - all a part of his strategy. I repeat it over and over like a mantra: ‘It’s just for the con. It’s not real. It’s just for the con.’ But it feels so good. So real. And I want him so badly my chest aches.

Part of my role on today’s outing is scouting out the location of the reel of film we’re trying to steal. We’ve long suspected that it’s somewhere on the boat. So while the men continue to drink and chatter, I excuse myself and head to the restroom, getting myself deliberately lost in the labyrinth below deck. I’m fascinated by the amount of cool and interesting stuff that Parker owns despite being an uncultured jerk. I wonder if he has any genuine interest in any of it at all, or if it’s entirely for bragging rights and to impress other people. The further I wander unrestricted, the more I marvel and get to wondering just how rich Parker actually is? It’s so unfair - he deserves pretty much nothing that’s aboard this floating treasure trove... Then I see it - a can of film inside a glass case! Surely that’s got to be it? I quickly check the case, it’s pretty secure and looks like it’s inbuilt to the wall cabinet?! That means... This must be it - the first kiss ever recorded... I beam from ear to ear as I think about how excited Remy is going to be when I tell him!!

Unbeknown to me, upstairs whilst Remy and Parker stand at the railing staring out into the glittering dark blue of the Med, Remy decides to lean a little further into his role of suspicious and jealous spouse. Remy subtly turns the conversation from small talk to a grilling before Parker even realises that he’s walking into a trap, “It’s a shame your friend couldn’t make it, Parker. It would have been lovely to meet the woman who’s caught your eye... You were hoping that the four of us could have drinks together, right?”

Parker nods, sipping at his glass.

“But you didn’t know I was coming?”

Parker laughs, deflecting, “Uh, yeah! I got that wrong, I thought you were otherwise engaged. I’m so glad you could make it, buddy! It’s always great to see you!”

Remy cocks his head to the side, face still open and neutral, like he’s trying to understand, ”Sure, I’m glad I could join. But I’m confused? You were planning on the four of us drinking that champagne, oui?”

Parker clears his throat, suddenly realising that Remy might actually not be as much of a mug as he’s taken him for.

Remy continues, face visibly hardening as he speaks, “From where I’m sitting, there’s no mystery lady, and no Remy? And - well - that just leaves you and my wife sailing around the Mediterranean with a bottle of champagne and a big bunch of roses, Parker.”

Parker waves his hands in the air defensively, “Wow, Remy!! Slow down - I don’t know where you think you’re going with this, but you’ve got it all wrong! You’re putting two and two together and getting five, my friend!”

Remy huffs a bitter laugh, his voice now dripping with sarcasm, “Oh, five? So, I have it all wrong that my wife was halfway out the door to come here, to be with you, alone? Seems convenient that your lady-friend mysteriously couldn’t make it at the last minute? The one I’ve never heard you mention before? Please, explain it to me, Parker. Because it looks to me like you’ve got designs on my wife.”

Parker stutters to find an answer for a second before the yacht jolts violent throwing both men to the ground.

—-

I cradle my arm to my chest and grit my teeth as I clamber back onto my feet, nausea washing over me as I try my best not to move it again. Safe to say I don’t need a medical degree to tell me I’ve broken something.

After that god-awful metallic grinding, groaning noise everything has gone quiet. Eerily quiet. The normal lighting has gone, but the emergency lighting has kicked in casting a sickly green hue all around. I need to get back up to deck, to see what the hell just happened, to make sure Remy is ok!

I move towards the stairwell door and as I wrench it towards me, I’m met with a rush of cold water that makes me gasp. Oh this is bad. This is really, really bad. I stare at the fast-moving seawater spilling in, swirling around my feet: I’m rooted to the spot as panic rises rapidly in my chest. I’m not sure how many seconds have ticked by when I hear the roar of my name. Remy. I can’t see him, but I scramble towards the sound of his voice and call out to him, “I’m down here! Remy! I’m here!”

Water is rapidly filling the space below deck as Remy throws open the door of the opposite stairwell. I lurch towards him, sloshing through it, my limbs twice as heavy and struggling to stay upright against the slippery surface.

Remy wades through the corridor to reach me, calling to me, “I’m coming, cherie, it’ll be ok!” As we meet somewhere near the middle his hands grasp my shoulders as he gives me a quick once over, brows knit together when he sees how I’m holding my quick-swelling arm, “Merde! Is that broken?!”

I wince, nodding. The pain radiates from my wrist making my fingers tingle and my head buzz. Remy’s got one arm around me and he’s gripping at the walls with his free hand, moving us steadily toward the stairwell he came down: the water’s around my waist now. He keeps repeating, ‘it’s ok, it’s going to be ok’, but his usually calm voice jitters and I’m not sure if he’s saying it for my benefit or if he’s trying to make himself believe it. We reach the stairwell and Remy ushers me through the door. The tilt of the yacht makes it hard to climb the steps, but we fight to ascend. Up. Up. Up. We’re around half-way when the yacht jolts unexpectedly again; Remy grabs for the wet handrail. Every muscle in his body strains to keep us in place, to somehow stop us from careering back down the staircase. I feel lightheaded from the way my damaged arm jerks as he catches us, but it’s better than the alternative of plunging back down into the murky water. We resume our climb and make it up the final steps together. Only at the top do I truly appreciate the incongruous angle the yacht lists to, and start to properly grasp just how deadly this situation could be. The sounds of straining metal and hissing water fill the space around us and I’m scared. More scared than I’ve ever been in my life.

 We scramble our way out across the badly-angled yacht, clinging to the side rails for purchase as we move: we need to get off this boat. It can’t end like this. In the time I’ve been below deck, dark clouds have rolled in and the rain pelts down on us. As we reach the side of the yacht, and I suck in a deep lungful of air trying to black out the pain radiating up and down my arm. Trying to steady my nerves, I tell myself, ‘We just need to get on the lifeboat, getting upstairs was the hardest part. Come on, you can do this - you can do this! We’re almost there, it’s going to be-’ But my silent pep talk is cut short and a sense of dread floods through me as I watch Remy surge around and around, a hand raking through his soaking hair as he yells,

“He’s gone! That bastard! He’s left us!”

Remy’s hanging over the side, trying to locate Parker, frantically yelling his name out into the dank, misty distance. But it’s useless - he’s long gone. Fresh panic rises as what that means sinks in: that snake abandoned us and the sinking ship. And he’s taken the only life vessel with him. A storm’s rolling in and visibility is poor. We’re miles from the coast without another boat in sight. The water this far out isn’t frigid but it’s still cool enough to catch hypothermia without the right clothing if you’re in it for a couple of hours - but we’re likely to end up in there because this yacht is going down. I’m not sure how long I could tread water for with a broken arm? I choke back my horror as I realise - I don’t think we can’t make it back. He’s left us out here to die.

Tears silently streak my face, mingling with saltwater and rain as I turn to Remy. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion, but he’s the most animated I’ve ever seen him, his hands shake and he curses as he pulls useless items out of one of the inbuilt storage benches, tossing them onto the wet deck behind him. I tug at his sleeve and rasp, “There’s no way off, is there?”

He refuses to meet my gaze, yanking his arm away from me, rummaging deeper, muttering in frustration. But I refuse to be brushed off, not now. I pull on his sleeve again, “Remy! Just, stop.”

He whirls on me, his usually smiling eyes are wild as they meet mine. And before I know what’s happening, right there on the deck of the part-submerged yacht, Remy pulls my face to his, mouth crashing desperately into mine. I gasp at the sensation of him. Rough. Passion-filled. Real. His lips spill every frenzied confession I ever wanted to hear and I’m losing myself in him; rapt in every disclosure. The surge of emotion between us swells my pounding heart and fills my soul, a choir with one refrain: he loves me, he loves me, he loves me. My body breaks into song - lyrical, a groan against Remy’s supple lips: rejoicing, dancing, dopamine-high. A million melodies, harmonies, symphonies rush through us as we cling to each other against the stormy saltwater spray. His touch is electric, flesh warm against my skin, deft fingers knotted in my hair drawing me close. Closer. So close I feel two heartbeats pulse through me like an orchestra nearing crescendo. I’m soaked, hurt and terrified, but somehow I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now, exalted in his arms. My hand grazes over the stubble of his jaw, the high arc of his cheekbone: my fingertips trace every beautiful feature, mapping every crease, every dimple. If this is our coda, if this is how it all comes to an end, I want to succumb remembering every delicious second of this kiss - every sensation, every caress, every breath, every poetic unspoken word. I want my finale to be us.

Our kiss ends breathlessly, foreheads touching: both unwilling to part. Remy’s lips hover over mine like we’re magnetised. Green eyes search my own as I gaze upon the face I love through dark lashes, trembling. I cover his heart with my palm - I never want to let him go. Seconds tick past that feel like minutes until he finally breaks away and I gulp for air. Bereft, my body aches for him.

Remy’s rifling through the storage benches again, items shoved from side to side, thrown and discarded until he shouts triumphantly, flare gun in hand! Slick hands fumble to load the cartridge, then he steps away from me, pointing the gun above his head, firing high. We watch as a plume of intense fire illuminates the sky above us, a beautiful SOS, hanging in the air before slowing making its descent to the sea.

The stricken vessel below us strains and groans as Remy grips my hand in his, “We aren’t going out like this, cherie.” He says it with such conviction and determination that my heart stutters. My eyes widen as he brandishes a life buoy at me. “There’s only one.”

Why am I not even surprised that a jerk like Parker went for 24-Carat light fittings but scrimped on the most basic of safety features and maintenance? I shake my head at Remy, fear threatens to take over, “We’re not jumping?!”

Remy exclaims, “We have to! We can’t stay on ‘til it sinks, it’s too dangerous! We need to get as far away as we can. We jump together and I promise you - I won’t let go of your hand. Ever.”

A cacophony of glass cracks and metal tears. Engineering crumbles against a backdrop of smoky neon as we huddle together at the edge of semi-capsized yacht. The rain continues to drive against us, and I understand why we have to jump, but I hate that it’s the only option. My hand fits inside Remy’s and he squeezes it tightly, my pulse racing as we count down together from three, two, one...

As we hit the cool water I cry out, pain seers through my busted arm and makes the world seem dull and frayed around the edges. Everything under water is eerily dark and silence rings in my ears as I plunge beneath the surface. In those seconds it feels strangely peaceful. Serene. My mind, so busy moments before, is a blank. An instant sedation - each nerve numb: novocaine static. It’s not until I feel Remy jerk at my hand, still firmly clasped in his, that my brain reconnects. I kick my feet and follow Remy upwards, breaking the waves, choking and gasping for air.

Remy manoeuvres the life buoy between us, urging me to take hold, his hand cupping my cheek, pushing back my sodden hair, eyes raking over me, “Are you ok??”

I cough and splutter as I nod my head at him: I’m fine. Remy doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue with me either. He takes charge of getting us away from the yacht and I follow him blindly, feeling dazed, clinging to the buoy. Minutes later, the yacht goes under and the rapid movement of air and water sends pieces of debris swirling perilously to the surface. A watery scrapyard bobs around us.

I feel sick and dizzy and I’m so cold that my teeth chatter. Did anyone see the flare? Is help coming?

Remy repositions himself and wraps both arms around me as we float aimlessly together. I don’t know how long passes, but every so often he says my name and jolts me to keep me awake, and honestly, I’m trying, but it’s so hard to keep my eyes open. I tell him I’m trying, but I feel so weak. Remy says I’m in shock and I mumble, “That kiss was the best shock I ever had.”

I feel the rumble of his laugh roll through me, and then his lips meet mine again. Soft this time. Slow. Tender. His affection washing over me. I feebly smile and sigh into his kiss, his comforting warmth surrounds me. His touch is like a beacon in the bleak dark water, keeping me focussed, keeping me hanging on. The situation is desperate, but at least I’m with Remy.

As time swirls past us, I drift in and out of consciousness, pulled back a final time by Remy shaking me, “Listen!! Do you hear it??”

I startle and try my best to concentrate... Then I hear it, a horn blasting. Someone’s coming! They must have seen our distress signal. Remy’s swimming as fast as he can for both of us, moving our heavy, tired bodies in the direction of the sound until we finally see it. Remy yells until he’s hoarse, waving, whistling - anything to attract their attention. As the vessel approaches, I hear rough, deep voices yelling in Spanish but my head’s too fuzzy and it’s fast for me to understand. Remy is shouting back at them to take me on board first, and before I know what’s happening, I’m being lifted - strong hands grip under my arms as I cry out for Remy. They pay me no heed: saviours in oilskins wrap me in a foil blanket, checking me over, patting my cheek and trying to get me to focus. I struggle to evade them, “Where is Remy?? You have to help him!!”

They won’t let me stand up, won’t let me move! Agitated tears blur my vision - they need to get Remy out of the water. And then I hear his voice and relief consumes me. The fishermen part to let him reach me, he’s dripping all over their deck and he looks so pale, but he’s here and we’re together. He throws his arms around me, clutching me close, face buried in my neck. We cling together, exchanging sweet words, counting our blessings and relishing the feeling of each other. A tall, thin, official-looking man wraps a second blanket around Remy’s shoulders, talking into his ear. Remy nods to him and then suddenly we’re moving below deck, to somewhere warm and dry. My good arm is around Remy’s neck, the other gentleman walks slowly by my other side, hand hovering to support me as my legs wobble. They give me a towel for my hair and large hooded sweatshirt to change into - Remy helps me and the feeling of the clean, dry fabric against my skin makes me want to weep. I sit on a makeshift bed, exhausted and sore, my head buzzing. Remy hasn’t changed into the fresh clothes they’ve left for him yet, he shivers but refuses to let go of my hand - as though he believes I might evaporate if he does.

The sailors tell us the coastguard is on their way and it won’t be long til we’re back on dry land. I can’t wait for my feet to be firmly on the ground. Remy asks the sailors for something to drink, but they refuse telling us not until we’ve seen a doctor. But Remy insists and eventually they relent, giving us both a large brandy. I swallow it down, grimacing at the taste and the burning sensation in my throat. I lie on my side, cheek pressed against a soft cushion, still shivering. I cradle my swollen arm to my chest, rising and falling as I struggle to come to terms with everything that’s happened today. Remy’s finally in dry clothes, and has crawled into the space by my side on the bunk. It’s going to take a while to process all of this, but it feels so nice to lie here with Remy gazing into my eyes, bodies close, to see him smile at me. I feel drained, but calmer now I’m near to him. I reach out and trace his features, just as I did when we kissed on the yacht a short time before; his stubbled jaw, the curve of his cheek, the little dimple that appears when he grins at me. He catches my fingers in his, and presses gentle kisses to my knuckles, to my palm, his other hand smoothing out my damp hair, “I promised you I wouldn’t let you go. We’re safe now. Your Remy’s here, it’ll all be fine mon coeur. ”

—- 24 hours later —-

Leon pats my knee affectionately as I slide into the passenger seat, “Ready to go home?”

I nod and thank him, as Remy reaches over the headrest, squeezing Leon’s shoulder, “Merci, Leon. Thanks for coming back to drive us.”

Leon meets Remy’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, brows tight, looking perplexed, “It’s no problem. I still can’t believe Parker just... Left.”

Remy shrugs, “I can. Proves he was exactly the type of person we steal from.”

I sigh and scrub my hand across my face, “Except we didn’t steal anything from him, Remy. Everything’s gone. The film, lots of really amazing sculptures and artwork - all at the bottom of the sea...”

Remy shrugs, “But you and I aren’t at the bottom of the sea, and that’s what’s really important mon couer.”

And I know he’s right, but it just seems like such a terrible waste, that’s all. I suppose it might be better that no one has all of those treasures, than Parker hoarding them all and appreciating none of them. It was all just ‘stuff’ to him, for bragging rights, nothing more. Someone so shallow didn’t deserve any of-

Leon makes me jump, chuckling while reaching across me to clip my seatbelt in, exclaiming, “What’s this?!”

I glance down and see black Sharpie ink on my plaster cast. I lift my reset arm, and tilt my head to see it properly, there are two doodled little stick-people, one with my initials, one with ‘RC’, surrounded by sweet little hearts and the words ‘je t’aime, toujours ’ scrolled below. I feel my heart leap as I take it in. My cheeks start to colour as I stammer, “I don’t know- I- When-?”

Leon’s sporting a knowing smirk at Remy’s reflection, “To commemorate your fake marriage? Because there’s no need for you two to pretend anymore, right?”

I twist round in my seat to look at Remy who simply leans forward and cups my face in his palms. His eyes gaze into mine, face open and honest - no mask in sight. He meets my lips with a warm kiss as he confirms, “I’m done with pretending.”

#long fic #queen of thieves #remy chevalier #lovestruck #tw: drowning #tw: broken bones

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argumentl · 3 years ago

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The Freedom of Expression - Ep 35 - If a giraffe wore a bow tie...?

K: Hi this is Dir en grey's Kaoru, with this week's episode of 'The Freedom of Expression'. Joe san, Tasai san, welcome. Joe san, whats going on with that mask?

J: This? It's good. It gets me in a supportive mood. If I wear this, if everyone wears these, who knows? Hanshin might move up? Miraculously from second place?

K: So if I wore one...

J: Yeah!

K: But because Im not wearning one..?

J: Its because you're not wearing one! Thats it!

T: Yeah.

Kami: No, no, its impossible.

J: Is it?

Kami: Yes, it is!

K: Yeah, I think its probably impossible.

Kami: Lets just get on with the show.

J: Ah, I see. Ok.

K: Ok, Joe...

K: Yes, today's news is this. If a giraffe wore a bow tie, would it wear it at the top or the bottom of the neck? There are many problems in the world that need discussing, but this may be a very important discussion to us. It was reported by the U.S. edition of the Huffington Post. The question was posted on Twitter on the 14th of September, 'If a giraffe wore a bow tie, would it wear it at the top or the bottom?', and lots of people have answered it. Well, we can't show you the images, but just to explain it simply, can I show my drawing?

K: Oh, already?

J: *showing his drawing* Well, Im not sure if it looks like a giraffe...

K: No, it does look like a giraffe.

J: Does it?

K: Yes.

J: Is it ok? Well, according to the Huff post article, a giraffe would wear a bow tie either here (*points to top of the neck*), or here (*points to bottom of neck*)

K: Either nearer to the face, or nearer to the body?

J: Yep. People have a lot of thoughts on the correct way a giraffe should wear a bow tie, and many people have been writing many reasons for their answers. For example, people who think it should be at the bottom say that if the giraffe tied the bow tie himself, his front legs would only reach up that far up. And as for the opinion of small kids, they say that humans wear bow ties at the top of their neck, so giraffes should too. Many different age groups have many different reasons for where the bow tie should go. Humans don't have a lot of choice because our necks are short, but its like, what do you think as for a giraffe with a long neck?

K: Hmm.

J: So we might as well each have a go at drawing a bow tie on a giraffe, and we'll give our reasons for where we put it.

T: Shall we have a go? Its pretty difficult.

K: Um, we only put a bow tie on it, right?

J: Yeh, only a bow tie.

K: Not with a shirt, or a suit or anything?

J: No

K: You put a bow tie with a shirt though usually, don't you?

J: Yeh, you do.

K: You don't often tie it straight onto your neck, do you?

J: You don't, right.

T: Yeah.

K: So, if you had a shirt...well, maybe im saying too much.

J: Yeah...

T: Lets just draw first.

J: Yeah, lets do the drawing first. You can use your ideas in your drawing...Hm, where to put it...

T: Its quite difficult.

J: Haha, Tasai's giraffe is kinda impressive anyway.

K: Its a Tokyo Sports-style giraffe, right?

J: Haha, yeah.

K: Its quite mysterious.

J: Haha, it is. ???*1 Even this shows our differences. I think mine's ok compared to Tasai's, haha....But where should it go...?

T: Its difficult, isn't it?

J: Kami isn't here so he can't draw one, but Kami, draw one in your mind. We'll ask you too.

Kami: Ok.

K: Is Kami artistic, I wonder?

J: Can you draw, Kami?

Kami: No, I can't draw at all. Its shocking.

J, K, T: Ahh.

J: Ok, shall we start with Tasai?

K: Shoudn't I go first?

J: I thought we could end with you?

K: Really? Im not gonna win to him, haha *points to Tasai*

J: If its winning or losing based on first impressions, ???*2

K: Ok, I chose bottom.

J: Oh, the bottom?

T: You're in the 'bottom of the neck' club? Why? What are your feelings?

K: If its too near the face, the balance will be off.

T: Ah, I see.

J: It looks stylish. Does it make the neck look long?

K: No, well, its long anyway, haha.

J: Ah, it doesn't make it look long, it just is long.

K: Well, I mean, it could also wear it half way up.

J: Ah, I see.

K: I just thought its probably best not to have it too near the face.

J: Ah, I see. Well, as for me, the bow tie looks terrible, but..

T: Is that a bow tie? It looks more like a stick! It looks like its wearing a dumbell on its neck!

J: It does look like a dumbell, but my idea was to put it at the top.

K: Is that a collar? haha

J: It ended up looking kinda like a collar. I have the image of it being closer to the top. If its at the bottom, its close to the body, but I feel like a tie should be on the throat. Where is the throat on a giraffe??

T: Yeh..

K: Hmm, yeh. Im not sure.

J: I don't know either, but I put the bow tie at the top.

T: I see.

J: Ok, Tasai..

T: Well...(*holds up his drawing*) I put a very big bow tie on the neck.

J, K: Haha.

T: At the top of the neck.

J: Ah, at the top?

K: Where is that animal from? haha

Kami: Its pretty good.

J: Look at the eyes!

K: Haha

Kami: You're good at drawing.

T: Can you see it Kami?

Kami: Yep, I can, I can.

K: The artistry...

J: Should we make this into a tshirt?

T: Hahaha.

K: This would be pretty good on a tshirt.

J: It would, right?! You know that alien thing by the artist Daniel Johnston? Its like that.

T: Really, wow! That kind of highly acclaimed work?

J: It could go on a tote bag!

T, J: Hahaha

Kami: Isn't the neck on this giraffe a bit short though?

T: Well, its because the bow tie is so big, the neck looks short.

K: No, its the face that makes the neck look short.

Kami: The face is too big..

T: There's a reason for the bow tie. If you put a big one here, it really stands out. It just screams, 'Lets have a party on the savannah!'

J: Ah, I see. Its for a party?

T: Yeh, this big one is for parties, and when he's trying to seduce a woman, he has this more subdued one at the bottom..

K: This depends a lot on the circumstances!

T: And a woman will see this small bow tie, and think, 'Ah, he's so stylish'.

J, K: Hahaha

T: So this small one is to attract the ladies.

J: I see.

T: The big one has more personality.

J: Like, 'Its me!'

T: Yeah, like 'Im here! Number 1 in the savannah!'

J: And the little one is for the women?

T: Yeah, at night he'll take off the big one, and just wear the small one...and while they're having drinks, she'll think, 'Oh, how stylish'.

J: I think Tasai's picture has a big impact, right?

K: Yeah, its good.

J: I feel like this is the first time I've seen a drawing of yours, Tasai. Even after doing this show for so long...

T: Yeah..it shows my personality.

J: Ahh, its great.

K: So, it seems like wearing it at the top is common.

J: At the moment, yeh. What about Kami?

Kami: I think bottom.

J: Ohh, bottom? Same as Kaoru.

Kami: It seems like it would get in the way if it was at the top.

T: Ahh, yeh. In a practical sense.

Kami: It wouldn't be nice getting his neck caught on something. If it was a regular tie, it would strangle him, wouldn't it?

T: Yeh, thats right.

J: Well, yeh.

Kami: So I think bottom is better.

T: Well, a bow tie is pointless to start with, so I thought, like ultra flashy.

Kami: Its because a giraffe's neck is long, as to why people are worrying about this, right?

J: Yeah.

Kami: So if it were an elephant, for example..It would be, 'Where would you put a nose piercing?'

T: Where would it go? Wouldn't it just be at the hole?

K: Well, it would have to be if it was a ring type. It would get really clogged up if it was further up *3

J: Haha, agh it would! So, how about this? Could people write comments on youtube?

T: Oh, like 'My idea is.....'. But isn't this better? (*Points to his own paper*) Its loud.

K: It looks kinda childish to me. At the bottom looks more mature.

J, T: Ah, yeh.

Kami: It would get dirty when he eats.

T: Haha

Kami: If he spilled his food....at the top.

J: Well, yeh.

K: Well it would get dirty at both ends in that case, haha.

T: You're right, it does look childish at the top.

J: Well, it is a hot topic on twitter.

T: I wonder if any conclusion has been made about this? Im interested.

J: Yeah. Well, I read a while ago about this 'missing link'. So, a giraffe's neck is long, right? And they havn't discovered any animal that had just a medium length neck, have they?

K, T: Ahh

J: So according to the theory of evolution, the neck should have become longer over time, bit by bit. But a missing link animal with just a medium length neck hasn't been discovered. So one explanation is the neck became long all of a sudden.

T: Ehh?

J: Normally, it should get longer bit by bit, right? By trying to reach food higher up. If the food lower down is all gone, and there is a lot of competition, the neck should have grown longer to reach food higher up. But that would mean reaching higher places little by little. So there should be some animal with a partially grown neck according to evolution, but it doesnt seem like there is. So some people are saying it might have changed all of a sudden.

Kami: There are things like that for elephants and stuff, aren't there? With partially grown trunks.

J: Well, there probably isn't, right? I don't think there are any elephant fossils like that.

K: But there was so many different types of animals alive in the past, right?

J: Yeah

K: Unrecognizable ones, looking like they came out of manga.

J: Yeh yeh yeh. So, from those we have left the ones that were able to adapt to their environment. And its said that giraffes developed their long neck trying to eat food from the top of trees, due to competition with other animals.

T: It looks that way, but after what you just said, im not sure now.

J: Its interesting. Like, we don't know if it was a sudden change caused by a virus. Like now we have coronavirus. Did a new creature emerge from that kind of situation?

T: Joe, you know a lot.

J: No no no.

Kami: I have the feeling it was made by a god.

K: But not this one, right?

Kami: No, I can't make anything. Nothing at all, at best I can talk. My talk isn't worth anything recently either.

J: But god is said to be the creator, right?

Kami: Yeh, thats a more serious god.

J: Don't you have anything?

Kami: No, nothing.

T: I feel kinda sorry for Kami.

K: Yeah, me too. Born with the title 'Kami/god', and he can't do anything..

Kami: I have no abilities at all.

K: Ok, well, lets end here this week. Please subscribe. Thank you very much.

Kami: Please dooo.

J, T: Hahaha

*1, 2 Couldn't catch.

*3 Not entirely sure here.

#dir en grey #the freedom of expression #tfoe #kaoru #薫 #Samotherium major #no missing link

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acaseforpencils · 3 years ago

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Lars Kenseth: Part Two.

A couple of months ago, Lars posted on social media that he had switched from working digitally to using traditional tools. That very rarely happens—in fact, it’s usually the reverse! So I asked him if he would be willing to do a follow-up on his 2018 Case, and give us an update on his drawing tools!

Bio: Hey there! I’m Lars. I draw cartoons for The New Yorker, Alta and Air Mail. I started cartooning professionally in 2016, and promised I would only stop until our nation’s deep psychological wounds have healed. So, never. By day, I write comedy for TV, usually my own stuff. Currently, I’m developing an animated half-hour TV show called I Hate Mondays for Amazon.

You can always pick out my cartoons because I draw people as neckless blobs. They go by as many names: lozenge people, weeble wobbles, egg people, potato people, thumb people, etc. I know them only as my children. That’s not to say that I don’t have my favorites...

Find this print here!

Tools: A bit of a prologue here. I grew up with Microsoft Paint and Corel Draw and every other god awful digital drawing platform from the ‘90s. And while I was no stranger to pens, pencils and good ol’ paper, I just kept coming back to digital formats. Weirdly, it felt more native to me— AND, if I screwed up, I could always hit undo. So, MS Paint led to the Adobe suite which led to Procreate on my iPad, and that was how I drew everything I did for The New Yorker. Then the pandemic hit. And long story short, I decided to dip back into the ink well, as it were. To try my hand at the analog drawing, now that I had the time. And it was the best decision I’ve ever made.

I’ve experimented with a lot of different tools, but I’d say my go-to drawing implement is my Koh-I-Noor Radiograph pen. I have a few different nibs - a .25 and a .35 - and that’s pretty much how I do all my inking. It’s kind of a challenge, to be honest, and I can’t say that I’ve mastered it. But if you’re patient with it, you get great results. I use Koh-I-Noor Rapidraw ink, but I think I might switch it up to their Ultradraw line. Rapidraw is supposed to dry quickly, which is nice, but it also means you’re more likely to get a clog in your pen, which has definitely happened to me.

I’ve become obsessed with charcoals. I love the dark, moody atmosphere you can create, which, juxtaposed with my dumb, whimsical looking thumb people, makes for a funny contrast. It’s surprising. And comedy is all about surprising people. I currently use 2B, 4B, and 6B charcoal pencils for shading and a mono zero mechanical eraser for highlights. For highlighting bigger areas, I use kneaded rubber erasers, which have been my friend ever since I picked up the Blitz Cartooning Kit when I was in 4th grade. I also use charcoal sticks, which I apply via paintbrushes. That allows me to get those nice overall light grays that are great for therapist offices, hospitals or cloudy days.

Another tool I have that comes in handy — these little two fingered gloves I got on Amazon. They’re made of... spandex? Something like that. Just search charcoal drawing gloves. I use one on each hand, and it really helps with smudging. I’m a smudgy kind of guy as it is, so I probably shouldn’t even be in this medium, but too late!

Tools I Wish I Could Use Better: All of the tools I just mentioned? Haha. It’s true though, I’m still only just getting to know charcoal. Still, even though I’m not an expert, if I had to choose one tool to be better at, it’s the Koh-I-Noor pen. It’s just so finicky, haha. That said, the quality of line you get is really nice. So I’m sticking with it for now.

Tools I Wish Existed: Honestly, I don’t think I have a good answer to this question. The thing that I like about drawing on paper as opposed to digitally is that you have to get really creative if you screw up. And that’s okay. You’re going to make mistakes and smudge and maybe even make a catastrophic mess. That’s part of the fun, if you ask me. It’s not about having the perfect tool for the job, it’s about coming up with ways to wrest the look you want out of the tools you have. Sure, sometimes it can feel like getting blood from a stone, but in the end I think it makes you a better artist, which is a big reason why I went back to drawing on paper to begin with. When you’re digital, you have a million different off-ramps to get to where you need to go. No mistake is fatal. And while that’s scary when you start out drawing outside of a digital platform, you get better with practice. So I embrace every screw up. It’s okay to start over. Because you’re not really starting over, you’re taking another step towards being a better artist.

Find this print here!

Tricks: I don’t know if this is a ‘trick,’ exactly—it might not even be a good idea—but one I’ve been doing is using my x-acto knife to scrape off areas that have become too charcoal heavy. I use a light touch, brushing the blade against the area I want to lighten up, but being careful not to slice the paper. Or your finger. Be careful out there.

Misc.: If you work digitally, I would encourage you to experiment with analog drawing utensils. At the very least, it’s humbling. Given how depressed most artists are, maybe this is bad advice, haha. But, in my opinion, it’s healthy to knock yourself down a peg or two! Especially if it’s in the service of making yourself a better artist.

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#lars kenseth #lars kenseth new yorker #how to draw new yorker cartoons

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disastermages · 4 years ago

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this is chapter 11 of the au where xiao xingchen raises wei wuxian

The sound of sniffling wakes Xiao Xingchen, sleep still clogging his every movement as he sits up and tries to focus in the darkness of their tent. "A-Ying?" He calls, his voice barely above a whisper and his stomach sinking when he hears the sniffles muffle themselves against a pillow or a blanket.

"A-Ying, what is it? Did you have another nightmare?" Getting his knees underneath himself, Xiao Xingchen crawls over to where his five year old nephew lays, curled into the tightest ball he can manage. It doesn't take Xiao Xingchen long to untangle Wei Ying from the blankets and settle him in his lap, his cheek pressed against the top of his head.

Wei Ying’s nightmares had become less frequent since the first few months after Xiao Xingchen had found him, but they still crept in faster than Xiao Xingchen could ever hope to stop them. "Do you want to tell me about it?" He asks, starting to rock Wei Ying in his arms, and only stopping for a moment when he feels two small arms wrap tightly around his neck.

"It was the dogs again." Comes Wei Ying’s voice, muffled against his uncle's sleeping robe. Xiao Xingchen almost sighs in relief, but stops himself. The dreams about the dogs were easier to comfort Wei Ying after. Xiao Xingchen could remind his nephew of his promise to keep him safe from them. It was the other nightmares that made him feel as though he were grasping at straws.

There were nightmares where Wei Ying saw his parents die all over again, nightmares where they'd asked him for help and he hadn't been able to do anything but stand and watch, and nightmares where his uncle was taken from him just like his parents were.

Those were the nightmares where Xiao Xingchen could only hold Wei Ying tight against his chest afterward, the words of comfort dying in his throat before they'd even fully come to life.

But the nightmares about the dogs, those were the ones Xiao Xingchen could soothe away easily.

"There aren’t any dogs here, A-Ying.” Xiao Xingchen says, “Even if there were, I’d keep you safe, just like I promised. Remember?” Xiao Xingchen would make that promise over and over again, he wouldn’t shy away from it if his nephew needed to be reminded.

He threads his fingers through Wei Ying’s hair as he feels him nod, tightening his arm around him and humming quietly. “Can you tell me why you didn’t want to wake me up?” Xiao Xingchen keeps his voice patient as he speaks, it’s less of a scolding and more of a rehashing of something they’d talked about before, plenty of times before.

The answer that comes is muffled against his robe, quiet enough that Xiao Xingchen has to pull back and ask his nephew to repeat it, blinking in the darkness as he tries to make out the words. “An auntie from the last village told me I should deal with them by myself.” There’s quiet guilt buried underneath Wei Ying’s words and Xiao Xingchen feels himself frown for just a moment, arms tightening protectively even though he knew that auntie was miles away now. That woman had no right telling his nephew what he should be dealing with by himself.

Xiao Xingchen wants to tell Wei Ying not to listen to her, and the words almost come out before he can stop them, his mouth pressing closed as he forces himself to think of something better to say. “A-Ying can ask Uncle Xiao for help whenever he needs it.” Xiao Xingchen says, calling a ball of light to his fingertips and holding it between the two of them so Wei Ying can see his face. Wei Ying needed to understand that, no matter what one auntie or another told him, Xiao Xingchen wouldn’t go back to sleep until he did.

Watching Wei Ying look away from him, Xiao Xingchen prepares himself for just that, letting the ball of light fade back into darkness as he brings a thumb up to brush over the apple of his nephew’s cheek. “Uncle Xiao,” Wei Ying says, finally looking up at him again and Xiao Xingchen feels himself smile in relief, “can you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.”

It had only taken a little nudging for Wei Ying to accept his help that night, but now, Xiao Xingchen sighs as his eyes come to rest on his nephew’s back. He and Lan Wangji had been fine earlier, but they’d started bickering when they’d started making camp for the night, or, perhaps, they’d just gotten as close to bickering as Xiao Xingchen had ever seen them.

He’d talked himself out of intervening, though now he wished he didn’t, his eyes leaving Wei Ying’s back for only a moment as Song Lan comes to stand at his elbow and Xiao Xingchen uncrosses his arms to let their fingers intertwine.

“Lan Wangji’s fine, he’s just gone off to meditate.” Song Lan murmurs and Xiao Xingchen feels himself relax just a little bit. He’d felt guilty asking his husband to look after Lan Wangji, but he would’ve felt even guiltier if he hadn’t done anything at all.

“I haven’t talked to A-Ying yet,” Xiao Xingchen says, watching his nephew draw his knees up to his chest before he tosses a rock into the lake they’d set up camp across from, “I haven’t seen him like this in a while.” Frowning, Xiao Xingchen lets himself lean his weight against his husband, trying to think back to the last time he’d seen Wei Ying so worked up and flustered, and the only thing that comes to mind is a nighthunt that they’d gone on years ago.

Song Lan readily supports Xiao Xingchen’s weight, and normally, that would be enough to make Xiao Xingchen relax completely, but his shoulders hold their tension now. “They’re both frustrated, we keep losing Xue Yang’s trail, and none of the talismans and spells they’re coming up with seem to be working when it comes to tracking him down.”

“Lan Wangji told you that?” Xiao Xingchen asks, raising an eyebrow as he looks back at his husband.

“I’m only guessing.” Song Lan says, shaking his head, though there’s a tired smile on his face now. “I heard them arguing while they were setting up the tents, though.”

Still, the explanation made sense, even if it was just a guess based on a single point in an argument.

“He’s going to get maudlin on us if I let him stew any longer.” Xiao Xingchen says finally, squeezing his husband’s hand quickly before he takes a step forward, though he’s pulled back.

“Go easy on him, this is their first argument.” Song Lan says softly, his eyes flicking up to their nephew and then back to Xiao Xingchen, the two of them trading knowing smiles as he finally lets Xiao Xingchen walk away from him.

The grass near the lake is high as Xiao Xingchen walks through it, long, green blades of it wrapping around his ankles and pulling as he walks in deeper. He’d be covered in grass stains if he wasn’t careful, but that’s not what matters as he comes to stand beside his nephew, a hand on his shoulder before Xiao Xingchen sinks down next to him.

“Are you alright?” Xiao Xingchen asks quietly, looking over the lake, and only looking over at Wei Ying when he nods, though he doesn’t uncurl from where he’d brought his knees to his chest. Part of Xiao Xingchen expected his nephew to still be worked up and flustered, but there’d been another part of him that worried over red eyes and tear streaked cheeks. It's almost a relief when the only thing he finds is quiet sadness spread across Wei Ying’s face.

For a few moments, neither of them say anything and Xiao Xingchen closes his eyes, trying to guess the answers to any questions Wei Ying might have for him and hoping he won’t have to pull any of them out of thin air. “Is Lan Zhan okay?” Wei Ying asks quietly, letting his chin rest on his knees as he glances off to the side, and despite himself, Xiao Xingchen feels himself smile.

“I asked your Uncle Song to check on him,” Xiao Xingchen answers, wrapping a blade of grass around his finger and then releasing it without pulling it out of the ground, “he’s meditating.” If Wei Ying was already asking about Lan Wangji, they were off to a good start, it meant that he’d already worked through most of the upset while it was fresh, rather than letting it settle and build up.

“You don’t have to tell me what you argued about, but do you know why you argued?” Xiao Xingchen asks carefully, allowing himself to look at Wei Ying directly once he spreads his legs out in front of himself again. Knowing why they fought wouldn’t be the end of Wei Ying and Lan Wangji’s problem, but it would be a good place to start, it might make the rest of it easier to work through.

“We were just talking,” Wei Ying sighs, blowing his bangs out of his face and Xiao Xingchen nods, ready to follow whatever trail his nephew laid out for him, “but then we started talking about how to revise a tracking spell I found in one of Gusu Lan’s books, and Lan Zhan said that one couldn’t be revised and then we were arguing.” The longer Wei Ying speaks, the more he deflates, bringing his knees back up, but only to rest his elbows on them before he rests his chin on his palms. “I didn’t even mean most of the stuff I said.”

Nodding along, Xiao Xingchen lets his hand settle on Wei Ying’s back, rubbing slow circles as he listens. They’d revised a few of Gusu Lan’s spells already, though there may be different rules for different spells that hadn’t come into play until now, Xiao Xingchen couldn’t be sure, but if that had settled right along with frustration that was already present, Xiao Xingchen could see how that might lead to an argument.

“Did Lan Wangji tell you why that spell couldn’t be changed?” Xiao Xingchen prompts, and Wei Ying only deflates further.

“Maybe?” Wei Ying says, his eyebrows pulling downwards together as he turns to look at his uncle. “I didn’t really hear him.”

“You mean you stopped listening.” Xiao Xingchen says, a wry smile of his own spreading across his face as Wei Ying looks away from him again sheepishly. “You can be stubborn about your ideas, A-Ying, you and I both know that, and maybe I’ve been too lenient about it, but Lan Wangji knows the Lan sect’s spells better than any of us. You should at least try to listen, even if you have ideas of your own.”

Wei Ying takes the scolding without argument, though he does look down into the grass, and Xiao Xingchen lets him, though he does squeeze the hand on Wei Ying’s shoulder, wanting his nephew to understand him clearly.

A beat of silence passes between them before Wei Ying leans his shoulder against his uncle’s, “What if this makes Lan Zhan think I’m not worth all the trouble?”

“If it only takes a single argument to wear a relationship down, it wasn’t meant to be, A-Ying.” Xiao Xingchen says seriously, taking his hand off of his nephew’s shoulder and reaching up to pinch at his cheek instead. “Even if you were trouble, you’d be worth every bit of it.” Xiao Xingchen certainly thought so, and he wouldn’t hear anyone who dared to say otherwise.

“That’s not fair, you and Uncle Song never fight.” Wei Ying argues, the last bit of sadness melting off his face and dripping away into a pout that makes Xiao Xingchen chuckle.

“Uncle Song and I don’t fight often.” Xiao Xingchen corrects, leaning his shoulder back against Wei Ying’s as his smile turns fond. “A long time ago, Uncle Song and I promised each other that we wouldn't argue in front of you or A-Qing, neither of us have broken it yet.” There had only been a few fights in the years they’d been together, but they’d disagreed more times than that, there was a difference, and Wei Ying would learn that soon enough.

Wei Ying opens his mouth to say something else, but the sound of someone else walking through the tall grass stops him as he turns to look, and Xiao Xingchen turns too, his eyes meeting his nephew’s for just a moment before he stands up.

Lan Wangji stands behind them with his arms held behind his back, looking at neither of them until Wei Ying says his name softly.

“Be kind to each other.” Xiao Xingchen says to the both of them as he walks past Lan Wangji, though he still turns and gives Wei Ying a quiet look and a smile before he walks back to camp, the grass parting willingly as he moves through it.

Song Lan is only half focused on preparing dinner by the time Xiao Xingchen kneels down next to him, his shoulders relaxing when he turns and sees Wei Ying and Lan Wangji sitting close enough that their knees touch, though their hands are in their own laps, for now.

“Lan Wangji came back a little while ago, but I asked him to wait until it looked like the two of you were finished.” Song says, passing Xiao Xingchen a knife and his own pile of vegetables to chop. “Is everything okay?”

“They’re both as stubborn as each other, they’ll be fine” Xiao Xingchen says, and Song Lan snorts and shakes his head, their shoulders brushing while they work.

“How come it’s not working?” A-Qing asks, frowning as she sits at her brother’s side, watching as he balls up another piece of paper and throws it over his shoulder. It feels as though she’s been watching him work on the same spell for hours now, but nothing changed no matter what Wei Wuxian tried.

“I don’t know.” Wei Wuxian groans, thumping his head back against the tree they’d been sitting in front of, his brush still held between his fingers as A-Qing grabs at the piece of paper he’d thrown away and straightens it out before she holds it too close to her face to focus on the individual characters.

It wasn’t unusual for A-Qing to go through the pieces that her brother threw away, he missed things sometimes, important things that A-Qing had to pull on his sleeve just to show him. She’d done it while they were staying in Cloud Recesses too, even if she had to sneak into his classes.

“Xiao Qing, you aren’t supposed to be here.” Grandmaster Lan had tried to tell her, staring right at her as she sat next to Wei Wuxian’s desk.

“Xiao isn’t my surname.” Quiet laughter had risen up in the classroom when she’d said that, but A-Qing had only stared stubbornly back at Grandmaster Lan.

“Song Qing-” Grandmaster Lan tried, but A-Qing interrupted him.

“Song isn’t my surname either.” Grandmaster Lan was starting to turn red and her older brother put a hand on her arm then, trying to give her a warning look, but A-Qing refused to budge. Her fathers had told her that she could choose any surname she liked or none at all, and she hadn’t decided yet.

“Grandmaster,” one of Wei Wuxian’s friends had spoken then, the fan in his hand raised before he stood, “we call Brother Wei’s sister Qing Sanren from time to time, she doesn’t seem to mind it.” A-Qing had smiled when she heard the title, sitting up a little straighter. Her brother’s pretty friend was nice, even if Grandmaster Lan had given him a look for talking out of turn.

For a long while, Grandmaster Lan had watched her silently before he sighed and lifted a hand to pull at his beard, “Qing Sanren, if you’d like to attend classes, you should do so with your own agemates.” He’d sounded tired as he spoke, but A-Qing still frowned at him, her mouth already opening with a rebuttal.

“Grandmaster, my sister often likes to watch me work, so she understands more than most cultivators her age, she won’t be a disruption, I promise.” Wei Wuxian had lifted three fingers off to the side then, his other hand still on A-Qing’s arm, even as she nodded along with what her older brother was saying.

She could sit quietly when she wanted to.

Grandmaster Lan had relented after that, either out of frustration or exhaustion, but A-Qing had been allowed to sit in on her brother’s lectures whenever she pleased. She’d even been provided with her own parchment and brush after the second time she’d attended.

A-Qing uses what she’d learned back then as she stares at her brother’s handiwork now, her fingers reaching out and tracing over a character that didn’t look quite right in its place.

“Xian-gege, what if you switched the characters?” A-Qing says suddenly, shoving the paper back into her brother’s hands as she pulls at his ribbon, hard enough to get his attention, but not hard enough to let his hair down.

Setting down his brush, Wei Wuxian takes the paper from his sister, leaning back to let her trace her finger over the characters she thought should be switched over, his tongue between his teeth as he tries to visualize what it could make the spell do.

The original spell had only been meant to slow someone down, but what A-Qing was suggesting would stop someone completely, and the idea of it brings the smile back to Wei Wuxian’s face.

“We have to tell Uncle Xiao and Uncle Song how good you’ve gotten at spellwork!” Wei Wuxian says, ruffling A-Qing’s hair with the hand that has the least amount of ink stains on it, his smile wider than it’s been since he’d started having trouble with the spell.

“You could’ve seen it earlier if your calligraphy weren’t so messy.” A-Qing teases, watching closely as Wei Wuxian starts drawing out the spell anew, perching up on her hands and knees to watch the changes as he makes them.

For a moment, A-Qing thinks her older brother will let the teasing slide, but then he pinches her cheek when she’s least expecting it, making her sit back and stick her tongue out at him.

“We need to test it first.” Wei Wuxian says, holding up the parchment as soon as he’s finished with it, he looks proud, but mischief is already sparking in A-Qing’s eyes.

“Can we use a paperman this time? Please? I’m getting better at them!” She’s tugging at his sleeve now, trying to get him to stand up.

“It’s your spell isn’t it? We should test it however you want.” Wei Wuxian laughs, allowing his sister to pull him up and over to the area they’ve decided to use as a practice area. Normally they would wait until either of her fathers could watch them, but just once wouldn’t hurt anything, right?

“Ready?” Her older brother grins down at her, his fingers already glowing with red energy as he starts drawing out the pattern of the spell.

“Ready!” A-Qing answers, digging around in her sleeves for one of the papermen she’d carefully cut earlier, though she wrinkles it just a little when her brother throws the spell out onto the ground, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she infuses the paper with some of her spiritual power before she sends it out.

The papermen she made moved slower than Wei Wuxian’s, and the pace of it was even more sluggish as it wandered further and further into the spell’s web before stopping completely, the paper head turning to look at the both of them expectantly.

“It works!” A-Qing yells, bouncing up and down and pulling at Wei Wuxian’s robes until she’s lifted up into his arms, their grins matching.

“I have to go.” Song Lan says, already fully dressed and pulling his boots on. The distress signal from Baixue Temple had come in the middle of the night, waking them both with a start as it flickered and sparked before the message had been passed along.

“We’ll come with you.” Xiao Xingchen decides, pulling his hair out of his face quickly as he stands, moving towards the front of the tent to go and wake up Wei Ying and Lan Wangji, between Song Lan, himself, and Wei Ying, they could take turns flying with A-Qing, they wouldn’t even need to wake her. Song Lan’s hand wraps around his wrist before he can make it fully outside, his grip tight as he shakes his head in the darkness.

There’s a click in Song Lan’s throat as he keeps his hold on Xiao Xingchen’s wrist, his head shaking slowly. “I can’t ask you to do that, the kids might get hurt, you might get hurt.” They don’t have time to stand and talk about it, they barely have time to get dressed before they leave, but Xiao Xingchen doesn’t stop himself from shaking off Song Lan’s hand and putting both hands on either side of his face.

“We’re married,” Xiao Xingchen reminds his husband, thumbs stroking over cheekbones as he takes a step closer, “you can ask me for anything.” Both of Song Lan’s hands wrap around Xiao Xingchen’s wrists, his breath coming out shaky as he nods, leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together for just a moment as he closes his eyes.

“We have to go.” Song Lan repeats himself and Xiao Xingchen nods, stroking his cheeks one more time before he pulls away to change into his inner robes and throwing on his outer robes in a hurry as he leans out of the tent, calling Wei Ying’s and Lan Wangji’s names.

Between the early hour and the situation itself, the flight to Baixue temple is almost completely silent, save for A-Qing’s half awake objections to how tightly she’s held against Song Lan’s chest, though they only come out halfway before she mumbles herself back to sleep.

Xiao Xingchen had resigned himself to sneaking glances at his husband as they flew, wanting to reach out and take his arm, but stopping himself. It might break Song Lan’s concentration, it’s best if he doesn’t, Xiao Xingchen tells himself.

“Uncle Xiao, what’s going on? What happened?” Xiao Xingchen hears his nephew’s voice in his head, would’ve turned around to look at him, if he didn’t notice the paper man perched on his shoulder first. How did he not notice? He always noticed when Wei Ying sent him papermen before.

Looking back, Xiao Xingchen makes eye contact with his nephew and shakes his head slowly, refusing to lie to him even now. The distress signal had been vague, a panicked voice requesting Song Lan’s help at the temple and offering nothing else.

They could be walking into a trap for all they knew.

The sun has just begun to rise as they touch down in the city just outside the temple, Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen running into the safest looking in they could find and leaving A-Qing in the care of the innkeeper before the four of them are making their way towards the temple again.

No one guards the gates of Baixue Temple as they come to stand in front of the closed doors, their ranks closing on instinct now. Normally, they’d pass off some kind of order to Wei Ying and Lan Wangji before they went in, but Song Lan is pushing the doors open before Xiao Xingchen can think of something to say, the sight before them wiping away anything there might’ve been.

There are several cultivators dressed just like his husband laying in puddles of their own blood, still fresh enough to be red, their swords still in their hands as if they’d just fallen over. “Zichen,” Xiao Xingchen calls, his hand grabbing onto his husband’s sleeve. This was too cruel, too awful to be a random attack, but as they made their way through the temple, careful not to step on anyone.

“Who could’ve done this?” Xiao Xingchen hears Wei Ying ask, his question pressed into Lan Wangji’s side as they walk together. The question wasn’t his to answer, and Xiao Xingchen is grateful for it.

Baixue Temple had no enemies, they hadn’t even had a rival temple in years, Song Lan had told him that once, the attack made no sense.

“Grandmaster!” Song Lan calls, pulling Xiao Xingchen out of his thoughts as he pulls away from him and runs forward, dropping to his knees and kneeling down beside him.

Song Lan’s grandmaster is barely alive as Xiao Xingchen comes to kneel next to him, blood soaking into his robes as he struggles to speak, his hand gripping Song Lan’s robes as tightly as he can.

“Grandmaster, who did this?” Song Lan asks, his own voice shaky, his hand holding on too tightly to his grandmaster’s shoulder.

“A man named Xue Yang came here, he- he said that he had met you and wished to see what sort of temple this was.” Song Lan’s grandmaster coughs as he speaks, blood trickling out of the side of his mouth as his grip on Song Lan’s robes begin to loosen. “He began to attack after I came to speak with him, I thought- I thought…” Song Lan’s grandmaster doesn’t get the chance to finish before another round of coughing shakes his body, his hands scrabbling up and catching on Song Lan’s lapels.

“Zichen he is still- he is still here, you have to-” Song Lan’s grandmaster’s eyes widen as he looks at something just over their shoulders, cruel laughter beginning to fill the halls of Baixue Temple as thick, white fog circles their ankles climbing higher and higher.

“Close your eyes and cover your mouths.” Xiao Xingchen orders Wei Ying and Lan Wangji leaning down and covering his husband’s mouth with one hand while he holds the other in front of his own face.

A natural fog couldn’t come up that quickly, no matter the time of year, it had to be some part of Xue Yang’s plan, though Xiao Xingchen couldn’t figure out how.

“I’ve heard such great stories about the grandmasters of the bright moon and gentle breeze and the distant snow and cold frost, I just had to come find them and see for myself.” Xue Yang laughs and Xiao Xingchen turns his head blindly towards the sound, trying to focus on the spot where Xue Yang stood. “Such a disappointment that I could find one, but not the other, tell me Xiao Xingchen, does your grandmaster leave her mountain anymore? Or does she just sit up there like some boring old woman?”

Shuanghua begins to stir in its sheath, the quiet hum in the back of Xiao Xingchen’s head turning into a dull thrum as he forces himself to breathe through his sleeve. Xiao Xingchen wouldn’t allow himself to listen to Xue Yang’s words, even the most ambitious sects hadn’t been able to find Baoshan Sanren’s mountain, she’d buried it in wards, talismans, and spells years ago, long before anyone in this room ever walked the earth.

Turning his head to the side, Xiao Xingchen’s stomach sinks when Song Lan’s grandmaster’s breath finally stops, whatever had been in the fog choking him before he could suffer any longer, and then, he feels Song Lan pat his arm with a shaking hand, allowing Xiao Xingchen to pull his hand away and replacing it with his own.

Slowly, Xiao Xingchen eases Shuanghua out of the sheath, vaguely aware of where his nephew and Lan Wangji stand and where he’d last heard Xue Yang’s voice, even without being able to see any of them.

Without warning, Xiao Xingchen flings Shuanghua out in Xue Yang’s direction with the command to return to him. He isn’t aiming to kill Xue Yang, not yet, he’d only hoped to trip him, and from the noises and cursing he hears, he succeeds.

The fog clears once Xue Yang’s concentration is broken, though Xiao Xingchen opens his eyes slowly, still not trusting anything as he turns and looks. Wei Ying is already drawing out a spell, the characters rotating in a circle of red spiritual energy before he flicks it outwards towards Xue Yang.

“Such dirty tricks from such an honorable young master!” Xue Yang chides as he sidesteps the spell and launches himself forward, sword already drawn and aimed for Wei Ying and Xiao Xingchen feels his eyes widen.

He steps forward, but Lan Wangji is closer, drawing Bichen out of its sheath and blocking the attack, giving Wei Ying enough time to twist away and draw Suibian, the silver of the blade shining almost golden in the early morning light.

Leaning his weight forward, Lan Wangji drives Xue Yang backwards and Xiao Xingchen leaps forward, landing beside his nephew as they follow after them.

The steel of their swords screech as they clash against each other, Bichen bearing down before Xue Yang pushes Lan Wangji off and slashes out with his own sword in the same breath, catching Lan Wangji just underneath his shoulder before he flings himself even further backwards the grin on his face wide and wild.

“I thought all you Lans were too important to bleed like the rest of us do.” Xue Yang says, his eyes focused on the spreading red stain on Lan Wangji’s arm, his head cocked to the side as Xiao Xingchen and Wei Ying come to stand just in front of Lan Wangji, their swords drawn and ready to attack, even as Xue Yang flits higher and higher on the temple roof. “I only wish I could stay longer and see more of it, but there’s just so much to do.”

The three of them watch as Xue Yang leans backwards and allows himself to fall off the roof, a plume of black smoke rising up after him as he disappears, though knowing that he’s gone doesn’t make Xiao Xingchen loosen his grip on Shuanghua.

Breathing in deeply, Xiao Xingchen turns to face Wei Ying and Lan Wangji, his eyes landing on the stained sleeve before he looks at Lan Wangji’s face.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying says softly, reaching for Lan Wangji’s wrist and curling his fingers around it, a silent conversation passes between them as Song Lan comes to stand next to Xiao Xingchen, his fingers brushing against his husband’s hand as though he feared he’d be batted away. Xiao Xingchen grabs his hand readily and squeezes it tightly, watching as Lan Wangji shakes his head, his shoulders hanging low.

The two of them seem to come to some sort of agreement before long, looking at each other and Wei Ying nods one last time before they turn back to Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen, a quiet smile on his face as he turns to face his uncles.

“Lan Zhan and I may have come up with something to help with tracking him last night.” Wei Ying says quietly, the smile on his face cautious as he keeps his hand wrapped around Lan Wangji’s wrist, his thumb stroking back and forth over his pulse. “It’s an old hunting spell from the Nie sect, but Lan Zhan thinks we can modify it and make it work on a person, one of us has to get close to put it on him, though.”

Xiao Xingchen’s mouth falls open as he listens, his head shaking quickly. “Absolutely not, it’s too dangerous.” There were thousands of ways that plan could go wrong, and only a handful of ways it could go correctly, and knowing Wei Ying, he’d try and take the risk himself instead of letting anyone else even think about it.

“Three of us could distract him though!” Wei Ying argues, his eyes wide as he looks at his uncle, “I could make enough copies for all of us to have the spell on hand, and whoever gets closest can throw it out, it doesn’t have to be one person.” Wei Ying takes a step closer to him as he talks, looking off to the side and frowning. “We have to do something, Uncle Xiao, please.” Wei Ying is speaking loudly and quickly, his free hand gripping Suibian tight enough that his knuckles turn white, and Xiao Xingchen steps forward, sheathing Shuanghua and putting his now free hand on his nephew’s cheek, his thumb rolling over it slowly.

“You and Lan Wangji will have to show me that it can work.” Xiao Xingchen says carefully, his eyes heavy on his nephew’s face. “I won’t agree to this until I know for sure that neither of you will get hurt for no reason.” Xiao Xingchen turns his eyes onto Lan Wangji then, trying to press the same words into him as well as Wei Ying.

After a moment, they both nod and Xiao Xingchen lets himself relax, his other thumb swiping over Song Lan’s knuckles. If Wei Ying and Lan Wangji’s plan worked, they could see to it that Xue Yang was punished for this.

“A-Xian,” Song Lan says quietly, his voice still heavy as he looks at their nephew, “you were gathering firewood with me last night, and then you put A-Qing to bed, when did you and Lan Wangji have time to come up with this?”

Color spreads across Wei Ying’s cheeks and the tips of Lan Wangji’s ears as the both of them look away, refusing to look at either Xiao Xingchen or Song Lan now that they’d been caught.

Xiao Xingchen doesn’t stop himself from pinching his nephew’s cheek now.

#the untamed #mdzs fic #mdzs #songxiao #wangxian #xiao xingchen #wei wuxian #song zichen #song lan #lan wangji #wei ying #lan zhan #a-qing #xue yang #as usual the ao3 link and links to the other parts will be in the reblog to my main

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rotten-games · 4 years ago

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So um sorry for not really doing anything with th eblog this past week or so I’ve sort of been trying to work out some kinks in the game and finishing off some stuff I thought had been finished. This is beginning to be a very hefty chapter so have this thing from patreon that I almost forgot to post.

“So what has you all torn up these days?” Your dreams are interrupted by a figure, oh, so familiar, that lounges in the nothingness, his tattoos swirling and shifting around his body as if they’re one with the black void that stretches on forever. His eyes are half-lidded as if he doesn’t care yet as you slump down onto your haunches those same bright green eyes follow the motion with a certain stiffness you can’t help but read as concern. Your bones feel heavier in the void of the dream, and eventually you must sit down entirely or else risk a numbness sinking in. Still… having to do so chafes and some residual melancholy still lingers from when you headed to bed that eve. You think you see the man beginning to inch closer but you mention nothing.

Much to your relief he’s opted for at the very least a loincloth—you suppose he’s done so for the better part of your interactions—though he’s far more unclothed than he is clothed, even underneath all the tattoos. You can’t quite look at him for fear of staring overlong—though it has less to do with any carnal interest and more to do with the spectacle he makes. You were right though, he has inched closer since you sat yourself down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say instead of what you really mean, feeling the words niggling at the back of your skull. You want to lash out, want to lunge at him, but you know he wouldn’t let you and regardless he isn’t the cause for your anger. Instead of moving past it, one pointed brow raises on the man’s long face, a mole pulling up with his eye. You know that look. It’s one you’ve been dreading.

“Don’t give me that bull—don’t give me that, kid.” You know better than to question the stammer in the middle, he wouldn’t answer and he’s almost as stubborn as you are when he wants to be. No, instead you simply give him a glower and reap the benefits when you receive a snarl in return. You could almost mistake him for a feral animal were it not for disheveled look you almost know for certain must be purposeful. Why else would he look the way he looks? He’s a dream-being, surely he can look however he wishes. The loincloth conjured out of nothing must prove that he is. As he draws near, his mouth pulls into a grim line bracketed by a pair of dimples, crow’s feat now more obvious under his eyes. He looks aged from up close. “Oh, so you’re giving me lip now? I—” He swallows his anger in one motion, green eyes going dull as he processes his own thought. An eye twitches, and then his mouth does, before he finally goes slack. “Look. It’s clear you’re hurting. So what’s going on?”

Your dream guardian shifts uncomfortably in his place, hand twitching as if to reach out but ultimately going nowhere fast. As he chews on a stray lock of hair, you’re not sure why but you feel you can trust him. The irritation is beginning to itch in your chest, a hot sort of bile rising in your throat like the tears in your eyes. You feel… complicated—like you’re all strung up by each limb and they’re slowly being pulled out of their sockets. Something deep down hurts a little, but it’s an angry sort of hurt; the type that lingers and rots your insides. You distantly wonder if it will ever go away, if one day it will find its way to the surface and make itself known to others through your appearance alone.

If that day ever comes, you’re sure you’d be hollow.

You ultimately don’t answer, instead looking anywhere but at him because you’re afraid that if you do you might just spill every single one of your worries. And you can’t have that because you doubt he’d even care. A hand lands on your shoulder, like an awkward hold you might have on a crate of supplies, and bitten down nails dig into the skin. You’re met with a frown. There’s no real anger behind it, none of that fire your dream companion usually has reflecting back at you. No, instead in his eyes you just see your reflection. You’re the one who’s angry here, all tense muscle and creased brow, and it’s an ugly look. “Okay then,” He mutters, voice low and fumbling for the answers to questions you don’t know how to ask. Lips part as if to speak but then his jaw clicks shut again, his hand leaving your shoulder to instead squeeze angrily at his thigh. Green eyes quickly turn away and, with a bitter chuckle, so does the rest of his head. “Whatever. What bothers you will pass, eventually. If you’re an angry person you’ll find something else to be angry about but at some point it’ll just keep weighing you down until you can’t walk anymore.” He pauses, then appears to frown, “But… you’re just a kid. A bit of anger’s expected when some asshole shows up in your dreams all the time.”

The two of you fall silent. It’s not a comfortable silence; it’s an awkward one that clogs your lungs and stifles every breath. You’re not sure what to say and neither does he, an awkward shift momentarily turning towards you before he pointedly looks away. There’s a sigh, then a quiet mutter of something you don’t quite catch, but if it was important then your stranger doesn’t repeat himself. It hurts inside your entire body, your organs protesting the silence like an allergic reaction. A part of you wants to run, another part just wants to lie down and wait for the dream to end. You’re sure of which would be better for your wandering mind but you’re not sure you have the capacity to climb to your feet. Instead you try not to think at all, leaning back and staring off into the nothing. From beside you, the man slaps at his thighs and climbs to his feet. “Right, I don’t have the time to just be sitting here.” He didn’t come for a reason? To tell you something cryptic and never follow through? “So I’m gonna have to leave and make myself look like an asshole so.” He drags you up with one arm, surprisingly strong for something so small. Both hands squeeze your shoulders once more and this time he shakes you a little. “If someone hurt you, fuck ‘em up. If not, well, don’t fuck yourself up over it, life has enough of that planned without you adding to it.”

With a heavy sigh, he straightens up, the corners of his lips tipping upwards as if he’s proud of himself for his little nugget of wisdom. Before you can so much as think about what any of that meant, his finger presses into the middle of your forehead and suddenly you’re shot into wakefulness. The silent night is stifling, a hot air sticking your clothing to your body with sweat. From the bed right beside your own, Arke shifts and goes back to snoring, not seeming to notice you as you sit up with a sigh. It’s early in the morning now, far later than when you went to bed, and no light peeks out through the window. You fall back into the bed with a quiet groan, head pounding with discomfort as you bury your face back into the pillow so you can grumble a curse out louder. Yet you’re still so tired.

As you drift back into the nothingness of slumber, you don’t realize that the anger is gone.

#Patreon #Short #this man is a bitch and i love him #anyway just casually feeling guilty about not keepign up with my own blog that i run in my own time #shut up apollo am i right #Rott #rott game #regrets of the traitor game #interactive fiction

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caligulalotus · 3 years ago

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@axiolotl ok so im putting this in it’s own post because i dont want to clog people’s dashes but hehehehe

This is under read more cause it got longer than I thought it was gonna be

So The Lucky One serves two purposes as the opening of one of my playlists. Usually I’ll make the first song one that either encompasses the character’s whole journey/nearly all of it, or I’ll put something that lays out the very start of their character arc, and The Lucky One does both of those, as it’s a song about becoming disillusioned with the industry one is a part of. So the opening verses serve young and happy go lucky York Silk, and the song shows the rest of his journey. The last verse I think covers his final season in Seattle SUPER well, actually, and I’m trying to make an animatic out of that.

There actually is only one other song in the pre-shell era not because I don’t have many thoughts about York’s character in that part of his life, but because I don’t know many songs that fit it. Are You Satisfied? fits the disillusionment York would come to experience (” Was I meant to feel happy that my life/Was just about to change?”), and also, the thing that I touched on in my latest fic (cough cough) about feeling like his lack of physical change doesn’t reflect what he’s been through (”'Cause it's my problem if I want to pack up, and run away/It's my business if I feel the need to smoke, and drink and sway/It's my problem, it's my problem/If I feel the need to hide/And it's my problem if I have no friends, and feel I want to die”)

I tried to use Garages songs about York to showcase the beginnings of new eras because there was a suprising amount of songs about York, actually. Our Dork is specifically about him being in the shell, so it is the start of the shell part, basically. “Look Who’s Inside Again” is the next one and is very literal here. I used it both because he’s literally stuck in the shell, and because of “When you're a kid and you're stuck in your room/You'll do any old shit to get out of it/Try making faces/Try telling jokes, making little sounds” because I do think being a child star has fucked York up quite a bit :). I think he feels like he always has to put on a performance of like... being fine, even when he’s not. I’m Gonna Win and 2econd-2ight-2eer are technically shell, but they’re specifically a song for each Pods fight. I thought York needed some vaguely evil songs. He deserves it. I chose I’m Gonna Win for the season 9 fight because it’s got a lot of confidence in the lyrics but it’s also a lot about how much everything sucks all the time. (”It’s hard to fulfill everyone’s expectations/It’s hard to keep up with the rest.../ I’ll never lose, I’ll never die/You’ve seen me before, you’ll see me again/I’ll never give up, I’ll never give in”). 2econd-2ight-2eer is more “going bonkers and having fun with it”, so I think it reflects The Shelled One’s carelessness during the second fight, which I think transfered over to how the Pods played, overconfident and risky. Also the line “The devil made me do it but I also kinda wanted to” just has REALLY fun implications.

The next three songs are post-the final pods fight but before York dies. I put Seventeen on this playlist because I put it on literally every playlist I make for a character between the ages of 15-18. I just think it is neat. I Bet On Losing Dogs doesn’t have a lot of analysis to it , because it is just there because it makes me sad. The Moon Will Sing does have some stuff to it though, namely the lyrics “Tell me once again/I could have been anyone, anyone else/Before you made the choice for me” and “I want to feel the fire that you kept from me/The moon will sing a song for m/I loved you like the sun/Bore the shadows that you made/With no light of my own/I shine only with the light you gave me” because I think it works both as being aimed from York’s perspective at the Shelled One and at the fans, because he really had no agency his entire life. The LoreTM for the first time he avoided shelling is self sacrifice, but the real reason is that he got thrown around the board with JT and PDP, and then no one tried to save him the season he was really shelled. He has had a lot of his agency taken from him by the gods within both the lore and the actual game, and outside of the lore it’s been all the fans. York Silk has never been able to live or die on his own terms.

York Silk (Rest In Violence) starts dead York era. Ghosting is pretty self explanatory and covers the couple of months he was in the Hall. Because Dreaming Costs Money, My Dear and Killer both cover the two year siesta in between York’s resurrection and his first season in debt, because, yeah, that was a thing that happened. Because Dreaming Costs Money, My Dear literally opens with the lyrics “I can still smell the fire/Even though it's long died out/The smoke still hangs in my hair/And on some quiet evenings it burns my eyes” which just. Dying fucks you up! Who knew! Especially when your death entailed being set on fire! Killer specifically reflects that no one knew what, exactly, York’s death was gonna be like because he was the first debted batter. (”Can the killer in me/Tame the fire in you?/Oh, is there nothing left to do for us?/I am sick of the chase/But I'm hungry for blood/And there's nothing I can do”) Was he going to make people Unstable? Would it be something else? How exactly was he gonna go about doing it? And he just had two years to ruminate on that. Fucked up and evil, The Game Band!

Alright the shelling of oliver loofah by the coward york silk is our second to last era, which I am lovingly calling “York is back from the dead and ego makes him rude”. I specifically write ego as making him draw away from his friends and loved ones, which is why Achilles Come Down (”Some of us love you/Achilles, it's not much but there's proof”) and Never Love An Anchor (”On some level I think I always understood/That a ship could never really love an anchor/So I did the only thing that I could/And severed the rope to set you sailing from my harbor”) are on there.

AND the final era, Vault time. Goodbye reprises Look Who’s Inside Again so I have it as the start of the Vault, because man, York sure was trapped by and forced to play for two gods on two separate occasions, huh. Dead Hearts focuses more on York having to simply sit by and watch as the Fridays died and the world ended, locked inside the Vault. Nobody York knew really... made it into the Vault with him. The way Dead Hearts goes carries on like a conversation, so I’ve been imagining it as Lootcrates talking to York and trying to get his perspective of the history happening before their eyes. Last Words of a Shooting Star is on there because everyone is dying and it makes me sad so of course it is, but also because post Semi-Centenial all the replicas and their originals just had to live together in there, and the line “Did you know the Liberty Bell is a replica, silently housed in it’s original walls?/And while it’s dreams played music in the night/Quietly, it was told to believe” just makes me feel immense sadness about the replicas and the replica making process. The last song on the playlist and the era of the Vault is As The World Caves In because come on. It’s the end of the world and I don’t have a big variety in my music taste. I hope York is doing okay in that Vault, man.

#blaseball #york silk #I SIMPLY THINK ABOUT HIM SO MUCH

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fbdo1986 · 4 years ago

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Winter’s Chill - A Succession Fic

a/n: We meet again! Once again, here is something exploring the Roys and their sibling bonds! Admittedly, I’m digging deep into some of my own weaknesses here, but I couldn’t help but write something after discussing the concept (Connor holding onto things that his siblings grew out of) with a friend. This takes place on the timeline of Season 1, but without any of the events transpiring that cause Connor to be brought into conversations surrounding the future of Waystar Royco.

Warnings: Brief Allusions to Death and Grief/Loss (actual loss is not present)

Word Count: 3222

On a regular January evening in New York, the soft sheen of snow leaves a film on all the windows of houses and apartments alike, and the sound of it brushing up against the panes has an almost transfixing quality. People outside brave the cold, swaddled in winter coats and scarves that are close to dragging on the ground. Crowded streets don’t have a chance to get very slick, yet the chill seems to coat everything the snow doesn’t touch. Those inside face a lingering shiver, with windows and doors locked tightly so as not to let anything in. If it weren’t so regular this time of year, it would be almost comforting. The isolated figures of the Roy siblings take refuge inside, not many miles from one another. The three go through the same motions, nearly. Funneling warm breath into chapped hands, shrugging off coats, as though they passed around the same mannerisms amongst themselves.

The same can’t be said currently across the country, where both Connor and his girlfriend bustle about inside his home, until Willa stops in front of what catches her eye.

“What do you have all this stuff for?” She asks, picking up a box that sits against the desk at the far corner of the living room. She sets it on the tabletop, leaving it unopened.

“What’s that?” Connor calls from the kitchen, meandering back into the living room to hear her clearer.

“You’ve got… boxes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you open them.” She traces a hand over the cardboard as he rejoins her side. “Can I open this?” She looks up at him momentarily, her dark eyes meeting his light ones.

“Sure.” He says softly. He backs up, leaving room for her. It’s been a while. Usually, Connor goes through these things alone. He’s unsure, this might hold things that he’s kept so long he almost forgets what they are. Maybe that’s for the better.

So the box is opened. And immediately as her hands retreat, recognition tinged with regret washes over him. There’s no tape saving it from inspection, and the perplexity adorning Willa’s face stings, because there’s no right way—no proper way—to explain these seemingly useless mementos. But he’s kept them in any way he can, physically or otherwise. But now it’s the only way he has a piece of them at all.

He practically hides his face, like a little kid. Caught red-handed in sentimentality that he can’t look in the eye.

“Are these yours?” She holds them up for him to see. They’re like evidence of a crime scene. Of a better self. It feels like years and years ago. A lifetime. They’re one of various pairs of mittens: blue with a snowflake pattern. They’re the size of a child’s hand.

Tears clog his throat. His chin quivers.

“What’s wrong?” She looks at him with a concern that words cannot convey. She knows that his childhood—all of theirs, collectively—is a sore, tender subject maybe best kept in boxes. Her frown gets deeper with every passing second.

He wants to say that it’s nothing. But really, it shows fully how much time has passed. It's etched in the pattern, he swears. But lord, when did these get so small? How could they have grown? Even more than he remembers, much more than that. And he knows, of course he knows they have. But with the true recognition of it—years and years between them, even though it feels like yesterday—his chest tightens, releases, and then the words fall out.

“They’re Kenny’s.” He turns away. “And the red ones are Shiv’s.” He swipes a hand across his face and is unsurprised by the fact that when he draws it away it’s wet with tears. “Rome’s are at the bottom.”

No one penetrates the silence right away. Finally, Willa speaks tentatively. “Did something happen? They’re not…?”

“No.” He interrupts before she can complete the thought. “I-I talk about them like they’re ghosts. I mourn them like they’re gone. And-and they haunt me. But they’re not.” His shoulders come to meet his ears defensively, nearly folding in on himself.

She softens. “How long has it been?” She knows a lot about Connor’s siblings, he talks about them frequently and rarely spares any details. But she’s never seen them around, and there is—if nothing else—a rift surrounding them purely due to distance. Yet what she’s sure of, something he’s spent his whole life building, is a bond that connects them further than just through their father.

He clears his throat. “Uh, six years.” Since he’s seen them all at once. It was at Kendall’s wedding. Some big, elaborate thing. And of course, he never made the conscious choice to leave them behind. In fact, he devoted himself to quite the opposite as he left home at eighteen. By twenty-one, he had his own place which served as an unofficial second home for his siblings just as much as it did for him. So it’s difficult to articulate how or why this ever happened. But somewhere between then and now, it all slipped away.

Now, they paint a funny picture. Kendall, ushered into the business as soon he was old enough with Roman trailing at his heels, and Shiv holding her own trying to shoulder her way into politics, all around the little epicenter that is where they grew up. And, well, he’s somewhere in New Mexico. That’s all he can say. It slipped away.

He grasps at her hands, but stops himself short. His voice is a near whisper. “Oh, Will. I want it back so badly. I want to go back, turn time around and make it up to them. Because… I remember everything. When each of them were born. When I got home just in time to see Roman for the first time. Shiv’s first cello recital, when I taught Kenny how to swim. And his drawings. I doubt that dad ever kept them.” And then it breaks. “I was everything. Now I’m just… nothing. How do you… forgive yourself for realizing you spent as much time in someone’s life as you have out of it? How do you stop feeling sorry?”

It hurts him. It hurts him more than the multiple unspoken understandings he’s made throughout his life, some he only fully processed years afterward. More than knowing there was a day when his father decided he just wasn’t enough. And even more than the day where Kendall broke his arm, and Connor swore his chest felt the same impact. All the air was crushed out of his lungs. All it took was one thud and then grass—green grass, streaked through with summer sun—didn’t look quite the same anymore.

In the pause she brushes the tears from his cheek. “Sweetheart, you can’t just stop everything. You can’t forget that you have a life. You can’t be everything. You can’t.” She stands stoically, softening with the last few words.

“It’s not about that. It’s the fact that I promised myself I would do something, be something for them. I remember it so clearly.” His face hardens as more tears gather at his chin. He pretends they aren’t there.

“But you said it yourself. They’re not gone. Why have you waited? Why not reach out, try again?”

“I’m scared. I don’t… I don’t want to face them knowing I disappointed them.” It’s as though every year the reminder cuts deeper and deeper. He’s further and further from those days spent in the park, ensuring that before every outing they were bundled up tight, scarves around their necks with their mittened hands in his own. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine it. Anything else. It’s as though anything beyond the smallness of their hands was just pretend. Even as he saw it all unfold in adulthood, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was like seeing a little kid in daddy’s suit. Trying to be big, drowning in clothes. Just playing pretend.

And then…. it wasn’t anymore. And now the rest comes rushing forward, and now that time finally caught up… it’s terrifying to admit.

Willa shakes him out of it further. “You can’t keep them like objects, Con. They’re real people. Real people you can talk to. And if you’re even half as good of a brother as you make yourself out to be they definitely miss you. You’re not disappointing anyone.”

He sighs, absentmindedly thumbing the fabric of the small mitten he’s just taken in his hands. It’s Kendall’s. He puts it to his chest and gives it a squeeze. He isn’t quite sure of how they’d see him now, like this. He laughs with tears in his eyes. He’s always been sentimental, sure, but he doesn’t think anyone knows that he’s kept these things.

“So come on. Tell me your stories.” She chuckles, coaxing him to sit as her hands hold his forearms. “You have some, don’t you? About the mittens. Of course you do.” She presses a kiss into his forehead. “And tomorrow, you’ll make this right again. Okay? Call. Write. Start with Kendall. Start anywhere.” Warmth blooms in her features and so they settle, stopping their bustling to reminisce.

“Now, go on. Remember the sweet things." It's useless to combat her smile. So he starts, telling her about when they went out in the cold and he taught them how to make snow angels. How their eyes brightened when they realized there was no restraint here, that they could enjoy themselves with all the giddiness in the world. And so, they made a routine of it. Every chance he got, trekking out of the house just to see the sparks in their eyes. Falling and laughing in snow. Even if it took up the whole afternoon, even if it left their faces red and chapped from the wind, their glow never left.

The next day Connor gathers up the courage to take Willa’s advice, and with a deep breath he dials the phone.

A voice on the other end appears. "Hello?"

"Uh, Kendall?" He's a little frantic, since he didn't expect him to pick up, honestly.

"Con? Are you alright?" He’s unsure exactly why Kendall felt compelled to ask, but he supposes maybe asking a question off the bat isn’t expected. Or, maybe it's the waver in his voice, on the edge of breaking, or the simple fact that he’s doing this at all.

"Yeah, of course. I'm sorry. I know it's a little out of the blue. Hey, uh, if you're busy I can always call back—" He backpedals. It’s too much to put onto him some random night, some odd years later.

"No." Kendall eases him, and takes a seat close to where he stands. "I'm good. We can talk."

Connor doesn’t speak right away, leaving a silence which Kendall scrambles to fill. “... Hey, um.” He exhales sharply. “Clearly you called for some reason, and if you don’t want to go through with it I’m not going to force you, but, it’d be nice. Y’know. To talk.”

He hates how tense he feels, how abnormal this has become. "I'm sorry, Kenny."

"Sorry? Why are you sorry? Don’t lie to me." Solid concern pools into his voice. And Connor can picture him like he’s right in front of him.

He weakens. He’s always had a tendency for this, to choke up when it comes down to it. “Gd.” He pinches the bridge of his nose momentarily. “Everything. All of it, Ken. I—I’m so sorry that I couldn’t stay. That I couldn’t be your big brother anymore. The way I used to be.”

“Connie… ” Kendall says, frowning slightly.

“Come on, Ken. You can’t do that to me.” Connor says, smiling sadly as he wipes away more stray tears from his eyes. “You just can’t. You know how I get.” The nickname feels charged, almost. As though it carries the weight of all the memories they forged when it was just him and Kendall.

“But I mean. You-you’ve always done enough. You were always there. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“But isn’t that all I’ve ever had, really? What else? What else have I done, or devoted myself to? As if I even did something that ever helped, that made you proud.” Connor huffs dismissively. “I’ve had my whole life to make things better, and what have I done? I retreated.”

“No, you didn’t. You made us a home, a real one. You always had our backs, and protected us.” It’s something Kendall has held close his whole life. And although he doesn’t talk about it with them, he knows Shiv and Roman house the same sentiment.

“But I just, I’ve been gone so long. So many things have happened and all I’ve wanted to do is ask. But, but, I don’t know. I just, I have some things of yours, from when you were kids, and I dunno. If you’d want them back, I can—I can… ” His chest is heavy. It’s leaden with just wanting to let it out, that he misses him. That he misses when they grew up, when he was their outlet, the doorway to the world beyond their walls. That really, his siblings are the only fond reminders of home. He covers his face momentarily, heaving out a watery sigh.

It’s ridiculous. Trying to rewind time, trying to force Kendall to understand after such a gap of time, or hell, choking up on the telephone. There’s just no easy way to say it. No way to put how he feels into words, especially if he can’t get it out. But honestly, there’s just a piece of him that’s never quite been filled. And while feeling completely whole is out of the question, closing the gap might help. It’s the only thing he’s holding onto.

Connor’s shoulders slump forward. “Just, forgive me, I guess. For how long it’s been.” Neither can deny that.

“Oh, Con. It’s—This? Please. None of it is your fault.” It’s all so much more than that. So much bigger than any of them can fathom, more than they can ever fully come to terms with.

“Still. I could’ve been there. I used to be.” He scoffs. “I don’t even know how you are.”

“You know I can’t blame you for that. Leaving.” Kendall reassures him. “I mean that.”

“So I guess that means things are hard, then.” Connor doesn’t even mean to jump there, it just happens. Because he’s the only one who had the chance.

“It means they’re like they’ve always been. I’m okay.” Kendall laughs softly, and it eases them both.

“Okay.” A small smile flicks to Connor’s face even as he tries to fight it. It’s a touch ironic, how Connor has to be reassured by Kendall now, when the roles were reversed growing up. He was always that figure, a pair of shoulders to be leaned into for comfort, looming above the rest.

And pretty soon, they slip into normal conversation. Trading simple anecdotes and jokes surrounding their current circumstances, time doesn’t quite rewind—but it does make it slow somehow. Laughter is easy, and somewhere they forget about the hurt that inspired the conversation in the first place.

Yet eventually, silence falls between them. Each brother tenses instinctively, fearing that the distance has been built between them again, that it’s too much to overcome. That they’ve waded deep enough that there’s nothing to fall back on; small talk can’t save them now.

“Connor?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep the things you have. My things. Okay?” Kendall pauses. “... And I miss you.” His heart tugs with guilt and fondness in tandem. And soon he’s spilling quiet tears of his own.

“I miss you, too.” Connor says finally, with a soft droop of his shoulders. The words are an exhale.

“So, um. Come back sometime. And uh, don’t be afraid to stay.” Kendall sniffs. “I’m sure the rest would want to catch up. You still have your place in the city, right? From when we were kids?”

“Yeah, yeah. I do.” Another instance of keeping pieces of the past. He doesn’t hesitate to smile, though.

“Good. Like old times, then.” Kendall says solidly.

“Yeah.” Connor nods to himself. “Yeah.”

“Honey? It’s snowing.” Willa calls sweetly, eyes and smile equally wide. It’s a sight that they aren’t graced with often, since they’re secluded from the depths of the mountainous ranges of the state, where snow collects on their peaks. He sneaks a glance through the windows and surely enough, light flakes dance to ground below them.

“Well, I won’t keep you.” Kendall’s voice is amused, hiding a chuckle. He’s heard Willa in the background. “But uh, can I count on you? Staying for a little while?”

“You can. I’ll let you know when, but it’ll be soon. I swear.” He’ll make it up to them, he knows he will. This time, he’s sure.

“I know. I always could.” The sentiment is enough to draw tears from them again. They’ve never tried to hide their proclivity for emotion, but it’s the rest that makes it stew in their stomachs—how attached it seems to be to when Kendall would collapse into his arms unthinkingly, with Connor already outstretched, ready for the weight—that makes it that much easier to falter. It’s not… sad, not happy either. Just the understanding that somehow they ended back up just like they used to be, with fragile arms instead of strong ones. When neither is big nor small, just something in between. Something a little too quick to break, something that toes the line between readiness and second-guessing, where both need something bigger to hold them up even when they stand heads above where they used to.

“Well, uh. Thanks, Kenny. I mean it. ” Connor says sheepishly. “Not just for this, even.”

“Take care of yourself, alright?” Kendall offers, like it’s a hand on the shoulder.

“I will.”

So that’s how they leave it. No intentional goodbye, yet it’s filled instead by knowing that this time, there’s a plan to return. He won’t let it slip from his hands or get shoved into boxes to become souvenirs of childhood. It’s as tangible as the phone in his hands or the snowflakes coming to rest on the landscape unexpectedly housing them.

He sidles comfortably up against Willa, and the two venture out into the cold. A shiver takes her by the shoulders and he pulls her close as they watch the snow fall gently. The mountains are far away, so the expanse of desert as it meets the sky—quickly blurring to white—seems to chase on forever. There’s nothing around to greet them, as though the world could swallow them up, and it’s not as though there isn’t an occasional wish for more beyond their windows, even when the sky is brilliantly blue. However, they’ve been granted another guest, even if it’s just fleeting snow that dissolves on their fingertips. They’ve been gone from the city for years now, and that’s a reminder on its own. But whereas the city goers let it gather on their clothes and hair without a second thought, almost with annoyance, Connor welcomes it—albeit childishly, without the thought of covering his hands—as an opening, a prospect, an occurrence that he can’t help answer with the tinge of laughter. “Huh.” He smiles, wondering if it’s snowing again in New York.

#gd bless please if you can please keep reading on my blog preview i know my desktop theme isnt very readable #anyway. i was insane for this #succession #my writing #could you all please. perhaps. give this a read.

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