#Just those five songs...nothing else on the playlist

[horrifichaunts]

I know all she listens to when working is The Contortionist, Lotta True Crime, Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land, and Hayloft II.

[sunboki]

⎯ COUNTDOWN TO LOVE. a Christopher Bahng fiction

🎁 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. countdown to christmas, best friends to lovers! au, pining, non-idol! au, comfort, worry of unrequited feelings, slight angst, fluff, cuteness overload

WORD COUNT. 6.5k ☆ 34 minute read

WARNINGS. swearing(??), mentions of a dick(?), insecurity, usage of terms of endearment, mentions of inferiority, mention of vomit, reader is said to wear makeup on an occasion

AUG'S NOTES. this was a very soft and sweet opposition to Christmas Blues last year which, notably, was remarkably “blue” in nature. in the midst of writing i found myself worried this new approach to lighter, best-friend-to-lovers feelings would be too plain—but i had to remind myself this isn’t enemies to lovers, nor is it nearly as angsty as Christmas Blues!! though i hope their feelings can be both established and understood well, so thank you for sticking with me this far :) i hope this fuzzy piece keeps your heart warm during this cold winter<3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. It had always been natural between you and Chris. Knowing someone for almost ten years comes with that. And yet, when he confesses that he doesn’t want to keep up this cycle but pursue you one winter, you’re hesitant in thinking it will work out. Then again, you’ve never been one to deny him.

or alternatively :

Five days till Christmas, five dates to see if you feel the same.

December 20th.

“Move your arm.”

Sunday morning sunlight streams through barely cracked blinds, making your brows crinkle at the onslaught of brightness in distaste. That, along with occupying a mattress with none other than Chris Bahng.

A weekly occurrence at this rate, if not daily. And no, whatever earlier assumption about you two sharing a bed is wrong.

Totally.

Oh, he’s also pitiful to boot, evident with the loud whine heard in response as he rolls over—messy curls unruly upon just awakening. 

And.. somehow beautiful, with those big brown eyes and lips the color of burnt russet parting with a highly exaggerated yawn.

But pitiful most of all. 

“‘S warm—“ Chris groans out, inch-worming his way to wrap big arms around your form, beckoning you snuggled against his back with a content sigh.

“Too warm,” You scowl, squirming about in his grasp, disagreeable sorts of sounds leaving tight lips. Chris simply giggles.

“Say,” He begins, weighing his chin upon your shoulder, fingertips slipping beneath your shirt to feel your skin, tracing the lines of your abdomen, rising to rest on your belly. 

A surprising lover of skin-to-skin, he is.

“What if we became something more?”

When you know someone long enough, an established sense of normalcy alternative to everybody else appears, whether that’s the plentiful times you’d heard Chris squeal like a girl after walking in on him in his boxers, or the not-so pretty nights out where he’d hold back your hair while you threw up in the bathroom a bar whose name you can’t recall.

But then again, it’s always been just that.

Nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t demand anything from you, didn't judge you. Listening with an attentive ear those days you would cry on the phone, and bring you a donut before morning classes after passing an exam.

The small things.

So it makes you wonder when you started seeing him differently. And if he felt that same way too.

A slow progression of love, like a river in its path of eroding canyons over thousands of years. Familiar, comforting. Done without a second thought like muscle memory. His fingers curling against yours in busied atmospheres, the look you both give each other when a certain song comes on.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?”

With your face peering over his monitor, wide eyes he adores peek at him from an upside down angle. 

Cute, he thinks, tapping your nose with a chilled index.

Chris always keeps it cold in his apartment, partially because he remembers you’d told him you sleep better that way, partially because he loves to hear you complain about it in the morning.

As for the big question popped earlier today, he chooses to wait patiently per your request (after staring at him like he’d grown an extra pair of eyes then proceeding to smack his arm before realizing he was serious).

So, yes, you’re thinking.

And it scares Chris more than he’d like to admit. 

He knows the risks, the “let’s try this” somehow turning into an ugly breakup and never speaking again.

And he can’t afford that when it comes to you, because you’ve become the most important person in his life without even noticing it.

Even if his love is one sided. Unrequited. 

He’d be okay as long as he has you.

Just the thought makes him anxious, makes the clicking of his mouse arranging the tempo to become erratic in pace, head-dizzying.

“Chris?”

Until your voice finds him, and the torrential waves of his ocean go back to their slow lapsing. Calming the waters as always, trademark to you.

“New track,” He offers, eyes flickering up to you with a meek smile emphasizing the charming dimples there.

Majoring in music comes with both perks and downfalls: hours spent studying and cramming terms down his throat whilst managing personal projects, and, of course, the fleeting satisfaction after passing an exam by a stroke of luck.

But he loves every moment of it, especially having you listen to some of his favorite productions. Some he’ll strum on a guitar amidst his arranged apartment shared with Changbin and Han—roommates you’d grown quite acquainted with—in the late evening, his heart likely beating out of his chest watching your sweet face nod along.

At the moment it’s him here alone, Han having already relocated back home for the holidays, Changbin at his part time job, working lighting and electrical work at a live-house.

“Can I listen?” 

Slow to nod, he beckons you closer with a wave of his hand, carefully placing headphones overtop your ears.

And yet, as your head bobs and face wrinkles up just like he does when hearing something catchy, he can’t help the grin on his face watching you.

You’re beautiful, and he’s too fond it might just be unhealthy.

It’s too easy to fall in love with you.

He has a feeling he’ll be thinking that a lot.

December 21st.

Enough. 

If there was an early New Year’s resolution, gaining a lack of hesitation would have to be on the top of the list.

Of course, that would ensue plenty of compromising situations if you did things impulsively considering the amount of times you’d wanted to kiss him, but, for the most part, it would work in a sensible manner.

“Five dates.” 

Last night you slept over (similar to most nights), clad in one of Chris’s old t-shirts and a pair of suspiciously clean basketball shorts for the gym-addicted man in question, Changbin, to offer you.

By the stove, Chris occupies himself with cooking eggs, lips puffed in a way downright dangerous to your “no hesitation” resolution and lack of t-shirt displaying a broad, muscled back adding to the list. 

Your tongue pokes against your cheek, arms crossed over your chest.

”Five dates.. mhm.. gotcha…” Each nod from the man assures you that, no, he doesn’t “gotcha”; his attention long since drawn to what lies in a sizzling pan and the low hum of “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz rumbling from the small radio on the corner of the kitchen island.

“Chris,” You grunt, brows lifting, resisting the urge to laugh when he glances over his shoulder with that sheepish expression, all-telling.

Or maybe that comes with the years. Unspoken gestures understood without fail.

”Sorry ‘bout that,” He murmurs, and you curse every aspect of your vision being a spectator to his trapezius rippling while dishing down two mugs from the cabinet. One that you bought him, the other purchased by Han.

The latter patterned with.. odd shaped bananas he’s sworn are not the shape of a dick.

But that’s a story for another time. 

Although, that’s the least of the oddities. Between the Danny Devito cheeto ornament(how they got their hands on it you couldn’t guess) added to their tiny Christmas tree and the rug in the bathroom with old stains no one talks about, you’ve decided to turn a blind eye for the sake of learning things you don’t want to remember. 

“What do you think if.. y’know, before we try something new,”

You pause, scorning the sly smile on his face when turning to face you, long fingers quelling the stove’s flame momentarily.

He thinks you’re the most darling thing he’s laid eyes on, and you think he’s going to laugh at you.

”We go on five dates. And after those five dates, I’ll make up my mind.”

”Is this a part of your “thinking”?”

Jerk. He’s lucky he’s handsome.

Gnawing at your bottom lip, your face pinches.

“Yes.” The words are quiet, too hushed for your liking.

Chris doesn’t make you quiet, he doesn’t make you shy. Yet, these days you find yourself falling back into a cycle of nervous, foreign feelings when speaking. As if he’s picking you apart piece for piece.

As if he hasn’t already read every page of the book named you over and over again.

But now the pages rewrite themselves, too many filled with the word “love” and “affection” and “more than friends” and—

“Can I kiss you after those dates?”

Jerk. For the second time.

”And if I say no?”

He lights a fire under your feet. Maybe it’s the heat causing blood to rush to your ears.

Chris lifts his mug. ”Indirect?”

You scoff, he giggles, squeaky in pitch just as it’s always been. Your cheeks warm.

Because in the midst of a once-normalcy, you can feel a storm brewing. It’s unclear if it’ll be a hurricane or a refreshing rain shower, and perhaps the unpredictably is supposed to be thrilling.

Or maybe it’s doomed, and the debris left after that hurricane will lay untouched, uncared for.

So it’s the feeling of his arms wrapping around you beckoning those thoughts out of reach, holding the doubt just high enough you don’t have to see.

Hear, listen, overthink. For now, all there is to fret about is Chris, and the warmth of his hug, pulling you infinitely close against heated skin.

Then does it register to you he’s always read your pages the same, and he would for as long as you’ll give him time to reread. If they change, they change together.

How foolish you forgot such a thing. As if he wasn’t your best friend first.

“Yes, you can.”

When those five dates are over, kiss me.

His nose buried into your shoulder, he murmurs a quiet “thank you”, a satisfied hum resounding from his chest, eyes crinkling up in the corners with a smile.

“Is that my shampoo?”

If anything, you feel as if you’ve been having dates over the years you’ve known Chris as he lists out ideas from a website on his phone. Except, yours weren’t touchy feel-y and certainly not regarded as “dates”, but simple things.

Dinners, falling asleep on his shoulder (something he remembers very well), baking together.

It’s a cold day, and after his hug that squeezed every fiber of sanity from your being, you now resorted to trying to figure out what that first date should consist of. 

The first of the five, pending.

“Ah,” Lips parting to exhale, you peer from the nearest window, watching hot breath fog up the glass whilst gazing out at vastly falling slow blanketing the ground a winter wonderland. A white abyss from your viewpoint.

“It’s snowing.” 

A chaste pause ensues.

“Might as well go out ‘n enjoy it, hm?” His voice, paired with a grin saturated in too much mischief for your liking resounds from over your shoulder.

Unable to react fast enough, Chris, sneaking up behind you without your knowledge, hoists you over his shoulder in seconds time—now (unfortunately) adorning a hoodie over his once bare torso.

Your shocked shriek rings about the apartment in reply.

“Out of the way! We’re goin’ outside!” Chris giggles victoriously, shouting to no one in particular as your fists beat at his back upon making for the door.

The faintest gust of frigid wind has goosebumps slithering up your skin—granting the man a cacophony of “No! Let me down!”’s he seems to soak up like praise.

Well, before relenting.

Because then again, who was he to deny you? To some degree it felt like every bone in his bone dragged him close to you, trailing after your footsteps like a lost puppy.

“One of these days,” Sighing heavily like that of an old man, a firm hand pats your thigh before you’re reluctantly flopped onto the couch, glaring up at him in a manner he deems too pretty to keep from smiling at. 

That same hand comes to hold your face, smushing up your cheeks and, in turn, earning plentiful laughter you simply huff towards. 

“Don’t pout—“ He whines, your heart rate spiking when another hand comes down towards your hair.

If there was any restraint of yours left, it would be relinquished instantly if he so much as touched your hair—

He flicks your forehead. And proceeds to slump down beside you.

“Oh you prick-“

His hand reaches to gently cover your mouth, bringing an index to rest on plush lips of his own. 

“No pouting, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Oh he’s going to get it. 

Playing you like a fiddle.

And damn does he do it well. 

.

.

.

Head tipping, your eyes flicker over his features—silently admiring such a side profile. With the perfect curve of his lips and hook of his nose, he could rival sculptures found in museums.

This was after trying to tackle him (to no avail, sadly) and curse his very existence (another fail). 

Then, the mediator came by in the form of a movie night and the small sheet of chocolate chip cookies warming in the oven, scent steaming the air with a mouthwatering aroma. 

Your first of five, initiated.

“Mm.. Don’t we have movie nights normally though?” The remark offered quietly, you shift closer to his body, pressing your right side to his, knees tucked beneath a blanket he’d arranged across either of your laps.

Love Actually plays on the screen ahead, but your focus couldn’t be deviating more.

Ever the attentive soul, Chris is equal in the shared admiration, honeyed irises fixed upon you in his peripheral prior to a careful finger lifting, looping a strand of hair behind your ear.

In turn, his gentle palm cups your jaw to tilt your head, sweeping an additionally stubborn hair from the other side of your face as well.

Your heart feels moments from bursting, and he looks at you as if you’re his whole world.

You are, but that was a matter unnoticed on your end.

It’s a quiet debate. Dangerous and fickle. Move too quickly and something might go wrong, hesitate and an opportunity may vanish to never be seen again. Do you kiss him? Is that how it works? Or is this a matter of “kissing on the first date”, treated like a taboo? 

More so, what happens next? After the kiss?

His eyes flicker upward to yours, lacking that boy-ish, charming smile he usually dons. Instead, he’s serious, calm. Then to your lips, like the melody of a slow song, flickering with the dips and pitches of the rhythm.

Leaning in, you can’t help but comply, and every thought within your mind numbs into nothingness—

Beeep!

A sharp, acrid stench makes your nose burn, face transforming into both realization and panic upon witnessing the tendrils of smoke curling from the oven.

“Shit!”

And after frantically racing to salvage what little remained of the cookies while Chris furiously fanned the smoke detector, your “date night” turned into a shared glance, laughter, and the both of you trudging to his bed for the night, leaving the remaining bit of Love Actually for another day.

So no, rest assured you didn’t kiss him on the first date.

Maybe tomorrow. 

December 22nd.

Y’know how Chris mentioned going out into the snow “one of these days?”.  

That day was today, apparently.  

“You don’t get it I’ll slip-“

“But you can hold onto me, yeah?” He laughs, squeaky still. Gloved hands find purchase on your hips, gently easing you forward where your back rests to his chest. His right hand shifts upward to rest against your spine, a feeling you have to swallow down wallowing in your stomach.

“Slow steps, I won’t let go.”

Don’t ever, you wish to say. Don’t ever let me go.

And not to keep me from slipping.

Maybe if you were ice skating or slow dancing this would be romantic, but the ugly, waddling manner you make down ice-coated stairs kills off any hope for swooning.

That is, until you do slip, and the man is a fraction too slow until you’re flat on your bum outside his apartment complex, heated from both annoyance and the knowledge far too many embarrassing pictures have been added to his camera roll just now.

In which.. a wonky, slightly-melting snowman comes to be not long afterward, neither of you willing to admit your creation is not “creative”, but horridly unsightly.

“I love it!”

Of course he does. Random pipes substituting as two arms and a carrot nose while Han’s fedora from 2016 awkwardly sits atop a head disproportionate from its body.

Your second date ideas offered a galaxy of possibilities, but after awakening late and coffee’s failure to open your eyes further than half-lidded, you figured today would mimic yesterday as a day spent at home.

He’d get some assignments done in the evening, and you’d probably turn on another Christmas movie while waiting to finish Love Actually in his company later on.

“We should come up with a name,” Nodding proudly at the aforementioned abomination, you cross your arms across your chest, your partner in crime brainstorming in a seriousness practically comical to the situation at hand.

“Hm.. something happy! I mean, look at his face, it’s happy, isn’t it?”

Mind you, cold, visibly dead extra coat-buttons are what stares back at you as its “eyes”, and you easily nod in feigned agreement as he takes ceaseless pictures of the thing with obvious delight, likely to send to friends and family alike.

The bottom snowball is melting, and a pipe has already fallen off what was supposed to be its arm, but Chris is beaming, and you'd rather slice off your own tongue than keep him from enjoying this moment.

Happy. 

You feel as if you’d do anything in the world to see him smile.

.

.

.

“Eh? Who’s that?”

5pm, and you’ll probably have to pummel the door open in the morning thanks to the blizzard-like conditions outside.

Among plenty of assignments he told himself he’d fret over in the evening, an unfinished paper sits in front of Chris while his thumbs twiddle along the keyboard of his phone, your chin hooked to his shoulder to glance down at the device—a habit of yours he finds himself unreasonably fond of.

Changbin came home early from the live-house, with most events cancelled from the cold and too little work to be done, there was no need to keep workers around. Dinner beckoned conversation and knowing glances from the roommate whenever you and Chris spoke, earning a scolding scowl while he simply grinned innocently in reply.

It seemed your love was obvious to everyone but you two. How tragic.

Though, amidst photos of both your earlier wipeout (a matter you don’t mention) and snapshots of the snowman he’s currently trying to send while seated at his desk, a certain name within the text catches your attention:

Mister Sunshine.

Chris chuckles sheepishly, your brows lifting in silent inquisition.

“It’s.. the snowman’s name. I named him.” He murmurs, the back of his neck doused pink. A facet of his embarrassment.

He named the snowman Mister Sunshine.

That smile of his making an additional appearance lies responsible for an internal scream to ring throughout your body, deafening your brain despite an external silence.

And in that moment, your feelings become harder to ignore than ever.

December 23rd. 

“You should get all pretty today.”

Your attention, once drawn to the different kinds of cookie-cutter molds, flickers up to him when he speaks. 

As it always does, hanging onto his every word as if fearful there’d be a day you couldn’t. 

Quizzically does your head tip in confusion, spurring the heat blooming by the back of his neck all the way up to flushed ears.

He waves quick hands, having been eyeing through the assortment of donuts Changbin brought home last night after his “buy one get one free sale” turned into buying a dozen at the shop by the live-house. 

“I mean, ‘s not like you aren’t pretty every day, but- y’know- like—“

It feels cruel letting him futilely try explaining, but gosh is he too cute.

And hearing him call you pretty feels too good to end abruptly. 

It also makes you wonder what happened to the smug-grin-wearing, playful person he could become at times. The one so confident and sure, now rosy.

An alter-ego sounded too far-fetched most days, but as for today… fairly accurate.

“What I meant is,” Turning, Chris extends the mug of coffee your way, heated glass warming your palms as you take it.

A part to your shared daily occurrences, routine. 

“I want to take you out tonight. We can go window shopping, see decorations, yeah?”

Perhaps the steam of your cup is what warms your cheeks, and very quickly do you come to recall you’re the one making him wait. 

He was willing to go all in from the start. And then you feel even crueler.

“Okay, tell me when to start getting ready.”

But you nod and pretend, because maybe you’re good at staving down things you know will come up anyway.

He’d always chided your procrastination.

.

Too long have you spent burning holes in your mirror with each scrutinizing glare, and the longer you stare, the worse what’s reflected becomes.

Chris had sent a small text proposing a forty minute window before heading out, in which ensued your frantic scouring around your room for both an outfit and coordinating accessories. 

Sure, you may have known the guy since your ugliest years, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t fun to spend some extra time on yourself, right?

Your third of five dates, and you should be bouncing up and down with cheerfulness, looking forward to “getting all pretty”, dolling up for an evening with your favorite person, your best friend. And, come recent days, your admitted love interest.

But you aren’t. You don’t feel cheerful, ecstatic.

And walking out to his awestruck form doesn’t feel revitalizing, and sure as hell far from a confidence boost.

“You look.. wow.” He gapes, drinking in every article of clothing, the way you’ve got the prettiest of ribbons in your hair a crimson red, your cute socks and warm sweater.

An angel, he wants to say. That, along with many things you’d slap him on the shoulder for speaking aloud.

Worst of all? He knows your tell-tale signs in and out. 

“Hey.”

His face seems to melt. Like crying, and it makes you want to cry. The sad, tiny crease of his brows, the puff of his bottom lip.

Worried.

“But, I mean,” Your voice chokes up, and you hate every bit of it, the emotions compiling to the surface—ones impossible to stave down.

You don’t feel nice. Putting on an outfit you both liked and thought you looked good in, fixing up your makeup, the little accessories to compliment certain colors, elements.

Yet, your heart still sunk when looking in the mirror, and now, looking at Chris, it feels like all that confidence is beginning to melt—salt sprinkled on the snow of the driveway.

Greater than that, it frustrates you. It isn’t his fault he’s attractive; beautiful, even, but every second by his side feels akin to a blazing inferiority, causing the already-chilled, flushed fingertips of yours to burn, your ears to grow unusually warm.

Like a child.

How irritating.

“Hey,”

His voice, like honey and pastries and all the bestest, warmest things when in need of comfort.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

The endearment isn’t teasing this time, not even in the slightest. It’s soft and delicate, an ornate vase constructed of glass, capable of breaking from a mere breath. 

Standing outside his apartment, snow dappling the sky in endless flurries, it’s only you two in the world.

Your lip wobbles, but Chris always catches you before you fall.

“I’m the man honored to walk around with you tonight, hm?” He starts, thumbing away bubbling tears from your cheeks.

“You look too pretty for these tears, ‘don’t want to mess up your makeup now do we?” He cracks a feeble smile, smoothing down your brows and adjusting your scarf with utmost care from his mitten-clad fingers.

“Ah,” His face lights up with recognition. “You added the glittery eyeshadow.”

You can’t help but crack a laugh. Pitifully croaked, but there no less.

First day of high school and you’d shown up with a downright awful amount of glittery eyeshadow, looking similar to a human-disco ball with the sheer amount alone.

Chris, ever the kind soul knowing you since birth, gave you a two thumbs up, a tight smile, and a “looks great!” that’s lived as one of your best inside jokes even now.

Luckily, this time around the amount is agreeable, just above your lashes and shimmering avidly beneath falling snow.

“I did,” You whisper softly, gaze fluttering down to your shoes before flickering back up to him. “And um.. is it true? That..”

Oh this is embarrassing.

“I look okay?”

Perhaps if he says it, tonight you can believe it’s true.

This time he breaks your heart, with such a heart-wrenching smile on his face.

“You always look beautiful, ‘doesn’t matter how much you think you’re not, you’ll never be able to change my mind. Now let me take you out, yeah? ‘Can grab some hot chocolate,” He ushers, winding your arm to link with his as you make forward, his black trench coat swaying with the click of dress shoes, chilly nose finding sanctuary in a ruby-red scarf wrapped around his shoulders.

Beneath the streetlights and dark skies, Chris could be a prince if he so wished.

That’s another thing you can believe is true tonight.

Curious eyes of awaiting children and scolding mothers litter the streets, tiny fingers pointing to toys through the glass, busied chatter and shared affection blooming within a once blue atmosphere, now dappled in ribbons of color.

The transition from monochrome, like shutters of an old camera capturing technicolor for the first time.

Or maybe Chris was the one responsible for each flourish of color, painting your world the prettiest of hues.

“Do you remember it?”

His voice, honeyed, accompanied by a plume of air in requite of a warm exhale evokes a skip to your step, catching your footing on the stone sidewalk with an awkward clearing to your throat.

“The things you used to want for Christmas?” He continues, and you chose to ignore the knowing smile on his face, gaze shifting upward in hopes of recollection, to no avail.

“Hm.. Do you?” Quietly offered, a change in attention grants you momentary escape from the spotlight.

Well, before it truly does become momentary.

He never has been embarrassed easily, you’d like to add. A matter speaking for itself in the way he automatically clings to your side in response, swaying back and forth whilst singing along to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” you didn’t realize was blaring through overhead speakers above passing until this moment.

Predictably, he earns the bemused grins of passerby and your face (as an individual who does in fact get embarrassed easily, to your own dismay) growing fifty shades of crimson.

“Yah! Quit!” Though your efforts are as futile as your voice and it’s involuntarily chortled-ness, you smack at his hand no less.

Of course, he persists.

Until the sharp turn to a small, annually appearing hot chocolate truck ceases your complaining and his singing in synonymous tandem.

An array of memories come washing across you with each gust of winter wind, and you can practically hear the manner of squeakiness his voice used to be, the foam from whipped-cream topped cocoa sitting atop his top lip like a mustache. You’d always laugh at that.

When you burnt your tongue one year after the beverage was too hot and he remained resilient in his belief you could and would taste Christmas dinner.

You did not, but it was worth a try. Also worth seeing his big, hopeful eyes peek up at you excitedly.

Back then he was always shorter than you, until that fateful day in High school he arrived with a far taller stature than the pipsqueak you knew of most days.

A lot has changed since then. In more ways than one.

Seems his memory remains as sharp as ever, evident in the gentle squeeze he gives your hand—his you hadn’t even noticed was held in your own up till now.

“Get some, hm? My treat.” He quickly urges, watching you pad forward like a child to admire the menu in adoration, waving to the old woman you’d known since a child, always manning her tiny miracle of a truck. 

He would keep the fact he’d looked up the hours the truck would be in town to himself. That, along with the tiny heart drawn on the side of the cardboard coffee sleeve you had yet to acknowledge, one he discovers is the old woman’s doing, her knowing smile matching his own when he looks up for silent clarification.

Encouragement. 

Go for it.

He feels his palms grow clammy, internally thankful you weren’t holding hands at the moment(which was enough of a heart-attack inducing experience in itself).

The trace of lipgloss on the rim of your cup, the batting of those precious eyes.

Worst is, you don’t even know what you do. The little things compiling into something downright torturous.

And when you look up at him for that split second, his breath catches. 

Ah. 

He wants to kiss you. 

From the scrunch of your nose when you begin to laugh to the snowflakes already dappling your lashes.

Because loving you is easy, and then it’s not. Over and over again. He’s afraid, but his mind is fuzzy and jumbled with feelings, and that small bit of melted marshmallow on your bottom lip he finds himself longing to taste. Lick up the sweetness and sink his teeth into the plush skin–

The tiniest drop of hot chocolate clings to your lips, and Chris wonders if you’d taste like it too.

December 24th.

“Hm?” His hum of confusion falls upon deaf ears, too preoccupied with a call from your mom to take note.

Something must’ve piqued his attention, though you’d have half the mind to guess what.

That is until hanging up, and curious brown eyes boring into your skull from afar transform into this itch you can’t ignore.

“Chris.”

Like an annoying older brother, he is sometimes.

Then there’s that sheepish sort of sound, the “i-got-caught” giggle testing your annoyed facade.

“Hey now,” He begins after a moment, pointing an incredulous finger your way like you’ve said something outrageous, looking like some perplexed old man whilst running a hand through his hair in an odd, cheap rendition of exasperation.

He looks more like he’s choking, but you give full points for effort. 

“You haven’t put up your tree or anything? What are you, the grinch?”

Oh, so that’s what this is about. 

For context, your conversation minutes prior with your mother consisted of the formalities: “How are you? Eating well? Sleeping well?” which turned into the personal portions: “Classes? Boyfriends?”

As for the last question, you’d keep her posted. 

But what seemed to grab his attention most was the additional part where you not-so-discreetly told her you likely wouldn’t bother putting up decorations in your own place this year.

Granted, you spent most days at Chris’s anyway, Christmas as well. Why not skip the hassle to freeload?

Also, you weren’t aware this was chastising season, Mr. Bahng.

“You’re serious?”

Nope. All a joke, every bit.

“…I usually just stay here anyway..?”

Which was true! He knows this!

“Nuh-uh, ‘s gotta change. What if one year I go overseas to visit family and you’re here alone?”

Horribly fast, your stomach sinks, and you’re hasty to scorn the sensation.

This fear, innate and uncontrollable. That on a certain season, you won’t have that certain someone to spend it with. 

I won’t, you want to say; treat the words like some totally unrealistic joke, treat his argument like a fable.

The clapping of his hands wards you from your incomprehensible nightmare.

“Alright! Let’s go! We’re decorating your place!”

This year at least, he’ll be by your side.

So you nod, as you do to most things concerning Christopher Bahng.

Love makes a person so.. strange, does it not?

Maybe that’s just you. Or him, or all of it. Who knows.

Crunching of white sheets beneath your feet keep your head from falling astray, as if dancing atop dove feathers amidst your trek to the car.

Too many thoughts, too many questions likely to be left unanswered.

The moon, in her full, glowing glory blinks down from above as a feeble solace.

Of the most beautiful of love stories. For when her lover, Sun, grows tired of arduous laboring in the day, she will arrive to establish her night so that Sun may rest for another day. A night of waiting for the one most beloved to her.

It reminds you quite a bit of yourself, oddly enough, as frosted fingertips shuffle beneath your legs to bask in the passenger seat’s seat heater as a source of warmth.

Each exhale fogs up the windows as the engine rumbles to life, and it’s a wonder you didn’t have to scrape off ice beforehand.

“Mm, in Australia it’d be so warm since ‘was summer, even on Christmas Eve. I remember one year ‘got the chance to get out there during the Holidays. Jisung sent me a text saying it was four degrees celsius in Korea and he was wearing three jackets. Meanwhile, I was outside in a tank top with Berry in twenty-seven.”

His eyes adorn the same sweet crinkle of happiness, ring-clad index tapping an inaudible beat where it rests on your knee, the other finding purchase on the steering wheel as you continue onward through late-December snowflakes.

He lights up your world without even trying. His smile, his excited talking. The way his words grow shorter and shorter the more excited he is to explain something.

Nerd. 

You love every second of it.

“And what I said about Australia earlier.” Chris begins quietly, sparing you a glimpse. His palm squeezes your knee gently, and you want to shout, jump, do something to alleviate the scream wishing to claw from your throat in reply.

Since when have you become so susceptible, so easy?

Simple. Since you fell in love.

Or, more like when you realized you were in love.

This was nothing new, after all.

“You wouldn’t be alone here over the holidays. I’d take you with me.” His eyes squeeze shut momentarily in thought, tone this quieted whisper you have to crane to discern.

“Back in October, during my birthday. Do you know what my wish was?”

A wordless look of wonder urges him on, thumb smoothing along your skin in a tender rhythm, never to break.

“One of these days, I’ll take you to Australia with me. Home with me.”

“So my first love can meet my last love.”

The second portion is barely intelligible, as if it were a mere whisper in the night. 

You wonder if it was a figment of your imagination.

Nevertheless, the less-than-inviting (compared to Chris’s), pale glow of your flat’s porch light eventually comes into view, and either of you clamber from car doors with evident struggle—abundant layers against the chill making for an awkward toddle to your snow-muddled doorstep.

Quick to retrieve the boxes from your attic, the both of you get to work. Chris frets over shoveling snow from your front porch, and you set to Christmas-ifying the interior.

It’s domestic, almost. His humming from the front door to songs playing on the speaker inside, the slow transition from your usual flat to a festive explosion. 

Then, of course, the tree.

In which you awkwardly shift your weight from foot to foot while awaiting his assistance, only for you to make eye contact and want to shrivel into a ball and never come out.

Again, shy. It’s bizarre. 

“Hm.. You wanna put up the star?”

After far too long trying to figure out the logistics, a makeshift (albeit lopsided) tree resides in your living space, a few ornaments here and there clothing the sad excuse for a normally grand view. 

But it’s yours, together.

You think with that knowledge alone it could’ve been a single sprout and would have been your world all the same.

His traces, everywhere. Both of your hands clutching onto each one you can grasp.

However, spontaneity comes back to haunt you. This time in the form of his hands curling around your hips, giving you a chaste countdown before you’re lifted up to place the star on the very top.

Good luck not having a heart attack, huh.

Miraculously, you don’t. Neither do you combust or squeal or any of the wild thoughts racing through murky depths of your brain.

Instead, you’re placed on the ground once more, his index and thumb taking the side of your top to gently adjust back down where it had ridden up.

Like a gentleman.

Shoot.

He makes it hard, doesn’t he?

Leaning to prop his chin on your shoulder while you admire the twinkling lights, you’d like to believe it was a hallucination that he pressed the most imperceptible, tiniest peck to the clothed junction of your neck and shoulder before pulling away.

“C’mere,” His words fall a near murmur, having to lightly tug at your wrist to truly garner your undivided attention without blood rushing to your face.

As for him, he simply had to pull you from the tree for the sake of his own wellbeing, the sight of warm lights reflecting in eyes he’d easily get lost in making each swallow harder to manage.

That, and there was.. a surprise of a sort. The sweep of a hand on the way out from his apartment, the fretful (clumsy) fastening of this so-called surprise under the guise he was clearing your porch.

Which he was, respectfully.

Just with a little something extra involved.

Nonetheless, oblivious to his plan, you follow along, anticipating some sad copy of Mister Sunshine to be made from fallen pine needles and buttons.

So when he points upwards, nothing short of a roller coaster occurs in your chest.

A spider, a roach, something scary—

A mistletoe.

Right above your head.

He’s got this giddy, nervous grin wobbling on plush lips, eyes searching yours like some little boy seeking a reaction. And you feel like you’re staring at elementary schooler Chris all over again.

At his cheery face knowing he’d be getting ice cream on the way home, when you lied about being able to taste Christmas dinner with a burnt tongue. 

A single lightbulb flickers orange, illuminating the mistletoe residing just beside.

Finally not-burnt cookies sit in their container back at his apartment, Love Actually long since completed. Your snowman, named Mister Sunshine, occupies the complex’s front walkway, and too many mugs of hot chocolate have been downed these past few days to count.

When your own place gets lonely, a tree you had put up together keeps you company, so that those nights alone this winter won’t be so cold. 

“Can I..?”

Chilled temperatures nip at your nose, and you feel like crying listening to the softened manner he asks, the tentativeness in the way his hand reaches to cup your cheek.

The sound is more like a plea, and you’d be beyond embarrassed if it was anyone but Chris.

“Please.”

And beneath that mentioned mistletoe, Chris kisses you for the first time, and December 25th makes its slow approach above the horizon.

When becoming more grows scary, Chris holds your hand to remind you there’s nothing he won’t step into with you. No matter the doubt, the fear.

It seems this winter you won’t be lonely. Because you won’t be spending this Christmas alone, nor many to come.

He’ll make sure of that.

One day till Christmas, four dates till you told him you felt the same.

You never got to five anyway. 

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @allaboutsan, @velvetmoonlght, @minij-one

[criminalmindswhore]

Playlists Tell All

Tara finds your playlist titled Prentiss and looks through it while you drive. She and JJ tease you about it until Emily finally finds out.

BOTH HANDS ON THE PHONE AT ALL TIMES 🤨 Also, this is long bare with me, also not proofread, oops.

TW: SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT

It was no secret you were gay. It was apparent from the day you walked into the BAU wearing docs and a septum ring. Tara was the first to notice, lesbians find each other. You were never closeted to them but never shouted it in the bullpen either. If they asked, you told.

"Hey, Y/n can I ask you something?" Emily asked as you two went down the elevator. "Sure, what's up?" You smiled at her. "Are you gay?" She looked puzzled, "Miss BAU Unit Chief was the last to notice?" You chuckled and she looked offended, her mouth falling open. You were almost too distracted by your thoughts, 'I wonder if that's the face she makes when she-', to notice the elevator stop. "So like only women or?" She stepped out of the elevator, you following suit. You cringed at thinking of being with a man, "Only women." She chuckled, "I knew it." She stopped walking signaling you were parting ways for the night. The cold Virginia air made a chill run down your spine, or maybe you noticed the few shirt buttons undone on the way to the parking lot. "I'll see you tomorrow Y/n." She smiled at you and grabbed your bicep for a moment. The touch lingered in your brain, your skin on fire, "See you tomorrow Unit Chief of the gayest FBI unit." She laughed loudly at your comment as she walked away, her grey hair swaying with which step.

Your talks with Emily to your cars became a nightly thing, on purpose from your end but she didn't need to know that.

After a case in Northern VA, Tara, JJ and you were in an SUV driving back to Quantico. Tara deemed you the driver as you were a 'young sprite who would stay awake longer'. Your phone became the AUX phone and Tara sat up front scrolling through your music creating the perfect queue. Her eyes widened as she came across a playlist titled, 'long talks with Prentiss'. She sat straight up and looked at you. You turned your head to glance at her, then back at the road, "What?" She leaned back against the seat, "Nothing." JJ's interest was now peaked, "Tara, you gotta tell us now." Tara scrolled through the songs:

She - Dodie

girls - girl in red

1950 - King Princess

She's My Religion - Pale Waves

I Wanna Be Yours - Arctic Monkeys

Call Out My Name - The Weekend

and on and on and on...

Tara came up with a genius plan, queuing up all the songs. The second girls came on, it clicked. "Tara, I can explain." She just laughed, "Explain that you have a huge crush on someone almost 30 years older than you?" JJ put down her Cheetos, "Wait? Emily?" Your grip on the wheel tightened and your cheeks turned bright red. "Can you two just not?" Tara chuckled, "Oh no miss thing, you have to spill now." JJ laughed from the backseat.

You weighed your options, either tell them and they tease you about it, or you don't and they tease you even worse until you spill, "Fine," the two women high-fived, "but it doesn't leave this car. Clear?" JJ saluted at you and Tara nodded. "She's just so hot dude. How could I not find her attractive and she does that stupid thing when she's focused where she licks her lip and then bites it." You were gushing like a high school girl at this point. "And don't get me started on her hands." JJ cringed slightly. "Okay, but she's 1, your boss, and 2, old enough to be your mom." You sighed and grimaced, "Why do you think it lives in my head? I have a playlist and that's it. She will never know and no one else will." Tara shook her head, "Honey she probably already knows. Emily is one of the best profilers in the world, not only that she's got those super-secret spy skills. Has she been acting differently towards you?" You shook your head, "No, I mean we've been talking one-on-one a lot more but that's just because we usually leave at the same time." Tara hummed and JJ laughed loudly, "What JJ?" You were still horrified at the current situation and her finding it humorous was not helping. "She did mention how she knows someone in her inner circle is attracted to her but didn't wanna bring it up." She leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. "JJ! You can't just tell me that!" Tara was losing it, doubled over in laughter. "You both suck."

It didn't get brought up again during the case. You thought it had blown over until you were all standing in the bullpen after the case chatting while people packed up bags and files. "Hey guys, what are laughing about?" Prentiss asked as she joined the group, bag in hand. "Reid is so oblivious to how much his neighbor wants to get in his pants," Luke explained while still laughing. Emily licked her bottom lip before pulling it between her teeth, Taras's head shot around to look at you wiggling her eyebrows. You scoffed and smacked her arm. "What's going on there?" Emily asked while smiling at you two, "Oh god are two?" Tara laughed and you nearly threw up in your mouth. The whole team was now looking at you and Tara with their mouths open, "God no! Tara and I are not sleeping together!" The team erupted into laughter except for you and Emily, staring into each other's eyes. She smiled sweetly at you and your face got hot. "I am going home, you guys enjoy bullying Reid." You grabbed your bag and stood up off your desk, "Wait, I'll walk with you, let me grab my cup from the kitchen." Emily took off swiftly to retrieve her mug and JJ gave you the 'I know something they don't' look. You glared at her and went to wait for Emily by the elevators. She approached you and pressed the down button, "Ready?" You nodded and stepped into the elevator.

The following week was full of being teased by JJ & Tara and Emily knowing something was up. Emily entirely said, "If someone made a playlist based on me I would be honored," while working a case. Which earned a stare from JJ and a muffled laugh from Tara.

One night you and Emily were heading down together like you usually did, "Hey, have you been seeing someone? Tara and JJ seem to know something about you no one else does." As you unlocked your car you froze. "Um, no, there's just a running inside joke going." You shrugged your shoulders trying your best to control your microexpressions. She seemed happy with your answer and wished you goodnight. You got in the car and turned on the playlist, your phone screen still open to it when someone knocked at your window. You rolled it down and Emily glanced at your lap, "Hey did you notice if- is that my name?" Her face was shocked, yours was pure fear. You flipped your phone over, "No." She saw right through you, "Y/n, let me see." She was smiling in a way you've never seen before. You didn't budge until Emily reached through the window and snatched your phone, turning away from your car. You unbuckled yourself and jumped out, "Emily please." It was too late.

She turned around, mouth agape, "Y/n, is this how you feel about me?" Her voice was low and dropped an octave. It shot shivers through your body erupting your core. You didn't know what to say, the damage was done. She stepped closer, reached behind you, and slid your phone into your back pocket. She went to move her hands but you grabbed her arms, holding them on your ass. "Emily." Your desperation showing in your voice. It set something off in her. Before you could process it, Emily's lips were on yours and your back was hitting your car. Her hands are on your hips gripping you tight. You snaked your arms around her neck gripping her hair. Her lips moved furiously on yours, her tongue swiping against your lips. The action made you whimper giving her access to your mouth. You could feel her chest moving on yours as she breathed heavily. She pulled away but kept her face inches from yours, "Y/n," she sighed, "This can't happen." You dropped your arms from her neck, she didn't move. "Fuck it." She said in the hottest fucking voice you've ever heard, you moaned at the sound before she attached her lips to yours again.

As her apartment door closed, bags were dropped, jackets discarded. Her lips moved against your neck as you gripped her shirt, "Emily, please." She chuckled, "Already begging for me pretty girl?" You moaned at the praise and Emily lifted a brow, "Oh you liked that huh?" Her arm reached around you to harshly grabbed your ass, "You like being praised by your boss huh? Like the slut you are?" Your knees buckled under you and she gripped your hips to keep you upright. Emily continued her attack on your neck as she pulled you to her bedroom, dropping you on the bed with a thump. "Pretty girl I need you to verbally consent for me before I fuck you senseless." She unbuttoned her shirt as you spoke, "Yes Emily, please. I need you." She slipped her shirt off exposing her black lace bra to you and you stared in awe. She laughed at you and took a finger under your chin pulling your eyes back to hers, "Up here." She spoke sternly and you didn't dare disobey at the risk of her leaving you high and dry. She straddled your lap and started undoing your shirt at an agonizing speed. You squirmed under her from impatience, "Ah, patience sweet girl. I'll get there. Although I understand why you're so needy after months of wanting me exactly like this. On top of you getting ready to make you scream my name." She slipped off your shirt and leaned in close, "I believe it was, call out my name I saw on that playlist of yours?" She left a wet sloppy kiss behind your ear. You could feel the pool of wetness growing between your legs.

She kissed down your collarbones as she unclasped your bra, throwing it somewhere in the room. She kissed down to your chest until she reached your left nipple, swirling her tongue around it, "Mhm, fuck yes." You gripped her hair harder than you planned on eliciting a moan from her. It was music to your fucking ears. She discarded her slow and steady pace and reached down to unbuckle your belt, undoing your pants and slipping them past your ankles. They hit the floor with a metallic clink before she kissed down your stomach. She pulled off your underwear with her teeth, the sight nearly making you finish right then and there. "Emily, you're wearing too much, I wanna see you." Your voice was slurring, you were so drunk on every single thing you were feeling. She sat up and undid her bra, slipping it off, her perfect breasts falling against her chest. She was perfect. She stood for a second taking off her pants, revealing her perfectly toned legs.

She positioned herself between your legs and licked up your slit. The sensation making your head spin. Your hands gripping her sheets as she took your clit between her lips humming at the taste of you. "You are so in for it Y/n." Hearing her say your name like that was music to your ears. She started flicking her tongue against your clit and your back arched off the bed. She reached one of her hands up grabbing yours giving you something to ground yourself to this moment. You gripped her hands tightly as she teased you with the other hand. Emily removed her mouth from you looking up at you making eye contact, "Beg for it." Your words got caught in your throat causing Emily to completely move her hand away from you and harshly grip your thigh, "I told you to do something Y/n." You swallowed, "Please Emily. Please fuck me. Emily, I need you, please." She smiled devilishly before slamming two fingers inside of you setting a rough pace. "That's my pretty little slut." The cockiness apparent in her tone of voice. She maintained eye contact as she reattached her lips to your clit, pulling it between her teeth softly.

Emily's pace showed no mercy as she fucked you roughly. Her tongue and lips worked against your clit as she pumped her fingers in and out of you roughly. You were so close to coming undone and she could tell. She removed her mouth from you, still fucking you with her fingers, "Do you want to cum?" You writhed under her nearly screaming from pleasure, all you could muster was a nod. "I need words." You opened your eyes and looked into hers, "Yes. Please. I'll do anything." She smirked and let go of your hand, wrapping it around your throat. You moaned her name so loudly you swore the whole building would hear, but neither of you cared. She whispered against your clit, "Cum for me Y/n." She licked your clit once more before you came screaming her name and a slew of curse words. She continued her pace fucking you through the high until your body fell limp. She slowed her pace and slowly pulled her hands from you. She kissed up your stomach, "Such a good girl. You did so good pretty girl." She pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek before disappearing into the bathroom and returning with a warm, wet washcloth. She sat down at your feet, "Is it okay if I clean you up?" Her tone was gentle and slow. You nodded, not having feelings in your face. Your whole body felt like it was vibrating. She was soft and gentle, discarding the cloth into the dirty laundry.

She pulled a t-shirt over her head and laid one out at the end of the bed. She laid next to you, pulling you into her. You wrapped your arms around her waist before snuggling your head into her neck. She wrapped her arms around your shoulders and pressed a kiss to your head. "Emily, that was." You couldn't quite form the words as your nose was still tingling. "Awesome, amazing, perfect, I know." She giggled at her joke and you smiled. "Who would've known badass Unit Chief Prentiss likes to cuddle after sex." She scoffed, "Shut up! I can be soft!" You chuckled, "There's a shirt at the end of the bed if you want it. You can go to sleep, I'll get you up in the morning." You sat up and looked at her, "I'm kind of hungry." She smiled, her eyes wrinkling, "I'll grab you a snack." She left the room and you slipped on the shirt, never leaving the bed.

The playlist you regretted making, just got you the best sex ever.

[artoatsblog]

What your favorite Nick toon says about you but it's EVERY Nick toon

Doug- When you were asked what you wanted for Christmas, you said "plan white bread."

Rugrats- You're a "90's kid" who wants the modern cartoon enjoyers to get off your lawn.

Hey Arnold-Same as Rugrats, but 5 time worse.

Rugrats (2021)- You only said this one to piss off the above two.

Ren & Stimpy- You're a gay man and all you OCs are ugly men who you need to kiss each other or else you'll die (This isn't an insult, you're the strongest member of our society.)

Rocko's modern life- You relate to at least one character way more than you would like to admit to others.

CatDog- Weird furry.

The angry beavers- Weird furry with taste.

Aaahh!!! Real monsters- You like the idea of Tim Burton's movies but your too cool to actually enjoy them, also your probably non-binary.

Kablam- As a kid you wanted to make something with this exact energy and now, you're a youtuber.

Oh Yeah! Cartoons- same as Kablam but you really miss Cosmo's old voice.

The wild Thornberry's- You worship the ground Tim Curry's walks on SO BAD.

Rocket power- Honest 90's kid.

SpongeBob SquarePants seasons 1-4- You're annoying about seasons 5+.

SpongeBob SquarePants seasons 5+- You know better than me about those people being annoying about seasons 5+.

As told by ginger- You were going to say Hey Arnold, but you didn't want to be lumped in with certain other people.

Action league now- You made at least five short films that look exactly like this.

Chalkzone- Your playlist for working out has the theme song for this show looped for five hours and nothing else.

The fairly oddparents- Your trans, and you hate no other person more than Elmer Hartman.

Invader Zim- You were a vary emo kid/teenager in the late 2000's (same, no shade)

Jimmy Neutron- you're really glad that that you picked the show in "Jimmy Timmy power hour" that wasn't made by an asshole.

All grown up- Come on guys "As told by ginger" is right there.

Avatar: the last airbender- I don't want to hear the lore of the fantasy book you wrote.

Avatar: the legend of Korra- Same as atla but You also made a LOT of shipping fanfics.

My life as a teenage robot- Transfem.

The X's- You don't exist, if you're going to go into the comments and say this is your favorite Nicktoon, you're lying.

El Tigre- This is just the good version of Danny Phantom.

Danny Phantom- That was a Joke don't yell at me.

Mr. meaty- You want this odd but cool type of puppetry to come back (if you thought I was going to make fun of this one your wrong.)

Tak and the power of Juju- Your enjoyment of this show is based entirely on the fact that you liked the games.

Back at the barnyard- Shitposter.

Fanboy and Chum Chum- Shitposter but awesome.

Catscratch- Yeah, I think Wayne Knight's voice is hot too.

The mighty B- Gay.

The penguins of Madagascar- I don't have a joke for this one I just think you have impactable taste.

Planet Sheen- You always wanted Jimmy Neutron to have more "Rawr XD" swag.

T.U.F.F puppy- You ether are Jerry Trainor, or you have a Jerry Trainor stan account.

Kung fu panda: legends of awesomeness- You have a three-hour lore video on this franchise, and I hope it does well.

Winx club- You wanted to help them get free from Netflix.

Robot and Monster- It may just be me, but I think you might enjoy Dan vs.

Teenage mutant ninja turtles (2012)- You don't like rise of the tmnt.

Rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles- You don't like tmnt (2012).

Sanjay and Craig- You used to freak other kids out with your scabs.

Monsters vs aliens- You can deny Coverton's rizz (sorry).

Breadwinners- Your about to go into every cartoon reviewers house with a shit ton of water balloons.

Harvey Beaks- In the middle/late 2000's you were more of a cartoon network kid, you loved Cowder.

Pig, Goat, Banana, Cricket- Same as Harvey Beaks but with Flapjack instead of Cowder.

Bunsen is a beast- Your Elmer Hartman.

Welcome to the Wayne- You wrote at least one fanfic for the ending of this show.

The adventures of kid danger- We don't talk about this one.

Middle school Moguls- it's ok monster high is about to come to Nick for real.

The loud house- Your ether a sapphic girl or a straight guy with a DeviantArt account who needs to be punished.

The Casagrandes- Same as the loud house but with the added advantages, because if you have a DeviantArt account in this one you're more likely to have a normal relationship with your family.

It's pony- You don't hate the British as much as the rest of us.

Middlemost post- John trabbic III is such a bad ass name though, wait this show has Del the funky homosapien and Tony Hawk as guest stars, I might need to which this.

Star trek: prodigy- You really like Netflix original animated shows don't you.

Big Nate- You haven't read the books.

Monster high- You the perfect in-between of goth and prep.

Transformers: earthspark- Why does this show have better non-binary rep than most other shows...I mean they are called Transformers for a reason.

[cardentist]

@space-breeze tagged me in a "top five songs you've been listening to on repeat" meme [Link] (thank you <33333) but Unfortunately I've been almost exclusively listening to music through hlvrai videos jdfklasjklfads

I figured the funniest way to go at it was to embrace it <3

1: Let's not talk about anything else but love (by Najsigt)

I had to stop and go find and watch this again as soon as I saw the post I was tagged in, I am Entranced. it's So So So sweet please watch it

2: When can I see you again (collaboration organized by kenmarlenn)

Godddd what is there to even say about this one, it somehow made me feel nostalgic when it dropped in 2020 and it's only Better at it now. an unashamed and wonderful celebration of the whole series on top of just fucking hard

3: Still feel (by dammjamboy)

I have been OBSESSED with this song for Years ! it's got such a funky vibe to it and I swear it can work flawlessly with just about any story you can think of. and to finally find it executed So Well is cathartic enough on its own <3

4: I play computer (by brad bradley, his own post for it here [Link]) do I even have to say it <3 (the full song is here [Link] !)

5: my entire "Half-Life VR But The AI Has A Soundtrack" playlist

this one is cheating, but if I didn't do this then that'd be the Whole post fasdjklljkfsdajklfsad I've just been putting it on repeat ever since I finished it

but if I were to just highlight One......

5b: TUBES | BUBBY BOSSBATTLE THEME (by Sugardrop50, aka @deadbabydressup)

All of the hlvrai fan songs fuck so hard, but this has just Infested my brain fjadklskljadfsjklfdsa I listen to the whole playlist on repeat, but when I see this in my recommendations I stop everything to have my Tubes Bubby Boss Battle Theme Time

(besides, you've already seen every version of "there's nothing there," "passport guardian," and "dr coomer's bumpin' mix," listen to tubes now)

feel free to reblog with your own top five animatics ! whether they're hlvrai or not :3

[jayy-beeee]

I feel like I should share that my latest project has been deciding what Taylor Swift albums SPOP characters are, and writing down what lyrics from each song best represent those characters. This is just a brief summation of my findings:

🦋Debut for Sea Hawk: I have a feeling that were it a genre in Etheria, Sea Hawk would quite enjoy country. He’s quite the dramatic and spends most of his time pining or causing chaos. Also he sets boats on fire a lot, and that feels fitting with the slight chaos energy of young Taylor. Best fitting songs are A Place In This World, Invisible, and I’m Only Me When I’m With You. I also included Paper Rings.

🫶Fearless for Perfuma: I gave this to Swift Wind for a while, then realized only like maybe five songs at most fit. Also, I like Perfuma a lot more. I feel like there’s a lot of confidence and bravery in Fearless, and that feels like it fits Perfuma and especially confidence she instilled in Scorpia. Most fitting songs are Fearless, Change, and Today Was A Fairytale. I also added the lakes.

☂️Speak Now for Glimmer: Obviously of course! She’s sparkly, dramatic, petulant and literally a princess! There’s a lot of love and care as well as a lot of fear and hurt within Speak Now. Aesthetically, lyrically, and sonically the album is so very Glimmer! Best fitting songs are Back to December, Innocent, Long Live, and Castles Crumbling. I also included Bejeweled.

🧣Red for Hordak: Okay, maybe a hot take. The opening track has the lyrics “you come around and the armor falls” and “you’re my Achilles heel” which to me couldn’t be more perfect! Also the obvious self worth issues and the fact that he’s pretty clearly in breakup mentality all of season 4. Best fitting songs are State of Grace, Treacherous, and The Last Time. I also added You Are In Love, The Great War, Guilty as Sin, loml, and I Hate It Here.

🗽1989 for Adora: Again has some pretty huge self worth issues. Also just have a feeling she’d be a synth pop girl! It’s also an album about finding worth in spending time with friends, back and forths, and features a rekindled love! Best fitting songs are I Wish You Would, Bad Blood, and Wonderland. I also included The Lucky One, Nothing New and Clara Bow. Also new addition to this post: I added Safe & Sound and Eyes Open. She’s the main character so she gets lots of extra songs.

📰reputation for Catra: Who else of course? There are a few playlists for characters made by one of the show creators, and Catras fittingly has Look What You Made Me Do on this playlist. Fits well too with both the villainous character Taylor plays throughout the album, but also with themes of finding love during her darkest times. Best fitting songs are I Did Something Bad, Look What You Made Me Do, and Dancing With Our Hands Tied. I also included Who’s Afraid Of Little Old Me and imgonnagetyouback.

💘Lover for Bow: He quite literally wears a heart on his chest, and seems to really love everything that makes Lover! He really values those close to him, and while he’s anxious often he’s able to grow a lot as a person and work past it all. Best fitting songs are The Archer (of course), Death By A Thousand Cuts, and It’s Nice To Have A Friend. Also by reminder of it being in his official playlist, I included New Years Day. Long Live would also fit, but I feel it fits the entire best friend squad, so it can stay with Glimmer.

🪩folklore for Angella: This album was the hardest choice. Angella is clearly a very anxious woman with the weight of the entire world on her shoulders. She has so much to be angry and sad for. She’s also quite fairy like. Best fitting songs are my tears ricochet, this is me trying, and peace.

🌲evermore for Micah: I think most of all evermore is an album about mourning loss. Micah has both had to be mourned, and himself has lost so much. It also felt fitting given the fact that Micah is a sorcerer. Best fitting songs are gold rush, long story short, and evermore.

🕛Midnights for Entrapta: Could be a sort of hot take, but for me as an autistic and very anxious person, Midnights resonated with me a lot, so I feel it could resonate with her. Entrapta definitely seems to be quite a sleepless person. She’s also subject to a lot of completely unfair scrutiny by people in her life. Best fitting songs are Anti-Hero, Mastermind, and Hits Different. I also added I Can See You, Renegade, Down Bad, and But Daddy I Love Him (gonna have to read what I wrote for an explanation on that)

🖋️The Tortured Poets Department for Scorpia: I know it sounds crazy, I very much do, so hear me out. Scorpia is incredibly loyal and also a terminal people pleaser. In the end, that got her so very hurt when she finally reached the conclusion that someone she deeply cared for had not been a good friend to her. She in the end found people who loved her dearly, and helped her find the good in the world again. I don’t think at all that’s the overarching theme of TTPD as a whole, but a very good amount of song lyrics can be applied to Scorpia. Best fitting songs I found were My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys, So Long London, and Peter. I also included You’re Losing Me.

Any added songs are justified by the fact that I Can Do Whatever I Want Forever. Once I actually have these done I’ll probably post them and include links on this post. Some are done, but I’m still working on Debut, Fearless, Evermore, and TTPD. So far I’ve only sent these to some of my friends who enjoy my ramblings and writings on my special interests.

[wandering-winchesters]

hopeless

Pairing: Dean x depressed Reader

Word Count: 3,069

Summary: The reader can feel her depression creeping back in and eventually seeks comfort from Dean, who greets her with open arms.

Trigger Warnings: Depression, anxiety, suicidal ideations,

A/N: This is an incredibly difficult thing to post, I wrote it for myself and wanted to share incase it helped anyone else. I had tears in my eyes as I wrote it. You are not alone. If you are having these thoughts and feelings, please tell someone you love. As always, please let me know what you think ❤️

Masterlist

There are days where I can honestly forget that I have depression and anxiety. There are days where I can almost imagine what it is like to be “normal”. Days where I can breathe easy, where I don’t focus on all of the things that could possibly go wrong, days where the joy is so prominent that it is all that I can focus on. Then there are those days where I can’t fall or stay asleep. I am staying awake until the early hours of the morning and staying asleep until well past noon. Days where going outside is just impossible. I don’t respond to the messages from the people I care about, I don’t communicate to the people I am with. I shut everything and everyone out. 

Today, is one of those bad days. This week has been one of those bad weeks. A culmination of events, compounding, all consuming. That cause me to be pushed off that cliff into depression. On these days, my bed is the only safe place. Even though it is my own mind that is responsible for these feelings, I am the only person who fully understands me. What it feels like to be me and have the thoughts that I do. I am curled up in bed, the playlist on my phone shuffling some of my favorite songs. Even though nothing bad happened today, I am a mess. Depression and anxiety battling within me to come out on top, a constant scream of emotions tumbling through me all at once. I sat in bed, my back pressed against the head board, my knees pulled to my chest and my eyes fixed on the wall opposite my bed. Everything felt hopeless. What’s the point of fighting this battle, every single day? It never seems to get any easier, do I really want to live like this for the rest of my life? Another sixty plus years? I know the answer to that, no. It would be easier to surrender to the darkness and just slip away. Could I really do that? I don’t know. On the good days, no. I could never leave Dean and Sam, the people who saved me five long years ago. I couldn’t leave my family. On these bad days, it’s a thought. An ugly, exhausting and overwhelming thought. 

My eyes wander around the darkened outline of my room, the only light coming from the alarm clock on my nightstand. The white letters illuminated, reminding me just how late into the night it is. 4:23 A.M. The question now is, do I continue to fight the battle of trying to fall asleep, or do I get up and start the day. 

I decide on the latter, clamoring out of my bed and pulling hoodie and a pair of leggings. I stretch my body, exhaustion hanging heavy even though sleep would not come. 

I head out of my room, quietly closing the door behind me. I tip toe through the hallway of the bunker, not needing light to guide me as I know it like the back of my hand. 

When I reach the kitchen, I flip the light on, the familiar surroundings coming into focus before me. I put a new filter into the coffee maker and start the coffee for the morning. Even though I will mostly drink the entire pot myself before the boys ever get up. I glance in the refrigerator, before deciding that I wasn’t hungry. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten, yesterday? The day before? I don’t know, but hunger was still evading me. I fill my mug with coffee, perfecting it to my taste and head outside the bunker. I take a seat on the bench that Dean had brought back just for me, knowing that watching the sunsets and sunrises were one of my favorite pastimes. I take a deep breath and enjoy the silence around me, the birds are beginning to wake and their song is springing forth. The moon is low in the sky, the horizon turning from blues to oranges and pinks. Something that on most days, brings me immense joy. However, today, it is a dull pang of happiness. The darkness within me too loud to be distracted by the beauty around me. 

“You’re up early.” I jump, spilling a couple drops of my coffee onto my thigh. I wince as the hot liquid quickly cools against my skin from the outside air. Dean comes to sit next to me on the bench muttering a quiet apology as he sits, his features still dripping of sleep. His hair disheveled and eyes tired. He stifles a yawn and gives me a gentle smile. “Yea, I woke up and just couldn’t fall back asleep.” I lie, taking a sip of my coffee and doing my best to return his smile. If he picks up on my lie, he doesn’t act like it. We sit like that in mostly silence, watching the sunrise. My mind begins to wander once again, drifting through the question I had posed to myself earlier, did I really want to live like this for the next 60 years? The sunsets are beautiful, but my mind is ugly. It’s a daily challenge to get out of bed, something that if you had asked me as a teenager, I thought it would have gotten easier by now. 

“Y/N? Did you hear me?” I hum in response, snapped back to my senses by his gentle elbow into my rips. His eyes fixed on me, concern beginning to creep over his face. 

“Sorry, no. What did you say?” I ask, giving him what I hope to be a reassuring smile. 

“Any grand plans for today?” He asks, but I can tell he isn’t convinced by the smile I gave him. Something that I need to get better at, I don’t need him worrying about me and asking more questions. He has enough on his plate. 

The day drags by slowly, a mixture of getting lost in thought and trying to keep up with the Winchester brothers. They decided to go out for dinner and tried to get me to come along, but I declined. An excuse of not being hungry and that I was tired and wanted to go to bed. Dean, again, was not convinced. His brow creased as he saw himself out of my room. I could feel his unspoken questions hanging heavy between us, but he didn’t speak them aloud. 

I went to bed as soon as they left, even though it was early. The physical and mental exhaustion battling within me for the tallest spot on the podium. I laid in bed, scrolling aimlessly through my phone, not focusing on anything in particular, just trying to make time pass. I quickly shut my phone off and close my eyes when I hear footsteps approaching. I hear a soft knock at my door and I ignore it, not wanting to speak to anyone really. Nonetheless, my door creaks open and Dean quietly calls my name. When he doesn’t get a response he quietly crosses the room and sits on the edge of my bed. His hands gently pull a blanket over me and he leans down to press a kiss to my forehead, before quietly leaving my room. The second he closes the door behind him, I pull my phone back out and continue to scroll aimlessly through lore that I am not even reading. I doze off eventually, into a nightmare filled sleep that only lasts for about thirty minutes. When I wake, my heart is beating against my ribs. 

I glance at the clock on my nightstand for what feels like the millionth time tonight and it is only 2:47 in the morning, but I physically cannot lay here any longer. I repeat the same actions as yesterday morning, leggings, hoodie, quietly out into the hallway, towards the kitchen, turn on the light. I am grabbing the filter for the coffee pot when I freeze, I realize that I can feel someones eyes on me and I spin on my heel to find Dean. He had been sitting at the table in the dark, his arms crossed across his chest, face tired but serious. His eyes are soft, but piercing, focused completely on me. 

“What are you doing up?” I ask, trying to disguise the coffee filter in my hand, scrambling to come up with a good explanation as to why I am up this early. He raises an eyebrow at me, his thumb tugging against his bottom lip before he tucks his hand back under his arm.  “I could ask you the same thing. What is going on with you?” He asks, gesturing for me to take a seat at the table across from him. I don’t. I keep my back pressed against the kitchen counter, my arms defensively coming to rest across my middle. 

“Nothing, just needed water Dean.” I respond, my voice a lot snippier than I intended. He notices, but doesn’t comment on my tone. 

“You need a coffee filter for water? See, I really don’t believe that. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or do I need to tell you what I think is going on?” He asks once again, accepting that I am not going to sit with him. He kicks his feet up, resting his boots on the seat across from him. He’s settling in for the long haul. I don’t verbally respond to his question, so he continues.

“You aren’t eating. You are isolating yourself. You aren’t here anymore, you’re somewhere else entirely. I had a suspicion that you haven’t been sleeping and this little middle of the night escapade of coffee at three in the freakin’ morning, confirmed that. If you want to pretend you’re asleep when I come into your room, fine. But at least don’t resume watching the same video the second I close your door, I am not deaf.” My cheeks are flushed and I can feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes, but I don’t want to cry. So instead, I allow anger to erupt within me as a need to defend my actions arise. 

“What makes you think I am not eating? I don’t have to talk to you when you come into my room uninvited!” I snap, my hands gesturing wildly as I speak. I expect him to snap back but he doesn’t. He is completely unfazed, his green eyes continue to burn a hole in my own. I shift uncomfortably, the amount of effort it takes to remain angry and not break down in front of him is exhausting. 

“Y/N, sweetheart. I can see it, in every thing that you do. I can see the exhaustion engrained in you, I can see the internal battle that you are fighting. I can tell that you don’t want me to know, that you want to handle this yourself. But, Y/N,I care for you, about you. I want to help you. I see you.” His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I hug my arms tighter against my body, desperately trying to stop this wave of emotion bubbling up within me, but it’s useless. I bite my lip to stifle the sob that leaves my throat, managing to make it the smallest bit quieter. My eyes are trained on the floor tears beginning to overflow.

“Y/N, you don’t have to go through this alone.” Dean speaks again, his words gentle and soft. I allow myself to meet his gaze once again, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. He is on his feet before I can blink, he closes the distance between us in a few long strides. His hands find my body and tug me into his embrace. I don’t hesitate to bury my face in his chest, the fabric of his t-shirt absorbing my tears as they fall. I can’t help but let everything out, the sobs that wrack my body ugly and loud. My eyes are clenched shut, unsuccessfully trying to slow the flow of my tears. His voice is low as he hold me, his hands traveling over my body. His grip on me never wavering, he supports my weight when my knees grow weak. His touch is gentle but firm and reassuring. I didn’t realize just how much I needed him, until it was too late to stop the waves of emotion flooding the space between us. He holds me until my tears slow, my breathing gets a bit easier and my grip on his t-shirt loosens ever so slightly. 

“Talk to me.” He whispers, gingerly pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. I take a shaky breath, gathering my words and debating just how much I want to tell him. I land on everything. I release my grip on him and he takes a step back, enough so he can see me, but still close enough that I can feel his presence. I cross my arms across my chest once again and start to speak. I look down at my feet, unwilling to watch his expression as I speak. 

“I don’t want to do this anymore, Dean. It’s too much. I have gotten three hours of sleep over the last three days. I can’t bear to eat. Every day is a constant battle to just survive, it would be so much easier to just give up. I want to give up. I want to let everything go and just slip away. I don’t want to leave you and Sam, but you don’t need me. No one needs me. It would be so much simpler if I just-“ I stop, unsure if I can actually verbalize my next sentence. I have thought the words many times before, but verbalizing them to the man that I loved more than he would ever know. Could I do that to him? I gather the courage to look at him and I am caught off guard by the sight before me. Dean is silently crying, his eyes fixed upon me. His fingers rush to brush away his tears, he is trying to remain strong for my sake and It sends a fresh wave of guilt through me. This is why I never wanted to express this to him, I wanted to keep it to myself, he shouldn’t have to talk me down from this level of self hatred and depression. 

“I knew that something was tearing you to pieces, sweetheart. I could see it, I could hear it in your voice, but I-I never imagined this. I know it’s hard, but you have to believe me when I say that there is nothing but love for you within me. I would never be okay without you. I’d be a mess, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if something or someone took you from me. Especially if you took yourself from me, Y/N. I can never lose you. You make my world a brighter place. I love you and I want to spend every day of my life showing you just how much you mean to me.” He’s pleading with me now, closing the distance between us once again. His hands pulling me into a bone crushing hug, his tears now falling onto my clothes. We stay like this for awhile, my sadness slowly fading to just complete exhaustion. My body sags against his, my eyes closing trying to relieve the burn from crying. 

“Dean?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. “Can I ask a favor?” 

“Anything, sweetheart.” He respond, not relinquishing his hold on me in the slightest. 

“Take me to bed and stay with me tonight?” Dean wholeheartedly agrees, he takes me by my hand and pulls me gently behind him. I follow him, confused when we walk right past my room. He brings me to his, opening the door and closing it once I cross the threshold. He leads me to his bed and climbs in under the covers, he pulls the blankets back and I climb in next to him. His arms wrap around my body, pulling me into him firmly. My head comes to rest on his chest, one of his hands coming to rest on my back, the other on the nape of my neck, his touch calming and reassuring. 

“Thank you.” I whisper and he doesn’t speak, only pulls me closer. “I love you, too Dean. I will fight everyday to be able to spend my life with you.” He exhales sharply and I can almost feel the sense of relief wash over him. I turn towards him, propping myself up on my elbow, enough to look at him. 

I lean towards him, holding my breath, hoping this is what he wants too. I stop, our lips millimeters apart and wait for him to close the distance and he does, our lips crashing together in the most love filled exchange I’ve ever experienced. 

“Promise me you won’t give up on life, Y/N. Please.” He ask, his eyes searching my own and it kills me to see the pain and uncertainty swimming through his. I nod, a small smile forming on my lips. 

“I promise, Dean.” He nods, relief washing over him. He tugs me back against him, my head resting on his chest once again. For the first time in days, my thoughts are silent. The only darkness enveloping my senses is a welcome friend, sleep running towards me at full speed and I welcome it wholeheartedly. My eyes fall shut and sleep takes over my senses, encouraged by the gentle touch of my beloved Winchester. 

While his love could not cure my depression, his love gave me a reason. It gave me hope, in the midst of hopelessness. He held a torch for me on my darkest nights. When I couldn’t stand to fight for my own life, he’d take up that cross. With his help, it got easier. On the nights I couldn’t sleep he’d talk to me until I did. He made me food on days where I couldn’t do it myself. He loved the parts of me that I wanted to hide. He made life worth living. I wanted to live those sixty years I had dreaded facing. No matter the battle, there is always hope. 

tag list: @roseblue373

if you’d like to be added, just ask.

[lemonlyman-dotcom]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Thank you for the tags @birdclowns @orchidscript @alrightbuckaroo @thisbuildinghasfeelings @heartstringsduet & @tailoredshirt 💕

Cheating this week and sharing something from All Your Colors Make Me Feel Alive, which went live on ao3 on Monday. This one has gotten pretty low engagement, so if you’re interested it would mean a lot to me if you’d give it a read 💛💛

-

He’s just about to call out to TK, to ask what he wants for dinner, when the familiar chiptune melody begins.

I saw her, yeah I saw her…

He feels his heartbeat tick up, his hands start to shake.

He suddenly feels overcome by the ghost of his broken heart, that hollow feeling he’d had sitting on Nancy’s couch all those weeks ago. He’s bracing the counter when he hears TK’s footsteps approaching.

“Babe? You okay?”

“I’m good,” he replies but he knows it’s not convincing. Hears his voice shake, knows he’s got a haunted look on his face.

“Carlos, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing. It’s just, this song.”

“You love this song,” TK says with a little smirk before a shadow of concern begins to creep across his face. “Wait. You used to love this song... Babe?”

“I did,” he says, “I do!” He quickly corrects as the look of concern on TK’s face morphs into something closer to disappointment. “I do. It’s just. I listened to it—”

“You listened to it?” TK asks, his face twisting again in confusion and then finally to a look of sad understanding. “You listened to it while we were apart?”

He nods. TK deflates a bit. They stand in the kitchen for a moment. Just looking at each other, TK biting his lip and Carlos counting his breaths — in for four, out for five — both unsure of what to say until finally TK takes his hand and leads him over to the couch. They sit so they’re facing one another, TK with his right knee bent up and Carlos with his left bent toward TK.

“Baby, why did you do that?”

“I don’t know. I listened to some of your playlists and that song… it came on a lot. It reminded me of you.”

TK takes a deep breath, centering himself before softly speaking, “Carlos, I hate to think of you torturing yourself like that.”

Those eyes are big and pale blue, shining in the soft light of the loft. Carlos puts a hand on TK’s knee.

“I don’t—” he stumbles, takes a moment to get his thoughts in order before speaking again. “I don’t think I was torturing myself. I just. Wanted to be close to you, I think.”

A single tear falls from one of those eyes. Carlos reaches out to brush it away but TK beats him to it, brings one of his own delicate hands up to rub the moisture off his cheek.

Tagging @chicgeekgirl89 @carlos-in-glasses @freneticfloetry @your-catfish-friend @louis-ii-reyes-strand @apothecarose @reyesstrand @reasonandfaithinharmony @guardian-angle22 @goodways @basilsunrise @lightningboltreader @kiloskywalker @liminalmemories21 @chaotictarlos @never-blooms @rosedavid @rmd-writes @theghostofashton @thebumblecee @ithilien-writes @welcometololaland @wandering-night19 @bonheur-cafe @ladytessa74 @ambiguouspenny @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut and OPEN TAG 🏷️ for anyone else who’d like to share!

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 26: The Song With Five Names

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter ☆ AO3 ☆ Featured song playlist

Summary of chapter: Sometimes people are better off dead.

Content warning for descriptions of gore and suicidal thoughts.

The song for this chapter isn't actually new! It is the inspiration for the title and the chapter breaks in chapter one. The full title of the song is: The Song With Five Names A.K.A Soapbox Tao A.K.A Checkmate Atheists! A.K.A Neospace Government A.K.A You Can Never Know. It is by Will Wood and the Tapeworms.

I watched a Naruto arc I didn't really like to write this. I'm not even sure it was necessary. Ah well. Bare minimum done, which is more I can say for Takara here in doing research!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

In your head, in your head, in your head

And yet you believe it's true, well you do

Like you knew anything ever

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This isn't far off from her first days on a new planet Earth, running till her lungs are burning into a nothingness you don’t recognize, monsters around every corner. Worthless for the air in those organs, she was told and she knows. It didn't start with this sprint; at first it was walking, simply walking away as obediently as she can to minimize her misdeeds to Sasori. But the further she traveled, the louder her voices became, the things that remind her of her place. How heartless, they say, to pity a man before knowing him, to assume that she had any right or place or importance to someone she had just met. How unkind. How very, very cruel.

Is that what you would want? Pity and nothing more?

Legs lift more forcefully, escaping the thoughts that come up in the quiet by perhaps exerting herself until the chemicals in her brain can re-sort their balance, can help her make sense of things. The music she played saves her from having to hear her own thoughts; same with others within mankind who say their mind as she questions, giving her other words to listen to. Where sound fails, maybe other senses can rescue. Maybe, just maybe, she can set herself on fire until she feels nothing else.

Her everything goes into this, and that is how she begins to run.

And what of the rest of them? It can’t be helped but to consider. The realization of how upset they will be...the fighting amongst one another...seeing her for how she is. All her fault, all her fault. How weak in spirit, how disloyal after everything they had done to keep her in place...she is now gone. All their efforts, advice, generosity up in smoke because she could not stand her ground or keep her mouth shut. This is when running becomes running away. She has done them so wrong that she must never be found. Coward, coward,to not face her consequences and instead leave them alone forever, just because she doesn't know what else to do.

But what choice does she have now, this far into her mistake, but to save them the trouble of seeing her face again?

The dark clouds had forebode the worst, and thunder cracks in the sky as rain begins to pelt down, strong enough to break the canopy of trees in spurts as they collide and conjoin from leaf to leaf that fails to catch their fall. It feels like the sky is spitting at her. Any minute now, that tree when the stranger was little could fall again into her bedroom and wake her up. It had missed the first time, and so a crushing death is overdue. She doesn't know where she's going anyway, so it is best if she closes her eyes.

She closes her eyes and from the bottom of her heart, the stranger screams.

At some point unknowable the ground is underneath her face, a trail of mud dripping down her arm and into her stinging cut. She is no longer moving, but she doesn't care. She does not care.

The darkness of her eyes being shut becomes darkness of another kind. Laying face down begins to feel less and less...absolute. The dirt beneath her disappears and she feels like she's dangling instead, that the pull of gravity wants her further down than where she is now. She feels limp. Her hands reach out in front of her like there is no where else to go, and her palms open. Another crack of thunder and she's standing up, a triple bladed scythe in her hands. It has already been swung. The blades are all stuck into her kidnapper from what feels like yesterday, like a fork picking up a piece of meat. She does not see all of his face but can tell that his gaping mouth is oozing blood. Screaming, screaming, but it is not her own. It may not even be his. The moon is big but the sky is red and a war she does not know wages all around her. Eyes shaking in her skull cannot otherwise move, cannot otherwise look around and see what she is lost within. One of the shouts drift into being more distinct, crawling away from the cacophony of a pained hellfire choir to speak clear words:

A civilian...! Horrified, disgusted. What is she doing here?!

This man who taught her to be afraid asks her without words if he deserved this, and just as she had been afraid of, right where she had been punched before, her eyeball collapses in its socket. She has, after all, done nothing today to deserve her eyes.

The ocean is crashing inside of her ears as her head fills to the brim with crimson.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

So don't you forget that all you project is just to protect you from

The void within the form

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The crackle of fire...it never seemed so soothing before. Could Hell really be so bad if its sounds were as peaceful as this? The lone traveler asks herself this question first, even before she is awake. In fact, someone else notices that before she does:

"Hey, I think she's up!"

Dark shifts more to light, but sight does not yet focus. Her vision is half-fuzzy. Did she really lose an-...?!

"Be quiet, it's best if she—"

"Too late..."

A gaping stare sees but does not understand, and the dream is still so fresh in her unconscious that it is considered if she really did bust her eyeball open and it’s gone for good. But somehow there is something with more urgency that a torn up body to take care of. Who the fuck is that?! Adrenaline kicks in and she sits up fast, one palm onto cold stone and other arm up to guard herself as a mind reels to comprehend the threat she woke into. The reaction is returned, breaths already stifled by gas masks hitching behind strapped cloth, their own hands up in a flash with weapons to defend. They hold the same kind of knife that Hidan and Kisame used to spar, that the former gave to her in order to sacrifice his body for her sins. What the fuck? Is she still not awake...?!

"Hey! Take it easy." It is spoken both to her and to the two comrades dressed for warfare. "She's just afraid. Look at her." And the woman briefly sees herself as they must, a wild animal flinching at every movement yet too afraid and run to safety. Eyes dart back and forth, perhaps beginning to see clearly, perhaps hallucinating, and her heart is beating so fast it feels less like a pound and more like a constant buzz in her aching chest. There's a breeze in the air and it feels like someone could be behind her. It is cold, and yet it is familiar. Is this a cave...?

Across the campfire, demands are being made. "Tell us who you are!"

"Hold on, you can't just go right out if the gate with that. We should ease into this."

"And give ourselves away?"

"What choice do we have?!"

"Tie her up and—"

"No! We are fucked if that's our next move and you know it. On enemy territory, Akatsuki around the corner—" The word their friends call themselves is now thrown out with hatred, like it’s something to be stomped on until dead and gone. "We don't have that kind of discretion."

"This can't be happening..." one voice sobs for her, the first this shinobi has spoken at all. She sees them hold their own shoulders so tight the sturdy-seeming material dents, and they try to be small enough to disappear.

"Come on, get it together, both of you. We need level heads to make it out of this." The apparent leader of the squad, way they’re talking. But...something abruptly is apparent, and it makes no sense— "Just...stick with me here." Fingers grip the bottom of the gas mask, and it sends the two others in a panic like this attire is the only thing between them and an ill fate.

“No, wait!��

“What are you, crazy!?”

But all the same, this mask slips off and tired eyes look back at her upon a face much the same way. Her lips part in confusion, and not just because they are at most a teenager, if not a child. This person has a headband on…much the same as ones worn by those who take refuge in her house. There's a star in the middle where other markings would be. It takes her a while to notice them staring at her raised arm. She flinches, reflexively trying to hide it—

“Hey.” The young leader raises a palm, approaching slowly, scooting a bit closer across the cave floor. No use hiding now. “I want to help.” They command with the calmness of an adult...like the head of a battalion. What the hell is happening…? “We're here investigating a group of rogues called the Akatsuki. Do you know of them?”

It means a whole damn lot that this is their first question and not why she was passed out on the forest floor. Their stare continues to glue on her arm, reddening to fight off infection after being drowned in the elements. It reminds her of when people stared at her shoulder and it twists her gut apart. It is known that the answers she gives now are critical, but not how, and that’s the most terrifying thing of all. Her response now is too slow—

“Listen…it's clear that the Akatsuki hurt you too.” Nightmare, this is a nightmare. “Help us. Tell us what you know and we have a better chance of getting you out of here.”

“You can't assume that–”

“She is a civilian.” And though this is meant to vouch for her, nothing worse could be happening. Oh God. They think the cut on her arm–that they…!

She stares again at the metal plate. It looks so strange to see a headband without a scratch.  Why doesn’t it have a scratch…?

“What's your name?”

Her stomach wants to vomit, but bile needs to be swallowed down. She can't get them in trouble. She can't. Even if she dies, she can't take her friends down with her. It is the only thing she can do for them, the only help she can give is to merely not exist in their space after everything they’ve gone through. But her throat chokes in this effort and she can't speak at all lest she spew. Hands are thrown over her face just in case she really does throw up right here and now. She has no idea she's crying until someone tells her to stop.

A hand is on her shoulder. She is a possession now instead of a person, and she wonders if it is one they intend to steal.

“We'll get you to safety. I promise.”

“You can't–”

“I can and I will. Foreigner or not, she isn't Akatsuki. No one should be left to those animals.” And lower, not unheard like they think it is: “She's too pathetic to be one of them.”

.

.

.

“The rain is lightening up," the meekest voice notes with hesitation, as it is both relieved and afraid that this means there is no choice but to leave. Indeed it is, precipitation no longer blinding. Indeed it has been, the woman having no idea it was still raining at all.

The stranger begins to be carried away, hat nowhere to be found as she probably lost it long before she was found. It was useless, but it was cute, just like her. These people run and jump like birds as they spirit her away, like it's nothing. She doesn't even slow the quiet one down, give them trouble keeping up as they bridal carry. Superpowers...just like the Akatsuki. Her fingers grip the shinobi's coat much like this person was doing before— in fear. Where are they going?! She can’t even bring herself to ask, like her mouth is sewn shut. It's all over. 

Useless. Useless. Useless. Die. Die. Die. Be dead. You are better off dead. They are better off with you dead. What will these guys ask? Maybe they can hypnotize you, too, just like Itachi can. You made him promise to tell you if you will die. They did no such thing. Take control. Do it yourself. Save the Akatsuki from whatever secrets you can give away. Die. Die. Be dead. Useless. You are better off dead. Make them kill you —

The one carrying her asks a question. It momentarily saves the woman from this trance of sacrifice:

“Are you okay, miss?”

And abruptly...the world looks different. The water lands more gently on her skin and it sounds like a peaceful patter instead of a storm. It makes her wonder if the cave they just left is where Kisame held her close. It is just as gentle and kind as that night was.

Is she okay? Shes not, but is it better if she shouldn't be?

Silence. This voice suddenly sounds like her own:

“It's okay to be afraid.”

More silence. The trees pass by. One. Another. Blurring together. Brown and green and yellow and red, looking like a forest on fire except it is too cold.

“My name is Hiniri,” it whispers, so shy and nervous and very, very small. “And I'm afraid too. This is my first mission outside of home. My home…doesn't usually send people out so far. But this is pretty serious.” And then they ask a question again, no motive besides sympathy— comradery— to be found:

“Whats your name?”

And with her heart a thousand miles an hour, held in another stranger’s arms, the woman shuts her eyes in concentration and tries to remember what Kakuzu taught her from the very start. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You can break a shovel when you break new ground

You dig dirt up when you dig deep down

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“He'll ask eventually, you know.”

Is this tone scolding, she wonders? The performer waits to see, having not known this man for as long as she will eventually. The sharpness in his strange, green and red eyes from when they first met a week or so ago is gone. Dull, tired. Why give her his time when he’s tired?

The woman’s gaze raises to a corner of the ceiling, noting how the edges of the walls maybe don’t fit together anymore. How old is this place, anyway? Anyhow, she finds an excuse in the tiny gap it makes. “...Hidan hasn't yet, though.” But the retort is as quick as it is exhausted:

“And the barkeeper wants your name now that you're hired.”

“A-...a girl from another world?” That’s what she said before, right? “Is it a bad stage name?”

“He wants your real name.”

“Why?”

…

…

...

Yeah, that’s pretty dumb when you say that out loud, huh? Don’t need to see the bottom half of the bounty hunter’s face to tell he thinks the same. Ah damn. Not getting out of this one when he has a point.

Tilting down his clothed head, Kakuzu sighs, motioning the girl to come over, sit next to him on the couch. She is so obedient it puts a pit in his stomach, as she so naively stares so hard at his headband, memorizing its sigil and strike across. “You'll need one, you know. You haven't thought of one yet?” A shameful pause and this mouse shakes her head, having not completed her one assignment. “Why not?”

Pink tinges her cheeks as shoulders squirm tighter into her body to make herself small. “Afraid of commitment, I guess.” Not an answer he understands. Hell, let’s just get it over with:

“I'll do it, then.”

…

…

...Hypocrite he is, he understands suddenly what she means. It's been a long time…70 something years or the like? He just picked a new name and never looked back— nothing more to it. Gemstone eyes look to starry ones. Does he have the right to shape her future? Maybe not. But she's not giving him much choice. That in itself is the first time he suspects she may not be entirely stupid. Less responsibility, the better...

He grumbles under his mask and thinks. If she could have one future– he could pick a new one for himself– what would be best? The reason he cares for her is irrational, yes, but not nonexistent. She is just like him. When he was full of hopes and dreams and loyalty. The things that nearly killed him, did in fact kill a shinobi of another name who once was proud to serve a village and willing to die simply because it deemed so. Perhaps a piece of that is worth protecting, keeping a candle lit in the thunderstorm.

He tells her a word, hardly believing it himself as he confesses a wish near and dear to five reluctant hearts.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You should know better than that by now

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lost deep in a forest she thought she knew, trained lips repeat her memorized answer. It is one that Kakuzu taught her to use to protect herself, hide from those who mean her harm. She remembers two instructions: to live and to lie if need be. Perform for your life.

Tell them your name.

“Takara," she says, "Of Hoshigakure.”

.

.

.

The rain suddenly feels different on her skin. The wind is lighter. She opens her eyes to see they have stopped running, all feet but hers solid upon the ground. The other two ninja are staring at her and she can feel it from the one who asked her confession, too. Even through masks, she can tell. The voice that used to have eyes speaks, shaken like she set upon them a curse. “Put her down.”

Nothing changes. The leader shouts more urgently:

“Do it–!”

“You–“ The one literally holding her life in their hands beseeches to not let go. They know something she does not, and yet again the unknown is the scariest thing of all. “You said she's just a civilian–!”

“You set her down, we have our ORDERS!”

The fingers around her quiver in fear, and yet the voice in the gas mask does not let down. “We're just intel—”

“Not anymore!”

The person holding her wears the headband around her neck like Hidan does. It has a star. A star. Smack, smack, smack—! reality hits her all at once:

Hoshigakure. That is The Village Hidden in the Stars.

Dear God. This really is all her fault. And she was too much of an idiot to see it coming. She didn't even wonder why Deidara's bird would still be on the lawn before when it exploded in front of her eyes. He had to make another. It was a caution. A caution to be ready in case these people whose name she stole came all the way here. That’s why they haven’t come home, the four others sent away are out there, defending the likes of her from trouble she dragged to their door. The words she took were tainted ground. Bait for sharks. She has made a name for herself in a little town and now the whole world may know Akatsuki are here.

And what is she, to be doing so, but a dangerous criminal just as they?

In slow motion so she can feel every grain of sand in the end of her hourglass drop by, the person scared like her lowers the horrible liar to her feet. She can hardly stand on by herself, but the hoshi-nin is helpless but to offer no further aid. That at this point would be their own suicide.

“We should kill her.” The impatient voice, the one who was right about her from the start. “That'll end this.”

“Maybe so,” the child agrees, and even as they can hardly say it either, they mean it.

The person now behind her may be trembling more than she is. Yet another argument for her life; why can’t she speak for herself?! She was begging for death mere seconds ago, and that desire collides with her instruction to live. What if her friends find out she let them down so bad as to really be killed?!

“What happened to interrogation?!”

“Too risky. If she's buddy buddy with Akatsuki, then bringing her back spells disaster. We do it here and now and run.”

Shes dizzy. The sky is falling. The rain soaks and it is pulling her down like there is a grave under her boots that she needs to drop into.

Maybe she does deserve to die.

“Do it.”

Trembling hands come in front of her. A glisten is held in these fingers. They are not hers. A whimpering is behind her ear, and it really does sound just like her:

“I'm sorry.”

A musician's death is fitting, a kunai strung at her arteries like a bow winding across a cello. The acrid scent of blood fills the air.

And then.

And then.

.

.

.

Then, the sound of cracking bones. A neck untouched by a blade raises her chin. 

The corpse of her captor impaled over and over again hangs half limp and half stuck on Zetsu's green, massive talons that pinch over his head as he bursts from the earth itself right behind her, right where the hoshi-nin was. A fellow human is being crushed to death between them and gushing contents open like a popped water balloon. She looks up with her mouth agape and red falls on her face. In a flash, it is dark once more.

The traveler wonders if she is dreaming yet again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It's not profound to know that you can never know

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

How did you come across Argent and Russ?

I LOVE THIS ASK, i get to thank the lovely @burn-on-the-flame again!!! and i can let my need to talk endlessly about russ flow!!! it might go off topic a little bit a lot!!! you're diving into the depths of my mind by sending this!!!

expect a lot of words, it's probably going to be WAY more than necessary because i can't and won't shut up about them and what they've done to me and my brain(especially russ).

okay here we go

so i've already known the song hold your head up just from hearing it on the radio or things like that sometimes, but never looked into them before, so for a long time it was just a familiar song and that's all. i THINK i also knew the song liar, maybe the three dog night version since their cover of it was the hit.

but anyway, sometime last year, i think like november or something maybe, my wonderful and nice and amazing friend(who i love very much) showed me their set of six concert(THANK YOU AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN(<accidental song reference) @burn-on-the-flame) and, although i was still in deep(<-argent album reference) obsession with badfinger, in my head i already could tell right away that argent was absolutely going to take over my life at some point.

i was thinking while watching it "is this gonna be the next obsession? yeaaah this is definitely gonna be the next obsession"

especially russ because, just on a first impression alone, besides the beautiful voice and guitar and everything catching my attention first, he just had something else about him that's like.. i don't know how to describe it. interesting i guess(the way he performs for example is very interesting and funny to me), but also a certain vibe to him or something, or things like how you can visibly SEE his love for music.

i felt like i could see it at least, and still do. but somehow he just drew me in and i couldn't stop thinking about him for months just from watching that one video.

it just felt like my life needed him in it for some reason. and it wasn't like having a crush at the start, it was something else. honestly started to feel like he was just knowingly dragging me into his whole world.

so anyway, i was letting my badfinger obsession ride out a little first because i felt like i couldn't REALLY listen to anything else yet with proper appreciation as long as badfinger were clung to my brain the way that they were(i still love them very much and always will, by the way)

so that went on untillll i think january? which was when i first started posting gifs from that argent video. somewhere around the same time was when i started listening to their albums.

since i was already feeling the way i was about them, i wanted my first time listening to each album all the way through to be with my full attention and no distractions.

so one day, i decided that i'd stay awake later than usual in bed and just lay there and listen in the darkness of my room with headphones on. i did that with the firsttttt three or four albums.

BUT i listened to each one for a few days first before moving on to the next one, just to let it all sink in a little at a time.

so like, i'd listen to the first one that night, then keep listening to it over the next few days, then do the same with the second one, add it to the playlist, listen to them both for the next few days, do the same with the third one, etc.

i haven't listened to the last two argent albums yet, i only know up to nexus because russ left the band after that one.

so i listened to nothing but those first five argent albums for quite a while first before moving along to russ's solo albums, although i was going into SOME of his songs a little bit because i couldn't stop watching videos of him, learning about him and looking for more things to gif.

i think i remember watching some videos muted at first though, just because i haven't listened to the albums yet at the time and i was like "i want to see what the video is like, but i'm not ready to hear it yet" but i ended up listening to a few of them anyway because i couldn't fight the curiosity and, of course, i loved it. i knew i would.

but i was getting more involved in listening to his interviews first, actually. the things he has talked about had me suddenly crying on my floor like a baby on and off for a couple of weeks, i think it was.

this is when he started getting into parts of my mind that felt like they haven't been touched before. he just went in there and started rearranging everything in my brain(in the best way possible).

I MEAN bands have made me cry before over things like, with iron maiden, i'd be like "omg that's so cute, look at how they are with the fans" and lots of things like that. with badfinger, i'd cry over similar things or the fact that their story is literally one of the saddest things ever and should have never happened.

(bands are one of the few things in life that do make me cry. bands/music and animals.)

but no band or musician has ever made me think like this or cry like this for myself, until russ.

and then after those couple of weeks of just listening to him talk, thinking about it, relating to it and crying almost constantly, i woke up one morning feeling good??? for once????? i used to have this pit of dread in my stomach just about every morning, never wanted to get out of bed because it felt like there was nothing to get up for, etc. so then when i somehow suddenly felt GOOD, i was like what is HAPPENING

and then when i DID start listening to his albums, you combine all of that stuff along with his motivational songs, his lyrics, things from his own experiences, and it was like .oh my god where have you BEEN ALL OF MY LIFE???????

and then everything about the way he is is just perfect, he's so adorable and wholesome and loving and passionate and intelligent and (multi)talented and cute, i love him.

anyway, everything's just been getting better and better for me from then on. i keep getting something new out of his words and songs the more i listen.

real life changes have started happening that i never thought would ever happen to me, things i never thought i could do, fears i've had that feel like they've just vanished, etc., and it's only adding to the momentum of getting better every day.

and that's the story of how i got into argent and russ as much as i am right now, why i love them so much, and why i have no plans of letting go of them anytime soon, or ever.

[greyfics]

fifties/sixties song lyric prompts

because I've drafted so many quotes from songs that I want to use as inspiration for fic writing whilst listening to my throwback playlist and whether you're on this little site for role-playing, fanfics or general writing inspiration I'm sure this'll be of use ! will be doing another one with lines from songs I have specifically discovered via the fallout tv series soundtrack I was going to add them here but realised I already did uh a fair few by that point to say the least haha

you don't have to use these as quotes ( personally I like to use prompts sometimes as the titles for the writing it inspires, even if I don't use the prompt at all in the end ), so do what you want with them :)

- °•. ✦ .•° -

"You're alone now, no love of your own- but darlin', reach out." "Nobody's right if everybody's wrong." "You keep losin' when you ought to not bet." "You told me lies, now it's your turn to cry." "That's the kind of girl I'd like to meet." "You, to me, are sweet as roses in the morning." "The concrete and the clay beneath my feet begins to crumble- but love will never die." "We'll see the mountains tumble before we say goodbye." "The shadows fall, and once again you're in my arms." "Everytime I see your face, I get all choked up inside." "Hope you are quite prepared to die." "I thought love was only true in fairy-tales- meant for someone else, but not for me." "I thought love was more or less a given thing- seems the more I gave, the less I got." "I betcha five dollars he'll kill you dead." "Is her sweet expression worth more than my love and affection?" "He's taken everythin' I got." "I wonder, what went wrong with our love?" "I wonder, where she will stay- my little runaway." "Your mind is so full of red." "Your eyes may look like his- but in your head, baby, I'm afraid you don't know where it is." "Wouldn't you love somebody to love?" "I go through life, without a care." "Now that I've surrendered, so helplessly- you now want to leave." "Now that you've got me, you wanna leave me behind." "I know something about love: you've gotta want it bad." "Why should true love be so complicated?" "I want to be with you all of the time." "The only time I feel alright is by your side." "I don't believe you, you're not the truth." "Are you lonely, just like me?" "When I found you, the moon stood still." "All of those vows you made, were never to be." "Though we're apart, you're part of me still." "If we go some place to dance, I know that there's a chance you won't be leaving with me." "I can see it in your eyes that you despise the same old lies you heard the night before." "Though it's just a line for you, for me it's true." "Bluer than velvet were her eyes; warmer than may her tender sighs." "Ours a love I held tightly, feeling the rapture grow." "Like a flame burning brightly- when she left, gone was the glow." "And I still can see blue velvet through my tears." "Darlin', save the last dance for me." "I will never, never let you go." "Carry on, 'til the night is gone and it's time to go." "Ain't that a shame? You're the one to blame." "Say you belong to me and ease my mind." "A wave out on the ocean could never move that way." "I love every movement- there's nothing I would change." "Will you still love me tomorrow?" "I only know I never wanna let you go." "Ever since we met you've had a hold on me." "I never knew that I could be in love like this." "I didn't stand a chance." "No one here gets out alive, now." "You get yours baby, I'll get mine." "They got the guns. but we got the numbers." "We're takin' over." "I'll make you so proud of me." "We'll make 'em turn their heads, every place we go." "Since the day I saw you, I have been waiting for you." "You know I will adore you, 'til eternity." "You're a real mean guy." "I know that you're the one to blame." "You mixed me up for good right from the very start." "I don't feature what you're putting down." "Since I kissed his loving lips of wine, the thing that bothers me is that I like it fine." "Might as well confess, if the answer's yes." "Though it really hurts me, there's something that I've gotta say." "You stretched my love, till it was thin enough to tear." "I'm just a somebody nobody wants." "I don't want to set the world on fire, honey- I love you too much." "If your love is gone, how can I face the dawn?" "Maybe you'll ask me to come back again- and, maybe, I'll say maybe." "It hurts me to tell 'em that you're gone."

- °•. ✦ .•° -

[azaisya]

1 to 5 tag

ty to @seasteading for the tag !! i am going to do finn wip ofc ✨

Rules: Follow the prompts, change one if you like, and tell us a little something about your wip! Answers to the prompts can be in the form of quotes or anything you’d like!

One word to describe your WIP:

self-indulgent

Two characters talking in a short excerpt:

“Maybe we can chase the unicorn north,” Finnelyn said, “away from the village.” “No.” Her dark eyes locked onto his. “I need to kill it.” His lip curled. “Don’t believe the rumors that a commoner can win their way into the Luminessence. Hunting is a noble’s game, and the only way to win is to be born to it. You’ve nothing to gain by killing it.” Her gaze on him sharpened, and he—bizarrely—had to fight the urge to take a step back. Nobody looked at him like that. There was no way for her to know the tangle of confused emotions in his chest, the grief he felt for a creature that anybody else in this Empire would slay without a second thought. But those dark brown eyes, as deep and solemn as the damp earth beneath their feet, seemed to pierce through all his layers of pretense and guile to the empty heart of him. “Okay,” she said, as if she hadn’t just shaken him to his core with nothing but a look. “I’m still going to kill it.” Without waiting for a response, she glanced around to get her bearings and started off into the trees. 

Three chapter titles:

i have not split this wip into chapters yet. ngl did not realize that was a thing people did. am i supposed to be doing that

Four tropes featured:

1. Decadent Court 2. Hidden Backup Prince 3. Big, Screwed-Up Family 4. Pieces of God

Five songs from your WIP-playlist:

1. Rule #1 - Magic // Fish in a Birdcage 2. To My Heart // Mother Mother 3. Nothing Matters // The Last Dinner Party 4. Fight for Me // AlicebanD 5. Monsters // Charming Disaster

and i'm going to tag @someabsolutenonsense and @glorf1ndel and anybody else who wants to do this !! get tagged !

[sunboki]

⎯ COUNTDOWN TO LOVE. (TEASER) a Chris Bahng fiction

🎁 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. countdown to christmas, best friends to lovers! au, pining, worry of unrequited feelings, angst, fluff, cuteness overload

WORD COUNT. estimated to be around 5k-10k words!

WARNINGS. might be swearing(??), mentions of a dick(?)

AUG'S NOTES. hello this years christmas piece~ i love having annual pieces like this one, but i’m getting such whiplash after writing so angsty for hyune last december 😭　hopefully i can deliver this fic well for everyone!!

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. It had always been natural between you and Chris. Knowing someone for almost ten years comes with that. And yet, when he confesses that he doesn’t want to keep up this cycle but pursue you one winter, you’re hesitant in thinking it will work out. Then again, you’ve never been one to deny him.

or alternatively :

Five days till Christmas, five dates to see if you feel the same.

December 20th.

“Move your arm.”

Sunday morning sunlight streams through barely cracked blinds, making your brows crinkle at the onslaught of brightness in distaste. That, along with occupying a mattress with none other than Chris Bahng.

A weekly occurrence at this rate, if not daily. And no, whatever earlier assumption about you two sharing a bed is wrong.

Totally.

Oh, he’s also pitiful to boot, evident with the loud whine heard in response as he rolls over—messy curls unruly upon just awakening. 

And.. somehow beautiful, with those big brown eyes and lips the color of burnt russet parting with a highly exaggerated yawn.

But pitiful most of all. 

“‘S warm—“ Chris groans out, inch-worming his way to wrap big arms around your form, beckoning you snuggled against his back with a content sigh.

“Too warm,” You scowl, squirming about in his grasp, disagreeable sorts of sounds leaving tight lips. Chris simply giggles.

“Say,” He begins, weighing his chin upon your shoulder, fingertips slipping beneath your shirt to feel your skin, tracing the lines of your abdomen, rising to rest on your belly. 

A surprising lover of skin-to-skin, he is.

“What if we became something more?”

When you know someone long enough, an established sense of normalcy alternative to everybody else appears, whether that’s the plentiful times you’d heard Chris squeal like a girl after walking in on him in his boxers, or the not-so pretty nights out where he’d hold back your hair while you threw up in the bathroom a bar whose name you can’t recall.

But then again, it’s always been just that.

Nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t demand anything from you, didn't judge you. Listening with an attentive ear those days you would cry on the phone, and bring you a donut before morning classes after passing an exam.

The small things.

So it makes you wonder when you started seeing him differently. And if he felt that same way too.

A slow progression of love, like a river in its path of eroding canyons over thousands of years. Familiar, comforting. Done without a second thought like muscle memory. His fingers curling against yours in busied atmospheres, the look you both give each other when a certain song comes on.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?”

With your face peering over his monitor, wide eyes he adores peek at him from an upside down angle. 

Cute, he thinks, tapping your nose with a chilled index.

Chris always keeps it cold in his apartment, partially because he remembers you’d told him you sleep better that way, partially because he loves to hear you complain about it in the morning.

As for the big question popped earlier today, he chooses to wait patiently per your request (after staring at him like he’d grown an extra pair of eyes then proceeding to smack his arm before realizing he was serious).

So, yes, you’re thinking.

And it scares Chris more than he’d like to admit. 

He knows the risks, the “let’s try this” somehow turning into an ugly breakup and never speaking again.

And he can’t afford that when it comes to you, because you’ve become the most important person in his life without even noticing it.

Even if his love is one sided. Unrequited. 

He’d be okay as long as he has you.

Just the thought makes him anxious, makes the clicking of his mouse arranging the tempo to become erratic in pace, head-dizzying.

“Chris?”

Until your voice finds him, and the torrential waves of his ocean go back to their slow lapsing. Calming the waters as always, trademark to you.

“New track,” He offers, eyes flickering up to you with a meek smile emphasizing the charming dimples there.

Majoring in music comes with both perks and downfalls: hours spent studying and cramming terms down his throat whilst managing personal projects, and, of course, the fleeting satisfaction after passing an exam by a stroke of luck.

But he loves every moment of it, especially having you listen to some of his favorite productions. Some he’ll strum on a guitar amidst his arranged apartment shared with Changbin and Han—roommates you’d grown quite acquainted with—in the late evening, his heart likely beating out of his chest watching your sweet face nod along.

At the moment it’s him here alone, Han having already relocated back home for the holidays, Changbin at his part time job, working lighting and electrical work at a live-house.

“Can I listen?” 

Slow to nod, he beckons you closer with a wave of his hand, carefully placing headphones overtop your ears.

And yet, as your head bobs and face wrinkles up just like he does when hearing something catchy, he can’t help the grin on his face watching you.

You’re beautiful, and he’s too fond it might just be unhealthy.

It’s too easy to fall in love with you.

He has a feeling he’ll be thinking that a lot.

December 21st.

Enough. 

If there was an early New Year’s resolution, gaining a lack of hesitation would have to be on the top of the list.

Of course, that would ensue plenty of compromising situations if you did things impulsively considering the amount of times you’d wanted to kiss him, but, for the most part, it would work in a sensible manner.

“Five dates.” 

Last night you slept over (similar to most nights), clad in one of Chris’s old t-shirts and a pair of suspiciously clean basketball shorts for the gym-addicted man in question, Changbin, to offer you.

By the stove, Chris occupies himself with cooking eggs, lips puffed in a way downright dangerous to your “no hesitation” resolution and lack of t-shirt displaying a broad, muscled back adding to the list. 

Your tongue pokes against your cheek, arms crossed over your chest.

”Five dates.. mhm.. gotcha…” Each nod from the man assures you that, no, he doesn’t “gotcha”; his attention long since drawn to what lies in a sizzling pan and the low hum of “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz rumbling from the small radio on the corner of the kitchen island.

“Chris,” You grunt, brows lifting, resisting the urge to laugh when he glances over his shoulder with that sheepish expression, all-telling.

Or maybe that comes with the years. Unspoken gestures understood without fail.

”Sorry ‘bout that,” He murmurs, and you curse every aspect of your vision being a spectator to his trapezius rippling while dishing down two mugs from the cabinet. One that you bought him, the other purchased by Han.

The latter patterned with.. odd shaped bananas he’s sworn are not the shape of a dick.

But that’s a story for another time. 

Although, that’s the least of the oddities. Between the Danny Devito cheeto ornament(how they got their hands on it you couldn’t guess) added to their tiny Christmas tree and the rug in the bathroom with old stains no one talks about, you’ve decided to turn a blind eye for the sake of learning things you don’t want to remember. 

“What do you think if.. y’know, before we try something new,”

You pause, scorning the sly smile on his face when turning to face you, long fingers quelling the stove’s flame momentarily.

He thinks you’re the most darling thing he’s laid eyes on, and you think he’s going to laugh at you.

”We go on five dates. And after those five dates, I’ll make up my mind.”

”Is this a part of your “thinking”?”

Jerk. He’s lucky he’s handsome.

Gnawing at your bottom lip, your face pinches.

“Yes.” The words are quiet, too hushed for your liking.

Chris doesn’t make you quiet, he doesn’t make you shy. Yet, these days you find yourself falling back into a cycle of nervous, foreign feelings when speaking. As if he’s picking you apart piece for piece.

As if he hasn’t already read every page of the book named you over and over again.

But now the pages rewrite themselves, too many filled with the word “love” and “affection” and “more than friends” and—

“Can I kiss you after those dates?”

Jerk. For the second time.

”And if I say no?”

He lights a fire under your feet. Maybe it’s the heat causing blood to rush to your ears.

Chris lifts his mug. ”Indirect?”

You scoff, he giggles, squeaky in pitch just as it’s always been. Your cheeks warm.

Because in the midst of a once-normalcy, you can feel a storm brewing. It’s unclear if it’ll be a hurricane or a refreshing rain shower, and perhaps the unpredictably is supposed to be thrilling.

Or maybe it’s doomed, and the debris left after that hurricane will lay untouched, uncared for.

So it’s the feeling of his arms wrapping around you beckoning those thoughts out of reach, holding the doubt just high enough you don’t have to see.

Hear, listen, overthink. For now, all there is to fret about is Chris, and the warmth of his hug, pulling you infinitely close against heated skin.

Then does it register to you he’s always read your pages the same, and he would for as long as you’ll give him time to reread. If they change, they change together.

How foolish you forgot such a thing. As if he wasn’t your best friend first.

“Yes, you can.”

When those five dates are over, kiss me.

His nose buried into your shoulder, he murmurs a quiet “thank you”, a satisfied hum resounding from his chest, eyes crinkling up in the corners with a smile.

“Is that my shampoo?”

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[cescalr]

stalia, 17

... I knew this was a big risk, given my taste in music. So.

Stalia + Yeah Yeah Yeah (V2) by Jack Conte, for the spotify wrapped ask game. I really don't know how to write this as actually stalia, since the whole song is about a failed relationship. Whilst this is accurate to canon, alas, it also breaks my weak little heart :(. So, fair warning. Angst ahead! Feel free to repeat request, if you weren't looking for heartbreak at half nine in the goddamn morning.

As a... consolation prize? I guess - have a link; my stalia playlist.

And finally, of course; read this on Ao3 instead, if you like!

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I knew it all along I knew it from the very start And I felt it in my heart If there's even one to feel, oh-oh   I bought you a gift It's a picture frame for my face When you decide to place me in the past 'Cause nothing lasts Yeah nothing lasts No nothing lasts   You're taking off your clothes I hear echoes of her breathing But she is fading into the past At last At long last At long last   Yeah, yeah, yeah, I knew it all along I knew it from the very start And I felt it in my heart If there's even one to feel (To—! To—! To—!) Let me be! Let me alone! (Water me) (My memories are wilting)   Yeah, yeah, yeah, I knew it all along I knew it from the very start And I felt it in my heart If there's even one to feel.

- 'Yeah Yeah Yeah (V2)' by Jack Conte.

It's been fifteen years.

Malia can hardly believe that sometimes; that she's lived this long, that she's thirty-fucking-five years old. That missing nine years as a coyote is now only... well, it's no longer half her life. Malia did not ever get great at math, and as soon as school ended, saynoara equations! Point being she doesn't actually know the fraction or, percentage 9 out of 35 is, but it's not nearly as significant as 9 out of 18. Malia doesn't remember it, anymore. Doesn't have that same desperate longing she once did for the simplicity of life as a coyote. 

Malia has grown as a person, is the thing. But not straight upwards. Not in all the right ways. Not even in all the ways she'd be proud of, or happy with, which are different from the 'right' ones. 

Case in point; Jordan Parrish. 

He's a sweetheart, really, is the thing. The thing being that that's the problem. Scott was a sweetheart, too. Didn't change jack shit about how it ended. Didn't stop their train from wrecking. Once is whatever, twice is coincidence, three times is a pattern. Malia doesn't want to find out she's the common thread, here. Malia doesn't want to... 

She doesn't want it to happen again. 

Malia's not really an introspective person. But reality prompts rumination, as Scott might say, either quoting Deaton or expanding his vocabulary, and he's... right, begrudgingly. Christmas is coming up soon. 

Malia turns up the volume. The car's speakers blast Malia's music louder, but it doesn't drown out her thoughts. Fuck.

- I knew it from the very start, and I felt it in my heart, if there's even -

Malia turns down the volume. Fuck. She knew co-opting some of Stiles' taste in music was going to bite her in the ass one of these days. 

... More than most of what's her's being someone else's first already had, anyway. 

He's coming home. Not to play the pronoun game - Stiles is... returning, to Beacon Hills. For Christmas. They haven't warned him about Allison, because both her and Scott agreed not to, and Malia knows that asshole, and she knows he won't take the surprise well, but whatever. Nobody listened to her fifteen years ago because she kept her mouth fucking shut about her memories of Stiles, for Lydia's sake, and she's still reaping what she sowed on that one. And god, just maybe Peter was right; she should've been more selfish. But anything that makes her think along those lines only reminds her of what happened in Mexico, and Malia nips the thought in the bud real quick. 

Peter's never right about anything. He can't be. It wouldn't be good for Malia if he was. 

Malia shoves open the door, dropping out of her car onto the Sheriff's driveway. Noah will be that, she thinks, until he's physically forced into retirement. 

Malia volunteered to help move some stuff around to help accommodate their guests. Stiles, of course, is staying in his own room, which hasn't changed much since he last saw it, other than maybe gathering some dust on the shelves that needs wiping off since the last cleaning session the Sherrif reluctantly forced himself through (which, agreed. Malia hates cleaning. You wipe a shelf and then have to wipe it again, and again, and again, for the rest of forever) at some point last month. 

Their other guest is Theo. Malia does not envy the Sheriff having to suffer his presence. But he's been hanging around Virginia, apparently, for at least a decade. Malia didn't know this, and it rankles she wasn't told. But it makes sense. Stiles is her ex. They never had the chance to be friends. Malia couldn't...

She just couldn't. It hurt. 

It doesn't really hurt anymore. Scott's a fresher wound, one that feels more solid, more real. Malia - it's not just Malia. Everyone's memories of Stiles will forever be slightly warped, just on the edge of wrong. That happens when a person is snatched from reality, a whole fake history is written, and then he's summarily dropped right back on top of it like he never left. Sometimes, the incorrect memory assimilates, and you think something that happened didn't, and something that didn't did. 

Lydia remembered kissing Stiles in high school. She didn't remember the context. She'd thought they might have dated, briefly. Malia hadn't been sure, had her own conflicting account of events that she'd kept to herself, had her memories of dating Stiles in high school as opposition to Lydia's vague idea. Maybe things would've gone differently if she'd been upfront about it, but Malia... is blunt, yes - 

Not quite honest, though. Not quite honest. Malia's Peter's daughter and Stiles socialised her. This should've been an expected outcome. But people are still surprised when she lies... or simply omits the truth. 

But Lydia broke up with Stiles. Two weeks. They lasted two fucking weeks. Malia threw away her whole - just for a fucking fling. Lydia got scared he'd die and ran away, and Malia can completely sympathise with a fear of a car crash for obvious reasons, but the thing is that that wasn't the only solution, and people die. 

Malia hates it. She hates it so much, she wishes she could make a deal with some kind of deity and stop death in it's tracks, but she can't. Nobody can. You can't halt your life because you're afraid it will end. That's calling quits yourself before death even has the chance to come knocking. A kind of living suicide. 

If there's one thing Malia's never going to do, it's halt her life for the sake of someone else. Malia's sacrificed things that make her happy, yes. She's put her continued existence in danger to save another, yes. But if she wants something badly enough, Malia's not going to be scared off by anything. Not even fate itself. 

Malia enters the spare bedroom, or what will be the spare bedroom once she's moved the desk out of here. Sheriff's just going to have to do his paperwork at the station, which is fine - might even stop him from breaking the law and taking boxes of files home he shouldn't be. 

One table downstairs and a mattress on a bedframe later, Malia helps herself to a sandwich. It's just ham. Nothing special. After, she leaves. That's all Malia was needed for - really anyone could've done it, including the sheriff, Malia just wanted to help out. 

Beacon Hills is a strange sight, these days. Deader than ever before, even when all the worst stuff was going down. The town's dwindled in revenue, she thinks. Shops are boarded up. Potholes aren't filled in. Malia wonders why; what changed, exactly, to make Beacon Hills less desirable than when there was a murder happening every week. There's fewer people on Main Street as she parks in the lot that used to sit in front of a video rental store, but Blockbuster failed years ago and this little independent never stood a chance. In it's place sits a nice little café. Malia gets a doughnut, a coffee, and stares at the swirls her stirring stick makes as she waits. 

Jordan shows up, like he said he would. He looks nice - always does, but Malia means he looks Date Nice, which normally gives her fight-or-flight response a little shove, but Malia's resolved to give him a real chance. He's been so patient, understanding. Kind in a different way to Scott, and more honest than Stiles by a mile. He's just as blunt as she is. Malia likes that. 

Jordan sits down across from her. It's... sometimes strange to recognise this man is dead, and has been for years. He doesn't look much older than when she met him, over a decade ago. Jordan ages, but slowly, much like Malia herself. She likes that, too, that she doesn't have to worry about being outpaced. Stiles is human. He's thirty-four. He probably looks it, though she wouldn't know. Malia's avoided recent pictures of his face for about five years. He looked thirty when he hit thirty, and that had spooked her.

Stiles is going to die long before Malia will. That's a fact. It's unavoidable. Weres can live hundreds of years. Humans can barely manage eighty, if they're lucky. Jordan's not human anymore, and already dead besides; Malia doesn't have to worry about sickness, or cancer, or really anything at all taking him out before her. Maybe that's just as cowardly as Lydia leaving Stiles because of her vision just in the opposite direction, but Malia didn't claim a lack of hypocrisy. Malia's never claimed anything about that either way, which would be telling enough on it's own if you'd paid any attention.

Malia bets on people not paying enough attention. 

"How was work today?" Malia asks, feeling trite, but this is how people talk on dates if they're normal, and Malia wants a normal date. She's never had one of those. Even with Scott, it was - loaded. Besides, when she was dating those two, they were teenagers, either not even or just barely out of high school. Malia's never had an adult relationship, only flings with men she liked sex with that she'd ditch as quickly as she could, so this is... new. Novel.

Jordan smiles, pearly-whites on show, pleased she asked. Malia smiles back, tentatively, which just broadens his grin. 

"Great," He said. "Nothing interesting happened at all."

In his line of work, Malia supposed that would be a good day. 

"Great," Malia echoes, and doesn't know how to carry the conversation further. This happens when you learn how to talk to people while your dad's old roommate is trying to commit genocide on his dime. And then your dad proceeds to try and murder all your friends also, for vastly different, being extremely power-hungry, related reasons. 

"How are you feeling about..." Jordan trails off. "You know, Raeken coming back?"

"Weird. Unpleasant," Malia says. "But it's been fifteen years, and Scott's always preaching about the benefit of the doubt. If Stiles is vouching for him, I can't really say shit. Stiles hated him from day one, after all. Theo'd have to do something really drastic to get his vote of confidence."

"That's fair," Jordan says. "But he did shoot you in the gut and sell you out to your mother. You don't have to forgive that."

"I haven't," Malia says. "He should be in jail. That's how we deal with people who do those things, right? But he could break out pretty easily. Maybe it is better he's helping Stiles do... FBI stuff. I don't know."

"Reform," Jordan says. "There's a lot of people with a lot of different ideas of how the judicial system should work. A lot of people who specifically think prisons, as they are, suck ass. Prison labour equals slavery, that sort of thing."

"Oh," Malia says. "I mean, if you can't say no to doing a job, isn't that literally the definition?" 

Jordan shrugs. "I was a soldier," He says, "Not an ethics student. Maybe, maybe not. They call it repentance. Doing a service for society in exchange for not getting the death sentence for killing a whole family."

"Right," Malia says, brow furrowing, then shrugs herself. "Yeah, I... have no idea about any of that. Sheriff said anything about having to host Theo?"

"He's not happy about it," Jordan nods. "But he's going to go along with it, since Melissa absolutely refuses point-blank."

"Fair," Malia says, "Since he killed Scott."

"Is Peter sticking around?" Jordan asks, "For Christmas?"

"No idea," Malia says. "He really enjoys annoying Melissa and Chris though, so probably. Until he gets bored, at least." Malia makes a face. "Honestly, I think he's flirting, which is just disturbing enough as a thought to get stuck in my head. Share in my misery."

Jordan laughs at that, which was Malia's intention, so. Score. She laughs, too.

It's only a few days until Stiles arrives. He left his jeep with Mason years ago, and replaced it with something more practical - and functional. Malia's pretty sure this car isn't half broken, like the Jeep had been, though - Mason, for the record, has taken good care of it. Got the whole engine replaced, new wheels, e-t-c. (Malia's pretty sure that stands for some Latin or something, but she's not Lydia.) 

Stiles and Theo must've carpooled, because Theo drops out the passenger seat a few moments later. Cora, also, exits the back. It's good to see her cousin - Malia greets her first, with a smile and a quick hug. "How was your decade?" Cora asks. 

"Not bad," Malia says. It wasn't bad, after all. Very quiet. 

"Hm," Cora says. She's a pretty reserved person, so Malia doesn't expect any more than that. 

"Yeah," Malia says. "You going to see Eli?"

"If I must," Cora jokes. "See you."

And she's off. If Malia's bluntness is that of a sledgehammer, Cora is a whole battering ram. And given how Derek was over a decade ago, how he learnt not to be with Eli in the picture, it's probably a Hale trait. Much better a thing to inherit than whatever Peter's got going on, that's for sure, even if it's not always a good thing.

"Stiles," Malia greets, then begrudgingly, "Theo."

Theo smiles at her, charming as ever. Seems more genuine these days, though. The chemo signals from his scent are more... easily discernible. And the corners of his eyes crinkle - he's not just slightly squinting to fake it.

"Malia," Theo greets in turn. Stiles has his hands awkwardly shoved in his pockets, which saves her from having to offer a hug. 

"Hey," Stiles says, "Good to see you."

It is, is the thing. His hair's grown. 

"Yeah, well," Malia says, "it's been like fifteen years. Good to know you're still alive," and she means it. Stiles laughs, abrupty. "Yeah," he says, "You too, Mal."

Malia helps them unpack. Cora's staying with Eli, so her stuff remains in the boot. The rest, they split between the guest room and Stiles'. 

"Isn't this the sheriff's office?" Theo says.

"Surprised he was willing to give it up?" Malia asks. "For you, specifically?"

Stiles snorts. Theo rolls his eyes at him, then shrugs at Malia. "Yeah," He says. "Guess helping with the wild hunt taking his son just gave me more good will than I realised."

Malia doesn't know the Sheriff's reasoning any more than Theo does, unfortunately. Stiles probably just asked him, though, and the Sheriff tends to cave when Stiles is the one requesting something. It's the 'only family left alive' thing - gets you every time. Malia and her dad - not Peter - have a similar dynamic, though it's... more strained. He hasn't stopped apologising for Eichen House since he started, but that first apology came later than it should have.

"Maybe," Malia replies, a non-committal acknowledgement, and moves on from fitting the bedsheets to dragging in a set of draws taken out of the attic earlier, when Scott popped over with a grocery delivery. (Scott was specifically chosen because he knew at least vaguely the kinds of food Stiles would buy, when he lived here. Malia hadn't paid much attention to that, because what the Sheriff ate hadn't been her business - and she'd have been much more lenient on his diet than other people. Malia agrees about salads, by the way. People are omnivores, for god's sake. Put some chicken in there at least.) 

Malia moves to Stiles' room when they start unpacking. She checks the highest shelves for dust, and wipes them down. Stiles arrives not long thereafter, with his own suitcase full of clothes for the holiday and some other things besides. Malia helps him pack things away. An old plaid flannel she used to borrow, that one stripped hoodie he never wore with the red line but he still kept, for whatever reason. Half of these clothes might as well have been her own, at one point. A point she barely remembers correctly. 

"Why'd you never wear it?" Malia asks, abruptly. She waves the hoodie at stiles, with it's red line, and he grimaces. "The nogitsune liked it," He said, and shrugged. "I didn't... not wear it on purpose, I'd just... choose something else instead. You liked it - hell, I said you could keep it."

"You know why I didn't," Malia says. "Or, didn't intend to, anyway."

"Why you returned my stuff after the Anuk-Ite? Yeah." Stiles glances away. He finishes his underwear and sock drawer, then stands. "Thanks for the help."

"No problem," Malia says. "You do this sort of thing for friends."

"Yeah," Stiles says. "Yeah, you do."

Malia wonders if anyone's told him about the Nogitsune's return, about Harris, about everything. Maybe they're waiting, like idiots, to hit him with it all at once. 

Malia goes on one more coffee date with Jordan before Christmas. She buys a nice watch for her dad, to replace his broken one, and a shitty cheap plastic toy watch for Peter that costs her less than a dollar. Malia finds Cora a nice jacket, and debates over what would be appropriate for Eli. Theo is halfway down the aisle from her, headed to the cards section. Unfortunately, he stops to chat.

"Great minds think alike," He says, self-aggrandising. Malia presses her lips together, looks back at the stock.

"Not even a chuckle," Theo sighs. "I know there's nothing I can say to make up for what happened," Theo says, cutting to the chase. "you don't have to forgive or forget, that would be stupid. But we can be civil, right? For our friends' sakes, if nothing else?"

"If nothing else," Malia says, begrudgingly. "I'm not getting you a present."

"That's fine," Theo says. "I don't like getting presents for people just for the sake of it, anyway. They should mean something, you know? But people always need money. World we live in, and all. How much d'you want off me?"

"Gimme fifty." Malia says. "And I'll be civil."

"deal," Theo says, and with a vaguely amused quirk of the lips, he holds out his hand to shake. Malia indulges this. 

"Great," Theo says, sounding genuinely relieved. "It's been a long time since Stiles was home - it wouldn't be great if we were fighting the whole time, you know?"

"You say that as if it'd be two sided," Malia replies.

"I'm going to defend myself, you know," Theo says. "I've done a lot of bad in my life. Can't say otherwise. I've been doing as much good as I can since then, though. Can't say otherwise about that, either."

Malia supposes this is true enough, or Stiles would have kicked him to the curb years ago. 

"Yeah, whatever," Malia says. "Go buy your cards."

Theo nods. He goes and buys his cards. Malia returned to browsing, setting aside Eli's present for that moment. Eventually she'd pick it, along with all the rest - Scott, Lydia, Liam, etc - and Christmas arrives shortly thereafter. 

Malia places the star on the top of the tree. Liam claps and Mason cheers. Hikari is helping Melissa and Chris and Stiles in the kitchen. Theo is somewhere, and Lydia is avoiding Stiles in the living room. Jackson and Jordan are setting up the dvd player, as the Stilinskis'  was unexpectedly broken (they had to run out and quickly borrow the McCalls'). Malia has been systematically taking down every single sprig of faux-mistletoe she sees, as stealthily as she can. Extremely terrible idea, that one, even if Allison and Scott think it's cute and funny and festive. It is none of those things. Worst holiday tradition by a country mile. 

"Dinner's ready," Melissa announces, so everyone piles around the table. It's really not made for this many people - too crowded. Malia is stuck between Lydia, who is using her as a shield, and Theo, who has decided to be Stiles' Lydia shield, apparently (entirely, it seems, without Stiles' input). This leaves an extremely awkward seating situation. Malia makes desperate eye contact with Jordan, who grimaces in sympathy and hooks his angle around hers, silent support. 

At least she's not next to Scott and Allison, Malia supposes. Small mercies. 

Malia had not been here for the session of informing Stiles about everything that happened. Derek's funeral has been scheduled for during his stay here. This is not the most festive of Christmases, but they're... trying. Eli and Cora are sat next to each other, quietly talking. 

Malia... knew her cousins. She started knowing Cora better in the past fifteen years, but Derek was many years her senior. They weren't peers; it was difficult, in some ways, to understand each other. Meeting as they did was also Not Great for their future getting along potential. Derek left as soon as she started figuring him out, and stayed gone for a long time. Malia had known Braeden better than Derek, to the point Malia was the one person (other than Cora, who had witnessed the whole event) that heard about their breakup from her as well as him. She's in Europe somewhere, now.

Sometimes, Malia thinks, this feels like the worst timeline. Like the sci-fi stuff Stiles espouses the virtues of, the one Lydia liked - Babylon 5. Like this was all always going to happen, and never should have. 

Malia finishes her roast dinner. Has a slice of pie. The mood is half-light, half-heavy, a kind of desperate joviality over genuine sadness. Scott and Allison couldn't be happier together, except for the fact they absolutely could, and neither of them appreciate what this has cost. 

Stiles, also, is deeply moody right now - brooding. It's not nice to hear the nogitsune's back, for him, and doubly so Malia thinks that nobody warned him. Nobody called. Scott chose not to call. It's one thing to forget in the heat of a crisis, and another to make an active choice to exclude him from something that's extremely, personally relevant. Malia hadn't called, either. Nobody had, so he's a little mad at all of them. It's... fair. Even if their choice is understandable, given how much trauma surrounds the nogitsune for Stiles and for the rest of them, but... blindsiding Stiles with so much at once and the fact they did all of it without him is going to drive home the truth that one thing Stiles never wanted, back in senior year, ended up happening anyway. Not because they chose to leave. Because he did. Over and over again. 

Malia never called. Neither did Stiles. It takes two people to ruin a friendship, most of the time. 

Malia picks at a slice of cake. Jordan nudges her ankle. Tilts his head, raises a brow. Smells - concerned, questioning. Malia nods, shortly. After he finishes, Jordan stands, stretches. "I'm wiped," He announces. "Anyone need a ride home?"

"I walked here," Malia says, standing, ignoring Lydia's widening eyes as they dart over to Stiles. She's a grown woman. Malia's not covering for her this time. "I'll take you up on that offer."

They escape the reunion into the cool midwinter night. Malia takes a breath, icy sharpness a shock to her lungs after the stuffiness of an over-filled house. 

"You doing okay?" Jordan asks, able to speak freely as they drive away, the quietness of his question and the loudness of the engine hiding his voice from the weres inside. 

"That was awkward," Malia lets out. "Oh god."

They laugh, a little, not out of humour. He pulls up on the side of the road a moment, turns on the overhead light. "Do you wanna go home?" He asks her. Malia thinks of her room in her old house, in the middle of the woods, about being alone in the dark all over again, because of Scott, because of Stiles, because of everyone else, because of herself, and decides against it.

"Let's go to yours," Malia says, instead, and Jordan smiles in understanding. He switches off the light, and drives. 

Boxing day brings cleaning day. The funeral's in a week. 

Malia helps take down the tree. Scott and Stiles are doing the same. Allison is putting away the box of tinsel and decor in the attic. 

"Left-" Malia grunts, turning the tree left. They eventually manage to get it outside, into the garden. Malia leaves the two to the rest of it, and goes back inside. Gets a drink.

Allison is doing the same, it seems. She smiles a little awkwardly in greeting. "Hi," She says. "Done with the tree?" 

"Almost," Malia says. "They've got it now though. Needed a drink," Malia gestures with her soda. "Are all the boxes in the attic?"

"Almost," Allison echoes, "Just a couple more."

Malia helps her finish up. They gather in the living room. Stiles rocks on his heels slightly, hands shoved in pockets. Scott drinks in the sight of Allison like a man who's lived in an oasis-less desert his whole life just got dropped on a random Caribbean island. Allison slips under his arm, smiles sweetly, all dimples.  

"We're good then? All done?" Stiles asks. "Because that was easy."

"All good," Scott says, smiling. Stiles is his best friend - it's been entirely too long since they last saw each other, Malia thinks. Speaking on the phone occasionally is different from meeting up in person. 

"Great," Stiles says. "Well, thanks for the help."

"You're welcome," Allison says. Stiles keeps looking a little surprised every time she speaks. Allison also just looks different - death and a decade will do that to a person, Malia supposes, but there's a kind of uncanniness about it all, because they missed the versions of her that would have sat between 17 and 35. It's probably jarring - for her to sound the same, but to appear so different. Plus, Stiles' own last memories of Allison are warped; he remembers everything the nogitsune did, as if he did it himself. That's bound to give a guy a complex or three, and it definitely did, but on top of that it just... makes the timeline strange. Simultaneous events are hard to place, mentally. Malia would know; the wild hunt proved it. That kind of taught them all how hard it was to reconcile two different versions of events. 

Malia's just saying that - it makes sense. Every time Allison speaks, Stiles' chemo signals spike guilty. They shouldn't, as it wasn't his fault, but Malia knows Stiles. She understands why they do. 

Scott picks up on it, obviously. His expressions are always too easy to read, though; Stiles can see right through him. And he doesn't like it when they do that, use their senses 'against him' - or, rather, put him on an uneven playing field. They can read him... he can't read them. It rankled Stiles 15 years ago just as much as it does now. Malia would know, again. This time, the reason is that... it's - part of why they broke up. Amongst other things, like miscommunication. 

Malia watches the conversation unfold, silently, for a few sentences. 

"So when are you going back?" Scott asks, casually. Stiles raises a hand to do the uncertainty motion, a little horizontal wobble. "Eh," He says. "Was planning for the 10th, but... plans can change."

"They don't need to," Scott says, "You-"

"I appreciate your concern for my mental health, Scotty, I really do," Stiles says, dismissively, "but I should be involved in this. It's the nogitsune, Scott. If we can't have Kira here-"

"We can't," Scott says, grimacing, "Her stay with the skinwalkers could last - hundreds of years-"

"Exactly," Stiles says. "If we can't have kira, and since Derek is dead - Scott, I'm the only backup you've got."

These days, very true. Unfortunately. 

"What about Isaac?"

"He has actual self-preservation instincts, unlike the rest of us." Stiles sends an apologetic glance to Allison. "He'd say no. And probably move to another country, again, even further away than last time."

Allison's lips twist in displeasure. "So much has changed," She murmurs. Malia pats her shoulder sympathetically. Missing a decade sucks. For the third time; Malia would know. This one should not need explaining.

"Yeah," Stiles sighs, sounding exhausted. "Yeah, it has."

Malia sits on the back stairs. Stiles joins her for a smoke.

"I can heal this shit," Malia says. "What's your excuse?"

"I'm an FBI agent," He says. "Part of my cover on an assignment, once. Stuck around, after. Know a witch or two with decent medical skills - I'll be fine."

Malia nods. They watch little clouds form in the air, smoke swirling around in shapeless, meaningless patterns. 

"I'm sorry, you know," Stiles says. "For - fuck, everything. I never said that. Should've. Didn't. Too late now. But... still."

"Too late now," Malia echoes, and sighs. "For both of us. I'm sorry too. I should have said something. You were spiralling, I could tell, and I did jack shit about it."

"You weren't doing so hot yourself," Stiles says. "Neither of us was in a good place."

"We were in a very bad place," Malia says, dryly. "Called 'Beacon Hills'."

Stiles snorts. "Yeah," He says. "You should - you should visit, some time. Virginia is nice."

"I might," Malia says. "Might not. You should visit more often."

"I might," Stiles echoes wryly, "Might not."

Malia ashes her cigarette, crushes it underfoot into the neglected lawn. "For the record," Malia says, "I loved you for a very long time. I liked Scott, but never truly loved him, and it got... messy. I think he knew that. I didn't want to admit it." Malia looks up at the sky. "I'm seeing Jordan," She says. Stiles makes a noise of surprise. 

"Oh?" He tilts his head. "How's that going?"

"Okay," Malia says. "He's great. I struggle with intimacy. Thanks for that."

Stiles winces. Malia shakes her head. "It's not entirely your fault," Malia says. "I never told you much of anything."

"You told me a lot," Stiles rebuffs. "I lied to you all the time."

"Not about the nogitsune, you didn't," Malia says. Stiles frowns, a little confused. 

"You told me about the crash," He says, gently. "That was - really brave of you, you know. To be vulnerable like that. You're an honest person, Malia. Extenuating circumstances force people to do things they otherwise wouldn't."

"I know that," Malia says. "I just..."

Malia lights a second cigarette, watches the smoke curl in the air. 

"I just wanted to say it," Malia says, finally. "We never did. Explicitly, I mean. 'I loved you'. Present or past tense, we never said it, and that was fine, except it means we missed it. Late to the station, you know?"

"It's probably pretty callous to say this, but... you're better off, you know. We both are. We... get each other, sure. And you - you are beautiful, really. But -"

"Communication," Malia says, "Is something we both suck at."

"Yeah," Stiles says. "And you deserve - just, so much. More than I was willing to give, then. Which means I didn't deserve what you were willing to give me."

"It's not about deserve," Malia says. "It's about what you can make work. You choose to love someone, every day you love them. A relationship requires mutual effort."

"We differ there," Stiles says. "I never found love to be an active thing. It hung around when I didn't want it and it left when I really would have appreciated it staying." Stiles finishes his cigarette.

"Romantic compatibility," Stiles continues, "Is... complicated. Which is why Lyds and I lasted two whole weeks," Stiles says, wryly, "Before she dumped me and fled the state, and now won't look me in the eye over Christmas dinner."

Malia taps her lighter. "Why'd you break up?" Malia asks.

"Lydia didn't say?" Stiles replies with a question of his own. Classic.

"Of course she did, she's my best friend," Malia says, "Since Kira's otherwise occupied." Stiles snorts. "I want to hear your side."

"I don't know," Stiles says, truthfully. "We had a fight, she broke up with me and left. I never got a real explanation. It... kind of sucked, honestly."

"Yeah," Malia muttered. "No kidding."

Stiles grimaces. "Yeah," He says. "Taste of my own medicine, there."

"We didn't fight," Malia says. "We disagreed, fundamentally, about the ethics of killing someone in self-defence."

"We didn't, really," Stiles says. "I was just - caught up in my head about it. I guess we didn't fight," Stiles allows, "But I didn't explain jack shit with any real clarity, and I broke up with you by implication, which wasn't right."

"It wasn't," Malia agrees. "But you are right that we're... better off, now. Maybe-" Malia presses her lips together. "I wasn't really honest with anyone, during the wild hunt," She admits, finally, for the first time. "I lied. Directly. To everyone except Peter, who remembered everything anyway so I couldn't have lied to him."

Stiles' brow furrows. "What did you lie about?" He asks.

"You," Malia says. "Non-stop. Lydia remembered kissing you in high school and asked me about it. I said that was before I showed up, so she should ask Scott. She did. He confirmed it. For a bit she assumed you'd dated, back then. I knew you hadn't. I knew I was your first girlfriend. I knew that, factually. I didn't say anything. When Scott reassured Lydia that he'd known you and her were meant to be or whatever, I backed him up. I confirmed what he said. I said I saw it too, and I never once brought up that we dated. To anyone. Because I chose to put Lydia first, I chose to set aside our failed relationship, and I chose to support what it looked like everyone wanted, and it lasted two non-consecutive weeks."

Stiles winced. 

Malia sighed. "I loved you," Malia said. "Once, a long time ago, for longer than we were dating, for less time collectively than it felt like. You helped teach me how the world worked. I'll be grateful for that for the rest of my life. You're a good friend, Stiles. I don't think we were ever solely friends - without sex, without romance... and I'm ready to be, if you want to try."

"I'd like that," Stiles says. 

Malia smiles. 

The funeral.... happens. It's kind of a tear-filled blur, and Malia won't relive the pain by recounting it. 

When the 10th arrives, so does the day of Stiles (and Theo's) departure. Cora is sticking with Eli for a while. Malia's got a date with Jordan on Sunday. Watch a movie. Eat a pizza. Have sex. A normal evening, all told. 

Malia sees off Stiles (and Theo). She does so last, after everyone else, and once Theo's situated in the passenger seat. 

"Hey," Malia says, "... call, okay? Skype or soemthing."

Stiles smiles. He offers a tentative hug, which she takes. It's a little strange, to give him the same kind of hug she'd give Lydia or Liam, but it's... nice. Malia's getting used to a lot of different things lately. This one should be the easiest. 

"Obviously," Stiles says, "You too."

Communication, Malia reminds herself, got Scott and Stiles too, at one point. Friendship requires just as much effort as any other dynamic. 

"Duh," Malia says. "Hey," Malia says. "You be careful, alright?"

"I try," Stiles says. "You too."

He gets in his new car, which is coloured a deep navy. Some things change, but Stiles will always think blue's pretty. There's a kind of comfort in that, Malia thinks; red is unsolved, yellow is working on it, green is solved, and blue's always pretty. Simple, uncomplicated, fact. 

Malia watches them go, and feels differently about it than she would have a month ago. Metaphorically, her shoulders are straighter, her back less bowed - no weight pushing her down. They all have a lot of baggage, Malia no different... but this, her and Stiles and all they could have been, is one stone-filled sack she can put down. It's a good feeling. 

Malia calls Jordan. 

"Hey," He says, sounding surprised. Communication is a two way street, Malia repeats. A two-way street. 

"Do you wanna go for dinner tonight?" Malia says. "That shop on Main, the one on the corner that's been boarded up for like, two years, got bought recently. Watched them put up the sign, some kind of Italian deal."

"That sounds great," Jordan says, and he sounds genuinely happy. Malia does not feel guilty - that would be unhelpful. This is simply an opportunity to step forward, this time, instead of waiting for Jordan to meet her where she's stood. It's a development, it's growth, it's good. Malia likes Jordan.

Malia would like to see where this goes, if she'll finally let it start moving forward. 

[saltarellos]

I don’t normally make text posts here but @narwhaled-wheatfield tagged me so here we are

rules: shuffle your likes or your favorite playlist and post the first ten tracks (and say a little something about them if you want)

So here’s that with my spotify likes:

1. Fade to Black - Metallica

- Metallica has always been one of my favorite artists, ever since I was 13 or so. Their first five albums are classics and also excellent reminders of what metal music can be. Many artists seem to think that metal is about playing the fastest or having a louder amp than your competition. But songs like Fade to Black show that the most important ingredient in metal music is, just like in any other genre, the songwriting. Metal songs can be just as complex and compelling as songs of any other genre, and Metallica helped show that.

2. Waltz Across Texas - Ernest Tubb

- A playlist isn’t complete without the tubbster

3. Harpsichord Concerto No. 1 in D Minor - Johann Sebastian Bach, performed by Jean Rondeau

- Jean Rondeau is probably the most interesting modern harpsichordist. He, along with Jakub Jozef Orlinski, helped introduce me properly to baroque music.

4. Motor Spirit - King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard

- I know the name is silly, but KGLW has put out the two best metal albums of the last 10 years. They also respect the principle I mentioned above. KGLW’s metal work isn’t the fastest, or the heaviest, but it is crafted with far more care and attention to detail than most modern metal music.

5. Schwanengesang: XII. Ihr Bild - Franz Schubert, performed by Kathleen Sanchez and Johnandrew Slominski

- I’ve never been a huge Schubert fan, but his vocal collections have always been a favorite of mine. And Kathleen Sanchez performs these songs perfectly.

6. Yekteniya V: Svyatyy Vkhod - Batushka

- Haven’t you seen my blog? Of course I listen to black metal.

7. 16 Waltzes: No. 4 in E Minor - Johannes Brahms, performed by Idil Biret

- Brahms’s 16 Waltzes is simply a classic. Nothing else to say.

8. Perihelion - King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard

- See 4

9. Ready for Tomorrow - Babe Rainbow

- In another life I lived in a van on the upper west coast and chased those tasty waves brah

10. Sweet Tasting Tennessee - Daniel Donato

- I don’t remember adding this song but it’s here and it’s good so it’s staying.

It’s missing a few of my staple genres but oh well. No ethiopian jazz, sorry nar.

I tag no one.

[blackrosesmatron]

MINI CHARACTER PLAYLIST

Share at least five songs that remind you of your muse, or that you associate with your muse's character arc. Including lyrics is optional].

Tagged by: @shimmerbeasts, @playgroundmonsters, @piltover-sharpshooter (thank you all for tagging me in this!)

Tagging: Whoever hasn't done it yet and would like to join this meme thread!

under readmore because this got quite long!

A Little Wicked - Valerie Broussard

"A little wicked" That's what he calls me 'Cause that's what I am That's what I am (...) Beware the patient woman, 'cause this much I know No one calls you honey, when you're sitting on a throne One of these days a-comin', I'm gonna take that boy's crown There's a serpent in these still waters, lying deep down To that king I will bow, at least for now (...) (...) Hands red, hands red Just like you said I am, a little wicked

LeBlanc doesn't consider herself 'evil' and sees the concepts of 'good' and 'evil' as mere stories for children. However, she acknowledges that she is 'wicked' by definition, as she prioritizes her own objectives above all else and is willing to do anything to achieve them. She is patient and manipulative, not hesitating to act submissive to gain trust. She has committed numerous sins without shame.

Black Magic Woman - VCTRY

Got a black magic woman Got a black magic woman I've got a black magic woman Got me so blind I can't see But she's a black magic woman She's tryna make a devil out of me You got your spell on me baby You got your spell on me baby Yes, you got your spell on me baby Turning my heart into stone I need you so bad magic woman, I can't leave you alone

Her preferred method of manipulation is to establish an emotional bond with others, creating a sense of dependency. This allows her to ask them to do nearly anything without having her target questioning or denying her requests. While this approach doesn't apply in every case, it is undoubtedly her favorite.

I'm not a woman, I'm a god - Halsey

I am not a woman, I'm a God I am not a martyr, I'm a problem I am not a legend, I'm a fraud So keep your heart, 'cause I already got one

This song reflects the complexity of her relationship with herself. While she values herself above others, believing she is the true Empress of Noxus, she acknowledges she didn't attain this position fairly, which could lead some people to see her as a 'fraud' (to herself, she believes she has right over everything she conquered, despite everything). She enjoys being a problem for others, particularly those she dislikes or seeks to antagonize her. She avoids genuine emotional connections with others and prefers solitude, doing it out of fear mostly, but she will never admit it to anybody!

You should see me in a crown - Billie Eilish

You should see me in a crown I'm gonna run this nothing town Watch me make 'em bow One by one by one One by one by (...) Your silence is my favorite sound (...) Count my cards, watch them fall Blood on a marble wall I like the way they all Scream Tell me which one is worse Living or dying first Sleeping inside a hearse I don't dream

This applies to numerous moments in her life, from orchestrating her village's self-destruction to instigating wars to maintain her power. She desires to be the most important figure, commanding and leading, and will go to any lengths to achieve this, demanding respect or eliminating those who oppose her.

They call me Devil - Friends in Tokyo

I will tell you lies I'll crawl inside your mind Grab hold of your eyes I will make you mine And I'm gonna take my time They call me devil My heart is empty They call me devil Just try and tempt me I'll steal your soul I'll eat you whole Ain't no other way They call me devil And you should be afraid

This is almost a threat. When she targets someone, she never lets go. Once LeBlanc sets her sights on someone, they are doomed, regardless of her intentions for them.

I often listen to more songs for inspiration when writing for her, but they cover the same themes as the ones I've described before. Nonetheless, I'll share their names and links so you can hear what reminds me of her, either through the lyrics or the general vibe of the song.

End of Everything - Must Save Jane

Watch me Burn - Must Save Jane

Castle - Halsey

Villain - KDA

Horns - Bryce Fox

You are no Good - Hidden Citizens

I'm gonna do my Thing - Royal Deluxe

Bad - Royal Deluxe

She's my collar - Gorillaz

Cravin' - Stileto (particularly one of my fave!)

Me and Mine - The brothers bright (could possible have mentioned this one as well, considering how possessive she is with everything she already conquered for herself).

Seven Devils - Florence and The Machine

When you say my name - Chandler Leighton (another honorable mention, because gods, this woman Loves being adored!)

Liar - Jake Daniels

God - Jake Daniels

Control - High Rule

Take me to Church - Hozier (Justine M. Cover version)