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[thegreatdivorce]

[suguru-getos]

| Aftermath | Keigo Takami x f!TherapistReader |

-> chapter one

summary: hawks who has just lost his quirk in the war & coping with his life as a quirkless man, decides to finally listen to his own self & seek therapy. why did he choose a quirkless therapist? maybe to seek solidarity— or maybe, he hoped you’d not judge him.

warnings: therapy, childhood!trauma, bnha!spoilers, mentions of inner child healing, keigo talks about his childhood, mentions of toxic!parenting, cocky!kei as always.

a/n: don't mind me giving my comfort character and my loml some healing lmaooo <33 i had sm fun writing this istg it made my heart warm. this is a slow burn fic, and the reader is a self-insert on some points because i can get self indulgent tehee!!

You wandered aimlessly, looking around the suite-like cabin and then down the skyline. Tokyo was always beautiful, even now when winters had just started to greet. There was a foggy blanket of clouds covering the labyrinth of buildings and you could never get over it. With your next client, it was obvious your thoughts were along the lines of… an Angel flying out in the skies keeping everyone safe, now reduced to someone without wings. Still an Angel though, but that's what you think. Maybe he doesn't.

You grimly sighed when your eyes wandered at the clock, there were still 30 minutes to your appointment, normally… someone like you would never get the opportunity to deal with heroes so popular. Hawks was a no show after the war, people thought he had died. People thought he left Japan for good. Though a faint glimmer of hope always made you want to believe he's still around. To your surprise when he was your client, you felt a knot on your stomach churn with anticipation and excitement.

You sat on your velvety chair, the lights dim and comfortable to the modernized architecture of your office. You gulped, opening his file and looking at the passport photograph of him. The scar he got in one of the fights in which a villain named Dabi publicized his kill was there, siren eyes staring into your very soul were there. How could you even try to open up someone who looks so ethereal and so threatening at the same time. You feel just as nervous as your first time, the personality that Hawks carries eating away at you slowly. You shook your head, jerking the thoughts away. Be professional, he is a client and you're doing your job.

If you hadn't been so dazed by your favorite hero and your crush; you were quite a number yourself. Cut-throat, not afraid to walk the talk, stern, fierce, kind and disciplined. People respect you and you command it when they don't. Not afraid to force someone to bend the knee if they indulge in animosity with you. It's just… Hawks was someone you admired oh-so-much! You had his merch and posters after all. Not that he would get to know that, oh no. That'd never happen.

Takami Keigo, 26, Born on December 28th. Blood group B+, MBTI-> ENTP, Schooling and training and everything was blank. Difficult, this would be a difficult case to deal with.

How did you fangirl over him? Well, that's perhaps for another day.

"Excuse me, Ma'am. He's here." Your assistant opened the door with a knock and you felt your stomach sink, biting your lip nervously and clearing your throat to gain composure.

"Hey there doc!" there he was, with his magical grin and long palms raised up to his eye level as he waved. Wearing denims and a loose fitted white T-Shirt. Casual, cute, confident.

"Oh hello Hawks!" You manifested the same energy, greeting him respectfully by standing up and bowing a little. "Jeez, can't get rid of the name yet huh?" He chuckles, though your mind has already starting to process if it was a fake one, the carefully crafted hero chuckle or was he genuinely this chill.

"I don't think so, whether or not you do hero work, you own the name." you responded with a smile, ushering him to take his seat. Oh he manspreads, leaning back and getting comfortable. Makes you wonder if he can see through the cracks of your personality just as you're trying to see in his. Who will unfold who first…

You closed the client book you had, looking into the beautiful goldens of his eyes and making eye contact. "So, I know the first session is usually the most awkward one. People try to get to know their shrink before letting themselves to open up." You glanced, and Hawks looked like he would devour you whole. He looked invested in your words, not in a faking concentration way… in a 'I will listen to what you have to say' way.

"Allow me to share some stuff about myself then, my name is Y/N. I am a therapist good morning. Apart from that, I like to participate in various hobbies like kickboxing, journalling, playing games, spending time with my cat, yada yada. I am an INTJ, I think MBTI has started taking the same wavelength in Japan as Korea huh? Everyone's obsessed with em' I think."

"Well" Hawks clicked his tongue, clearly unamused by your introduction, it was brief and curt. Not a fair deal for someone who will unravel him… then again, you are his therapist, not vice versa.

"I think so too, do you know, a lot of the fans pretend to be INTJs because they tend to be compatible with ENTPs?" He chuckled, rolling his eyes. God he does know everything… there was a whole article about this. "We could do the quiz together if you have your concerns." "Shyeah- no, I don't. Just sharin' yknow?" he winked, noticing how you nervously pressed your legs together. He was wearing Killian's Angel Share, and Bad Boy… one of your favorite scents & the effects were almost affecting you almost at a subconscious level.

"Mkay, gotcha! So, anyways… I don't want to force you to open up, take your time in it. Let's start simple. How are you?" You asked Hawks, and for a moment, the barest of seconds, you could see his eyes turn to a void. "Yeah, good, never been better you know? Vacationing now that I have a sick ton of money with practically nothin' to do. Ain't gonna waste it otherwise by being depressed."

You clicked your tongue, oh he would not open up huh? Well, not that you expected this to be an easy ride either. "Yeah, of course. Money does help… helps everyone. At the end of the day I'm sitting on this chair to be paid a hefty by you." You hum, crossing your legs and getting comfortable too. This would be a fierce mental war already. From the determination of a hero and from a healer who's been sought out by the same hero.

"Then again, it isn't everything."

Oh except if you could tell that to childhood Hawks, it was… it was everything. His eyes pale with the answer a little. "Led a very comfortable life haven't you?" He smirked, giving you a miniscule opening.

"Yeah, luckily." You responded, smiling… "Clearly you haven't."

Hawks stood silent at that, and that was an answer enough.

"You were a rich kid since you started your agency, was this your teens or childhood?" Before Hawks could decipher, the session had already begun.

"Well, I was the viral news subject after they found out I was Thief Takami's son." He raised a brow, and you nodded. "Shitty murderer dad, mum?" You felt bad on being so professional, but you also felt Hawks would push you away if you were too kind. Some people have stopped treating him as a person ever since All for One had taken his quirk away.

"Mum was well, absent, mentally." He responded, and shrugged. "Dad was abusive, used to beat me up as a child and mum was too engrossed in her own shit I suppose. Happy for her that she has a new life with a new husband and new kids." It was amusing how Hawks didn't sound salty about it… it could only mean detachment to the finest. A befitting coping mechanism.

"You didn't have to go through that, I'm guessing if I needed to ever, talk to baby Hawks, I can't have a childhood photograph?" You glanced hopefully. "Nah, not a single childhood photograph. Dad was too paranoid of things and mum didn't care."

"We usually uh, have this exercise you know? That you'd keep a picture of your childhood self at your bathroom mirror and remember who you're talking about whenever you feel self-doubt." You smiled, looking into his eyes with empathy but no pity.

"Well, too bad." He chuckled, embarrassed and definitely not liking this emotion.

"Who cares at the end of the day, it's just the first few years of your life." He responded again balming his own thoughts more so than talking to you.

"Yeah, but every phase of our life is important. When your father abused you, hit you, didn't you feel enraged? Or scared? Or both?" You bit your lip, trying to mentally detach as much as possible.

"I felt nothing. I just wanted to not end up like them. If I was as angry as him, then I would become like him. Even my childhood self knew I'm better than that." There was pride in his eyes when he said so.

"True, yes, however… no expectations from your mum to save you?" Hawks shook his head no, shrugging. "She'd get beaten up too."

You nodded, not writing anything down on the paper just yet.

"Alright, I want you to do something for me." He raised a brow when you said that, "I don't want us to traverse further until you try doing this, mkay?" You grinned, "Imagine someone coming to your home, breaking the door at the moment of your abuse, that someone is you. The big, pro hero, you. Then, I'd like you to hold little Keigo's hand, and take him out. How about that?"

Hawks gave you an expression which was a mixture of 'How absurd' and 'Interesting'.

"Do that for me, and do that as many times and in as many scenarios you feel like you needed to be protected. You needed to be healed from." You coo softly… meanwhile Hawks' brain lagged at you saying 'Little Keigo'. So far he thought you didn't know his name… despite it being telecasted worldwide. No, you just refer to old Keigo as Hawks, but little Keigo isn't Hawks… he's just Keigo.

Was he reading too much into this? Would you soon bridge the gap between little Keigo and Hawks? Would you call him Keigo too?

The alarm clock chimed, time was over. You glanced at it and then back at him. "Well, guess you wouldn't be bored anymore, of me." "Hey, give yourself some credit little Shrink." he winked, smirking, "You're really good at this, can't wait to see you next time." "Don't come until you don't do what I asked." "Sure thing jeez."

With that, he left, and you could almost kill yourself at the way you tried to imagine little Hawks in pain. No, attaching to clients is the biggest NO. Yet, you can't help but feel positive tingles at the thought of him doing that little exercise and telling you about it.

Until next time, Keigo Takami.

[lizzisimss]

Gonzales Family Home

CC used (list below) Garden Essence in Willow Creek 40 x 30 8 bed, 3 bath $276,606

This build is part of the Lizzisimss Save File.

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August 2021

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[mote-historie]

Léon Benigni, Cover Illustration for Femina Magazine, Modes d'hiver, circa 1929.

Biography

A leading fashion illustrator, draughtsman and lithographr, Léon Benigni worked with such designers and couturiers as Jeanne Lanvin, Marcel Rochas, Elsa Schiaparelli, Lucien Lelong, Jacques Fath, Jean Patou, Nina Ricci and Cristôbal Balenciaga. He produced drawings and cover designs for such magazines as Harper’s Bazaar, Femina, La Donna, Art Goût Beauté, The Bystander and Modes et Travaux, and also designed a number of travel posters in the 1920s and 1930s (notably one for the spa and ski resort of Brides-les-Bains in the Savoie region) and advertisements for Cadillac and LaSalle cars. In an appreciation of Léon Benigni, published in an English magazine article in 1933, it was noted that ‘M. Benigni is known to thousands through the medium of the leading fashion magazines. This young Frenchman has brought himself to the front rank of modern fashion artists. He has developed a style which fits perfectly with present ideas of fashion. Modern fashions contain an element of caricature, though they never lose their delicacy and charm. These qualities are apparent in Bénigni’s work. In avoiding heaviness and an exact representation, he works in line, and his line work is light and suggestive enough in its simplicity to hold all the attraction so necessary in publicity. The female face is depicted almost as a formula of design. The thin lines in which it is traced are not an accurate representation, but it is impossible to deny the conviction of reality carried by the design…an addition or alteration to any of these drawings of Bénigni’s, in the form of a few extra lines or corrections, would ruin the effect. They are, for their purpose, complete as they stand.’ (x)

[cinnaminyoons]

( OMNIA VINCIT AMOR. )

ミ☆ at the end of the day, there is no home like your arms.

⤷ PAIRING jjk x m!reader

⤷ WORD COUNT 7.4k

⤷ TAGS surfer!jk, inferred sex + implied top reader, slight age gap (jk’s 20, reader is somewhere noticeably above him), an angry father (jk’s), mentions of bullying

⤷ REQUESTED

link to req

stranger danger. disruptive stranger, endangering our coastal constancy.

there's a newcomer, they say, an odd fellow with city-slicker shades and a natural toughness about him like a veteran.

but that's the thing, they whisper. he can't be a veteran. too young. too reckless.

born and raised in his tiny seaside town, population three hundred strong, jeon jungkook has never met anyone who circulates such rumours and gossip. most fresh faces are tourists passing through to prettier sights where the aircon always works and the hot water never runs cold – but this man, they say, has intentions to stay a while.

like every evening, jungkook loiters in the only bar in town. it's a dump, really, with perpetually-sticky countertops and eclectic interior design choices. creased and faded posters line the walls, depicting the town's idyllic shore, with blue skies and bluer waters. on the wall, the same old man has been the employee of the year seventeen times, and the only thing that changes about him is the colour of his shirt.

the only good thing he can say of the place is that it serves alcohol he can't buy at the single supermarket, and that they don’t care who’s drinking unless they’re visually no older than fifteen. he flicks the blue umbrella into the bin carelessly and throws the drink back, hissing softly at the smooth fruity burn down his throat. he gestures for another and the old man complies silently, shuffling around behind the counter as he wipes down the same glass he's been shining for the last hour.

somewhere outside, past the open doors, the deep rumble of a v8 engine perks his ears. it's a gorgeous sound, pleasingly smooth and powerful, and it comes with the heavy crunch of car tires on gravel. ice cubes rattle against his glass.

his feet take him outside, and he peers cautiously around the corner like a child playing hide-and-seek. there, pooled in the sweet honey of the summer sunset, is the stranger.

the slight breeze runs its fingers over his hair, and something like jealousy slips between his ribs as he watches the stranger nudge the door open. in his hand is an engraved silver lighter and he stuffs it into the pocket of his army-green bomber, which he shrugs off of straight shoulders. beneath, he dons a black tank top, and jungkook's breath catches in his throat as his gaze slides over his body, the way his muscles tense and shift as he rolls his shoulders and slings a guitar case over his back.

at first, the inky darkness looping around his arms and shoulders seems like a trick of the light. jungkook's eyes widen – tattoos. a hundred, a thousand, precise black lines cross his skin, glossy with the slight sheen of sweat under the summer sun.

when he turns, jungkook catches a flash of his eyes behind those dark aviators. jungkook spins on his heel behind the door, his heart racing, and prays he was not caught staring.

after a moment's pause, the crunching footsteps stride away, and jungkook sighs softly in relief. he peeks around the corner. a pebble of disappointment drops in his stomach.

the first good-looking guy he sees, and he's a creep about it. he shakes his head, squeezing lingering seawater out of his hair by the handfuls, and pushes it out of his eyes as he returns to his place at the bar.

mechanically, he moves to throw away the umbrella toothpick, this time yellow with pink flowers. he halts just as he leans back to toss it into the bin.

he stares at it for a while, tilting his head. a slumping hollowness fills the gap in his chest. he's no longer a young boy, and all he's ever known are the dusty streets and salty air of this town. the stranger must be from a big, modern city, where they have bright digital billboards and warm restaurants open all day, every day – like seoul or new york, or something. he's seen the movies, watched them subbed and dubbed, but he never remembers much except for the quick chaotic swirl of life they all portray.

maybe, if he was born there instead, he could love. be loved. a church sits across from the bar, rather ironically, and nothing is a family except a man, a woman, and their child born in wedlock.

he shakes his head and crushes the thin yellow paper in his hand, tossing it away. he wouldn't know what to do with himself if he left.

night falls slowly. jungkook nurses another drink, this one blue instead of orange, and draws hearts and smiley faces into the condensation dripping down the glass.

a glint of light. jungkook glances over to the back wall, where a single chair has been set up in front of the wood-framed window. there's no glass – too hot for that – and they're thrown wide open, letting in the cool sea breeze. the waves glitter and twinkle in the background.

the stranger is setting up. he slips his sunglasses to the top of his head and jungkook drinks him in, alcohol forgotten entirely.

amongst the chatter, he sets up his guitar, tuning it quietly. the bar has no sound system but the acoustic guitar is clear and sharp as he strums a slow introduction to a sweet melody.

when he opens his mouth and honeyed lyrics spill out, jungkook knows he's fucked, knee-deep in the shit they call infatuation. the rest of the world seems to melt away, and maybe it's the way his fingers dance nimbly over the fretboard, or the way his head bobs to the bouncing tune, that makes his heart race rabbit-free with desire.

a man sits down with his mates and jungkook leans around them to watch the stranger sing. he radiates a careless confidence jungkook wishes he had everywhere. this man was a complete outsider, yet his voice was strong, rich and smooth as godiva chocolate.

jungkook snickers to himself. he never thought he'd meet anyone whose voice he'd compare to goddamn chocolate, but this stranger was a whole list of firsts.

he lays his cheek on his palm, and he doesn't even mind the sticky counter. he wonders where the man comes from, and how he came across the town – it barely shows up on maps, barely a smudge of civilisation on the coast, far from most other things. he sticks out like a sore thumb among sandals and pale polo shirts with his dark clothes and heavy boots, and jungkook knows the feeling. he appreciates the way his skin shimmers in the sunlight as if dusted with crushed pearls, and a bolt of shame buries itself in his stomach.

he shouldn't be thinking such things about this man. he's a perfect stranger and, for all jungkook knows, a hockey mask-wearing, machete-wielding killer. he can't go gallivanting after gorgeous men without even knowing their names.

time passes like a snap of the fingers. the crescent moon glows in the sky, surrounded by a blanket of stars. the last bar patrons gulp down their drinks and mosey out, calling goodbyes to the employee of the year, and the newcomer packs away his guitar into its case. he kicks the chair back under a nearby table and nods at the old man, accepting a wad of cash, and escapes out the back entrance.

"time to go, boy."

he glances up and nods, rushing an apology, and leaves his half-finished drink on the counter. he almost trips over his own bare feet, and races to the door when he hears that lovely v8 engine roar.

he reaches the entrance in time to watch his car pull out and rumble off into the darkness. he was fast – not one to fluff about. jungkook sighs softly, sinking down onto the porch step and shutting his eyes gloomily.

he had to go home. there was no other excuse he could make.

his eyes open, and as he struggles to his feet, something shines on the edge of the yellow light. he frowns and moves closer, stooping to get a closer look.

a watch?

he glances into the distance, where the man left, and picks it up. the face is cracked down the centre, and the hands are stuck at ten past five. he turns it over in his hands.

i think of you every minute.

he needs to find him.

—

jungkook wakes just before dawn with a raging hangover. he curses, dropping his hand into his bedside drawer and digging around for a pack of painkillers. he finds it eventually, and with his eyes screwed tight, swallows one dry. he sighs and digs the heels of his palms into his eyelids, waiting for the blurring colours dancing in his vision to fade.

he staggers around his mess of a bedroom. his belongings are strewn across the foot of the bed and the desk he no longer uses; the latter is piled high with dirty clothes and jewellery he rarely wears.

he grabs his surf suit and gropes his way through the dark house, dodging his surfboard leaning against the wall and combing his fingers through his curls as he readies himself for the day. his mind wanders and his gaze flicks to the broken watch sitting on the kitchen bench.

he runs his fingers over its vein-line splits and the bumps of the leather strap, worn down with time. he nibbles on his lower lip as he picks it up, battling himself. would it be weird to give it back directly? he wouldn't seem like a stalker, would he?

he sighs and shoves it into the pocket of his zip-up hoodie. he'll make up his mind later.

he spends the early morning forgetting his issues, reclining on his board while the waters bump him out to sea. the waves are calm this morning, and not even the pull of the water towards shore keeps him in place. with just a few strokes he escapes the pull like escaping orbit, and he catches every wave he can, grinning to himself when the white froth crashes over him and sends him tumbling down. he surfaces, wiping his hair from his eyes, and paddles his way to the edge of an oncoming wave, highlighted pink by the glow of the dawn.

when the sun yawns over the horizon, jungkook notices a figure by the sand. he squints, wondering briefly who would be up at such an hour, and doesn't notice the wave roaring closer behind him. he yelps as it crashes into him, burying him under the fluffy white foam.

he gasps and sputters as he crawls back onto his green and purple board, grumbling – he hasn't been wiped out like that for years.

the figure on the beach watches him. he hopes they didn't notice his fumble. they move along the beach, trailing dark footprints in the sand, and jungkook tilts his head as they take a seat against the pier's support beams. they remove something from their back and jungkook's eyes widen at the distinct shape of an acoustic guitar.

he smacks his head against his board. he made a fool out of himself in front of an attractive person – briefly, he wonders how hard it would be to get a shark to eat him at that very moment.

whether or not he should return the watch crosses his mind as the water laps around his knees. it is of no use to jungkook, and it must be important to the man if he carries it around. some selfish part of him urges him to keep silent, avoid the embarrassment of having to speak to someone so obviously out of his league. he sighs.

slowly, he paddles his way to shore, tugging the strap around his ankle impatiently, and retrieves the watch from his jacket pocket after drying his hand on it. his pile of clothes sits inconspicuously under a tree, and nothing he owns is expensive enough to care about losing. no one steals, anyway – they would find the perpetrator in minutes.

he wades through the foamy shallows with his board under his arm and the watch in his other hand. his footprints vanish in his wake with each pulse of the waves, and the warm sound of that guitar makes him gulp and revaluate his choice.

he can still turn around. he does not have to speak to him.

he pauses a metre away from him. he is as stunning as he was the night before, and he's switched out his form-fitting black top for a looser grey tank. jungkook swallows around his anxiety and clears his throat.

he glances up at him through those dark aviators and jungkook twitches a nervous smile. he sticks his board into the soft sand and waves.

"hello." his voice cracks. his face burns furiously as the man smiles slightly, lopsided and charming.

"hey."

his voice really is like chocolate. jungkook wrings his hands and thrusts out the watch.

"i think this is yours," he stammers, "i f-found it outside the bar, and it was where your car was and it's way too nice for anyone here to own it so i thought – so i think it's y-yours. um."

a beat. the man reaches for it, and he slides his thumb over its face with an odd sort of smile, somewhere between gratefulness and regret.

"thank you," he murmurs. he chuckles softly and fastens it over his wrist. "guess i can’t escape it. i'm yn, by the way. ln yn."

"jeon jungkook," he says, almost too eagerly. "i, um, heard you sing last night. at the bar. you were – you're really good."

another smile that has his heart slamming into his ribs. "thanks. didn't think anyone was listening, honestly."

"how could i not?" he kneels on the sand, tucking his feet beneath him. he crawls closer into acceptable conversation distance. "you were amazing! when i was little i always wanted to be a singer, y'know, perform like the idols i saw on television, 'cause it looked so fun and full with fans and a whole band of best friends who i could trust with anything but it's been twenty years and i'm so old and i still haven't gotten around to it—" he halts mid-word as if it is stolen right from his mouth. he laughs and scratches his warm cheek. "and... i'm rambling again, aren't i? sorry. i'm, um, not all that good with people. kind of paradoxical, given that i wanted to be an entertainer."

your smile only widens, fingers tapping absently at your guitar. "you're fine. you said something about twenty years of that? how old are you?"

"twenty." he laughs again, then worries that he's laying it on too thick. "w-what about you?"

you tell him, and grin. "i'm steadily getting up there, so don't you go thinking you're old, kid. who knows – maybe one day you'll get that stage and microphone you've been dreaming about."

he shakes his head, digging his fingers into the soft sand by his knees. "nah. i don't really think i'd be able to leave this place. s'all i've ever known, y'know? it's daunting." he leans forward. "but you'd never feel like that, right? you look like you've travelled the world three times over."

you glance over him, and all of a sudden his skin-tight suit feels invisible, hugging every curve and plane of him. "i do, huh? you seem like you want more than what you're given."

his mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water and he pulls at his collar, hot. was that a compliment? an insult? he hasn't had a proper conversation with anyone for what feels like aeons.

you nudge his thigh with the toe of your boot playfully. "i was wrong, actually. you look like a steaming kettle."

"i-i'm sorry!" he almost squeaks. "i don't know how to talk to attractive people!"

he slaps a hand over his mouth and bolts to his feet. you gaze up at him with amusement and he stutters apologies and backtracks, shaking his head wildly and waving his hands. 

he's doing nothing to get him out of the hole he's digging for himself. in fact, he's digging it even deeper.

"hey, hey," you interrupt with a bright grin, "kid. calm down. just – deep breaths, okay? i'm flattered you think that."

"r-really?" this is why he stays at sea. the sea never judges him for his terrible social skills. "oh."

you nod and shuffle to the side, patting the sand next to you. "why don't you sit for a while? i... want to get to know you better."

he does not trust his voice to remain steady, and only nods and sits on his feet next to you. after a moment, he shifts cross-legged, those doe-like eyes of his glimmering as he gazes at you with barely-hidden awe.

you strum your guitar. he traces the shape of your knuckles and fingers with his eyes. you wear a few rings, and your knuckles are big, but not scarred. a boxer? they wear gloves.

"won't the salt air rust your guitar?"

"it shouldn't," you reply. "i'll give the strings a good wipe-down afterwards, and i make sure she's acclimated to wherever i'm taking her. haven't had any problems so far."

he nods, fascinated. he tucks his knees to his chest, watching you play.

your fingers move so naturally, fluttering over the frets as you bob along to a quick tune. it feels powerful and sharp, and the melody flows so freely – like rivers splitting mountains.

then, you begin to sing.

jungkook's heart flutters, as if he's a teenager all over again, watching the popular boys from the corner of his eye laugh and chat with their friends. he never could go over there, introduce himself. quiet boy, odd boy, with his stutter and lisp and silly, silly crushes – he never found comfort in people. they said, run, rabbit, run, and chased him with sticks even when he told them to stop. he was the youngest, always, with his too-big t-shirts and his owlish gaze, and he supposes that's his curse – to be the last one chosen for teams, the only one left without a group for projects.

but then you glance at him, smiling through your song, with your elaborate tattoos and pretty eyes, and jungkook hopes you'll never leave. maybe, if you were nice, you would be his friend – his first friend. maybe you'd stay forever, and maybe he could hold your hand and play with the rings on your fingers when he grows anxious.

"how long are you staying?" he whispers.

you stop singing, but your fingers continue to float over the guitar, plucking and strumming. "a few months, maybe. i take it you've heard some things about me?"

"one of the aunties says you're an army deserter, but i don't think so."

you lift a brow and nudge his shoulder. he smiles into his crossed arms. "how would you know? maybe i am. maybe i'm an assassin and my guitar's actually a gun, like in john wick."

"no," he decides, "i think you're a gangster doing a drug run. mister park's your supplier, right? bartender man?"

you can't help but laugh at that, throwing your head back. he smiles as you shift your guitar, still beaming. "gangster? it's the tattoos, isn't it?"

"w-well, they're really awesome, and they look good on you." he flushes hotly, staring with his large dark eyes. "honest."

"thanks, jungkook," you say good-naturedly, and he warms at the sound of his name on your lips. you say it with such a lovely lilt, as if you're saying his name for him – as if it belongs to him. he nods into his arms, watching the sun rise over the fluffy pink horizon.

"you're welcome," he murmurs, and his heart stutters as you chuckle. "h-hey. do you know how to swim?"

you tilt your head and jungkook shifts onto his knees before you. "yeah. why?"

"have you ever surfed before?"

"can't say that i have." you glance at his board, planted in the sand, and give him a sly look. "if you're offering to show me how, i don't have the right clothes for it."

"you can just take off your pants and shoes." at your dirty grin, his golden skin flushes so dark you worry he might explode. "n-not like that! you can leave your underwear on!"

it isn’t much of an improvement.

"slow down, cowboy," you tease, patting his thigh. "have you eaten breakfast yet? i'll make you something first. then you can ask me to take my pants off."

"wait, you mean – at your place?"

"of course. i trust you not to give the government the coordinates of my safehouse. so, have any favourite meals, jungkook? not to toot my own horn, but i'm not half-bad in the kitchen."

handsome, nice voice, can cook... only god can help him, because he is smitten.

—

jungkook wakes up late one day. the sun is already up, and from the way it streams directly into his eyes – ten o'clock, maybe. he curls into the blankets and buries his head into his pillow, tugging it into his chest.

something smells good.

he sits up slowly, struggling to open his eyes, and stretches like a cat in a bed too large to be his own. his body aches, but its familiarity makes him smile, and he swings his legs over the edge of the bed into a pair of slides. he shuffles out of the bedroom, following his nose.

rounding the dining table, jungkook searches with his hands outstretched towards the sound and smell of sizzling bacon. he finds a t-shirt and wraps his arms around it, inhaling the comforting scent of your fresh pine and citrus body wash. he feels your laughter as he presses his cheek into your shoulder.

"good morning, kid."

"i told you to stop calling me that," jungkook mumbles.

"i'm sorry, darling. force of habit. you hungry?"

"mhm. hyung, wanna come out with me today?"

"you know that i'll never be as good as you, right? i don't look half as good as you on that board, either."

he shakes his head, pressing his lips to the base of your neck on the bump of your spine. "s’okay. i like watching you come out of the water."

you laugh and jungkook smiles softly. "you're insatiable."

"only for you."

you shake your head fondly as jungkook sighs quietly into your skin, warm breath fluttering against your shirt. you transfer the bacon to a plate and move out of jungkook's arms, making him whine. begrudgingly, he accepts a plate of eggs, bringing them to the table – you tuck his hair over his ear and slip it over his shoulder, clearing a space for your lips on the nape of his neck. he shivers as your lips trail down his jawline, over his collar, down his shoulder...

"who's the insatiable one now?" he asks, feathery light, and his eyes flutter shut as your hand slips under his shirt, gliding over his warm stomach.

"still you," you hum into his ear, grinning as he arches into you. "see? my little darling, so eager for my touch..."

he whines softly as you take his earring between your teeth and tug lightly. his stomach flips like a gymnast as you grab his thighs and spin him into the kitchen bench. late morning light sweeps in across your home, and everything cold and lonely outside these walls vanishes.

he smiles as he pushes lightly at your arms around his waist, tilting his head back to allow your lips better access to the delicate slope of his neck. "hyung... our breakfast will go cold..."

"that's alright," you murmur with a devilish grin. "i've got other things on the menu."

he rolls his eyes good-naturedly, a flush crawling up his neck. "you can have me tonight like usual, okay? i like routine."

you drop a kiss on his jaw and step back with a teasing shine in your eyes. you place your hands on your hips. "you know, if you only wanted me for my body, you could've told me. i wouldn't have gone to all the trouble of learning how you like your eggs and toast."

hopping off of the bench and into your arms, jungkook twists his hands around the back of your neck and rubs his cheek into your chest. his messy hair, scented always like the sea, tickles your skin.

"but i love that about you," he hums. "you're the only person who understands how i like them done."

"i know you do." you kiss his forehead, printing a minty tingle into his skin. "come eat. if you'd like, you can accompany me to the supermarket after breakfast – in case you've grown tired of staring at the water, day in and day out."

"i like the water. it's comforting – like the stars." he sits down at the table. "always there, always has been, always will be. everlasting – like my love for your eggs and toast."

you laugh, head tossing back, and jungkook can't help the smile that crosses his face. "they're so good that they turn you into a poet, huh? just shut up and eat, darling."

afterwards, he tags along with you to go grocery shopping, holding onto your shirt sleeve and sneaking a tub of ice cream into the trolley when you aren't looking. he huffs, pouting at the tiny cabbage halves sold as individuals – what a rip-off – and you help him find a larger one, nice and bright, from the basket beneath. he jumps onto your kitchen bench and catches an apple you toss at him, digging his teeth into its firm flesh and tearing off a crisp chunk. he tells you, it's a good one, and holds it out for you to accept. with your hands full of milk and bread, you lean forward and take a bite, keeping his gaze steadily all the way; sweeter than sugar, you say, and he wonders whether or not you're truly talking about the apple.

at high tide, jungkook takes your hand and his surfboard and skips his way to the beach, taking warm sandy paths lined by tickling reeds and brushes. he chases the tide, waving over his shoulder with a broad smile, and shows off for you as he drops onto the incoming beast of a wave.

his board glimmers on the water, a spot of purple on the deep blue, and his whoop carries on the wind as he launches himself high into the air, effortlessly gliding down in a perfect barrel roll. the foaming curl rolls over him and he snakes back and forth, cutting his hand through the glittering wave as he readies himself for his next trick.

you stand ankle-deep in the tide, hands in the pockets of your shorts. the curve of the shoreline twists around sun-bleached cliffsides and swaying treetops, and a young trio tries their hand at the next rolling wave. one rudely snakes in front of jungkook and immediately wipes out with a wobble and a cry.

you smile. they could never outshine your darling surfer boy, bright and beautiful as he is.

when the water recedes for the day, jungkook sweeps ashore by the pier. you wait for him – as you do most days – and grin under dark aviators, two ice-creams wrapped in white napkins in your hands. he races up to you and throws his arms wide around your shoulders with a breathless laugh.

you stumble at the force behind his body, narrowly avoiding rubbing ice-cream into his hair. "easy, tiger. fun day?"

"yeah," he pants, "so fun. you saw me, right? you saw?"

"i saw," you hum, pressing the warmth of his dark salt-damp waves against your cheek. "you were a goddamn monster, riding those big waves like that – couldn't take my eyes off of you, darling."

"i'm good at riding big things." he's spent too much time with you. he barely blushes anymore, which is a right shame – it's a lovely look on him, that hint of rosy pink on skin like spun gold. he traces the tattoo peeking out under your collar. "you would know."

"are you sure we're on the same page? maybe you should show me again," you suggest with a glint in your eye that leads to nothing but trouble, "to make sure that i know exactly what you're talking about."

he grins, eyes crinkling at the corners, and reaches for your hand without breaking gazes. he brings your hand to his warm pink lips and kisses your knuckles, running his silky tongue over the thick white cream, and his golden-whiskey eyes glimmer under the sun.

"yummy," he hums, "vanilla. the best out of the basic three – wouldn't you agree?"

"mm." he's a goddamn tease. what you wouldn't give to return the favour tenfold.

"hyung," he laughs, licking up the melting ice-cream cone in your hand, "my eyes are up here."

"but your lips are down there, and all of a sudden i'm very sure we were on the same page just now. are you done playing in the water for today?"

he purses his lips in mock thought, scooping ice-cream into his mouth with the tip of his tongue. "what happens if i say no?"

"then i'll tell you that there's a car over there, one that you seem to adore, that boasts tinted windows and sturdy suspension. haven't you always wanted to... take a ride in it?"

his face lights up. "wait, are you serious?"

"finish your ice-cream before you get in. please. otherwise, you're cleaning up any mess you make on those seats."

he winks and grabs his board, tucking it under his arm. "you won't regret this, baby."

"i'll be the judge of that, darling."

—

light warm fingers trace dark lines embedded in your skin. "what does it mean?"

he shivers as your arm cradles him close. "hm?"

"your tattoos," he whispers, warm honey eyes flickering up to yours. "do they mean anything?"

you turn on your side and smile at him, letting him twist his knees around your calves. he is warm, and soft, and the ocean breeze flutters through your sheer curtain drapes. "the big ones don't, really. i was young and stupid and wanted to look like more of a man, whatever the fuck that meant. dragons are cool. tigers are cool. why not get both?"

he laughs softly, eyes crinkling. "i like the dragon. he feels... alive, y'know, when you stretch and move your arms? like his wings are flapping."

"i'm glad you think so," you murmur, stroking his cheek. "hurt like a bitch when the lady doing it went over my spine."

he laughs again, sweet and innocent, and he places his palm beneath his cheek. he taps your chest, gently scraping his nails down your skin. "when i first saw you, i never thought you'd ever look at me twice. funny how things work out."

you tug him closer, linking your fingers over his shoulders with a content sigh. "you're a real pretty surprise, kook, you know that?"

he doesn't need to ask if it's a good thing. he knows it is from the way your lips linger on his forehead longer than they need to. he closes his eyes and smiles secretly into your skin.

"hey, kook?"

"mm?"

"are you happy?"

"of course i am, dummy." he sits up, propping himself up on his elbows. "want me to prove it to you?"

you narrow your eyes at him and he grins, kissing his index and middle finger and touching them to your cheek.

"how was it? did you feel the happiness?"

"i'm not completely sure. i think something fell off during transit."

he rolls his eyes and leans forward to land a big kiss on the same place on your cheek. "there you go, hyung. i love you."

you nod in satisfaction, brushing away the rebellious curl over his forehead that never stays back, no matter what he does to it. "thank you."

"are you going to say it back?"

"say what back?"

he yanks your pillow out from under your head and smacks it into your face.

"ow, ow – i love you! i love you," you laugh, battling the pillow, "i love you!"

you manage to steal it from him and he grabs his own, lifting it high above his head. you catch the pillow before it comes down on you like heaven raining down righteous fury. he squeaks as you tug it across your body, pulling him along until his face hovers an inch from your own.

against his own will, his eyes dart briefly down to your lips.

the next smile you give him is charged with familiar affection. "i love you – i love my darling surfer boy with galaxies in his eyes."

"better," he breathes, "for now. one day, i'll get you back for that."

your smile fades. a crease mars your brow as you place your hand on his hip. "jungkook, you know i'm..."

"i know," he interrupts. "let's just pretend, okay? pretend as if your house isn't full of boxes."

he lowers his head to your chest and you know the conversation is over. he returns to tracing your tattoos, humming a soft melody, and you hold him tighter. if only you could forget enough to pretend, for the remainder of the morning, as if your wardrobe doesn't hold only two outfits left.

an hour later, jungkook flicks on the kitchen light.

"you've been avoiding us, son."

he flinches and whips around; his mother sits at the end of the kitchen bench, cupping a mug of tea in her hands. her eyes are downcast. his father stares at him, his arms crossed over his chest, behind the counter.

"i'm n-not avoiding you," he replies, and hates the weakness in his voice.

his father glances at his clothes and jungkook turns away, folding his arms. blue shirt, loose shorts. the lingering scent of pine and citrus. "those aren't yours."

"what does it matter if they aren't?" he retorts. "would you rather me mess up your floors, dripping water from my suit everywhere?"

"watch your tone," he snaps, "boy. those clothes are his, aren't they? that man with the boy-racer car?"

jungkook scoffs. "what do you want me to say? no, they don't belong to him? whatever – we’ve already been over this. i'm going to my room."

"stay," his mother pleads, shutting her eyes. "please, jungkook, listen to your father."

jungkook bites his tongue.

"you will not mess around with that man any longer," his father demands. he lifts a hand as jungkook opens his mouth to argue. "don't bother pretending as if you aren't. we're your parents. we know these things. he's no good for you."

"and how would you know?" he shoots back. "have you ever spoken to him? no! all you know of him are rumours from people who haven't even met him!"

"do not raise your voice at me!" he thunders. "i know trouble when i see it, boy, and that man is it. do you even know where he's from? where his family is? for all you know, he could be a married man!"

"i trust him to tell me important things!" he knows how damn pathetic he sounds, like the teenager in a coming-of-age movie believing with all their heart that they know best. "i don't need to know every detail of his life, and i certainly don't need you lecturing me about him!" he bites the inside of his cheek. "can't you... just be happy for me? i have never, ever, met someone who cares for me like he does. he makes me feel special and – and loved, and he doesn't poke me with sticks or laugh at the way i talk."

"not yet, perhaps. but he will. you'll see, jungkook. do you really believe that a man like that can do anything but break your heart? he is covered in tattoos, for christ's sake. you'll be nothing but a vague memory the second he pulls out of our town."

"would a man who'd forget me in a day remember how i like my toast? buy extra sunscreen with his own money because he knows how fast i burn through mine? would a bad man care so much for me?" he cries. "you barely cared when i came home, crying, because of the kids at school. w-why do you hate that i've found someone who won't shove me off a cliff as a prank? i'm an adult, whatever you may think, and i can make my own decisions on who i love!"

his father leans over the counter, his expression grim and severe. "that man does not love you, jungkook. he's so much older than you. he's using you, taking advantage of how damn naïve you are – you're temporary, son. if you know what's good for you – of course you do, you're all grown up – then you'll stop seeing him. you'll get a full-time job, or go study, and forget that he ever passed through here."

jungkook's hands ball into tight fists. his nails dig into his skin. "he makes me feel important," he mutters. "he makes me feel. before he arrived, all i did was bag groceries and surf and now, because of him, i look forward to waking up. even if he is all that you said, why won't you just let me make my own mistakes? is it really him that worries you, or the fact that you're no longer the only influence on me?"

“jungkook!”

he shakes his head, fisting the blue shirt at the collar. it is soft and smooth and still warm. "i'm not a child anymore." he takes a deep breath and lifts his chin. "i love him. i love ln yn. maybe for a year, maybe for forever, but all that matters is that i do. the way he makes me happy is all that matters. i don't care what you have to say about it because even if i believed you, i can't turn it off. i love him, and he loves me, and i'm leaving."

he strides up the stairs, ignoring the shouts of his name, and his heart hammers in his chest as he shuts his door and grabs his duffle bag, throwing open his closet doors and shoving in clothes by the handful through the brimming tears.

he has never spoken to his father like that. he fears the heavy steps and the loud voice but he finds that he doesn't care – there is nothing he can do to make him care because he has a man who loves him unabashedly and will hold his hand and kiss him silly in front of the church steps.

"he'll never let you come back to me."

he never even heard the door open. he glances over his shoulder – his mother leans against the white frame, wide eyes tracking his every move.

"i'm sorry," jungkook mutters, rolling up a pair of shorts. "but i can't stay here. i-i've already overstayed my welcome a couple of years. it's time i moved on from this stupid place so i can finally—" he inhales "—be free."

"with the tattooed man?"

"yes. he's gentle." he shoves a handful of cables and charging docks into a side pocket and drops his phone inside. "he's gentle when he wants to be and he's been nothing but gentle with me. if everything works out the way i hope it does... maybe you can meet him. one day. at our home, maybe, and i'll have that dog i've always wanted."

"please don't leave, jungkook. he just doesn't want you to be hurt—"

"no. i'm going." he zips up the bag and slings it over his shoulder, glancing at his mother. his voice softens. "i'm sorry, but there's nothing you can say that will make me change my mind. i'll call you, okay? and send pictures of the meals i cook, so you know i'm fine."

"jungkook, please." his mother catches his arm. "you're my only boy, you understand? i know that all children have to spread their wings eventually, but i never thought that it would be like this. stay."

he shakes his head and pulls himself out of her grasp. "i love him. i love him and i'm so much happier for it." he sighs. "i'll talk to you tomorrow, mother."

he sneaks out the back door, little bare footsteps nudging apart blades of cool dewy grass, and he knows the path home like the backs of his eyelids. he picks up the pace when he reaches halfway, and he prays he's not too late.

you open your front door to round brown puppy eyes. "kook? what's wrong?"

"i wanna come with you."

you blink, at a loss for words. he slips inside the bare room, all the parts of you packed away into your car. early morning light smooths long pale shadows along the tiled floor.

stepping closer, you take his chin between your thumb and forefinger and tilt his head up, kissing him gently. he melts into it, his lips slightly chapped but with the lingering sting of his mint toothpaste.

"hm. no alcohol." you consider him silently and he shuffles his feet, gaze flicking over your face nervously before darting to the ground. "i don't think the floor is all that interesting; chin up, darling. what made you change your mind?"

he exhales shakily. that is not a no. "you make me really, really happy, hyung," he admits. "like... i wake up excited to love you, y'know? i keep catching myself thinking about the future – one where i'm with you. i think about reading books next to you, exploring restaurants with you, getting a dog with you... doing warm domestic shit with you." he lowers his eyes to the floor again, roughly rubbing the back of his hand with his thumb. "it's okay if you don't feel the same. i just wanted to tell you before you left."

you separate his hands and rest your temples together. "who told you i don't think like that, too?" you murmur into his ear. when you pull back, your grin is broad and bright, and hesitant excitement bubbles in his stomach. you gesture to his bag. "is that really all you're taking?"

"y-yeah! the important stuff."

you beckon, hand outstretched, and jungkook slips the strap off his shoulder and places it across your palm. you jerk your head towards the open front door, behind which waits your car, the boot open and filled with boxes and bags of memories lovingly tucked away between layers of paper and bubble-wrap. your guitar rests in the backseat. jungkook jumps down the front steps as you place his bag on top of the others and shut the boot, glancing back over your shoulder.

"you nick my kit anyway," you grin. "c'mon, then. you can ride shotgun."

for the first time in many years, hope sparks like a flare in his chest. he crashes into you, arms tight enough to make you wheeze, and buries his cheek into your shoulder.

you stroke his hair, closing your eyes. "are you sure you want to come with me, darling?"

"certain as the sun."

he steps back, hands loose on your arms, and smiles – giddy, glowing, and gorgeous. poetry's never been your strong suit but even you can see the magic between his lines of verse.

you slip your hand into his and bring him around to his seat, but stop before he can step inside. you slide off the sunglasses from atop your head and flip them around, setting them on his nose, and he laughs quietly, nudging them up with his knuckles. he presses a light kiss to your cheek and disappears into your car, tugging the door closed, and you shake your head with a smile as you take your place next to him and behind the wheel.

the engine roars and he sits back, finding your hand on the gearstick. behind the sunglasses, his eyes glimmer with all that is good and bright, and his chest tightens as if he's run a marathon with the growing familiarity of a thudding joy.

"so," he breathes, his voice bright with curiosity, "where to next?"

[13atoms]

Something About The Weather (Orlo x Reader)

A/N: my flat AND office are freezing, so I’m writing something warm wrapped in 3 layers and gloves. Also! I finally just accepting paying Microsoft to get my beloved Word back – writing now costs me £7 a month, but i am happy lol

Fluff, tiniest bit of melancholy, established relationship, gn!reader, set late in s2. Gn!Reader. Country/city/area names are modern because google is free, but I am lazy. [1.3k words]

❄

The weather had turned as quickly as Catherine’s favour for Orlo. Chill swept through the palace, emptying the corridors and making people bundle up for the quickest darts across the courtyard. Inside candles and fireplaces roared, stoked by serfs who were as freezing as the noblefolk. Each evening both you and Orlo bustled into the apartment, one after the other, drawn to the flickering fireplace, jostling for space in front of it and warming your hands and faces until you could hardly stand the dry heat.

It was a version of the same conversation, every night, but you didn’t mind.

“It’s too bloody cold in this place,” Orlo would grumble, and you’d shudder as you agreed.

“We should winter somewhere warmer.”

“Good idea, my love.”

You’d both sit for a moment, contemplating, letting your eyes ache from the brightness of the fire, knees aching from kneeling in front of the hearth.

“Catherine would never let you go.”

Then, one night, Orlo had scoffed at that.

“What?” you’d insisted.

“I think she’d quite like to see the back of me to be honest. I imagine she would happily ship me off to Florence herself.”

You weren’t sure what to say, so you reached for his hand, stroking your fingers over the familiar writing callous on his ring finger, sapping the cold from his knuckles into your own palms.

You reached for him again as you drank for your evening tea, the apartment warming around you as the drapes were closed and the fire fed more fuel. He offered you a weak, gentle smile at the gesture, pressing the warmth of his empty teacup to his cheek.

“Did the two of you fight again?” you asked quietly, and Orlo grimaced.

“She is fighting with everyone. Peter has driven her to distraction.”

The silence words hung in the air, a comment you’d heard from Orlo a hundred times. That he ought to have killed the deposed Emperor. For Russia, he was right. But you were glad it hadn’t. it would have changed something, killed the fight inside himself.

“You’re doing your best, that’s all she can ask. All we can ask.”

You liked the Empress. She was kind. Clever. A good friend to you, when you had found few others to share a keen mind. Still, you knew with kindness came blindness, with cleverness came stubbornness. Orlo perhaps liked those traits less in a leader than a partner.

“Let’s go to bed,” he had muttered, exhaustion evident in his

You’d read books in bed, refusing to leave the warmth of down covers, curtains drawn tightly around the four poster frame to create a tiny world, deep maroon fabric stopping the cold Russian winter from sapping your body heat.

The drapes muted the light, too, the candle you shared warmed by the deep colour, making the words on your page jump as the flame flickered, both you and Orlo tilting your books towards one another to read without the obstruction of shadows.

Each of you read of foreign lands, places with year-round greenery and not a mention of snow, where food was abundant late into the winter and the doctors had never seen a case of frostbite.

You wondered if those people read about Siberia, or Moscow, thought of the people wrapped in their furs, eating pickled and salted food, the beautiful, terrifying darkness of the skies which seemed to linger all year long.

  “Where are you reading about?” you murmured, knowing Orlo would be struggling to read in the light as much as you were.

His eyesight seemed worse these days, after too many hours hunched over his desk translating and writing.

“France,” he began, turning the pages back so you could skim a particularly vivid description.

“It sounds beautiful.”

“Yes, rolling green hills, fantastic baked goods – it seems. They mention them a lot,” he murmured, turning the pages again to show you yet another passage, watching as you read.

“Sounds warm,” you commented dryly, making Orlo huff out a shallow laugh, caressing the page he had returned to in thought at the words.

“Perhaps if we read enough about warm places, it will help.”

His book was new, but he had read yours before. You knew he had been taken with Italy, spoken at length about it until he finally finished the tome, and you could begin it. He often recalled passages like this, waiting for you to read a page before peering over your shoulder and asking what you thought of it.

“We could go,” he mused. “There’s nothing stopping us.”

He was dreaming again, and privately you winced as he did. He was a realist, you knew his imagination only hurt him, as much as you liked to imagine fresh cakes and warm beaches, the tiny boats you’d read about, floating up and down canals in Venice, the relics dotted around the south European countryside. It could not be. Not in this lifetime.

“Your job,”  you began, stroking his arm in a sympathetic comfort as your words brought him back down to earth, “the palace wouldn’t run without you. We don’t have the means, the carriage alone would be months of travel –”

“We have the means,” he scoffed, and you tried not to wince at the hurt in his tone, “and the palace would be fine.”

“We would be under a new regime by the time we returned!” you chided, trying to sound light-hearted even as the fragility of Catherine’s claim to the throne seemed porcelain-breakable around you.

“What is the point of all this? If we can never leave! If you want to leave, we will.”

“I’m happy here!”

“You’re cold here,” he murmured, and you let your head fall towards his, propped up against one another – books long forgotten in your laps.

You put your hand on his wrist, finally both warmed by the cocoon of textiles and body-heat you shared.

“I am warm now,” you promised, feeling his hum through your bones as clearly as you heard it in your ears.

 “One day,” he murmured, “we’ll go. We are not prisoners here. When everything is more stable, we’ll go.”

You used one hand to brace his jaw, keeping him in place as you shifted to kiss his temple.

“I know we will.”

He returned the gesture, gentle and sincere, nightshirt dragging against the pillows as he shifted to kiss you, first on the forehead and then on the lips.

You rescued both books from where they had fallen into the sheets, transferring them to your beside table and waiting for Orlo to remove his glasses before you extinguished the candle.

“I can’t wait,” he told you, the words a confession into the darkness. You smiled, shuffling beneath the covers and closer to him until he could feel the expression against his next.

“I can’t either. But first you need to stop fighting with Catherine.”

He knew you were teasing, the gentlest nudge to your shoulder the only consequence you faced as he curled in closer to you.

“I’ll do my best,” he promised.

“Thank you.”

It was a rare thing for the palace to be in complete silence so early in the evening, the cold driving people to their rooms and the deep winter darkness tempting them into bed earlier. It was something both of you enjoyed, hearing one another breathe undisturbed as you enjoyed the warmth of being pressed against one another, surrounded by soft fabrics and soft skin.

Orlo moved only to press his lips to your temple again, one hand curling around your back to press you against his torso. You wriggled to get comfortable, fearful of moving too much in case the cold air found space to keep between you.

His words were hardly more than a mumble as he spoke, lips less than an inch from your face.

“Do you think it’s too cold to undress?”

Your laughter broke the silence of the cold winter’s night.

[miqolena]

The Modern AU (still untitled) Chapter 1

I don't know why, but posting to Ao3 feels like more of a long-term commitment for me - I don't want to publish there until I know a lot more details about the things I have planned further in. But I'm comfortable posting a preview of chapter 1 of my Modern AU Gaius/Lena work here.

This a modernized AU Etheirys. I hope that my writing does a good job of implying what is and is not present, and I'll do more work to establish worldbuilding in later chapters as seamlessly as I can. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this preview.

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The skies favored Regio Urbanissima in Garlemald’s capital with a light snow and offered a bitter wind like a backhanded compliment. It was a late morning that the hardy people of the region would brave without second thought as they went about their business, but every one of them would vastly prefer to be cooped up inside where the warmth was plentiful and the conversation was easy. Gaius Baelsar’s preferred method of cooping up came in the form of The Last Page, a café protruding from the corner of two of Regio Urbanissima's most favored thoroughfares. It boasted wide and tall windows looking out onto the snowy and sometimes rainy streets. Whenever the weather grew too grim the staff would pull down the blinds and shield the patrons from the harsh realities of outside, bringing them instead closer to the warm colors of mahogany furniture and bookshelves, russet red cushions, and black metal bracings - all crafted to evoke a sense of strange familiarity and comforting warmth. Against the back of the baristas’ counter space there was a wall of shelves full to the brim with various spices, syrups, and concoctions which the employees there used to make coffee purists balk, and in front a set of ceramics masterfully crafted to resemble the various pastries on offer sat lit in a glass display case which also served as more counter space. Lanterns hanging haphazardly from the ceiling aided gentle spotlights that highlighted the central places of business: the counter at which one paid, the path which one walked to take a table, and the terminal at which one could search for and request books from the café’s selective library. There was a stand near the counter advertising a new detective novel from a wildly popular author, with several copies of the book nestled beneath the poster. One of these was presently pried open in Gaius’ hand.

He sat in his regular spot in the corner, at a table meant for two but only ever occupied by one when he was there, with a simple latte and a piece of vanilla-iced chocolate cake barely eaten before him. It was not uncommon for others to sit with strangers in this place, but his severe aura held a power of its own that secured his solitude. His brow knitted as regularly as a grandmother, even at rest. And everyone knew the eyes beneath it - gold as a singular beast’s, which combined with his other features marked him for his title for certain even among strangers. Gaius Baelsar, the Black Wolf. A moniker that historically had been plastered across newspaper headlines; a name he bore like a sore shoulder.

Judging from the introduction to the novel he held, the featured lead did not relish attention either. His various deeds in service to the fictional city in which he lived had earned him a sort of acclaim that left him recognized wherever he went. Gaius grudgingly sympathized. Grudgingly because he barely wanted to connect emotionally with a genre outside his regular reading which he had been badgered into even trying. The reading was not challenging at all - there were no flowery words to provoke his thoughts or stir his heart, yet the descriptions were vivid and entertaining and the dialogue gave him pause. It was easy to see why the author was popular.

Contributing to the ease of reading was the general subdued din of the patrons. The place was nearly full today, but others were reading or speaking quietly also. Gaius expected to be approached for the seat across from him at any moment, and was preparing the exercise of ignoring his new tablemate as a chef sharpens a knife.

The old-fashioned cluster of bells above the door chimed and then shuddered prettily in the frigid breeze that heralded the arrival of a small, young Miqo'te woman, who trotted in and let the door close on its own behind her, her long ears flicking flecks of snow away with a twitch. Gaius’ eyes were drawn to her at once - even with the nation's treaty expansions twenty-five years ago, non-Garlean races were yet something of a rare sight in the capital. In a glance he gathered that her brown hair was tied back and her thick black coat went down to just below her knees, above a pair of dark brown boots. She strode to the counter with a beaming grin and leaned over it as she began to speak with the barista.

He shifted his book to his left hand and used the little dessert fork to carve himself a bite of cake, which he ate before returning to his reading. A few minutes later he began to regret his choices viscerally; the events in the book seemed to be building up to a sex scene, even so early in the story. Popular author indeed. He paused on a line that made this seem impending, a frown carving seriousness down his face sure as a chisel hammered to wood. It wasn’t that he was against that sort of thing - he just wasn’t sure if he wanted to read it in public.

“Can I sit here?”

So embroiled was he in his own dilemma that none of his three eyes had perceived the Miqo’te woman approaching. He looked up and saw her standing over the table. Now she was close enough to let him notice that some of her hair was left unbound to frame her roundish face. Her eyes were bright and green, with wide pools of black making her pupils, which Gaius was fairly certain was a Moon Keeper Miqo’te trait. Her clan marks, pigmentation of the skin like sharp streaks of paint on her forehead and pale cheeks, were light, like deep blushes drawn into lines. Her wide smile bore Moon Keeper fangs framed by thin lips under a thick and somewhat shallow nose.

From a somewhat objective standpoint he might have called her pretty, or perhaps cute.

But she was asking to sit with him, which would make her a potential nuisance. He did not sigh.

He nodded. For a brief moment her smile intensified fiercely with satisfaction.

“Thanks!” She pulled out his opposing chair and looped the strap of her leather purse over the back, then gracefully took her seat.

Gaius lowered his eyes to return to his reading again, and abruptly remembered the dilemma he had been diverted from a moment ago. The sex scene. And of course he would not want to read something raunchy right in front of a young woman. But he also did not want to make conversation. He was left paralyzed, staring at the line where the male lead’s coat was wrestled off his shoulders by who he assumed to be the female lead.

The young woman in front of him unbuttoned and then shrugged out of her coat, allowing it to drape over the back of her chair, and emerged to reveal a slender form. Her blouse was thick and high-collared in accordance with the weather and vanilla white, the sleeves long enough that they bunched up around the tight cuffs which cradled her gloved hands. As she leaned back and crossed her legs, he glimpsed at the edge of his vision that her pants were tight and proclaimed the shape of her hips with aplomb.

She was looking at him. He ignored her. He pretended to read. To make the farce more believable his eyes traced the same line over and over again with a calm yet fervid desperation.

Her fingers slipped beneath the grip of his belt on his waist.

Her fingers slipped beneath the grip of his belt on his waist.

Her fingers slipped beneath the grip of his belt on his waist.

Out of the corner of his eye, the woman twisted around and fiddled with her purse, producing a thin tomephone. The case was fiery red and Gaius even glimpsed something of a flame motif on the back. She straightened and perched it upon her thigh while she peeled her gloves from her hands and stuffed them away. Her short fingernails were lacquered in a gentle pink, a mere few shades darker than her flesh. She picked up the phone and tapped its screen twice, and its glow caressed her face.

Gaius stopped re-reading and simply fell into a peaceful meditative state now that she was distracted, staring at the letter d in slipped. He remained this way for a time while she scrolled away with no care at all.

A staff member approached from behind the counter with a tray and Gaius was forced to look up to attend him - but the tray was for her. The attendant stopped next to the woman and carefully deposited his burdens before her: first a glass mug baring the layers of chocolate and coffee and cream within, all topped with fluffy whipped cream and three thin slices of chocolate embedded in it like swords on a battlefield. A wooden straw peeked out from the sweet mess. Then he produced a plated slice of tiramisu, which looked more immaculate than Gaius had ever seen in this establishment, with a sprinkle of cocoa powder brushing its surface and the plate in a fine dust, and the slice cut at perfect ninety-degree angles.

She said her thanks in a pleasant sing-song voice and the attendant departed for the counter once more. Her gaze swung around and met his for a brief, paralyzing moment - but she merely smiled at him with a curious warmth that entered him and ran along his nerves in a dash, minuscule, like the first unconscious note in the song of panic.

She broke their eye contact within the space of a moment to return to her phone. She tapped it a few times, then set it down opposite from the food she had ordered. She stood up, scooting her seat back a ways. Then she bent down and examined the tiramisu from several angles. Her lips pursed prettily with the depth of her thought. Moving carefully, she pushed the dessert off to the side and then pulled the cream mocha’s glass closer to the center of her half of the table. She took up her phone and clicked a button on its side twice, and then stepped to the side of the table, facing the glass and the window beyond it, and proffered the device, aiming its camera vertically at the glass. The picture would be framed by the light and the gentle snowfall outside. The whipped cream would glisten under the light of the lamp above their table. She took a few pictures - he could tell only because of the way her thumb tapped the screen, as the artificial shutter noise had been turned off - and then she stood up and took a few diagonally downwards at the glass from a few angles, each seeming carefully chosen with a precision the wisdom of which escaped him. She treated the tiramisu the same way, positioning the plate just so and taking several shots of it as it was caressed by the light pouring in through the window and from above, careful to prevent the shadow of her hands and phone from falling across her subject. She removed the fork from frame and took two pictures that way. When at last she sat down again, her eyes lifted and met his once more, and the smile returned with an undercurrent that he wanted, mournfully, to call flirtatious.

There was no mistake when she spoke again. “You seem interested in what I’m doing,” she said, placing a slight but playful emphasis on you. She tilted her head slightly, eyebrows lifting just so, inviting a response. Requiring it, actually - because they were in polite society and Gaius was no brute to simply ignore a woman kindly making conversation even when he wished for solitude. A knot unwound in his chest as he became resigned to his fate.

He snapped his book shut and laid it face down on the table. “The rituals of influencers have ever seemed strange to me,” he replied.

“Oh, you know I’m an influencer?”

“My daughter also takes pictures of her meals at times, and looks at others’. I believe she has more casual aspirations.”

Her smile widened. There was a glint in her eye. One hand gestured at the cake in front of him. “Would you mind if I got a picture of yours, too?”

“It is half eaten.”

“That appeals to people sometimes. Seeing the inside of tasty things in an organic way - like when someone’s already taken a bite out of it, instead of slicing it open with a clean knife.”

Caught off guard, Gaius frowned at her. His lack of understanding of this space of the internet was rushing up behind him, ready to make him look like a fool. But he had been made the jester many times in his life.

He lifted his arm and hand in an acquiescent gesture. She beamed and rose from her chair again, bringing her phone and herself around to his side of the table. Working quickly, she adjusted the angle of the plate so that the white sky’s light fell flatly upon the white icing and the dark chocolate where his fork had scraped away a few bites. She took three pictures, each from slightly different angles - and then froze.

She was very near to him, almost invading upon his personal space. “Say,” she began, “would you mind putting your sleeve in frame?”

“Why?”

A note of mischief entered her smile. “It'll make my followers wonder who I’m with. Drives engagement.”

After processing this information, Gaius could not help but breathe a hollow laugh. “I see. How practical.” He leaned forward and rested his arm on the table so that the fabric of his ink blue dress shirt would be unmistakably visible in frame.

“You’re a peach. Thanks much!” She snapped one photo, then quickly returned to her seat. And finally, finally, she picked up her fork and began to dive into the tiramisu.

Gaius folded his arms and watched her. Her eyes returned to him almost immediately, and after she swallowed her first bite, she asked, “So who am I with?”

In no instant, in no universe did Gaius desire to offer his name. There was the possibility that she might know of him, foreigner though she may appear. His hesitation stretched out a few awkward seconds as his gift of speech caught up with him. “No one of consequence,” he answered coolly.

That flirtatious smile returned. Gaius immediately felt himself some sort of prey. “Well, I’m Lena. MissLena, as I’m known online. I do streaming and food content and a lot of gaming. Today I'm sponsored by an Ishgardian magazine to... breach Garlemald’s culinary walls and sample her good stuff.” She perked up as she went through her little spiel. When she was done, she scooped another bite of tiramisu onto her fork. “This is my first stop. I have some places written down that I know I’m going to visit, but if you had to tell someone where to go to get a good meal, what would you say, Mr. No One of Consequence?”

She made him feel as though he had told a lie. And perhaps he had; some might have called him a man of great consequence in deeds both past and present. The thought tired him, as did the tiny note on her breath that insinuated that her disbelief was suspended and she was willing to treat him as unimportant. She might have recognized him. He was certainly not going to ask.

“I would not advise you to come to these districts,” he said without thinking. “This part of Regio Urbanissima serves the political, financial, and military folk whose duties center around the area. This place is a bastion in a sea of more mediocre offerings.”

Lena turned her head slightly, changing the angle at which her eyes appeared to perceive him. Her expectant expression screamed, Tell me more.

Buying time, Gaius briefly mentally admonished himself for playing into a stranger's hands while he took up his fork and softly pressed the prongs into the icing of his cake, barely penetrating it. A light silhouette in snow. Finally he allowed himself to sigh, and he gave himself to the consideration of her question. When he emerged from his contemplation, Lena had picked up her phone and her thumbs hovered over its lower half, ostensibly ready to take notes. Which was exactly what she did as he began to rattle off a number of places that he didn’t mind dining at and his reasons for favoring them. Lena countered some of his notions with further questions, the precise nature of which began to give him the feeling that she was even more of a connoisseur than her occupation might force her to be. And then he was done, having rambled for far longer than he meant to. Sometimes a bad habit. He felt a twinge of resentment for her having strung him along so expertly.

“The Imperial Fable sounds really nice,” she said, still absorbed in her phone’s notes. She began to smile again. “How about you meet me there at six tonight?” 

It took a second for her meaning to bludgeon the back of his head like the hilt of a gunblade. His lips parted in utter shock and he could not sense the expression on his face. He had leaned back to lounge in his chair as he rambled - the electric sensation of surprise and three or four other mixed emotions surging in his veins made him sit back up in a rigid posture. He was certain of his response, delayed in its coming though it was.

“I think not,” he said firmly.

Lena looked up at him from her phone, her smile not having budged an inch. She twisted around again to get at her purse, and produced a small business card which she immediately overturned to scribble at with a pen. When she was done she held it out to him. “Well, at least check me out. Here are my socials. I wrote my Dissonance username on the back. I’m sure you use Dissonance, everyone does."

Gaius felt hyperaware of himself as he reached out and took the card from her. He examined it: it was a pastel pink base color and had the chocolate brown outline of a slim Miqo’te woman standing with a wide stance and her hands on her hips, as well as a few other small embellishments. Some usernames and their corresponding platforms were printed neatly in black ink and thick Common letters. He shut his eyes and the imprint of the card blazed on the back of his eyelids. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, and in front of her, he slotted the card into one of the wallet’s stuffed sleeves - next to Allie’s picture - and then put it away again.

He could not envision spending any more time there after having rejected her and then accepting her business card directly afterward. He rose to his feet.

“Enjoy your tour of Garlemald,” he said stiffly.

She replied, “I will, thank you!” but he was already walking away.

He arrived at the rack where his favorite coppery red long coat was tagged and hanging alongside other patrons’. He returned the tag to the counter and donned it quickly. And just before he stepped through the door, he glanced back across the café. Another patron just barely blocked his view of the back of her head. A pang of something undefinable sounded in his heart, and he pushed through it with a grimace. He opened the door and stepped into the bitter wind which came across his cheek like a violent slap.

[benignsnail]

So Veggie: A So Flora Mini Challenge

A mini sims legacy challenge inspired by not so berry legacy challenge. Have fun!

Garlic: You grow up in Forgotten Hollow and find yourself reading one too many fiction books on occults. You aspire to have a book you write made into a horror screenplay. Your self-care consists of Scare Max and Sims of the Dead. And of course, you have a Midnight Massacre poster above your bed. Which isn't always the most romantic things to have looking down on you. Your partner insists on Woohooing in the shower more often than not, but you refuse to take it down.

Aspiration: Bestselling Author

Right a copy of every book before you publish it to pass down

Buy the great storyteller reward trait

(Optional) Spooky lot trait if you live in San Myshuno

(Bonus) Buy spooky stuff pack paintings

Submit to a literary digest

Win a starlight accolade

Read a book you wrote to the public

Never become a vampire (or make and drink the cure if you do)

Write primarily horror short stories (you are edgar allen poe)

Always have garlic wreaths up in the house

Go on a trip to Brindleton Bay for your honeymoon and get pregnant at the lighthouse

Peas: Eat your peas, kids. Then maybe you can have the refined taste palate of this sim. You love dinosaurs as a kid but not enough to pursue a career in archaeology. Instead you pride yourself on always eating your vegetables. You are determined to change the food world with this wonderful talent of yours, so not only do you join the culinary career, but you apply your knowledge as a food critic as well.

Aspiration: Master Chef [Does anybody else always read this as Master Chief???]

Traits: Foodie, Snob

Career: Become a Sous Chef, write a cookbook, quit and become a Food Critic

Bemoan lack of banana for scale while dining out [the same way I bemoan the lack of bananas in game, plantains are not the same thing]

Earn Health Food Nut Lifestyle

Complete Experimental Food photo collection

Live in Oasis Springs near the dinosaur

Black Bean: Be gross? Yes please. Drink the milk out of the carton. So what if you're lactose intolerant. Belch. Fart. Release the gas. You just can't help yourself-it brings a smile to your face. And it's actually a bit admirable. You truly live life to the fullest with no shame.

Master mental skill as a kid and make a stink drink on the Beakers and Baubles Science Set

Buy shameless reward trait

Aspiration: Live Fast Teen

Love spicy food, always get food during festivals

Eat lots of beans and franks

Lactose intolerant

Plant a stink capsule in high school

Have so much fun you wet your pants because you can't be bothered

Buy something anytime you see a vending machine

Complete MySims Trophies Simmies collection

Spinach: You are gifted a doctor doll on your first birthday, and that's all you can dream of after. While getting fit in an effort to be able to run rounds and crack open rib cages, you have a crisis of heart. Should you be a doctor or pursue your love of sports? You never do decide.

Aspiration: Extreme Sports Enthusiast

Career: Doctor

Earn the Adrenaline Seeker Lifestyle

Play with the doctor doll as a kid

Climb up Mt. Komerebi and build on the secret lot

Try for baby in the ice cave

Teach a Ski Class

Drink protein shakes

Make a wish at the Ema Board

Swim in Mt. Komerebi's river

Determine the gender for your grandchild(ren)

Carrot: If there were cars in the world you'd be a car sim. You love taking things apart to figure out how they work. Your house is littered with bits and bobs and upgrade parts. You had every car toy possible as a kid and it still wasn't enough. Because you could never sate your curiosity about driving a car, instead you turn to building things. Nothing fancy, nothing modern, just a chair here a violin there. And if you're going to make it why not figure out how it works?

Aspiration: Nerd Brain

Eat lots of carrot cake

Upgrade everything in your house at least once

Craft your own violin

Master the violin

Master woodworking skill

Write a song

Buy a re-traiting reward potion and change your sim's whole personality for their midlife crisis

Move to Tomorang as an adult

Mermaid Kelp: Do you know Emily? Emily! You want to be like Emily. You live surrounded by water, but why can't you breathe under it? Who cares about legs, the little mermaid had it backwards. Scales and tails and fins, oh my. But why stop with yourself. Spread the joy! (You may cheat here for number 6)

Aspiration: Beach Life

Traits: Child of the Ocean

Complete shell collection

Have a beach club

Find a treasure chest

Make everyone in your club into a mermaid (have a mermaid cult)

Play fetch with a dolphin

Live on an Oceanic Paradise lot

Survive off odd jobs only

Kava: You've always been curious about your heritage. You mean to research your distant ancestors but you get caught up right away in Sulani lore. When you realize you can summon the Elementals, you have so many questions to ask. It's a bit disappointing to find out they don't have all the answers so you look to the next best place of mystery: the bottom of the ocean. Everyone needs to let off a little steam after working so hard taking care of the world. And you know just the way.

Conservationist Career: Marine Biologist

Traits: Inquisitive toddler, Child of Sulani, Party Animal

Party Animal Aspiration

Interact with Elementals

Go diving every Sunday

Reach gold hosting a kava party

Master dance skill

Marry a coworker

Teach your kid to swim

Dip infant's toes in the water in Sulani

Prairie Grass: You stay up late reading under the covers all the time as a kid. It actually kind of messes with your sleep schedule actually. And while books are fun when you're young, they get a bit boring after awhile. Too late you realize you could have been playing in the mud and splashing in puddles. But hope is not lost. You can squish all the fruit you want while the rest of the house sleeps.

Nectar Making Aspiration

Live at home your whole life

Buy a Restaurant/Store

(Bonus) Use a grow fruit as a fertilizer

Buy night owl reward trait and make nectar at night

Simple Living/Wild Prairie Grass lot challenge

Live on a ley line

Basil: I think, in the end, you are just too smart. Smarts are something to value for sure, but the what-ifs, the quantum possibilities-they really get to you. School is really hard. You talk to yourself more than anything and eat lunch away from everyone else. You try to play games on your phone to distract yourself from your running inner monologue but it doesn't last long.

Child Aspiration: Whiz Kid

Adult Aspiration Master Maker

Traits: Paranoid, Erratic, Genius

Make money selling candles and fabricated furniture

Live underground (you may go outside occasionally)

Write in a journal

Write a book about your conspiracy theories

Get really good at the pipe organ

Must have lots of handcrafted candles around the house

Get into fizzing

[roobylavender]

Yay! You’re back! I’m so happy you are talking about DC comics again because your thoughts are just THE BEST! I’m listening to your voice and I’m smiling because YES so true to everything you said! Also I love how you paused and took a sip of water 😂😂😂 I’m telling you there might be money in you making a podcast. Lol

I love what you said about Jason being more of an assassin and everything else you said about his body and the comparison to how Dick views his body and used his body. Your take on Jason are honestly always the best. I laughed out loud when you said that Jason was practical but also delusional but also flashy. That was interesting because you talked about Barbara and I see that they do strangely share a lot of similarities but that delusional murder-y part of must be like a shock to a character like her who both knew him before like what would that had been like to reconcile what he actually had done? Like if you read the brief mentions of Barbara once Jason returns he considers her a friend and there is a gap where they mention that they worked together as Batgirl and Robin but you never actually get those issues. Like the way he talks about Dick feels different immediately after as if Dick is an extension of Bruce but not really someone he’s close to or brotherly like fandom and now modern comics portray them as (cursed ski trip issue). It’s just weird that they never had an honest conversation about what Jason has done or that Jason didn’t try to seek her out later since like hey something was done to me and I feel a certain way and something was done to you too so why don’t you feel this way? But also like Jason seems to be very lonely which adds to that delusion he has which makes me think of like another character who was once lonely and was considered monstrous (Kirk Langstrom) who actual goes to Barbara Gordon and she recognizes that he came to her because he was lonely.

Okay complete different thing but thinking about Tim and how he became Robin made me think of Stephanie and why she ends up doing what she does. There was post not so long ago talking about Steph and I’m not sure if it was just an arc or about her whole run (I’ll admit I dropped her Batgirl title) but they were talking about a lot of what she does is because of selfish reasons and that was the first time I ever heard someday say that but reading the post and why the poster said that made lots of sense on what made Stephanie want to be hero and I guess the idea of being a hero and getting that title rather than what motivates most other heroes and etc. And I guess that leads me also to think about like how dangerous being a hero is and how though I know at the time it was because they wanted either to get rid of her, I actually like incorporating that Barbara Gordon stopped being batgirl because she started realizing how dangerous it was because there was a lot of close calls she got herself into and she did have that mind set at that time which then leads to like the idea that she left batgirl for a bit because it was dangerous and because she can do more elsewhere but in doing so she left right at the time Jason came in. Which is funny to see when like there are issues and he’s like oh you’re back! But it’s also that hey he died doing what you thought was dangerous and hey you got harmed when you weren’t even in costume like… just a lot you could do we that.

Sorry I know this is everywhere but my brains jumps like this so I write like this. Chaos in written form. Lol

i have a disease it’s called how many times can i segue between sentences by saying “it’s like” disease

[mentality-of-wukong-au]

How does everyone’s room look like…?

*AHEM-

*Tongbei’s room is filled with night-skies and galaxy colors as well as glow-in-the-dark constellations, just like every bedroom in the Palace, Tongbei has a purple king-sized bedroom with a see-through curtain that resembles a starry night, to contrast the galaxy-covered room, his furniture is mostly white with him not needing a lantern as he can just use the glow-in-the-dark light. It also has a small space for his books in potion making*

*Macaque’s room is stylized in traditional Chinese with a hint of modernity to it.*

*Something like this except with less light and more shadowy-like theme. Also remove the plants. He has a separate space for his puppetry and arts and crafts, as well as a personal radio*

*Wukong’s room is a little more simple, actually Wukong never customizes his room, he mostly stays by and leaves, so it looks bit like this*

*Rumble and Savage have a more modern looking room, with a twin-sized bed separated from purple to red. One space is for Rumble and one space for Savage, Rumble’s side is filled with posters for games and Savage’s side is filled with bookshelves*

*Chikao’s bedroom looks like this*

*Credits for the original images

*Zammy can decide what the spirit trio’s bedroom looks like*

[beutlerdesign]

50th Anniversary Limited Edition : Telluride

Giclée Archive Poster Prints

Fine Art Paper Prints: 12X16=$130 • 16X20=$155 • 18X24=$195 • 24X36=$280 • 30X40=$545 • 40X60=$820

Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$475 • 18X24=-$670 • 24X36=$770

FREE SHIPPING in 5-7 Business Days!!

[thegreatdivorce]

[catmansquad]

Excerpt: "Fitting In"

Gabriel spends time raiding with familiar faces, while Miguel struggles with the weight of a new, heavy secret... (Modern AU)

He stood at the door to his brother’s apartment, a bag of two takeaway boxes in one hand as his other nudged his tinted glasses back up his face, then knocked on the door.

‘Gabri!’

He could hear his brother on the other side of the door; the click of keys on a keyboard, an almost frantic tapping, and his brother’s muffled voice. Miguel rolled his eyes and knocked once again.

‘Gabri!!’ He had told his brother he’d be stopping by, and that he’d be bringing dinner.

Exhaling in soft annoyance, Miguel counted to three, then slammed his fist on the door hard enough that he felt the whole frame rattle.

‘GABRIEL!’

He heard his brother yelp, cursing and muttering apologies, then footsteps squeaking across the room towards the door. Miguel relaxed as he heard the door chain being removed, the click of a lock, and the door was pulled open to reveal his brother’s sheepish expression, hair messier than usual, and a white headset resting around his neck that Miguel could hear noise and chatter from.

‘… Aha…. Hi, Brother… Sorry, I uh… There was a raid happening and I got distracted, and kinda forgot…?’

Miguel’s gaze narrowed softly behind his glasses and he lived in hope that Gabriel could feel the weight of his stare. Once again was his brother wearing an explosion of mismatching colour, worst of all were the bright pink slippers on his feet, designed like rabbits with googly eyes that squeaked with each step he took.

‘Gabri, why do you always dress like you have a hurricane in your wardrobe?’

His brother gave him a judgemental stare, resting hands on his hips.

‘Why are you still mumbling, brother? Why do you not seem to have any colour in your wardrobe?’

Gabriel grabbed at his headset, lifting one side to his ear and listened to it.

‘Uh-oh… C-come in, Miggy. Thanks for bringing dinner- what do we have?’ He stepped back, allowing his big brother into his apartment.

‘Chinese.’ Miguel muttered simply, glancing around the apartment.

Much like Miguel, his brother’s apartment reflected his personality and interests. It was a bright and colourful thing, walls covered in posters of Discordance’s various expansions, plush pastel furniture and a great sofa that faced a very large wall-mounted television. In sharp contrast to Miguel’s far more calm and monochromatic choice of décor. His brother scrambled back to the sofa, dragging a keyboard and mouse back into his lap and pulling his headset back up.

‘Yo! I’m back, sorry… My brother’s here- So, do we need any stuff mended? We’re good for food and pots, yeah?’

Gabriel flicked his headset back to mute as Miguel sat in one of the soft armchairs, placing the takeaway bag on the coffee table and taking out the two white boxes of oily prawn noodles.

‘Thank you, Miggy… They say hello, by the way.’

‘How are you doing on your… thing, Gabri? Your food’s going to get cold.’

At Miguel’s question, Gabriel rested with a finger on the mute button of his headset, eyes darting between his brother and the television screen; where a group of five adventurers in styles ranging from medieval to futuristic were standing in a ravaged street of a post-apocalyptic city beneath blood red skies and an eclipsed sun.

‘I… I’ll just reheat it… Sorry, they’re getting impatient… Yeah, sorry, I’m here. I’m good to go-! Hobie, did you change jobs again? Again? Yeah, I know you “don’t believe in consistency”, but in the past month, you’ve been; Rebel, Gunner, Apostate, Rebel, Chronomancer, Martialist….’

Miguel held a prawn between chopsticks, listening to his brother’s continuing rant before popping it into his mouth. His brother was, once again, going to be left with cold food.

‘…. Extant, Rebel, Technician, Bulwark, Scholar…’

Miguel found his brother’s continuing rant far more interesting than what was happening on the screen. Instead, he focused on his food, rolling the prawn around his mouth, teasing it with his fangs as he focused on learning how to dry bite. It was all well and good not being affected by his own venom, but would still like to not taste its powerful bitter tang on nearly everything he ate.

‘… Judge, Knight Errant, and now back to Rebel again. Please, can we just get started…?’

‘C’mon, we’ve just got the lass boss to get through- Pav… Pav- please let Hobie go first. I know you’re the tank, but he can see the… Traps- and you’re dead again. Big shiny treasure out in the open, what were you expecting?’

Miguel placed the chopsticks into his empty takeaway box, still stained with the traces of oil, and placed it on the coffee table beside the one that his brother had yet to touch. Well fed, and having apparently mastered the art of keeping his venom glands under control, the older O’Hara sibling kicked off his shoes and curled up, sinking deeper into the soothing comfort of his brother’s furniture, feeling very much like a lazy cat.

‘I think your food’s gone cold, brother….’ He had half a mind to pull off his sunglasses, night was starting to fall and Gabriel was far too engrossed in his raiding party to notice how his big brother’s eyes had turned blood red. He was sure his brother hadn’t even heard what he had said.

‘…. Well, it’s a Nightmare raid, Pav. It’s not meant to be easy. This is Nightmare, not “Where’s my medal and plate of orange slices for participation”?- Yeah, great, Pav. You can get your orange slices once we’re done here.’ There was a very subtle edge to his brother’s words, and Miguel knew him well enough to know that irritation was building somewhere deep beneath the surface.

‘I hope you like reheating cold takeaway, brother. God knows I love it as much as I love complete strangers grabbing my ass when I’m performing…’ Miguel murmured, eyes half lidded as he glanced at the screen; to where the raiding party were approaching a colossal figure that resembled Cthulhu, made from wood and dark red crystal.

‘…. I know that, but you’re just putting more strain on me and Peni, our heals aren’t bottomless…’

Miguel closed his eyes briefly, fingers resting on the frame of his sunglasses, ready to pull them off. He hesitated, then opened his eyes again and looked to his little brother, speaking in a tiny, broken voice as he allowed his guard to fall, vulnerability moving to the surface.

‘I… I have superpowers, Gabri…’

His heart skipped a beat as his brother glanced at him, their eyes met for a brief moment, then his gaze returned to the screen.

‘Hey, Peni? Yeah, Mig says your gun looks like a Supersoaker.’

The older O’Hara sibling quietly exhaled a soft sigh, putting his guards back up as he quietly decided that he would count his blessings with his oblivious brother.

‘YES! Get fucked, Bloodmoon Harbinger!’

Gabriel punched their air as the wooden Cthulhu crumbled, the night skies above resuming their usual night blue hues. The assembled party began to emote and celebrate; Hobie’s avatar popping and spraying a bottle of champagne, as Pavtir’s danced with glowsticks, and Peni’s was either dead on the floor or playing at being so. Miguel watched his brother celebrate, and he could even hear the muffled celebrations of his fellow raiders through the headset. He also heard Gabriel’s stomach growl like a hungry beast and watched his little brother’s expression change from joy to a soft frown.

‘… ‘kay, I need to get some food now, like… Desperately. Good job, see you next week, yeah? Yeah? Take care, see you! Bye, bye, adios!’ With a few keystrokes, Gabriel had disconnected from the game and pulled his headset off, hair getting even more messed up. He placed everything aside and grabbed the untouched takeaway box like it was his lifeline.

‘Ah…’

‘Oh, stone cold, Gabri?’ Miguel asked him with a raised eyebrow.

‘Yeah. Well, that’s nothing the microwave won’t solve! ‘

Miguel pushed up his sunglasses as he buried his face into the palm of his hand and sighed softly. His brother’s joy truly was irrepressible.

‘Have you got a costume for Halloween, Miggy?’

‘Cost-? You assume I still want to go trick-or-treating at my age?’

‘Well, we don’t need to go trick-or-treating, brother! Stop talking like you’re in your forties. Seriously, you’re thirty-four.’ He heard the clang of the door and beep of the microwave running, Gabriel leaned back in from the kitchen.

‘It’s just about dressing up and having fun. Being scary for a night. So, what do you think?’

‘I’m thinking September is too early to start thinking about Halloween.’ Miguel responded, rolling his eyes, already growing tired of the topic of discussion. The last time he had worn any kind of Halloween costume, it had been the year when he’d first started the gig as Spider-Man, his brother had decided in his infinite wisdom, to pick out a costume for him, and had returned with a scarier version of the costume he knew on the stage. It had been the one and only time he’d ever worn it.

‘Alright, alright, be like that… But how’s it going with you and your guy? You got a date yet?’

‘No. I don’t expect to any time soon, Gabri. He-‘

The beep of the microwave made his brother duck back into the kitchen and he emerged back inside, carrying a small plate with the steaming noodles on.

‘Ay… Ay, ay, ay! Caliente! Caliente!’ His brother’s footsteps squeaked across the room, and Miguel stared at the pink slippers, very well aware that a matching set, in bright orange, were left unloved and unworn in his own wardrobe; another one of his brother’s brilliant gifts.

‘He’s… going through a difficult time. Later, we will.’

‘Aww, that sucks…’ Gabriel managed through a mouthful of steaming noodles, trying to pull a pitying expression while chewing. He just ended up looking like he was about to sneeze.

[lizzisimss]

Modern Rural Home CC List:

CC used (list below) The Summer Home in Windenburg 40 x 30 3 bed, 3 bath $260,274

Aira – https://www.patreon.com/airacc

Froggy painting

Luxury clock

Moon light

Plant 1

Tablet pc

Vanilla flower light

ATS4 - https://sims4.aroundthesims3.com/

Groceries totebag

Brazenlotus – https://www.brazenlotus.com/

SecondChance

Steezy skis

Laundry Made Essentials

charly pancakes - https://www.patreon.com/charlypancakes

The Lighthouse Collection merged

Dinna Merged

Lavish merged

M&S Constructions part 1 Merged

Miscellanea merged

Modish merged

Munch merged

Selection one merged

Smol merged

Soak merged

Felixandre – https://www.patreon.com/felixandre

Georgian set

London Exterior

London Interior

Shop the look season 1 merged

house of harlix - https://www.houseofharlix.com

Orjanic Merged

Bafroom

Baysic Merged

Harluxe Merged

Jardane Merged

Livin’Rum Merged

The Kitchen

Tiny Twavellers Merged

harrie - https://www.patreon.com/heyharrie

Brownstone Collection merged

Brutalist Collection part 1 & 2 merged

Country Collection

Octave part 1, 2, 4 & 4 merged

Porto

Shop The Look

Spoons part 1 & 3

Stockholm

Kiwisim - https://www.patreon.com/Kiwisim4

 Blockhouse

Inspired buffet

KKB – https://www.patreon.com/user?u=15789815

Citrus Room

leaf motif - https://leaf-motif.tumblr.com

2202 Magnolia Bathroom

Aubrey Office

Botanic Boudoir

Calliope Bathroom

Keller Bedroom

Little Ceramics

Old Hat

Simblreen 2021

Starlight Crystals

Stellan Dining

Sunbeam Study

Sunny Corner

Winter Village

Patron gift 1

Patron gift 2

Patron gift 4

Patron gift 5

Lilis-palace – https://www.patreon.com/lilis_palace

Folklore Set Off the Grid Living

Intarsia Wainscot Wonderland

Littlecakes – https://litttlecakes.tumblr.com/downloadspage

Twinkly lights LC

Poor Bunny

littledica - https://www.patreon.com/littledica

Rise & Grind Café merged

Eco kitchen stuff pack merged

Sleek slumber stuff pack merged

Deligracy merged cottage living update

Roman holiday merged

Deligracy delicato stuff pack

Madlen – https://www.patreon.com/madlen

Miu Lamp

Ayumu

Numi Backpack

Marvell – https://marvell-world.tumblr.com/

Nom nom line art painting

Upcycle sculpture

max 20 - https://www.patreon.com/Max20

Master bedroom pack

Child dream kit

Classic kitchen

Garden at home

Poolside lounge pack

Mechtasims - https://www.patreon.com/mechtasims

Back to school

Bathroom set

Cyber girl

Desk planner

Essential clutter conditioner

Groovy baby

Mlys – https://mlyssimblr.tumblr.com/cc-catalog

Pufferhead

my cup of cc -https://www.patreon.com/mycupofcc

ColourTalk Kitchen Merged

Avant Basic Lounge set

colourTalk kitchen merged

maple manor

fireplace bellow

Tiny Dreamers merged

myshunosun - https://www.patreon.com/myshunosun

Elle office

Luna bedroom

Mette living

Nora living

Riikka

Serene bathroom

The art room

Uma living

Arrie office

Daria bedroom

Dawn living

Dawn storage

Gale dining

Lottie

Moonwood

MXIMS – https://mxims.tumblr.com/

IKEA Barso Wall Grid B

Networksims - https://www.thesimsresource.com/members/networksims/

Crack stone brick floor

Iris tile wall

oni - https://www.patreon.com/oni28

Kitchen pegboard timer

Antique country dining

Vintage living room

peacemaker - https://peacemaker-ic.tumblr.com/TS4O...

Atwood Living

Bayside Bedroom Set

Creta Kitchen

Elsie Bedroom

Essa Kitchen

Future

Hamptons Retreat

Hinterlands Living

Hudson Bathroom

Iris Seating

Kingston Dining

Kitayama Dining

Kitayama Living

MidCentury Eclectic

Mina Kitchen

Roarsome Kids Bedroom

Rolled Rattan

Urbane Kitchen

pierisim - https://www.patreon.com/pierisim

Previous Promises

Calderone bedroom

MCM

Oak House

The office mini kit

Tidying up

Coldbrew coffeeshop

Domaine du clos

Living room mini kit

Winter Garden

Renorasims - https://www.patreon.com/renorasims

Xtreme Shower Tub

RVSN – https://ravasheen.com/downloads/

SmartsContent School Posters

ArtAttack Graffiti Murals

simplisticsims - http://simplisticsims4.com

Cottage roman curtain

Loloi contemporary rugs 1

Luxe dining plush DH

Painting indigo 2021

RHshadeB

Rhspatoilet

RPCcurtainA

Rusticlifebed

Rusticrug

sixiamcc - https://imfromsixam.tumblr.com/

Breeze of Greece

Oak & Concrete kit merged

PD-Lilla Kids Bedroom

Artiu

Artz

Charming Chalet

Forjasline

Home Basics

Home Improvement

Home Office

Hotel Bedroom

Kids room

Love for Barn Doors

Luxbath

Retro Vibes

Small Space

SpringSix Kitchen

Teen Room

SYB – https://www.patreon.com/Syboubou

Bonbon

Flashy cloud light

Galileo

Julie

Laundry

Nathalie

TaurusDesign –

Elsa KidsRoom

Clutter Cat - https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/thec...

Cat milk no 2 reloaded

Mellow Mini

Petits Pirates

Busy bee

Busy bee 2

Kawaii Kidz

TUDS -https://www.patreon.com/TudTuds

2nd Wave Merged

Beam Merged

Ema Dining Room Merged

Ind Merged

Turn Living Merged

Vime Closet Merged

Wave Merged

Awingedllama – https://www.patreon.com/awingedllama

Apartment therapy inspired stuff v2 merged

Blooming Rooms Plants merged

Wondymoon – https://www.patreon.com/wondymoon

Ailuropoda painting

Greenllamas – https://www.patreon.com/greenllamas KERV

[gattoneropub]

Monte Carlo Poster, Vintage French Travel Print, Monaco France Beach Picture

Monte Carlo Poster, Vintage French Travel Print of Monaco. France Beach Picture. Vintage travel mid century poster of the Monte Carlo, Monaco from 1930. This vintage print has a modern style for a travel poster from 1930. It encapsulates the glamour of travel in times gone by and features two women with blue skies behind them, at Monte-Carlo, Monaco with the sea also in the background. The illustration was originally by Louis Icart in 1930 to publicise tourism for the area. The image has been carefully digitally restored by an artist to refresh the colours and to remove any obvious signs of wear and tear, but to retain the vintage character of the print. COPYRIGHT: For personal use only. You should not physically resell or digitally redistribute the artworks as originals nor as modified. WHAT YOU WILL GET You will receive a link to enable you to download a file with different ratio JPEG files. Each ratio file has high resolution JPEG images of at least 400 dpi which are ready for instant download and printing. Your link will expire in 14 days and you will be able to download the files 3 times. A 4×5 ratio file for printing 4″x5″, 8″x10″, 16″x20″, 40x50cm. A 3×4 ratio file for printing 6″x8″, 9″x12″, 12″x16″, 18″x24″. A 2×3 ratio file for printing 4″x6″, 6″x9″, 8″x12″, 10″x15″, 12″x18″, 16″x24″, 20″x30″, 24″x36″. An international paper size file for printing 5″x7″, A5, A4, A3, A2, A1, 50x70cm. A file for printing 11″x14″. Read the full article