#Until. you know. Flowers suddenly symbolize something else

[tinycozycomfort]

rest in the cup of my palms (part two)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter two: do you feel it, too?

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or  you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: you fight hard to keep old habits at bay. joel falls into his head first.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn / (for this chapter) -> semi-public dry humping, kissing, mentions/fantasies of p in v sex, possessive thoughts, no one is drunk but everyone blames the wine, joel miller loves his kid!

word count: 5.3k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: i'm in shambles over the response to the first chapter, this series is my baby and it means so much that you guys liked it. thank you a million times for reading!

read on ao3 / main masterlist

“The wait begins as soon as I wake up. There is never any “after”. Life stops from the moment he rings the doorbell and enters.”

Annie Ernaux - Getting Lost

───────

Joel hasn’t touched the plastic tube since he brought it home last week. 

It’s become something he has to hide from, a nagging thought that pulls at his pant-leg like a child, clawing for his attention—open me, open me. Over and over he hears it, while in the office or cooking dinner or folding the wash, a whisper that begs him to reach in and claim his prize. When he’s really tired, brain damp from the days he has to work, the voice pours into something smoother, and suddenly it's that pretty girl—the one who’d made the thing—asking for the same; to be peeled back and stretched wide for him, cunt and heart and all. 

He finds himself losing a lot of very real time in the fantasy, chunks of his life spooned out to make room. 

The compulsion isn’t unfamiliar; it’s one that Joel thinks has something to do with his protective nature—or maybe that he’s seen enough living through the filters of hurt and mistrust—that makes him cling to the things he finds precious.

It traces back as far as the girls in grade school, when they would bring him little home-made valentines and wave him kisses first stamped onto open palms. He grew enamored with them, picking them flowers and scribbling symbols of promise in their note-books—the very beginnings of his acts of service. His heart would swell with it, a cartoonish thing, growing and pumping until he could keel over to one side from the size. He chased it in those early years, back somewhere between the brothering and fathering, moving through many someones he could fawn over, easing his need to possess. 

He can feel the need rising now, for the first time in too long, his body hurtling itself towards the ledge of something scarier, and he welcomes it. His hands itch for it, for the kind of love with teeth, that bites and tears into the edges of a substance much meatier, providing a place for the points to pierce and hold. He won’t call it what it really is, prefering to stomp out the whisper that warns him of its arrival—obsession. He likes to use less severe terms: thoughtful, involved, fascinated.

Knowing better in his age, he tries at least to be realistic during waking hours, and around Ellie, reminding himself that he has a hard time stepping down when he builds his hope high enough. He moves instead to just dreaming about you—in little tidbits and at guest-star capacity—to tide himself over until the week rolls back around.

Now, on a new Monday, he lets his daughter head off to class before he allows himself the privilege of unwrapping his reward.

He fishes around in the back of the hallway closet where he hid the case, retreating to his room to finally have his time alone with the creature he’d made of the object, letting it free from its cage.

He pops off the cardboard top of the roll, pulling the drawing out with the very tips of his fingers to not smudge something on accident. The sound of it sliding out sets his skin alight—this gift is one he asked for, but it feels like it was given to him all the same. Sharing a piece of you with him so freely, he feels special. 

He’s gotten used to seeing himself around the house, Ellie’s ever-growing library of renditions of him are fixed to the fridge by mis-matched magnets and framed in little glass panels in her room. It leans on the side of betrayal to have someone else’s version of him up, but he just wants to see it—if it’s as intense as he remembers it. As different.

His knuckle follows the curl of the paper to flatten the image, tacking it up to the wall with painter’s tape to avoid damaging the surface, like his daughter taught him. Joel sits on the corner of his bed and feels a hot wave of emotion fill his chest. 

He looks hopeful. It’s a garment he’s never seen himself wear. He’s soft and shy and child-like, face penciled in with detail that reads like a well-worn novel, bending and twisting to the curve of his expression. It’s a finely crafted summary. It’s guide-lines. It’s instructions, the very important parts of him spelled out in bold, black charcoal, with the gray shades of his complexion filling in the gaps. 

Was he that easy to pick apart? 

He’d seen some of the other drawings, the way everyone else had chosen to capture solely his pose, perfectly articulating the crook of his elbow or the network of muscle under the skin of his calf. 

But you’d chosen to show him. 

Something about it looks so familiar, enough to bring forward a memory of the conversation that had him feeling the briefest pass of deja vu—of you glancing down at the ground, quieted maybe by his proximity or his compliments; bashful. 

He walks out into the living room where Ellie keeps her sketchbook, the one with all the references. He thumbs through it—she’s given him permission to see this one—and flips to the page he remembers watching her use last week. And when he sees it, he feels like he’s going to faint. 

It was you. 

That was your face his daughter had been so beautifully replicating. Upon examining the fragmented portrait, he sees a striking resemblance to the one you’d made of him. They’re the same. Not the likeness, of course, but the visage. You knew what he felt like—had felt it yourself.

He already knew you, before you’d even spoken a word to each other. He admits that Ellie was only capable of piecing together so much of you, and even with the extra bits he’d caught in your brief meeting, he feels like he’s missing out. He wants to see the whole picture. You, in totality. 

When he arrives at the school building, he’s overtaken with a wash of what he thinks might be stage-fright. It makes him feel sick, stomach rolling with an embarrassment that scorches like youth—fight low and flight high—and his body starts to feel sore with the effort it takes to keep himself from fidgeting. 

Ellie’s teacher meets him in the hallway and passes him his slip, and he hums his way down to the bathroom to undress, admittedly working up the courage to confront you. 

As he enters the classroom, his excitement bottoms out. You’re not there. He keeps sweeping the room with his eyes, hoping you somehow had been hidden amongst the other bodies. He tries to sell himself the idea that you’re just in the bathroom, or on a break or late, but the wooden bench you’d sat in last week is obviously untouched. 

He clambers onto the stool, trying to replicate his pose from the previous lesson, much more uncomfortable now that he has nothing to distract him. The two hours are painful, and he finds himself counting seconds to fill the minutes in increments of ten until he can leave. 

His back hurts when he stands. 

On his way out, the blonde woman hands him a little flier, two pieces of neon copy paper glued together to make a double-sided image, advertising the group show this coming Friday. Ellie has already reminded him more times than he can count, but he takes it from the woman with the best smile he can muster, slipping out the door in a stride he’s hoping doesn’t come across as wounded. 

───────

The on-campus gallery is what someone a lot kinder than Joel would call cozy—a tight, short chamber with no windows and a single entrance, like a trap. 

He’s too keyed-up to be kind. He feels like nitpicking.

The metal door at the head must have been an afterthought, kicking back into the frame loudly every time someone walks through, nothing implemented to catch it. A continuous beam of fluorescent lighting wraps around the room in an all-encompassing spotlight, cooking the smell of fresh paint off the wall. It reminds him of picture day, or apartment hunting or something else equally unpleasant. 

He was always going to come to this, because he can’t imagine a version of himself who wouldn’t support his daughter, but he’s not happy about it, and he’s starting to feel dizzy from the too-fast swirl of anxiety in his stomach. 

Ellie had removed herself from his side the moment they made it into the building in search of her friends, with just a squeeze of his forearm and an ‘I’ll introduce you later’ left in her wake. He’s clung tightly to the wall ever since, making his way around the room to look at all the drawings, again and again and again until he feels like he’s on a track. 

Discomfort is a factor, but most of his indignation has to do with not seeing you in class—pointed at himself for the absurdity of his expectations—the voice in his head taking a bitter turn. Were you avoiding him? Would you not attend this, either? Did he do something wrong? His mind rambles on as he fiddles with his imitation cocktail glass, the shiny slip of plastic sticking to his fingers. There’s still a generous portion of what has to be five-dollar wine pooled at the bottom, bitter and opaque enough to stain. The woman who poured it for him did so nearly to the top, maybe sympathetically, disregarding that there was money obviously trying to be saved—deeming his cause a worthy one. He doesn’t even want it, really, nauseous at the idea of actually finishing it, but not having something in his hand was winding him even tighter. So he nurses it—even as it goes warm between his grasp, more unappetizing now than it had been twenty minutes ago—sip after sip to try and appear engaged. 

Eventually Joel grows tired of waiting, for Ellie to come back or for you to come at all or for this night to just be over, and picks a drawing to pause in front of. It’s a portrait of someone he’ll never meet, another graceful stranger coming together in an amalgamation of grays. He can hear people walking behind him, talking quietly and occasionally stopping to look over his shoulder at it in passing. 

“Hm. Quite the fan of my work, are you?” He almost ignores the comment, thinking it's for someone else, as it usually is, until there’s a figure taking up too much of his periphery. 

He’s a little dazed when he looks over, the hot, sour wine settled now in the pit of his belly, buzzing with a flare of something not-missed. He’s prepared to see more than one person beside him, perhaps a couple that had been talking near him rather than to him, but when he swivels his neck, it’s you. You’re just as pretty as he remembers, the face that he looks for in his sleep, but this time you’re not as shy, staring at him straight on—maybe similarly loosened by the pale yellow liquid in your own cup. 

Heat gathers at the rim of his jaw—his neck is red by now, he’s sure of it. Already exposed and driven by the faint whisper in his mind, he opens his mouth to speak without thinking, “You weren’t there this week.” 

You make quick quotes with just your pointers half-heartedly, “‘Sick,'” and breathe a laugh, “Had a few academic duties to fulfill. Gotta keep the scholarship intact.” 

There’s a thick moment of silence, but he can’t look away, eyes weighty and cheeks stinging. It’s awkward but he finds comfort in it, embracing the adjustment like it's a step towards better connection. 

Someone brushes his arm as they walk by and Joel uses it to his advantage, “Do you want to step outside? It’s a little hot in here.” 

There’s a flash of something like surprise across your eyes, but you shrug, “Sure.”

He crowds behind you as you walk step-in-step out the unarmed emergency exit, just to feel the closeness of your body, much better than the distance he’d felt in your absence on Monday. 

The night is worse than cold but it feels good against the heat in Joel’s chest. He can smell your perfume wafting back as he follows your movements, and it makes him pant. He’s ill, has to be—that or the wine was stronger than he thought, because the weird tie he feels is one he can’t explain as being healthy or normal or not fucking scary. But when you turn on your heel to face him, taking a seat on a hip-high planter in a secluded outer corner of the building, it feels right. Natural. 

He shuffles so that he’s far enough for you to be safe from his touch, and he shoves a hand in his pocket for good measure, “Thank you again for the drawing. It’s really beautiful.”

“Yeah, of course. Thank you for saying that.”

He wants to say something more, like you’ve captured me in a way that makes me hopeful about myself, but settles instead for, “My daughter liked it a lot, too.” It’s a bold-faced lie, but he thinks that keeping your gift a secret would look less appealing. 

“Is she here?”

“Somewhere, yeah. Ran off the second we got in. I’m not a comfort anymore, I guess.”

“Is she yours? Comfort, I mean.” You pick at the crown of the cup, rolling it gently in your hands like its real glass, and you both watch the fuzzy pattern of light that catches on its uniform surface. Joel wonders if you have a comfort of your own—if you need one.

“Is it bad if I say yes? It feels cheesy but the kid is my rock. Dunno what I’m gonna do when she grows up.” He shoves at the concrete under the toe of his boot. It didn’t taste as bad coming out as he thought it might. He hasn’t said that out loud to anyone other than himself, but you look at him like you know exactly what he means. The delicate beginnings of a smile crest on your face, cheek pinched, void of all the uncomfortable sympathy he's gotten from Tommy and Maria at the few things he made the mistake of revealing. He can’t find it in himself to stop now with your gesture, feeling relief in having a place to voice his heartbreak, “Honestly I’m scared, but not just for me, y’know? I worry about what she’s gonna find in the world. I just want to keep her safe.” 

“She knows it, I’m sure. I know what it feels like to have no one to root for you—I would’ve killed for that. The only thing you can do for her is be there when she comes home,” You’re looking down again, and he doesn’t like whatever’s made you want to pull back from him—be shy, “Spend time with other people you care about and that care about her. Make that network for her to lean on.”

“All I got is my brother. His wife too, sometimes. My nephews. A few years ago it was just me and him. Ellie—that’s her name. She, uh, isn’t ‘mine’,” he makes the bunny-eared quotes with the hand holding his drink, “Not by blood, anyway. But she popped up out of nowhere and I don’t know how to go back to being on my own.” 

“It’d be good to have a network of your own, too—if you’re up to it. It’s hard to do, trust me, but I don’t think I could do a lot without my friends.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I don’t think that’s in the cards for me anymore. I can’t conjure up much of anything worth listening to these days. Forgot how.” 

“Don’t do that. You have a lot to say—you’re plenty. Just start with one person. There’s always time to make more.” He knows you’re talking to him, but it feels like you’re also talking to that little boy inside of him, small and unloved and still bleeding.

“Do you need any more? Friends.”

You look up from your lap, pushing a piece of your hair back from your face like you need to get a better look, searching for a way you could be misinterpreting him, “I might have room. You have a recommendation for me?”

He reaches out, grabbing the empty cup from your grasp, stacking it with his own and depositing them by your side. He doesn’t miss the way you watch him, how you widen the spread of your legs on instinct, enough to suggest his entrance. He wades out on one leg to bring himself in, testing the water.

Your lips are parted, and when he looks into the opening between them he imagines he’s seeing to the center of you, and everything else keys out. Cars pass by on the strip of street behind him, driven by ghosts, providing nothing but a low song for your bodies to dance to together, his chest swaying closer to yours with every breath. You move with him, and it feels rehearsed, like all of the steps you've taken to get to this moment were purposeful, done in perfectly orchestrated succession for the hundredth time. 

“Do you feel that, too?” He asks, wanting to know if he’s reading too much into it, feeling that sweet edge of thoughtful-involved-fascinated scrape his skin like a sharp knife, “Do you? Like you know me?” 

“Yes,” you breathe, and it’s all the permission he’s ever needed. 

He leans in, lips skating yours, the warm cave of your mouth begging to be explored. He tries so hard to take his time, soft brushes tethering you to each other with the weight of everything he’ hasn’t had the time to say. His whole body is pins and needles—a fierce heat that floats so high it feels like ice. You sigh into him, the start of a moan, and his composure snaps. Service, he reminds himself, act on it—it feels almost divine when he thinks about all the ways he could pledge his loyalty, ready to bend at your altar every day of his life if it meant you’d sing for him again.

Joel brings a hand to the side of your neck, thumb digging into the pulse point at the corner of your jaw to bring you forward, licking into your mouth in search of more noise. He groans when you relax into his hold, so pretty and willing, and works you until you’re just as fervent, daring to suck his bottom lip between your teeth—going for blood. 

The voice in his head is yours again—open me, eat me, unhinge your jaw and swallow. 

He slots his other hand around the bone of your hip, pulling you nearer to the ledge of the planter, pressing his cock into your inner thigh as it swells to life. You gather his shirt in your hand, a tight fist, shifting yourself against him so you can grind into it instead. No one else exists, no one else could ever exist in this moment, or any moment you attend, for the rest of forever. He wants to fuck you, to see how far the attachment could go, how far he could reach down before he finds a warm, bed-shaped slot for him to rest in. He wants to live inside the body of someone who sees him so clearly. He wants to know every thought in your head before it comes to fruition. 

The wine tastes better coming from off your tongue, and he’s gleaning the flavor from every corner of your mouth like he can achieve a second-hand high. His full weight is rocking into you with enough force now that he has to plant a heel in the ground to keep you both from tumbling. He risks a thumb in your waistband in the flurry, tugging at it in the hope of another invitation. 

Before you have a chance to decide, the loud press of the swing-door at the front of the building opens, and Joel staggers back, remembering where he is and why. 

You look winded to say the least, hair bent from the imprint of his hand, mouth in a perpetual ‘o’, and he’s scared to see the state of his own face, not to mention the visible strain of his cock in his pants. He kicks an ankle out to try to adjust, heaving through an open maw at the thought that you might be affected in that way as well, picturing the slick wet in between your legs—a beautiful sheen from just his mouth on the top half of your body. 

You shimmy off the edge, straightening your shirt and he immediately steps back in for more, draping the full breadth of his hand against your collarbone, curling the tips around the top of your shoulder.

“Joel. I— I need to go inside.”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you okay?” 

You lay a hand over his with a squeeze and he retracts it, “Yeah. I just wasn’t expecting… I don’t know if I can do this right now.”

He can feel his breath restricting, heart plummeting down so far it feels like it’s landed in the ball of his foot; the second time this week you’ve pulled away. He thinks back to the face you made at him in the gallery, back before he fucked this up. Maybe you never meant for this to happen at all.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice strained, “I just need a little time. Just some time, I’m sorry.”

“No, no I understand. Don’t be sorry. Will you take my number? Just in case?” He wants to make sure you’re okay after this, if you want that, and selfishly he wants to give you a way to have him, knowing this might be the last time he runs into you. He’s too afraid to leave it up to chance.

“Yeah, yeah okay,” You pass him your phone with shaky fingers. 

“Only if you want to, honey,” He’s disheartened by the whole thing, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so he’s careful to double-check, even if it’s a blow to his hope, “You don’t have to.”

“I know. I’m just—the wine, sorry. I think it was bad.” You huff out a strained laugh, “I want it. Your number, I mean. Promise.” You practically shove the thing at him and he takes it this time, entering the contact with as little squinting as possible to save himself from any further humiliation. 

───────

You all but run into the bathroom in the back of the building, needing a moment alone to consider what the fuck it is that’s going on right now—what’s been going on since he walked into your class two weeks ago and overstayed his welcome. 

You stumble in, bracing yourself against the porcelain basin, switching on the faucet to drown out some of the pounding in your head. You’d been lying when you said the wine was catching up to you—very much sober—but now, in this suffocating, gray room, you feel like it must have at least accelerated the churning in your gut. 

You let water gather in your hands, bending to dip your face in the too-cold pool between them. 

Every day has been mostly encouraging if not indifferent but this feels like the start of a bad dream you won’t be able to wake up from, dragging you right back to that dark box you’d been existing in. He came in from nowhere, kicking down your reserve, for what? For a fuck? To enjoy you in passing? Or worse, to stay? You’re unsure which would be harder to receive.

And it’s unfair—for him to show up right at the point of being fully on your own, as soon as you’ve chosen to avoid getting caught up in that part of your life. You’re past the point of surrendering your time—know better than to want to be bogged down by a crush or the preconceived idea of the perfect stranger. 

You don’t know him, and you don’t need to. 

But you want him so bad it hurts; so bad you had to fake a cold to skip class because you couldn't face the idea of seeing him for the last time. You debated skipping the grade for the exhibition too, but you used any excuse to convince yourself he might not show. You weren’t sure who his daughter was, or how enthusiastic she was about the program, so you figured it was a fair shot. You outwardly willed him not to come, at yourself in the mirror and in the shower and out loud the car, all while secretly praying he’d be in attendance, right up to the moment you saw him.

When you stand up, staring at your rigid body in the plastic mirror above the sink, you’re pained at the sight. You look tired, shoulders tense and eyes bleary. Stray beads of the cool water stick to your skin, refusing to dry in the lingering humidity, balling up together to drip into the open lip of your shirt. You can barely feel it falling over your chest before being soaked up by the material. You feel outside yourself.

Someone starts to knock at the door, a quick and invasive interruption to the moment of absolute panic you’d been enjoying. You managed to twist the lock shut on the door at least, so you click your heel against the tile in a wordless someone’s in here, but the knocking persists. 

“Occupied.” You try, wet hands slipping against the edge of the sink. This shit isn’t normal. None of that even comes close to normal. 

Still, the heavy thrum against the hollow metal continues, and you take a deep breath before practically ripping it out from the socket of its frame. When you have it open, Ian’s posed between the V of the slot, face bewildered. 

“Really, truly, I love you, but what the fuck was that?” 

───────

Four days from the start of spring break, you’re out at some stranger’s place off Maple, invited by both Ian and your roommate—making it a little harder to get out of—in a joint, well-intentioned attempt to make you leave the safety of your room. A party will be nice, they’d explained, nothing serious, and a week off’s supposed to be fun, right? 

The house is pretty, but whoever owns it has demanded everyone remain out on the cobblestone patio, uneven flooring making for a jagged line of bodies packed too tight to fit. 

A fire burns in the middle of the yard, billowing out puffs of smoke you know will linger in your clothes for at least two washes. You swipe at some soot that's gathered in the bowl of your jacket sleeve absentmindedly. There’s no music tonight, maybe because there’s real school tomorrow—the elementary school down the street not quite on the same schedule—and you start to think going out on weeknights is quickly becoming more your speed. There's just the soft blanket of everyone murmuring, trying to stay warm in the chill of the wind. 

Ian’s prepping some guy across the fire to meet you; you can tell by the look on his face, like he’s planning something elaborate. You smile at him, at least amused by his effort to help you forget the weekend. He’s right, it is spring break, and Joel is nothing but a consequence of your stress-induced impulsivity. 

Still, despite your efforts, you’re thinking about him again, even if to punish him. You can still feel the line of his cock against your thigh, pressed hot and heavy into your body like an offering. You rub your thighs together, cursing him for giving you enough material to fantasize about for weeks—your punishment in return.

Ian crosses the circle with your new prospect, and you tilt your cup in mock cheers. Behind him he mouths hot and nice, tell me what you think. You nod, and the guy steps forward to block the flame. He’s handsome, airbrushed face and sweet cologne and long, thin fingers, nothing like how someone else’s had felt at the junction of your hips. 

You swallow, hard.

You honestly don’t hear a word that comes out of his mouth from the second it opens, not even to catch his name. Instead, you think about how nice it’d be if you could pay attention, how much easier it would be to fuck someone you thought was nice and safe and not at the forefront of every free moment you’d been afforded in the last two-and-a-half weeks. About what a relief it would be for him to mount and rut into you without consequence—no emotional burden, just boring and lukewarm like the last bite of something you can’t find a place to throw away. It’s always been easier when you didn’t want more. Yet now you want every night, hold out a hand in your dreams and let him into the part of you that has already carved out a hole in his shape. 

This guy couldn’t pull your mind off of Joel even if he was fucking you. 

When he offers to grab you a drink, you agree and then head into the house, like you’re not supposed to, as soon as his back is turned. There’s a few locked doors, and then one at the end of a hallway that opens up into a bathroom. You slip in, not bothering to switch on the light in an attempt to hide out from being found.

Here you are searching for reason in a dirty mirror above another sink, with nothing but the weak glow of a plug-in air freshener to guide you, too soon after the last time. 

You’re angry, suddenly, at how far he’s burrowed himself into your head, with so little to go on. He’s doing nothing but showing you yourself, a tired tactic to get you to fall in love with him while you do all the work. He was just pretending, right? He couldn’t actually want to love you. You groan, when the fuck was love even part of this equation?

You dig your phone out of your purse. The lock screen is bright—bold lettering reminding you it’s nearly midnight—but you click into your contacts anyway, because it’s not like you’re going to call him or anything. His page is still open, the Texas area code populating under Joel - Ellie’s dad—typed out with caps and all like that’s his only meaningful identifier. You scroll to see where he’d punched in ‘just in case‘ in the notes section of his info-card, and that decimates the cliff of restraint you'd barely managed, sinking in on itself under you.  

Your hands are wet with unease, held hostage by the way he’d read your thoughts out loud. You did feel it too, that searing weight of knowing—of being acquainted with him despite only meeting once before. He had to have been honest in at least that confession. You ask yourself for permission—‘was he going through this as well? what exactly was he feeling? would he explain if you asked?’—until it turns into selling yourself justification—‘you could just fuck him, right? that’s all this has to be, right?’.

Yes, you decide. Just another test of will—you can do it. You can pass. 

Your finger hovers over the number, closing the screen and opening it again and again and again until you just bite the bullet and fucking press it, the screen going black as you shove it against the side of your ear, covered again in darkness. 

He picks up within two rings. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi. Joel,” You offer him your name like a secret, “It’s me. Did I wake you up?”

“No, sweetheart. Are you okay?” 

“Can I come see you?”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

"For you, Rollo." One of the gargoyles slips something into his hand. When Rollo unfurls his hand, he finds a fistful of flower seeds in his palm. "You like gardening, don't you? Maybe you can plant these and watch them grow into something beautiful. Then you can look at those flowers and your heart will be at peace."

I really like the idea of flowers as symbolism for character growth and development 😌 I was thinking a lot about that connection and What Else Can I Do? from Encanto while writing this.

Anyway, stan gargoyle 🫶

Rollo recognized the gargoyle as soon as it had hopped up to him. A 10-degree difference on the wings, the 1-centimeter scratch running along the head. There was no mistaking it: this gargoyle was the very same that had caught him upon his defeated descent from the bell tower.

"Y'know, we're always up here. You can talk to us if something's botherin' ya."

Suddenly the flower seeds in his palm felt heavier than lead. A metallic taste coated the back of his tongue.

“I picked them up from the pesky birds that visit the bell tower," the gargoyle rambled cheerily. "The other day, a whole family made its nest in my mouth while I was still sleeping! Can you believe that?”

Rollo cut straight to the point.

"How did you know about the gardening?" he managed, in spite of the dryness that consumed his throat. His usual perfect, practiced poise came through.

The gargoyle laughed, low and gravely like the rock he was carved from. "It's been three whole years now. There's not a day in the year when you skip out on polishing the Bell of Salvation, cleaning us gargoyles... or watering the campus flowers."

He bristled. "You act as though you know me."

But no one does.

Not when he had stowed all his secrets away in that diary. Away from his classmates, away from his parents, away from the world. All the turmoil and hurt and anguish, banished to the pages.

Troubles rooted deep, not meant for mortal eyes.

The gargoyle's answer was a simple one. He tapped his temple and grinned. "I may not know what's going on in your head, but I know that you have a big heart. It's a good foundation. Fertile soil for flowers to grow—if you'll let them."

He nodded, indicating Rollo’s hand.

The seeds.

The start of something new.

Rollo curled his fingers back around them—a cage for the seeds, the bars stopping just short of crushing them. “… Heh. Hilarious. I hadn’t realized that stone was capable of comedy.”

If the gargoyle was offended, he didn’t show it. He slowly inclined his head to one side. “Yes, yes, I can see it now. A plant pushing through the dirt, rising through the roof and to the skies. That’s the sort of flower you’d be.”

“You think rather highly of me.”

When you’re fully aware of what I am capable of.

“I do. That's just the sort of person I've come to know you as, someone we can rely on. I’d trust you with the clothes right off my back if I wore any clothes!!”

The gargoyle chuckled at his own bad joke, elbowing Rollo in the ribs to encourage him to join in. The best he got was a stifled wheeze--more of a result of the jab than actually finding humor in his words.

“… Hey, Rollo. When these flowers have blossomed, I hope you'll be able to look at them and feel a little more at ease."

"I cannot make any promises as to how I will feel about the flowers, whether they've reached full maturity or not," he warned. Stern, pragmatic--as always.

"That's fine," the gargoyle replied with a patient grin.

One day, those feelings might change. Until then... I’ll watch over you as you, too, grow into something beautiful.

[okaioh]

Kai I need Phil content to make up for the fact he didn’t get kidnapped brutally by the Ender King, do you have any good headcanons of Death Family + Rose

ough there's too many but lemme see what I can cook up

(putting it under the cut because its kinda long LMAO)

whenever in Rose's garden the hummingbirds always flock to Chayanne - and maybe its because of the ingredients he has in his backpacks or maybe its because he's always carrying a rose that Tallulah has given him, I like to think its because hummingbirds symbolize devotion and love - who else is devoted to protecting his family and who else shows constant love to his sister and dad like Chayanne <3

Another one about Chayanne, which is kinda based around this one post I saw (by panxramic on twt), but theres something about Rose's sanctuary in which the little warrior feels absolute calm and peace - something that he doesn't get often, and because of that peace he finds himself regularly taking naps around the place

^^there'll be times where Phil's sleeping and Tallulah and Chay were hanging out and at one point Tallulah's like ?? where did Chayanne go ?? and she looks all over the place for him, a bit panicked at first, until she goes to the Sanctuary and finds him laying in a patch of grass - snoring softly with a bunch of hummingbirds flying around him (she totally takes a picture of him and uses it as a way to tease him relentlessly)

the first few nights of sleeping at the Sanctuary, Tallulah found herself waking up to flowers in her hair - at first she's like "weird it must have fallen onto my head or something" but then it keeps happening every morning she wakes up

it'll be different flowers in her hair every morning - at first its roses (without the stem and thorns of course) nestled in her hair, then tulip petals, then cherry blossom petals and so on, its just a little thing to show that Rose is constantly watching over them even if she doesn't send any messages

Tallulah also discovered that when she plays music in the sanctuary, a bunch of birds always appear and start singing along with her - some will sit on top of her head and chirp along with her flute and theres some that'll hop in front of her almost on beat with her music

Phil has never slept better than the first nights when he slept with his kids in the sanctuary

there's something that just lets him know that nothing can come and hurt them with Rose watching over them

I like to think that phil's an early riser so to his kids its very rare that they actually wake up before him since he's already up and tending to the farms and everything

so the first few mornings in Rose's sanctuary, tallulah and chayanne got scared thinking their dad was sick because he slept in all morning till the afternoon - phil even thought he was coming down with something until he realized he's never felt more awake than when he did, and thats when his kids noticed how bright his eyes looked and how his eye bags seemed to be almost gone after a couple days

Missa is rarely on (except today) but that doesn't exclude him from Rose's protection - right as he comes back he can feel this sort of warm presence with him and I feel like at first he'll be like ":0 its phil's love for me-" something cheesy or whatever

and then he starts to notice little things whenever he does something - let's say hes building and he isn't paying attention to his surroundings and there's a skeleton about to shoot him, and without him even noticing it - it suddenly burns up and disintegrates into dust just like that

and ofc Missa carries on like nothing happened - and theres instances just like that that always happens when he doesn't notice... if he's about to walk off a cliff and hurt himself- nope, there's water at the bottom now and hes safe. If there's a mob coming at him and about to kill him- nope, it somehow gets trapped in a hole and Missa carries on his day freely

I would add more for Missa but i don't know what to add ueueue

but yeah :D add more if you want LMAO these are some of what I've come up with

[bracketsoffear]

Clara/The Changeling (Pathologic) "Clara does not exist until the game begins. She takes on the role of a healer in this town with an emerging plague, but the first person she attempts to heal dies. She is told that someone who looks exactly like her is committing crimes in the town, so she has to actively work to maintain her reputation throughout the game, or else citizens will start to attack her in the street.

Though she does have healing abilities, the game purposefully misleads you on how they are used. She doesn't understand it any more than you do. She is also aware that she is a character in a video game, and knows that she cannot exist outside the framework of the game. Because Pathologic is about a town dying to the plague that you are trying your hardest to prevent, and then mitigate, and then destroy at any cost, Clara comes to believe that she is the cause of the plague. After all, she cannot exist in a world without one. She comes into being as the game begins, and will likely stop existing after it is over, as what more is there for her to do? Kill an already dead town? Save an already healed town?

Each character you can play as can choose their own ending, and hers involves asking people to sacrifice themselves to her routinely to keep the town alive. Even when you make the correct choices and try to heal the town, the plague is still a constant threat and will never truly go away, and Clara is indeed responsible for this looming threat, as her healing hands are the ones people are blindly following into a routine of self-sacrifice and reminder of the plague that almost destroyed their town. In a way, it is fully possible to interpret her character as the true source of the plague, and the game allows you to believe this. There isn't really anything to contradict it, after all."

Malenia, Blade of Miquella (Elden Ring) "Cursed from birth to be host of the Scarlet Rot, a deity of decay and rebirth that manifests as a horrendously virulent alien disease. Despite resisting its power and dedicating her life to containing it, she was afflicted badly by it--she lost both feet, an arm, and her eyes to the Rot, and it runs strong enough through her veins that she can become a Walking Wasteland if she doesn't keep it under control, even having her weapons and armor consecrated with Unalloyed Gold to resist it. When she battled Radahn, she ultimately “bloomed” and unleashed the Scarlet Rot all over Caelid using the Scarlet Aeonia, turning it into a plague-ridden hellhole. Since the Aeonia, she's been leaking Rot all over the Haligtree despite her continued efforts to contain it; killing her will cause her to revive and temporarily apotheosize into the Goddess of Rot where she consciously wields her curse's power in a desperate attempt to kill the Tarnished. She seems to embrace the Rot's warped mindset, as whenever she kills the Tarnished in this phase, she tells them to let the Scarlet Rot consume their flesh. Her Goddess of Rot form is also associated with the toxic Aeonian Butterflies that form her wings and her attacks, symbolizing her gradual metamorphosis into something inhuman as she gives into the Scarlet Rot. According to the description of her signature Incantation Scarlet Aeonia, “Each time the scarlet flower blooms, Malenia's rot advances. It has bloomed twice already. With the third bloom, she will become a true goddess.” Her trusted comrades, the Cleanrot Knights, accepted the fact that their close service to Malenia would doom them to a slow and painful death by scarlet rot, and willingly chose to faithfully serve her anyway (which may tie into The Corruption’s themes of destructive love); consequently, their flesh is constantly rotting and they often suddenly and violently puke out their rot-infected guts even in the midst of combat. What is definitely related to The Corruption’s metaphorical love associations is that Malenia sees herself as “The Blade of Miquella,” holding great pride in her reputation as Miquella's undefeated protector and using her status as a shield against the Rot's constant attempts to claim her mind. Consequently, when she has trouble in battle against opponents like the Tarnished and Radahn she is willing to let the Rot advance in her body and mind over a defeat that could shame her brother, especially since she has already failed him by letting him get kidnapped and not being able to rescue him. Malenia overall falls into the Agnes Montague category of Avatar--she absolutely does not want to be a vessel of the Scarlet Rot, but she can’t help but spread disgusting disease and decay to everyone and everything around her, and--in part because of her love for her brother--she is eventually pushed to the point of embracing the Rot out of desperate fear."

[sporktato]

Continuing to be in Hell (or, more Ghost Ideas)

I have Ideas about a few Ghost-centered GhostSoap fics that I do not have the time or energy to currently write, so please accept these meager offerings in their place

1. Obligatory sickfic. I feel like I haven’t seen enough/any of these, and the potential is delicious. Please it’s obligatory this is also a request for someone else to write this too. The fever-induced flashbacks, etc, caretaker Soap, the flavours are melting in my mouth

2. Obligatory coffeeshop/flowershop AU BUT I’m making it more traumatic.

I’m thinking Price runs 141 Coffee (@bluishfishfood has an absolutely wonderful coffeeshop AU comic that I’ve sold my soul to and it is my inspo for this)

There’s a flowershop down the way that’s been closed as long as Soap and Gaz have been working at 141, until one day Gaz is like “Hey did y’all see that tall grim reaper-looking dude going into the closed flowershop? Wonder what’s up with that?” And Price books it over, because he knew the owners of Beth’s Flowers before, and he knows there’s only one Riley left, a tall grim reaper-looking dude, and maybe he’s excited maybe he’s scared, what the hell could Simon be doing in his dead brother and sister-in-law’s old shop?

Still deciding how Price and Ghost know each other, cause still debating how angsty with Ghost’s backstory I want to go. Could be very in line with comic canon with Roba and everything, and Ghost just got discharged after because he’s unfit for duty (which Price would know him through SAS). Could be just tragic car crash or something and maybe Price was one of the cops that dealt with it or something. Or could be somewhere in between, where the Riley family was just wrong place wrong time and got targeted by some fucked up people for no reason at all, and Simon had managed to be in the right place at the wrong time and missed the break in, the fight, the gunshots reported by the neighbors, the bloody beatings, and the torched house to destroy the evidence. There are murderers in this world, and entire families die. Maybe Price was a cop on that case too, and took Simon in for a bit after, till one morning Simon was just gone. And Price looks for him, but the kid was always a bit of a ghost, and Price can’t blame him for finding some corner to blow his brains out in, but he can blame himself - so he retires, opens a coffeeshop once he goes stir crazy, and suddenly Gaz is telling him Simon Riley is back.

Anyways Price shows up expecting nothing and anything, and sure as shit Simon Riley is standing in the middle of Tommy and Beth’s flowershop. He’s decided to try to reopen it, maybe sell plants as well as cut flowers (things you can root and grow and keep alive - there’s uh some symbolism there)

It still takes ages for Soap, Gaz, and the others to actually meet Ghost - Price can still see the cracks in Ghost and keeps his idiots on a tight leash, only letting himself be the one to run across the way every day to drop off a tea (on the house, of course).

Eventually, they meet, obviously. Maybe Soap’s closing up the late shift, and turns around and suddenly there’s a fucking demon in front of him - of course it’s only Ghost, in all black with a skeletal medical mask and skeleton gloves and hood up and somehow didn’t ring the bell over the door on entrance - but Soap had already shit himself.

Basically this one is just about healing, Ghost remembering his family without getting pulled down by them, and hey if there’s a mouthy barista just down the way that writes stupid as shit jokes on your cup it’s a plus as well.

3. Undercover Mission. Basically I’m gay uhhhhhhhhh They have to infiltrate some high end gala or something but it’s a group/person the 141 has dealt with before and “Everyone there is gonna recognize our faces, Price”, “Well there’s one face they’ve never seen”. Cue a pissed off but holy shit fucking sexy Ghost stepping into the room in formal wear and no mask and basically I just want Soap to have the biggest gayest crisis of his life and then have to be on overwatch for Ghost and be forced to continue to stare at Ghost’s ass and his face and his hair and his forearms holy shit watch him through a scope as Ghost makes the mission his bitch (and if Soap gets possessive watching assholes talk to/flirt with his unmasked and unarmed Ghost, well no one has to know (Soap’s dick definitely knows))

4. Supernatural AU. Same military setting as normal, but supernatural beings exist.

Price is a therianthrope (i.e. human that can turn into different animals). His go-to is a bear, but will also change to hawk pretty often for scouting. There’s a handful of other more normal animals he’s pretty good at, but bear is the most comfortable for him.

Gaz is a werewolf (this may or may not be mainly for the cat and dog jokes Soap can and will make).

Soap is an empath, and a very powerful one. This isn’t in any of his files because a lot of people are against empaths doing the hard and dirty work groups like the 141 does - they’re worried empaths might be more susceptible to flipping sides, and to torture, or may crumble from all the death around them. They’re usually in overwatch positions like Laswell’s, able to help with their abilities without actually being a “liability”. At beginning of fic, no one in 141 knows he’s an empath, though he doesn’t exactly hide it anymore, he just also doesn’t broadcast it. He can also manipulate others’ emotions, and force them to do stuff even if they don’t really want to. Still working on what to call it, but only powerful empaths can do it, and it’s usually a very slippery slope. Soap’s very careful with his Commands, partly because he’s very aware how terrible it can be to be Commanded, partly because it’s a surefire sign of a powerful empath and he is still trying to fly low, partly because his older sisters would kick his ass if any hint of a Command slipped out when they were all younger, but mostly because that’s just not who he is.

And Ghost? Oh boy. Ghost was born human, but is now a hybrid, which is a mess of issues. Hybrids cannot be born, and to create hybrids is illegal basically everywhere in the world, so basically just by looking at Ghost you can tell something happened. He’s now part big cat (yes I’m making catboy Ghost stfu), and has the ears, tail, sharp canines, and senses of a feline, and makes sure to hide all of it. His eyes also look just the slightest bit off, but with the mask you don’t notice. (I’m also thinking about giving him little Wolverine-ish claws that retract in and out of his fingerpads but are very painful and bloody to do so). In case it isn’t obvious, his forced transformation was a result of Roba. In case it isn’t obvious, the amount of trauma this bad boy can fit into him is Massive. He’s a monster now, but not even a normal one, no, he’s the only monster that’s still literally illegal. His issues with seeing himself in the mirror. Hiding the ears, the eyes, the tail, etc in his Ghost getup. The trauma potential... Going into fic, only Price knows he’s a hybrid

Everyone finds out about Ghost being a hybrid and Soap being an empath in a span of minutes at the end of a mission one time. Soap had rigged a bomb to give them cover to get the hell out of dodge, but something went wrong with the fuse and it goes off way too early. Not early enough to ruin the mission, or frankly even to seriously injure any of them, but Ghost, for some reason, goes down hard. Luckily, Price is with him, and drags his ass to exfil and into the copter, but he’s acting like he took a piece of rebar to the lungs and Soap can’t figure it out but fucking hell if Soap himself isn’t feeling the nauseating pain Ghost is putting off. Soap doesn’t know what’s wrong, but he knows he’s never felt Ghost hurt in this way before, and he knows it’s his fault.

Quickly enough, Price rips the bandaid off for all of them, pulling Ghost’s mask off in one short action, and the first thing Soap sees is cat ears, and the second is blood. It takes longer than it probably should for Soap to put together the pieces, and even longer to remember that cats have some of the most sensitive hearing among mammals, and that Soap’s faulty bomb ruptured Ghost’s sensitive eardrums and then some.

And boy if that copter isn’t a mess for a while after, cause Ghost is in a lot of pain and his face is bare and his team knows how much of a freak he is etc etc etc, while Soap is the one actually crying because Ghost is in a lot of pain which means Soap is too (and maybe those higher ups were right about empaths being useless in the field) and Ghost is in that pain because of Soap and also Ghost is a hybrid which means something bad happened etc etc etc

In between crying Soap is just like “Is now a bad time to tell y’all I’m an empath???” And Price, who is trying to assess Ghost without Ghost literally killing him for it, just pauses, and very tiredly goes, “Yes, Soap, it is actually”. And Soap goes, “Oh, okay, forget that then”, and goes back to crying on Gaz.

It all turns out fine in the end, Soap makes a bunch of cat and dog jokes, Gaz is bummed that they have an all supernatural TF and can’t brag about it, Price goes full Dad on them all, and maybe Ghost learns he’s still capable of being loved, who knows

If you’re still here thank you holy shit I didn’t mean to write that much... If anyone wants to yell about these please feel free

One day I’ll write at least one of these...

[wilheminalibrary]

10/29/2023

I have no flowers, only tattoos

Emily Dickinson, in one of her letters to a friend, writes "I have no flowers before me as you had to inspire you. But then you know I can imagine myself inspired by them, and perhaps that will do as well."

Reading these words, written by the poet when she was fifteen years old, cracked my brain open like the first pistachio in the bag. Suddenly I was swarming with thoughts. About Flowers. About their transience. About the temporary nature of some kinds of gifts. We use flowers to mark an occasion, to communicate a feeling, but the occasions and feelings are as impermanent as the slowly withering beauties in their vases.

Flowers, at their core, are the promise of their own memory. They are a beautiful invitation to build a new house in the town of your mind. As they wither, the memory grows. They are beautiful, but they are temporary in their beauty. All that remains is the time someone gave you flowers, and the meaning behind them.

In Victorian England, flowers had a complicated web of meanings, enough that an entire cottage industry. These dictionaries, however, saw more use as parlor games and theoreticals than as actual bouquets to decode. In her introduction to Mandy Kirkby’s A Victorian Flower Dictionary, novelist Vanessa Diffenbaugh explains:

“There is little evidence that the Victorians actually used the language of flowers in a practical way; they didn’t send continuous streams of bouquets to each other, but rather the books were meant for the centre table and were to be studied, indulged in, and played as a game; every young lady wanted to be well-versed in the meanings of flowers.”

The meanings became more important than the flowers themselves. Symbols. The meanings and moments become more than their symbols. Flowers wilt and disappear, meanings stay with us.

On my left forearm is a tattoo so badly done and poorly cared for that it feels like its own anti-aesthetic. It's a monogram I drew in high school, which should already be a red flag as I learned nothing of value in high school, least of all how to draw. It is a symbol dedicated to Vincent Price, a man and actor who will surely have his own blog post later on (the man looms large as a harvest moon in the night sky of my life). While my love for the man hasn't wavered at all - he is still a picture in my wallet, outliving both my ex-wife’s picture and the deadname on my driver’s license - the tattoo, with its jagged edges and broken lines, its haphazard splashes of color and mottled blackwork, has gone through a journey of self-acceptance like everything else.

The craft of the tattoo matters, sure, but not as much as the experience of getting it or the rush of looking down at my forearm and remembering the naive teenager who sat in an Ohio tattoo parlor and learned something about pain and something about forever in the same poorly thought-through hour and a half.

I was eighteen when I got the tattoo, fresh out of high school and still utterly confused about who I was, what I wanted to be, and whether or not I was a boy. But, I liked Vincent Price enough to say I probably would forever. There's something comforting in that. The tattoo, for all its flaws, has become a reminder that even as I change and grow and metamorphose into something as distant from the old me as the cold moon over Ohio, I am still certain about somethings, or at least have the chance to be.

Flowers disappear until all you are left with is the memory of their perfect beauty. Tattoos stay with you as reminders of your imperfection. I believe Dickinson is exactly the kind of sentimental dyke who would get a tattoo for every girlfriend, a forever bouquet of women who have held her arm on her arm.

Being trans is a storm of photographs the first few years. It is a desperate clawing at memories that go by in a flurry of firsts: first month on hormones, first date as a girl, first wig, first haircut as a girl, first time someone ma'ams you at the supermarket or the Chipotle. All of these are so numerous, miraculous, and intangible that it's impossible to carry them with you without some of them simply fading.

I have written more words in the past year or so than I likely ever have. Some of these poems and stories and letters are unspeakably bad, some of them are, by my estimation, very good, but all of them are suddenly very important to me.

I read back over my own work, I watch my readings at open mics,and I even go so far as to scroll back through text exchanges where I've felt particularly on.

I have never felt the impulse to do this before. Never felt the pull of archiving my own experience and then poring over them like a monk in servitude to my own God. But now I am my own God. I am transfigured, if you'll forgive the pun. Every moment is a gospel and I am my own apostles, writing it all down before they wither away.

I want the flowers of my transness to last forever. The memories are perfect but fleeting. To accomplish this, I must lean into my craft. I must tattoo them to the page. Some of them will have the rushed inexperience of that day in Ohio, and the certainty.

I was asked recently if I ever planned to publish my work. The short answer was no, but the long answer was convoluted and frantic enough to warrant a second draft, which is this essay.

I might, if there's an audience and I believe the work I'm doing would benefit from it, but I am writing first and foremost, to press my flowers. I am writing because, like Dickinson, I have no flowers. At least, not forever.

What I have are the memories of flowers, what I have is the blemished page, what I have is a body of work I will ink over with so many shitty tattoos. My craft cannot possibly keep up the pace but my left forearm tells me that's okay.

I will write my poems, my blogs, my stories. I will press my flowers.

But then you know I can imagine myself inspired by them, and perhaps that will do as well.

Yours with an open mouth,

-B

[bleachanimefan1]

Desert Flower Part 15

The Preliminary Rounds Begin,

Iruka led Naruto, Yuri, Sakura and Sasuke into a room, where the other remaining competitors were. Yuri's eyes widen when she saw that there were barely half remaining left. Among the 78, 22 have made it so far. All of the teams stood in a line, waiting. Yuri saw Kiba's team, with Hinata and Shino. Neji's team, with Lee and Ten Ten. Ino's team, with Shikamaru and Choji. Kabuto's team. She frowned when she saw three sound ninjas that had attacked them earlier, keeping her eyes on them. Strangely, there was another girl with them. Yuri wondered where she was during the fighting. Then her eyes fell towards Gaara's team with Temari and Kankuro. Well, at least they made it. She kept her eyes on Gaara, staring at him when she noticed something strange.

There wasn't a single scratch on him and neither did, Temari and Kankuro.

Yuri blinked in surprise. Everyone else was completely beaten and scratched up and could use a bath, but they remained completely unharmed. She saw Temari glanced over, her eyes meeting Yuri's. Yuri smiled and made a small wave. But Temari didn't wave back. Her eyes looked suddenly sad for some reason, like something was bothering her and she turned back, staring up front. Yuri frowned, wondering what was going on.

Then Yuri glanced upwards to the front and was also surprised to see the Third Hokage and other Jonins and Chunins, like Kakashi, Gai, Kurenai, Ibiki, along with the Sand sibling's sensei, Baki waiting for them as they stood in front of a large statue with performing a hand sign. Yuri's eyes widen a little more when she saw that her father, Kisuke, was among them. She saw that he could barely contain himself, beaming with pride as he wanted to pounce her with a hug. He gave her a thumbs up and a smile.

Yuri smiled back at him until she noticed a strange man standing behind her father. She assumed the man was a sensei to another group of sound ninjas as he had their village symbol on his forehead protector. Yuri frowned as she silently stared at him. She felt a cold shiver run down her back. There was something very off about him. His appearance was almost snake like, almost like Orochimaru's. She shook her head. That can't be a coincidence.

There was no way he would be here, would he?

Iruka walked over to join with the other Jonins and Chunins, and Naruto, Sakura, Sasuke and Yuri regrouped with the others, waiting, wondering what was going. 

"First off, for the second test, congratulations on passing!" The Third Hokage shouted.

"I can't say that I'm getting a good feeling about this..." Yuri heard Sasuke murmured.

"Lord Hokage will now explain the third test. Listen carefully!" Anko shouted.

"For the coming third test, but before I explain that there is something that I'd like you to know. It concerns the true reason for this exam." The Third spoke.

"There's a reason?" Yuri questioned.

"Why do we have all the allied countries taking the exams together? "To promote friendship among the countries."To raise the level of shinobi." I don't want you to be confused about the true meaning. The exam is a replacement for war among the allied countries." The Third said as he continued. Almost everyone's eyes widen in surprise.

"What?" Ten Ten asked, still in shock.

"If you go back in time, the current allies were enemies who fought each over who would rule. In order prevent wasteful fighting. The stage that these countries set for battle...That is the origins of this chunin exam selection."

"Then why the hell do we have to do that crap?! Isn't this thing for deciding who's a chunin?!" Naruto shouted, angrily.

"It is a fact that this exam decides which shinobi have what it takes to be a chunin. But on the other hand, this exam has another side. Where each countries shinobi risks their own life to protect their land's prestige." The Third spoke.

"Prestige?" Ino asked, confused.

"Watching this third exam will be leaders and influential individuals, from many countries who make up the clients of shinobi. And the leaders of these countries will also be there to watch each of your battles. If the strength of a country is clear, that country will receive more clients. And if they are weak, they will lose clients. And this will signal to potential enemy countries "that our village has much power." So, it will send a political message to the outsiders."

"But why do we have to risk our lives in battle?!" Kiba shouted.

"The strength of the country is the strength of the village. The strength of the village is the strength of the shinobi. And a shinobi's truth strength is born only through life-risking battle." "This exam is placed to see each country's strength and to show off your own. It only has meaning because lives are at risk. And that's why those that have come before you have fought in the chunin exam for this dream that is meaningful." The Third Explained.

"Buy why did you say stuff about it being for friendship?" Ten Ten asked.

"I said it in the beginning, I didn't want you to confuse the purpose of this. By losing life and establishing balance. This is the shape of friendship in the world of shinobi. Before we begin the third test, I will tell you one more thing. This is not just a test. This is a life-risking battle with your dreams and your country's prestige on the line."

"I don't care what it is. Just hurry and tell us what this life-risking battle entails." Gaara spoke. Then a man suddenly poofed into the room when he appeared, and he knelt down in front of the Hokage. The man appeared to be sick and had pale skin, short brown hair, dark colored eyes and dark circles underneath them as if he hadn't gotten enough sleep. He wore his forehead protector as a bandana on his head and a flak jacket like the other shinobi in the Leaf Village.

"I apologize Lord Hokage. From here on, as referee, will please allow me, Gekko Hayate."

"By all means." The Third nodded. Hayate stood up and faced the group.

"Hello everyone, I'm Hayate. Um, before the third test there's something I'd like for you to do. It's a preliminary for the third test to decide who gets to participate in the main event."

"Preliminary?" Yuri asked.

"Preliminary? What do you mean?!" Shikamaru shouted, angrily, wanting to know as well.

"Sensei, I don't understand this preliminary, but why aren't people allowed to participate in the next test?" Sakura asked.

"Because the first and second test may have been too easy this year. We have a bit of too many people remaining. According to the chunin exam rules, we must have preliminary and reduce the number of participants for the third test."

Yuri frowned. "But that's not fair!"

"As Lord Hokage indicated earlier, there will be many guests at the third test. So, the fights could take too long. We are at a limited time." Hayate spoke as he started to explain. "So those who aren't feeling well, those who feel like quitting after these explanations please come forward now. Since we will be starting the preliminary immediately."

"Right now?!" Kiba exclaimed.

"But those who have arrived last haven't had time to rest yet after five days! That's not going to be fair for them!" Yuri shouted.

"That's why I'm giving you an out now. Do you concede?" Hayate asked.

"Yuri, you're not planning on quitting, are you?" Sakura whispered to her.

"You can't!" Naruto shook his head.

"No, I'm not going to. But I still think that is not fair!" Yuri spoke.

"I'm going to quit." Kabuto raised his hand. Yuri, Naruto, along with Sakura's eyes widen in shock, while Sasuke frowned as he stared at him suspiciously.

"Kabuto?" Naruto questioned.

"Hmm...You're Kabuto Yakushi, from the Leaf, right? You may leave now." Hayate spoke. "Does anyone else want to retire? I forgot to tell you that from now on, you'll be doing individual battling. You may raise your own hand based on your own judgement."

"Kabuto! Why are you quitting!? Why!?" Naruto exclaimed, demanding an answer.

"I'm sorry, Naruto. But my body's all beat up and now we have to risk our lives. I just can't." Kabuto said.

"Are there anymore who don't wish to fight?" Hayate spoke again. Sakura glanced over at Sasuke in worry.

"Sasuke, you should also quit! You have been acting strange since that Orochimaru guy attacked you. That mark still hurts, right!? If you continue-" She trembled, and tears started to appear in her eyes. "Please. Please, quit. I'm afraid. You are in no condition to fight right now! I can see it! You've been hiding this pain all this time!"

"Be quiet." Sasuke hissed at her.

"Whatever you say, I'm going to tell sensei about this mark then-" Before Sakura could raise her hand up, Sasuke grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

"Shut up about this mark." Sasuke said.

"Why are you being so stubborn!? I don't want to see you suffering anymore! To me, you are-"

"This has nothing to do with you." Sasuke spoke, coldly. Sakura's eyes widen.

"Stay out of my business. Sakura, I have told you before. I am an avenger. This isn't just a test to me. I don't care about being a chunin or whatever."

"Then why the hell did you even take it then? I thought that we all wanted to. We could've just dropped this whole thing at the beginning." Yuri frowned.

"Am I strong?" I just want an answer to that. To just fight the strong guys here. And there are some here." Sasuke spoke then he looked back at Sakura. "I won't forgive you if you take this from me." 

"That's a stupid reason." Yuri scoffed. Sasuke glared at her.

"You don't know anything, so butt out of it." He remarked.

"And getting yourself killed is the answer? That's very smart." Yuri retorted, sarcastically, back at him.

"You bastard! Stop acting all cool! Idiot! Sakura is all worried and-" Naruto shouted at Sasuke furiously before Sasuke cut him off.

"Naruto, I also want to fight you."

Naruto's eyes widen in shock. Then Sasuke suddenly bent down in pain, holding his neck.

"I still think we should at least tell Kakashi." Yuri spoke. "This curse mark is going to be problem."

"I'll handle it somehow. Just shut up about it." Sasuke hissed at her.

"Fine. But come crying to me when your curse mark starts acting up." Yuri spoke. Sasuke glared at her, silently. 

"Now, let's begin the preliminary." Hayate spoke. "This preliminary will consist of one-on-one fighting. You will basically fight as if in a real-life confrontation. Since we have 22 entrants, we will conduct 11 matches and the winners will advance to the third test. There are no rules. The fight will continue until one of you dies or is knocked out or admits defeat. But when I decide that the winner has clearly been established, since we don't want any pointless increase of corpses. I'll jump in and stop the match. And the object that will control your destiny..." 

A electric score board was revealed on the wall behind the hand sign statue. "This electric score board will show the match ups for each battle. Now, this is sudden, let's announce the two names for the first fight."

The score board began to scroll, flipping fast, revealing the names of the two fighters for the first match.

"Sasuke Uchiha vs. Yoroi Akado."

Yuri sighed. "Of course, had to be Sasuke."

"Will the two entrants come forward." Hayate spoke. Sasuke and Yoroi, who was from Kabuto's team, stepped forward and stood in front of each other while Hayate stood in between them. "The two participants in the first fight are Sasuke Uchiha and Yoroi Akado, are you ready?"

"Yeah." Sasuke spoke.

"Yes." Yoroi nodded.

[thought-42]

We could live a little larger, split the dividends

Critical Role, Laerryn/Loquatius, 1136 words

“They just need to be.... Pretty,” Laerryn says, gesturing helplessly in an attempt to communicate some ephemeral, nebulous concept of beauty that exists only as an idea in words in her head with no associated imagery. The dwarf behind the counter smiles at her. Fuck, she hopes she’s not recognizable enough to be identified by random service workers. Probably she should have set her spiteful petulance aside and actually listened to Patia’s commentary on the public persona of the previous Architect Arcane. It’s only been a year. Surely she’s not recognizable.

“Are we aiming for a gift? For your mother? Or perhaps an apology of some sort? Sympathies on an illness?” She has an illness, all right.

Laerryn clasps her hands behind her back to keep them still. “No? No. None of those. They’re for... a person. I have an appointment this evening-- a meeting? I think he’d like flowers--”

She’s already spent almost an hour on her hair, and she’d switched between two jackets literally dozens of times. And then she’d got thoroughly distracted by a folder of rough sketches Nydas had left on her kitchen table a week ago, which had eaten up half an hour she didn’t have. Luckily Evandrin had Sent to her to remind her of the time, because he knows her upsettingly well.

So now she’s shifting from foot to foot impatiently, mentally counting seconds as this dwarf looks at her like she’s a small child.

“Is this a personal or professional meeting?”

“Personal,” she croaks out, her voice shifting embarrassingly high at the end of the word.

“And do you know what sort of flowers this person prefers? Colours? Scents?”

“Pretty ones,” she says, exasperated. They’re going around in circles.

The first arrangement the dwarf draws her attention to is some sort of bright pink and white monstrosity that makes her take a physical step back. The next mostly greenery, strange plants and grasses with oddly coloured flowers and weirdly shaped leaves. It appeals to her on a scientific level and a fuck tradition level, but it’s not exactly pretty. He’d either love it or hate it and she’s not willing to live with that uncertainty. Eventually they land on a dense combination of delicate purple flowers and lacey white leaves with a cluster of long elegant blue flowers standing tall at the centre. There’s something there that smells almost like his magic. Which she knows for purely scientific reasons. She’s never met anyone whose magic had such a distinctly alien sensation to it.

“If you want something more customised you’ll need to send a message ahead of time,” the dwarf says. “I’m usually here by noon, if you Send, and otherwise we have a drop box at the front if you’d like to leave a note.”

“This is... a one time thing,” Laerryn says, blithely unaware of her future.

*

“Hello, darling!”

He’s leaning against a statue, silvery violet hair all slicked back out of his face, eyelids brushed with sparkling powder and shoes so shiny the setting sun glints off of them. His eyes are a startlingly deep green, something unnatural and mesmerising. She kind of hates that she always has to ask to see his real face. He’s still just slightly taller than her. It’s infuriating.

She glances around warily, but there’s nobody close enough to hear his greeting.

“Hi,” she says, once she’s closer. “I’m late, I think. Sorry. I-- this is gonna happen. You should just know that.”

“It’s a lovely view,” he says, and then winks because he’s the worst.

“You really just use up all the charm on your day job, huh,” she says, and then “Fuck. Ignore that.”

“You think I’m charming.” He’s far too smug and far too honestly flattered. She can feel the heat rushing to her face and her ears. Every time her ears twitch the delicate copper chains running through her earrings swing very slightly and it makes her hyper-aware that she’s dressed up specifically because she wants to look nice for this man.

“Infer whatever you want,” she says, determinedly keeping her shoulder straight.

His smile sofens. “Usually I prefer hard facts. But maybe in this case I can make an exception.”

She is already making more exceptions for Loquatius Seelie than she knows what to do with.

She loses the battle with her body, hunches her shoulders. Eyes focused on the darkened windows of the Enchantment Guild off to their left she shoves the flowers in his direction. “Here. These. These are yours now.”

He accepts the flowers from her hands gently. “Laerryn, these are lovely. Thank you, darling.” He keeps calling her that. It makes her feel something.

There’s something happening to his cheeks when she looks back at him, a silvery sheen like mercury, darting across his skin and then vanishing.

I’ve reserved a table for us nearby if you’re still interested in dinner,” he says. “But that can be easily cancelled if you’d prefer something else.”

He tucks the flowers into the crook of his right arm, shifting them around a few times. Fuck. Of course he wouldn’t know what to do with them for the entire evening.

“Dinner is fine,” she blirts out, so that she doesn’t appologize for her stupid stupid gift.

“Excellent.”

They offer their arms to each other at the same time. It feels like the most awkward moment of her life, which is fucking saying something. Loquatius just laughs, and offers her his hand instead. She takes it, because there’s no one around to see and his fingers are long and elegant and cool, well-manicured and soft. She wonders if, as a Changeling, things like calluses and scars are foreign concepts. She wants to ask him, so she does.

The conversation takes them all through the walk to the restaurant and their first glass of wine. She desperately wants to take notes, but she forces her hands to still, keeps her focus intentionally on him as best she can. She doesn’t know, yet, if he can appreciate the effort she’s making, but it feels good to make it.

Once they’ve finished their salads, he smiles at her and says “so do you have any conscious control over your ears, or do they just do that on their own?”

Her hand flies up to press her right ear down against her skull. “What do you mean--” He’s laughing at her. He’s laughing at her, but it’s the way Van or Nydas laughs at her, mostly kind. She drops her hand. “I deserved that.”

“Only a little,” he says. “But let me assure you, I’ve answered every possible question about being a Changeling at least ten times.”

“Even the sex ones?”

He grins, startled and white and sharp. “Especially the sex ones. But you get a free pass on those.”

[joeyridersvoid]

I know people hate on conceptual modern art + that’s totally fine + none of my business but GOD personally I fucking love art that has to be explained. I love when a pile of candy or a line on paper or a bunch of crystals on pedestals become something tangibly more, something important, just because someone told you what it means to them. Anything can be a symbol and sure, maybe that doesn’t make it art, but being able to feel the connection someone else feels to an object, because they let you in on it? That’s something so distinctly human. An AI can make a beautiful drawing of a flower, but it can’t tell you “the touch of the air from this fan is the only touch I’ll ever feel from my lover again. He was stolen from me and I am sharing all I have left of him with you” and mean it. A portrait or a sculpture that exists to be objectively beautiful, or an undescribed work where you can choose your own meaning is awesome, but someone sharing their own meaning with you and letting you hold it in your hands…. that moment when their perspective clicks with yours, and suddenly you’re looking at this work of art where a moment ago there was a pointless object — this thing that means so much now — it meant nothing until someone gave you a lens to see it through, and now you care just because they cared… that’s high art to me and it always will be.

[the-amazing-simp]

Promise (Paper) Rings | UDDUP Collection

📝 Title: Promise (Paper) Rings

📚 Requested: Yes/No

✍ Summary: Peter wants to give you something special to show that he's not just dating you - but he's committed to you | 2k

📖 Prompt: going from ‘dating’ to being committed

Series Masterlist

There’s always a difference between dating and actually being committed in a relationship.

In dating, the commitment is kept to the minimum level but when you’re actually committed to the relationship - you’re sure that you’ll do just about anything for your partner.

At least, that’s what you thought.

You and Peter have been dating for an amazing year now, and the both of you were determined to make your anniversary special.

–

“Someone woke up in a good mood.” Your father noted with a smile as you practically skipped into the kitchen.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You said cheerfully, getting a cup of iced coffee for yourself, “The sun is shining, everything is just so beautiful and there’s so much to be grateful for.”

“Today is her first anniversary with Peter.” Your mother entered the kitchen, setting breakfast on the table.

“Speaks for itself.” Your father laughed.

“So, what’re the plans for your celebration?” Your mother asked as you took a sip of your coffee.

You shrugged, “Peter wanted to surprise me so I have no idea - the general plan is, we’re going on a date.”

“Just remember, no marriage proposals. At least, not until you graduate and have a stable job.” Your father half-joked and half-reminded you while pointing a spoon in your direction.

This caused you to laugh, “Sure dad. Though, I’m pretty sure that Peter is perfectly aware of the fact that you’ll be after him if he so much as thinks of proposing tonight.”

“He better be.” Your father said, causing your mum to swat him with the dish towel she was holding.

“I thought you said that you liked him.”

“I do! But, I’m not ready to have a son in law yet - or a grandchild for that matter.”

The banter between your parents made you laugh, trying your best not to spew out some of your coffee.

–

“If I remember correctly,” Aunt May mused as she sat down across from Peter in the dining table, “That a week ago, you were almost bouncing off the walls in excitement for your anniversary with your girlfriend. And now, you look like that doomsday has fallen. Are you and Y/N having problems?”

Peter ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head, “We’re not having problems. It’s just that I’ve planned our whole anniversary celebration to perfection but I can’t think of the perfect gift for her. I was thinking about giving her a necklace, but that would be too simple, and I was saving the scrapbook for Christmas. And I wanted to give her something that would symbolize the fact that the both of us are committed to each other.”

Aunt May tried her best not to laugh at her nephew’s predicament, “Peter, in a relationship, the gifts don’t really matter but that thought behind it. I’m sure Y/N would appreciate everything you’ve done for her whether you have something for her or not.”

“I know that Aunt May.” Peter said, “But, I want to make her feel special. I want her to look at the gift and have it remind her that she means the whole world to me and that I’ll never trade that feeling for anything else.”

An idea suddenly presented itself to the boy, lifting up his mood immediately. Peter ate his breakfast as fast as he could then he ran up to his room and sat down in front of his computer.

He had the perfect idea. He just hoped that he could execute it.

–

You were just putting the finishing touches on your hair when you heard the doorbell ring.

Grabbing the paper bag that laid by the edge of your bed, you ran down the stairs where the door was already opened by your parents to reveal your handsome and wonderful boyfriend.

Peter’s jaw dropped at the sight of you, it immediately took you back to prom night.

“How did I get so lucky?” He whispered, lifting your hand and placing a kiss at the back of it.

You giggled, taking the bouquet of flowers he offered you, “I ask myself the same question everyday.”

“Hey.” Peter complained, pulling you closer to him to peck a kiss on your lips, “Stop stealing my lines.”

“Sorry.” You smiled, resting your hands on his shoulders, “Can’t help it.”

“Little thief.” He chuckled, pulling you in for another kiss.

“Hm, Peter?”

“Yes, sunshine?”

“We’re still by the front door of my house, in front of my parents.”

The two of you turned to where your parents were standing a few feet away. Your mother was sporting a smile while your father was trying to keep up his intimidating act before giving in and flashing a smile.

“Don’t look at me like that. How can I keep up my act when the two of you look so adorable. But, I swear Peter, you better take care of her - if you don’t, not even Spiderman can save you from me.”

You snorted, immediately covering it up with a cough as Peter tried to stifle a laugh, “Yes sir.”

–

“Are those the earrings you wore to our first date?” Peter asked as the two of you walked arm in arm to his apartment.

You gave him a look of surprise, “Yeah. You remember?”

Peter pressed a kiss to your temple, “Of course I do. I remember everything about you.”

The autumn breeze brought about its usual chill, making you pull your scarf closer to you in an attempt to keep yourself warm.

Your long-time crush, Peter Parker, had manage to ask you out in the midst of being a stuttering mess and you felt like you were on cloud nine.

And you may or may not have arrived at the meeting place at least ten minutes too early.

“Hey!” Peter greeted, practically running to you, “I’m sorry, did I make you wait too long?”

You shook your head, “No. Don’t worry, I was just a bit early.”

The boy breathed out a sigh of relief, “Thank goodness - I was so scared that I got the time mixed up.”

You laughed, immediately feeling comfortable in his presence - despite the butterflies that were fluttering around in your stomach like they were having a sugar rush.

“So, where are you whisking me off to?” You asked.

He shrugged, “I couldn’t decide between taking you to a coffee shop or a bookstore - what do you think? Or if there is somewhere else you want to go to, we can go there too.”

You giggled, finding his little ramble adorable, “Who says we can’t go to both the coffee shop and the bookstore?”

“Yeah.” Peter smiled, rubbing the back of his neck, “That’s actually perfect - why didn’t I think of that?”

The two of you were engaged in a conversation the whole time which helped the both of you with the nerves.

“Your earrings are beautiful.” Peter said, taking a sip of his coffee as the two of you headed to the bookstore.

“Thanks.” You smiled, hoping that he would just mistake the redness of your cheeks as a result of the weather, “They’re actually my mom’s from when she was a teenager. Fun fact, she was wearing them when she met my dad.”

“You were making me so nervous then.” Peter laughed, “I tried to keep on the small talk as much as I could.”

“But, look where that took us. Later that night, you walked me home and we shared our first kiss and the rest is history.” You said, pecking a kiss to his cheek.

“And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” Peter grinned.

“Aaw, since when did you become so cheesy?” You teased.

“Since I started dating you.” He retorted.

The two of you then arrived at his apartment, he opened the door for you and escorted you inside.

“Happy anniversary sunshine.” He smiled, pressing a brief kiss to your lips as your eyes laid on the picnic blanket that was set up by his window, giving a wonderful view of New York, along with a bottle of champagne, two candles, two boxes of pizza (shaped in a heart) and a box of chocolate covered strawberries.

“Happy anniversary Pete.” You practically giggled, rewarding your boyfriend’s efforts with another kiss.

“Does this scene look familiar to you?” He asked, slowly swaying you in his arms as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Let me guess.” The smile on your lips grew even wider as you clearly remembered that night, “You recreated our first monthsary celebration.”

“The only difference was we had a bottle of soda then and now we have a bottle of champagne.” Peter muttered, rubbing the side of your nose with his.

“True.” You said quietly.

“So, are we just going to stand here all night or are we actually going to celebrate being madly in love with each other for a year?” You joked.

“I’ll always be madly in love with you. But, yeah, let’s officially celebrate.” Peter said, the two of you settling down on the blanket.

–

“Now, before you say anything,” You said, holding the paper bag in your hands, “no matter what you say, no matter what you do - I’m not taking the gift back.”

“Okay, fine.” He said, poking his tongue out at you as you handed him the paper bag.

Peter became speechless as he took a peek at your gift, “Love, I-”

“Uh huh, what did I say?” You interrupted him, holding up a finger to silently tell him that you are really not taking back the gift.

“You’re the best - you know that?” Peter cooed as he took out the new camera you had gifted him, “This is literally 500 dollars - don’t tell me you used your savings on this.”

The only reply you gave him was a small smile and a shrug.

“Sunshine. You shouldn’t have. You were saving up for that set of books you wanted.” He whined as he peppered kisses all over your face.

“I lied.” You whispered, “I was saving up for the camera - I just didn’t want you to know.”

Peter gave you one last kiss on the forehead before pouting, “Now this makes my gift look so lame.”

“Pete, I’m sure your gift is amazing.” You reassured him.

You could’ve sworn that a blush made his way to his cheeks as he walked to his bedside drawer, gently taking a small box.

Peter sat cross-legged in front of you, smiling shyly as he opened the box to reveal a paper ring.

“As much as I’m sure that you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with, your father will kill me if I propose to you right now. But, I was stressing myself out this morning because I couldn't think of the perfect gift to give you until I remembered one of your favorite songs, Paper Rings. So, I looked up how to do origami and I made you a paper ring. I may not be marrying you yet - but, I wanted something to remind you that I’ll always be committed to you. That you’re the one who my heart belongs to.”

You were speechless. Absolutely melting at the fact that Peter would remember small details like those and make it into something that made you love him even more (if that was possible).

Your boyfriend, however, took your silence for something negative.

“I knew that this was a stupid idea. I really should’ve just gotten you a necklace. Honestly, what was I thinking?”

“No!” You immediately protested, placing your hand on his, “Peter, I love it! It’s absolutely beautiful. I just didn’t know what to say because this is the sweetest thing that anyone has ever done for me.”

Peter perked up at this, “Really? You don’t think its stupid?”

“No!” You repeated, grinning like mad as he lifted the ring from the box and slipped it carefully onto your ring finger, “Its so beautiful, Peter. Thank you so much! Though, I’m pretty sure that dad’ll have a heart attack once he sees this.”

Your boyfriend laughed, “He doesn’t have anything to worry about yet - it’s just a promise ring.”

“And with that ring,” He continued, “comes my promise to love you forever and always.”

Taglist:

@beloved-bucky @hunnybunimdun

[mrpenguinpants]

Razor:  Jealous HCs

Hey anon!! As much frustration I hold for crippling oblivious couples, I also love the trope so much. Plus I adore Razor. Even though I try to not call Razor a dog, I still google “jealous dog traits”. Also, I found out both Hanniejji and I secretly HCs Bennet is friends with Razor and Fischl. If genshin won’t give me character interactions then I’ll write it myself.

---

Semi Part 1: General HCs

Semi Part 2: Pre-Relationship HCs

Semi Part 3: Cuddle HCs

[Masterlist]

---

[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

 @mikeysbike @unionwitch @musekala @sunnshiii @stanzastic @akaasea @xoneaboveallx @adoring-ghost @asheseiler @childelover @dilucsz @dai-tsukki-desu @thicmitten @nonniechan @htnicayh @genshins1mpact @morthecreator @ aanne2601 @hanniejji​

Razor:  Jealous HCs

Bennet and Fischl are both foaming at the mouth at how deeply in love you BOTH are and yet you’re both equally blind. Fischl wants to grab you by the shoulders and yell at you that Razor returns your feelings and you need to stop doing whatever it is you’re doing. A sad Razor looks like a kicked puppy and even she can’t handle it. But Razor absolutely refuses for anyone to confess for him because he believes that you might just genuinely be uninterested in him. Plus, it wouldn’t feel right if he couldn’t confess himself. It’s his first love, this is important to him.

Bennet thinks it’s really sweet that his friend is in love. Even if he does get a bit pouty that whenever he get’s hurt, Razor will ask if he’s alright and leave it at that. But if you accidently trip Razor is already at your side and fussing over you. Bennet uses this as physical proof that yes, your feelings are returned and this man is in love with you, but you always brush it off as Razor’s nature to be caring. He’s smiling patiently on the outside but on the inside he has his hands in his hair and he’s screaming.

God forbid anything upsets you. Razor hasn’t been around other humans long enough to pick up on most social cues but he does have a good sense of smell. If you’re happy then the wind smells like sweet flowers. If you’re upset then it smells like mint. While Razor usually keeps himself in check and is somewhat indifferent, the second he catches any signs of distress from you he’s on high alert. Until you tell him what’s been bothering you - a group of hilichurls stole your bag of snapdragon flowers - he’s going to be on guard and stressed out. He’s already throwing his claymore over his shoulder to go and fight the monsters that tried to upset you. Wow, what a good friend you say to Fischl. Fischl is ready to punt you off a cliff.  

Razor tries his best to show that he likes you by bringing the things you need and looking like such a proud pup. He looks at you with such hopeful eyes that it takes you a second to register what he’s asking before you feel your own heart rate speed up and pound into your ears. You flush pink before you move to embrace him and ruffle his hair as praise as he nuzzles into your shoulder affectionally. You assume his affectious actions are apart of his wolf nature and how they act so you try not to read too deep into things. Even if Razor seems a bit too happy to be hugging you and receiving pets. Or the fact he doesn’t let anyone else pet him...

Bennet tries his best to help his friend out by giving Razor some advice but considering Bennet himself hasn’t been in a relationship yet, it’s all practical. Telling Razor that he’s seen couples bring each other flowers as a sign of affection, maybe Razor could find some plants to bring you? It ends horribly when he offers you a wolfhook and you just stare at him. He says that these are his feelings towards you but you’re just...so confused?? Wolfhooks have thorns so does that mean he thinks you’re clingy? Isn’t that a bad thing? Are you annoying to him?? But wolfhooks also symbolize wolves so is he saying you’re like family to him??? You’re internally screaming while debating if you just got family-zoned or if Razor is trying to subtly tell you that he doesn’t like you.

Just because Razor is, somehow, unsure if you actually like him or not. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t get incredibly jealous and possessive at any unknown presence. He’s still a bit wary of the City due to all the conflicting smells and noises but he can’t help but look so sad when you have to run errands and you can’t visit him. But when you mention that a really nice knight gifted you a flower does Razor see red. He gave you a flower?? Shouldn’t you be happy with his? Why do you need another one when you have his? Is his gift not good enough? Is this your way of saying you’re interested in someone else? This poor boy is on the verge of either running off to go sulk or find the man that gave you this flower, which up until his knowledge - courtesy of Bennet - is a sign of courting, and absolutely destroy him to prove he’s the better partner.

He tries to keep it under wraps since he's been told that while in the City, he needs to exercise restrain and understand that if he enters. He's expected to at least respect the laws and people. But this poor wolf is so feral over this new development and this new smell that's been clinging onto you that whatever worries and isolation issues Razor felt about the city flies out the window as his protective instincts kick into overdrive. He sees other people and even pets as a rival for your attention and love. He just wants to scoop you up and growl at everything as a message to say “this is mine, go get your own”.

Even when the both of you are far away from the city, Razor’s continued mood seems to hang heavy over both your heads. You’re not sure what exactly caused Razor to be on high alert. He’s snapping and growling at everything little thing that comes close, even a butterfly!

You abruptly stop walking to Razor’s surprise as you whip around and frown at him. He can feel a chill run up his spine as he stands perfectly straight as you study him before you hold your palm out and looked at him expectantly. He looks at your hand with a small spark of perked attention before his nose twitches and he goes back to sulking. You’re still waiting for him as he shuffles a bit, his hair that resembled a wolf ear is twitching, before he whines and trots over and places his chin on your palm. He’s looking up at you with the most kicked puppy expression and you don’t even know what you did but you feel like the worse person in all of Teyvat.

“Razor...what’s gotten into you?” you ask gently as you rub circles into his cheek as he nuzzles into your palm. He seems really conflicted as his eyes dart away from your face and he almost looks guilty. He just whines and turns and buries his face into your warm palm. You’ve never really seen him like that before as you awkwardly try and comfort him. Until the same flower slips out of your pocket and you hear something primal growl out of Razor. His teeth are pulled back and he snarls at the flower as his pupils dilate. You quickly get between him and the poor flower before Razor tries to do anything.

“Seriously Razor, what’s gotten into you?” you asked concerned. He quickly shifts his attention to you as he pounces and knocks you over. You left off a soft noise as the wind get’s knocked out of you but you peep when his hands cage you from above. Razor’s red eyes bore into yours and you’re suddenly thinking the air is getting too hot. 

“Do you like Razor?” he asks, tilting his head in a cute pout. It makes you internally coo before you quickly snap out of it. Stay focused! 

“Of course I do! Remember we talked about this?” you say as you remember back to your previous interactions but this only seems to frustrate Razor more.

“No. Not that like. More...” Razor struggles with his words as he tries to piece together the right string of sounds to try and convey what he’s feeling. He seems so conflicted that it breaks your heart a bit. So you reach up and gently rub behind his ear as he closes his eyes and relaxes. He breathes in deeply as his eyes open and his pupils return to normal, but vastly determined.

“Together. Always. Just...us,” Razor says softly as he looks at you hopefully. There’s a small pink dust to his cheeks as his fang digs into his lip in nervousness. You’re not sure why but your heart absolutely sky rockets at it and you can feel your face flush pink.

“Um, yes?” you nod along, you think you’re understanding what he’s trying to say. Maybe he was just upset you were spending so much time in the City and away from him that he felt your friendship was neglected? That would make you really upset. But the way he phrases his words makes you believe that perhaps...

Before you can think more on it. Razor’s face breaks into a grin that nearly blinds you from the pure affection that sprouts from it. He’s already hugging you harder as he starts rubbing his nose and cheek against your neck. Making soft and happy sounds as he nuzzles you. He’s never done that before but you assume he’s just so happy. You breath a sigh of relief that it appears that your message to him was clear enough.

Yeah of course, friends always, you think

Lupical. Partner. Mate, Razor thinks.

---

whistling as I pretend I don’t see your stares. Yeah ik but it’s ok. This is a sorta semi series. We’ll build upon it. But Xiao content is next lol. I’m taking inspiration from this. I mean, when I don’t feel like shit 😷

I’ve been listening to [  Softy - Dear Moon ]. This isn’t the usual kind of music I listen to but it came on shuffle and this is now my mental breakdown song.

Quick edit: Turns out this is an ost from “My Mister”. I’ve never been into kdramas (I think I’ve only seen goblin, she was pretty, and Hwarang) but the cover picture looks so upsetting? My friend is really into tgcf and I believe that had a live action as well. 

[smileyoongle]

Falling for a lounge singer (Yandere!Mafia! BTS)// Kim Taehyung

Requested anonymously.

Summary: Working as a part time singer, you never thought you'd find yourself becoming the centre of attention of a man's life, especially one who you can't run from.

Word Count: 2.5K

The city was laid out brightly before you, cool wind making your hair stick to your glossy lips as you rested your elbows on the railing of the rooftop. Working for hours amidst people who were rich and liked to show off was stressful, especially when you knew you didn't fit in between them. If it wasn't for your voice, no one would even give you a second glance but there you were, attracting loud applauds every time you held the mic. It made you feel almost cocky but your conscience didn't allow it, reminding you of your place in this world time and time again.

With a soft sigh, you stared at the pretty sky, the stars scattered across it twinkling to grab your attention yet failing to do so. Because even though you loved the peace and quiet, your mind was restlessly loud tonight. Loud with thoughts about a man you had seen too many times, but never had the pleasure of meeting. A man who had sent you a single white freesia every night before disappearing without a word.

But tonight was different. Because he wasn't here. In fact, he hadn't been here for the last three days and if you were being honest, you missed him.

You missed his dark eyes that gazed at you with so much fervour that it made you dizzy. You missed how his attention made you feel like it was just the two of you in the room. You missed how he was so mysterious that you had convinced yourself to approach him. Yet, he managed to really slip away this time.

Glancing at the dried freesia in your hand, you traced it's dead petals, barely hanging on as the rest of it began to fall apart. This was the last one you had found near your vanity, not having seen another since he disappeared.

"Where did you go?" You mumbled, twirling the stem between your fingers, being as gentle as you could. There was no way for you to know if you'd ever see him again because every time you asked the staff about him, they just brushed you off by saying how some things were better left unknown. It made you wonder what was so bad about him that no one was willing to say a word.

"I'm right here, petal."

A deep voice stated from behind you, your heels quickly making you turn around to see who it was but the darkness and the distance between you two made it hard for you to tell. You frowned, watching the man's silhouette move closer to you, your fingers tightly holding onto your flower. And as soon as your eyes took in his face, your lips fell apart in a silent gasp.

There he was, looking at you with the same passion that his eyes held every time you saw him. You could feel your heart lose its rhythm, pounding erratically in your chest making you almost breathless. He was a lot more beautiful up close, your mind not having prepared you for seeing him here at all. Upon seeing you so speechless, he let out a low chuckle, one of his hands curled behind his back as his fitted black shirt hugged his biceps perfectly.

"Is this my punishment for having left you alone? You refuse to talk to me?" He asked, tilting his head to study your expression better. You remained silent, still processing the fact that the man you were so desperately looking for, was now standing so close to you. A part of you wanted to tell him that you could never be mad at him when he looked like an angel but your tongue stayed tied.

He hummed at your silence, taking another step towards, his eyes glancing at the dead flower that stayed intact between your fingers. Slowly, you felt his hand hold your wrist, a shiver running down your spine at his touch. Bringing it up, he took away the flower, throwing it somewhere to the side only to present another freesia before you, this one a striking red that made your heart skip a beat. You held onto its stalk as your mystery man placed it between your fingers, your cheeks growing warm at the way his eyes stayed fixated on your face.

“Red?” You asked, returning his gaze with an equally feverish one, his lips morphing into a smile upon hearing your voice.

“And she speaks.” He laughed lowly, his deep melody echoing in the silence of the night. Taking yet another step towards you, he placed his hands on the railing behind you, trapping you in close proximity. Your back rested firmly against the bars, your chest almost touching his.

“Yes, petal. Red. Do you know what it means?” He murmured, only loud enough for you to hear. Lost in his eyes, you didn’t notice the hand that was now tucking your hair behind your ear, your lips being the sole focus of the man’s attention. Resting his palm against your cheek, you found yourself leaning into his warmth, sighing at the butterflies you felt in your stomach.

“No,” you answered, closing your eyes when you saw him lean down until his lips grazed the shell of your ear. His long fingers brushed your hair away from your neck, your own hand clutching the flower tightly to calm your heart that was about to jump out of your chest.

“It symbolizes passion,” he whispered, his hands moving down to hold your waist and pull you flush against him. Speechless, you rested your hands on his chest, biting your lip as your forehead fell against his shoulder.

“Who are you?” You inquired, finally asking the question that had been gnawing at you ever since you saw him. A dead silence fell over the both of you all of a sudden, a frown etching onto your forehead as you were made to pull away from him a little. You found yourself missing his embrace, feeling as though you had known him for a long long time.

“You don’t know me,” he said, more like telling himself again rather than asking you. Gently shaking your head, you placed your gaze on his chest, a peek of white bandages catching your eye from beneath the few buttons that were left open at the top of his shirt. Without a thought, you moved it a little to the side, your eyes widening at the small red patch that stained the centre of the dressing, your lips parting in shock at the realisation that it was, indeed, blood.

“What happened?” You asked, worry and concern lacing your voice. He pursed his lips, his jaw clenching ever so lightly along with his hold on your waist which grew tighter. Wincing in pain, you looked at him in confusion, wondering if you had said something to upset him. And before you could ask him, he said something that perished all the warm feelings that had been brewing in your chest lately.

“My name is Kim Taehyung, Y/N. And I’ll be really mad if you decide to run away now.”

With eyes as wide as they could be, you stood frozen in his arms, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. Fear consumed your entire being, your throat running dry at the very thought of being here with Kim Taehyung, the man who was responsible for the rise of one of the biggest cartels in the world. His hands were stained with the blood of god knows how many people, the wound on his chest suddenly making a lot of sense. Losing your grip on his shirt, you let your arms fall to your sides, unmoving and unable to process the situation anymore.

Suddenly, you were aware of his burning touch all over you, your mind screaming at you to get away from him. Yet you didn’t make a move, because you knew very well that you were almost nothing in front of a trained killer who could snap your neck in the blink of an eye. Parting your lips, you willed yourself to scream as loud as you could, failing yet again with his icy glare staring you down.

Gone were all the emotions you had witnessed in his eyes a few minutes ago, making you feel as if this was a whole new man that you had never met before. A tear ran down your cheek, your brain slowly hitting you with the mixed amount of emotions that were driving you insane. You were hurt, scared, disappointed in yourself and a lot more you couldn’t yet place a finger on.

“Y/N,” his voice brought you back to him, wary of the hand that was now wiping away your tears. Eyeing him cautiously, you tried to think fast, escaping him being the only agenda on your mind right now.

Taehyung knew what you were thinking, it didn't take a genius to know that all you wanted was to run away from him before things became a mess. But it was too late now, your innocence having left Taehyung mesmerized a long time ago. And now that you were so close to him, he was ready to do anything to make you stay.

"I don't wanna die," you said, your voice wavering with the dying confidence that burnt in you like a flickering flame. Being in his arms felt good, but knowing that those hands could also push you off the roof without anyone finding out was a thought that overcame everything else.

"And you won't, petal. Just because I'm a dangerous man, doesn't mean I would lay a finger on you," he answered, quickly catching onto the fact that you thought of him as a killer. It hurt him to know that you so easily forgot every other feeling you had been sheltering all this time, his identity crumbling down to nothing in your mind. But he would fix it.

He would fix you.

His words were enough to let you know that he wasn't planning on letting you leave, convincing you seemingly the only thing on his mind. At this point, violence seemed your only answer, your eyes once more taking in the sight of the bandaging on his chest.

"I'm sorry," you apologized beforehand, inhaling nervously at his confused expression before digging your nails into his chest. A growl left his mouth immediately, his hands letting go of your waist as you pushed him to the side with all your strength and bolted towards the door.

Taehyung fell to the floor behind you, his hand covering his shirt right where the wound was, the wetness of the blood seeping through his bandages. He hissed in pain, closing his eyes as he rested his head against the wall. The sound of your cries felt like music to his ears, your small fists banging on the door which had been locked the second Taehyung stepped onto the rooftop. It was funny of you to think that you could overpower Kim Taehyung so easily, your obliviousness once again showing through your stupid attempt to escape him.

Tears ran down your cheeks upon the realisation that you were stuck here with him, your heart pounding in your chest just like your hands against the door. You were a fool to think Taehyung wasn't fully prepared. Of course he had expected this from you. Of course he was one step ahead of you.

"Please, someone open the door!" You begged, sobbing with your forehead against the cold metal, slowly sinking to your knees. Just then, you heard his laugh, deeply resonating around you as you frowned in silence. It was endless, not the kind of laughter you'd hear after a joke but the kind you'd hear only with the intention of being mocked. He was laughing at you and your silly attempt of running away from him, knowing very well that Kim Taehyung did not let go of things that he so desperately craved. You being one of them.

"Did you think it was that easy, Y/N?" He asked, his voice dripping with amusement. Turning around to face him, you stared at him with teary eyes, watching his painful state with a heart full of regret. You weren't one to hurt people at all, let alone intentionally and yet you had taken such a drastic leap tonight. To save yourself. That was truly justified, wasn't it?

"Petal, even if you had managed to leave this place, I'll have you know that I'll always find you." He grinned maliciously, making you truly scared of him. Gritting his teeth, he stood up, your back pressing against the door as he slowly proceeded to stalk towards you, his gaze pinning you down and rendering you unable to move. You felt like a prey before him, his angry eyes telling you just how much you had pissed him off.

"I just wanna go home," you stated, frowning at him with wet cheeks and quivering lips. Halting right before you, Taehyung kneeled down, his hand coming to rest against your cheek.

"And we'll go, Y/N. We'll go to our home," he mumbled almost lovingly, his eyes glistening with so much affection that if you didn't know any better, you'd think he loved you. The truth of the situation though, was that Kim Taehyung was obsessed with you and there was no way you were going to let him take you.

"N-no, I wanna go to my home," you dared, Taehyung's jaw clenching upon hearing your words. Within a second, his fingers dug into both your cheeks, your lips pouting at the force with which he was holding your jaw in place. Leaning closer to you, Taehyung's nose brushed against yours, your own hand taking hold of his wrist to make him let go.

"What a shame it'd be to know that your little sister had to die because you couldn't make the right decisions."

Eyes widening, you let out a whimper at his threat, your breath having been knocked out for a second. It was as if the world had stopped around you, your heart wishing that this was all just a bad dream. The thought of anything happening to your sister was enough to break your will, especially since you were the only one she had. If she were to get hurt because of the one person who was supposed to protect her, then you couldn't even begin to imagine how meaningless your own life would become.

Taehyung loosened his grip on your jaw, watching you cry harder because of what he had said. It hurt him to know that you were crying because of him but he had to say it. Sure, you were hurt right now, maybe you even hated him but he knew that once you became his, you'd never have to see a bad day in your life. He would love you so hard that you'd never think about anyone else ever again. It was going to be just you and him. Forever.

"I'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt her." You cried, sealing your fate with the devil with no chance of going back. Smiling fondly at you, Taehyung wiped your tears, the stench of blood hitting your nose only for you to see his crimson tainted hand grazing your cheek.

"I'll take very good care of you, petal. Don't you worry your little head," he cooed, your eyes staring at him with horror. You could feel the blood now staining your cheek, Taehyung's eyes adoring it with a hint of madness. His blood on your skin was like his name on a trophy, a sign of who it belonged to. And it gave Taehyung an immense amount of pleasure to see your innocence tainted with his filthy gore. The colour red was yours and Taehyung couldn't wait to paint you in it.

"We'll be drowning in love soon, just wait and watch."

A/N: Hiiii, see I am back again! I don't have much to say today cause I am really sad for some reason. You know, the kind of sad that makes you wanna just sit and cry all night? Yeah, it's THAT!

Anywayyyy! I'll probably be posting each member in a break of 4-5 days because I want each member to get their fill. Soooo, the next one comes in a while! Till then, have fun, guys. Ily<3

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey business - john shelby x reader (part 6 of ?)

gif by my queen @michaelgreys, i'm basically her fanblog now but im not mad about it :) i mean just look at him!!1! i almost fainted

a/n: first of all, if you stuck around to this point, tysm for reading!!! this has been one of the most amazing fics ive ever been a part of and it's all thanks to the gorgeous @stxdyblr-2k, who generously took control of the next few parts. her brain is beautiful and we all owe her flowers or something. when i read what she sent me i couldn't bring myself to change much except for some small edits, so pls give her lots of love if you like it!!!! i'm still working on requests as well :)

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four five | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland, @lilymurphy03

prompt: nothing this good can last forever. john doesn't know how to feel, and neither do you.

warnings: nsfw! a teensy bit of smut, angsty as fuck prepare yourselves accordingly, a lil fluff if u squint, yeah this fucked me up

Obviously, it wasn't the last time.

Over the coming months you had many last times; his mouth pressed against your neck said as much. As his responsibility at work increased, you'd find yourself heading to his office after your lectures and night classes more often, perched on his lap, smoking, while he finished up his numbers under your critical gaze.

Thomas was more than aware; his snarky comments made it obvious he had his ways of monitoring your actions. You'd seen the dark car lurking outside your rallies and lectures, and no matter how you'd try to throw him off, not even telling Ada where you were going and even, in a moment of desperation, through your neighbours back window, somehow, his silent shadow was still looming. He was practically begging you to make a mistake, to give everyone an easy out. You just couldn't give him the satisfaction. You knew Tommy saw the world as a chess board, always several moves ahead of his opponent. Even when you played him in chess club all those years ago, you could outflank him if you thought on your feet and kept him thinking he was winning until you obliterated him in the end game. It was brutal, sure. But as he told you, there were bigger games at play. You had your own. Thomas could read your mail, intercept your phone calls and have you followed, but he couldn't hear what you said out of earshot. Your lot could smell an interceptor in your ranks, so spying at that close of a proximity was out of the question.

That's why he'd decided to let you have John. You knew his silent approval and his constant management of the narrative meant he saw a tactical gain. There was only so much information he could get from Ada, but John? He just had to agitate him in the right way and all your secrets would come tumbling out. It was difficult hiding your world from John; of what he knew of, he was supportive, quizzing you over current affairs and political discourse, listening intently. Yet, you had to watch your mouth. You had to keep a barrier up and you knew John sensed the distance. Fundamentally, there was nothing either of you could do.

So here you were, in a comfortable limbo. Your days were filled with work, evenings were for lectures and reading groups at the city's university, Ada and you often stopped for a drink or three; you'd go by your flat to freshen up, and then to John's office. Sometimes, you wouldn't visit for a week or so when the guilt sent you over the edge, it was draining to be living so many lives and knowing you were betraying the person you loved most on earth. Ada was oblivious, taking you on her nightly adventures filled with men, dancing and waiting while she was busy kissing in dark corners. Sometimes a young blinder would ask if you wanted to be walked home. The first occurrence you thought was sweet, but as the nights it occurred coincided with nights John seemed extra pent up, you'd decided to ask. The boy, who couldn't be older than twelve but who you knew was trained in using firearms and had a revolver pinned to his hip and a razor in his cap, looked confused.

"Mate, it's not a tough question. Why do you come and ask?"

"There's a phone call." He shrugs, "Isaiah or Michael tells us to go and get you."

Isaiah and Michael were somewhat aware? Fucking hell. Your fling was basically a military campaign at this point, so many of your friends were complicit. The little lads who ran as messengers around Birmingham were complicit. You had to just end it.

But when you sat on his thigh, his chin hooked over your shoulder, it felt so worth it. He never turned you away when you came crawling back. He never mentioned it until after you were finished, hooked under his arm.

"Fucking missed you, gorgeous."

Sometimes he'd remind you not to be a stranger with a wink, but you could tell it was tearing him apart too. He never once came to you. That's how he could justify it in his mind; obviously, the bare minimum was not having sex with his sister's best friend, but in failing that, waiting for you to initiate it was somewhat better. He barely talked to Ada now, citing work as an excuse, but truly the guilt sickened him. He couldn't believe he was prepared to continuously hurt his little sister and betray her. But every time you turned up at his door, he couldn't find it in himself to turn you away. In his mind, every single time you came to visit him was the last time he'd let it happen, yet he was always waiting for you to come back, his blind closed to signal he was prepared. He never would call, it had to be your choice.

You'd been off and on for over five months now. It was so difficult to hide in plain sight, but you just couldn't stop yourself. Neither of you purposefully meant for this to be happen but fuck, was it fun.

For your birthday he'd gifted you a fur coat from the same shop his sister, aunt and the fashionable crowd of Birmingham had purchased theirs. He joked that you looked like a "proper razor chaser", kissing you when you pouted at his teasing, begging you to wear only the coat when you fucked him next. It was a practice for blinders to buy a coat for their wives and girlfriends as a status symbol. You were neither, but John claimed that being his "favourite lass" also counted.

John was a laugh, but you knew at any time he could close his door to you. Until he decided he couldn't be bothered with you, you weren't going to get caught. You just had to be careful until he got bored.

***

You did end up putting a foot wrong. It was a Thursday night; you were sitting on the edge of John's desk while he was ridding you of your blouse. It was past midnight, Birmingham was asleep. You almost didn't bother coming out tonight, but you knew John had lost a deal and you wanted to be there for him. Your skirt and stockings were strewn across the desk with his shirt, vest and waistcoat, muddled into the files and papers which were once neatly stacked.

His fingers were pumping in and out of you, his mouth lapping at your breast, your head tipped back in euphoria, groaning. The stress made him more affectionate and tender with you, and it was nights like these that made you wonder. Wonder if this could ever be something more, something real.

John's body suddenly pulled away from yours, quickly turning the light off.

"John, what-" You were cut off by John’s hand over your mouth, muffling your words.

"Shut up and get behind the desk." He hissed. "Someone's coming upstairs."

You quickly grabbed your clothes from the shiny oak surface and crouched, hiding yourself from view, quickly making yourself decent. You weren't going to get shot through the head with your tits out. You listened to the stairs creek, and it sounded like a group. You two were easily outnumbered. They were talking, but the thick panels of wood muffled their voices.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, the cracks in the door giving the room a dulled glow, you could make out the figure of John. He was free of his shirt, toned body on display, standing with his back flat to the wall, revolver produced from a discreet notch in the door frame, gaze fixed on where they'd enter. He was tense, ready. The door was unlocked from the outside, the door handle twisting.

John's lip shifted in confusion yet still he kept his trigger finger ready, not a single shake from your general.

The light flicked on and a shriek rang out. It was blinding, and you stood up slightly dazed. Finn was in the doorway, John next to him clutching his chest, panting and lowering the gun.

"Jesus Christ, Finn, can't you knock like a normal person? Scared the shit out of us." John bellowed, shaking as the adrenaline coursed through his body, resting his hands on the edge of the desk as he regained his breath.

"You're the one who pointed a gun at me! I didn't even know you were in 'ere!" Finn yelped.

The commotion had attracted the attention of Ada and Isaiah, who had come running and stopped in their tracks upon seeing you standing behind John's desk in the middle of the night. They weren't stupid. John was topless, your clothes obviously rumpled, both with matching tousled hair and practically stinking of guilt. You'd been caught red handed. Ada's eyes flicked between both you and John, and you could practically see the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in her mind, all the moments she found questionable since you'd returned suddenly making sense, realising she had been deceived by the two people who she was meant to trust most in life. Finn looked absolutely crushed, he'd never been able to conceal his emotions as well as his older brothers and sister, linking his fingers through Ada's, squeezing her hand.

"I forgot to drop this off earlier." Finn stated, holding up a money box, "Ada had keys so we thought we'd sneak in so I wouldn't get done by Tommy. We did call round yours, Y/N. We thought you were in bed."

"I'm sorry." You said. It was not enough but you just didn't know what else to say. You couldn't make it right, you'd really fucked up this time. Tears pricked at your eyes, as Ada examined you in silence.

John stepped in front of you defensively. "Look, Ada-"

"How long has this been going on?" She asked, her voice shaking with rage. You and John exchanged a glance. "I said, how fucking long?"

"Five months, six in a fortnight." He answered.

Isaiah whistled lowly. "That's fucked. I thought it was only a few times, that it'd finished."

"Never really over when it's John is it." Finn interjects, you glance to him, were you just one in a long string? You shouldn't be surprised but it was easy to pretend he may actually care about you.

"You've been fucking around for six months behind my back?" Ada yelped, Finn trying to comfort her but she pulled away from him. "And you fucking knew Iz."

"I'd expect this from you, yeah? Wouldn't put anything past you these days.." she sneered at John, "But you? You?! You're meant to be my best mate, but here you are sneaking about fucking my brother?"

"Ada-" you began, eyes welling with tears.

"I thought I could trust you. You're just another fucking razor chaser, aren't you?" She spits. "That's why you came back."

"No it wasn't, Ada-"

Her eyes flashed with anger, but this time John was on the receiving end. "You bought her that fucking coat ,didn't you? The fur one. You did! Fuck's sake!" Her fists were clenched, shoulders squared. For the first time in your life, you understood why crowds parted for Ada Shelby. Understood all the free drinks and cab rides, the nervous serving staff declaring your meal on the house (always acknowledged by Ada with a hefty tip), understood why the men of Birmingham didn't last long with her.

"Did it feel good to swan about town in that fucking coat, while acting as though you cared about me? It's so fucking embarrassing. All trussed up because my knobhead big brother makes you feel special? Thanks for rubbing it in my face."

"Ada, I love you. I never meant to hurt you, I got caught up and that's on me. It's my fault."

"You're not acting like you love me. This isn’t what love is, Y/N." She retorted.

You couldn’t do anything but nod. She was right.

John opened his mouth to speak, Ada silencing him, a scowl darkening her features.

"I don't care what you have to say. Any of you. Who else knows?"

"Thomas, Michael, Arthur-" John listed off slowly, each name prompting Ada to break down a little bit more in front of you.

"I didn't know Arthur knew." You said pointedly, John sending you an exasperated glance. He was planning on dealing with that later, but right now was about his sister. Fuck him if he thought you were going to stick around much longer. You didn't want to hear him justify everyone else knowing about your fling with your best friend being left completely in the dark.

"That all you have to say for yourself?" Ada snaps at you.

"I have fucking no defense, do I Ada? I should've walked away." You pushed your hair back, frustrated at yourself, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You begged yourself not to cry. Tears wouldn't help anything.

"Why didn't you?"

You didn't know. Your silence only riled her up.

"Why didn't you fucking walk away?" Ada yelled, slamming her hands on the desk.

You felt hot tears run down your face, quickly moving your hands to dab at your tears.

"Don't you dare fucking cry. After all you've done, you don't get to cry in front of me." Ada growled at you, John going to shush her, obviously wanting to comfort you. "You can all fuck off. You've all lied to me and gone behind my back. Fuck’s sake, you could've just told me. You could've just told me."

"We didn't want to hurt you." John said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder but she flinches away.

"This hurts so much more. You get that you all lying to me is so much worse, don't you?"

"We weren't thinking."

"You really fucking weren't." Ada laughs bitterly, shaking her head, blinking away tears. "Fuck you lot."

She stormed out, tailed by Finn, begging her to slow down and talk to him, protesting his innocence in the situation. Isaiah hesitated in the doorway, his eyes flickering between you and John.

"I had no idea you two've been at it for so long."

"Iz, fuck off yeah? I've had enough today." John shot back, sliding across the desk towards you. "You alright, lass?"

"We're done here, John."

He slid off the table, his hand cupping your face, "Hey, gorgeous, I get it but don't go breaking my heart tonight. Can we just leave this for tomorrow? Sleep on it."

The idea of getting any sleep at all tonight was laughable, you'd be up all night replaying these moments and torturing yourself. Tonight couldn't get any worse so you had to finally end it. Now was the right time.

"John, it should've never happened."

"But it did."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's over."

"Y/N. You know for me it was never just about-"

"You're making it difficult. Stop making it difficult. Whatever you say isn't going to change that right now we have to do the right thing."

"I know you're right, but I don't want to let go. Is it so wrong to want you? I adore you, you know that."

You wouldn't meet his eyes. Sighing, John pressed his forehead to the side of your head, chin brushing your shoulder, eyes closing. He was begging you to stay with him. There had to be a solution, you'd figure it out together. His voice was cracking, eyes glassy. He looked so much younger when he was pleading. The tall bloke who terrorised the Midlands with his razor rimmed cap, a revolver in his hand, and a ruthless trigger finger had vanished. You wanted to stay, burning to curl up with him and for him to kiss it better.

"I should go." You told him. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, letting out a shaky sigh before pulling away, nodding.

"I'd drive you home but obviously-"

"Obviously."

John suddenly turned from you, eyes narrowing at Isaiah who was still hovering at the door. "Thought I told you to fuck off. Make yourself useful and get Y/N home safely." His tone was ice cold once again.

Isaiah nodded, offering his arm to you. You reached the door and instinctively looked back at John. His eyes met yours, staring at you from his desk, just as you knew he would. He prepared himself to watch you leave every night, but this time was different. That was it with you two.

Isaiah strode down the street with you in silence. You were tucked into his side as was customary with the upcoming blinders who were particularly ambitious, but there was no relaxed chat.

"Isaiah. What’re you thinking?" You asked, voice tinged with nervousness.

He sighed, running his free hand across his jaw, "That was intense in there."

"Just how he is." You shrugged.

"Does he love you or sommet?"

"Fuck knows… does it matter?"

"Of course it does. Do you love him?"

"Drop it. None of that matters, it shouldn't have happened in the first place so it can’t," You snapped, the anger at the situation you'd created suddenly overwhelming.

Isaiah whistled, raising his brow at your obvious turmoil. "You're in fucking deeper than you want to admit."

He walked you up your path, watching you turn the key to the side door leading to your bedsit. You paused, turning to him.

"Iz… I don't know what to do next."

It was so dark, you could see his face only by the lit cigarette burning to embers between his fingers. He inhaled deeply, pausing before delivering his carefully laid out plan of avoidance. Obviously the event of him crossing the Shelbys and losing their good graces weighed heavily on his mind. You nodded, listening intently, noting his ideas of relocation but he explained they were a final resort. The best thing to do was try to regain their trust; in the long run, he had calculated, it was the only option that didn't result in your life being haunted by the Shelbys. Even if they left you alone, their enemies would make a point to go after you, seeing you as an easy target. The other option was to leave the country.

"Good luck, Y/N. I mean it." He muttered as you turned the handle to the temporary safety of your home. You nodded, offering you cheek for the polite good night kiss you'd become accustomed to. He rolled his eyes and obliged, pressing an affectionate kiss to your cheek and ruffling your hair. "I'm serious. Watch your back."

***

John broke down when he finally heard the lock click shut. His eyes had been prickling with boiling tears, his jaw tensed to hold them back. He yelled out in anger, flipping his desk with force, a loud crash as the wood splintered against the stone flooring, glass shattering from the photo frames. His hands went to his head, unable to stop the gasping breaths escaping from his trembling lips, his face reddening.

"Fuck’s sake." He growled. He'd fucked everything up. He had nothing, just as he'd told you the first night you returned. The consequence was no surprise, he'd anticipated the fall out for a while, but he couldn't resist you. He was completely guilty and had no defense; his only justification being that you made him think with his cock, not his brain.

Fuck’s sake. Polly was going to murder him. She'd always had a soft spot for Ada, as the only girl in the family, and was no stranger to lecturing him over his flirtatious behaviour around Ada's friends. She'd murder him. He had a half mind to never go home. He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. Polly had no use for tears. That's what she'd tell him when he was a boy coming home with a skinned knee. This was far worse.

He was also sure that he was a worse brother than Tommy, perhaps the worst in the world. His baby sister, who he'd helped to toddle, carry proudly on his shoulders after school and race with her on his back through the fields on the outskirts of Small Heath, had walked in on him obviously in the midst of fucking her best mate. If he had swallowed his pride and actually talked to her, he wouldn't be in this mess. He could've told her that things changed, that for the same reasons Ada loved Y/N he had fallen for her, that he was truly sorry but she had to know before it got too far and someone got hurt. He couldn't go back.

He should've never approached you that night.

He should never approach you again.

He looked over the mess of his office, the splintered wood and shards of glass, a confetti of paperwork. Now nothing mattered. None of this mattered. He'd lost everything and he had only himself to blame.

[gyusbambi]

red petals; kim sunwoo (1)

genre: angst, hanahaki disease, unrequited love, college au, introvert!reader

synopsis: with everyday you feel your love for him growing. so do the flowers in your lungs. and you can‘t do anything but discover a new flower each day.

warnings: angst, suicidal thoughts, disfunctional family

in which you are deeply in love with kim sunwoo, who happens to be interested in your friend.

daffodils are the first flowers you coughed up.

long, slender petals in a beautiful shade of yellow. inner ones formed into a trompet-shaped tube, the flower appears pretty to everyone. people don‘t seem to care about the symbolic meanings of each flower. instead, they are interested in the beauty of it. its color, shape, smell.

however, you dislike daffodils. the latin name for it is narcissus. the flower is named after a beautiful greek god, who was arrogant. he rejected all romantic advances and fell in love with his own reflection in a pool of water. however, he drowned trying to capture his reflection. therefore, the flowers on the riverbed are called after him: narcissus. apparently, the heads of daffodils can be compared to narcissus bending down to observe himself on the water.

needless to say, you make a lot of research of the flowers you cough up. finding out that daffodils can be symbolized as unrequited love, makes a lot of sense to you.

unrequited love is the reason for your hanahaki disease.

_

everything started in your second semester of college when your roommate kara decided to introduce her friend group to you, someone who appears quiet and shy.

although you’re an introverted person, you were able to open up to your new friend group. eric, mina, haknyeon and juyeon.

however not to kim sunwoo.

no matter how much you try to open up and talk to him, you fail every time.

blushing, shifting gaze, slightly trembling hands, dry mouth.

whenever the boy talks to you, you shrug, shake your head or nod an answer instead of actually speaking. sometimes you hesitantly offer an opinion or answer question to avoid awkwardness.

don’t get me wrong. it’s definitely not because you dislike kim sunwoo. quite the opposite! for some reason, you feel a little too attracted to the college student. just the sight of him makes your heart beat a little faster. now and then you have eye contact, which leads you to look away after only milliseconds, eyes looking for an object to focus on. wavy, dark hair slightly covering his beautiful round eyes makes you completely nervous. afraid that you’ll say or do something dumb or embarrassing, you usually keep silent. therefore, your bond with him isn’t as strong as the ones with the others.

on the other hand, you enjoy eric’s presence since the young boy is extremely energetic and really fun to be around with. eric made you open up by starting conversations with you when nobody else was giving their attention to you. as the others were laughing about something, the young boy noticed that you haven’t spoken a word and suddenly started talking to like you were his best friend.

little do you know, sunwoo wonders why you are comfortable around everyone besides him.

like how you are currently walking home after a long night of studying. the night sky is pitch-black, stars almost invisible. you feel the old air hit your face as you feel sunwoo’s warm hand slightly brush against yours. instantly your cold cheeks heat up due to the sudden contact of his skin with yours and you feel your hand tingle.

instead of looking up to observe his reaction, you don’t advert your gaze from the ground, too scared to look into his eyes. although you don’t even dare to take a quick glimpse, you know that he looks insanely good at that moment. his puffer jacket fading in the darkness, his other hand in his pocket, curls covering his forehead, tanned skin glowing under the moonlight. if only you had the guts to talk to him.

however, thankfully the boy himself moves his head to face you only to observe your small figure quietly walking next to him. sunwoo thinks you’re too engrossed into your own thoughts, not paying attention to your surroundings. not paying attention to the rest of the group walking in front of you, while the both of you walk in a slower path. indeed, the boy is anything but used to being alone with you. therefore, he takes this as an opportunity to talk to you.

“you good?”

his sudden deep voice brings you back to reality and you give him a short side glance before looking ahead of you again. sunwoo is surprised to actually hear your voice instead of getting a simple nod as a response.

“yeah. i’m just a little tired.”

in contrast to his, your voice sounds small and soft. attempting to meet your eyes, sunwoo nudges your side playfully with his elbow. “relax a little. you always study until you doze off.”

laughing at his statement, you finally meet his eyes and shrug before answering. “they only pick the best students for the bachelor specializations.”

when your eyes meet sunwoo’s he feels relief and comfort. the young boy is amazed by your shining eyes under the moonlight as he offers you a genuine smile, eyes still focused on yours.

“you already do well in everything, thought...”

you notice sunwoo trailing off and his eyes glancing around the park you’re passing by, before his gaze lands on you again.

“except botany.”

both of you say the same words at the same time causing you to laugh.

“i don’t know. it’s just not interesting to me?”

for some reason you seem a little less shy than usual today, which enables you to have a normal conversation with sunwoo.

“well, if you help me with microbio i could help you with botany.”

sunwoo shrugs, hands still in his jacket pockets. it is true that kim sunwoo has a deep interest for botany. everyone in your friend group knows that the young boy likes learning about several plants, whereas you find it boring and unnecessary. 

however, before you can agree to his suggestion, kara turns around swiftly to face both of you. gesturing to the dorms, the girl pouts lightly. “it’s time to separate our ways.”

“see you in the library tomorrow.” sunwoo mumbles when kara pulls him into a tight hug. 

rapidly you look away, eyes trying to focus on anything but your two friends next to you. eventually your gaze lands on eric, who’s already looking at you with an unreadable expression. soon enough he pats your shoulder as he chuckles. “sleep well. tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“you too.” 

smiling, you wave at your friend before you turn your head to catch a glimpse of sunwoo glancing at you. thinking he won’t say anything anyway, your feet start moving towards kara, who’s saying goodbye to the others. 

“y/n!”

sunwoo calling your name makes you stop immediately, heart pounding a little faster than normal. with curious eyes you turn around and are met with sunwoo waving at you, a small smile forming on his lips. 

“rest well. and let’s talk more.”

suddenly your body feels like its frozen on spot, no single muscle able to move. it’s stupid how you can’t do anything but blink a few times, clearing your throat to give him a response. however, your throat feels dry and your nervousness makes it impossible for you to form actual words. instead, you nod shyly, waving at him one last time before your roommate grips your arm, pulling you towards the dorms. 

kara is already sleeping peacefully while you face your reflection in the bathroom, hand clasping your throat as you feel burning pain in your whole chest and throat area. frowning you reach for a glass of water, hoping that the pain would vanish. 

however, it only starts hurting more causing you to squat down on your spot. probing the pained area while wincing, you wonder what could be the cause for this horrible burning and itching. 

when you eventually feel like you’re going to throw up, you quickly grab an empty bucket. completely shocked by what came out of your mouth, your glassy eyes are now widen as you lean back, hand covering your mouth. in order to keep quiet, you try to avoid loud coughing. 

the empty bucket is now filled with countless yellow petals. 

flowers?

head tilting to the side, you open your mouth but can’t speak. the whole situation seems entirely absurd and confusing to you. maybe it’s a dream?

but you know it isn’t a dream when you google “coughing flowers” only to find out that it is an actual disease called “hanahaki”. 

and you suffer from it because of unrequited love.

_

to be continued.

[that-was-anticlimactic]

reki with tourette’s headcanons

[ID: it’s reki from sk8 the infinity wearing a yellow sweatshirt with his hands on his hips. he’s wearing a red bracelet on his right wrist and he’s smiling. behind him is a touette’s syndrome awareness flag. end ID.]

so. @zukkaclawthorne got me hooked on reki with ts and now imma post headcanons i wrote oops

okay so first—that little skateboard he plays with??? stim toy, actually.

he likes the sound the wheels make—that whirrrrrr sound. it makes his arms flappy :)

he also finds the rolling motion soothing and relaxing and it always calms him down—it takes his mind to a happy place

he rocks back and forth and shakes his legs a lot. that also contributed to why he was terrible at skateboarding the first few times he tried—because his body would be like “time to rock back and forth!” and it would mess him up

neck twitches for days :)

no but for real—neck twitching is one of his worst tics because sometimes—if he’s in a bad mood or if he’s sad or anxious—it gets harsh and violent and really strains his neck.

so, langa gives him neck / upper back neck massages to help with the pain

he went through this phase for a couple of months where whenever his neck would twitch, he would snap his fingers two times.

he has a lot of hand tics which can be stressful when he makes skateboards because sometimes he’ll be in the groove and then suddenly he’ll mess something up

speaking of messing things up, he has a tendency to dig the bottom of his palm into his forehead whenever he feels like he does something stupid—he doesn’t even realize it until someone points it out.

he feels like even more of a failure of a skater because of his tics because they can hold him back and make the course more dangerous.

if his blinking tic resurfaces, sometimes the blinking gets so intense that he literally cannot see for anywhere between five seconds and a minute depending on how bad it is. that is how he got some of his worst scars.

or sometimes he’ll make a really aggressive hand motion and it throws him off balance on the skateboard due to the intensity

anyways back to hand tics: he points a lot and does symbols like the “rock on” sign or certain numbers (for some reason, the most common number for reki to throw up is four—though sometimes he throws up whatever number he hears) he also grunts a lot as a tic so he sounds angry even when he is’t.

sometimes, his hand tics really hurt and his hands become shaky and his fingers start to feel the way his heart feels when he’s anxious. langa helps in different ways—he holds reki’s hand, he gives him something to fidget with to try to distract him (sometimes it’s his own fingers—he’ll just set them in reki’s palm and be like “let me carry some of the pain”—no, reki didn’t totally cry when he said that what)

sometimes, reki sticks pencils in his ears. his teachers have been trying to stop it since he was young, but he always did it anyways—he couldn’t help it.

his hair is also long enough for him to chew on. yes, he chews on the tips of his hair because i say so. sometimes, to stop him from doing that (and from swallowing his own hair), langa will try to make him laugh so it falls out of his mouth and then he’ll scoot close and tuck the hair behind reki’s ears… once they start dating, he kisses him too. but also that’s one reason why he wears the headband—to try to keep his hair out of his face so he doesn’t chew on it.

reki’s favorite form of stimming (other than his skateboard toy, that is) is stress balls. he’s got a couple of stress balls in his room or backpack—even one with string attached so he can carry it around his wrist. he just really likes the texture of them.

after his second race against adam, cherry and joe were so proud of him and also impressed and worried dads that they bought reki a big stress ball, like, the size of a stuffed animal. it was a blue cat. he uses it all the time.

speaking of fricking adam, we all know he would so use reki’s tics against him during a race. like, when he grabbed his wrist and “danced” with him, he would mock reki’s tics or say creepy things about how his verbal tics are music and his motor tics are him dancing along and it makes him so uncomfortable and like even more shaken

oh and adam purposely does things to trigger his tics, like when i mentioned that number tic??? yeah, adam will purposefully say numbers to make reki do the hand gestures

one time, reki wanted to tell langa that he loved him but got nervous so he signed it in sign language instead. but, since reki’s tics are occasionally hand gestures, langa thought that it was just a tic and mentally was like “i wish that was for me…” and reki is like “i wish he knew it was real…” and joe, cherry, shadow, and miya are all facepalming and groaning at their obliviousness

reki prefers taking hand written notes to electronic notes because he draws / doodles to stim and he can’t really doodle well on a laptop. so, he’ll doodle in class all of the time

sometimes, his pictures / notes turn out pretty bad / illegible depending on how bad his tics are, but that doesn’t phase reki. it used to when he was younger, but it doesn’t bother him at all anymore. in fact, he thinks it adds personality

during class, he’ll draw pictures for langa and slid them on his desk. they’re usually really random things like the teacher or the back of someone’s head or squiggly lines or whatever he sees outside. more often than not, it’s abstract art. langa loves these drawings and he keeps them all on his desk in his room.

reki also started drawing pictures for the rest of the sk8 crew and gives it to them during races. when he gave everyone their first doodle, he was like “i’m not the best artist ever and sometimes my tics mess up the doodle, but i thought of you while i drew it so i want you to have it”

(shadow didn’t shed a couple of unwilling dad tears when he got home that night what)

anyways, they all keep them. every single one. miya puts them in their school binder so they don’t feel as alone / isolated at school.

although shadow and miya give reki a lot of crap / teasing about not being as good as everyone else, the second they hear anyone comment about “the weird red head that makes noises” and comments on his ts in a negative way, oh, they will stop you.

sometimes, reki whispers words he hears under his breath as a tic (echolalia, baby~) and when he overhears people saying stuff about “that redhead that always follows snow around” or about him not being good enough or how he’s an idiot to face adam, he ends up muttering that too. and it’s not a one and done kind of thing—like. he does it for days. it makes him so upset (and i already hc him, with depression so it just makes it worse)

having tics while having injuries is not a good combination—especially if it’s with a broken arm. the crew made sure to keep an eye of reki’s comfort / pain level after adam broke his arm and literally tried to kill him in their final race. joe let reki squeeze his hand whenever he felt the urge to tic and cherry would ask him how much pain he was in after he ticced and depending on how bad it would be, would make joe or shadow fetch a heating pad or an icepack for reki.

joe also taught reki about the magical thing called physical therapy tape and helped him put it on his shoulders, neck, and back one time. it was his idea to use the tape on reki’s fingers when he was injured to make him feel better (because it literally makes my fingers feel better)

also langa kisses each of reki’s fingers and knuckles, slowly and tenderly, soft so he doesn’t hurt him or trigger a tic. a way of showing that he loves him not despite his tics, but even with his tics and that he loves him and his tics.

cherry isn’t always the best at showing he cares, so he’ll wear a ts ribbon sometimes in a way to show support (and it makes reki beam)

shadow once gave reki a flower shaped stress ball because there were “extra at work” (not true—he went looking for one)

miya didn’t really know much about ts at first and asked why reki made those noises and made weird movements all the time and langa explained so then that night when miya got home, they did research on ts so they could understand it better. later, they told reki that whenever they called him a slime, they meant it purely about skateboarding and it had nothing to do with his tics—even that his tics didn’t make him less of a skater

all his life, reki had been the different one: the one no one wanted on the team because sometimes his tics messed him up, the one who was asked to leave classes during tests because his tics were too distracting and made him take the test in the hall, when sometimes he’d get too overwhelmed by how close people were in the halls or at races and would have panic attacks, how he rocked in his chair and adjusted his position seventeen times an hour and sat on his feet while the other kids didn’t, how he shook his legs more aggressively than others, how he couldn’t skate as well as everyone else because of his tics and because he wasn’t good enough

which is probably part of the depression that weighs on his shoulders

the first time reki had a panic attack during a race due to closeness and overstimulating noises (and this is the first one after the sk8 crew happened) langa was racing and wasn’t there to help, so shadow kind of panicked and like picked him up under the armpits and carried him away from the crowd since reki could barely process anything other than panic and the sound and feeling of static and they sat in shadow’s car for the rest of the race and once he felt better, he gave shadow a huge hug and shadow returned it.

one time it happened and cherry was nearby and he saw the signs before it got bad (remembered from the previous time / his own experiences) and helped talk reki down before it got bad (he has a soothing voice)

usually, though, when / if it happens (because reki usually feels safe there), langa is the one who helps

but it got so much worse after skating against adam the first time because he no longer felt safe and suddenly everyone cheering adam’s name even after witnessing what he did to reki was too much but langa was racing adam so langa wasn’t there and this time it was joe who kneeled in front of him and started talking just loud enough for reki to hear and he was like “you’re safe—we won’t let anyone hurt you. we won’t let him hurt langa. you’re safe. i’m here and so is cherry and shadow and miya and langa will be waiting for you at the end of the race…”

it happens again at the next race he goes to—and this time it’s miya who notices and they tug on langa’s sleeve and is like “i think you need to take reki somewhere else” and langa does :)

okay i’ll end on a positive ts note or two—langa asks reki to add the ts ribbon to the design on his skateboard

shadow finds chewelry at the store one day when he’s shopping and buys it for reki (and gets a matching one for langa!)

once reki came back after his mental health break, the first thing joe said to him was, and this is nonnegotiable “reki! i missed you and your tics!”

miya once overheard reki muttering to himself about his annoying tics were, so they intervened and was like “your tics aren’t annoying. they’re you and anyone who think s they’re annoying is an idiot”

and for the first time in his life, reki doesn’t feel alone and isolated and so different from everyone (at least, he’s working on that last one) and he’s finally found a group of people who want him on their team and a boyfriend who always supports him and makes him feel less isolated, tics and all <3

i uhh I have a lot of feelings,,,

[l-artemisia-del-secolo]

Whistle

Yelena Belova x reader, oneshot, mentions of Natasha's death, angst, hopefully ending, took a few liberties with Yelena's fake family

You woke up alone. Again. Third time during the last two weeks. Even with your eyes closed, you knew she wasn't around. Familiar anxiety was already crawling under your skin, coming up to your throat.

Cold floor, soft fabrics of the robe, click of a lamp. Exactly the same occurances and exactly in the same order.

And then you heard it. That damn whistle. Harmless by itself but so critical for you both. For Yelena it was a constant reminder of something terrible, that she never shared with you. For you it was an indication that this very moment your girl was drowning in pain and regrets you couldn't possibly fathom.

Trying not to wake up your dogs, you followed the note. Yelena was sitting in the kitchen, staring blankly at the half full bottle of vodka, she didn't even bother to use a glass. Smoldering cigarette in her hand and who knew how many already burnt ones in the ashtray.

"Oh, isn't it my favourite girl?"

You could barely understand her. Her usually adorable accent became so much thicker. You were surprised she didn't attack you with her favourite Russian curse words. Maybe everything wasn't as bad.

"Yes, I'm here."

You wanted to get her at least a glass and clean the ashtray, but Yelena caught you with her free hand. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Nowhere, I'm with you." You let her hug you. "How are you?"

"Great. Don't you see it?" She smiled in your chest.

"Yeah, I do."

You started massaging her scalp, carefully trying to bring her back to you from that whistle.

"You're so good, girl." She moaned. "I'm sorry, I woke you up."

"It's ok." You felt her grip on your back tightening. "Nightmares again?"

"Yes."

"Wanna talk?"

"Nope."

Sometimes you were wondering how strong this woman actually was. Being able to overcome so many obstacles, so many enemies and still being able to show her vulnerable side. Fighting, surviving, sharing a life with someone. You admired her. And you hated the world for making this woman suffer so much.

"How long have you been here?"

"Well." She looked at the bottle. "An hour or something."

Not long enough for her to get really drunk. But enough for her to muffle the memories.

"How are so warm?" Her nails were already digging in your skin.

"How are you so adorable?" You kissed her forehead. "Let me go, Lena. I'm going to make us coffee. Since it's already 5 a.m."

"Fine." She reluctantly freed you.

"Oh, and no more smoking."

As an answer Yelena mumbled something inaudible. But it was Russian and it wasn't a praise.

When she returned from the bathroom, she already felt better. Cold water helped her to sober up a little.

When she came back her cup of coffee was waiting for her.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." You were already sipping yours.

"I can only imagine how much you hate me right now." Yelena preferred not to look at you at all, already feeling the guilt.

"Don't say that. I'm worried about you. You're sleeping less, drinking more, being somewhere very far from here. How long will you be able to go on like this?"

"I don't know. It's just...maybe it's because of the anniversary or..."

"Anniversary of what?"

Yelena saw genuine concern in your eyes, heard it in your tone, felt it for months in your touches. She had to tell you. What if it freed her, what if it helped her to cope with the loss. She couldn't handle it on her own any more.

"In three days. I promise, I'll explain everything."

Those three days were so ordinary. With routines and talks, and reality. Both of you carefully avoided the subject. Until Yelena told you to get ready.

She didn't tell you where you were going, remaining silent for hours. Seeing her like this was devastating. But from time to time Yelena glanced at you as if to remember she wasn't alone.

You don't know how many hours you spent on the road. It didn't matter, once you got to your destanation.

A graveyard. Yelena never told you about this. Never told you about deaths of her close people, you were not even sure she had them.

When you were about to enter it, she whistled as if to hear something in return. But she only heard rustle of leaves.

You held her hand, interwining fingers. Her veins needed to be filled with trust and love, yours with her despair and fear.

She looked at you and nodded. Your walk took around 20 minutes, when Yelena suddenly stopped. You followed her gaze to the one of the tombstones.

Natasha Romanoff. Of course you knew who that was. Everybody knew. A hero who saved you all, a woman who defeated pure evil. Her and Tony's monuments were in every big city. But apparently this was her real grave. Or rather symbolic one. You knew Yelena had her ties with Avengers, but she never told you she knew Natasha.

"Daughter, sister, Avenger."

Sister. Natasha was the sister from Yelena's dreams, the one whom she so loudly was searching for. Not the metaphorical black widow from the same mission.

"I'm sorry, I never told you about her. She was a part of a past long forgotten." Yelena regretted, she didn't bring you here before. How could she be so ignorant to think, you could make it worse for her.

"Your sister."

"Yes. Adopted one. We didn't have much time together. She just had to save the world, you know?"

"She was a hero. The one others aspire to be."

You walked closer. Now you could see all the flowers and toys, and letters, and candles, and who knew what else.

Yelena got down on her knees and whispered something. She was greeting her sister, was telling that she was not alone. Not anymore.

"She would be proud of you. You've come a long way since the old days." You carefully avoided all the mentions of the Red Room.

"I hope so. Red on the ledger. That's how she used to call it."

"You whistle to her?" You knelt down to Yelena's level.

"Yes. That's a stupid thing from childhood. Whenever she whistled back, I knew I had a family to come to. With my fake mother being the mastermind of the mind control and fake father being a jerk, Natasha was the only family I had. Do you think... you think... one day we can become a family?"

This question caught you off guard. You never talked about it. You loved Yelena deeply, but you were not sure she was ready for such commitments.

The pause was too long. Yelena could read the doubts in your look.

"It's not because I need a replacement or something. I thought about it a lot. And I'm ready to have a responsibility."

"Are you sure?" You didn't want to give to both of you false hope.

"I know, I'm far from perfect. But... yes, a family."

"A family. I want it with you." How could you say no to her. To the woman you already knew, you wanted to spend your life with.

"And you will always whistle me back?"

"Always."