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mostly-imagines · 9 months ago

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So This Is Love

jason todd x fem!reader

aka you show each other what love is supposed to be like

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: section 1: close-call panic attack for j, mentions of ptsd for j // section 2: implied sexual activity // section 3: mild angst w comfort // section 4: implied ptsd for j

He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.

The nightmare wasn’t anything unusual for him, but it did feel particularly vivid tonight. It was more of a memory than anything, though. That same one that plays on a loop in his head throughout the night the more he tries to push it away during the day. It was the last thwack of the crowbar that had him jolt awake in bed.

You shift in your spot next to him, opening your eyes to see his rattled state. If he’d been in a clearer frame of mind he would’ve lied to you. He would’ve expertly leveled his breathing and told you everything was fine and to go back to sleep.

But instead, he looks over at you with wide eyes, chest heaving and shaking like he might start hyperventilating at any moment.

You shoot up from the bed, instantly on alert. This isn’t the first time he’s had one of these nightmares around you, so it’s not hard for you to guess where this is coming from.

“Jay? What’s—what do you need?” You know better than to try and touch him unprompted right now, you’ve panicked enough yourself to know that sudden contact only makes it worse.

“I—I can’t, I—” Now he really looks like he’s about to lose all control of his breathing.

You sit up further, moving onto your knees. “Here, let me—can I see your hand?” you ask gently, holding your own out.

He extends it to you without question, a tiny act of vulnerability that he couldn’t have dreamed of doing in this state before he met you.

You flip his hand over, palm-up and start tracing lines over it in the moonlight. You’re looking at his hand quite intently like there’s something very important on it. It’s enough to make him question what the hell you’re doing.

“I can read palms.” You tell him, simply.

“What?” His voice almost breaks, like he’s right at the edge of tears.

“Yeah, my friend taught me. I can tell the future and everything.” You look up at him, fingers not stopping their trailing. “Do you wanna hear yours?”

All he can do is nod.

You smile and start to inspect his hand carefully, tracing over calluses and a few tiny scars. You draw your finger across the short, deep line parallel to his fingers.

“This one…see the way it curves upwards right there?” He nods. “That means you’re very resourceful and ambitious. Like a leader.” His breathing starts to slow as he watches you, trying to focus on what you’re showing him in the dim light from the window.

“And this one,” you trace the line that curves downwards in the middle, “This one says that you’re strong and stubborn, which I can confirm,” he huffs out a laugh. It’s little but it’s genuine. “But it also means that you’re resilient. You’re built to overcome things and bounce back even stronger because of them. Which I can also confirm.”

He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. He takes in a deep breath, watching you draw patterns across the base of his palm.

The sensation soothes him in a way that he frankly didn’t know he could be soothed. He figures he usually can’t, except when it’s you. He tries to match your breathing, syncing up with you. If anyone else tried to get this close to him when he was on the verge of a panic attack they’d get punched, at best.

But you…you always know how to help him. He’s considered in the past that he did something really right somewhere down the line and you were sent to him as reward. He’d racked his mind for hours of every good thing he’d ever done, trying to find one that could explain your presence in his life. For anything that could explain why he deserved you. He poured and poured over every memory he could dig up but couldn’t find any good he’d ever done that surmounted to a single piece of the good in your heart.

There was a time when he would’ve thought—when he did think that you were only in his life to be taken away as soon as he felt safe. That would certainly be in line with previous experiences. But you showed him quickly that you have this way about you…it makes those loud thoughts in the back of his head shut up and just listen. Listen to your words, your breathing, your footsteps, your laugh…anything he could. Because it turns out, when he listens, he feels safe.

He’s quiet for a long time, contentedly watching you work. He notices that at some point you’d stopped tracing the lines and began drawing designs instead.

He breaks the silence after several minutes, softly commenting, “You don’t know how to read palms.”

“No, I do not.”

But you continued to leave your invisible art on the palm of his hand just the same, both of you taking comfort in the sound of the other's breathing and the soothing feeling of each other’s skin.

The radio plays lightly in the background, surrounding your night with soft ambience. You’re working at the cutting board with tomatoes as Jason leans against the counter next to you, having just finished getting the pasta set up on the stove.

His hands find your hips, resting them there as he watches you work over your shoulder.

“Watch your thumb.” He comments when the knife gets a little too close for his liking.

You shrug him off, “I know how to do it.”

He eyes the way the knife stutters as you cut through the tomato, slicing through not very cleanly at all. “Doesn’t look like it.”

You ignore him, elbowing him gently in the abdomen. He’s joking, but he’s not. The skill level you’re displaying is only above Bruce and slightly below Tim, which is not great.

“Will you let me do it?” he asks you when he realizes there’s going to be no improvement.

“Fine.” You relent with faux annoyance.

You switch over to the stovetop, keeping a careful eye on the pasta as it cooks. It’s quiet for a moment as he works, chopping with much more efficiency than you had.

“You didn’t have to stay here tonight, you know.” You say quietly, still intently watching the stove.

In spite of the music, your low volume does nothing to faze him as he continues his actions, “Why wouldn’t I?”

You stir the contents of the saucepan around. “Well, I know Roy wanted you to go out…”

“Not missing much.” He mumbles, opening up the above cabinet to get out plates.

You lull your head to the side, “Come on, he’s your best friend.”

Jason frowns. “He’s not my best friend.”

You turn your head towards him, “No?”

He meets your gaze, frown consistent. “No. You are.” He says it like he’s confused that you don’t know that.

“Oh.” You smile, “You’re my best friend too.”

His eyes soften at that, a light smile gracing his lips. He knew that, and he knew you’d say it, but hearing it out loud just…does something to him.

You flick the stove top off, prompting him to on instinct reach for the Marinara jar and crack it open for you. He hands it to you and you accept with a smile, twisting it open the rest of the way as you turn back to the stove. The jar sputters as you open, spitting out sauce.

“Oh, shit.” You hiss, when the splatter hits your shirt.

He takes one glance at the mess on your shirt and pulls his own shirt off his back. He’s tugging yours off just as fast, replacing it with his. You’ve barely processed what happened as he scans your body, eyes lingering on where his shirt stops at your thighs. “Can you wear this to bed tonight?” He asks, hands running over your waist.

You laugh, “Really?”

He meets your eyes, face serious. “Yes.” He squeezes your hip, “You look good.”

“In your shirt.” You say with a knowing smile.

“In my shirt.” He confirms.

You turn back to the stove to dish out the salsa, his hands skimming around your thighs as you do. He watches you as you work, though rather than watching your hands he’s fixated on the size of his shirt over you and how fucking good you look right now.

“Or…” He sweeps his eyes over your legs before looking back up at you again. “Did’ya turn the stove off?”

You tilt your head at him, “I did…?”

He grins at you, lifting you up by your thighs til you’re a head above him. “Good.” He maneuvers you over to the counter, setting you on top. He brings your wrist up to his mouth to press a delicate kiss before dropping to his knees.

You’ve been laying in bed for at least three hours, bordering on sleep but never quite falling in. You and Jason had a little spat, though nothing insurmountable, it was still the biggest fight you’ve had to date. You’d tried going out (at night) to see your friend that was having a hard time, and yeah, you should’ve told Jason you were going. It was only five blocks, give or take, but in Gotham at eleven o’clock at night, it’s a risk to say the least.

You should’ve told Jason, you know. But he wouldn’t have let you go or would’ve insisted on putting hold on patrolling to accompany you. You always feel bad when he does that—people could be getting hurt somewhere because you needed your boyfriend to walk you down the street. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter in the end because he caught you red handed before you’d even made it a full block away. Of all the nights for him to come home early, it had to be this one.

He dropped down from the rooftop behind you and scared the absolute hell out of you, and you didn’t even have time to be relieved that it was just him because he was on you in a flash.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” His voice was hard through the modulator, a rare tone for him to use with you.

“I just—my friend—” he sounded tired and angry, sure signs that he’d really not had a good night so far which was probably all the more reason that you shouldn’t have been out by yourself in the middle of the night.

“What are you—no! Go home. Now.” You would’ve, you really would’ve, but your friend called you crying about her boyfriend cheating on her again and she needed the in person support.

“Ja—” You’d cut yourself off, “It’s down the street, it’s fine—” He dropped his shoulders in a huff and faced you dead-on. You didn’t need him to take his helmet off to know exactly how he was looking at you.

He dropped down and hooked his arm around the back of your legs, lifting you off the ground with no discernible effort. “Wha—”

He started walking before you were even fully planted on his shoulder, arm wrapping around your legs to hold you in place.

“Hood! I am so fucking serious, put me down!” You swatted at his back and struggled in his grip, though in the back of your mind you knew it was a pointless effort. Even if you were a match in size, whatever mood he’d been pushed in was enough to guarantee that you had no chance.

He ignored you, not even pretending that you were giving him any difficulty with your squirming. He marched you back down the block to your apartment, not stopping until you’re outside your door. He set you down in between him and the entrance, digging into his pocket for his key.

He kicked the door shut behind him, finally letting you go. He wordlessly grabbed one of his spare guns and two cartridges of ammo from inside the closet by the door and turned back to you with a firm stance. “Stay here.”

You immediately tried to push past him again, at that point more angry about him dragging you back here than about having to duck out on your friend. He stopped you, holding you by the arms, which led you to respond by raising your voice at him, “Jason!”

But he didn’t waste any time letting you know how it is, “I will lock you in this fucking apartment. Stay. Here.” Him cursing at you like that was very rare and not a particularly good sign, so through your anger you’d made the decision that it was better to relent, for now. Your posture dropped and you frowned at him resentfully, a visible cue that you were giving in without you having to say it.

He stayed true to his word and locked the door on his way out, though knowing you could easily unlock it from the inside. You’d trudged into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

Now you lay on Jason’s usual side of the bed, partially because you do miss him, partially because the bed feels a little less empty when you can’t see all the empty space. You know he was just trying to keep you safe after what was probably a rough start to the night, so you feel less than great that you’d yelled at him.

Your dwelling over the memory is interrupted by a quiet creak of the bedroom door. You blink up at him blearily, “Jay?” You sit up, furrowing your brow. You didn’t even hear him come home. “What’s wrong?” You figure he must be hurt to come in here—it’s not unknown for him to sleep on the couch if he feels like he did something wrong or upset you.

Your eyes attempt to adjust to the darkness, scanning over him for any injuries. He’s out of his armor and in his regular clothes which means he must have showered already. And you know from dozens of nights patching him up that he always tends to his injuries before showering.

This leaves you confused, as you look up at him, waiting for an answer. “I can’t…I don’t want to sleep without you.” He whispers, eyes on the floor.

You shuffle back into your usual spot near the wall and hold your hand out to him expectantly. You’re still a bit cross with him, but you miss him too much to care right now.

It takes him a second to move, but he eventually lingers away from the door and makes his way to the bed. He takes your hand as he climbs onto the bed, letting go only when you lay down after him, staring up at the ceiling next to him.

You weren’t entirely expecting him to wrap his arms around you and tug you into his chest. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’d assumed he would lay on his side and you on yours and that would be enough for him to fall asleep with. Instead, he tightens his arms and buries his face into the crook of your neck. You lay there in silence for a couple minutes, both thinking.

“You’re mad.” He mumbles into your shoulder after a while. You know he feels badly about the dispute, you knew it while it was still happening. As hard as he tries, he’s not very good at hiding his emotions. Not with you, anyways.

You shrug slightly. “Barely. I’ll get over it. This is more important.”

He picks his head up to look at you, “I love you. You know that?”

You wiggle out of his grip a bit, making him frown. You use the new space to flip over to face him, before placing his arm back around your waist. You peek up at him, looking him in the eyes, “I do. You know I love you. Even when we fight.”

He looks at you like he’s a bit thrown off by your words. “I’m sorry. It was just…it was a rough night…I—I’m sorry.” He tells you dolefully.

You shake your head, frowning. “Don’t be. I should’ve texted you.”

“It—yeah. Please. I just worry about you.” He looks so sad and it makes you feel somehow worse.

“I know,” you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He kisses your forehead, not moving away after.

You feel like you can finally relax and your tense body doesn’t take long to slacken in his hold. Soon after, he does the same, both of you closing your eyes. You feel your heart slow and your mind starts to find a space of peace.

Jason didn’t get it at first.

Honestly, he didn’t really realize that you noticed things about him that even he didn’t see.

Your neighbor was having their place remodeled and you knew there would be construction going on near your apartment all day.

Jason didn’t really care, planning to bury his head under the pillow and trying to sleep through it. You however, seemed very adamant about getting out of the apartment that day. You’d left hours before the construction crew had even gotten there, telling him it was a nice day out.

It was an alright day, but he let you have your way.

You held his hand as you walked down the street, looking into shop windows and commenting on things you think he’d like.

You led him into a book store excitedly, telling him about how the author he’d been binging had just published something new. He didn’t even know that.

You were browsing the sections, flipping through books as you went. You peered across the shop at a kid holding an absolutely massive pile of books, who was clearly struggling to keep them in his arms.

His mother tried to help him but he shook his head and strided away independently, albeit very slowly. The weight of the books though, did get the best of him, and you could tell by the quivering in his arms that he was going to drop them.

“Loud noise.” You said quickly, seemingly out of the blue. Jason turned to you, confused, before seeing the stack the books splat flat onto the ground. It was indeed a loud noise.

He tilts his head at you, though you’re still busy watching the little boy as he throws his head back in frustration.

“What was that?”

You look at him, “He dropped his books.”

“Yeah, I saw. But why—”

His question gets cut off by the kid bursting into tears, wailing. You turn back to look at him, your gaze getting caught by the new book you’d been telling him about. “Ooh!”

You grab his hand and pull him over with you, smiling widely when you have the book in your hands. The sight of you makes him feel so warm so fast that he forgets about the odd interaction all together.

A couple hours later, you sit outside a cafe and eat lunch together, his back to the road, you sitting diagnal to him.

He’s telling you about the shit Damian got in trouble for at school last week, holding your hand with his right hand and eating with his left.

“He thinks he’s not going to get expelled for pulling shit like that every other week, it’s ridiculous.” He says, tossing his napkin down on the table.

Your smile is wavers as your eyes move past his shoulder looking down the block before widening, “Car—”

The sudden noise startles him enough to make him visibly jump, hand flying to where his holster would be. He looks over at the fender bender, shoulders relaxing.

He turns back to you to find your eyes looking far more worried than they should. You seem to be scanning his face, looking for something and he’s about to ask you what’s wrong when it sinks in.

He does get scared by unexpected loud sounds, doesn’t he? He never really thinks of it until it happens, but his mind is trained to expect gunshots or crowbars making impact.

It doesn’t happen often, but it noticeably takes a little piece out of him when it does.

“You…” he tries, but falters. He’s not even sure he’s processing this right.

He’s never seriously tried to fathom that you love him half as much as he loves you, though love doesn’t feel like a strong enough word. He lives and breathes for you, you’ve become a lifeline he’d been stranded without for most of his life. But now you're here and you’re everything, you’re in his head all the time, in every emotion he feels.

He thinks he’s here for you, that he was brought back from the dead because of you. You can’t possibly understand how much his heart is full of you, he doesn’t understand it himself.

He knows you love him, he’s gotten that through his head. But he can’t get a grasp on the idea that he’s equally matched in the who loves who the most battle.

Do you really care that much about him to go out of your way to keep track of things that might startle him? He knows there’s a million things about you that are in the back of his mind at any given time, but surely you don’t operate that same way with him?

Do you?

There’s this burning in his heart that aches and it only gets stronger when he sees you looking at him like that. So genuine. With care, with love.

He squeezes your hand, “I love you. More than anything.”

The look on your face sinks back into that sweet, adorable look that he’s so used to and it makes him want to scream.

You smile that bright smile and it sends his heart rocketing into oblivion. “I love you.” You squeeze his hand back, “More than everything.”

He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.

#jason todd loves his gf #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd/reader #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fanfic #red hood fanfiction #dc x reader #dc imagine #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction

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nautls11 · 2 months ago

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ok but hear me out: riptide x slay the princess (big ol yap sesh and closeups below)

Chip: The Spectre

109, obviously, but also the spectre’s yearning for what once was, wanting back her “freedom” of the life she had before. The parallels between the spectre’s longing and Chip’s longing for his life with the Black Rose Pirates work so well together. Another factor is how Chip needed to learn that he was not alone anymore. He had a crew, friends, captains, siblings. Through his ups and downs, he learned respect, trust, honor, and responsibility; he learned to love again with a fiery passion he had not felt since he sailed alongside Arlin.

“I offer you absolution, and you take my hand in yours.

You felt the pain you caused another, and you were willing to sacrifice everything you thought was you to set me free.

Without sin, there is no redemption.”

“This one is vaporous. She is a dream of a life she could never have, but that longing has given her so much capacity for Kindness. She will make for a yearning heart.

Do not mourn her — she will finally be able to hold What she never knew.”

Jay: The Cage

I was heavily debating between Jay and Gill for this one, but the Cage’s final confrontation is what sold Jay for me. Her constant fear of abandoning her blood family because she has already lost so much (her sister, and soon her mother), that abandoning the last shred of family she has left would be losing everything. It is her inaction which drives much of her conflict, balancing the line between Ferin and pirate, because no matter which side she turns to, she is always afraid, because she always has something to lose. There are times where she feels like she can only watch from afar and see what will happen (especially in the case of lizzie’s war), but she must understand that inaction is most often a deficit. She has proven herself time and time again to others, she just needs to prove it to herself.

“Fear is a chain around the neck and a needle in the eye.

It was fear that made our prison, and it was fear that told the lie that

our spirits were not free to choose.

But together we left it all behind, and found a world free of burdens.

We found the beauty in accepting our dance.

This construct is a machine of fear. It has no place in our divine hearts.

Shatter it. Leave with me.”

“This one is a body that convinced herself she was only a set of eyes. She will make for a watchful heart.

Do not mourn her. She is now what she wished that she could be.”

Gill: The Drowned Grey

Unlike the others, I couldn’t really find a princess that fit gill as well as the others did, so I decided to do a more specific moment of gill’s story for his princess: his oath of vengeance and dunjon arc.

The Drowned Grey is a story of hurt, loss, and rebirth. Gill loses everything; his friends, his closest companion, and is taken away from the life he once knew to be trapped in an endless white void, to be judged by the apparitions of those who had always judged him before. He is raw, violent emotion, rage being the only way he knows to understand his pain, and thus inflicts it onto others. His actions endangered those who wanted to help him be because all he could process was his loss. And that loss he screamed at the elder’s with his entire soul, only to be swept away in the dark depths of Niklaus’ control. But after the anger, was his rebirth. He was never meant to remain in an endless void for eternity, and Born anew in the eye of a leviathan’s storm, the violence and grief was left behind him in the cold icy storm. He had his catharsis, leaving those demons behind him in the darkest depths.

“I kill you. You kill me. Back and forth we go, faster and faster and faster. I kill you. You kill me.

Hollow eyes watch from the dark corners of a forgotten place flooded by emotions left unspoken. The tide rises.

I kill you and me.

An ending is a passion that can only be expressed with a moment in time. It is a seed for a new beginning. To linger on an ending is to rob it of its life.

And without me, all that's left to do is linger.”

“This one is guarded sorrow. She saw herself as alone but in the end had courage to share with another. She will make for a deep heart.

Do not mourn her - she has finally been heard.”

anyways uhh thanks for coming to my tedtalk, i lowkey wanna do this for other campaigns, currently thinking about prime defenders and the suckening so ye 👍👍

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itshermocrates · 2 months ago

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Some thoughts on Vander and Silco's relationship

I already talked about this when Arcane S1 first came out, but now that the show is over and we got to see a different reality where everyone has a good ending (except for Vi I guess) I want to bring back my Silco x Vander thoughts

So yeah, vanco ?? silder ??? post

Even if in Arcane S1 there’s some sort of parallel between Jinx/Powder and Silco + Vi and Vander, in my eyes those two were made for an old man yaoi story

Now that we have seen Jayvik’s evolution and that glimpse of them together in a “better future”, I realized that Vander and Silco (+ Felicia) could have something similar to what was happening initially with Jayce and Viktor (+ Mel)

Two best friends working together for a common cause, one hopelessly in love with the other while his partner can’t see ―or doesn’t want to recognize― his own feelings. Since I already have a Jayvik analysis in my drafts, I’m going to focus on Silco and Vander

This will be half a theory - half a fic + I also posted this on BlueSky so yeah, if you see it there it was also me lol

[Pinning, Unrequited love and love confessions that go wrong ahead]

I think Silco and Vander were the perfect duo back in their youth, together they had the brains and the strength, using both charm and cold logic to make people eager to follow them. What Silco lacked, Vander was able to provide and vice versa. Together they were the greatest leaders Zaun could ever ask for.

They not only completed each other like two puzzle pieces, but also shared a bond that had been nurtured since childhood. They had been facing hardships and Piltover’s aggressions since they were little kids, so it was natural that the years of friendship brought them impossibly close.

Some even said that they could have entire conversations without exchanging a single word.

At some point Silco developed a crush on Vander, how could he not? Despite his strength and sometimes scary appearance, Vander had always been the big sunshine boy who was looking after him. That urge to protect and take care of others seemed to be part of his very essence, and if someone benefited from this, it was his best friend.

Of course, they needed to fight and get dirty in the deepest hellholes of Zaun, but even when Vander got his knuckles drenched in blood, Silco could only see the kind man with bright eyes and a dream for a better life that Vander truly was.

Silco really thought that this new beginning for them was only possible because Vander was there with him, since when hope seemed completely lost, when the circumstances took another member of their little family, Vander always remained firm in his stance. They would find a way, they would fight back, they would keep pushing forward and they wouldn’t stop until they finally had the future they deserved.

Oh, wasn’t he convincing? Always the beacon in their times of need, who else could lead them out of their misery?

Vander’s kindness was disarming, and his light was so bright that Silco couldn’t help but fall in love with him. He loved him so deeply it made him feel sick, but he could do nothing about it. Vander had been in love with Felicia for almost as long as Silco had loved him, and even if she wasn’t really interested in him, there was no way that man could get over his emotions.

Just like Silco himself couldn’t make his own feelings go away. He pinned for years, forcing himself to hide how he felt so nothing changed between them and he didn’t lose his best friend. He had to protect their friendship, but, above everything else, he had to protect their dream of a free nation for Zaun.

Silco pinned and suffered in silence until he couldn’t take it anymore, until his unrequited love felt like an open wound badly infected, moments away from killing him. Then, and only then, he confessed.

Vander didn’t make a huge deal out of it, he was understanding and visibly confused. It was an awkward situation, but he could be nothing but kind, even as he broke Silco’s heart. Of course, he didn’t feel the same.

Or maybe he did, but he was too blind to see it, too infatuated by the idea of a future with Felicia to give a shot to a real future with him.

Vander had used a very familiar word to excuse his lack of introspection, one that served him as a shield while unknowingly harming Silco as if it had used the sharpest of blades.

“Silco, you’re my brother…”

They used brotherhood a lot to describe their relationship. Their found family, their friends, their allies in the Zaun revolution and even the fucking pilts, they all could see how deeply they cared for each other. And every time that was the reason they assumed to be behind their bond.

No one could ever deny the love in their eyes, the protective gestures, the smiles... It was obvious, but everyone assumed that what they shared was a blood bond. For Silco it was much more than some stupid liquid running through their veins, what they shared had been built over years of companionship, years of pain and struggle, blood was fucking nothing in comparison. Their souls were connected in a way no one could ever imagine or understand.

And Vander knew this. He knew how strong their bond was, but he hadn't really asked himself if what he felt for Silco was something more than brotherhood. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do if it wasn’t the case either, but he didn’t go as far as to truly consider it.

Vander didn't know how to react to Silco's confession, he didn’t want to hurt him or change their world forever. He was happy as they currently were, it was easy to live with Silco as a brother, but he didn’t know what was waiting for them if he ever allowed himself to analyze his own feelings.

Because of this, and completely unaware of the pain he was causing, Vander uttered that seemingly harmless word that Silco couldn’t stand anymore.

Brother.

The softness in his tone didn’t make it any less devastating. The pain in his eyes, as he knew how badly he was breaking Silco's heart, didn’t make it easier to hear.

The countless "I love you"s he pronounced after that, reassuring that even if it was not the same feeling, Silco was still one of the most important people in his life didn’t soothe the agony of his reopened wound.

None of that mattered.

Because he didn't feel the same as Silco.

The same word that once had been forced on them was now stronger than anything he had built together.

Silco didn't want to feel that pain, he couldn't allow it to stay inside his chest, not when it was so profound.

So he decided to leave The Last Drop. It would be only for a couple of days, to distance himself a little from the source of his pain and try to stitch close that damned cut.

During that time, alone and completely heartbroken, he focused on thinking of ways to achieve the goal they had been fighting for since they were teenagers. The Zaunite revolution and Zaun’s independence. He ignored his pain and used all his anger to plan their next move in their fight against Piltover, thinking of new ways to finally defeat their enemy.

It was during those days, blinded by the pain of his aching heart, that he understood they could only win against Piltover if they showed their true nature to the world. He knew by then that they needed to be more aggressive in their methods and destabilize, not only their government, but also their peace.

Let their own people know what monsters they had for leaders.

Let the people of Piltover suffer the same pain they had suffered since the very moment the City of Progress came to be.

The fight had turned into a way for him to forget his own suffering, and in his anguish, provoking pain to others stopped feeling wrong at all if that meant they could get closer to their goal of freedom.

It was at this point where the conflict with Vander started. Suddenly, the word "brothers" didn't quite fit them anymore, it seemed too caring for them. Now it was a word pronounced in a low voice, and when it was Silco the one saying it, his tone could only express disgust. He rolls his eyes as if the word was some sort of sick joke he hated to voice out loud, a reminder of what could never be.

Silco’s pain is a heavy weight preventing them both from going back to what they once had, and seeing this wounded Vander every single time his friend reminded him of his rejection. This, and how differently they started to approach their fight, made them step further and further away from the other.

And when they saw each other during important meetings, Silco threw the word “brother” extremely carelessly, always with the intention to wound Vander instead of calming him and expressing how much he still loved him.

It had turned into a word that neither of them could ever forget, and that would hunt Silco until the end of his days.

[There's still a lot of resentment in Silco's expression, and in this scene before saying brother, Silco rolls his eyes. The man was PISSED]

In conclusion, I think "brother" was Silco and Vander's equivalent of Jayvik's "partner" and I bet Viktor was pissed as hell everytime he heard someone reffering to him as Jayce's partner AND JUST THAT, for both scientific pride and his hopeless crush on Jayce Talis.

#arcane s2 #arcane s2 spoilers #vander #silco #vander x silco #vanco #silder #silco x vander #fan theory #idk maybe I'm delusional #old man yaoi arcane edition

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its-not-a-pen · 2 years ago

Text

[餘知傳] The 2nd Century Warlord (Part 1)

based on the story by @romanceyourdemons

art by @its-not-a-pen

first day as a second century warlord i have my men tie branches to their horses’ tails to stir up dust and make it look like there’s a lot of us but i forget it just rained so there isn’t any dust and the enemy can clearly see there’s like twenty of us all spread out in a line

second day as a second century warlord i bribe a bunch of kids to start singing a nursery rhyme i carefully crafted to spread misinformation and further my strategic ends but they change the lyrics to be about poop and the enemy isn’t misdirected at all

third day as a second century warlord i lure my enemy into a narrow valley and send a team of archers to shoot them from the high ground but there was a feral hog napping on the trail up to the overlook and they couldn’t decide whether to try and shoot it or just go around and by the time the hog woke up and left on its own the enemy had already passed safely below

fourth day as a second century warlord we attempt to join a battle on the side of the guy we want to ally with but he and the guy he’s fighting have really similar names and it’s finally dusty and i misread the standards and attack the wrong guy. so now we’re stuck with this total loser of a liege lord, because how the fuck do you explain that after a battle?

fifth day as a second century warlord and some sort of wizard wanders into camp, my loser liege lord wants to execute him for being a wizard but i convince him to let the wizard stay, because i want to do more weather-based strategies and i’m pretty sure having a camp wizard can help with that. after the welcome to the team banquet the wizard steals half the treasury and my liege lord’s wife and leaves

sixth day as a second century warlord my loser liege lord sends me to reinforce a city he’s taken, but in the confusion of leaving i forgot to take the token that would have gotten us into the city, so my men have to wait outside the city walls for like eight hours while i ride back to get it

seventh day as a second century warlord and my loser liege lord finally joins me in the city, it turns out he’s actually a pretty cool guy, and he isn’t even that mad at me for letting the wizard steal his wife. i decide to shoot my shot but i’m really nervous and keep on stalling because what if i mess up our relationship and by extension jeopardize the security of my men, and eventually he just says goodnight and goes back to his room, where an assassin is in the process of setting up to kill him

eighth day as a second century warlord and my loser liege lord tells me to fake defect to his rival warlord, the one i originally wanted to ally with, to find out if he was the one who sent the assassin and why. but my whole way over to the rival warlord i’m worried that this has something to do with the wizard thing or how awkward i made it last night

End of Part 1

part 2

This comic was made independently from the creator, I'm just a fan and these are my own interpretations.

Notes under the cut:

the title 餘知傳 [the Story of Yu Zhi], is the styled name of the Second Century Warlord. I translated 餘知 as [plentiful knowledge] since he's defined by a surplus of knowledge but a deficit in luck. It's also great for fish-based puns since it's a homophone. As a nice parallel, Loser Liege Lord's banner is a carp ;))). the art style was inspired by vintage Chinese comics.

The story is set during the Three Kingdoms period, (220 to 280 AD) natural disasters, infighting and civil unrest had dissolved the previous Han Dynasty, leading to a violent free-for-all. I based the clothes on the previous Eastern Han styles, mainly because there just weren't a lot of contemporary references from the 3K period (and it only lasted like, 60 years). I always strive for historical accuracy, however, the Han Dynasty was over 400 years long and some sources don't do a great job separating out the different fashions, so I apologise for any mistakes that occur.

2. there aren't a ton of drawings on what Han children looked like, but in general ancient kids hairstyles are pretty consistent. 9-15 yo boys had shaved heads with two little top knots, girls had natural hair in braids/buns.

3. the crossbow (back left) makes a cameo, it was associated with Zhuge Liang, famous real-life strategist from the 3K era.

4. the LLL and his wife thank the Warlord, (a noblewoman on a battlefield??? scandalous!). it shows the LLL enjoys the unconventional and the wife is not as timid as she appears. I thought it would be funny to make them look as Background Character (tm) as possible.

5. I based the wizard's design on sages from mythology. (Hey, he's not a total fraud, he invented gunpowder 800 years before the Tang dynasty!) Nice little character moment for the LLL who is shielding his wife.

6. What do soldiers do while they're waiting for 8 hours? (<-from the right) playing knucklebones with pebbles, whittling a little horse, feeding sparrows, gossiping with neighbour, drinking from his gourd, napping. A minor warlord can't afford to keep a professional army so they're most likely conscripted farmers who've had to buy their own weapons and armour, hence why they look so unimpressive.

7. LLL offers the Warlord a bitten peach. Inspired by the legend of Mizi Xia who bit into a delicious peach and gave it to the Emperor so he could taste it was well. "Bitten peach" was a byword for homosexuality in ancient China. I thought it would be SO funny if the LLL was actually smooth af and the Warlord was a like a teenaged girl crushing for the first time. He's desperate to taste that peach but is too timid to reach out >;))) man has zero game. negative game, even. truely the PS4 of homosexuals. RIP to the assassin in the back corner who was forced to watch the most awkward, cringe-fail attempt at flirting in the history of china play out.

8. this is what zero peach does to a mf. UnU

#ink drawing #comics #second century warlord #original art #ancient china #op if ur reading this im a huge fan and i love ur work #storytime #tumblr stories #history memes #romance of the three kingdoms

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chasingstardustandmoonbeams · 2 months ago

Text

Once More IV

A/N: I bet a lot of people thought it would never happen. But it happened. I finally finished the update in a way that satisfies me. I only anticipate one more update (total of 5 chapters). Hopefully you all find the update worth the wait. The final chapter will be out before the end of the year. I promise!

Word Count 2.9k

Warnings: None Masterlist

For the first time since the loop began, you did not wake up with a start. Instead, you lay there, eyes closed as you drifted back into existence. The overwhelming weight of your situation was not all consuming. At least, not as it had been before. The heavy weight no longer felt crushing, it was almost bearable.

You decided to focus on all the things you could do instead. All of the possibilities seemed real now. For the first time in a long while, the days didn’t blur together as they had before. There was a clear distinction now, the panicked and frustrated time in the loop, and the carefree adventures with Spock.

Adventures with Spock. You couldn’t help but laugh. That was never something you would have ever imagined in your wildest dreams, and now? Well, now you found yourself hopelessly replaying the previous loops with Spock. At the forefront of it all was your conversation with Uhura and Erica. They were sure about tension between you and Spock. To be more exact, tension and lingering looks.

You supposed there had been glances between the two of you before the loops happened, and since…that was a revelation you weren’t prepared for yet. Your time in the loops had given you opportunities to get to know Spock in ways you hadn’t anticipated. It was unexpected, remarkable, and thrilling. There was no one word you could pinpoint for your situation, your developing bond with him.

It wouldn’t be that bad being stuck in the loop with Spock for the foreseeable future. Each day a new start with no consequences. Just chances to know each other in ways that you’d never anticipated. A life free of everything.

Everything.

You paused. While being stuck in a world with no consequences seemed to be thrilling, you thought of your friends. In all your loops you hadn’t thought of anything outside of you and Spock. Were they also stuck in some type of frozen temporal loop, but unaware? Or worse, were you and Spock stuck in a pocket dimension where your time no longer ran parallel with that of your friends. Were they living their lives like normal - time moving forward, and you were stuck here?

You got dressed, your mind reeling with newfound anxiety. You’d been so caught up trying not to think of the loop that the repercussions hadn’t crossed your mind. You grabbed your data pad heading towards the door.

Opening the door, you were met with Spock’s stoic gaze. You leaned back slightly, only somewhat surprised to see him standing in front of you. Enough loops had passed that his presence had become expected, wanted, needed.

You looked at him, his uniform pressed neatly, his hair back to its usual pristine appearance. But his eyes, his eyes looked just as lost as yours. Spock’s humanity always betrayed him when it came to his gaze.

“Good morning,” you smiled at Spock, trying your best to silently read him. Thoughts of the last loop flashed through your mind. Your newfound feelings bubbling within you. You might have stumbled upon new feelings for him, new desires for your time together, but that didn’t mean he felt the same. You tried to rapidly crush the newly festering fear of rejection creeping up inside of you.

“Good morning,” Spock repeated, giving you a nod. He stayed by your doorway, his eyes taking in your face.

You took a breath, emotions swirling around you hurricane, “I was thinking-”

“I believe I have discovered-”

You both paused to look at the other. Your eyes locked on his. There was something there in his eyes, a fleeting look that you couldn’t quite place.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant?”

You both turned to look at Sigala, right on time with two cups of coffee in his hands.

“Sigala,” you started. Your eyes blinking in delayed recognition. You watched as he wordlessly offered you the coffee.

“May we speak in private?” Spock interjected, his eyes trailing from Sigala to yours.

You blinked in surprise as both men glanced at each other and then you. “Uh, yeah. Thank you, Sigala, but I’m good. I’ll, uh, see you later?”

“Sure,” he nodded at you, “I’ll see you in engineering.” He spared one more curious look at Spock, offering you both a friendly smile, before making his way down the hall.

You stepped aside to let Spock into your quarters. He walked past you, standing at the center of your room awkwardly. He tucked his hands behind his back, his posture rigid.

“Spock, are you okay?”you asked softly, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Okay is not a quantifiable term. I would not use okay to describe-”

“Spock, what is it?”

“I have been to analyze the storm that is causing the anomaly, however, I have not found any new significant data to determine the likely cause. It would appear that there is no correlation between the storm and the anomaly, yet, there seems to be a close relationship between the two.”

You swallowed, rubbing your face, before you sat on a nearby chair.

“This is impossible, Spock,” you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. You felt Spock standing in front of you. You opened your eyes to see him giving you an understanding gaze.

“I thought,” you took a breath, looking away from him, “Yesterday, I actually thought maybe I would be okay with being stuck here in this loop. I mean, it hasn’t all been too bad. But this morning? All I could think about was everyone on board this ship, are they stuck in a frozen temporal loop? Or are we stuck in a pocket dimension where we are stuck here, and everyone else is moving forward? I just-” You hesitated, unsure of what you really wanted to say.

You dared to look at Spock, his face was devoid of emotion. His head tilted to the side as he looked down at you.

You felt your own eyebrows furrow the more he looked at you. “Spock?” you asked quietly, a frown appearing on your face.

“Spock?” You tried again.

“I had not thought of that,” he said simply. A curious expression formed on his face.

You scoffed at his response, “Hadn’t thought of what? That I’m more selfish than I come across?”

Spock shook his head once, “No, that everyone else is moving forward in time, and that we are stuck in place.”

“What?” You said flatly.

“We have always considered that we are stuck in a loop, however, we have gone under the assumption that everyone is stuck with us as well. What if we are the only ones truly stuck, and time has warped around us?”

You stood up from your chair standing directly in front of Spock. “Are you saying that you think there might actually be a way to get us out of this loop?”

“We will have to try to gather as much data of the anomaly as we can within the next few loops before we can determine a plan, but yes, I do believe we can.”

You let out a shaky breath, almost unwilling to believe what Spock had just told you. Crossing your arms across your chest, you found your gaze shifting to the floor.

“Do you truly believe that you are selfish?”

You froze, your blood rushing in your ears. Swallowing thickly, you kept your gaze on the ground. “Yes,” you whispered. “How else would you explain not bothering to think of our friends once?”

“On the contrary, you have thought of our friends at every turn. I recall the look of anguish on your face when Christine collapsed in medbay.”

You fixed your eyes to Spock, he was looking at you softly, gently.

“Why else would ensign Sigala bring you coffee everyday? You were the first to befriend and mentor him when he was assigned to the Enterprise.”

“How-”

“Ensign Uhura speaks very fondly of you. Lieutenant Ortegas as well.”

You could feel tears beginning to form in your eyes, you tried your best to blink them away.

“I also think very fondly of you.”

You let out a watery laugh, before the tears began to fall freely. Spock stepped forward, tentatively he reached out, placing a hand on your arm. You leaned forward and hugged him. Spock was stiff to start, until slowly, he wrapped his arms around yours.

He held you close for as long as you needed. You breathed deeply in his arms, comforted by the gentle thrumming of his heart. When you could manage, you slowly began to pull away, your hands pressed flat against his chest as you looked up at him.

“I’m very fond of you too, Spock,” you said serenely. When your eyes met his you could swear as if everything around you had stilled. Nothing around you was real, nothing but the feeling of you pressed against him.

The chirping of your data pad caused you to jump, clearing your throat you pulled away from Spock.

You grabbed your data pad off the nearby table, eyes scanning over the newfound data.

“The anomaly” you blurted out. “It was there for a second, the readings…if we could just get a better idea of the storm…”

“I will report to the bridge and scan for data.”

You gave Spock a nod, “Report back at lunch?”

Spock gave you a nod in reply and walked out your door. You were left standing in the middle of your room staring at the door.

What in the hell just happened?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

You tried your best to covertly pinpoint the anomaly. You’d been typing away at your station for the better part of the morning. You’d done your best to dodge questions about your late arrival. Engineering was usually too swamped with work to question anything further, most people shrugged off your excuses and got straight back to work.

A blinking light caught your attention. The anomaly. You gave the board your full attention, fingers flying over the screen as you tried to find the exact location of the anomaly. Your eyes scanned the screen trying to retain as much information as you could before you would inevitably lose it.

“Lieutenant L/N? Is everything alright here?”

You glanced up at Commander Pelia. She was giving you an all knowing expression, one that left you more confused than ever.

“Yes, I just-” your eyes flicked back towards the screen. It was gone again.

“Stranger things have happened,” she shrugged. “I suppose you would know something about that.”

“Commander -”

“No matter, you should be getting off to lunch now.” Pelia smiled warmly at you. “I hear that a storm-like electrical field was converging around the time of your anomaly. Perhaps there is a pattern there.”

With a final smile, Commander Pelia left you. She couldn’t, there was no way Pelia knew about the loop. Was there? She would tell you. Wouldn’t she?

You were getting ready to leave for lunch when Sigala found you. You nearly slammed into him when you rounded the corner.

“I just wanted to say I’m happy for you,” he smiled at you.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “What are you talking about?”

“You and Spock, I always suspected he might have a thing for you. I’m glad it worked out.”

“What? I don’t-” you stammered.

“This morning - oh,” he paused, “Are we not telling anyone yet? Don’t worry, my lips are sealed.” Sigala just smiled at you before he walked back to his station.

You stood nearly speechless before you turned to walk towards the mess hall. You tried not to think of the implications of what Sigala had told you.

Was it really that obvious to everyone but you?

Rounding the corner to the mess hall, you made your way inside. It was loud, people laughing and eating without a care in the world. You envied it.

Worrying your lip, your eyes searched for Spock. You found him sitting alone in the far corner of the room. A small bowl of soup in front of him. He was typing away on his data pad, paying no attention to the people around him.

“I think I have a theory,” you said, taking a sit across from him.

Spock tore his eyes away from his data pad to look at you.

“I think the storm and the anomaly are acting together - or maybe one is causing the other to react leading to the loop. If we can track when each appears we might be able to figure out the relation to the other. And maybe we might be able to time something to help get us out of the loop. Like hitting a manual reset.”

“I believe that might work. Provided we can recognize and record any potential patterns.”

“I was thinking I might commandeer a shuttle and go into the storm,” you shrugged, “Worse that can happen is I die and we reset.”

You could feel Spock’s eyes on you, but he said nothing.

“Are you going to finish that soup? I’m starving,” you reached over and took the bowl in your hands.

“No.”

You dropped the spoon, “No, like you’re going to finish the soup or no-”

“No, you will not be commandeering a shuttle.”

“Why not? I mean, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Pelia actually might have given me the idea. That would be the best way-”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“It is too dangerous.” Spock was giving you a hard look, one you were not accustomed to seeing on his face.

“How? I’ll just reset-”

“You are assuming that you will still reset far away from the Enterprise. There is no logic in assuming when it has not been done before.”

“There’s no way to know unless we find out, and I’m willing to take the risk.”

“I am not,” he said firmly.

“Well it’s a good thing that I’ll be the one going then,” You shrugged.

“No you will not,” he argued.

“Spock-”

“Do you not realize why?”

“You’re my friend and you’re worried. You -”

“Have you any idea what it has been like to watch you die and not be able to do anything about it? To be helpless while you die in my arms?”

You stared at him, frozen in place. You’d never thought about it. Each loop flashed before you in your mind, Spock watching desperately as you gasped for breath or bleed to death in front of him.

“I didn’t realize,” you said lamely.

“When I said I was fond of you I do not believe you understood my true meaning.”

“Spock,” you breathed out.

“Each loop has brought me closer to you. Let me discover and understand you in ways I had not anticipated. What I am sure Ensign Uhura and Lieutenant Ortegas have implied is true. I had once believed it was illogical to pursue the growing feelings I was developing for you.”

You watched him intently, he stood now, his body walking directly in front of you. You found yourself standing, watching as he took a steadying breath.

“However, I now believe it would be illogical to hide from the truth. While I am Vulcan, I am also human. I can no longer deny the want - the need for your companionship. I care for you,” Spock tentatively reached for your hand. He paused, his fingers ghosting over your own. “More than I can adequately express with words or with logic.”

You could feel eyes on you, no doubt the entirety of the mess hall was watching you both intensely. But the only person you could truly see was Spock.

He was looking at you with a tenderness you had never dared to imagine. Your hand reached out for his, when your pointer finger brushed against his own, you watched as his eyes closed, his breath coming more quickly.

You repeated the motion, stepping forward closing the distance between you both. Your other hand reached out to cup his cheek. Spock’s eyes opened slowly, his eyes boring into yours. Gingerly, Spock leaned down pressing his forehead against yours before he captured your lips with his own.

It is agonizingly but deliciously slow. You could hear murmurs of those around you, but none of that mattered to you. All that mattered was the feel of him against you, everything else didn’t matter.

When you broke apart, Spock pressed his lips against your forehead taking slow steady breaths.

“I think,” you breathed, “I know,” you smiled, “ I have fallen in love with you.”

Spock pulled you close against him in an embrace.

“We’ll figure out another way,” you whispered. “I know we will.”

“Agreed,” he said hoarsely.

You pulled back to look at him, giving him a soft smile. “You ready to start over? I think we gave them enough of a show.”

“I believe I am,” you could see the faint twinge of a smile on his face.

You turned to look at the audience in front of you, “Have I ever mentioned the time loop we’re stuck in? The endless Thursday?”

A beat went by before alarms started to blare overhead. Spock took your hand in his. Your eyes were only on him as the crew in front of you started to panic.

“I may have an idea on how to possibly terminate the loop,” Spock said.

“Can’t wait to hear it,” you whispered, pulling your lips to his once more before the light consumed you both.

---------------------------------------------------

Feedback would be amazing and incredibly appreciated if you’d leave some!

Taglist: @bluewillowchina @overly-enthusiastic-cats @alyss--in--wond3rland-blog @ltsaradharkness @cs-please @arya-eats-chips @croftyspock90

@justastarstruckdreamer @silversword7000 @ineverland @multy-fandom-lover

#star trek imagine #star trek x reader #spock imagine #spock x reader #spock x you #spock x y/n #once more #once more story

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prentissluvr · 8 months ago

Text

literary parallels — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : light angst, fluff ➖⟢ cw : small injuries, few seconds of physical fighting (self-defense), no use of y/n, you have a dad and i gave him a name (rick lol), mentions of death of loved ones, sort of case fic, kinda ignores canon timeline in terms of a few minor things but canon doesn't matter much in this fic lol, poorly edited most likely ➖⟢ wc : 3.6K summary : sam is someone from your past at stanford university, and the last place you expect to see him again is on a case. that's exactly where you find him. i plan on doing a part two for this one in the future! :))

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

today is one of those days where the reality of your life feels strange, unwelcome, and somewhat foreign. it’s not as if you’re new to the hunting life; it’s just the opposite, and yet, you often feel removed from it, especially after having lived normally at college for a few years. but you were ripped back into hunting without being able to finish your degree by your father after the death of your closest cousin.

so now you’re cooped up in a crappy motel room searching endlessly through detailed lore websites and the few books you have on you, trying to make sense of the odd patterns of killings in the small california town. that’s part of the pit in your stomach for today; the beach town, cayucos, is only three hours from stanford.

being so close to your former university after almost a whole year brings back a whole lot of mixed feelings. mostly longing for the normalcy that you loved and lost, but also a renewed urgency to find what killed your cousin. she had been studying at a different college just an hour inland from you. when she died, you had wanted to salt and burn her body and move on. but when your father showed up with proof of odd circumstances, he pursuaded you to rejoin him in the hunting life.

the deaths in cayucos are certainly odd, but they lack the defining features that would allow you to identify the creature at fault. so, you’re searching for anything with a grudge against hot men and a killing cycle of seven years since those are about the only patterns so far. your dad is at the coroner’s office, meeting with an old hunter friend to check out the body of the latest victim.

that’s been another reminder of your brief time at a normal school with normal friends and normal hobbies. when your dad first told you he called in a friend to help, he’d asked you, “d’you remember john winchester? you met him once when you were a kid, he’s an old buddy of mine.” you shook your head and he shrugged, saying something about how it makes sense; you were young and only met him once. but the name stuck in your mind as he left, and it had nothing to do with hunting or when you were a kid on the road, stuck in motels, school if you were there long enough, or the town library if you were lucky.

that name, or the last name anyway, comes from the stanford part of your life, the one you keep cherished in the most protected corners of your heart. sam winchester was one of your few friends during your time there, and after hearing his family name spoken aloud, he’s floating through your mind all day.

he disappeared after jess, his girlfriend and one of your other few friends, died, mere weeks before your own cousin died and you left standford as well. you’ve always wondered what happened to him, the best conclusion you could come to being that he couldn’t bear her death. they were absolutely in love with each other, but you know jess would have wanted him to finish at stanford, then head to that law school he was bound to get that full-ride to. sam always had an air of strength about him, so it surprised you when you never saw him again. he wasn’t even at her funeral, and to this day, that’s your singular bone to pick with him.

but, you can’t afford to think about him too much as you search for answers about the case. abandoning the lore websites for the meantime, you look over the police records of all the deaths that you can find, hoping to draw together any more patterns that you can use to narrow down your research. you’re jotting down a few notes, thinking you may have found something regarding accounts of a few of the men being last seen with a woman, when your train of thought is interrupted by an unexpected knock on the door.

on instinct, you draw your gun as you cross the room, looking through the peephole and silently cursing when you realize the light out front has gone out. all you can make out is the tall, broad silluete of a man thanks to the dimness of the twighlight sky.

you wait for a moment at the door, hoping he’ll just walk away after he doesn’t get an answer. but you’re unlucky, and he knocks again before calling out, “hello? rick sent me here to … help with the case, he said his kid was here. i’m john winchester’s son, sam.”

if you were in an old-timey cartoon, your jaw would’ve dropped to the floor. sam … sam winchester. it sounds just like him. trying to keep your head, you swap your gun for a nearby canteen of holy water and slip a silver knife into your pocket for accessibility. it’s too much of a coincidence for you to believe it.

you crack the door, just enough for him to hear you a bit better. “sam winchester? like stanford full-ride, lawyboy sam winchester?”

“i– how do you–” there’s a moment of silence, and you know that he’s piecing together the few clues he has; your voice and the last name you must share with your dad, the man he knows as rick. his voice is just as cautious as yours as he says your name like he can’t really believe it.

for a moment, you stop thinking when you hear his voice saying your name after so long, and you throw open the door and let him in. the light from the motel room finally illuminates his face, and it’s him, it’s really him. and the moment you think that is the moment you realize that could absolutely not be the case.

the second he turns to you from closing the door, you’re splashing holy water in his face so fast you barely catch the look he was about to give you; eyes so full of surprise and wonder and confusion and something akin to joy. you react quickly to his lack of reaction besides the normal surprise at getting splashed in the face, slashing at his arm with your silver knife to finish testing him. but he reacts just as fast as you, grabbing both of your wrists, spinning you around and pinning you to the flat surface of the door.

his hold is quite strong, but he doesn’t have the time to bear his full weight into holding you down before you react, so you’re able to manuever out of his hold with practiced ease. you lift one arm up as you yank the other down to make it so you’re able to slip down and to the side, out of his hold. then you’ve got a strong hand to his back, shoving him face-first against the door and your other arm bringing your knife to his throat.

the thought that his profile view with his pulled-taut eyebrows and the grimace on his mouth looks pretty has the audacity to float up to the forefront of your mind before you can squash it down. the whole struggle had taken mere seconds, and he resigns the minute you’ve got him pinned down.

“it’s me,” he pants, “i swear. ‘m not a shapeshifter or ghoul or anything, it was just instinct. sorry,” he explains quickly, “go ahead, test me.”

you debate saying “don’t mind if i do,” but decide that you don’t have to be teasing or snarky about it. instead, you tamp down your hesitance to hurt him, even a little bit because he still sort of feels like innocent, regular, lawboy sam to you, and you draw a thin line of blood at the spot where his neck slopes into his broad shoulder. there’s no burning, just a normal wince from his mouth, so you loosen your hold on him and step back, internally cringing at the small bit of blood beginning to slip down towards his collarbone.

“sorry,” you say, far more sincere than you would be if it’d been anybody else. this is the norm for hunters, but you haven’t quite wrapped your mind around the fact that sam is a hunter. you’d never once would have guessed, though you suppose that was the point. you had done everything you could to hide that part of your life during your time at stanford.

“it’s fine,” he gives you an awkward half-smile, just as sincere as you. “just, y’know, your turn.” you’d been so busy taking in the sight of him standing there, looking almost exactly the same, but not quite, as he had in college, that you forgot about the courtesy of testing yourself too.

“right,” you clear your throat, “of course.” without the hesitance any normal person would have, you take the knife to your forearm and splash a bit of holy water on your skin. “there we go. no demons or shapeshifters or the like. that’s good.” you feel incredibly awkward all of the sudden, still so bewildered and thrown off balance by the collision of your two words. it feels like too much of a coincidence for you to be this close to your old school, be thinking about sam winchester, a symbol of that old life, then for him to show up and flip your whole entire understanding of him. there’s just about a million things running through your mind at just about a million miles per hour and it’s starting to make your head hurt.

the movement of his hand, reaching up to hold the small cut you gave him is what brings you out of your short lived reverie.

“god, i’m sorry. let me get you something for that.” you don’t give him the time to politely tell you, “no, it’s okay,” like you know he would before you’ve turned your back and crossed the room to grab a first aid kit from your bag and some rubbing alcohol from the bathroom. “sit down,” you urge him when you turn back to him, motioning towards the table you’d been seated at when he arrived.

he complies and once again, you’re thinking about the strangeness of sharing this sort of space with him. you’re used to seeing him in libraries so big that they’re almost grand for quiet study sessions or in the dining hall with his nose buried in a book or in the lecture hall where you first met him in a gen-ed class. you’re used to seeing him on one of the grassy quads with jess by his side or him in the big, open, and fancy old university buildings. now he looks right at home in the dingy motel room, so small it feels like his tall, broad frame shouldn’t fit in here, so dim that his sometimes blue or green eyes look sort of muddy. they’re pretty, nonetheless.

you set the first aid kit on the table and pull out a large bandaid and a bit of gauze. you reasses the cut to be sure he doesn’t need any other sort of bandaging and almost sigh in relief when you see how shallow it is. sam doesn’t speak or protest that he’s fine to do it himself as you pull the collar of his t-shirt aside just a bit. you’re sure his mind’s busy with a whole load of questions for you, just like you for him. the brush of your knuckles against his skin suddenly makes his presence feel more real. whatever contact you’d had during the short-lived fight you’d had was completely surreal; you weren’t sure he was really even sam, and if he was, it would feel like a lie anyways, for his hands to be rough or so quick in a fight.

he doesn’t so much as wince when you press alcohol soaked gauze to the cut, and though the wound is small and shallow enough that you’re sure it barely stings, it still feels like a sign of his being a hunter, being used to pain. you don’t like that thought; sweet, sincere, and ever so smart sam being used to pain. as you take care of the cut, he lets his eyes wander around the room, probably taking in how familiar it is, and how weird that it’s your motel room and all of your belongings packed into a single bag and your computer screen displaying hacked into police reports and the very same lore websites he frequents to solve a tricky case.

when you’re done he thanks you with a small smile and you take the seat across from him. as your fingers had brushed over his bare skin and felt a whisper of his strong shoulders, you’d gotten the strong urge to hug him. you missed him even more than you thought. that urge doesn’t leave when you move away from him.

you make a confused face at sam when he reaches for the first aid kit and pulls out another set of bandaids and gauze. he just hands you a gauze now soaked with alcohol and nods at you.

“for your arm,” he explains, because you’ve already forgotten about that as you accept it with a questioning brow.

“right,” you chuckle softly, swiping over the cut with the gauze, then taking and applying the bandaid that sam opened for you. when you’re done you have to drag your eyes up to meet sam’s gaze. there’s tension in the room, and though it’s not bad per se, it’s begging to be addressed and you’re not sure how to even start. it seems like sam’s not sure either.

so, you choose to jump right into the fire.

“it’s so good to see you, sam,” you confess, pushing all your sincerity into your voice, “i mean, this is absolutely insane and i can’t quite wrap my mind around it, but i guess i don’t really care because it’s so good to see you. i worried about you so much after … after jess died, i mean, you just dissappeared and … and i can imagine that has something to do with the fact that you’re a hunter, which is sort of incomprehensible to me, but–,” suddenly you’re hit with a new realization. if sam’s disappearance had to do with the supernatural, you wonder if jess’s death did too. but you don’t want to ask, not right now. “oh, god, and i never got to tell you how sorry i am. i– i mean. i can’t imagine.” there’s where your voice trails off and you look to sam to be the one to say something now.

“thanks,” he answers simply, voice gentle but a little pained, rightfully so. “she was your friend, too. i mean, we were all friends. and i’m sorry i disappeared like that. i, um, well, you’re right. hunting dragged me away. it’s complicated and i’ll explain it to you later. you deserve to know what happened to jess, but– but it’s a lot.” a moment of silence allows that to sink in; so something did happen to her, something more than just faulty electrical wiring in her apartment. sam’s genuine as he goes on, “and it’s great to see you too, really. it’s so strange, i mean all of this, obviously, but it’s even stranger how close we are to stanford. i was already thinking about it, about you all on the way over, and the next thing i know, you’re the suspicious hunter throwing holy water in my face.”

you cringe a little at that, but sam smiles a little wider than he has all night. “that’s a good thing,” he half-laughs, “i don’t care how weird this coincidence is, i’m glad for it.” his hand twitches, almost as if he’d wanted to reach over and grab your hand, but thought better of it before it could happen. “i gotta ask, did you finish your degree?” the way he asks is so hopeful, and you immediately know how much he wants the answer to be yes. he’s thinking, if i couldn’t finish, please tell me at least one of us could. that one of us poor and foolish hunter kids who thought we could escape managed to long enough to finish a degree, prove that we could make something of ourselves in the normal world. it would be so nice to see that, if it couldn’t be me, it could be somebody, it could be you.

his face falls a little when he registers the sad smile on your face. your expression is more than enough of an answer, and the fact that he wanted so badly for you to have made it makes your heart break a little, for both him and you. we deserved better, you think.

“just about the same thing happened to me,” you begin to explain, “you remember my cousin, bex?” sam nods, recalling the way the two of you acted like siblings the few times he met her, how much you liked alike when you smiled, already sad for what he suspects he might hear. “she died a few weeks after jess. she and i both grew up hunting, and we both thought we got out of it, at least for a little while. we almost lasted all four years … i didn’t think there was anything weird with her death, but … my dad showed me proof of just that at her funeral, convinced me to come back to hunting with him. she was– she was hiding something, and, honestly i’m still not sure what happened. progress on her case has been slow. real slow, so we’ve been working on others in the meantime. keeping busy, you know.”

“oh, i know,” sam sighs, and you completely believe him. you wonder for a moment what bigger things he’s digging into before deciding it’s best if the two of you stick to what’s in front of you. if you go too deep, having each other, a new kind of steady presence from better times, might start feeling too unreal again.

you want to preserve this delicate balance, where sam is still stanford sam and you’re still stanford you, but now there’s just a deeper understanding of each other. a knowing of what it’s like to grow up with a hunter for a father, to want to get away from it all, to want a sense of normalcy, and to want to learn and become something more and say “screw you!” to all of the expections. and on top of that, knowing how it feels to get so close to the finish line, only to have it ripped out of your hands like you’re a child who’s parents think they’ve had too much candy. only it’s far worse than a half eaten lollipop in the trash because people that you love died, and it was all so much more than just chasing after a momentary sugar high.

“i’m sorry about bex,” sam says, this time actually reaching out and placing his hand on yours for a moment. his voice is as full of empathy and sincerity as ever. “she was amazing the few times i met her. i could see how close you two were.”

“thanks, sam.” you give him a small smile because those words feel so much better coming from him than just about anyone else. with that, the air seems to settle a little, and it’s far more bearable. you’ve still got a hundred and one questions to ask and a hundred and one more things to say to each other, but to find out you have this near-exact shared experience is like having so much of the weight of loneliness lifted from your chest. and it all feels even better because you know sam. you know him already.

sure, there’s a whole lot you missed before, but you don’t doubt for a second that the sam sitting in front of you is as kind, funny, smart, witty, sincere, adorably awkward, and good as the sam you met and came to know at stanford. in fact, knowing he grew up the way he did just reaffirms his goodness to you. it’s not easy to live like that and continue choosing to be kind and well-meaning and true to yourself. then there’s this feeling of admiration for sam, just blooming in your chest and you hold back a wide grin because the timing’s not quite right. you still can’t shake the urge to hug him.

“well,” you smile casually, if not a little rueful as you say your next words, “i think our dads will go all hunter-dad-crazy on us if we keep playing catch up. i’ll give you a run down of everything i’ve got, then we can do what dropouts from the west coast’s most prestigious school’s do best; research.”

sam’s smile matches your own, and it’s achingly familiar. “well, we can’t have those asses ruin our not-quite-stanford-alumni reuinion. let’s get to work. we can pretend it’s like the good old days, spring freshman year, all of us cramming for the way-er exam at the back of the library and getting shushed by the librarians. we can pretend john and rick are the librarians.”

for the first time in a long time, you let out a loud laugh, surprised and pulled right out of you without warning. he smiles wide at the sound and finally, without restraint, you grin back. god, you missed him.

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d3lly1000 · 28 days ago

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I finally watched Sonic 3!!!!! (IT WAS ONE OF THE BEST EXPERIENCES OF MY LIFE)

I had been holding back so I could talk without worrying about spoilers, but I think I can now comment on my general opinion of the movie.

There will be spoilers, so you have been warned!

I’ll admit that I found the first act a bit rushed. I understand that they had a lot of characters to “reintroduce” and new ones to add (especially Shadow), but I felt a bit lost with what was happening—it was really convenient how the script handled a lot of things just to get to the point.

For example: Shadow attacking in Japan with no real explanation, Rockwell quickly finding Sonic and the others. Even Commander Walters showed up just to explain what happened in the past, only to die unexpectedly right after. Even though he's not a particularly memorable character, I felt like his death didn’t carry the weight it should have, even for Team Sonic who witnessed it.

There was also the fact that a lot of what happened in the first act had already been revealed in the trailers and TV spots, which kind of deflated my excitement, knowing what was going to happen. But as I said, things were happening so fast that I couldn’t process all the information right away! XD

I have to say, I absolutely love the interactions between all the characters. The relationships and how they were developed felt so unique to me. I’ve always had the headcanon that Knuckles, Tails, and Sonic acted like siblings, and in the movies, I got to witness that in a meaningful and very loving way (shoutout to Tails saving Sonic and Knuckles protecting them, my boys <3).

One of my favorite scenes is definitely the argument between Knuckles and Sonic, as it really shows their maturity. It shows how much they are changing with each movie, which is so valuable to me because it demonstrates that the characters are really learning from their experiences. In a franchise, this deepens their moral journey and enriches who they are — it’s truly wonderful.

Speaking of siblings, I can’t not talk about Maria and Shadow. Right from the beginning, I could already feel the heartache hearing Live and Learn in an acoustic version. I think for fans who know how iconic this song is for the franchise, the idea that MARIA COULD HAVE BEEN THE ORIGINAL COMPOSER of it (at least in the SCU) hits so hard.

The narrative of Shadow talking about Maria always moved me, and the film managed to emphasize what she meant to Shadow in such a sweet way. Seeing the scene where Shadow recalls the day of the accident and then carrying the Eclipse Cannon gave me chills.

The parallels between Sonic/Shadow and Tom/Maria were something I was really looking forward to! The franchise often makes these types of comparisons between characters, not just in the games but also in the movies. As I mentioned before, I think this makes everything richer — it gives you a new perspective and helps you understand the complexity of characters by revisiting the "same memory" through a different person. I love when they do that!

ABOUT THE FIGHT SCENES, ALL OF THEM. I was breathless! I have to confess I was cursing A LOT during the third act. It was so epic, something you wouldn’t even think you'd see! Super Form battles were such a great concept for the situation, seeing Sonic get so angry really fed my fan dream of seeing him want to destroy everything XDD. Shadow literally crushed him, both physically and mentally. He REALLY IS THE STAR of this movie. The whole year was his. And he delivered in every possible media!

((I screamed so much when they did the pose, Live and Learn, it was so epic.))

Jim Carrey’s performance is always amazing. I’m still stunned at how naturally Gerald and Eggman felt together. It really seemed like a completely different actor, and that’s insane! I think the only thing I wish we’d seen more of was scenes between Gerald and Maria in the past, but who knows, maybe they’re planning something for a "Shadow solo spin-off."

The light shines, even when the star dies. – I was already emotionally losing it inside, there were just so many things to process.

AND THE POST-CREDITS SCENE HAUSFHSAIFHGVSNUHGUSAHGUSAH

OK OK I’M >TOTALLY< NORMAL ABOUT MY BABIES

Literally my two FAVORITES showed up. METAL WILL BE THE MAIN VILLAIN, I have so many theories and DEFINITELY it will be an adaptation of Heroes and CD. I CAN'T WAIT to see him in action, the whole Artificial vs. Natural thing is something that really resonates with me in the rivalry between him and Sonic.

AND HAUSHFUASFHUASFH AMY MY GIRL!!!

She’s so cool, she appeared in SUCH A UNIQUE way, the cracked moon in the background, revealing herself by taking off the hood... I can’t wait to see her in 2027... I need it so much aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

I definitely loved the movie a lot. I still want to rewatch it in English since I saw it dubbed in my language, but I think I’d give it an 8.5/10 or 9/10! YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS MOVIE!! I’m still shaking remembering the action scene sahufzahghaghs

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic movie 3 #sonic movie #sonic movie spoilers #shadow the hedgehog #sonic 3 spoilers #sonic cinematic universe #sth #long post #my random things #sonic fandom

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desperateknot · 28 days ago

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Swap Ishqueg/LCB Queequeg AU

Lobotomy's E.G.O: Solemn Lament Queequeg uptie story:

The child feels a bit drowsy. Of course, it is a little dangerous to work like this, but she doesn't think she has a choice.

She leans on the glass between herself and the Abnormality, taking a deep breath before starting her final work for this session.

T-01-68: Funeral of the Dead Butterflies.

She heard of this Abnormality to be a particularly choosy one. It took a long time for her to be assigned to manage it. They said her heart was much too fickle to handle the Abnormality without endangering her life.

How considerate of the higher-ups to care about their employees so. After all, she belongs to the Safety Team of this facility. It would be quite embarrassing and ironic if they were to disregard their members' safety, right?

Oh. Who is she kidding?

She has been admiring Funeral of the Dead Butterflies from afar even before the first time she was assigned to manage it. There is just something alluring about it.

Queequeg: Yes. Still listening.

A bell rings out. Only the employee working can truly make out the words, and yet it takes her a very long time to answer.

Queequeg: Of course. No. No flower here.

Queequeg: Pretty red flowers...can't bloom here.

Another ring of the bell. This time, infinitely gentle and infinitely...

Queequeg: Want to see again. Want to go home. Fluttered wings so...but...

The child almost completely succumbs to her drowsiness. Before she knew it, the Qliphoth counter had been lowered to 0.

Butterflies swarm out of the coffin. Tenderly they land on her body; tenderly they flutter their wings.

They will bring her home, at last.

Her hand guns dropped on the floor, within her reach and her field of vision, but she does not find the will to wield it.

If this is how she could finally find rest, then so be it.

Ryōshū: First that G.T.C, now you.

Ryōshū: Lift your face off the ground and fight. If you want to die that bad, I’ll help later.

The butterfly that the child sought had fluttered its wings away and rested a long time ago.

No amount of good work the child does for this facility could bring her back from eternal slumber, but, at the same time, no this self-proclaimed “saviour” couldn’t bring the child to her either.

Queequeg: Apologies…Captain.

Staring at her ever harsh but reliable Captain’s back, she takes the hand guns and laboriously stands back up on her own two legs. She can’t slumber here.

Just imagine how disappointed her beloved butterfly would be.

Lobotomy's E.G.O: Solemn Lament Queequeg voiceline:

Gaccha: Understand too. The pain of eternal parting.

Uptie: Ah. Already fluttered away.

Reasoning:

Her subtitle (also Ishmael's) is hearse. Also the cocoon and rebirth symbolism present all around Canto V.

Funeral of the Dead Butterflies proclaimed itself to be a saviour who has come to save the L Corp. employees. But the employees are bound to the company until death. So.

I think you can see the parallels.

#limbus company #project moon #lcb queequeg #art #queequeg #swap au

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dearmyloveleys · 5 months ago

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going on a ramble here but do you all ever wonder that if there’s a sequel to mdzs the fact that sizhui is the last wen is a super good plot kickstarter waiting to happen? knowing that the jianghu is a facetious bunch of fucks, someone will be bound to dig up shit. There’s gonna be so much angst and parallels between the OG cast and the junior group.

Consider:

sizhui going on a main character journey arc, suddenly being the target of jianghu hate and manhunt. he has put his past as a wen behind, but jianghu finds out that WN is not only accompanying him on hunts, but also his uncle. does the past really die when you say it has? it'll be so heartbreaking when he loses that pureheartedness that we love about him

wangxian, especially WWX, will be by his side, making sure to guide and love him bc there was nobody there for him when that happened to him. they are also under fire again for raising sizhui in secret

the junior group wanting to help sizhui, but suddenly facing the pressures of politics from their respective sects/clans, just like how the original cast did

jinling needing to shed away the blackened image of the jin clan from his grandfather to his uncle, but it is difficult bc he’s also now the jin sect leader. (parallels between him and JC taking over as sect leader at a young age!! probably in this AU, JC learns from his younger days and guides jinling)

jingyi (in my hc) is the now the Lan head disciple along with sizhui and finds even moreso than before that Lan morals aren’t always right, like LWJ before him. he will defend sizhui, also like LWJ before him

zizhen is the face of the smaller sects/clans, suddenly thrust into the jianghu spotlight and expected to represent their grudges against sizhui

the OG cast feels so terrible about it because the generational curse and trauma just doesn’t stop even if they want it to. humans are humans and pieces of shit. they couldn’t stop it for themselves and now their children, wards and nephews are still on the receiving end of it

bright side is, the OG cast, now more grown into their skills and themselves, will stop at nothing to shape and save the younger generation into a kinder generation

still, the juniors will ultimately have to craft the kind of future they want to have and face down the realities of the jianghu

I think it’s going to be a very full circle, full of parallels and angsty story if this sequel happens. It has to be an ultimate discussion of blood family vs found family and an even deeper dive into generational trauma.

#mdzs #wwx #lwj #mdzs wwx #mdzs lwj #jin ling #wangxian #lwj x wwx #lan sizhui #lan jingyi #ouyang zizhen #jiang cheng #jiang wanyin #wei wuxian #lan wangji #cql #the untamed #i am sleep deprived

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lucygxybaird · 2 months ago

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12 Days of Christmas - Day Five

tw: pregnancy

When you woke up this morning, you did not expect to find an empty, open suitcase on the bed beside you, right where your husband usually sleeps, with a note laying right in the middle of the silk lining — pack your essentials and enough clothes for five days. Then meet me in the dining room. - Coryo.

After you packed, and your suitcase was taken at the foot of the stairs by a servant, you found your husband just where the note said he’d be. You were also met with an impressive breakfast spread complete with your favorites, including a handmade strawberry preserve that is absolutely heavenly on French toast. Coryo got to his feet when he sees you, drawing your chair out for you and dropping a kiss on the crown of your hair once you sat down.

“Eat up, darling,” he said. “We’ll be going for a drive today.”

This was something else you didn’t expect when you woke up this morning. You’re very aware of how busy your husband is, not only because he shares everything with you but because you have plenty of your own duties that run parallel with his. Just yesterday, you visited an animal shelter to promote adorable, fluffy pets up for adoption. You’d come home covered in dog hair, with cat whiskers clinging to your hair from the myriad of times you’d kissed their sweet little kitten faces.

“A drive?” you asked, spreading some of that strawberry preserve on a piece of French toast. “Where are we going?”

When you looked up, your husband only smiled at you, a mysterious grin which told you without any words that he wasn’t going to say. You ducked your head over your breakfast, trying to keep from giggling like a little schoolgirl. Coryo often surprises you with little gifts — glittering pieces of jewelry, a silk scarf for your hair, pairs of shoes, anything that he thinks you might like or could bring a smile to your face.

But he’s never done anything like this before.

And so maybe, really, you should have expected to find yourself where you are right now, since this has been so unusual anyway. But you can’t get over the shock of it, although you can’t say it’s a remotely unpleasant sensation. In fact, you have such a bubbly feeling of excitement in your chest that you can’t keep still, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sweater, feet tapping restlessly on the floor of the car.

To your left, you hear Coryo chuckle. “We’re almost there, darling,” he says. “You’ll be able to take it off soon.”

The surprises kept coming fast and thick as you left the house, piling up like snow falling on Christmas Eve, promising a glittering white Christmas. Although a member of your staff had put the bags in the car, before you could climb in the back, Coryo had taken your arm.

“It’s just going to be the two of us,” he murmured in your ear. “I’ll drive. I’d like you to sit up front with me.”

You stared at him for a moment. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gotten into the passenger seat of a car, and you’d never never seen Coryo get in the driver’s seat. Actually, you didn’t even know he could drive.

��Of course,” you said, and you were rewarded with another smile.

Almost as soon as you’d driven out of the Capitol, Coryo pulled over, reaching down to rummage in the glove compartment. “Do you trust me?” he said, and you hadn’t hesitated.

“You know I do.”

And this is how you ended up with a cashmere scarf wrapped around your eyes, preventing you from getting even a hint of where you’re going. The windows of the car are rolled up, so you don’t even have the opportunity to catch so much as a whiff that might help you guess — the salty tang of sea air, maybe? The deep scent of pine? All you can hear is the soft sound of the radio and the whir of tires on the road.

Then —

A definite crunching sound, as if you’re driving over gravel. You think you hear the crunching of twigs. Finally, the car comes to a stop, and you feel Coryo’s hand tugging at your blindfold. “Here we are!” he says, pulling the scarf away with a flourish.

You audibly gasp, both hands flying up to cover your mouth. It’s like you’ve driven into a Christmas card. The lawn in front of you is a smooth blanket of white, with Douglas firs dotted around, towering over everything except the pewter sky itself, their branches frosted with snow. Set like a jewel in a bed of ivory velvet is the most darling house you’ve ever scene, the facade dominated by a flagstone porch and a huge picture window.

In the middle of the window, glittering and sparkling with ornaments and lights, is a Christmas tree so tall that it can’t be framed by the panes of glass. You can just spot gifts piled around the base of the tree, and you wonder just when Coryo had them sent out here.

Before you can ask, Coryo clears his throat. “Well?” he says, and you realize, with a small start that is part-surprise, part-affection, that he’s nervous. “What do you think?”

You fling yourself into his lap, which is a rather impressive feat considering you’re still in the confines of the car. “Of course I do,” you say. “It’s really just the two of us? For five days?”

“Five days,” he confirms, beaming and kissing the top of your head. “Just the two of us, I promise.”

He helps you out of the car and insists on carrying in your luggage and his own. “I don’t want you to lift a finger during this holiday.”

When you let yourselves inside, you find yourself gasping all over again. The interior is even more beautiful than the outside. Oaken floors are softened by throw rugs so plush that your bare feet sink into them the moment you kick off your shoes. A large L-shaped couch is pointed toward a large brick fireplace, above which hangs a television so large and flat it acts as a mirror for the whole room when it’s off. Cushions are arranged in front of the hearth.

To your right, you spot a spacious kitchen through the open doorway, and you spot a gleaming coffee maker that looks like something out of a sci-fi novel, with all its bells and whistles. You catch Coryo’s eye and he grins. “I’ll take care of that, too,” he promises.

He grabs the fleece-lined flannel blanket that’s artfully folded over the back of the couch, draping it around your shoulders like it’s a queen’s ermine cape. You giggle as he uses the hem of the blanket to tug you closer, leaning down to place a kiss on your lips.

“Why don’t you run yourself a hot bath?” he says. “I’ll make us some dinner.”

You find your way to the bathroom, which has a huge tub sunk into the floor, with gold-plated taps and a phalanx of soaps carved to look like — you squint and lean closer — little birds. Turning the hot water tap, you shrug out of your clothes, humming softly to yourself. Oh, the weather outside is frightful…

Five whole days with your husband. Just the two of you! As you watch the tub fill up, you try to consider if that’s ever happened before. You’re fairly certain the answer is no. Even over previous holidays, you had stayed in the presidential mansion, and your days had been taken up with various parties and other engagements.

You sink into the bath, sighing softly in pleasure as the hot water rushes over your skin, soothing your muscles until they’re as pliant as silk.

Five whole days…

Your eyes drift shut, as you idly draw patterns on the surface of the water with your fingertips. A soft sigh of contentment warms your chest.

Five whole—

You sit up so abruptly that water sloshes over the sides of the tub. Five days. You’d checked your calendar over a week ago, trying to ascertain when your time of the month would come around again, and you’d realized it was late. You had tried not to get your hopes up, but now…

It’s been two weeks, if not longer.

Sinking back into the bath, you nibble on your lip. How can you be sure, when it’s just the two of you up here? You don’t want to say anything to Coryo unless you’re sure. You’ve been trying for a baby for a long time, and to be able to tell him you’re pregnant on Christmas would be so wonderful that it would border on magical.

After contemplating for a while, you rise from the bath and find a robe folded in a cabinet tucked into one corner of the bathroom. You’re fairly sure you have a good plan, but timing will play an important role. Taking a deep breath, you pad into the kitchen, where Coryo is still in front of the stove, stirring something in a skillet that smells divine.

“Do you think we could send out for supplies?” you say, slipping your arms around his waist as you stand behind him, hovering on your tiptoes to hook your chin over his shoulder. “I was in such a rush to pack this morning that I forgot to bring mouthwash.”

He chuckles, turning his head to kiss your temple. “I’m sure I did, too,” he admits. “I was too excited. And we can’t do without minty-fresh breath — I’m far too attached to the idea of kissing you as many times as I possibly can on this trip.”

“I’ll call,” you say. “Do you need anything else?”

You end up making a small list, including — crucially, of course — mini marshmallows for hot chocolate, and you place a call to your housekeeper. When you’re sure Coryo is down the hall, changing for dinner, you whisper an additional request.

As you eat — a delightful fettuccine dish, one of your favorites, paired with garlic bread and a salad — you keep your ears perked up for the sound of a car approaching. It’s very important that you get to the delivery first. Finally, as you’re bringing all the dishes into the kitchen, you hear the sound of a car door slamming. You nearly jump out of your skin, glad that Coryo is busy filling the sink with soapy water.

“You keep attending to those, I’ll get it,” you tell him, and you fight the urge to run as you hurry down the hall.

You stash a certain rectangular box in the pocket of your robe, before you carry everything else into the kitchen. “So,” you say, nudging the bag of mini marshmallows with your finger, “now that we have these…”

Coryo chuckles, wiping his hands on a dishtowel before he cradles your face in his palms. “I did stock the fridge with champagne, but this is more seasonally appropriate, isn’t it?”

You giggle and nod. “We can have champagne on Christmas Eve,” you suggest.

He kisses your forehead, stamping his smile against your skin. “That’s a wonderful idea,” he says. “You can make us some hot cocoa while I start a fire. How does that sound?”

You smile, wrapping your fingers around his wrist to keep his hands in place. “That sounds lovely.”

You heat up milk, humming softly to yourself again. It’s hard not to think about the box in the pocket of your robe, but it feels as though it weighs a thousand pounds. A part of you wants to stash it in the bathroom, just so you can put it away — literally and metaphorically — for a little while. You decide not to, though, as you stir in the cocoa powder. What if Coryo finds it?

After adding generous handfuls of mini marshmallows, you carry two mugs full of hot chocolate into the living room. Your husband has arranged some of the cushions into a little nest in front of the fire, which already roaring merrily.

“For you,” you say, holding out a mug.

Coryo smiles and takes it, setting it on the hearth, before taking yours and drawing you onto the nest of cushions by your hand in his. He pulls you into his lap, and you happily nestle against his chest. “Thank you,” you murmur, lifting your head to press a kiss to his jaw. “This is so lovely.”

With your ear against his chest, you can feel the rumble of his voice as he speaks, a contrast to the velvet wrapped around the words themselves. “I’m glad,” he says softly, brushing his lips against your hair. “We’re so busy every other day of the year, but at Christmas, I just wanted to be with you. I — what’s this?”

Your heart feels warm and full, and it takes you a moment to understand what he’s asking. You realize he can feel the box tucked into the pocket of your robe.

“Oh, I…I also asked for aspirin,” you say. “I didn’t find any in the medicine cabinet, and I wanted to make sure we had some in case either one of us comes down with a headache.”

“Hmm.”

You peek up at him, and you know instantly that he doesn’t believe you. Nibbling on your lip, you decide for an iota of the truth.

“It’s a surprise,” you say. “I don’t want to spoil anything.”

It’s close enough to what you’re really thinking that it comes across as genuine, and Coryo relaxes. He kisses your forehead. “Alright,” he says. “I won’t pry.”

You smile. “Thank you.”

Even though the cat might have a whisker out of the bag, you still force yourself to wait until later. After the hot chocolate has been finished — the mugs washed — teeth brushed and pajamas put on — you lay in bed next to your husband, listening for the moment his breathing evens out into sleep.

And then you wait a few moments more, less because you’re uncertain if he’s drifted off and more because you’re suddenly but absolutely terrified.

What if you’re wrong? What if you end up disappointed again?

Finally, you drag yourself out of bed, and you dig the little box out of the pocket of your robe. You let yourself into the bathroom and shut the door, opening the box and tilting it so that the plastic test falls into your palm.

You take the test and lay a piece of toilet paper on the counter, putting the test on top of it. You stand up and take care of business, washing your hands without looking at the little test sitting on the counter. Then you perch on the edge of the tub, waiting for the three minutes written in the directions.

When at last the time is up, you take a deep breath, steeling yourself before you get up and walk over to the bathroom counter. Please, please, pl—

You see a second line. It’s not faint, either, but as striking as an exclamation point.

Positive!

Pregnant!

You can’t help it — without considering how thin the walls might be, you burst into tears.

You’re sobbing, mostly from joy, but it’s tinged with other things, like ink swirling through water. Lingering disappointment and hurt that has never left you after being let down by your own body so many times before. Trepidation that something might go wrong. You’re crying so hard that you don’t hear the sounds of your husband stirring in the bedroom, of his rapid footsteps.

You only stop when the door is flung open.

“Darling?” Coryo looks confused, sleepy and concerned, all at once. Despite yourself, you hiccup out a small laugh, which only softens his expression a little. “What’s wrong?”

You really were hoping — a secondary concern, of course, considering you needed to confirm your condition first — to tell him in a more…well, cute way. Maybe you could even have scrounged up some wrapping paper from somewhere around the house and wrapped up the box for him.

“I’m sorry,” you say, sniffling and giggling at the same time, which really makes a rather ridiculous sound. “I just…I…”

You reach for the pregnancy test and hold it out to him, your hand trembling so badly that you almost drop it. Coryo stares for a moment before taking it. He swallows, looking between your face and the test, your face and the test, and then he meets your eyes.

“Are you sure?”

You sniffle again. “This is the only test I’ve taken, but it…it looks pretty definitive, don’t you think?”

Coryo’s eyes are almost as shiny and over-bright as yours, and his smile trembles at the corners. “I do,” he says.

He puts the test on the counter and pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest, cradling the back of your head as if he’s afraid you could break from rough handling.

“My love,” he whispers. “Oh, my love. My darling.”

You cling to him, barely suppressing the urge to start sobbing again. A weak little laugh bubbles out of your mouth as something occurs to you. “So much for that champagne on Christmas Eve, hmm?”

Coryo chuckles, the sound just a little waterlogged, but full of adoration nonetheless. “Next year,” he says. “We’ll have even more to raise a glass for then.”

Looking up at him, you smile. “Are we making this a tradition, then?”

He slips a hand between your bodies, resting his broad palm against your stomach. “Oh, yes,” he says. “Panem will just have to deal with the president disappearing for a week every year.”

You lean up to kiss him, and he wraps his arms around your waist, taking your weight as if he doesn’t even want you to put too much pressure on your toes.

“I think the three of us will love it here,” you say, and he smiles at you again.

“Three of us next year,” he murmurs. “And then four…and five…”

You laugh. “Let’s just get to three,” you tease.

Coryo smooths one hand up and down your back, his eyes still gleaming.

“You’re right. I think,” he says. “The three of us will love it here.”

#coryo x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coryo x you #tbosas #tom blyth #12 days of christmas #12doc day five #this is awful but i didn't want it to be any later lol

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nandermoenthusiast · 2 months ago

Text

The coffin lands with a crash, Nandor already out of it gracefully as his vampiric nature grants him.

“Have you survived the fall Guillermo, are you allright?” he asks haughtily and with a barely concealed predatory grin at the yelping heap of limbs and clothes that is Guillermo right now. Of course he was never truly worried for his well being, Guillermo might be human, but he is no regular human, if his van Helsing blood has anything to say about that. Nandor just likes to tease.

“Yes master, im fine, i just wasnt prepa-“

Nandor offers him a hand out of the coffin, the way Guillermo has done so many times before for him. Nandor looks at him curiously, Guillermo looks all flustered right now, hes cute. Hes always cute of course, but damn. He hasn’t even realised the obvious parallel yet, just took his hand absent-mindedly as he was rambling about something. His hair is all mussed up too. Cute.

Probably the moment registers into Guillermo’s mind as Nandor hears his muttering protests suddenly cut short. He’s looking at their gingerly intertwined hands and kinda looks like hes about to swallow a frog, or maybe like he’s about to start crying again. This fucking guy. Always a theatrics with him. But Nandor has learned to lean into his little guy’s moods. He leaves him to his maybe horny maybe emotional thoughts and finishes helping him out of the coffin.

The air is thick between them now. He can sort of hear Guillermo’s heartbeat from this distance, the little guy probably has a concert thumping in his ears right now. Nandor enjoys playing with his food, always has, and today is no different. He takes a step closer. Guillermo takes an infinitesimal step back. There is a wall very close to his back. Right where Nandor wanted him.

“You know as i was saying about the cameras, Guillermo…” he starts feign-casual as he very not casually hovers over him, black eyes boring into him with the fire that only very rarely comes out in front of the crew. Guillermo looks like he’s a mixture between disbelieving and like he’s gonna pass out from hyperventilation at a moments notice. It’s an endearing mix.

“Y-yes, you -were saying something about your hair…” Guillermo couldn’t physically look away from Nandor if his life depended on it right now.

“And other reasons”, very seriously.

“- Yeah”, an exhale.

Just look at his eager little eyes. Should he put the guy out of his misery? Well come to think of it, should he put himself out of his own misery? He’s been in love with the guy for the better part of a decade now. Of course he’s not about to say that now. Let him play the part of suave vampire for his Guillermo, let him fullfill any fantasy he’s ever had, at the very least this very first time they do this dance. There will be time for the mushy stuff later. Come to think of it, what is Nandor doing?? Acting on years of pent up sexual and romantic tension, of course, but what is he setting himself up to? Heartbreak.

Violent, earth shattering heartbreak. Maybe not today, maybe not in 10 years, but soon. Soon to a vampire anyway. No- you don’t know that. If Guillermo loves me, he might find a way to not leave me like he always does. He always does leave. But then he also always comes back. Doesn’t he? Nandor loses himself in these thoughts for a moment, and Guillermo seems to notice his mind is suddenly somewhere else.

Oh, to be known so completely. Oh, to have a worthy partner, a partner who knows everything about you, a Lazlo to your Nadja, a Charmaine to your Sean, a Sire to your Baron. And to have to lose it in a matter of years. Just his luck. But also like Colin Robinson said, dont be sad cause its over, smile cause it happened.

Nandor’s eyes keep searching Guillermo’s as he draws closer and closer, eyes intensely registering every microexpression on his beloved’s face, the little crinkle between his brows and the small nervous smile that’s forming around his lips. His hands land seamlessly and delicately on either side of Guillermo’s face, and he feels his breath hitch. He really doesn’t give a flying fuck if he’s gonna suffer for a thousand years, Guillermo is here right now and he looks like he’s gonna break under his touch. One hand goes to cradle his head, thumb delicately swiping over Guillermo’s ear and pulse point, as Nandor brings their noses together and they breathe the same air for a moment. The other hand is held gently across his cheek, just there, a reassuring weight. “I’m going to kiss you now”.

And Nandor kisses him.

#ive never written as much as a paragraph all my life. english aint even my first language #and wwdits out here making me write fanfic bc of their damn open endings FUCK and im sorry if this reads horribly #i was just /imagining/#i write from nandors pov bc i am him and also bc hes way too much fun #wwdits #what we do in the shadows #nandermo #fanfic #i guess???#does this qualify as fix it fic? lmao #nandermo fanfic #nandermo fic #wwdits spoilers #wwdits finale #*#mine*#some messy liveblog tag #again sorry about my shitty writing lmao but this has everything i love about them #of course i couldnt get much further from my initial idea; but once nandor kisses guillermo- he starts rambling about how much he loves him #of course. he could never kiss guillermo and not tell him hes got his heart and his soul lmao #after that - and after a good amount of kissing - guillermo is emboldened and gets all dommy and nandor fucking cries with glee #his dream come true dom guillermo is ordering him around and he wants to suck that dick so damn bad #he also sucks his neck a lot. maybe he will get ideas about nandor turning him into a vampire again #as they fuck there is also a bit of blood play of course. a bit of biting a bit of sucking blood its whatever #they may fuck that very evening or maybe another time- who knows #anyway. im sorry

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boyfhee · 1 year ago

Text

MARRIED UNDER TWENTY-FIVE / sjy

SYNOPSIS : a look into yours and jake’s life as you meet, fall in love, get married, and lose each other— all under twenty-five. ( 5.3k )

or, eight months after your death, jake finds the courage to open your letter.

GENRE : heavy angst, bittersweet

WARNINGS : death, grief and grieving, heavy drinking, smoking, implications of substance abuse, one mention of intrusive thoughts, my attempt at cinematic parallels but in writing so i hope it's not confusing, switches between past and present. byf : written in italics are the contents of the letter

NOTE : was in the zone while writing this like the way i teared up?? boyfhee angst returns happy reading, everyone. ALSO big thanks to @flwrshee ri my bae for beta-reading this and reminding me to work on this from time to time lmfao. ib : richard feynman's letter to his dead wife (need someone who loves me the way he loves her)

buried in jake’s drawer is the letter he found four months ago. actually, it has been sitting there for over a year, under the pile of other papers and envelopes, tucked in the lowest drawer of the shelf, one that is rarely ever opened. you had put it there for him to find it— hoped that he would find it because you couldn’t bring yourself to give it to him yourself. jake had stumbled across it four months after you left him forever. four months after walking and stumbling, after four months of staring blankly at his ceiling, the letter is the closest he can get to you.

he keeps it with him, in his bag, sometimes tucked in his coat during winters, as a bookmark for the books he reads that take him to back you, even if you only exist as a figment of his imagination. he keeps it on the bed-side table before he goes to sleep, it’s there in front of him on evenings he drinks for hours on empty. the letter stays unopened— he couldn’t bring himself to open it. his fingers brush against the pale paper and it feels like a sword to his heart. opening that letter feels like tearing you apart, and four months is what it takes jake to sit by the kitchen counter with the letter once again; with pain in his eyes and a scissors by the side.

eight months after you’re gone, jake finds the strength to read it.

‘i think the first time i fell for you wasn’t at the bookstore,’

your handwriting feels like a warm hug after a long day. his fingers tighten around the loose sheet of paper, a faint crease forming along the edges. a single tear rolls down his cheeks.

‘it was that day at the bus stop. it was raining, i was running towards the bus stop, covering my head with my bag. fortunately enough, the bus arrived a minute after, and you happily lent me your jacket before getting off at your stop,’

and jake remembers it clearly. grey skies and merciless rain, he was already late for his evening classes and the weather didn’t seem to help. he already missed a bus before making it to the bus stop near his apartment and managing to catch another, his umbrella decided to malfunction in the worst way on seemingly the worst day. his perfectly styled hair was ruined thanks to running in rain, across and under the sheds he could find. jake was so sure, it was the worst day in the nineteen years of his life, until the bus arrived at the stop, and his eyes handed on you as you stood at the bus stand, annoyed at the weather.

jake could hear one of his friends calling his name from a distance as soon as he gets down from the bus, but all he did was look at you and offer you his jacket— the most far-from-normal and astonishing thing he had ever done— before you aboard the bus, shooting him a soft smile from the windows as it drove away.

‘i still don’t know why you did that,’

reading further, jake realises that he doesn’t know why he did that either. the two of you weren’t even heading in the same direction. he was rushing to the university campus while you wanted to catch the bus to your way home. the chances that he would get his jacket back were low, almost zero. there are days when he sits by the window and thinks about all the stuff you did together, about everything he did that led him to you. the jacket, perhaps it was supposed to end up with you, maybe it was the only way nineteen year old jake could’ve talked to you and get one step closer to your world after admiring you from the sidelines for months.

‘the bookstore, i think it’s a place where i realised that i’m in love with you. a place where i made all my decisions about you, where i shared my firsts and lasts with you— as promised. if you’re wondering why i’m writing a letter in this date and era,’

his eyes are a little blurry, there’s a picture of you in the said book store in his mind. it’s like a nineties short film— a grainy image, slightly blurred, the voices are muffled, but jake feels every emotion down to the very core of his heart.

on some days, he ends up in front of the same bookstore. there are evenings he sets out on a journey with no destination, wherever the roads take him. his eyes are up towards the sky, usually towards the venus shining like a gemstone, he likes to think it’s you, that you ended up being the favourite star in the sky. on evenings like those, jake sits outside the very bookstore his and your story originates from and lets his mind play the picture, tracing over the image of you in his mind. sometimes, he goes inside and sits at the same place you both used to sit, he’d pick the same books you used to read, occasionally coming across tiny doodles you left on some pages even though it violated the rules.

‘it’s because i’m afraid i haven’t loved you enough,’

the words hit him like a train travelling at hundreds of kilometres per hour. jake pauses, putting aside his glass of alcohol, letting the words and tears you spilled on the paper diffuse through the tips of his fingers, wanting them to flow like they’re the blood in his veins. he reads it all over again, a single tear rolls down his cheek, a lifeless sigh escapes his mouth.

‘because you were there on nights i stayed in the library to study for exams. you were there, at my door, whenever i needed you to drive me to classes. you were there outside my class, waiting for me, during lunch when i needed someone to hear my complaints, at the bus stop on days it got late because you didn’t like the idea of me going home all alone at night,’

because you were there on noons that jake had trouble remembering reactions of carboxylic acids and amines. you were there to bring him snacks or lunch whenever he got a little too immersed in concepts of quantum mechanics to even remember about his meals. you were there when he called you to complain about his professor, who kept adding his name to every single project, all because jake was an excellent student. when you stayed with him throughout the evening and beyond at the campus, accompanying you to your apartment late at night was the least he could do to thank you.

‘you were there on the night it was raining and the power went out. i still remember how you looked— drenched and worried with your phone’s flashlight turned on, standing at my doorstep. you said that the crime rates were high and that it’s better for me to stay at your place that night. you were there for me day, noon and night, and all i’m doing in the end is saying goodbye.’

it was his first instinct— maybe even beyond first, if it exists, because the power went out in your whole neighbourhood, and jake was already calling you while running down the streets, towards your apartment, with nothing but his flashlight to guide him through the complete blackout that night. when you asked him why he was at your place, he spent ten minutes looking for an appropriate reason. perhaps, it was because he wanted to see you, or because he was worried to death, maybe acts of service are how you both look after each other— doing favours and being the helping hand. jake didn’t know, he still doesn’t know, as he sits by his kitchen counter, letting the small sips of alcohol intoxicate his systems gradually, killing him slowly, in a way that hurts so right. asking you to spend the night at his place was the toughest and the bravest decision jake had made in his entire life.

‘agreeing to do that summer festival dance with you is still the best decision i’ve ever made, my proudest moment, and letting you step into my life was the second best. nothing compares to when you joined the music club and changed my life forever.’

the summer festival dance— jake remembers it, the memory is as clear as a crystal in his head, ingrained in his mind, every single second playing at the back of his mind even when he’s half wasted, as if he’s reliving the moment. no one had enough time to dedicate themselves to a mere summer festival dance, but jake saw you looking at the flyers on the notice board just three minutes after he had told jay that dancing was not his thing, and he knew he needed to get that dance with you.

getting partnered up with you was a pure coincidence, but everything that led to it wasn’t. the deliberate bumping in the hallways and the extra cups of coffee that jake bought every morning for a friend that never seemed to attend classes, everything led to him and you standing in the practice room in front of him, helping him come up with dance steps for audition, which finally led to his selection on the team.

jake attempts to gulp down all the contents of his glass before realising that it’s empty. another sigh falls off his lips as he reaches out for the bottle kept across the counter, pouring him yet another glass for the evening, another day spent drinking while drowning in the thoughts of you, another line of intoxication, another stray tear rolling down his face, another memory creeps inside his brain— this first dance rehearsal.

he could’ve sworn, his heart stopped beating for good ten seconds when the instructor told him that he needed to lift you up for a dynamic step during the intro. it was simple— you in front of him, his hands on your waist, he would lift you up— but the hands on the waist, his hands on your waist, jake felt like he was about to pass out. the second time his heart skipped a beat was when you grabbed his hands and put it on your waist because he was hesitating beyond belief, and that was the beginning of everything.

and the hand stayed there for as long as jake could remember. his hand resided on your waist whether you both were crossing the road, or sitting on a park bench while you showed him pictures of layla you look the evening before, or while taking mirror selfies, or in all those moments that he spent slow dancing across the living room with you. it was as if your waist had been the home his hands were searching for and now that you’re gone, they feel empty. in the silence suffocating him, sitting on a chair with his head hung low, the floor looks so pretty. there's a faint reflection of him on the tiles, then his eyes land on his hands.

maybe it's the timing that has been making him feel this way. perhaps, it's the location, the empty rooms with threatening silence and the empty streets, the empty hallway, the empty hours, the lack of something and abundance of everything— it's making him go insane. it’s the empty pockets of the seconds that pass by, an undisturbed wave of silence that is disturbed everytime he sighs or gets his glass on the granite kitchen countertop, pouring himself another glass of cancer.

he sniffs, it could be from cold or tears. jake can’t point to the reasons anymore. his gaze settles on your letter that lies on his lap, a few of his tears soak through the paper. he puts his glass aside once to pick up the letter and pads on your words with his fingertips, not wanting them to get smudged by his tears. occasionally, he tries to convince himself that this is a dream. that you're here, somewhere, perhaps at work or at the nursery, maybe out shopping with a friend or at your parent's house because you've been missing them lately. jake imagines himself waiting for you at the station or the bus stand or the airport, smiling like a fool because he hasn't seen you in days and finally he can have you close to him, his lips on yours, your hand in his,

but now, his hands feel emptier.

there's a yearning for something he doesn’t know. his apartment feels emptier, the stillness amongst your stuff that lies around even after eight months of your death is paralysing. his arms stretch across the bed at night in hopes of feeling something, anything. he takes another sip from his glass, eyes focusing on your letter once again as he reads further.

‘you can call me crazy but every second with you felt like living in a whole new world. i started noticing things i didn’t before— seriously, who even smiles while watching wind ruffle through clothes hung up for drying? it was as though i was living a monochromatic life, the same routine, same pattern; then it was you, and everything around me became so beautiful. suddenly, i stopped caring about assignments because i needed to talk to you all night. i didn’t care what i was getting into by skipping prof. hong’s lectures because we got to hang out together. i was knee deep in troubles but god, i was so happy because i had you standing in front of me, and i knew you’d pull me out. i know you’d be on the ninth cloud while reading this, probably even call me stupid but i don’t mind because it’s true; i am madly, stupidly, crazily, insanely in love with you,’

jake remembers the day he came to your apartment for the very first time.

you two weren’t dating, but the line in between had started to blur, fading into something none of you could see but both of you enjoyed. amidst alcohol and the faint odour of cigarettes that encapsulates him, being all the reasons behind his stumbling steps and hazy mind, jake could still see you clearly in the back of his mind— the way you glowed under the mid-morning sun, the warm breeze sweeping away stray strands of your hair out of your face, and your arms raised up above your head to hang the clothes up for drying. he could make out your smile through the silence between you two. no words were shared, but the fluttering glances and quiet smiles said more than any words could ever convey.

and then jake realised— it wasn’t just you feeling this way.

the presence of something intricately new in your daily routine, although too minute to point out with your fingers, lingered throughout his days and nights after meeting you. suddenly, the boring computer science lessons didn’t seem bad, for you would visit him after the classes. jake, who used to arrive in class exactly on time, started arriving minutes and hours early just to see you, maybe, even strike a conversation. you had mentioned to him your favourite thing about him— the way his hands hesitatingly slide inside his pockets whenever one of your friends mistook him as your boyfriend. it was the way he smiles, the subtle rosy tint on his cheeks, the shy gaze travelling everywhere but to your face because he was too embarrassed to look at you. being mistaken as each other’s lovers was a mistake none of you clarified, and it was only a matter of time before it came true.

when his eyes settled on your panting for hair in a secluded corner of the hallway after running out of professor hong’s classes while he was just about to notice you two was the moment jake fell in love with you.

and jake falls first, he falls hard.

because there were two tickets to the movie in his pockets with words of asking you out on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to be spoken, and he was too busy being enamoured by your laughter as you leaned against the wall, catching your breath. your laugh is the music to his ears, watching you is better than any movie ever directed, and the feeling of his lips on you just a minute later in the same corner of the hallway is still the best feeling he has ever felt in his entire life. you were like a painter and his life— a canvas; and it was only after you he started seeing colours.

jake could get any girl he wanted but it was only after you, he realised who he needed in his life.

‘remember the day you proposed to me? i cried all night.’

and jake lets out a dry chuckle as he reads through those words, gripping his glass a little tighter, feeling the carved patterns through the tip of his fingers. his eyes travel to the ring adored on his finger. it’s one thing keeping him close to wherever you are, and his eyes occasionally travel to the pen lying stray across the counter after he wrote something he, himself, doesn’t member. his fingers brush over the words you’ve written, letters that insinuate of you as he weep with love— jake wants to write back to you but he couldn’t, for he doesn’t know your new address.

‘it felt like a fever dream, the thought of marrying you. we met at nineteen, we fell in love at twenty, we got married at twenty-two— all under twenty-five, it was scary. it was like a thrill ride, like a rollercoaster, i had my parents tell me to wait things out. there were people who told me things, words about how i should be sure of who i’m marrying, certain if that person is right for me. it was the world against you and me, and i hate to admit that i understood their stance, but they never knew you like i do. they knew the jake who i fell in love with deeply enough to marry within four years. in their story, it was you and me and our young and immature love, and that’s it.’

it’s ironic because jake didn’t sleep all night after you said yes to his proposal. getting married at twenty-two was an adventure, you being the general instigator all, and he would just follow. waiting things out wasn’t even an option when it came to you, he knew what he wanted. you cried even while buying your engagement rings, on the wedding dress trial, the day before the wedding, and jake was there, every single time, holding you close, smiling against your lips as his kisses soothed you down. his heart was overflowing with love, with happiness he couldn’t contain.

being engaged was an eccentric feeling overall.

you weren’t his girlfriend, nor his wife. fiancée would be a better term, but jake called it a phase of transition. the knot was yet to be tied, people tried convincing you two out of it left and right. uncertainty spun in the air instead of saccharine smiles that usually cloud the days during weddings. it was the world against him and you— him, you, and your young immature love, a pair of rings exchanged, a promise made, a promise to stay.

and jake chuckles again, half annoyed, perhaps at fate, perhaps at himself. you promised to stay. another sip of alcohol goes down his throat, it tastes bitter than it used to. your picture in his head gets clearer as his vision starts to lose focus, your laughter echoes through the cracks in his heart. it reflects through every corner of his body, it stays inside with a yearning that makes him ache for you. your memory is now a child that he tries to lose in a grocery store, but also a place he comes to at the end of the day because nothing quite feels like home anymore.

‘do you remember that conversation we had about secret codes? one that went on about how even inanimate objects could have ways to communicate? that is how i feel about you. it’s untranslatable, i cannot put it in words for others to understand. it’s a language that only me and my heart know.’

it all started on your very first marriage anniversary— heavy rains, skies painted grey, thunders seemed to exhibit their own orchestral opening. inside, the place was warm, his arms. sitting on the couch as you two sipped on hot chocolate, wrapped in blanket and soft giggles and laughter that emerged everytime one of you tried and stole a kiss. jake constantly apologised for not being able to do much for you and you would so exquisitely whisper to him how nothing matters as long as you have him while tracing your lips all over his face. he doesn’t remember when the conversation went from talking about how your kids would look to discussing whether the paintings hung up on the walls on your living room speak as well. no conclusion was drawn and the whole conversation was discarded as just another silly discussion, although jake knew what to make out of it.

the way you laughed when he tickled your sides, or the giggle that danced off your lips when his lips brushed against the tips of your fingers, the rhythm your heart beat when he placed his head on your chest, holding you ever so close, the conversations you two had by just looking into each other’s eyes. jake still can’t put it in words, it’s beyond the understanding of the world. he can blather about you to the stars and beyond and they would still not know you, but jake knows that if you were to come to him with a face he had never seen and a voice ever so unfamiliar, he would still know you. you’re far too well intertwined in his soul, he feels pieces of himself disappearing every time a distant memory of you blurs in his mind.

and perhaps, the stars will go out before he forgets you.

‘i don’t know if i chose the right university to graduate from, if my major was worth the effort, if giving up on caffeine was actually good for my health. there are a lot of things i’m unsure of, but jake, my darling, you, you’re one thing i know i got right. you’re something i’d choose over and over again, over a thousand times over a thousand years in a thousand different worlds. people have their doubts but i don’t, because i know that if i’m ever given a chance, i’d choose to take your jacket again, i’d have that dance with you, i’d fall for you at nineteen and i’d marry you under twenty-five once again.’

there’s a sense of uncertainty that always plagued his mind, at all points of his life. even now, when he’s sitting by the counter drinking glasses after glasses, an ashtray just a few inches away with the smoke still emerging like lifeless souls looking for their graves. there’s a voice that is telling him to stop, it sounds like you, or maybe, it’s just the alcohol playing tricks again.

he’s not sure.

nineteen year old jake didn’t know if he wanted you. he had a lot on his plate— expectations from people he knew, a whole life in front of him and he was out in the wild, with no plans or whatsoever. you were like another wind blown past him one august afternoon, your smile just another thing his eyes passed by, yet the first thing to flood his mind at night. it’s the sheer lack of certitude— why did he give you his jacket? why did his mind think of only you when it came to the summer festival dance? why is it that only your eyes seemed like his entire world? jake has been walking with his steps laced with hesitation, a fear of what could go wrong. it didn’t matter when it came to you. nineteen year old jake didn’t know if he wanted you, albeit he knew he didn’t want anyone else to have you.

‘you’re probably wondering why i’m writing this instead of telling you when i had the time, or why i didn’t give this to you sooner. it’s because i want you to read this if you ever feel lost, and i wanted to take my time and choose the right words. i wished for a life where i wouldn’t have to live without you, and if i knew that would end up with heavens changing our fates, i would’ve done anything to save you from this pain.’

his eyes are the first to remember. the face that he once cradled in his hands, now just a figment of his memories, an illusion he sees through mirrors and turns around frantically, heart beating out of his chest, hoping you’re still here. sometimes, he sits at the bus stands and formulates your responses to everything happening around. he sighs, brushing his fingers over the wedding ring as he pictures you looking up at him with a smile, as if you’ve never been happier. the way he had felt and the way he feels— the bittersweet ache between having and wanting— your words drown him in that pain over and over again.

loving you, to jake, is like knowing you before he actually got to know you. as if you had always existed in his heart and your presence only completed the puzzle. and in that brief moment between— wrapped in your arms, he would think, how lucky i am— a pause as he snaps back to reality.

how lucky he was.

‘i know this is an impossible bargain, i cannot swap your pain for something else even though i wish i could. i cannot make you forget me so that you can live a better life. it’s a pity, a shame, i’m sorry,’

he furrows his brows at your words, the one about living a better life without you, it’s a lie, a hypothesis never to be true. you held him close at times he didn’t feel like himself, when his own skin disgusted him and his own thoughts told him to cut the string, you wiped his tears and accepted his pain like your own— jake sniffles above the silence in the room— how could he live, when the very person who taught him to live left him forever?

‘so for you, jake, my love, i wish you a lifetime of happiness and health. i want you to read this and realise the impact you had in my life. if you ever feel like we got to spend a very little time together, one that went by in a blink, i want you to know that your presence is something i’d hold in my heart for a thousand lifetimes. i won’t tell you to move on quickly, it’s hard, i know. instead i want you to take your time. go easy on yourself. let me go, one by one, one finger at a time,’

he reads the same words over and over again— let me go. to let you go, oh, how he wishes he could do that, but that’s the consequence of falling in love. jake would go out in the mornings to find a purpose, his ring kept undisturbed on the bathroom counter, and he would return home in the evening, back to silence and sorrow, holding the ring in his hand, fist close to his heart, him on the bed, and the night fills with his sobs.

jake didn’t lose you all at once, but instead, he’s losing you slowly, bit by bit, over and over again. he loses you whenever he absentmindedly calls out your name from across the house, only to be met with cold silence. he walks down the street and loses you the moment he sees a couple walking past him, hands intertwined, realising his hands would forever remain empty. he loses you everytime he thinks of kissing you, holding you, wanting you; every time he sits on the couch and watch the skies pour outside, drinking hot chocolate all alone. he loses you when nights get cold and he has no one to hold, and in the morning when he wakes up to the emptiness across the sheets, he begins to lose you all over again.

it’s hard to let you go, one finger at a time, when everything prompts him to get on his knees in front of the universe and beg for one chance to pull you back in his arms, to hug you for one last time.

just once more.

‘there wasn’t a second spent with you when i wasn’t smiling. you made me the happiest person in this entire world and in return, i wish the same for you. so, go and live the life you’ve wanted to live. do everything you had planned and become the person you want to be. when your friends reach you out, go out with them and drink your heart out. you’re not alone because your love isn’t the first to leave. even worlds apart, i’m with you. i’ll be there next to your favourite umbrella hoping that you remember to take it on rainy days. on nights you can’t sleep, i’ll be there holding your hand and singing to you. one day, you’ll be fifty, and i’ll be there with you. when you turn ninety, i’ll be there and i will still love you the same as i did when we were twenty. and if you fall in love with someone and decide to take the vows again, i’ll be there with you, and i’ll be there hoping for the happily ever after that you deserve.’

and unknowingly, you went away making yet another promise to stay, another commitment you couldn’t keep. jake knows his love isn’t the first to leave, it stays there, waiting, weeping, wanting. it stays everywhere you’ve ever been, next to your favourite mug that is still on the shelf, next to his. his love is with your toothbrush in the bathroom, with the picture of you and him on your very first date that is adorned in the photo frame kept in the bedroom. it’s ingrained in all the post-it notes you wrote to him that he has kept safely in a box, in all the matching jewellery you had got for the two of you, in every corner of the house that cries, yearning for you.

he could be fifty and his love would be still there, in the fading polaroids and letters torn from the corners. at ninety, his love would be still there, waiting for you, his heart aching because he wanted to get old with you by your side. his love will stay there, for a thousand lifetimes, over a thousand years. it turns out, jake is just good at sad things, waiting, holding on, remembering.

‘whatever comes forth, wherever life leads you, know that i am with you,’

as for your words— jake scoffs, burying his head in his hands, tears smudging between his palms and cheeks— loving someone else isn’t even an option.

to him, you, dead, are better than anyone else alive.

‘until we meet again.’

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