#and the entire time I’ve been here I’ve seen one (1) other person wearing a mask

[savventeen]

ok. time to put on my big boy pants and go get the ice cream i promised myself bc i Deserve it

[shinysobi]

pretty u

summary: when joshua, your best friend gets engaged, you can't help but feel as though you're missing out on something important. jihoon, your other best friend, kindly offers to set you up with one of his many friends. chaos ensues, seungkwan is an observer who knows everything, and unfortunately, mingyu is a hapless victim.

pairing: woozi x fem!reader

genre: crack, fluff, angst

word count: 10k~ish

warnings: alcohol consumption, general warnings apply

a/n: this time we're bringing the trauma folks, im not sorry at all hehe >.< also this is dedicated to vaish and gigi, truly my biggest cheerleaders.

a/n 2: reblogs and comments are much appreciated! please tell me if you're liking this lmao

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3

Chapter 2

Someone yells as soon as I enter the restaurant, and I almost turn back on my heels and walk out of there. The culture desk is huddled around a large table, and judging from the empty bottles, half of them were well on their way to drunkenness already. I can spot Seungkwan at the end of the table, being the newbie, he must have been plied with alcohol by the rest of us. His entire face is slowly going red, and if I hadn’t been consumed with hatred over Jihoon being a weirdo, I would feel sorry for him too. But, he’s Jihoon’s friend, and any friend of Jihoon is an enemy of mine.

“The Associate Editor is here!” someone shouts, and I look on, horrified, as my editor, the boring, staid old man who wears the same style of suits five days in a row, waves and giggles at me, holding up a new glass of soju, “my, I thought you would never arrive. We’re all having a party without you!”

“Yes, I can see that,” I accept the offered glass, “sorry, the interview went on for much longer than I expected it to be, and the bus was stuck in traffic for a long time.”

“Just say that you didn’t want to come hang out with us,” the Assistant Editor, a woman in her forties, giggles, “we missed you so much!”

My breath is almost knocked out by the way she hugs me right after that statement, “no, I can assure you I wanted to come here. If not nothing, then just to congratulate the maknae on joining.”

“Huh?” the Editor blinks around, “oh yes, there’s Seungkwan!”

“Haven’t you given him too much to drink?” I ask, standing up to pour Seungkwan another glass, “Seungkwan, have fun in this department, okay?”

Seungkwan, drunk as he is, only mumbles something unintelligible, by way of a reply. Still, he accepts the drink and knocks it back, while the person next to him, Haewon, smiles drunkenly at me, “sunbae,” she says, “won’t you give me a drink?”

Haewon, unfortunately, has the habit of getting cutesy when she drinks, so I wordlessly extend the bottle to pour her another one. The Editor and the Assistant Editor are boisterous, singing a drinking song off-key.

“Can I get another bottle of soju here?” I call, and the surly-looking part-timer slams a bottle. He doesn’t even offer me a smile. Jerk.

“Drink up, drink up,” the Editor smiles happily, addressing the whole table, “did you know, she’s the only one who Mr Hong does an interview with?”

“Really?” Seungkwan perks up at that, “isn’t he famous for not giving any interviews?”

“He is, but she’s the only person who can get an interview with him.”

“Whoa, sunbae,” Seungkwan is all starry-eyed, which means he is definitely drunk, “I’ve always heard praises about you from the hyungs, but it’s all true! You’re legit.” And to drive home the point of my legitimacy, he hugs me, planting a huge, wet kiss on my cheek, “you’re my inspiration, sunbae.”

“Seungkwan, maybe the inspiration is a bit too much,” I reply, pouring myself a tall glass, “but I’ll accept it either way.”

“Wait, wait,” the Editor is suddenly interested in whatever Seungkwan is saying, “who are these people you’re talking about?”

“Oh, the hyungs?” Seungkwan is talkative even when he is not drunk, but alcohol has made him into one of the most loose-lipped people I’ve ever seen, “Jihoon-hyung, and Joshua-hyung. They’ve been friends since university, you know. They still hang out together.”

“Really?” Haewon looks interested, “are any of them the person you had lunch with this afternoon?”

“You had lunch with Joshua-hyung?”

“No, it was Jihoon,” I correct Seungkwan even though I don’t really need to, but it’s the alcohol, “Joshua doesn’t like the same things that I do.”

“Oh, is he your boyfriend?” Haewon giggles, and I sputter, “was that why he walked you to the company door?”

“No, Haewon, he isn’t my boyfriend, please drink some water.”

“No, no, I’m interested,” it’s a testament to how jobless we all are at the culture desk, because the Editor suddenly turns to Seungkwan with barely hidden glee in his eyes, “Jihoon, that’s his name?”

“Yes,” Seungkwan, who normally is the most tight-lipped out of all my acquaintances, is surprisingly talkative when drunk, “yes, Lee Jihoon. He’s the closest with her, out of all his friends. They even hang out all the time.”

I pour out some soju in a shot glass, then rethink it, drinking the rest of the bottle in one go. If this dinner goes on for any moment longer, they’re going to start speculating on my dating life. And based on what I’ve seen from the diner owner this afternoon, they’re going to assume that Jihoon and I are dating.

“Ah, so he’s the man you used to skip company dinners for,” the Associate editor says, “bring him around sometime! We’d all have fun!”

I’d rather stick my head in a vat of boiling acid than bring Jihoon to any place even remotely associated with my work, so I just nod and smile. Seungkwan, however, perks right up at this, saying, “do you want to see a picture of them?”

Enthusiastic cheers follow, from everyone at the table. I drink another half-bottle of soju.

“There you go!” does Seungkwan have all these pictures at the ready, or was he planning to make my life hell before participating in this dinner? Because the photo he’s pulled up is from the final year of university, when Jihoon and I were working on both our senior theses, and we’d spend a fair amount of that time huddled in between the stacks at the library, or over at each other’s apartments. The picture Seungkwan is brandishing around is from one of those days, and I would die before I admitted it to Jihoon, but I had a printout of it stuck on my wall. It’s a simple picture: Jihoon and I have our arms around each other, wide smiles on our faces, something that comes only after successfully finishing a gruelling paper, or from consuming too many snacks. Our cheeks are touching, and my free hand is thrown up in a victory sign.

“Ah, so you guys dated,” Haewon nods sagely, “that’s not a picture one takes with their friend.”

“No, this is—this is a very friendly picture,” I sputter, drinking more alcohol in an effort to dull the embarrassment that’s running through my veins, “we’re just friends.”

“I’ve seen couples who have less skinship than this.” The Assistant Editor says, “you both look very cute, I must say.”

On and on it goes, until both my ears have gone red, and still they go on, fuelled entirely by Seungkwan, who’s apparently a savant when it comes to remembering embarrassing incidents from university. Seungkwan. I’m gripped by a desire to commit murder, and it plainly shows on my face, but he goes on, unfazed by the looks I’m giving him, “they used to be practically inseparable during their university days! You could never see her without Jihoon-hyung, and if she wasn’t around, he would be irritable and angry all the time.”

“He’s still irritable and angry,” I murmur, senses highly dulled by the copious amounts of alcohol I’ve consumed. What’s my limit? One? Two bottles? I’ve drunk far more than that. My vision is swimming in front of my eyes, and everyone else’s words are coming slowly to my ears, as though filtered through sand. Is this how it feels to hear underwater? “he’s never—he’s never once been nice to me, you know that?”

“Really? He always takes care of you, though.” Seungkwan isn’t one to back down from an argument when its beginning, “I’ve always seen hyung take such good care of you.”

“Well, he doesn’t anymore!” I say, waving for another bottle, “He’s a little shit nowadays, have I told you that?”

“No, you haven’t. you don’t talk a lot.”

“That’s true.”

The third bottle (or is this the fourth) goes down far easier than the rest, and before I know, I’m stumbling out of the restaurant with the others, bundling the Editor into his car and the Assistant Editor into a taxi.

“Do all of you have money to go back home?” I ask the rest of them, but they’re already making plans to go on to the next spot. My watch says its midnight, but for people younger than me, it must be easier.

“Sunbae, do you want me to call you a taxi?” Seungkwan asks, but he’s tottering on unsteady feet, and I can see the longing looks he’s throwing the group of people who’ve started to move on without him.

“Go on, Seungkwan, I’m going to be fine by myself.” I wave a hand across my face, “it takes me ten minutes to walk back home, I’ll manage.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Seungkwan doesn’t need much convincing, and trots off to his colleagues. I sit there on the sidewalk for a long while, as the night sky swirls around me. I want to ask myself, why do I have to put myself through these situations? Why couldn’t I, like every other person, be normal about finding love and romance and relationships, and have a perfectly average life?

I dial the first number that comes on my screen, and a few moments later, Jihoon’s scratchy voice comes through, “you’re calling awfully late.”

“I’m bored.” I say, settling back onto the sidewalk, “Seungkwan and the others went for round two of the company dinner.”

“And they left you all alone?” Jihoon sounds irritated, “shit, he should have at least called you a cab.”

“I’m old enough to get home on my own, Lee Jihoon, and besides, I’m also sensible enough to not come in between the affairs of my juniors.”

“You’re slurring, I bet you can’t even stand up properly.” Jihoon says, “hey, give me your address.”

“I can stand up!” I protest, “why would I give you, my address?”

“So that, I can go pick you up.”

“Why are you suddenly doing this? It isn’t as though I’ve never gone home drunk from a dinner before.”

“Yes, but you’ve also never called me before, so, I’m going to pick you up.” I can hear other people talking in the background, “hey, wait there, I got the location from Seungkwan. I’m coming to pick you up.”

“Seriously, Jihoon, you don’t have to.”

“Well, thank goodness I don’t listen to you very much.”

And he’s gone. All at once, I feel terribly alone. Why didn’t I go along with Seungkwan and the others? Why did I have to be a good senior and leave the youngsters alone? All that I can do now, is to sit alone, and contemplate.

When I was in school, and studying for the college entrance exams, all I could think about was how to get into university. When I got into university, all I could think about was how to get a job. Now that I have a job, all I can think about are the banal, everyday details of my everyday life, what to eat for dinner, what clothes to wear, whether I’m getting a promotion or not.

“You look like a drowned cat.”

I look up. Jihoon is dressed for the studio, wearing a comfortable jacket over comfortable pants and plush slippers on his feet. Its evident he’s rushed over here from the company. I want to feel sorry for him, but all I can think about is how much he looks like a steamed dumpling, all cozied up in his studio clothes.

“I look nice.” I say feebly, looking at my clothes. I’m wearing a shirt and trousers, and a coat that I haphazardly threw on before leaving my home; he’s right.

“Get up.”

“No.”

Jihoon doesn’t waste any time, he leans down, forcing me to stand. “The car is right there,” he says, hauling me towards the direction of his new car, “if you vomit, I’m seriously going to kill you.”

“I don’t vomit after I drink. That’s on you.”

“That was once,” he sighs, as though he’s some long-suffering saint, “please wear your seatbelt. I’m not about to get a ticket because of you.”

“Hey, Jihoon?”

“Hmm?”

“Can we have a sleepover?”

He stares at me, halfway through fixing my seatbelt. Its funny, how pretty his features are. If I could extend my fingers just a little bit, I could touch him, feel exactly how many lashes he has, see if his skin is as smooth as it seems to be. My hands remain firmly at my sides. “What do you mean a sleepover?”

“I don’t want to bring you to my house,” I reply, settling into the seat, “it’s a mess.”

“Because you can’t keep a house.”

“No, I’m moving.”

“I thought you had time?”

“I’m being evicted, Jihoon,” I yawn, “Kim’s hiked the rent again.”

Jihoon sighs, before getting into the driver’s seat, “I’ll get you some of my clothes.”

“Hey, Jihoon,” I ask, as soon as the car begins to run, “why are we stuck?”

“Stuck?” he seems confused, “I thought I was the one who was stuck, not you.”

“I’m stuck too, just that I haven’t told anyone.”

“You’re not making any sense, you know.”

I sigh, “I’ve been running my entire life, you know. When I was younger, I’d constantly worry about what kind of university I would get into, what course I’d get to study. I was so busy with my studies that I didn’t notice that my school life was slipping past me.”

“When I came to university in Seoul, I thought I had achieved something, but everything I did, my sister had already done it before me; for my parents, I was just following the footsteps of my sister. In university, I thought so much about my grades and how to get a good job right out of university, that I forgot to enjoy the fleeting moments of my youth. Even now, even when I’m worrying about how to get ahead in life and how to get ahead in my workplace, I don’t think I’ve ever stopped for a single moment to think, am I doing this correctly? Is this how I want to live my life?”

“Did you waste your youth? Is that how you think about it?” Jihoon asks, “really, truly, is that how you think you spent your university life?”

“I worried about grades, I worried about how to pay my university fees, I worried about so many things. I just didn’t tell anyone.”

“Is that why you didn’t join the others?”

“I’m jealous.” I admit. Its easier now, when one has said the words that have been bothering them, “I’m jealous of their youth. No, I’m jealous of how carefree they are.”

“Everything I do, I think twice, thrice, and four times, before I settle on it, and even then, something always goes wrong.”

“What if you could do it all over again?” Jihoon asks, and I’ve never seen him this serious outside of the studio, “what if you could do it all over again. High school, university, meeting us. Would you have done it differently?”

I shake my head, “Its not that I’ve never thought about it, everyone has. But honestly? If I could do it all over again, I’d do the same. Perhaps a little more honestly, but I’d still be the same person I was in university. I’d still like to meet you and Joshua and the others, even if I can’t get as close to them as they want me to.”

“They’re very respectful of the face that you’re an introvert, just by the way.” Jihoon parks his car, “I think Jeonghan-hyung would commit some serious crimes if you asked him to.”

“He’d commit them either way. He likes the chaos.”

Jihoon’s apartment building is far larger than mine, and he holds my hand to stabilise me as we walk to the elevator. I’ve been here before, it’s a building populated entirely by old people who like to take walks at six in the morning, and young married couples who like to stroll with their children at night. His hand is warm, perhaps from the car.

The elevator is empty as we walk in, and Jihoon punches in the number for his floor, “do you need anything? A hangover cure?”

“I’m fine.”

His apartment is much bigger than mine, with a separate room for his recording equipment, and I’ve been here many times before. I know the couch has a  spot where the spring digs into your skin, I know the perfect spot from where the television hurts less on your eyes, I’ve spent hours in here divvying up the banchan his mother had sent from Busan, arguing with him about what movies we would watch. Everything is the same, and at the same time, different.

Jihoon is standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking in his refrigerator for something to eat. I make myself comfortable in one of the chairs, looking at him work. Jihoon looks strange in this light, a change that I can’t put my finger on. He’s dressed in a white shirt, and from here, he looks lonely. Lonely like someone who has lost all sense of their being, like someone who’s barely hanging on. Do I look the same, from behind? I want to ask him, how I look when I walk away.

“Would you really not change anything? If you went back?”

“What do you mean?”

He pauses, still with his back turned to me, then continues, “I guess we were all immature in our university days. If I could go back, I would change some things at least.”

“Not take that sociology class?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I’d still take it; even though it gave you an irrational fear of surveyors, I’d still take it. for me, that sociology class was one of the brightest moments of my university life.”

He turns to me, and under the bright lights of the kitchen, he looks strange, as though he has been restraining himself from doing something, “would you have changed anything?”

“I’d still take the sociology class,” I admit, “I met you and Joshua in that class after all.”

“And?”

“And it’s one of the brightest moments of my youth,” I say, “that class, it was the brightest spot in my university life.”

“Because of me, or because of Joshua?”

I scoff, “that’s a weird question, Lee Jihoon.”

“Answer the question.”

“I can’t choose.”

Jihoon sighs, before holding out a glass of water. “Its lemon water, drink up,” he says, “you can’t drink honey water.”

“You remembered?”

“I remember everything about you, you idiot,” Jihoon points towards the bedroom, “you’re going to hurt your back if you sleep on the couch, so take the bed.”

The bedroom seems inviting. So’s the bed, if I’m being honest. White sheets with an embarrassingly high thread count, with Jihoon’s books all arranged neatly in a bookshelf. There are pictures too, of us, hung up on a corkboard, half of them from university when we were too out of it to remember anything.

“This one is my favourite,” I say, pointing to a polaroid shot of the two of us, in one of Seungkwan’s birthday parties, me with my arms around Jihoon and Jihoon pulling a face, as though the last thing he wanted to do was take a picture with me, “we look so cute.”

“You and your ideas about cuteness.” Jihoon scoffs, throwing a pile of clothes onto the bed, “get changed. Or don’t, I’m going to be washing these sheets anyway.”

“You didn’t tell me which one’s your favourite,” I say, taking off my shirt and putting on Jihoon’s, “where do you even buy these shirts from? They’re so comfortable.”

“What do you mean?” Jihoon, who had been walking out of the door into the living room, walks back, “What the fuck! Don’t change your clothes anywhere, you idiot?”

I frown, “I���m changing in front of you because I trust you enough to not take advantage of me, is that not obvious? And besides, don’t act as though we haven’t changed in front of each other before.”

“There were circumstances, not you stripping in the middle of the bedroom like this.”

“Excuses,” I say, slipping on a pair of his shorts. They’re at least two sizes too big for me, “you still didn’t tell me which picture is your favourite.”

“You’re going to get killed one day, mark my words,” Jihoon mutters, pointing to a picture on the corkboard, “there, that’s my favourite picture of us. Happy?”

I lean forward, observing the picture. It’s a printout of a picture taken on the Jihoon went to the military, his head hidden under a flat cap that I had gifted after watching Peaky Blinders, and although Jihoon had hated it, he wore it all the same. It’s a simple picture, him with a bored expression on his face, and me, beside him, putting on a smile for the world to see.

“This was on the day of your entrance ceremony, right?”

“Hmm. You were the first to come. The others almost couldn’t make it.”

I look at Jihoon out of the corner of my eye. He has a strange, wistful expression on his face. I’ve never seen this expression on his face. Jihoon seems smaller than he is, vulnerable. The military wasn’t a great experience for him, I know that, but perhaps talking about it is too much.

“Hey, do you have any other pictures from university around?” I ask, looking at the corkboard, “or have you put up some of our new pictures?”

“I was happy in there, you know.”

I look at him. Jihoon’s serious, “I mean, it was difficult, but I got through it. I had my friends, and I had you.”

“Pfft. I wasn’t even in the military.”

“You used to come visit me every month or something.”

“And I remember you used to get annoyed by me.”

“I lied.”

“What?” now its my turn to be surprised, because all I remember is Jihoon getting angry with me over jajangmyeon, “You used to get pissed off all the time!”

“I lied,” he says, leaning against the doorframe, “truth be told, those visits were one of the bright sports in my military service. You and I, fighting over food, like we were back in university again. It made me feel, ah, I can tolerate this. I can get over this.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Is this what they say ‘lost for words?’ Jihoon shakes his head, “hey, go to bed. Its late enough that you’ll need to take a leave of absence tomorrow. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Hey, Jihoon?” I call behind him.

“What now?”

Maybe it’s the alcohol. I’m not as drunk as I was before, but I’m still drunk, right? Or maybe it’s the way Jihoon looks from behind, sad and lonely, someone struggling to hold onto his sanity, in a world that continually squeezes every last drop of humanity from us. Or maybe its both.

“Do you want to sleep here with me?”

Jihoon stares at me for a moment. “You’re still drunk.”

“I’m not! The couch is very uncomfortable, and I’d hate for you to sleep badly because of me.”

“Dude, I’m used to this.”

“Is it because ‘you’re a guy’? Jihoon, you have thousand-count Egyptian cotton sheets. You’re clearly going to be more uncomfortable.”

Jihoon sighs, then climbs into the bed, “don’t try anything funny.”

I laugh, “shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

“I don’t trust you.”

I laugh, before climbing into bed beside Jihoon. Its awkward, but that’s simply because we haven’t done this in so long. Jihoon is warm beside me, his body heat permeating the thin fabric of the bedsheets. This is why I should not make decisions when blind drunk.

“Don’t think too much about it.”

“Hm?” I turn my head to see Jihoon, his eyes closed, “you’re thinking about it too hard. Don’t think so much. This is fine. We’re friends. Friends can do this once in a while.”

I nod my head. We’re friends, right. Friends do these kind of things, friends come over to each other’s homes, friends comfort each other when drunk. Its what friends do.

“Hey, have I told you something?”

“I’m trying to sleep here,” Jihoon groans, “go on.”

“Have I ever told you that my dream was to be a writer?”

“Not really. It was?”

“Yes. When I was a child, I’d write stories all the time, and I’d read them out to my parents. They were really encouraging when I was younger, but as I grew older, I had other things to think about, and I suppose I lost that dream somewhere along the way.”

Jihoon says nothing, so I continue, “it makes me jealous sometimes, when I see people following their dreams. I keep thinking to myself, ah, if only I had more courage, if only I could stick to my dreams, I would have been able to fulfil them; and then I look at my parents, the people who have stuck beside me and supported me, and I think to myself, would I have been able to support them as well as I do now, if I had followed my dreams?”

“Even me?”

I pause, “Especially you.”

Jihoon sighs, and for five minutes, all I can hear is his breathing, steady and slow. Did he fall asleep? I want to ask him what he thinks, but before I can open my mouth, he begins, “You still have that dream, you know.”

I look at him. Jihoon’s eyes are closed, but he’s speaking, softly, as though he’s scared that if he raises his voice, all this would disappear, “you can take a break. Its okay to take a break. But your dream is your own. It’ll always be there for you.”

“And what if I decide to give up?”

“Then that’s okay too. Just because you gave up on it doesn’t mean it didn’t give you happiness for a time.”

I fall silent, because really, what else is there for me to say after this? In the dark room, the moonlight filters in through the curtains, and Jihoon is there, beside me, his presence solid as a rock. In between us, my dreams lie, scattered and broken, a space that neither of us can cross. We’d always be on opposite sides of the river, me and Jihoon, despite how close we are. I’ll always resent him for being brave enough to follow his dreams, and he’ll always fail to understand who I am. Its better this way. Better to be far apart and resentful than be close and drift apart anyway. I’ll take this emotional distance over a physical one.

—

I wake up in the morning to find Jihoon gone, and a cooked breakfast waiting for me on the table with an attached note: don’t think too much about it.

“He’s the one who needs to think less,” I mutter, settling down to finish the omurice he’s made, (the onions were raw and the egg was rubbery) but it has been a long time since I’ve had anyone make me a meal, and I finish the entire dish, washing up in return. It’s fine if he doesn’t want to see me, its fine if he doesn’t even want to talk to me after I said that I was jealous of him; its common nature to avoid the other person if they are jealous of you, or if they are envious of you. “Still, he could have said good morning.” I murmur, putting on my shoes.

 For all Jihoon’s posturing about how much he loves his private space and how much he hates the chaos the rest of the boys bring, he still lives in the same building as Mingyu, whose door I tiptoe past on the way to the elevator. Wait, why am I ashamed? I’ve spent a lot of time in Jihoon’s apartment, and he’s spent an equal amount of time in mine. Then why am I treating this as a walk of shame?

I press the button to the elevator, and Mingyu’s door opens. Oh shit, now he’s going to see me—wait, I thought we were going to be normal about this? Before I can hide in the stairs, Mingyu’s walking over to the elevator, dressed for the day, his face lighting up when he sees me, “hi, noona. Crashed at Jihoon-hyung’s house?”

“Ah. Ah, yes, yes, I did. I simply slept over. Nothing else.” I manage to say, stumbling through my words. Great, now he’s going to think Jihoon and I had sex.

Fortunately for me, Mingyu doesn’t seem like the sort of person to take things to heart. “I didn’t imply anything else,” he says equally brightly, showing no signs of being awkward, “Seungkwan told me you all got wasted on a Monday night. Do you want me to give you a lift?”

“Yeah, that would be really nice, thank you. Also, blame our editor and assistant editor,” I reply, “they seem to have no sense of how to host company dinners. At least this time I didn’t have to pay out of my own pocket.”

“You had to pay out of your own pocket?” Mingyu looks aghast, as though my loss of funds is a personal slight, “that would never fly in my company.”

“Yeah, that tracks. Minghao always hated large get-togethers.”

“No, he didn’t.”

I roll my eyes, “he didn’t hate them when it was you guys. He absolutely hated them when he was forced together with a group of people he didn’t like.”

“Oh, you’re talking about that. He’s much better now, I can assure you.” Mingyu says, as the elevator dings to a stop, “noona, did you get the new clothes from the autumn collection? I sent you the women’s collection. I didn’t know what size you were, so I asked Jihoon-hyung for help. Did they fit well?”

“Kim Mingyu, if you give me new clothes from every collection, then how the hell are you going to  make any profit?” I ask, and he just laughs, “you’ve been sending me all these clothes when I don’t even post on Instagram! Minghao would have your head if he knew about this.”

“That’s his idea,” Mingyu replies, walking ahead of me to the parking lot, “you spent so much on us during university, then when M.M launched, you wrote a good review of us too.”

“I’m going to be accused of biased reporting, you jerk, I only said the truth. And besides, I left the job at the fashion magazine.”

“Still, you helped us a lot. And besides,” he opens the door to his car for me, “step in.”

“And besides?” I ask, putting on the seatbelt.

“Besides,” Mingyu gets into the car, “I like you a lot, noona.”

I smack him on the back of his head.

—

The office is empty when I walk in, which means I get to have five minutes of peace before the Editor walks in and demands all the articles of the week laid out in front of him, because of course, who else would take on all the jobs of the culture desk if its not for me, the Associate editor, the one who’s supposed to be happy to be included? Every week, the culture desk does a special feature, and usually, the assistant editor is in charge of it, unless, they decided to tack it onto my ever-growing list of things that need to be done.

“Sunbae,” I swivel around my chair to find a haggard-looking Seungkwan, “you’re here already?”

“Yes, I am, Seungkwan,” I tease, “are you feeling better?”

“Ugh, my brain feels as though it’s about to leak out of my ears.” Seungkwan mutters, sliding into his desk, “and we have the weekly meeting too, unless the editor isn’t feeling well enough to come in.”

“He’s got an iron stomach,” I wave, “he once came in after being blackout drunk, this isn’t even a big deal.”

Seungkwan groans, then opens his mouth to say something, stopping abruptly at the sight of my clothes. “Sunbae,” he says, “did you borrow those clothes from Jihoon-hyung?”

“What? I’m wearing my own clothes—” I look down at my shirt. Sure enough, its Jihoon’s shirt, the one he made to give as presents to give out to famous people who visited his studio. I can’t even lie and say that it’s from a former boyfriend. Fuck. “Yes, I crashed at Jihoon’s place last night. Was too drunk to take a cab, and he let me stay over at his place.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“Yes, yes it does. wait, why am I even explaining it to you? You were the one who ditched me to go for a second round at the karaoke bar.”

At the mention of the karaoke bar, Seungkwan presses two fingers to his temple, “don’t even start me on that. The people here drink so much, its sickening.”

“Who drinks a lot?” it’s the editor, with a pained smile on his face, “remind me never to host company dinners on Monday evenings.”

“I could have told you this before, sir, except you didn’t really listen to me.”

He shakes a finger, “then remind me to listen to you on matters of company dinners. God, my head hurts so much.”

Soon enough, people start filtering into the office; Haewon comes in with dark circles underneath her eyes that are barely hidden by makeup, the assistant editor walks in soon after that, nursing a bottle of hangover cure. The seven of us pile into the meeting room, where the editor looks as though he wants to be anywhere but here.

“The bosses have asked me to start a new column,” he says, after the larger part of the meeting is over, “just a general column, but new ideas will be appreciated.”

“A column on new books?” Haneul asks, “we could have a dedicated column on books.”

“We review every new book when it comes out, there’s no need to have a dedicated column for book releases.”

“Relationship advice?” Changmin raises his hand, “we could have readers send in their concerns, and one of us could write about them.”

“This isn’t Sex and The City, Changmin,” Haewon says, “stop trying to be Carrie Bradshaw.”

Changmin deflates, looking exactly like the stock photo of a blobfish, and Seungkwan decides to step in, “what if we did a comparative study of cultures across Korea? We could talk about provinces that aren’t really explored in media.”

An excellent idea, I think to myself, but too research-heavy for Seungkwan to do it himself. And sure enough, the editor shoots it down, saying, “we can’t spare two people going around Korea to find out about traditional villages. We don’t have the money, nor the manpower for it.”

Everyone sighs, and the editor looks at me, “any ideas?”

[Here we take a small break from our regular programming to tell readers that the following stunts were performed by a professional, under medical supervision, and must not be replicated in real-life situations.]

“What about—dreams?” I say, scrunching up my face and hoping the editor doesn’t notice my lack of preparation for this meeting, “what if, we had a weekly column where we talked about our dreams. Whether we have managed to achieve them, or whether we have only gone further away from it; like a confessional. One of us could write it, or we could have readers send in their entries. Like Hong Seung-Hee’s Suicide Diaries.”

The editor ponders over it for a minute, then looks to the assistant editor, who nods appreciatively. Great, I think, I’ve managed to save my ass. If there was anyone being reprimanded at this meeting it would not be me.

“You do it.” the editor says.

“Huh?”

“The column on dreams, you do it, since its your idea.” The assistant editor smiles encouragingly at me, “I think it’ll be something really good.”

“No, but,” I sputter, even as the rest of them shuffle out of the meeting room, “Editor! Why can’t you just take credit for my work like the rest of bosses?”

The editor looks at me, “why would you want me to do that?”

“I don’t know, it’s what others do!”

“Look,” the editor says, voice gentle, as though he’s speaking to a fragile toddler, which I can’t even blame him for, “if the workload is getting too much, you can always offload some of it onto us.”

“No, I can do it.”

Back at my desk, I groan, before almost smacking my head open on it. Seungkwan offers me a smile, before setting down a coffee. Bless that boy. I knew pulling something out of my ass would get me into trouble. If I hadn’t spoken up, they would still be considering Seungkwan’s idea of going around the countryside. At least that would mean a vacation on office time and office money, this just means I have to work twice as hard.

And why the fuck did I talk about dreams? I could have talked about esoteric theatrical performances, or trends in trot music, or even the different kinds of marinated crabs they sell around the company building (there are seven different restaurants that offer it), why, why, did I have to go and open my mouth to talk about dreams? Out of all the people here, I’m perhaps the least qualified to talk about my dreams, given how spectacularly I’ve managed to fail at following them, and the deadline is in three days.

“What are you thinking about, sunbae?” Haewon asks, depositing another can of coffee on my desk around lunchtime, “you’ve been working like a maniac all morning, aren’t you going to take lunch?”

“Can’t, Haewon, still have to put finishing edits on the three articles that are supposed to release this afternoon. Then I have to start working on the column, because I know its going to take me a long time to finish it.”

“Wow, you sure work hard,” Haewon grimaces, “well, if you need me to pick up something for you at the convenience store, make sure to text me.”

“Hey, Haewon,” I call after her retreating back, “where’s the article on the new movie?”

“Its in your inbox, I just sent it to you,” she calls out, “should I get you a lunch set?”

“Thanks!”

My eyes are itching. Perhaps from having stared at the computer screen for too long, but I take out my contacts in the washroom, instead of putting in lubricating drops. While on the toilet seat, I make a mental note of all the things I’m supposed to do, just in this week. Edit articles as they come by. Write a review of the play I went to. Write a new column, get it approved by the editor. Make amends with Jihoon. Look for a new apartment that doesn’t bleed me dry.

I moan as I press my hands to my temples, “there’s no way I can get this done in a week.”

My phone pings, and it is embarrassing how quickly I reach for it, hoping it to be a text from Jihoon. Its not. Instead, its Mingyu, texting me about my health.

Gyu: noona, you didn’t seem well in the morning. Should I get some medicine for your hangover?

I crack a smile. Having Kim Mingyu show up on the doorstep of my company would imply him being accosted by thirty people at least, and have his photo taken without his consent. It’s bad enough I took his car to come to the office this morning.

big dick (canon): no, Mingyu, please don’t put yourself in harm’s way by bringing me medicine.

Gyu: Minghao can do it too

Gyu: he hasn’t seen you in a while so he said he was missing you

Gyu: should I send him?

big dick (canon): no, I’m fine, Seungkwan brought me a hangover drink from the convenience store.

This is a lie, but I figure Seungkwan doesn’t really have anything to lose by featuring as the Good Samaritan in my story.

Gyu: tell me if there’s something I can do for you

Gyu: you know that we’re all there for you, right?

Ah, this cursed statement, ‘being there for you’. In my experience, people who say this, are rarely there for others. Everyone says it with such sincerity, but when it comes to the actual thing, they are rarely anywhere to be found.

big dick (canon): thanks for the offer, but I’m fine. Just a bit frazzled from all the apartment-hunting I’ve been doing over the weekends.

Gyu: no luck yet? I heard from Joshua-hyung that your lease was up

big dick (canon): he’s told all of you?

Gyu: no, just the guys

big dick (canon): so, everyone.

Gyu: well, unfortunately,  everyone’s aware. Sorry, noona.

big dick (canon): well, what else can I do about it.

Gyu: I can ask the other guys to not ask you about it

big dick (canon): no, no, if they can help, I’m going to be grateful

gyu: so, do you want me to help?

big dick (canon): yeah, what the fuck,  it's not as though I'm going to lose something by asking for help. 

Gyu: I'll ask my contacts if they have an affordable apartment around

big dick (canon): While this is a blow to my pride, I’d still be grateful if I can manage to get a good place that doesn't cost me an arm and a leg

gyu: on it, noona.

Back at my desk,  I trawl through the columns submitted by the reporters, adding edits to them to be published. One of the few perks of my job is the freedom I get while editing articles, because the editor and the assistant editor are both busy with administrative works to be bothered about the day-to-day works of the desk. To be fair, the new column should have been one of their duties, but now that it's my work,  I need to do my best.  Or at least,  not fuck up in a way that ends up with me being fired. 

Haewon, the absolute angel,  has brought a lunch set for me from the convenience store, with fried chicken and green salad. The chicken is rubbery, and the salad is stale, but to my groaning stomach,  it's all delicious. I pull up the word file sent by Seungkwan, and I'm not even two minutes into editing it,  when my phone pings again. I check it, hoping for a text from Mingyu, but instead, it's a text from Jihoon, who is apparently not ignoring me any longer. 

hoon: are you asking Mingyu of all people for help with your apartment search?

big dick (canon): he offered to help me, and I am not going to turn down help offered by anyone

hoon: you could have just asked me

big dick (canon): you left abruptly this morning,  so I thought you were ignoring me. Hence, I didn't want to bother you

hoon: get this concept clearly,  okay?

big dick (canon): what concept

hoon: you're my friend. Friends are allowed to help each other, even if the other person is a weirdo

hoon: how long do you have on the lease?

big dick (canon): not much,  but I can’t find an apartment that fits my needs. They are either out of the way, or too expensive, or just straight up bad

big dick (canon): I don’t want to spend an hour on my commute that’s going to eat into my free time

big dick (canon): and I don’t want to spend too much on a flat when I’m clearly going to be renting

big dick (canon): you know, usual demands

hoon: the flat next to mine is empty

big dick (canon): doesn’t someone live there?

hoon: you’re in luck, no one does

big dick (canon): keep feeling like there’s a catch that I’m missing

hoon: about that, well

hoon: the reason why its empty and people don’t get it is because an old lady died in there

hoon: so, you might be haunted by ghosts

big dick (canon): that’s an extremely stupid reasoning

big dick (canon): do you know the realtor

hoon: I don’t, since she’s new, but

hoon: I’ll call her and say that you want to see the apartment

big dick (canon): you’d do that omg thank u

hoon: in return

hoon: please cook for me

big dick (canon):KNEW THERE WAS A CATCH

hoon: I’m lazy and I don’t like to cook

hoon: too much prep too much clutter

hoon: I could use that time to make music instead

big dick (canon):ah yes, the great Woozi makes his appearance

big dick (canon): can I see the apartment this week

hoon: yeah, I’m done with this song, so I have a bit of free time before preparation for Soonyoung’s new album begins

big dick (canon): Hoshi is coming out with an album omg this is INSIDER SCOOP

hoon: are you for real? The company announced it in the beginning of the financial year

big dick (canon): right, I keep forgetting

big dick (canon): I totally remembered btw

hoon: I’ll pick you up at 5 if that’s okay

big dick (canon): yeah, that works

—

The realtor is a fifty-year old woman with an extravagant puff on her head, who glosses over the supposed ghosts living in the apartment and goes entirely too hard on trying to sell me the apartment. And she didn’t even need to, because I would have taken it anyway.  It’s less of an apartment meant for a singular person and more for newlyweds, with two rooms, a large enough living room, and on top of it all, a kitchen with plenty enough light for me to grow my own plants. The bedroom faces south, and there’s enough space in the living room for me to host my friends (two of them) when they come over. I can just tell Mr Kim I’m leaving the apartment tomorrow. He’s probably been itching to find another naïve university student to fleece.

“This is great,” I say, after the tour is over, “I’ll take it.”

“Great! This will be just perfect for the two of you.” The old woman titters, “I love selling newlywed houses!”

What?

I look at Jihoon, who seems just as surprised as I am, “uh, ma’am, we aren’t married.”

Now its her turn to look surprised, “what do you mean you’re not married? You guys look exactly like a married couple!”

“No, ma’am,” Jihoon says, “she’s my best friend. I’m only helping her get an apartment at a good price.”

“Ah yes, friends, is it?” there’s a twinkle in the old woman’s eye that I can’t quite place, “we’ll see about that, eh?”

“Uh, no, no one is seeing anything about it, because we aren’t dating, nor are we married.”

—

“There is only one perk to living in a hovel like a broke university student for six years after university, and that is the amount of money one saves in their bank account.” I say, taking a sip out of the shared kimchi jjigae pot, “I don’t even have to get a big loan out of the bank to pay for the deposit.”

“Are you that happy?” Jihoon asks, “you’ve been smiling non-stop since signing the agreement. You know, you could have seen more apartments, right?”

“No, this one is the best,” I say, “the kitchen has space for plants, there’s a veranda, the bedrooms are big, but not too big, you know? Just the perfect size.”

“The perfect size?”

“Yes, you know, the perfect size, not too small that it feels suffocating, not too big that it feels depressing. Just the right amount of cozy.”

“You’re crazy.” Jihoon says, “that’s some crazy-person logic right there.”

“I’m not!” I protest, but there’s no real spite in Jihoon’s words, and its almost as though he’s bickering with me to continue to keep things normal, or at least, as normal as they come.

“About the other night,” he begins, “you don’t have to feel envious of me that way.”

“I’m sorry about the other night. Admittedly, I was drunk.”

Jihoon stares at me. “Really? Are you going to pull the ‘I was so drunk I forgot’ trick? On me?”

“Uh, obviously, no.”

“So, you were.”

I grimace, and Jihoon sighs, “look, if you want to forget about this, you can, and I’ll pretend as though nothing happened that night, and you said nothing, we’ll move past it as we always do. but envy, jealousy, these are all important emotions, and I think you should at least try to talk to someone about it.”

“I’m talking to you.”

“Not me, I mean an impartial party.”

“Like a therapist?” I narrow my eyes, “Are you calling me insane?”

“What? No! I’m not saying that you’re crazy, I’m just saying that you might need to talk to someone outside of me and Joshua once in a while.”

“I talk to Eunseo. And Seungkwan. And the people at the newsdesk.”

“None of these people are impartial listeners, and besides, you don’t even go out much!”

“I’m out with you right now!”

Jihoon sighs, “yeah, I get it, going to therapy sounds difficult. But I really think you need to—”

“And since when are you the arbiter of my needs and wants?” my voice comes out sharper than I intended, and Jihoon just stares at me with a mix of shock and awe and something I can’t quite explain, “you can come and sit here and tell me that you think I should go to therapy, but have you ever paused to take a moment to understand what I need? I don’t need someone to tell me what I need to do, I already know that! I just need someone to be there for me, even when I sound stupid and petty and foolish.”

“Do you always need to take things this far?”

“This far? Why is it always me taking things ‘this far’ with you, Jihoon? Why can’t you stop for a moment, and try to look at things from my perspective for once?” I pause for a moment, chest heaving, “this won’t do, I can’t bear to sit down and eat a meal with you right now.”

With this, I storm out of the restaurant, Jihoon running behind me, “hey, look, we can just talk it—”

“I don’t want to talk things out with you!” there are people staring at me, but I just cannot bring myself to care right now, “you’ve kept pushing the idea of me sleeping with people ever since you found out about my feelings. Have you ever stopped to ask if that’s something I really want?”

“Then tell me!” Jihoon’s yelling too, the two of us on a busy street in a late autumn evening, screaming at each other, “you never tell anyone anything! I’ve been friends with you for six years, and I still don’t know anything about you! What is it that you actually want? Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Because I’m scared!”

Jihoon stops, stunned. Terrified. There’s no other way to explain the expression on his face. I continue, “because I’m terrified that I’ll do something wrong. All my life, I’ve lived in the fear of doing something wrong, of letting people down. What happens when I take a step forward? Will it be the right decision? Will I do something wrong again? I’ve always thought that, and now, when you keep telling me to take a step, I’m terrified, Jihoon. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

There. Now I’ve said it. “I think we should stop talking to each other for a while, Jihoon,” I say, walking away from him, “with you, I’ll always think of the ‘what if’s’ and I’ll be stuck anyway, but this time, I’ll be terrified, and I’ll fail. I don’t want that for myself, and you deserve better than a friend who’s like me.”

—

What are dreams? Are they something that your inner child holds on to, in the hopes of a better future, or are they something that the adult of now, works toward? I’ve always thought about what dreams meant to me, and I’ve always come up short.

The psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud interpreted dreams as the manifestation of our subconscious mind, a look into our unfulfilled wishes. But this is the scientific interpretation. what does it actually mean, to be able to dream?

When I was younger, I dreamt of a happier existence. An existence where I was fulfilled, or better yet, my desires were fulfilled. I kept dreaming, and dreaming, and dreaming, until one day I woke up and felt myself in a foreign land where dreams held little meaning.

In truth, that is our reality. A foreign land where we are forced to give up on our childhood dreams, and become grown-up adults. The definition of a dream changes too, from the manifestation of our inner desires, to mere scientific fact, neurological phenomenon whereby we can ascertain the quality of our sleep. Is this what we are doomed to become? To go on with our lives from day to day, doomed to repeat the cycle until we die one day?

When I was young, I dreamt of being a writer. I wanted to weave worlds with my words, perfect the craft of storytelling until my words brought comfort to people. I wanted to be someone whose words could be someone’s comfort, someone’s pillar to lean on when distressed. But that was when I was a child. As I grew up, I realised, ah, this is the real world, a place where my words of comfort held no meaning for anyone. I struggled against it, because I could not accept my reality. I failed. The world was too big, too cruel for me to hold on to the foolish dreams of a five-year old, and I woke up to my reality. Now, my words bring no comfort to anyone, because they are no longer my own. My words don’t belong to me, and neither does my dream. It is something I’ve kept locked in a box, hidden amidst my childhood belongings.

I am an adult. I envy people, I get jealous of people, I hold petty grudges. It’s who I am. I envy people who have achieved their dream, I envy people who are working towards their dream, because it reminds me of a five-year old child, whose dreams I allowed the world to crush. And they didn’t deserve that. None of us do.

So, for all of you who are working towards your dreams, may they be fulfilled someday. And for those who have given up on our dreams. It will be okay. Even if we gave up on it, even if it is distant from us now, it doesn’t mean we weren’t happy once.

—

“That’s the last of it,” Joshua pants as he hauls up a flowerpot into my kitchen, “why do you have so many plants?”

“So that I can save on groceries.”

“Wow, noona, you’re really sensible,” Mingyu says, “should I keep a plant in my home as well?”

“You can barely keep a rock alive, Mingyu, and that’s me being nice.” Joshua mutters, laid out on the sofa, “this is not how I imagined my day off to be going.”

“I enjoyed today,” Mingyu jumps up form his seat on the floor, “do you want jajangmyeon?”

“I just ordered it,” I say, settling down in a chair, “wow, this is nice.”

The flat is piled high with furniture, but the majority of it had been done by movers the previous day. My landlord, who hated the sight of me, even patted me on the back and said he was sorry to see me go. Weird. But, now that I’m in my own room, with enough sunlight and air and a new place to start over again, I can feel myself growing happier. Is it something related to places? Can they really affect mental statuses? “I should host a housewarming party later on, when I’m all settled in?”

“Really?” Mingyu perks up at the idea of a party, “you’ll invite all the others too?”

“Yes, I’ll invite everyone.”

“Great!” he’s already on his phone, “Jeonghan-hyung will be so happy to see you again.”

“I haven’t seen him in months,” I muse, “god, I don’t think I’ve seen all thirteen of you together in months, now. Or has it been a year?”

“Probably a year,” Joshua groans, “the last time we met up was at Chan’s welcome back party. Ugh, my back is killing me.”

“Old man,” Mingyu laughs, “shouldn’t you be at home with your fiancée?”

“Eunseo asked me to help out since she couldn’t come.” Joshua clarifies, “she was the one who was asked initially.”

“Makes sense.” Mingyu nods sagely, then jumps up at the sound of the doorbell, “food’s here!”

This is how it should be. Life. Surrounded by friends, surrounded by people who make you laugh. If this is how I can live here, then I’ll be happy, I think. But happiness is a difficult construct, and an ephemeral state of being for me, always slipping out of my grasp.

“Noona, where is Jihoon—” Mingyu gets a swift kick to the ass for that sentence from Joshua, and my smile dies away on my face.

True, no one has commented on it, not at the office, nor between friends, but I can practically feel Seungkwan’s curiosity burning every time I take lunch by myself, or I go out to meet people out of office, and come back alone. I haven’t been attending Sunday morning brunch with Joshua and Jihoon either, and both Joshua and Eunseo have kept quiet about it, but sooner or later, someone would have to speak up. Its unusual, having Jihoon away from me, without his voice being a constant presence in my life. Now, even with him living next door to me, I can’t reach out. The metaphorical rift has now become real.

“He’s busy,” I say, trying to change the subject, “I think he’s busy with Hoshi’s new project.”

That gets Mingyu’s attention, and he starts talking about how his and Minghao’s company is the one who’s dressing Soonyoung for his comeback, and how Soonyoung keeps wanting custom tiger-print stuff, until I can comfortably lean back and just laugh along at his words, trying not to think too much about Jihoon.

Later that night, as I’m climbing into bed, exhausted, the doorbell rings again. I’m dressed in pyjamas, with a pair of fluffy slippers on my feet, and the sound of the bell makes me wary. Who could it be, at—eleven at night? All of a sudden, I’m gripped with all the things I’ve heard on true crime podcasts, about the perils of single women living alone.

Wait, you’re thinking too much. It’s probably Mingyu, dropping something off. Right, that’s it. it could be Mingyu.

I open the door a little, “Mingyu, could you come back in the morning? I’m tired—”

“Do I look like Mingyu to you?”

In my shock, the door swings wide open. Its Jihoon, dressed like he’s come home running from work, the tip of his nose pink. He’s dressed casually again, in a white jacket over a black t-shirt. In comparison, I look and feel horribly underdressed.

“Look,” Jihoon begins, “am I too late?”

“For?”

“Is there nothing I can do to repair this friendship? Am I too late?” he grabs my hands, “I’m sorry, I’ll apologise a thousand times if you want. I stayed away from you because you wanted me to, but I can’t. I can’t give you up as a friend. I need you in my life.”

“Jihoon,” I open my mouth to say something, but my heart starts beating erratically. Is this normal? I look at Jihoon again, wide-eyed, evidence of tears on his cheeks, and I can’t do anything but nod my head.

Fuck. I’m screwed.

[korebringerofded]

You Can Hear it in the Silence- Part 1

Roronora Zoro X F!Reader

Summary- A handful of moments, Zoro realizes he has feelings for you, you realize you have feelings for him, tension tensionnnn Warnings- Future smut, adult content, sexual tension? Romantic feelings? Crack fic energy, lots of fluff and pining. Usopp being personally victimized by Zoro, emotionally unaware and distant Zoro, Reader wears a dress? Strawhat!Reader

A/N- I ask that you read my rules before going any further on my page. Reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated and keep me going All requests are always open and you can find my entire masterlist here. Please do not copy, use my work, or put it through AI without my permission or I'll be really sad about it!!

A/N- Hope you enjoy! This was supposed to be an imagine buttttt now its a multi-part fic, sorry for no posts. Its mental illness aint it. Reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated and keep me going All requests are open and you can find my entire masterlist here

Roronora Zoro was not the kind of person who would often find himself discomposed, he was undeniably brave and headstrong, sometimes to a fault. 

He was practically a one-man army, him being a ruthless pirate hunter turned pirate meant he had seen countless battles, faced many challenges.

So far, only two things could really cause that stoic image to falter, losing a fight, and you.

From the very first day that Monkey D. Luffy dragged you aboard the Going Merry, Zoro had taken notice of you. His sharp eyes followed you closely, taking in the curve of your pretty lips and the flutter of your lashes. It started as a simple interest, a curiosity for the newest crewmate, that was all. 

At least, that is what the renowned swordsman told himself.

For the first few months of you being aboard, Zoro had believed he had been successful at ignoring the blossom of warmth he had started to feel towards his new crewmate. He had convinced himself it was truly nothing more than a friendly interest. 

That was all, just a friendly and completely platonic interest in you.

You, who had a habit of wearing short dresses when it was a particularly hot day, skirts edge swaying at your thighs as you moved around the ship. 

You, whose warmth and kindness made Zoro’s skin crawl and his chest ache in an uncomfortable and unfamiliar way.

You, whose sweet and musical laugh would play on repeat in Zoro’s mind like a siren’s song, no matter how hard he tried to stop it.

You, who would spend entirely too much time with that damn cook. 

Not that Zoro cared, of course he didn’t care.

He cared, he cared a lot.

It was dinnertime, the sun setting over the shore while everyone was settling into their normal routines as the salty breeze blew along the deck. The entire crew sat around the dining table eating and conversing as they did nearly every evening. Nami, Sanji and Chopper sat next to you on one side of the table while Luffy, Usopp and Zoro sat on the other.

Luffy was talking to Usopp who sat at the other end of the dinning table, his voice loud as he shoved an absorbent amount of food into his face, his face pushed out like a chipmunk  with chubby cheeks full of acorns.

“L-Luffy! Be careful, you’re gonna choke!” You stammered, watching with wide eyes and a pale face.

“Ah, I wouldn’t worry so much about him. I’ve seen Luffy eat 12 whole roasted chickens in a row before.” Nami said with a sigh as she patted you on the shoulder.

“What about the bones?” You asked

“Oh yeah, he ate those too. I’m not even sure he noticed he did it.” Nami said.

“I rike food, is that suwch a crime?!” Luffy asked with a huff as his teeth tore into the juicy meat of a chicken leg, the grease coating his face and the food muffling his complaints. 

That sent everyone at the table into a fit of laughter, except for Zoro, who was sitting directly across from you at the table and was entirely too distracted staring directly at you to even notice the rest of the crew,

He had an almost unreadable expression on his face, his jaw tight. His body was tense, heart beating rapidly in his chest, like the echoing beat of a drum. Zoro’s eyes never left you, they followed the way your chin lifted into the air and your head tilted back as you laughed with your whole body.

He could see the small tears that formed at the corner of your glossy eyes as you laughed so hard it seemed to hurt, curled lashes fluttering as your hand reached up to brush the tears away.

Although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, even himself,  Roronora Zoro started to live and breathe for those bite-sized moments of your life. He wanted to see everything, experience all of you in every way possible.

Eventually, it got to the point where every thought that ran through Zoro’s brain would somehow descend to thoughts of you, your smile, your laugh, and those fucking eyes that were starting to ruin him.

As was normal aboard the Going Merry, Zoro was working out on the deck, doing countless amounts of reps with an abnormally huge weight, his rippling muscles twitching and sweat forming on his brow as he enjoyed the breeze and the sunshine soaking into his already tanned skin. He passed the weight between each of his arms after each set of reps, making sure each of his arms was properly matched. 

Zoro was training particularly hard today, his bandana tied around his head to catch the sweat from stinging his eyes. He couldn’t help it, he had been distracted for weeks, he had to try and clear his head.

He needed something, anything to take his mind off of his new crewmate, you. 

No matter how hard Zoro tried to avoid you, to ignore you, or be cold towards you…you would appear, and melt away that cold exterior like the onset of spring over a fluffy snow-covered field.

Just as always, as soon as Zoro’s clouded mind started to clear, your voice and presence appeared and sent a spark down the swordsman's spine, his muscles twitching as he glanced over his shoulder to see his only real weakness, you.

“I made some lemonade, you want some?” You asked in a honeyed tone.

Zoro’s eyes immediately scanned down to take in your outfit, gritting his teeth to contain the audible groan that threatened to escape his mouth. You were wearing a rather short dress, the brightly colored skirt swaying in the breeze as you held a tray with a glass pitcher full of lemonade and a few glasses on it.

“Damn…why do you have to be so cute?”

“That damn cook didn’t touch it, right? I think he's trying to poison me.” Zoro grumbled, only half-joking. 

You giggled softly, looking up at him as you quickly shook your head back and forth. You sat the tray down on a small table off to the side of the deck, bending over just a bit to pour Zoro a full glass of the lemonade.

Zoro couldn’t help it, his eyes wandered down the curve of your back to your round hips, his hand clenching around the dumbbell in his hand as he saw the skirt of your dress ride up the back of your plump thighs as you bent down.

“Nope. I made it myself, it’s definitely poison-free.” You said with a toothy grin, standing back up as you offered him the cup, the ice clinking against the sides of the frosty glass.

“Hm.” Zoro smirked. “We’ll see about that.” 

You giggled softly, still holding the glass out for him to take.

Zoro didn’t even realize what he was doing, your presence alone was like a bucket of ice water that short-circuited his brain. All rationality left his mind the moment he laid his eyes on your pretty face. 

For a split second, you could have sworn you caught his eyes flickering down to your thighs as the edge of your dress fluttered in the salty ocean breeze.

“That was just my imagination, right?” You thought to yourself, your heart starting to thunder in your chest like an approaching storm.

Zoro didn’t notice the weight starting to slip from his hands and without really thinking about it, he took another step forward. His sharp eyes were staring intensely into yours as his free hand reached to take the glass you had offered him, your fingers brushing against his calloused ones for just a moment before…complete chaos.

SMASHH-CRACK

It was a splintering, echoing sound, the ship trembling back and forth at the sudden impact.

Usopp was pale as he rushed over and stared down at the weight sticking half-out of the deck and tottering back and forth between you and Zoro.

Ussopp stepped around the weight with his arms flying up around him wildly as he tried to get out actual words. He was puffing out air as his face turned red.

“WHAT…THE…HELL?!” Usopp managed to stammer as he looked up at Zoro with a perplexed look on his face.

“Uhm…sorry.” Zoro mumbled in a hoarse voice, clearing his throat with a cough, though his cold, sharp eyes never left yours.

“Is that all you have to say? Now I have to fix this!” Usopp huffed, his face red in frustration as he threw his arms up one final time and he ran off to the storage room to get some tools and supplies. 

Usopp ran off, his body slumped over as he mumbled curses and complaints under his breath. 

As Usopp left, Zoro’s eyes wandered from the weight sticking out of the splintered wood and then back to your beautiful eyes. 

He was sure he would die of embarrassment then and there, your eyes were wide and you were looking up at him with a shocked expression on your face. 

He was certain you would tease him, absolutely positive you would…but instead, he saw admiration in those big, beautiful eyes. You were honestly too awestruck to even notice Usopp's ramblings or to care about the damaged deck.

“Do you lift those everyday?” You asked, taking another step closer to him. 

“Oh..yeah…” Zoro answered, his mouth suddenly going dry. 

“That's…incredible. What do those even weigh?!” You asked, eyes glossy.

“Um…I have no idea. I think…1000 pounds, maybe?” Zoro chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin creeping up on his face.

Your eyes widened as you stared up at the swordsman, his chest was wide and littered in twitching muscles and pale scars from his many adventures. He had been training for a while and his tan skin was glossy with beads of sweat that rolled down to his rippling abs. Your eyes couldn’t help but follow the beads of sweat until they rolled down to his curly green happy trail.

Yeah, after that you were completely and totally head over heels for Roronoa Zoro, not that you could ever tell him.

 Preview to part 2

“I can’t do this.” Zoro shook his head, shooting a glare at Nami. 

“Yes, you can.” Usopp said with a chuckle. “She is totally into you!” 

“Usopp is right, she is absolutely into you.” Nami nodded, hands on her hips. 

“Why is he here, anyways?” Zoro grumbled in a whisper, pointing his thumb in Usopp’s direction with a look of disgust. 

“Hey! I’m great at romance!” Usopp scoffed with a look of offense.

“This is going to go so badly.” Zoro said in a low voice, almost at a whisper as he started to rub his face with his hands, back slumped.

“All you have to do is ask her to spend the evening with you.” Nami said, one of her eyes twitching slightly. 

“And if she says no?” Zoro retorted. 

“She won’t! Now stop being such a coward!” Nami snapped, giving Zoro a slight shove towards the steps leading up to the main deck of the ship. 

Zoro glanced over his shoulder to see Nami and Usopp each of them giving him two thumbs up before turning back towards the steps with an audible groan before he started up the stairs.

“Why did I agree to letting these idiots help?” 

“I am not doing this. No way.” 

Zoro’s thoughts came to a complete standstill as he made his way to the top of the stairs and to the main deck. It was like the unshakeable man had been struck by a great bolt of lighting at the very sight of you. His calloused hand was wrapped so tightly around the banister that the wood trembled under his grip, sure to shatter to splinters if the pressure kept up. 

You were splayed out on the deck of the Going Merry, the afternoon sun shimmering down in bright rays of light and dancing over the surface of the freshly washed deck and your incredibly tempting skin. 

Your hair was fluttering behind you as you lay in the sun and thoughtfully flipped through one of your favorite books, laying on your stomach and kicking your feet absent-mindedly. You had on one of those absolutely maddening dresses, they always had an effect on him but that dress drove Zoro’s mind to recesses of his mind he never thought existed. 

He really couldn’t help it as his eyes flickered over your body, slowing as he scanned over the round curve of your ass and the plush skin of your thighs. It all was starting to make his head spin and his dick twitch uncomfortably under his clothes. 

Zoro was so caught up in subconsciously memorizing the shape of your body that he didn’t even notice you had looked up at him, the book still laying open in front of you. You both just stared at each other for a moment before you eventually spoke. 

“Did you need something?”

Part 2 Coming Soon

[discowingneckline]

reasons i hate rhato pt1

this pertains to v1 #1, so expect more at some point when i can stomach looking at it again. this is exactly what the title says. hey, do you like rhato? great, fuck off and don't read something that is going to upset you. i don't care what your good opinions are of this. the run sucks, and it deprives almost every other character of their personality for the sake of jason's character.

why does jason not have clothes on? why is his stupid little cute jacket not on him? why didn’t anyone give him underwear? if there’s clothes for kory, there must be clothes for him! if kory took off his clothes, it makes little sense why she wouldn’t put some on him where he isn’t injured at the very least. 

why didn’t kory keep his gun farther away from jason, and also why wouldn’t a seasoned hero at the very least not take the bullets out of his gun like be so for real. she clearly doesn’t recognize him here (for some fucking reason)

why does kory look at jason and think of her and dick post sexy times?? why do you fucking think the first thing on her mind for memory is that shit? fucking weirdo.

also why is kory so white-looking? fucking weirdo. why is she stick thin?

i don’t like the relationship here of dick and jason. i am a jason todd is a nice good robin. like yeah a bit of attitude but um…ew

also why is kory here in the first place and living like this? she is a woman of class, thank you very much.

if kory had “male clothes” the entire time, back to a previous point, why didn’t she put them on jason (since she already took off his clothes to treat him) or at least keep them near jason for when he would wake up? it’s giving that scott lobdell just wanted excuses to have jason nude for like all of this issue and to dumb kory down to be super sexual. 

also kory’s proportions are so weird and off. and also, let’s be so for real, they took away her curves and like body fat? like she was super strong, buff, hot before man. what the fuck.

“they appear to be the correct size” which one? the robin suit? the nightwing suit? which nightwing suit? also this is giving, based on previous panels, “jason has to face his horrible brother’s suit and take his mantle, but this time (super edgy shit) he makes it his own!” get a fucking grip.

the amount of jason calling kory “orange” when he knows her name and her title!! it’s giving fucking racist behavior. and it’s just rude. he literally got called out about it a second ago and he made this huge apology, just to do the same shit repeatedly again. speaking of that, comparing her to something from national geographic is giving…dehumanization. 

where did kory get these clothes? how long has she been where she is? what the fuck. also, not that kory wouldn’t wear stuff like that, but?? i don’t see why she has so many changes of clothes that are almost carbon copies of the same shit. 

what is that flashback she has with nightwing and arsenal? first off, what the hell is that roy? second off, why is kory’s body shaped like that? also this suit of her’s sucks. worst i’ve seen ever. my irl friend also complained about nightwing’s shoulders and the overall anatomy of the art. said it was shit.

why is jason handling guns and weapons with no shirt on? why are they so set on not giving this man clothes?

“she obviously loved dick grayson—almost as intently as i hated him” be so fucking for real right now. get a fucking grip. is this where the bulk of “bad sibling dick grayson” comes from for jason todd fics? because lmao be so for real.

what is jason’s anatomy this page specifically? what the fuck is it?

oh my fucking god. why does kory go to kiss jason?? in the water?? at night?? at fucking all? like kory isn’t shy with her sexuality, but jfc. you’re trying to tell me after she was so hung up about nightwing (??) that she just throws herself to whatever man is available? be so for real. she has fucking standards, and jason todd will never meet them. it’s giving that someone (scott lobdell) had a thing for a character (kory) and was using a self-insert (jason todd) to get that. 

also what is with all of her thigh gaps?? give my princess her body back please holy shit.

…i read more, and what the hell is: “it is one of the ways my people assimilate language, knowledge—you said you wanted to talk, i only assumed…” kory was literally talking to him for several days in english. why the fuck would she kiss him? again, makes no sense. you’re making a very intelligent woman fucking stupid so jason can seem cool and smart and desired. it’s gross. 

…why does kory’s power look like that? um…ew.

“sometimes they are crazed vigilantes pretending to love us like a son” be so fucking for real. as though jason and bruce didn’t have a decent relationship at the bare minimum. also?? what the literal fuck is “pretending to love us like a son” bruce does love jason, and of course dick as well. perhaps he isn’t always the best at showing it, but he does. and if this is another jab about bruce not killing the joker? literally get off of it. that is not fair for jason to say shit like that. it goes against everything bruce has ever stood for since he was a child, and it’s insane to expect bruce to do whatever jason wants when jason is going out killing a ton of people and overall just being a piece of shit.

why is jason talking about friendship and romance when it pertains to kory?? be so fucking for real. i do not believe for a second that kory would get with jason after their talk if jason truly talked to her about everything (because she would know that she was/is in love with dick, and i don’t take her for being someone who would throw herself at his brother). 

…i wonder what “qurac” would possibly be a stand in for. also why would roy harper just be sitting and taking that? also why is it just jason who is going out to get roy and not, oh i don’t know?? his fucking family??

if you guys want to see the panels from the points i gave, just let me know and i will reblog with them included.

[chaoticbardlady99]

Floozy (Astarion x F! OC)

Chapter 1: Cat and Mouse

Synopsis: Imogen finally feels comfortable enough to go to the Flaming Fists to report Astarion after several regular clients of hers go missing. Imogen improvises to survive the Nautiloid in spite of being told she won't.

Content Warning: Violent imagery, sexual imagery, promiscious, mentions of sex work, the title is applicable to the story I promise, low self-esteem, homelessness, parental drug use, child neglect, eventual fake dating, Cazasnore makes an appearance, kidnapping

AO3

“Well, hello, Darling,” a man muses, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before.”

   Imogen slowly turns around and is met with semi-glowing red eyes, a gorgeous face, and an even more awe inspiring smile. She eyes him suspiciously and he looks taken aback. 

 “You must not be very observant then,” she says in a cold voice, “I work here four days a week.” 

  “Really? A woman as beautiful as yourself? Working in Sharess’ Caress?” the man says with feigned disbelief all over his face, “do your clients know they are lucky enough to be in the presence of a Goddess?” 

 He’s fucking with me- I just know it.

 “They did,” she states, “until you took all my regulars and did Gods only knows what with them.” 

     The mask he was wearing shatters- hard. The sheer panic on his face is enough for Imogen to know that her suspicions are correct- her regulars are no longer walking this earthly plane. She turns on her heel- leaving the beautiful man in a storm of terror. 

 She had been onto him for months now and his face alone is enough for her to tell the woman at the front that she will be back. If he’s murdering people, then he needs to be stopped. She needs money- she can’t have every regular she has die on her and now that he seems to have moved onto her, well…

  Imogen looks up and down the street for a Flaming Fist- the night sky is bright with moonlight and there are masses of people walking around. She let’s out a huff of frustration when she realizes it’s going to be significantly harder to find a Flaming Fist than she thought. 

   Pushing through the crowd and occasionally having some handsy man or woman grab at her in her skimpy outfit, Imogen finally finds a Flaming Fist guarding the gate into the Lower City. A sigh of relief leaves her body, but then someone is pulling her aggressively into an alleyway- if anyone notices, no one follows them. 

 “Pain in my fucking ass,” the man from earlier snarls before turning on you, “what do you think you’re doing?”

 “What do you think you’re doing?” she shoots back.

  The two are staring at each other with equal amounts of contempt and venom, but Imogen sees an excruciating amount of fear in his eyes as he peers down at her.

 “You need to come with me.”

 “Absolutely not,” she scoffs, “I know for a fact that you kill every person you take home- I’ve been watching you for months. I just needed a direct confession and your facial expression is more than eno-”

  He slams her up against the wall and Imogen gasps- whether out of fear or arousal, she can’t be entirely sure. His cologne fills her senses and he is positively magnetic. He smirks at her while leering back.

“Darling,” he says through gritted teeth, “I’m not the one who does the killing.”

 She searches his face for any signs of deception and is utterly surprised when she doesn’t find any. Imogen’s face softens, much to both of their surprises. She’s actually not that tough of a person, she had just practiced that speech so many times in the washroom that it was second nature. She is far more passive- the one men and women enjoy fucking as hard as they can because she’s been marketed as “being able to take it”. 

 She couldn’t, not really, but she needed the money to survive so she took it. 

  The fear in his eyes- it’s not because of her telling the Flaming Fists. He’s afraid of another entity entirely. Who, what, or why- she doesn’t know, but it would be remiss of her to not offer to help in any way she can. 

 “Is there anything I can do to help you?” she pleads, “we could go to the Flaming Fists together- you don’t have to-”

“No,” he hisses, “I can’t do that. You can help me by coming with me.”

 “I can’t do that.”

 “I know,” he says through a choked whisper. 

   His hands are suddenly around her neck and she’s struggling to breathe. She looks at him with pleading eyes and notices his own eyes are even brighter now.

 “It’s always such a shame when cattle won’t listen. Don’t you agree, Astarion?”

  A voice from further down the alleyway causes her to begin fighting back harder and she immediately recognizes the man- Cazador Szarr. For whatever reason, that doesn’t surprise her. He’s always been kind of off putting, weird, and sadistic when any of her clients invite her to attend a soiree with them (paid, of course). Everyone else is charmed by him, but Imogen knows better. 

 The man, Astarion nods his head, but his eyes are looking at her as if to communicate that he is sorry. That he did not want to have to do this to her and that she was just unlucky enough to have crossed his path tonight. 

 Tears begin to fall down her face and she focuses on Astarion as Cazador begins walking towards them. Her heart races and she feels all the hairs stand up along her neck and arms. He is going to kill her- she can see it in his eyes and she begins to sob harder as he strokes her cheek and forces her eyes to look into his. 

 He looks hungry. 

 She whimpers in fear and he smiles darkly- massive canines peeking out from underneath his lips. Imogen begins to realize there may be worse things than death. What if this man does what he did to Astarion to her? She doesn’t want to murder people.

 “Aren’t you a delicious little thing,” Cazador says, his hands trailing down the front of her chest, brushing one of her nipples before gripping her breast through the fabric, “I have a feeling we are going to have a lot of fun together.”

  Tears go rolling down her face even faster now. Cazador begins to slowly undress her by untying the back of her dress. Astarion’s hands begin to tighten again around her throat, her airway more closed now than it was before. She puts her hands on his wrists and pleads with him in her mind to fight whatever this is, don’t kill her- please. 

  Except the situation quickly gets worse. 

 A mind flayer comes up from behind Cazador- he barely catches the invasion in time and the man disappears into a cloud of red mist and Astarion drops her to the ground when the Mindflayer grabs him, another one coming out from the shadows towards Imogen. 

 She weakly tries to get up, but it’s no use- she is too weak and delirious to successfully get away and she’s forced to give in. Astarion is screaming and trying to attack the creature clinging onto him- the screaming stops abruptly and Astarion drops like a dead weight on the ground.

 Imogen can’t decide if she just has terrible luck or if she just needs to get the fuck out of Baldur’s Gate already. She doesn’t fight the Mindflayer like Astarion did, but suddenly, she’s floating off into space- the world no longer privy of her and her no longer privy to the world.

         *************************************************************************

 When she wakes up again- she’s in an entirely different place and the smell of Sulfur assaults her nose as her pod opens. Imogen gingerly jumps out and looks around- grateful when she sees something resembling a door. She fights the vomit that crawls up her throat when she sees that the door is made of some kind of flesh.

 Thankfully, it opens without her assistance and she steps inside with gentle footsteps, remaining along the edge of the room until she is certain that no one else is in there but the strange voice from the floor above. 

  The elevator system is actually pretty neat, but coming across a brain talking to her as a man looks up at her does actually make her begin coughing up bile and shaking. She gets up, scrambling to run down the path leading away from the grotesque sight.

 “NO! Please SAVE US!”

  “I’m sorry!” she yells back, “but I promise I would if I thought I could stomach it!” 

“PLEASE!!!!”

 The plea was desperate and it pulls at her heart strings. Imogen stops and begrudgingly trudges backwards- putting her fingers into the skull. 

   Gods, this is disgusting!

     One of her fingers accidentally slips into the brain and she has to suppress the gag threatening to leave her throat. She doesn’t want to alarm the poor thing.

 It pops out and walks around for a bit, before looking at her? Imogen isn’t really sure, but ‘Us’ decides to join her on this little adventure.

     The hot air and sulfur is all consuming- Imogen feels dizzy. This is all too much and she’s probably going to die. Whether it be by turning into a Mindflayer or being killed by someone else- she’s not sure if she has a preference anymore. She just wants the hell out of the Hells. 

  As if on cue, a sword is thrusted into her face and a creature from a race she has never seen in her life is staring at her. Imogen nearly falls backwards from trying to get away, but thankfully they reach a mutual understanding.

 “We need to kill the Imps,” she states as if that’s the easiest thing in the world, “then we will find a cure on the Material Plane.” 

  Imogen feels herself go as white as a sheet and the woman cocks her head at her.

 “What is it, istik?” 

  “I-I don’t know how to fight,” she admits.

  The woman blinks at her a few times before she begins to walk away.

 “Wait- don’t leave me here!”

 “You are of no use to me,” she spat, “unable to fight- Vlaakith preserve me. It will be a miracle if you survive any of this at all.” 

  Imogen swallows thickly and doesn’t argue with her- instead, she follows behind her and stays out of sight while she fights the imps. Us stays nearby, remaining her loyal, weird pet companion. 

  Imogen will let her do the heavy lifting and clear the path ahead. There has to be a way out and Imogen is determined to find it. She is not going to die here.

  After the woman climbs up the disgusting looking nets and disappears, Imogen walks over to one of the corpses that is wearing a robe. 

  Imogen looks down at her current outfit and then at the robe. She’s going to have to change. No one is going to take her seriously dressed like this and she needs at least something to attempt to defend herself with. 

  “I am so so sorry,” she says to the poor man she’s stripping, his eyes glassy with death, “I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have to- I hope you can forgive me.” 

  The robe is far too large on her shorter frame and it’s rather loose. It sits awkwardly on the curve of her hips, breasts, and ass. She groans- this is going just sooooo well already. 

   She takes the dagger and cuts the robe to her knees and the arms until they are at her elbows. Sticking the dagger in her makeshift belt (fashioned out of her previous outfit). The next body she finds thankfully has a pair of boots that are her size so she discards her sandals and shoves her feet into the poor dead person’s shoes- once again apologizing profusely for messing with them in death. 

  The next climb is not nearly as disgusting now that her feet are covered and she is expecting the odd texture under her hands. Imogen finds that she’s actually a lot stronger than she realized- she’s not even breaking a sweat. Sex is apparently excellent exercise. 

  She’s met, once again, with a room decorated in gore, except this time, there is a woman screaming and yelling as she slams her hands against the glass. Imogen races over and the woman looks relieved.

 “Oh thank the Gods,” she breathes, “please help me- the other survivor, she left and she’s already working on taking down the ship.”

  Wonderful.

 “Do you know what they used to close you in in the first place?”

   Imogen can tell the woman is struggling to calm down enough to think clearly. 

 “Hey, look at me,” Imogen says softly, the woman looks at her on the verge of tears, “I’m not leaving you here to die alone, if you die, I die- breathe. Tell me what you remember.” 

Imogen goes in the direction the woman gestured to and begins searching through the pockets of the dead- there’s another person in here, but unfortunately- they are a Mindflayer now. That one woman must have wandered in here thinking this was the way to the Helm.  

  A stone-like object is warm and pulsing in her hand as if it’s come to life. This must be the key that is missing in the console. 

 She sprints back this time and holds up the rune as she runs over- the woman cheers in relief and Imogen quickly releases her from her prison. Imogen wants to know why she specifically felt like she had authority over the console to control it, but figuring out all of this nonsense is going to have to wait. 

 “Thank you,” she says, “you have no idea how grateful I am for you right now.”

  Imogen smiles, “no problem- I’m Imogen and this is Us.”

  The woman eyes the creature with uncertainty, but decides it’s not worth questioning. 

 “Shadowheart,” she says while walking back to the pod, grabbing something.

  Imogen decides she doesn’t care- as long as this woman is willing to help her get out of here and back to Baldur’s Gate so she can say goodbye to her home and move the hell away, she can do whatever she wants. 

  The ship lurches suddenly and both of them go flying across the room- being thrown all the way to the opening Imogen came from. Both parties scream in terror as they watch the ground get closer and closer. 

 The ship’s descent and gravity force Imogen’s grip to release. Shadowheart tries to grab her and their fingers merely brush. Imogen free falls- the ground coming closer and closer as she braces herself for her death. 

 Only it never comes- a woman stands in front of her with a smile before Imogen unceremoniously drops to the ground. Her battered body begs for sleep and she gives in- hoping no more tragedies will be brought upon her so she can finally rest.

[yuurei20]

Idia Info Compilation part 1: Riddle and Being a Housewarden

A running theme with Idia is his fear that people are mocking him behind his back. His main paranoia in the Wish Upon a Star event is being “targeted” by people who will laugh at him; he says outright that he “can’t parade around without worrying what other people think of me”.

At various points he also expresses concern about becoming a “global laughingstock”, making “a huge fool of myself in front of the entire school” and that Jamil will “blab about (him) to everybody, and soon the whole school will be talking about me behind my back”.

Idia says, “I just want a life where I blend in quietly and nobody notices me” and “working with other people kind builds my aggro”.

Idia doesn't seem to have friends, and Rook explains that “We all sparkly in different ways. The Roi de sa Chambre shines when conversing with his own heart. He is not one for forming friendships with scads of people.” Riddle summarizes this with “in other words, he’s a shut-in”.

In most interactions we have seen between Idia and the other students, they do not really get along: he misinterprets Malleus’ enjoyment of a quiet evening with an enjoyment of the opening ceremonies.

Idia mocks Malleus, saying, “‘Oooh, look at me, I’m the high and mighty Prince Malleus and I’m sooo different from everyone else”. When Malleus asks why the day is importance enough to warrant ceremonial robes (having not been invited to the ceremony) Malleus says “I simply cannot understand the meaningless things humans do at times. Though I suppose that’s what makes them so interesting.”

Idia takes offense, announcing that he knows that he is “not fit to stand in front of people in fancy places wearing fancy clothes”, that he is “locked into the evil route with every bad ending ever and there’s nothing I can do about it” and runs away—later reflecting, “I wasn’t born with worth and talent like other people, like Mr. Malleus. How’d I forget that?”

An interaction between Idia Riddle spans two different vignettes and gets referenced in an event: Riddle calls Idia “the most irritating person I’ve had the misfortune of meeting”, to which Idia responds, “Here it comes! Unsupported generalizations to promote the true agenda! Everyone must assimilate! Individuality must be stamped out!”.

Riddle calls him out on being too scared to speak to others face-to-face (an accurate assessment, with Idia himself saying that nothing scares him when he’s in a mask), but bold enough to insult them through doors and accuses Idia of foisting his duties upon Ortho. Riddle calls him incompetent and unreliable, venting to both Vil and Trey about it afterward.

Idia gets his revenge in Book 5 by designing a text-to-voice system for a presentation he had to give in order to “wipe that smug look right off of (Riddle’s) face”.

When Ortho cautions him for picking on an underclassman, we learn that Riddle has been a house warden longer than Idia himself, implying that Idia did not become housewarden of Ignihyde until his third year.

Despite Ignihyde’s reputation for “being home to introverts who dislike having any sort of attention called to themselves” and students who excel “not just in magic, but in engineering as well”—which seems to suit Idia perfectly—Idia says he never wanted to become housewarden, likening the position to being “a glorified errand boy for his underclassmen”.

[evita-shelby]

They didn't know we were seeds

Chapter 19

Cw: Chester Campbell is his own warning, mentions of sex and male masturbation

@justrainandcoffee @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings

Eva is not happy to find changes.

Clemens had been made to retire and in his place was the blue-haired daughter of Caesar Flickerman.

The mentor had met her before, seen her with bubblegum pink hair as a ten-year-old who was dying to meet her, as the piss yellow haired young woman emulating her father backstage in the 72 before going off to something called University.

Now 24-year-old Julia Pontia ‘Jewel’ Flickerman was at her doorstep with a new stylist ---Eva has had three or four of these after firing Tigris--- and a camara crew. The crew she knows, Cressida, Castor, Pollux and Messala. They had gotten assigned to her by the rebels to keep communication with the those in charge.

“I was so excited when daddy told me he’d found me a job! I couldn’t believe I’d be working with you!” she squeals clasping her lily-white hands-on Eva’s shoulders and even jumped in excitement.

Clemens wasn’t even old. He was only six years older than Eva, there was no way the retirement age of escorts was thirty-seven.

But Snow must’ve suspected something was up when a meat shipment to 12 was suspiciously heavier than it should’ve been. Luckily Jack hadn’t been escorting it there or he would’ve gotten caught.

Snow knows not to trust her; he knows someone on her team is part of the rebellion and only guessed half-right by removing Clemens. Only Clem hasn’t been the middleman in ages and his friendship with Livia goes as far back as their childhood.

“We shared the cabin with an Inspector Peacekeeper, such a bore with his ‘we provide order and civilization to the districts’ spiel.” The girl’s incessant chatter suddenly produces something useful. Thank goodness she was as loquacious as her parents; else Eva wouldn’t make good use of her.

Too well-known to fire, too ignorant to be a threat and Eva’s not in the habit of killing people despite her penchant for deadly tricks.

“Oh, really, I’ve never heard of such a division.” Eva doesn’t hide her interest; this was unheard of here. Jack said 2 and 1 one had them, snooping around keeping them in line and appearing all united for the Capitol.

He knew several, from his time as a shit-stirring teen and now as a gang leader. Eva heard of one in the Capitol on Luca’s payroll, but never met one in person.

“Inspector Campbell said they only assign them to districts for matters of utmost importance. I think it’s some rebel activity because of the Games.” Julia supplied readily wanting to be friends with her like some are with the mentors.

Eva should exploit that, for their advantage, but she knows there is a trap here somewhere. Snow wouldn’t have sent this girl here.

She’s gonna have to find time and a way to communicate safely in her presence. She may have to keep Jack away until they know what to do with her. Laurie loves talking about his dad, as far as the Capitol knows he only met him last year, but one wrong word from a babbling five-year-old could get them all killed.

Fuck.

They only have to keep Jewl away from the baby until they leave.

There is still another hour before the Reaping takes place in 10, all Reapings take place at noon. However geography makes it an hour after 12, 11, 8, 3 and 6. 10 and 9 have it at the same time, 2 and 1 has it an hour after theirs and share their zone with the Capitol, 4, 5 and 7 have it two entire hours after hers being the last ones.

She knows the Inspector won’t wait until the games are over to corner her, so when the old man finds her as Cressida readies her team.

“Miss. Smith.” The man does not wear a Peacekeeper’s uniform like the others, no he wears a tailored suit and a hat with that sinister and refined air that only a Capitol turd possess.

“Inspector, how are you finding 10?” Eva keeps things civil no matter that thing about him that makes her skin crawl. Cressida said he had a fearsome reputation and Pollux refused to remove his helmet out of fear. The best Rebel Catcher in Panem, Castor has supplied.

“In need of regulation and tighter security, I am sure you know why I am here, ma’am.” He speaks to her as if she’ll shake in her boots and spill it all, but he’s shit out of luck.

“Ah yes, the vanishing meat. Things have been so boring lately it’s the talk of every town. Even the villages in the south have heard about it and they live in the jungle.” Eva doesn’t mean to turn up the charm and flirt as if he were another client she had to schmooze, but alas its second nature to her. “If there is something I can help with, Inspector, please let me know.”

Better he thinks her a slut than a rebel.

Snow knows damn well what he’s doing, Jack’s going to have a difficult time coming to visit until they get rid of this pig. There was going to be something waiting for her at the Capitol, a punishment just for her.

“Places, everybody!” Jewel claps excitedly as the children selected for this year’s reaping are herded into place and beams at Matty who offers his arm to the blue haired girl like a gentleman. “Oh, lucky me, poor old Effie has told me horror stories about that Victor of hers.”

“I believe the matter will be settled before the Games end, ma’am. If it persists, be sure to expect me at your homes when you return.” The inspector tipped his hat and yet her peace of mind doesn’t return.

The farm has too much of Jack to deny his presence. Clothes, toiletries, a toolbox he brought from 2, candy and even pictures of them together that his sister developed in the privacy of her apartment.

They will have to up their game, if this man is a terrible as the crew says he is they are in deep shit. But at least 13 have gained needed substance and ensured their safety for when the time comes.

Despite Jewel accidentally dropping Hela’s name slip and mispronouncing Danilo’s name, the fact that they all leave in a train instead of the back of a peacekeeper’s truck makes the damn thing a success.

Cato is too much like he was.

Brash and arrogant, skilled and truly believing in all that glory bullshit. Jack had trained him, just like the kid before him. Both were the best in their class, but he lacks what the girl from 12 and even Jack did when he first one his games: a real need to survive.

Jack had not wanted to go to prison for driving a stolen car into a shop and vandalizing said shop. He had heard it was the easiest way to get into the games, but he hadn’t been told that it was because it was your only option if you had prior felonies and several other crimes to charge you with.

They didn’t expect him to win, they just wanted to keep crime down.

He was the spare, Laurie was always meant to be the Star of the Show.

Cato was the Laurie of his generation. His genes manipulated like his twin’s had been to produce the perfect victor too.

The kid was going to die. Just as Clove would too.

Jack pities the boy who thinks the papers they fill out for their burials are a useless formality. He doesn’t know he will die just like his twin did.

“Can we talk?” Eva approaches him when they are dropping off the paperwork for the tributes and he follows her to the supply closet they know is not recorded, and they will do their best to pretend they only fucked in there.

Better they believe they are two horny friends fucking each other’s brains out than conspiring against the government.

He hasn’t been able to visit as often as he had hoped, his pass had been marked as offline last time he tried. Then there was the investigation because of the missing crate his and Shelby’s men had gotten to 13.

Last time he saw his wife, he’d been promised she’d keep Paquito in his cage after the little fucker pulled on his earring with unmistakable glee. If he’d known the green bird was going to be a problem, he wouldn’t have suggested they get Laurie the bird he saw in the flea market.

That had been in June. Six weeks since he’s seen her, felt her and fucked her.

Six weeks ago, they began talking about a human addition to the family. He wants her off the roster and she claims her cards say their next one will be a girl.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you and Laurie.” Jack took her face in his hands and kissed her hungrily.

 Six weeks relying on his hand and that video in his helmet of them playing cop and rebel in her kitchen had him losing his mind right now.

“They sent an inspector.” Eva says in between kisses as she gives into the need for him. They’ve been too used to being together every two or sometimes three weekends at the farm, once a week when his badge worked.

“I’ll buy him off, what’s the pig’s name?” He knows most of the cops in poorer districts are easy to buy off, this one would fold like the rest.

His girl isn’t even helping him unbuckle his belt. The sooner he knows which crooked piece of shit is keeping him from his wife the sooner the victor can assure his wife it’s not as serious as they think.

They only have this game to make baby Isabel Nelson.

“Chester Campbell. Cressida says he is bad news. The one who tortured Pollux.” Those words have the same effect as a barrel of ice water.

Jack had never told Eva about him.

The man had been after Jack since the Victor had been a gang’s foot soldier for kicks. Campbell had collected every little thing on him and then goaded him into volunteering on the 60th reaping or going to prison for racketeering.

He was known for something else. Something his own mother thinks he doesn’t know.

The plea deal didn’t come free and the bruises on her neck didn’t come from a mugger.

There was no mistake in this: Snow was onto them.

[reviewinghiccup]

In race to the edge, Astrid is mad at Hiccup for not noticing the courting necklace she’s wearing and says, “ It was like I was invisible to you, do you have any idea how that feels? We’ve known each other our entire lives and I’ve never felt further apart.” Personality I was angry at her and knowing Hiccups guilt complex he probably felt bad through out her talk but I think he should be at the very least upset by her statement on how it feels to be invisible and there childhood relationship(s). What do you think?

HELLO @miky-ikos !

Nice question. Interest take and fair point. I mean, it could feel like she was degrading the basis of their entire relationship. And that wouldn't be fair to Hiccup. I gave the series another watch before I answered you and so, here's what I think:

I don't think I was angry w Astrid for what she did though. To be honest, I think she was (1) manipulated by Snotlout, (2) confused by Mala and Dagur's PDA, (3) stressed about having no alone time to talk things out w Hiccup and (4) having no one to talk to or address her concerns about their relationship in general. I'll address each point in turn.

(1) & (2) HICCSTRID IS THE ONLY SERIOUS RELATIONSHIP WE KNOW OF IN RACE TO THE EDGE.

On Dragon's Edge, Hiccstrid is the only serious relationship. In fact, they might be the only Berkians in their age group to be engaged. So, they have nothing to compare their relationship to.

When Dagur and Mala stopped-by all touchy-touchy, that was uncomfortable for them, because maybe the PDA thing wasn't in their culture/nature to explore. And maybe something she wanted to try.

I mean, this is the first time she sees another couple. She starts to wonder if their relationship is right. Marriage is a huge commitment and if you're as thorough as an Astrid, you want to know what right means.

Then Snotlout taunted them by saying "this is what true love looks like" as if he knows. Yet depsite that, its effective in making Astrid question her relationship and its state.

(3) & (4) THEY HAVE A WORKING RELATIONSHIP & A ROMANTIC ONE

They are also partners in battle as well. That's always been the case. Even when they were friends. And they've been friends for longer than they've been in a relationship.

So often when that happens, the lines between best friend and lover and even co-worker can be blurred and you might find yourself in this hodgepodge state of everything in between and dangerously, nothing at the same time.

They had no time that day to talk. They were constantly interrupted. First by Dagur's best man proposal, then by the Armour Wing, then by Krogan's scouts, then by Krogan himself.

Where communications fail, fights begin. And, I do agree she shouldn't have expected Hiccup to read her mind, but if he had paid attention to her, he would've noticed she was not ok.

I mean, the boy can read her if he paid enough attention, we know that. We've seen it. So, the fact he didn't catch on (to her) meant that he wasn't looking.

He could spot the dragon lens miles away but could not notice the Betrothal necklace in front of him and on her.

Quiet rarely do we see Astrid insecure. We often see Hiccup insecure and needing validation. So maybe, when it happened to her, it came off angry and manipulative, but all she wanted was reassurance that they were the right thing. That she was right for him. Maybe the insecurity ate into what she knew deep down, that he loved her.

I'm sure Hiccup felt bad. You're right, our boy has a guilt complex. And I don't think anyone can hurt him as deeply as Astrid can. But I don't think he was angry or would be angry w Astrid. I don't think he can be. He could be upset by her statement, but more because it made him sad.

Their relationship was more than just something that started as friends. It had mutual respect, courage, time, missions that required them to trust each other on levels no one else had to. She was his support, from day one. Behind him and his idea to save the village from the Red Death to training dragons, to riding Toothless. She even promised to keep Toothless a secret when he asked her to.

Without her, he wouldn't be the Hiccup we know now. She egged him towards his call. And he needed to be there for her, to allay her insecurities as much as she has for him. Relationship is a lot of give and take. We are dealing w humans after all. And just because you think someone knows you love them, doesn't mean you don't have to go around showing it.

Thank you for your question, I hope my answer suffices. And enjoy some clips from the show.

[magnificentcenturyfics]

Woah!!! A MC fanfiction account! I love your Suleiman x Hurrem work I’ve seen! About massage and love and horniness, so fun and hot! Can you maybe do Suleiman x Ibrahim, or (ah, my ot3) Suleiman x Ibrahim x Hurrem? With first — a night of violin playing, maybe poetry, and kisses — hands, in obedience and hidden need, or lips, because, well some things can’t stay hidden forever. And if second — I would live literally absolutely anything, I have yet seen one (1) work about it, but oh, Ibrahim and Hurrem “teaming up” on Suleiman, again, with laughter and kisses and banter. I really want something happy right now. (Sorry, English is not my native language, so my descriptions suck)

*sigh* Ask and you shall receive.

I am very sorry for the relative lack of main action here. A porn with plot, except the plot only starts and to be honest, there's not that much porn here either (I mean, enough for an explicit rating, but still). Also, is it dubious consent if you are just as hammered as your target? Anyway, an Ibrahim/Süleyman oneshot where Ibrahim is willing to anything, and I mean ANYTHING to defeat Hürrem...

***

Two uninterrupted days and nights with sultan. Knocking Mahidevran off her Thursday throne. Numerous gifts, including ones made by Süleyman himself. Exhalted love poems Ibrahim found whenever he stole a glance at sultan’s work table before Süleyman managed to hide them. And, lest he forgot, two children in two years; at this rate, a prince might already be on its way.

Hürrem needed to be stopped.

   Of course, that was more easily said than done. Valide sultan would have him throw pliable young bodies under the sultan untill he likes one better than the one Hürrem has, but Ibrahim knew that would never happen. So what if they are beautiful? So is Hürrem. So what if they are personable? So is Hürrem (at least to the sultan, she was an enormous bitch to everyone else). So what if they are clever? If Süleyman wanted clever, he would never fall madly in love with Mahidevran, let alone Hürrem. They needed something more, something that Hürrem had, but no other woman that Süleyman had ever been with did – the sheer, unbridled audacity, and in a way that would register as endearing rather than insulting to His Majesty at that. Ibrahim would wear his eyes and shoes down before he found such a woman at harem or a slave market, and in the meantime Hürrem grew more powerful and dangerous with every night she spent with Süleyman.

Well, he supposed, if you want something done, you have to do it yourself.

   And sure, it won’t be easy on him. The entire time he considered this plan, he was thinking of Hatice. But let’s face it, he wasn’t ever going to get Hatice – and if that was the case, he was ready to sacrifice himself for the greater good.

   He found the perfect opportunity to strike one night. They just finished working and in the usual case, Süleyman would call for Hürrem or simply go to sleep, too tired to perform. Ibrahim wanted to make sure he did neither this time. So, as Süleyman got up from the table, Ibrahim said in as casual a tone as possible. „I would like to spend one night with you sometimes.“

Süleyman shot him an expression that told him in no uncertain terms that what he said was just plain weird (as if Ibrahim didn’t know).

„In conversation, I mean! You know I sleep alone every night, Your Majesty, and the loneliness can be truly crushing.“

„We’ll find you a wife, then.“

Ibrahim laughed; he decided to treat it as a joke despite nothing in Süleyman’s expression indicating such a thing.

Luckily, Süleyman decided not to follow up on that. Instead, he cast a longing glance at the door, then turned back to Ibrahim. „Would one night truly satisfy you?“

„I can bring wine, Your Majesty. Kamran agha, a former servant of yours from Manisa, if you remember him... Well, he owns a vineyard in Cephalonia, and he gifted me a bottle, so that I might tell all of my friends about its quality.“ Well, there went the stuff he wanted to serve at his wedding... Which he wasn’t having anytime soon, so what gives.

Süleyman’s face brightened. „Why didn’t you start with that?! Go to your room, Ibrahim, and bring that wine at once!“

He didn’t start with that because, frankly, he didn’t think this trough very well.

   A few minutes later, Ibrahim was filling Süleyman’s cups with the generosity of a man who always has more wine (he didn’t, but the pretense was necessary to maintain at the moment). Wine always made Süleyman more cheerful, chattier and, at least untill the alcohol-induced impotency kicked in, sluttier; under normal circumstances, it took the form of bawdy songs and jokes, but Ibrahim knew he could go further if he really wanted to, and in the absence of a pretty concubine (who hopefully was smart enough to not spread the news of the vices His Majesty partook in)... Who’s to say?

   They sat on the terrace, sharing gossip about pashas with only a thin veneer of „well, sultan simply must have up-to-date knowledge of the activities of his high officials, no?“. A staggeringly short amount of time later, half of the bottle was gone, and sultan leaned towards Ibrahim in an intimate gesture that Ibrahim’s tipsy brain wanted to use several times as a segway to a kiss. Only then did he manage to find a good conversation topic for his purposes. „They say – Majesty I am not saying it’s true, I don’t think it is, it’s certainly slander of your most faithful official besides me – ahem, I mean, they say Bostanci Mehmet pasha likes young boys.“

Süleyman looked like he was thinking, but considering the stage of his drunkenness (which continued to get more severe as Ibrahim kept filling his cup and he continued to sip it eagerly) that was unlikely to actually be the case. „Why?“

„What?“

„Why are they saying it?“

„Well, he has a lot of very handsome men in his service, and isn’t married, and people say a healthy man can’t go that long without... Ahem...“

„He has no concubines, then?“

„Noone knows! He certainly doesn’t brag about it. Or he could seek out the services of prostitutes...“

„Of what gender?“

Ibrahim’s face lit up. „Ahhh! You see, that is a very good question, Your Majesty! I myself felt tempted, a couple of times...“

Süleyman lifted his eyebrows. „Have you?“

„I never went trough with it, but a man cannot help but wonder. Have you ever?“

„What? Consider sodomy? Hardly.“

„B-because... You see, there is one man, and one man only...“

„A prostitute?“

„No! Oh, Allah...“

Ibrahim’s alcohol-blunted judgement took this for an ideal opportunity to strike. He leaned in closer and pressed a kiss on Süleyman’s lips, but they, sadly, remained unresponsive. Instead, when he pulled out of it, Süleyman’s face was confused and a little offended. „What are you doing?!“

„Sire, I...“

„Have you ever kissed anyone?! Because that’s not how you do it!“

„Well, sire, I have, but it was solely in a professional setting, so to speak, and obviously prostitutes...“

   His drunken idiocy was mercifully stopped by Süleyman’s kiss. The experience was undescribable; Süleyman truly could kiss like noone. Years of practice, he supposed, but the passion obvious in every brush of his lips still flattered Ibrahim immensely. He nonetheless wasn’t prepared for Süleyman’s tongue that surreptitiously slipped in between his lips like some small animal under a fence. His hand flew onto Süleyman’s cheek as if of its own will, at which point Süleyman deepened the kiss even further. Eventually, they had to break it up, and as they did, Ibrahim saw Süleyman’s eyes blazing in victory. Ibrahim, afraid of Süleyman coming to his senses, climbed onto his lap and started kissing him in the same manner Süleyman previously kissed Ibrahim. A startled noise escaped the hasodabaşi when Süleyman grabbed his ass with the lustfulness of, well, tipsy sultan Süleyman. Sultan was at least able to think straight (pun not intended) enough to part his lips from Ibrahim’s and murmur. “Let’s go inside.”

   Ibrahim readily jumped from his lap and followed him inside the chamber, where Süleyman’s expression unfortunately grew embarrassed. His returning sanity was confirmed by what he said next. “Pargali… It’s getting late. We should be in bed by now.”

Ibrahim was gripped with desperation; a scheme failing was one thing, but what if Süleyman decides that he doesn’t need a man whom he had kissed in his vicinity, because of the shame if not the temptation? With this thought, he dropped to his knees and started kissing Süleyman’s hands desperately. “Sire, please, don’t send me away just yet… I can serve you in a manner no man or a woman had served you before, devote myself to you so completely as if your needs were my needs and your body was my own. No sultan has ever had a servant as faithful as I aim to be to you. Had I not saved your life several times? Had I not put my body between you and the assassin’s knife? I have no…”

“Thank you, Ibrahim, that’s quite enough.” said Süleyman in an almost amused tone. “Go back a little, please. What do you mean by service, exactly?”

“Whatever you ask for, Your Majesty! All of my body is yours – my hands, lips… Just everything.”

Süleyman turned his gaze from Ibrahim’s face, thinking, before eventually opening his mouth again with an intrigued expression. “All of it, you say?”

“Indeed!”

“And if I ask you to not question my orders or say anything to anyone…”

“Your secrets are safe with me, my sultan. Have they not always been?”

“Undress, then.”

   Ibrahim happily obliged, though he was somewhat worried of what comes next. No matter. If the things get though, he’ll just think of Hürrem’s face when she learns Ibrahim has entered a direct competition with her. She can never be sultan’s bitch quite like-

“So!”

Süleyman’s voice tore Ibrahim away from his revelry. Only then did he realize Süleyman was already naked as well. He braced himself for truly anything Süleyman could ask of him in situation… Well, except what Süleyman actually did ask for.

“Are you ready to serve?”

“I am!”

“No, you’re not.”

Ibrahim winced. “Come again?”

Süleyman sighed and came to Ibrahim, kissing him once again. Ibrahim kissed him back with great pleasure, slowly realizing just how good he can feel – and he felt even better with his hand stroking Ibrahim’s privates. Pargali gave off a moan of pleasure, slightly trembling when Süleyman stepped away, then further and further…

   Walking backwards, Süleyman walked into the bedframe, swearing upon hitting it. He fixed his gaze on Ibrahim’s erect penis, then turned around and laid his hands on the bed, ending up on all fours in technical terms, though not in spirit. “You said you would do anything and that all of your body belongs to me, correct?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Well then.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

“Your penis is also part of your body, if I am not mistaken.”

“Yes, but… What am I supposed to do with it?” He knew it. He could at least tell from Süleyman’s stance. His eyes saw, but his mind boggled too much to admit it.

“Ibrahim, you dense clown. There’s a small bottle of rose oil in the bath. I sincerely hope I do not need to spell it out for you any more than that…”

Ibrahim slowed started blinking again as Süleyman turned back towards him with a stern expression. “But… Why? You’re the sultan of the whole world, kalif of islam…”

“Ibrahim I swear, stop mentioning religion in this of all moments…”

“What I am saying is – why?! Of all the things I might offer to you, why this?!”

“Curiosity, my dear. There’s nothing more to it. I’ve penetrated before, I know how it feels. But to be penetrated… Well, that’s something I can only experience with you.”

Ibrahim’s eyes lit up in excitement. Even in his wildest dreams he could not imagine this night going as well as it did. “It would be an honour for me to show you, then.”

---

When Ibrahim walked away from sultan’s chambers in the morning, he met Hürrem in those red dress of hers that must’ve driven Süleyman mad whenever he was about to spend a night with her. He gave her a smirk, but walked away from her before she could say anything. The image of what her reaction might be had she known of the last night made him almost giddy.

Fuck Hürrem sultan.

And fuck Hatice.

From now on, he and Süleyman needed noone else. And should he still doubt it, Ibrahim was ready was ready to fight for this truth with the same tenacity Hürrem fought for her own supremacy in sultan’s bedchamber.

The game was now well and truly on.

[the1975attheirverybest]

It seems like you’re getting overwhelmed with Gabbriettes asks lately so if you don’t want to post this no worries! But since I saw some questions about her lore…

1. She used to be a dancer, which led to her dancing in one of Charli’s videos, and later was hand picked by Charli for Nasty Cherry, a band created for a Netflix show. They did semi-well for what the project was and they had a lot of potential until The Incident.

2. The Incident: one of the members, Chloe, collaborated with Ariel Pink, a known racist who attended the Jan 6 riot. Ariel posted photos that included Chloe wearing a traffic cone on her head while doing a Nazi salute…it was bad. I don’t remember if there was an official disbandment but they sort of just fizzled out. It’s unfortunate because I really liked them.

3. She doesn’t follow any specific diet. She says grains give her stomach issues but she’s a foodie and likes to indulge, and her options would be limited if she cut grains out entirely, so she plays around with grain free recipes at home to sort of offset that. She’s not vegan but uses dairy and egg alternatives based on the recipe she’s making.

She had been to The 1975 shows in the past as well, with the Charli connection they might’ve already met. At the very least they were probably talking since he liked her pic in July. She was with Levi Dylan at the time but he’s rumored to have cheated on her multiple times so.

Anyways I’ve followed her and kept up with the LA influencer scene for far too long but I love her. Besides looking alike aesthetically, their personalities are just really similar. I’m rooting for them!!

Ohhhh this helps a lot thank you for taking the time to introduce her to us properly 🥹

The possibility of them having met before / known of each other makes this even cuter. Like yeah I remember the pic post Malaysia but like if he’d seen her through Charli and stuff and maybe gotten to know her here and there….so cute. 🥰

They do seem very compatible and I really like that she has a unique sense of style and a great personality. But of course most importantly she seems to make him very happy. That’s all that matters. Sweet babies 💗

[samobservessonic]

We have the same creative team going into the next part of this story, as we pick up from just after where we left off last time, with Omni-Viewer helping Sonic and friends escape back home. It seems that even though Omni-Viewer is being forced to work for Robotnik, it managed to find a loophole in his orders to “get rid of” Sonic and the others by literally taking them home, thus not disobeying Robotnik at all. That’s what a cool non-cop dimension-travelling buddy does for their bros, after all

But Omin-Viewer can’t stick around any longer than this and just getting home hasn’t solved Sonic’s problems, as it looks like the badniks have gotten a serious upgrade since the last time we saw them. Now we’re looking at StC-exclusive badniks as opposed to the ones from the early Sonic games. It’s funny, because I did admittedly quite like how weirdly ruthless the average badniks were at the beginning of the comic, but there was something silly about your average Aquis being able to send the entire Oil Ocean Zone up in flames to torch Sonic alive, so I can see why they might’ve chosen to switch them out for something that looks a bit more sinister

Tails remarks that he hasn’t seen badniks like these before and it takes Sonic a few pages worth of fighting to destroy them to release the little animals inside. And to answer the question of “How did the badniks become so strong so quickly”, we learn that Sonic hasn’t been seen for six months!

Johnny’s the one to figure out what Omni-Viewer couldn’t stick around to explain. It seems that for some reason, Robotnik thought it was a good idea to send Sonic to the future to avoid him getting in the way of his plans, but didn’t specify how long and the Omni-Viewer decided that six months was enough time for the damage to not be too bad without making Robotnik suspicious. This all seems a bit convoluted, but one thing the news sections of the comics have been talking about a lot lately is (the then upcoming) Sonic CD, so I do wonder if this plotline was perhaps inspired by the time travelling in that game

Looks like six months was more than enough time for Robotnik to take over, however. And yes, literally a few pages after I said “I think they wanted to move away from the game badniks to up the stakes because it was getting a bit silly”, we get surveillance camera eggs flying about, which is one of the silliest things I’ve seen from this comic so far. But I’m not changing my earlier statement to pretend I have a bigger brain, because that’s not how I roll

There’s a lot going on in these three panels of a trooper badnik threatening a squirrel. At this stage, every time I see a random squirrel, I have a moment of “Is it Sally?” but this one isn’t wearing a bow and mentions having a wife. So, here are four potential options: 1) Random squirrel person (boring!) 2) Sally & Tufftee’s parent 3) It’s Shorty the Squirrel and he just doesn’t mention to the Freedom Fighters that he is/was married when he later joins them 4) It is Sally Acorn, she’s just not wearing her bow today and her wife, Nicole, is never shown on-screen Pick whichever one you like best Both more than that! In the last panel, this badnik refers to Robotnik with they/them pronouns. I believe this was possibly a mistake, but even so - diversity win! The tyrant who destroyed your home is non-binary!

At first Sonic is hesitant to destroy the badniks and risk hurting anyone trapped inside them, but mysterious squirrel person confirms that these troopers have no animal batteries, so Sonic doesn’t hold back on destroying them.

We end this issue on what I think is more establishing the on-going struggle than a direct cliffhanger, so I’m still going to count this story as a two-parter, unless the next issue contradicts me. Sonic swears to wipe Robotnik off Mobius and then we switch to Robotnik confirming at he’s taken over the whole planet, not just the Emerald Hill Zone

…And we’re here! We’re at the point where one of the main struggles of StC is setup! Now, I’ll say up-front that Robotnik’s rule in StC doesn’t last for the comic’s entire run. We will reach a point where the Freedom Fighters take him down and over struggles present themselves in his absence, just like when he was taken down in Archie. But for quite a long time, the Freedom Fighters vs Robotnik is the conflict we’ll be dealing with in StC and I’m looking forward to seeing that play out. We already have Johnny and Porker having travelled through time with Sonic, but I honestly don’t know if the Freedom Fighters form off-screen or if we’ll be seeing that happen in the coming issues. Personally, I’m hoping for the latter, but this comic hasn’t disappointed me so far, so I’m excited to see where they’ll go from here

[kfedup]

It’s Sunday, yea?

1. Busy day yesterday with an early drive northwest to my friend’s father’s funeral, where the priest called him by another man’s name for most of the service. The plodding pace of sit, stand, kneel of the Catholic service sent me reeling back to my childhood. I remember being grateful when my family changed from a Roman Catholic Church to the one on campus that was less formal and I also remember how even there I rejected much of what I heard. I sat and stood there yesterday (I did not kneel) feeling like an alien interloper but grateful to be able to support my friends. I was one of 3 people wearing a mask and I sat in the back row by the open door. Lort the coughing coming from the full church was unholy. Fingers crossed the mask did the job.

2. Nothing prepares you for middle age and the precipice you teeter on trying not to slide into oblivion.

3. Visited with a good friend and her new mate last night for a few hours. So good to connect and remind each other of how far we have come since we first met 12 years ago. Her bf is a painter and gave me some pointers for how to approach my first acrylic self portrait. I’m excited to try.

4. I slept in and am on the couch in the quiet listening to the light rain and sipping my coffee. Read a chapter of the book Wintering by Katherine May and felt the urge to do a post. Will return to the book for a little longer after this while the house is still quiet.

5. There’s a chicken carcass in the instant pot becoming stock for something tonight. Perhaps the ginger chicken noodle soup I’ve been fantasizing about. Or perhaps a spicy white chili.

6. I need to do a few hours of work today and also grocery shop and do some basement clean out so I can move all the boxes of books out of the back of my car. Yeah, I know… they’ve been there for weeks. I’m struggling with getting certain kinds of things done around here.

7. I am ready for this year to be the year that I get to enjoy my own sexuality. It’s been six years since I have felt connected to that part of myself in a meaningful and fulfilling way. And that six years ago was only partially so… truly it’s been nine years since I felt truly turned on and tuned in for an extended period of time. Since I’ve looked in the mirror and seen my sensual self reflected there without having to talk myself into seeing her there.

8. Hey, a bonus… truth be told, I’m afraid that might not exist in me anymore. I’m aware that the fear is attached to the yoke of alcohol around my neck. But I remind myself that what I experienced all those years ago happened sober. Was the only time I’ve felt so richly in the deep water flow of my own being while connecting with another person in my entire life and I did not imbibe of anything but that energy. It’s just that the years that followed involved so much rye whiskey haze and these last two years sober the few times I tried to date… well… not great, Bob.

9. The extra bonus is that I’ve become quite satisfied with my life alone and am noodling around ideas for the next few years that might include solo travel and working truly remote for periods of time. Get to know some other places. Meet some new people. It will be good for me to crack open the habitual.

10. Hey, there’s more! I rebooted therapy last week after a four-year hiatus with a new practitioner. She’s much younger than me, which didn’t come across in her profile and my initial reaction when I met her was hesitation. She asked excellent questions and her areas of expertise include women in transition phases and addiction. I’ll give it a chance and am encouraging myself to remain open to different perspectives.

These are my more than seven Sunday thoughts. I hope your day is restful or productive or both if that’s what you need.

[oseathepebble]

Tsukiko Kawashima - Holiday Wear SSR Vignette 1

The vignette to go with Tsukiko's Holiday Wear SSR Card for the fan event created by @bunnwich

Part 1 | 2 | 3

20 Days Before Christmas Day

Ramshackle Dorm - Lounge

Between decorating Ramshackle for Yuletide and keeping their friends out of trouble, Tsukiko hardly had much time to gather everything for their special surprise for Jack. They sat on one of the couches in Ramshackle’s lounge as they quickly sketched out all the details of one of Jack’s presents

Grim lay by their side, snoozing away as they enjoyed the warmth emitted from the fireplace in the lounge. He spoke random words about food, a sound Tsukiko was familiar with

A knock on the front door drew them from their extreme focus. They groaned as they slammed their sketchbook shut. With each knock, they became more annoyed until they shot up from the couch and made their way to the front door

Ramshackle Dorm - Entry Hall

Upon opening it, they discovered Ace and Deuce shivering from the cold. “Hey Prefect, let us in!” Ace said through his chattering teeth

Tsukiko let out a sigh. “Come in,” They quickly shut the door after their two friends walked in. “Why are you two here? I’m busy,” To prove their point, they held up their sketchbook

Grim pranced into the entrance hallway. “You two knock too much,” He said groggily, clearly upset from being woken up from his peaceful nap by Tsukiko’s side

“We were just checking in, Tsukiko, you’ve been so busy lately you’ve forgotten all about us!” Ace dramatically cried. “But seriously, it’s been forever since we’ve got to hang out! What’s making you so busy? Ramshackle is already decorated,”

“Well if you must know, I’m preparing a surprise for Jack! It’s almost Christmas Day after all! This time of year is so romantic,” Tsukiko let out a dreamy sigh. “I have twenty days left and I’ve created a list of what I need to do and when!” They opened up to a page in their sketchbook that was completely covered in writing. “Today, I’m finalizing the details on the jacket I’m making for Jack. I already have a pattern made and all the fabric cut out. Then, tomorrow I’m going to buy ingredients as well as table decorations,” They shut their sketchbook. “And also on top of that, I have to make my other friends presents!”

Ace and Deuce listened as Tsukiko went on about all the things they needed to do within the next 20 days. Once they were done, Deuce spoke up, “Are you sure you can get all that done in just twenty days?” He said it not to express doubt, but concern for his friend

“Yes! If I stick to my plan and strategize in order to maximize the time available, I’ll be able to get everything done! With time to spare. I’m not gonna half-ass my presents this year. You guys deserve to get something nice for the holidays!”

“They’ve been talking like a crazy person this entire month! I can’t wait until Christmas when they finally stop making lists,” Grim added. Ever since the first snowfall, he had to deal with a frazzled Tsukiko, which he didn’t like. Their nights spent awake to plan caused them to be out of sorts the following day

“I’m sure we, especially Jack, will like whatever you get him, have you seen the way his tail wags when he’s around you? I don’t understand why you have to go all out for Christmas. Just wrap up your present for him real nice and he’ll love it!” Ace crossed his arms as he shook his head. He did have a point

“But I have to! Christmas is the most romantic holiday of the year! I can’t half-ass my present! I’d be a fool if I didn’t go all out for Jack,” The more Tsukiko explained, the more they sounded crazy to their friends

“Romantic? I don’t see how Christmas is romantic,” Deuce openly admits. His head tilted in confusion. 

“Well, maybe it’s because you’ve never been in a relationship before! How could Christmas not be romantic? Spending an evening looking at the pretty lights, exchanging gifts from the heart, and on top of that, a cuddle session with your partner to warm each other up!” As they explained, their eyes lit up with excitement. It was clear they were very passionate about the subject

“We should go, I don’t feel like spending Christmas collared,” Ace grabbed Deuce’s arm and tugged him towards the door. The Ramshackle Prefect wished them goodbye before going back to work

10 Days Before Christmas Day

Ramshackle Dorm - Fashion Studio

Tsukiko snoozed away at their sewing machine. Their sleep schedule had been so out of sorts, they had ended up passing out in the middle of making Jack’s new jacket. They were only awakened by the sound of Grim’s whines

“Tsukikoooo where’s my tunaaa,” Grim whined as he pawed at their pant leg. Usually, Tsukiko would wake Grim up and then they go eat. But strangely enough this day, Grim had woken up before Tsukiko

The Prefect stirred awake. “H-huh? Grim? What time is it? Why don’t you ask Yuuta or Yume. . .” They asked as they sat up and stretched. Their eyes adjusted to the light and they noticed instead of their bed, they had been sleeping in their fashion studio

“Yume and Yuuta are ou with their boyfriends,” Grim answered. “And I think it’s the afternoon,” Though he didn’t know how to read time, based on how bright it was outside, he assumed it was the afternoon

Tsukiko’s eyes went wide. They looked at the wooden clock that hung above the door and just as Grim had said, it was the afternoon. 1:00 pm to be exact. “No no no no! I’m behind schedule!” They jumped out of their chair and raced out of the room to get ready

When they finally got their things together, they grabbed Grim a can of tuna to eat while they carried him out the door and took him along for their errands. “Okay, if I hurry, I’ll get everything I need! And with just enough time to finish my other presents!” Tsukiko went from place to place, gathering everything they needed

To Be Continued

[oakandgumtrees]

The Lady in the Library, Part 2

Part 1

The woman in front of me was wearing a white shawl over a blue, empire-line dress with long sleeves and a long skirt. Her light brown hair was in a high bun at the back, and short ringlets around her face. In one hand, she carried a candle on a saucer, the flickering light casting odd shadows. Her face was plainer than an actress in an Austen production, and the clothing wasn’t as flattering on her figure, but that’s because she wasn’t an actress. She couldn’t be.

I was still staring when a burst of static came over my radio, followed by John’s voice:

“Checking in, Beth, what’s your status?”

What was my status? How the hell did I explain this?

Everyone had heard stories about library time travellers. (‘Temporally displaced persons’, technically, but no-one called them that.) Most of the stories were bullshit, but people went missing in libraries once or twice a year, and they were usually surprised about the date when they came out, one way or another. But this, this was different.

I fumbled for the button and held it down, far too conscious of the other woman’s eyes on me. “Unexpected item in a time dilation pocket,” I reported - which was technically true, if a massive understatement. “No apparent danger. Give me five minutes?”

I’m pretty sure I wasn’t imagining the suspicion in John’s voice when he replied, “Five minute timer confirmed. Take care.”

I looked back up at the time traveller, and said awkwardly, “I’m Beth. Bethany Fowler. Um. Maybe we should…sit down?”

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Fowler," she replied, pale, but otherwise composed. I figured that staying outwardly calm made sense with her being some sort of Regency-era gentlewoman. “I suppose, under the circumstances, I had better introduce myself. Miss Anne Stockton.”

I gave my bastardised half-curtesy again and - to Miss Stockton’s credit  - she didn’t laugh at me. Instead, she led me back to a reading nook with a pair of wingback chairs and a little table, while I tried to work out how to explain what was going on.

I mean, how do you tell someone that their whole world disappeared while they were lost in a book?

.

While I floundered, Miss Stockton watched me, and after a minute or so she said quietly, “I do not keep myself abreast of all the continental fashions, nor those of the natives of the colonies, but I must say that your attire is exceedingly unusual, Miss Fowler.”

I looked down at my cargo vest and jeans, and winced. 

“And I do not believe I have ever heard of a mechanical device that can speak like a parrot,” she went on, “Much less one with which a meaningful conversation may be had.”

I could feel my shoulders creeping up towards my ears.

She looked at her candle, then down at her hands in her lap. “Your language is no less understandable then Shakespeare, at least,” she murmured. “...Dare I hope that it has not been an entire millennium?”

My training hadn’t covered how to tell someone they were a time traveller. It definitely hadn’t covered someone else working out they were a time traveller. “I’m sorry,” I said helplessly. “Not that long, no. From your clothing, I’m guessing about two hundred years. I… I can tell you how I think it probably happened?”

Miss Stockton swallowed, and looked at the candle again. “Two hundred years in less than two hours,” she breathed. “It scarce seems possible. But…no, Miss Fowler. I know it is the library that is to blame.”

.

We sat together in silence - me useless, her…processing, I guess - until my radio crackled again.

“That’s five, Beth,” came John’s voice, a little distorted, but still reassuring. “What’s your status?”

I looked over at Miss Stockton and said quietly, “Is it alright if I tell him we’re coming out? You can’t stay here, not now we’re going to move the books.”

She firmed her shoulders and nodded. “I cannot change my fortune, and nor can you,” she said wryly. “Better to meet it bravely.”

John was waiting, but I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen something as impressive as Miss Stockton’s determination right then, and it took me a minute to get my breath back.

“Beth, come in.”

I fumbled for the radio button. “Sorry!” I said quickly. “I’m fine, John, but I’ve gotta abort the walkthrough. There’s someone here.”

There was a pause. Given how rarely anything actually surprised John, I’ll admit I was smug about that. “...Displaced?” he said eventually.

“By about two centuries, yeah,” I told him, getting to my feet. “We’re gonna follow the rope out, can you warn the housekeeper she’s going to have a guest?”

John’s voice was a little shaky when he replied: “I’m looking forward to hearing the story of this one. See you soon, Beth.”

.

I looked at Miss Stockton, and this time, I had the presence of mind to just plain bow. “Ready to go?” I asked.

She stood, smoothing down her dress, then took up her candle and nodded. “Since you have Ariadne’s thread, you had better lead the way,” she said. “I thought I knew this library well, but it seems I was mistaken.”

I unclipped my anchor rope so I could bundle it up as we went and shook my head. “Libraries play tricks like that.” Especially huge ones like this. No sunlight, no sound, dense shelving… “It’s not your fault.”

It might have been the candlelight, but I thought I saw a slight smile on her face. “You are very kind, Miss Fowler,” she murmured. 

And then, together, we made our way out of the library.

[lynne-monstr]

One line any fic! Rules: pick ten of your fics, scroll to somewhere midpoint, pick a line chunk and share it, and then tag ten people.

I was tagged a while back by @glorious-spoon. Thanks!! I feel like I’ve talked about my 2022 fic a lot so I’m going to make an effort to include some much older fic too!

1.  Solicited Noods (Leverage, 2017)

Beneath her, Quinn was opening the suitcase and showing its contents to the gang leader. Even from this high up Parker recognized the stack of papers as being identical to the labels on Peggy’s contraband jams. She was begrudgingly impressed. Drugs hidden in the adhesive. Easy to transport. Easy to hide in plain sight.

Peggy’s voice broke into her reverie. “I know, but at least yesterday I could pretend he wasn’t working with the people who tried to kill me. My cats and I are going to die single and alone,” she lamented.

2. your name whispered on the wind (The King’s Avatar, 2020)

Huang Shaotian gives up on the notebooks and stands. He’s paler than usual, a smudge of dark circles bruising the thin skin under his eyes. Or perhaps it’s just the overhead light, projecting Yu Wenzhou’s concerns onto the canvas of his face. Even his shirt is muted, a dark blue instead of his usual bright yellows and greens.

3. The Man in That One Suit (Person of Interest/What Not To Wear, 2013)

“Now he, on the other hand.” The co-host, Stacy, chimed in, walking over to Finch and appraising him from head to toe.

“A study in perfection,” Clinton agreed, a finger lightly tapping his lip in appreciation.

4. the shifting shapes of clouds (Shadowhunters, 2020)

Lorenzo’s gasp is poorly hidden and Magnus amuses himself in the growing silence by imagining the scandalized look that must be scrawled across Lorenzo’s face. He keeps his back turned and his magic ready. It’s both a test and a challenge.

Surprisingly enough, Lorenzo passes on both counts. “It’s probably for the best that I did not know that about you when I first came to New York.” Try as he might, Lorenzo can’t entirely hide the shake in his voice.

5. #work hard nap hard (The King’s Avatar, 2021)

Jokes aside, the napping pics have been heating up and we’re here to round up what’s fact and what’s fiction about Blue Rain’s afternoon delights.

Fact: The team really does keep a collection of “napping blankets” on hand. Their blanket cherry was popped by their very own Zheng Xuan. Bonus fact: Team Captain Yu Wenzhou is most frequently seen napping with the very same blue blanket that took his team’s innocence.

Yeah, we all wish we were that blanket

Fiction: Blue Rain team orgies. Sorry tanks, healers, and DPS dealers, but that rumor is Busted! Our correspondent onsite confirms only good wholesome fun is to be found with these boys.

6. strange partnership (Shadowhunters, 2019)

“I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to keep you here, but I can’t take you back either.” A sense of dread settles over Alec. If this man takes him captive, there’s not much he can do. Hodge had taken Alec’s cutlass and his pistol before pushing him overboard. He doesn’t even have the set of thin metal rods that have gotten him out locked rooms before.

He swallows around the tentacle in his mouth, his throat suddenly dry.

7. flicker (The King’s Avatar, 2022)

Yu Wenzhou tries not to think about how many versions of himself have fallen to this creature. “I can say no.” He’s figured this much out already. If he has to guess, he’d say it needs his permission to cross over into his stream. “You waited too long. You’ll die if I do.”

The lights flicker, faster this time. Yu Wenzhou doubles over, the taste of blood in his mouth.

‘I’ll take you with me.’ The voice sears into his head, splitting his brain apart.

8. Condiment War (Hetalia/Highlander, 2013)

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Prussia cocked his head in thought. Back in the days when he led armies into battle, he would have traded entire divisions for a mind like Pierson's. "You're damn good at this, for a linguistics nerd."

Pierson gave an abashed smile. "A lot of the documents saved for posterity are old military correspondence. Guess I picked up a few additional talents in the translation process. Oh, also receipts. I can discuss archaic trading practices at length, if you'd prefer." His brow furrowed in mock contemplation. "There were a suspicious amount of goats changing hands."

9. Means of Transportation (The King’s Avatar, 2021-2022)

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be fine. It’s Wenzhou who has the problem, not me. Nothing bad happened to me, which you would have known if you came to our conference.” The phone suddenly feels red hot in his hand and he’s tempted to end the call.

“You’ve always been a shitty liar.”

“Your face is shitty.”

“You’ll be lucky to look this good when you’re my age.”

The laugh dies in Huang Shaotian’s throat, leaving behind a tight ache. “I miss him.” The words slip out in a whisper. What did he do wrong that all his captains keep leaving him?

10. This is not a ghost story (The King’s Avatar, 2022)

"Have you ever heard of a kid named Huang Shaotian?"

Wei Chen’s face, normally etched in a perpetual scowl, falls. He pivots in his chair to give Yu Wenzhou his full attention. "Where'd you hear that name?"

tagging: @faejilly, @shadaras, @forerussake, @saxifactumterritum, @prince-of-elsinore, @gingersnapwolves, @geniuskaktus, @humanformdragon, @carmenlire, @bytheangell

[milli-moi]

Want something to read?

I’m never sure about posting fanfic directly here since I never feel it gets a big response but I might add an art to this, not sure yet, and since it’s one bit of a bigger bit then I thought I might as well. So here’s story 1 of Sections of Significance. It is on AO3 also and the rest will be too.

Edited: not one but two bits of fanart have been added in here, I’ve (hopefully) hidden them at the end so they aren’t able to spoil the story.

Hope you like it and pleeeeeeeaaaaase leave me some thoughts if you do…..?

- Sections of Significance #1-

There are few things which beat the sound of genuine laughter. Laughter is contagious, it can even help to cure depression. It's also a thing that Children do much more than grown adults. Bucky had read something about it in the New York Times, the newspaper he still recognised from his youth, albeit smaller than it once was. The article said that studies showed young kids laughed about as much as 300 times in one day whereas adults only laughed 20. He hadn’t been surprised by the figures until he remembered most adults weren’t him - many didn’t even have the basic level of war traumas to contend with.

Usually, kids had the purest forms of laughter, they could fall into fits of giggles which made them forget to breathe and fall about. Those laughing fits could fill a person's heart with so much love, and make them forget everything that happened in the cruel and treacherous world. It was less often adults laughed in that way. When they did, there became something even more pure about the experience.

When he heard Natasha giggling like that, struggling to stop laughing enough to speak it was the purest sound he had ever heard. Like a naturalist seeing a near-extinct animal out in the Rainforests Bucky felt he had experienced something so rare and so fundamental that he doubted anyone ever had before.

Natasha laughed, of course she did, sometimes at genuinely funny things, other times out of sarcasm. She was also very convincing at fake laughter when trying to flirt with a mark. She laughed with joy too, a rare sound which he doubted many others had heard. Sometimes those joyous laughs felt like a blurring in the time continuum, a quick glimpse back to the innocent child she had once been. It showed the child who had never danced in the rain and ran home soaked to the skin. It showed the marvels of the planet through the eyes of a first-time viewer.

This, however, was the first time he had seen her so overcome with laughter that all her emotional walls fell away.

She sat on the kitchen floor, knees up towards her chin with feet spread wider apart. Her hair was bundled into a ponytail, shorter strands of hair around her ears escaping from the tie. She wore a pair of baseball sneakers on her feet, old jeans which he was sure were supposed to have those holes at the knees and a tank top. On top of the simple outfit, she was wearing a rain poncho. A rain poncho that was now also covered in paint. Natasha sat on top of the plastic tarps laid on the floor, not caring that she was likely sitting in one of the main pools of paint spattered across the entire floor.

She looked up at him, wiping tears of laughter from her eye while smearing the green paint across her cheek from the back of her hand. Shaking her head she spoke, the two-syllable word broken in half by laughter.

‘Li-, ho.’

Bucky looked over to the cat who had started it all, sitting atop the covered kitchen counter licking her paws. She was spotlessly clean, feigning innocence while she bathed.

Liho had started it all, deciding to behave in a typical cat manner. She tapped at the lid of a Greek Green Olive paint can until it fell to the floor, bounced and sprayed paint across the newly painted wall. Natasha had sworn at the cat for messing up her half-dried work and then tried to chase her from the room.

He wasn’t exactly sure what had followed, only that Liho had decided that she was not leaving the room. At one point Bucky had slipped on the paint-covered tarp, throwing an arm out in reflex and pulling Natasha down with him. Liho had chosen that precise moment to try and leap onto the edge of the second open paint can. To shouts of ‘No!’ Liho had landed on the edge of the can, pushed it off balance and sent it flying from the countertop onto the floor, pouring a waterfall of emulsion as she did so. Bucky had worn most of it, grabbing a handful of Natasha’s top to wipe the green from his face.

She had playfully batted his hand away and turned, only to slip again in the puddles on the plastic-covered floor and splash down onto it. Alpine had picked the wrong moment to wake up from a nap and come to investigate the commotion as she was knocked over by Liho finally escaping the scene of the crime.

While Liho sat on the countertop without a speck of the green paint on her black fur Alpine lay under the heavily covered kitchen table, tail twitching and growling at her feline friend. Alpine was more green than white and proceeded to try and lick the paint from her fur only to mix it further in.

As if to add insult to injury Liho decided to make a neat jump onto Bucky’s shoulder. His t-shirt was now so caked in half-dried paint that it was beginning to harden but Liho decided to purr loudly in his ear, rubbing her jaw against his stubbly cheek.

‘Oh, so we’re friends now? Thanks.’

Natasha laughed again, shaking her head as her whole body seemed to vibrate. Bucky couldn’t help but smile, as much as part of him wanted to put the cat in time out or whatever it was parents did now he also secretly wanted to thank the little devil. If it weren’t for the cat then he would never have witnessed the inner child laughing on the kitchen floor.

The little Natasha who had never been able to make a mess like this, who could never have wasted the paint in such a way. The little girl who had never had a pet and who had never seen the joy that came from animals behaving as they will. The small child in her mind who was able to have fun in the disastrous paint job, knowing it would never be an issue that they couldn’t fix.

His heart swelled in his chest as he walked the few steps over to where Natasha sat against the back door and crouched to her height. Alpine hissed from under the table, pushing herself further back against the wall. Her tongue was now turning green from licking the paint.

‘Poor Kotenyok, I hope she forgives us,’ Natasha spoke through giggles. Bucky quickly grabbed hold of her hand as she went to push the hair from her face. She looked at him, then her hand before laughing again.

He looked into her eyes, bright and almost glowing with the basic joy she felt. The green of her eyes contained elements of the green paint on her cheek, nose, chin and across a part of her neck where it had evaded the rain poncho.

Bucky smiled to himself, gently taking her chin in his hand and kissing the tip of her nose. He accidentally left a smudge of dried green under her chin as he did but presumed that could be fixed at another time.

He stood, heading from the room and fumbling in his pocket for the cell phone he was always losing.

‘Where are you going?’ Natasha called after him.

Bucky stopped at the door, holding the now ringing phone to his ear,

‘Calling Sam. Think it's time we abort this mission. He’ll know a guy.”

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