#associate the words snow and ice with the word winter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cassafrassie · 4 months ago

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stage kisses - (also on ao3) length: 3,311 words rating: T (teenaged kissing)

A thin layer of pristine, fresh snow coats Gravity Falls’ Main Street. Multi-colored string lights twinkle through the layer of ice adorning the eaves of the downtown shops and businesses.

Dipper relishes in being able to be present for it. Though he’s spent the last three summers in Gravity Falls, it’s the first time he’s been able to be here for Winter break, and something about the icy chill punctured through with the warmth of sugar cookies, roaring fires and cozy blankets has his heart feeling full.

Even if he is currently acting as courier for the approximately three hundred shopping bags that his petite female friend and current shopping companion has loaded into his arms.

He hadn’t been paying super close attention to what Pacifica had been purchasing as she shuffled him from store to store. He was just grateful she offered to help him with his last minute gifts. He was happy to sit back and watch her work her magic as she examined treasure after treasure and piece of junk after piece of junk. He had to hand it to her— she had a knack for picking out practical yet thoughtful presents. A classy cashmere sweater for Mabel from her. A set of new knitting needles for Mabel from him. Some crystal decanter for her parents from her. A new gaming console for Soos that Dipper had said was too expensive, but she insisted that it could be a group gift from him, Mabel, Wendy and herself, which made it okay.

And now he bears the burden of the fruit of their labor as he trudges down the street and she walks lightly next to him, floating forward and swinging her handbag without another item to trouble her or weigh her down.

Dipper glances down at one of the bags and notices a thick purple coat peeking out from neatly folded tissue paper.

“Hey, I don’t remember this one. Who’s the jacket for?”

“Oh,” Pacifica starts, waving her hand casually. “I might have gotten myself an early Christmas present too.”

“And you’ve saddled it on me?”

“Of course. I’m a lady, Dipper. I can’t be expected to do my own manual labor!” She says in faux shock.

“Oh but of course, Your Highness, my deepest apologies! Allow me to be at your service, please.”

“That’s better. Know your place, Pines.”

“I live to protect you from the horrors of the peasant life.”

“My hero,” Pacifica says, bumping into him with her hip.

They both laugh, their voices carrying down the cheerful street as they round the corner and head from the shopping district in the direction of bus stop.

The two walk in companionable silence, and Dipper contemplates how nice it would be if they could do this everyday. Just spend time together, be silly, not have to worry about school or grades or the future.

Pacifica seems lost in thought as well, and before long she begins twisting her hair in a manner that Dipper has begun to associate with her weighing her options in some situation or another. It’s something he admires about her. She’s not cold, not anymore, but she’s retained some her of calculated approach toward decision-making. Some would call it shrewd, but Dipper thinks of it as astute, and it’s a refreshing balance to many of the more impulsively-minded loved ones in his life.

“So… I got the lead in the spring play at school,” she says abruptly, somewhat out of the blue.

“Oh whoa!” Dipper tires to turn to her but is hindered by the shopping bags. “That’s awesome, Cif! You’re gonna kill it.”

Dipper knows that Pacifica has been involved in both her school’s straight plays and musicals the last two years. The only downer is that he hasn’t been able to see her perform live yet. She sent him some random parent’s recording of her belting out “Anything Goes” while dressed in an adorable little sailor costume (that dress made it into a few dreams he would prefer not to examine too closely, as a matter of fact), and another of her tap dancing up a storm dressed as a 1960s-style secretary of all things, but that’s as close as he’s been able to make it.

Maybe if his parents will let him miss a day or two of school he can go to this one. They know how close the two of them have gotten, and they also know that Pacifica doesn’t have many good friends since turning her back on a lot of the society functions her parents forced her in to.

And he’s her best friend. He needs to make it happen. He’s calculating how best to approach the subject with his parents, but his thoughts are interrupted when she keeps talking.

“We’re doing Romeo and Juliet,” she says, and there’s a strange, hesitant tone in her voice.

Looking over, he sees that she’s looking at the ground and still twisting a lock of hair around in her hands. It’s a little weird, he thinks. She’s usually a lot more confident about these types of things, but she’s acting almost… shy. That’s not Pacifica.

He figures a little playful ribbing is in order.

“Oh wow, Shakespeare, huh? So fancy.” He nudges her side with his elbow. “Look at you, Little Miss Private School.”

Pacifica smiles but says nothing. She still won’t meet his eyes.

Then it hits him.

Romeo and Juliet. The lead. Juliet. Romeo. Romeo and Juliet.

He almost drops one of their shopping bags.

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

Dipper struggles to gather his thoughts, tries to come off casual. “That’s like, a romance, then… huh?”

Pacifica blushes. “I mean technically it’s a tragedy, in strict literary terms, but yeah, there’s… romance.” She chuckles nervously. “Like, obviously. It’s like the romance play, right?”

Dipper kicks at a clump of snow, tries very hard to keep his voice light. “So… there’s… kissing involved in that then… yeah?”

Pacifica looks at her feet. “A bit, yeah,” she confirms. She points to a bench in the park they’re passing. Lush evergreens dusted with snow almost obscure it from the street. “Wanna sit?”

Dipper nods absentmindedly, and he lets her guide him to sit on the frosted metal bench. She takes some of the the bags from him and sets them aside. He drops the rest near his feet.

Kissing. Why does this feel weird? Why doesn’t he like it? Why did Pacifica seem nervous to talk about it? Why does it feel like he kind of wants to immediately find out who has been cast as Romeo and look them up on social media and maybe find out where they live and maybe just maybe make sure they get strep or mono or anything to stop—

He shakes his head lightly, centering himself.

“Is that… weird?” he finally asks.

“Well,” Pacifica tucks a stand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve had to do a small handful kissing scenes before, so it’s not a massive deal, really.”

His stomach feels like it drops through his body to the cold icy ground beneath them.

“Oh, you have?” He cringes at the way his voice cracks.

“Well not real kisses!” Pacifica says, hurriedly. “Just, like, stage kisses, you know.”

“Stage kisses,” Dipper echos blankly.

“Yeah, like, you hold your hands on their face in a way that to the audience it looks like you’re kissing, but your lips aren’t actually touching.”

Dipper feels his heartbeat begin to settle just a bit, but doesn’t have time to examine why that is, because there are far more pressing issues at hand. First and foremost is what the heck is a stage kiss and how many times has she done this and with who and when and where and—

“Oh… huh,” he says. “How does it… work?”

Pacifica looks down, suddenly fascinated with a loose thread on her mittens. She twists it in between the the pointer finger and thumb on her other hand.

“I could show you,” she says, finally.

Dipper feels his face warm, but all he’s aware of in his brain is an immediate, pervasive thought of yes yes absolutely I would love to learn right now, right here, with you, yes.

He swallows.

“Like…?” He gestures vaguely at his face, questioning.

“Yeah,” Pacifica giggles lightly, and he can tell she’s nervous. Why is she nervous? She’s turning to face him and she has a tiny, sweet smile tugging at her lips. “If you wanted?”

“Yeah,” he says before he’s fully thought it through. “I mean, sure, yeah. That would… that could be cool.”

“Okay,” Pacifica begins, taking her mittens off before shifting fully to face him. Her shy smile broadens ever so slightly when he meets her eyes. Dipper notices her cheeks are slightly pinker than they were earlier, which is weird because they’ve been in the same cold for the last half hour at least. “Just stay still.”

Dipper nods, having not a clue about what is about to happen, but also so aware that he is powerless to stop it, and there isn’t a bone in his body that wants to try.

Pacifica lays her mittens carefully next to her, then delicately brings both bare hands up to Dipper’s face, letting her fingers cup his cheeks while her thumbs move to rest vertically over his lips, parallel to one another.

“Ready?” She asks, cheeks growing pinker by the second.

Dipper just nods again once, wide eyes fixed on hers.

“Okay,” she continues. “Here goes.”

And then she’s closing her eyes and leaning in. And Dipper doesn’t close his eyes at first because he isn’t sure if he’s supposed to, so he watches as her face gets closer. Her lips are relaxed but not puckered like he thinks they’re supposed to be for a normal kiss. Which is good because now he knows he shouldn’t pucker his own in return, even though he can feel them twitch instinctively against her delicate thumbs. When she’s less than an inch from his face, his eyes close of their own volition, and he’s only aware of her warm hands. So soft, and trembling just the tiniest bit, he thinks. But it must just be the cold.

He feels the slight pressure on his face when her lips meets the back of her hands, but that’s it. And then it’s over, and she’s pulling back and drawing her hands away, and his eyes are opening to meet hers, and he feels confusingly bereft. Like it should have been more.

“See?” she says. “Barely feels like a kiss, but looks real from the outside.”

Dipper is still gathering his thoughts. For some reason, his instinct is to ask her to do it again. It was too fast, I didn’t remember it well enough.

“That was quick.” He says, bluntly, honestly. His brain hasn’t quite caught up with his words. “What if it needs to be longer?”

“Well, you just do it for longer then, I think,” Pacifica giggles a bit.

“But doesn’t it get weird, if every kiss in the play has people putting their hands on each other’s faces?”

Dipper hasn’t the slightest clue why this matters to him so much. He hasn’t had any personal interest in theater since Mabel’s ill-fated sock opera, but for some reason, learning the ins and outs and nitty-gritty details of stage kissing suddenly seems completely essential.

“Well, yeah, I mean there are other… methods, too.”

“Oh?” Dipper asks, not really trying to hide his interest anymore.

Pacifica nods, not breaking her eye contact. “Want me to…?”

“Sure.”

He watches her take an almost imperceptible inhale.

“Okay, so if we were looking for more of a dramatic kiss— like maybe one where you needed your hands to be wrapped around the other person—“ She moves her hands up over his shoulders and around the back of his neck, and his own instinctively move to her waist “—you could basically just move your body so that the audience can’t see your faces exactly—“ She leans in closer, eyes fluttering this close to closed, and his own do the same “—and then just kiss each other’s cheeks, like close but not quite…”

Her voice quiets and trails off, and then he can feel her lips press just to the left of his-- on his cheek, but so so close to his lips that he’s sure he can feel just the barest graze on them, just at the corner of his mouth. He feels a pang of longing low in his stomach.

She doesn’t pull away so fast this time. Instead, her fingers tighten just so in his hair, and he feels the delicate pressure of her lips grow ever so slightly at the corner of his mouth. His own hands tighten at her waist, and it’s wonderful and terrible at the same time, because he can feel her closeness, her softness, can smell that lovely lavender shampoo she uses, can relish in being so near to her. It’s everything a kiss should be but just misses the mark because his lips rest just about two inches to the right of where every instinct tells him they should be.

But that’s not right, is it? An anxious part of his mind chimes in. Pacifica is his friend. She’s always been his friend. Since when does he want to kiss her?

I mean sure, he has eyes, he knows she’s beautiful. And he likes her laugh, and her wit, and the way she pokes his buttons just right. And maybe he feels happier when she’s around; whatever. And yeah when that guy asked for her number last summer while she was spending time with him during his shift at the Shack’s gift shop he got a bit annoyed, but that was because that guy was a creep and clearly not right for her and how dare he anyway when she was obviously there to spend time with him.

Dipper freezes.

Maybe… maybe he’s been kidding himself just a bit.

Pacifica seems to notice his sudden stiffness, because out of nowhere and far too soon she’s untangling her hands from the hair at the nape of his neck and pulling away with a nervous chuckle.

“Well… yeah, that’s all I really know how to do,” she says, grabbing her mittens and turning then over in her hand. Dipper notices that somehow her face is even pinker than before, and the instinct to reach out and brush his finger tips over her charmingly flushed cheeks is almost unbearable.

There’s still a question nagging in his mind. And he isn’t even fully aware of what it is, but the instinct to learn more about all this theatrical kissing business tugs at him still.

“What if, um… well what if the audience would be able to tell that it’s not real?”

“Hm?” She looks up, one eyebrow raised.

“I mean, would the director ever want you to… do it for real?” He swallows, steeling himself. “Like, a real kiss?”

“Oh!” Her eyes dart away again. “Gosh, well, I hope not.” He watches as she sucks in a breath, then brings her eyes back to his, and there’s a new sparkle behind them, filled with intent. “I wouldn’t want my first kiss to be on stage, you know?”

There it is. That’s it. That’s answer his subconscious has been looking for.

She’s never kissed someone before. Not for real.

Something about this knowledge crystalizes it all for him in his brain. It’s like the first time he tried on his new prescription glasses. He’d never known the world was so sharp and clear.

And he feels that here now also. Yes, he wants to kiss her. He wants to be her first kiss, especially. And if the way she is looking at him now is any indication— with hooded eyes and dark pupils peeking out from under her fluffy bangs, lips curved upward in a sweet gentle smile— she wants him to be it too.

She casually reaches over, starts idly playing with the hem of his coat sleeve.

Suddenly, his path forward has never been more obvious. How did he not see it before?

“Have you… given much thought as to where you would like it to be?” he asks.

“Mm. Not so much as to the where, no.”

The emphasis she adds signals to him that she’s hinting at something. She wants him to keep fishing, and he’s only too happy to oblige.

“I see…” he begins, recklessly draping his arm on the back of the bench, behind her shoulders. “So, any thought as to the when, then?”

“Only in passing…” she leans back into his arm and relaxes into him.

“The why?”

Pacifica giggles. “Well, hopefully because he wants to do it as much as I do.”

“So there’s a who, then.” Dipper grins.

Pacifica just blushes deeper and nods.

Dipper shifts on the bench to face her on more directly, letting the arm around the back of the bench seat fall down around at her shoulders, his other hand moving forward to brush his fingers over the top of her still bare knuckles.

He leans in just so. Swallows as he prepares himself to do one of the bravest and frankly most terrifying things he’s ever done. But he’s determined to see it through.

“How about, in a park, late winter afternoon, me, because I really, really want to? Possibly even more than you do.”

Pacifica’s eyes flutter shut as she tilts her face up toward him.

“Perfect.”

Dipper feels his stomach flip and he shuts his own eyes and closes the gap between them. And the second he feels his lips lightly press on hers, he knows this is what was supposed to happen. He can’t kid himself anymore, and thankfully he doesn’t have to. There’s no fear of getting hurt. No more denial in order to protect his heart. Because she’s here, wrapped in his arms and kissing him back. He's aware of the slight flavor of her cherry lipgloss, and again of her flowery shampoo. His heart swells.

The kiss is lingering but light. Dipper brings his hand up to tuck some hair behind her ear, and then lets it rest lightly on her cheek. Pacifica smiles against his lips and lets out a faint hum before unhurriedly, gently pulling back.

His eyes slowly open and he see hers do the same. He watches her eyes dart between the two of his, and in an instant and without warning she’s grabbing the front of his coat and pulling him back down to her for a quick but far more forceful second kiss.

A heartbeat later she releases his lapels and abruptly stands, grinning as she tugs on her mittens.

Dipper watches her helplessly, and he knows she’s committing to memory the dopey, lovestruck look on his face, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Well we better get heading back to the Shack. These gifts aren’t going to wrap themselves!” she says with a wink.

She picks up some of the shopping bags.

“Not above manual labor now, princess?” Dipper remarks, rising and taking the rest in his left hand, head still spinning a little.

She grins and shifts the bags she holds to her right, reaches out to grasp his free hand with hers.

“What can I say, you’re turning me into a woman of the people.”

Dipper warms at the sensation of her small, mittened hand tucked snugly in his.

“So…” he starts, after a peaceful few minutes of the two of them enjoying their new, sweet intimacy. “I could… help you rehearse, if you want. Certain scenes anyway,” he adds with a crooked smile.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Pacifica giggles. “But let’s make sure to change the ending when we do. I think we can do better.”

#dipper x pacifica #pacifica northwest #dipcifica #gravity falls #dipper pines #dippica #dipper and pacifica #gravity falls fanfiction

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jaysfavoritee · 20 days ago

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arsonist | p.js

PAIRING. prince!park jongseong x reader

GENRE. angst

CAUTIONS. brief mention of blood

SYNOPSIS. In another world where Park Jongseong did not have to uphold himself to be the strongest, he would have an easier time forgiving you.

PLAYLIST. arsonist, halsey

HAVE YOU EVER GIVEN THE WORLD TO SOMEBODY AS A GIFT AND HAD IT RETURNED?

“I do,” is a statement that comes out of his mouth with the dullness of a crayon that had been left unused for a long while. Its color won't be used, no, but its color remains. It's intact just like the rest of his pieces that hold him up together and he refuses to tell you about it.

Hatred is such a strong thing. Jongseong doesn’t prefer to hate. He would rather deal with the drag of the carpet on his skin when he lays down, staring up at the ceiling, knowing that he would be scolded by his father. He would rather experience the humiliation that he goes through quite too frequently than hate someone.

Yet, you somehow found a way to slither into these parts of himself, and he absolutely hates you for it.

White is a fascinating shade to him as it brings forth the nothingness that lingers but is something that represents purity and innocence, beauty and allure, something that should be of living. Memories to be celebrated like sparkly champagne that burns in your throat to remind you of the air that keeps you warm.

Though he stands on this altar, in front of a woman that he doesn’t know the name of, wearing a shade that should celebrate this marriage, he can only think of charcoal and the midnight sky instead, and in some way, it’s all so familiar.

ARSONIST BURNING DOWN THE WORLD TO FEEL ITS HEAT.

In the coldest days of winter, where he would embrace the frost and blue and white and all of the ice that had accumulated beneath his boots, the feeling is undeniably estranged. Blood of his scraped and cut-up hands like paper drips onto the snow, all drenched in white—the innocence he had desperately sought. The purity that he had associated with white was its representative, only to be tainted by the plethora of plasma, sinking deep into the frozen water.

How could you?

He looks into the eyes of his mother, said queen, dead eyes that hold a handful of bones and leaves, crawling out like vines that are coughing. Rose petals have already withered as they mirror Jongseong’s two irises, feel all the same, and look all the same, but they never are. Is that how you felt? Should he feel like this?

“You’re going to do great things, aren’t you, son?” His father sings the words into his ears, but it isn’t quite reaching him. His chest is heavy with a pile of something—what could it be? It’s hard to describe, he really can’t describe it, but it’s the heaviest feeling. It’s heavier than an anchor, it’s heavier than all of the water that flows in a sea, it’s heavier than the ring that is kept wrapped around his finger, it’s heavier than anything he’s ever had to hold. Of course, he has to hold it; who else would?

Jongseong knows the bucket he holds, such clear and shiny liquid he tells himself, it’s so transparent. It’s already as if he knows the answer himself. This liquid, clear, nothing it holds like the purity of white or the prestige of such gold, or the sadness attached to the navy, but it holds danger. You could see the danger so clearly.

Something else that Jongseong knows is that this bucket isn’t as heavy as everything else he had to endure. Rather, it’s light as a snowflake that lands on his jacket, he doesn’t feel it but he knows it’s there. Or, it’s as light as a match that balances between his fingers.

He also knows that it wasn’t as difficult to set the kingdom aflame. It’s what it took to watch everything around him relax and limp, the scent of wood burning and blazing. The burn lingers, nasty even, and he could do nothing but watch.

That’s what you did, as well. You watched him play with the clear liquid and the match that might as well be his only friend. It’s not something you’d like to see, but you did anyway because he was a bastard and you found it comforting.

Death is quite comforting, Jongseong concludes, as he begins to see the life of the kingdom dying. The pillars that melt, the raging brightness of such danger, fuels him more than anything. It fuels him the more he does it, and it went from the death of the royalty that he was well part of, to the death of the trees and the bushes and the smell of the color auburn will forever haunt him. He thinks because of that, he died too, but it’s taking too long for it to be in effect.

THE ARSONIST DOESN’T FEEL THE EMBERS ON HIS FEET.

You were that purity and innocence. You were the beauty of everything and nothing all at once because Jongseong admired you for everything you were and were not. How could someone feel like the warmth of midday somewhere in July, but so distant that the warmth is somewhat an illusion? Am I really feeling this warmth?

He hated you for all that he couldn’t piece together. He was sure he had it written down to the core, but the paper would crumple or the pen’s ink would fade, dancing and once more, dying.

Are you proud to be the one thing that ends up killing him?

Jongseong didn’t throw on his jacket as he faced the harsh, cold wind. He faced himself for what he could never bear because it’s easier to do that than to face what he’s known forever. He sleeps in a fantasy that the color auburn would not exist or the scent of something burning would make him forget, but it always makes him remember.

Have you ever woken from a dream just to realize that you’re still asleep?

The shame that builds within his arms is not strong enough compared to the numbness on his lips. It’s something he cannot feel as he rubs the tip of his finger alongside the cracked bundle of skin and muscle. Do you hear him for what he is? He cannot see what’s around him as he wishes to go back to a moment in time when he hadn’t met you, because ever since his life felt like it was in a constant state of burning and mourning.

Though, he fell in love with this feeling.

ARSONIST, YOUR HUMAN STARTER KIT CAME INCOMPLETE.

The burning scent of a tree or a house is different than the scent of a human. He would constantly burn his skin for what it’s worth because he’d always take the blame, so it stings, it pulses, it taunts, it exists, but he doesn’t mind. The burning scent is something that will always fill his nostrils more than the scent of bread being served at a bakery, or the scent of his bride’s perfume lingering into the air that smells like a mix of everything he hates, including the scent of your favorite scarf, like auburn.

Though he wishes to smell it, he wishes to pinpoint what it is to exist alongside the wood, alongside the fire, alongside the cold snow outside, alongside the beating of his heart, alongside everything he knows and what he doesn’t.

In another world where he didn’t have to be placed as someone important, he would take the opportunity to pour the clear liquid on your clothes, on your skin, including your favorite scarf, so all of it could wither away from his mind. He doesn’t want you to stay anymore, yet, you’d stay stubbornly.

He wishes that you would take the time to get away because he understands that if you did, he would probably be less dangerous than what he is. He wouldn’t have to know by heart what it does to be consumed by the fire that he had created on his own. One day, he might even walk into the flames he birthed, for a reason or no reason at all.

Warmth in contrast to the coldness that stings as he lays on the piles of snow in front of your gravestone, and he told himself that he’d clean it up, but that’s only if he’d ever get to it. He thinks about burning your gravestone every so often, but decides against it, because he doesn’t want you to be consumed by his faults.

He’ll always hate you for it.

MY APOLOGIES, ARSONIST, YOU LOVED ME.

#enhypen #enhypen angst #enhypen fanfiction #enha x reader #enhypen jay #jay enha #park jongseong #jay enhypen #jay angst

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caramel1mochi · 11 months ago

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One Hazy Winter [Iso x F! Reader] [1]

[ Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 ]

Genre: Angst, fluff ‎

TW: Depression and implied suicidal thoughts (I swear it’s not all sad haha) ‎ ‎

Words: 4k ‎

Synopsis: One winter before his disappearance, you told your boyfriend Yu about a question you’ve had for so long; one even he could hardly respond to. It took many more hopeless winters for you to finally have your answer. ‎ ‎

NOTES: 'Tis the season! Ha, I rushed to get this out before Christmas was over. Christmas is still going, right? Happy holidays!! ‎ Anyway, this story is HEAVILY reliant on flashbacks and the past in general, so keep that in mind. Have a good read! ‎ ‎

。+❤ฺ·。❤ฺ·。+❤ฺ· +❤·。❤ฺ·。+❤ฺ·

Winter, one year ago.

‎

If there was one thing you loathed with every inch of your being, it would be the winter season. It was a season that was associated with only despair and heavily encouraged death. Both physically and mentally. The death of plants, the death of animals, the death of people, just death in general.

And you hated it. You hated the overwhelming feeling of melancholy that would loom over you whenever snow would fall.

Your arms rested on the ice cold metal railing that overlooked a mystifying lake, one that had gotten frozen over the past week. The thick sleeves of your hoodie blocked the freezing temperatures like dutiful guards surrounding a castle. This comfort, however, felt like a miniscule droplet in the ocean of despondency you felt.

A tired sigh escaped you. And like a furious dragon, a vapour of pure white billowed from your lips.

‎

“Disgusting.”

‎

You muttered under your breath whilst you looked at the ice. In the distance, you heard something crack, and it took you only a few seconds to spot where it was on the icy surface of the lake.

‎

“Look on the bright side, at least.”

‎

Yu, your boyfriend, piped up from your right. He rested on the railing just as you did, with his jacket protecting him. But his upright posture and bright purple eyes conveyed something you didn’t: joy.

‎

“Like what?”

‎

“Look around you, observe the snow.”

‎

He pointed to the blankets of snow that surrounded the forest around the bridge, each snowflake collectively gathered to envelop every tree your eyes laid on. Like a mother huddled with her children on a cold night. To him, the landscape looked like a stunning painting, one meticulously slaved over by an artist who desired perfection over all else.

‎

“Isn’t it breathtaking?”

‎

Maybe to him. But to you? All you saw were dead trees, shells of the beautiful bearers of fruit and life they once were. That wasn’t to mention the corpses of animals buried under the feet of snow he was so enamoured by.

You rested your head on your arms in silence.

‎

“It’s winter.”

‎

Two words. Curt, but enough to summarise the maelstrom of thoughts that roamed your mind.

And it’s not like he didn’t know, either. He did, which was why, despite his optimism, he also started dreading this season once you both started dating nearly five winters ago. Yu placed one hand on your shoulder, the wooden planks under him loudly creaking as he stepped closer to you. Then, he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer, the warmth from his body counteracting the one from the railings.

‎

“I understand.”

‎

For a moment, that was all he could say.

‎

“But… Y/N, you shouldn’t think about them every single day.”

‎

You shut your eyes and took in a deep, slow breath, allowing the cold air to be warmed on the way to your lungs.

As much as he denied it, and as stiff as his face was, Yu was incredibly expressive. Whenever he’d try to conceal how he felt, his body language simply betrayed him at every turn. He meant well, both of you knew that. Especially you. But Yu wasn’t exactly the best when it came to dealing with things like… this.

‎

“It’s difficult to get over them, Yu. It feels impossible.”

‎

Since Yu’s hands were gloved the whole way here, the slightly cold temperature of it didn’t bother you as much once his fingers intertwined with yours. Add on to the fact your hands were in your pockets, the warmth immediately cooled him down as he began gently outlining the lines on your palm with his thumb.

You lost your parents in one hazy winter. And every one after that would be a depressing reminder of that fact.

‎

“Every winter, I ask myself why I should keep going.”

‎

He paused.

‎

“What’s waiting for us at the end? Some silly award for putting up with this?”

‎

“Don’t say that. There’s more to life than baseless questions like that.”

‎

The white tint of the snow was bright. So bright, it began piercing your eyes, and you were forced to close them for a hint of relief.

‎

“What do you think?”

‎

You flipped the question on him, your words cutting through his benevolence like acid through a rotting cadaver.

Silence settled for a moment. Between it and the blankets of snow that surrounded you, you could hear Yu’s very pulse echo with each passing second. That, and how his lips parted. But for a moment, no words left his mouth, and he stayed quiet.

‎

“I… I don’t know.” He turned away. “I’m sorry. I don’t think about things like this.”

‎

It figures, you thought. Nevertheless, he began outlining the lines on your palm all over again, and the sound of the shuffling in your pocket as he did this started to stick out to you.

A few rapid clicks caught your attention. And once you lifted your head, you noticed a peculiar sight.

A bird had landed on the lake’s icy surface. Though it was a few dozen feet away from you, somehow, It felt as if all the sound waves were channelled in one direction just to reach you, and you could see it with clarity that would rival a telescope. With each step, you heard a loud click. And each time it pecked at the ice under it, you heard a little pick that accompanied it.

You wanted to ask why there was a bird here. Around this time, they’d usually disappear and leave the grey sky more dreary and lifeless than it ever could be. So… why?

You diligently watched it stretch its stunning wings, shades of blue reflecting off of the sunlight and complementing each other. Somehow, it spawned various new shades on its wings. Like ballet dancers, the colours played off each other's movements gracefully.

You lifted a hand and pointed at the bird.

‎

“It looks just like you.”

‎

Yu stopped to get a glance at what you were looking at. Then, he chuckled.

‎

“You think every bird looks like me, Y/N.”

‎

“I...”

‎

Your words were interrupted once the bird’s feathers reached outwards. For a moment, it puffed and formed a fluffy ball of white, blue and black, before it rapidly shook its head and relaxed all over again.

‎

“There. Did you see that?”

‎

“See what?”

‎

“It puffed up.” You met his gaze. “It looked just like you whenever you’d wake up.”

‎

Even on the hottest days of summer, Yu would have at least three blankets wrapped around him whilst he slept. That wasn’t to mention how messy his hair would be whenever you had the pleasure of catching him in this way. Yu grinned, pulling you closer as you both watched the bird for a few seconds.

A few short-lived seconds, until it flew away and disappeared into the clouds, cutting the enjoyable moment short.

But before melancholy would dare set in once more, Yu immediately turned to meet your gaze, his purple eyes glimmering under the bright winter sky. Just like the bird’s wings, the colours mixed with each other in a captivating manner.

‎

“How about we go home and watch a movie? I’ll even make you hot chocolate. What do you say?”

‎

“Movie?”

‎

A moment of silence settled.

But just as Yu thought he failed in his endeavour to cheer you up, all of his doubts evaporate once he saw a smile form. The sensation of such a move, though weak, still felt foreign to your face.

‎

“Can we take the movie out of the equation?”

‎

…

‎

“Definitely.”

‎

Before another word could be uttered, he suddenly pulled you much closer, trapping you in a warm embrace. And you couldn’t help but grin at such an unexpected yet sweet move.

‎

“Yu, we’re in public.”

‎

“You don’t know how much I missed your smile, Y/N.”

‎

“Be reasonable. It couldn’t have been that long.”

‎

You said, your words muffled as he had your face pressed up against the inside of his jacket. Your arms were wrapped around him to allow the heat to pass on over to you.

‎

“It has.” He muttered. “Longer than you think.”

‎

The pleasant fragrance of lemons entered your nostrils. Familiar, especially since it was the only type of musk Yu ever sought after. Other than yours, of course.

‎

❤ฺ·。

Winter, present day.

‎

You hadn’t seen or spoken to Yu once the week after that conversation. He didn’t answer his phone, and, like you, none of his acquaintances knew where he went. Even with the police alerted, he was still legally considered missing.

On your way to work that dreadful morning, you’ve had your eyes stuck on your phone the whole time you walked down that repetitive path. You were calling Yu for the umpteenth time in hopes that he’d miraculously answer. But just as expected, your call was sent to voicemail again.

He was gone.

And you didn’t shed a tear. Not that you didn’t care, quite the contrary, in fact. You lost a ton of people. He was just another added to the list.

With a deep sigh, you pocketed your phone and looked up at the sky, a group of clouds concealing its previously blue colour thanks to the season. White and pale, just like bones.

‎

Your fingers wrapped around the cold golden handle. And with one swift push accompanied by a cheerful ding of the bell above you, you’d entered the café you worked at. The warmth hit you like a slap in the face once you’d fully entered the café. The boring music inside, and not to mention the decor you were borderline sick of seeing every day.

Your boss, Ying, and another one of your co-workers were chatting behind the counter. But your entrance immediately halted the conversation and shifted their attention towards you.

‎

“There you are! I was getting worried.”

‎

“Hi.”

‎

Ying earned a boring greeting from you. Just like every other day. And just as you turned back to the counter, you were suddenly pulled into a tight hug.

‎

“Y/N, how have you been? Here– would you like me to make you something?”

‎

She pulled away and held your shoulders in hopes of catching a change in your expression this time, but there was naught.

Ying, despite being your boss, had been treating you like her daughter for the longest time. And with Yu’s disappearance, her treatment was laced with worry and an overwhelming desire to tend to your needs. But every time, she’d earn the same response accompanied by the same vacant look on your face.

‎

“I’d like to clock in.”

‎

“Would you like to take the day off instead? Take a moment to catch yourself?”

‎

Though you had no circles under your eyes or any other noticeable blotches, she still noted the subtle gaunt look on your face. Pale, lifeless skin, and that wasn’t to mention the dull heaviness in your pitch black irises. A massive contrast to Yu, whose very presence brought life to any location lucky enough to bear his presence.

You shook your head.

A sigh escaped her and her gaze turned to the ground for a moment. Then, an idea popped up.

‎

“How about some passion fruit juice? We still have some in stock from yesterday.”

‎

Ying said with that kind smile as she looked back up at you. It almost widened to a full-blown grin once your lids slightly lifted at this random offer. Passion fruit was your favourite. And she remembered, even though you mentioned it offhandedly many winters ago.

You still shook your head.

‎

“I’m not too fond of the artificial flavour.” You held her wrists and put her hands down. “Thank you, nonetheless.”

‎

It took you only two seconds to walk away from Ying’s benevolent aura and move behind the counter where the sickening one lay. The very creaks of the floorboards and the ticking of the machines churned your stomach.

‎ ‎

“I’m leaving. You need any help in here?”

‎

Your co-worker exclaimed, earning the same response you gave Ying twice. And with that, he immediately tossed the towel on the counter and walked out, leaving your boss in the awkward position of asking the same question.

‎

“Y/N?”

‎

“I’ll be okay.”

‎

Juxtaposed to the loud slam emitted from the door once your co-worker left, as if to announce his departure, for Ying, it was a gentle woosh of the wind, followed by a click once she’d closed the wooden door. You didn’t even realise she left until you lazily glanced at the exit for a moment, then turned to the task at hand.

‎

You grabbed the towel and began wiping the counters. The hum of the refrigerators around you remained as the only thing that broke the heavy silence that encapsulated the small café.

Everyday was the same routine. Wake up, go to work, go home and wait for sleep. At this point, the only thing amiss today was Ying’s offer to make you passion fruit juice. A delightful offer, but the juice here was artificial sugar. If anyone would know that, it was you.

You jumped once you felt a hand on your shoulder, looking over to see Ying.

‎

“Oh, Ying, I– I assumed you left.”

‎

“No, I merely closed the door.”

‎

Your pupils dilated as you took in her soft features once more. But before you could allow this conversation to blossom, you turned away and continued wiping the counters.

‎

“Y/N, are you okay?”

‎

“What makes you think otherwise?”

‎

“Every day, you look more and more like a zombie. I… I cannot help but worry every second you’re not with me.”

‎

With a loud clunk, you set down one of the cups on the marble counter and stared at the wet towel in your hand, its temperature combining with the one around you to freeze your bare hand. But that didn’t matter to you. There was only one thing that caught your eye; its colour.

Purple.

A deep sigh escaped you, but you didn’t dare lift your chin to look at your boss.

‎

“When are we opening?”

‎

Ying held herself and watched you continue working.

‎

“Please, just speak to me. I fear the day you won’t walk through that door, and I feel as though it’s coming very soon.”

‎

“Enough with the fear mongering. I just don’t want to talk, okay? I don’t even want to look at you.”

‎

She opened her mouth, but the words were lodged in her throat. Clearly, though those words escaped you without second thought, Ying was still taken by surprise.

You needed to act fast.

‎

“Everything reminds me of them, Ying. And you remind me of him now. More than ever.”

‎

“I… I understand. What you’re going through is horrible, nobody deserves to experience anything like this. But, Y/N, please,” she cupped your cheeks in her hands, “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

‎

You were forced to look up at the tall woman to even meet her gaze. And that, you hated. You hated how her features somewhat matched Yu’s. The more you scrutinised her, the more similarities you found. Their nose, lips, their height, and the way their silky black hair framed their face. Hell, even their soft voices matched.

‎

“You haven’t eaten breakfast today, have you?”

‎

Her amiable voice suddenly took on an incredibly stern tone, one alien to someone like her. And to say you were caught off-guard would be a massive understatement.

‎

“Pardon?”

‎

“You’re pale. Your blood pressure is low.”

‎

“Pressure…?”

‎

You watched Ying immediately pull away and rush towards the fridge, a gust of cold air hitting you like a whip. On another note, it was winter. Why the hell was the fridge still on?

‎

“Ah, I meant sugar, Your blood sugar. We need to get you something to drink!”

‎

You eyed the passion fruit juice she took out of the fridge, golden fluid swirling inside in a hypnotising manner. And with a slam of the fridge’s door, its movements grew more rapid and dramatic. Then, you met her gaze with a vacant expression.

‎

“Ying, I’m fine.”

‎

"For the love of God, please accept some help and get your sugar back up. Just this once, at least!"

‎

She desperately held out the juice for you. And, although you were incredibly reluctant, you gave in and grabbed it from her.

‎

“Fine, but if I’m going to drink juice, I might as well make it myself.”

‎

Ying’s eyes bore into yours whilst you twisted the green plastic cap. Then, a particularly contagious smile lifted her pink lips. That statement must’ve evoked something within her.

‎

“Do you still remember how?”

‎

“What? Of course I do–”

‎

“Wonderful! Then I’ll take out everything you need.”

‎

She lit up and trotted over to a nearby counter, her large black ponytail swaying with each step. Ying immediately bent down and took out a few dusty slick grey boxes from inside, but your eyes were only focused on the dust that fell to the ground with every box she took out.

A mess you’d have to mop up.

Nevertheless, you took a sip and immediately grimaced at the unnatural flavour.

‎

“I bought a container of passion fruit yesterday, but I was afraid you’d be offended had I asked you to make some again.”

‎

"Why would I be offended by that?"

‎

With a huff and a loud thud, she slid out the blender’s box onto the ground. Then, she fixed her posture and grabbed it on both sides, ready to lift it.

‎

“I did not wish to pressure you into making this again. I understand your circumstances, however…” she lifted the box and set it on the counter, meeting your gaze with a smile, “your products are very addictive!”

‎

You took another sip in silence and set the drink next to the cash register, before moving to the fridge to take out the container of passion fruit.

‎

“Do you need any help with those?”

‎

You shook your head and took out a spoon and a bowl. It didn’t take long for her to catch on to what you were trying to do, clasping her hands together nervously.

‎

“Are you going to wash and scoop all those seeds? Alone?”

‎

“Are there people outside?”

‎

She glanced at the wooden double doors. If the massive windows on the walls weren’t enough, the doors allowed an even wider view of the sidewalk outside. Thankfully, the snow didn’t obscure much of her vision, either.

‎

“Ah… No, not quite. This morning is as idle as the others.”

‎

“Then I’ll do it.”

‎

She smiled and nodded.

‎

“I admire your patience.”

‎

That was all she said before she turned to unbox the blender. Thankfully, she let the silence in the air settle and allowed you to work alone. At this point, the conversation already grew exhausting enough. You couldn’t be bothered to say another word.

‎

❤ฺ·。

‎

Winter, three years ago.

‎

At first, it started out a chivalrous act.

One day, Yu, your co-worker at the time, randomly offered to escort you to and back from work with a peculiarly red set of cheeks. You said yes. Not that you needed the protection. And quite frankly, looking back, it was clearly a thin veiled attempt for him to get close to you; but you still entertained the offer and walked with him. It quickly became a day to day thing.

First, you’d see him by the gates every morning and head to the café.

Afterwards, once you both went back, you’d part ways at said gate. He’d go to the bus to return to his house, and you’d go up to your apartment. But after you started dating, he started sleeping over. Then, he began spending more time in your cramped home instead of his lavish abode.

Then… Well, to say he simply ‘took over’ would be an understatement.

‎

Once the both of you had arrived at the entrance that would lead to your dwelling, you took off the earbud and handed it back to Yu, promptly pushing the thick door to your apartment open. Back then, whenever you’d enter, the gust of air that enfolded you used to have a… melancholic feel to it.

Now, it was anything but.

‎

“Every day you visit, this place looks less and less like the house I live in.”

‎

You randomly commented, not bothering to glance at him as you spoke. An audible creak echoed through the small area. Then, with a loud flick, the lights switched open and allowed the comfort of familiarity to finally envelope each of you.

‎

“How do you mean?”

‎

“Look around. Look at what you’ve done to my home.”

‎

You haphazardly gestured around you whilst turning on more lights. And it was only after a moment of confused silence did he finally respond to your comment.

‎

“I’m not following.”

‎

You turned around, and both of your eyes bore into each others’. Judging by the blank expression he carried, he truly looked lost. So… you’d show him.

You held his hand and guided him down the entrance hall towards the living room, and pointed at the couch that faced the television mounted on the wall. Just looking at it proved your point, seeing how it was covered with blankets.

‎

“Two blankets,” you then pointed at the armchair on the corner where another one sat, “three,” the other armchair, “four,” the heaters, “and five.”

‎

You turned to face him with crossed arms.

‎

“And the three on my bed.”

‎

By the time you finished pointing everything out, both of you had stopped at the doorway that led to the corridor. He knew by the way you pursed your lips; you definitely weren’t done yet.

You took a deep inhale, finally taking in the air that lingered around you like a lovesick ex.

‎

“It smells like the inside of a lemon, as well.”

‎

Yu smiled politely once you had finalised your sentiment. Sure, your tone was dry, but he wasn’t insulted. In fact, judging by his upright posture, he seemed quite proud of how he unwittingly changed up the place.

‎

“I... hear you. On another note, it's been three years and I still haven’t gotten to the balcony yet.”

You raised an eyebrow. He just couldn’t be subtle even if his life depended on it.

‎

“I’m not giving you the keys to the balcony, Yu.”

‎

“Just a peek?”

‎

You turned away and began taking off the heavy jacket you wore, earning a particularly endearing huff from him. The shadows on the ground let you know he crossed his arms and turned his gaze away to the living room. Probably eyeing the blankets on the couch you pointed out just a few minutes ago.

He muttered something under his breath. But before you could ask him what it was, he immediately moved over to the couch. Huh. Your hypothesis was correct.

‎

Not paying him any mind, you began slipping off your boots and taking off the hair tie that started to give you a headache.

Then, your eyes widened once you heard a distant spray. You immediately turned around.

“Yu, we don’t need anymore–”

‎

The words were lodged in your throat once you realised he wasn’t spraying the room with his lemon mister again. He wasn’t doing that at all, no. Instead, he was misting the potted plant set in the corner of the living room. Holes lay in the edges of its dull leaves. And thanks to the weak sunlight that bled through the windows, you could see that the soil was dangerously dry, as well.

You stepped up solemnly, watching him mist it.

‎

“How long has it been since you last watered this?”

‎

Judging by the curious tone, you knew that he wasn’t mocking you. He just wasn’t as knowledgeable as you were when it came to plants. You nervously clenched your fists and turned your gaze away, eyes landing on the dark vinyl flooring.

‎

“I… must have forgotten about it.”

‎

Of course you did. It was a miracle you even slipped out of bed every morning, let alone take care of something like this.

A gentle pat on your shoulder snapped you out of your maelstrom of thoughts, and you hesitantly looked up to meet his gentle gaze.

“That’s okay. You were busy.” He chuckled. “It’s probably why the smell of lemons is so strong, right?”

‎

You playfully flicked his forehead with a vacant expression, before grabbing the mister from his hands and aiming it at the plant. That’s one incentive for you to take care of the plant, that’s for sure. Oh, but you’d never tell him that.

Nevertheless, you continued misting. And spraying water on it felt so… weird.

But also relieving.

117 notes · View notes

lorifragolina · 3 months ago

Text

California Dreaming

Hello hello! This is the first fill for the second @harringrovesummerbingo card, and I'm proud to announce that I finally noticed the numbers of the squares, so things are preatty easier now XD.

Thanks to @suometar for giving me a hint and making me start to think about the song, I always associate it with "dreaming of summer", so that's it.

I hope you like it!

Title: California Dreaming

Square & Prompt: A1 "Gloryhole"

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1621

Major Tags: Gloryhole, casual sex, blowjob.

Summary: You can imagine a warm summer even in a cold winter, with the right company! (ok this summary is phony, I didn't know what to write!)

Read it in AO3

Read it below as it's NSFW!

Billy was literally freezing his ass. The road was coated with a thin layer of ice and it wasn’t an easy task to drive the Camaro straight.

He parked in the usual hidden spot, then started to walk; he shivered in his leather jacket - he still didn’t have winter clothes, because he had little money to waste to such things, but adobe all because he was stubborn and kept saying he didn’t need anything, he wasn’t a sissy weak baby.

The fog formed a little cloud in front of his face.

He never experienced a winter like that, he was used to the temperate winter in California, where he could go in short sleeves even on Christmas.

Oh, how he missed California and how he missed the summer… he needed to walk in the street and feel the sun on his face, not that cutting cold air that hurted his lungs at every breath.

He reached the church. He remembered the song, it was odd and funny because it was exactly what he was doing, dreaming about California. He couldn't help, since the first time he came there he couldn’t avoid thinking about the song. The song made him think about California, so he thought about California everytime he went down there.

He knew the preachers liked the cold, he giggled to himself, but there were no preachers to ask about the temperature they liked; the church was dilapidated and half felt down and people who gathered there didn’t do it for praying, even if they felt down on their knees pretty often.

Apparently, the place was empty but he came a little early, but it was better, he couldn’t stay at home another minute and it was less probable to cross and be seen by anyone.

He sat on the bench in the snug he chose and waited.

Steve sighed trying to start the car again. He was born and raised in the Midwest but he hated the winter nonetheless, especially since when he wasn’t a kid anymore. When he was little, the winter only meant running outside with a hat and mittens in the biting air until he became apple-cheeked red and the nanny called him inside again, treating him with hot cocoa. But growing up, the winter had become more bothersome than fun. Waking up with any weather, washing and dressing in the cold house, fighting with the car or the ice on the road, or the cold rain or even the snow, then returning to the cold house, maybe soaked, freezed, or whatever…

After a couple of tries, the car started and he carefully left the frozen driveway. He parked in the usual spot, hidden by the garbage containers, praying that he wouldn’t have a problem on his return.

He walked near to the road, on the little path in the burnt grass that multiple shoes made going in the same place. He coughed a little in the cold air, knowing that in the night they would go another time below zero.

Yes, he didn’t like winter at all, even if he was apple-cheeked at that moment and he wore a hat and mittens. He wished he was in a warmer site, in California, although he’d never been there, he was sure that there nobody had to worry about a cold car or the threat of a snowfall or a gray sky. He would be safe and warm if he was in LA, as said in the song. He giggled. He always thought about California Dreaming when he went down that road, maybe because his mother listened to it when he was little or because of the church at the end of the path, he used to make that kind of impromptu links.

He finally reached the church, and he lowered his head, covering it better with the hat, although he didn’t see anyone.

He entered the little road and opened his pants. The noise of the zip resonated in the ancient, crumbling walls.

Billy heard the sound of the zip and the clothes at the other side of the wall. He could feel the heavy breath of the other person and his heart speeded up as usual.

He opened his own pants, took a large breath, and knocked two times near the hole in the wall.

The dick appeared in the hole, red and glistening of precum, and he got down on his knees and began to suck.

Steve jerked his dick a couple of times waiting for the knocks at the other side of the wall, and felt relieved and expectant when they came.

He carefully pushed his dick in the hole and moaned when the hot lips at the other side circled his tip and the wet tongue started to play with his length.

That dick was huge, and Billy for a moment hated that wall that prevented him to sink his nose in the other’s groin, and to take all of it until the back of his throat, but in any case it was big, and Billy grabbed his own dick, scratching in the floor with the knees, and jerked himself trying to hold back his own whines of pleasure.

Steve scratched the wall, moaning out loud. The mouth on the other side was hot and skilled and he wished he didn’t have the wall between them to push his head on his own crotch and choke him. He enjoyed the gags of the other at his unexpected thrust and he felt he was close to the climax.

He pulled back and wanked himself slowly, while he bent to the hole.

“Fuck?” He whispered.

“No,” Billy answered in a low voice, his heart racing as he was close to the orgasm too. He kept pumping himself when the dick returned in the hole. He would die to say yes, he wanted it ferally, but he couldn't take the risk. That dick was gorgeous, thick and nicely curved, but he was too scared.

“Swallow,” said the voice, and Billy came in his hand, suffocating his moans on the dick, he sucked and licked more, gagging in the back of his throat and choking at the frantic thrusts of the other, until he came, whining loudly, and he swallow every drop.

Steve came, and scratched again the walls, wishing to have a real man in his hand and to touch all his body, covering him in cum. He heard the other whimpering and coming too, then he heard the usual noises of the cleaning and dressing again.

He zipped up his pants and wore his hat and gloves again, suffocating in the hot room after the blowjob. He thought about the cold outside, and oddly, also about California. It was strange, but he could smell a warm scent of beach and sun and salt, while the stranger was blowing him. He would die for coming inside him, but he hadn’t been lucky apparently..

He took some money from his pocket; he would pay a lot more if the man would let him fuck him, but he had been good anyway. They weren’t prostitutes, but he had money and didn’t mind. He rolled a bill and pushed it in the hole, then pulled down the hat again and rapidly went away.

Billy picked up the fifty bucks from the floor. The men he blew usually asked him sex, he was a talent with his mouth and all of them wanted to try his ass. He knew his ass was the better of Indiana, or California, or whatever, he fucked like a king and he would kill them, but he didn’t want contact in that place. He was terrified that someone could recognize him.

He didn’t do it for money, he just liked dicks and sucking them but sometimes they were so satisfied to give him money. He never rejected it.

He needed that escape from the mood in his home; he couldn’t be himself there, and in the church he just unloaded his queerness. He was dying for a fuck, but he knew his father would murder him

He was sweating, so he wore his light jacket shivering and squeezed his arm around himself while the sweat freezed on his neck, and ran to the car.

A Beamer passed on the road at the side of the path, but he was protected by the bushes.

Steve was hungry. He always felt guilty and hungry when he went to that church. Since he discovered that site where strangers gathered to have secret meetings, he religiously went a couple times a week, sometimes more, especially since Hargrove had made his appearance at school. He didn’t know why, he felt so nervous for that bratty bitch and he could only think about the church gloryhole to unload.

He parked at the burger, pretty empty at that hour.

That was his surprise seeing the blue Camaro entering the parking lot too, and park at his side, as an affront.

Billy was wearing only a leather jacket opened on the cotton shirt, teeth chattering, but he still had his tough face.

“You here,” growled Billy. He was apple-cheeked and his face was dirty.

“Any problem?”

“Not at all,” Billy moved to the diner. He took fifty bucks from his pocket and waved on his face. “Come on, eat with me. I’ll buy”. He smelled like an afternoon on the beach, of toasting sun and sun lotion; Steve felt a strange tickle behind his neck, and the song resonated in his head.

Billy furtively cleaned a stain of dirt and tears from his cheek. He suddenly felt like he had been hitten by the California sun.

Steve followed him in the diner.

#stranger things #writing #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #hsb2024

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sangoqueenkoko · 9 months ago

Text

IL DOTTORE

I don't want realism; I want magic

angst, fluff??

MAIN MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

Prologue | Next, Part 1

Synopsis: Being with Dottore for some time is enough to drive some insane. But what about living with him? Thick and thin. Sweet and sour. Love and hatred. Lust and chastity. It all burns passionately. Wrapped around each other's fingers.

Warnings? This is an experimental series. Also contains the mention of inner body parts, blood and gore.

In the ethereal realm, where the boundaries of reality blur and emotions intertwine, a tale of snow, death, love, and chastity unfolds. It is a story of enchantment, where the forces of passion and purity guide the delicate dance between life and death.

But purity isn't always present. If at all.

In a land draped in a pristine white blanket of snow, the air hung heavy with an eerie silence. The winter's icy grip held everything in its frigid embrace, encased in snow and ice, as if the world itself had been cast into a deep slumber.

Deep within the heart of this mystical realm, you found yourself caught in a turbulent storm of emotions. Your heart, once filled with the innocent joys of youth, now ached with a sorrow they could not comprehend. You had witnessed death, a sight that had forever changed your perception of the world. Even if you were the one to take some lives away.

But you would slowly get used to it, as this was how you lived your life. A purity that surpassed the boundaries of mortal understanding to the point that it didn't seem so pure anymore. Your devotion to virtue and chastity made you a soft candle-like light in a world overshadowed by darkness. But now, as you navigated the treacherous path of grief and broken families, your heart yearned for solace.

As a break in the forever snowstorm arose, you sought refuge in Zapolyarny Palace that guarded the archon of Cryo and her subordinates, as well as you.

Unbeknownst to you, a figure would somehow be watching you from a distance. He was no ordinary being, for he possessed an evil that surpassed human comprehension. Some even questioned if he was even human at all. His presence exuded an aura of death, as if he carried the weight of countless lives lost at the hands of himself.

This… perplexing figure, known only as il Dottore, had witnessed your unyielding commitment to your responsibilities and work. Your so-called innocence captivated him, drawn to her like a moth to a flame, but his perspective would change as he saw you in action. Yet, he knew that his own existence was intertwined with the very essence of death.

He was like a crow, and you were like a dove. Crows are associated with death, as is he. Doves are often associated with purity, as are you—sort of, always glistening with some blood somewhere on your person.

Crows like shiny things, hence all the things the bird had collected, but in his words, you are one of his favourite shiny things.

But once they were in each other's presence for the first time, they were forever in each other's presence. As your eyes met, a connection sparked between your souls. It was a forbidden love destined to be tested by blood and restless winds.

taglist: @jqnehr • @rain-soaked-sun • @mmeatt •

please fill out the Google form on the series masterlist if you want to be added! :3

#gender neutral reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #dottore x you #dottore angst #dottore fluff??

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raticalshoez · 2 months ago

Note

reading ur last reblog and hidfhihs LIFE SERIES BUT POKEMON,,,instead of last person standing its last pokemon standing,,,worlds most painful nuzlocke speedrun ksjfdhslfh

Dude I was thinking of making fakemon based on Life Series members and like. This idea is so big brained...

So I don't have designs yet, but here's my ideas for the primary types they would be:

Grian - Flying

Bird motif, for the most part, but also idea of a bird's eye view, watching over, Watchers...lmao

Jimmy - Ghost

He has such a strong theme of death that I just had to dude...

Etho - Ice

What with the Snowfort and Red (Winter) Army, he has connections to snow and cold. Also ice is a bad type competetively and Etho washed up pvper...

Bdubs - Grass

Mossy guy! Also he likes the sun and uh photosynthesis..? (And he dropped a wither rose in Last Life)

Tango - Fire

It's his hair headcanons but also his love for explosives

Impulse - Electric

Caffeinated animated redstone innovator and also his color scheme!!

Lizzie - Fairy

She owned the Fairy Fort, so I feel like it's only fair. She also likes cute things but can be mean sometimes (like the fairy typing itself)

Gem - Fighting

GeminiSLAY, very competetive fighter

Pearl - Dark

Something wicked this way comes. But also, wrongfully seen as evil! Misunderstood like some dark types okay (ABSOL IS LITERALLY HER)

Scott - Water

Mean gills but also I'm pretty sure water's a pretty good typing competetively? Mainly cause mean gills though

BigB - Psychic

Messing with people's minds by being the liar of all time. Has a motif of deception with his character

Cleo - Poison

Sometimes associated with snakes, but also they have venom behind their words. Lots of vengence.

Mumbo - Steel

A bit unsure about this one but I thought of Grumbot! Also because I associate the steel typing with machinery, and also Mumbo's vampire hc's are funny with this considering steel's probably associated with silver

Some I'm more unsure about:

Martyn - Dragon

Uhh...fantasy smp reference..? Dragon is a really powerful type and Martyn is a formidable guy? They also have a sense of mystic to them with related to his hastag lore..?

Skizz - Bug

I can't do shit to explain myself here uhm uhm. His angel headcanons of wings...his silly little guy energy matches silly little bug...he dies fast in the series..?

Joel - Ground

Mounders? He did dig those holes in Double Life where he was called a mole...oh and also this would make him weak to Scott's typing which is very funny

Scar - Rock

He sells useless things and says they're valuable. See: the crystals of Last Life. Also all his relationships are rocky haha ba dum tss (he is the loneliest life series character I coukd talk about him for DAYS)

Ren - Normal

This leaves Ren with normal which just...doesn't feel right...like. This man is FAR from normal! Most I could think of was like a dog-like a theatre related pokemon, but those could be outside of the normal type! I'm lost...

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed my insanity. Tune in if I end up mystery dungeoning the life series members and making them fight to the death

#trafficblr #life series #this is honestly just rambles rn BUT #this is oh so very fun and if anyone has differing opinions please lmk!! i'd love to here some other stuff #like originally lizzie and scott had flipped types based on vibes and empires stuff #but then i remembered this was the life series i went with the current ones instead #originally they were gonna me trainers themselves but idk if I have it in me to design clothes rn...artblock crazy...

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amuhav · 1 year ago

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◽ OBSCURE ASSOCIATIONS · tayuin eth'salin ◽

tagged by: @lazysunjade

(ETA bcos I forgot) tagging: @keibea @thesimperiuscurse @izayoichan @rollingsim

◽ ANIMAL · winter ermine ◽

◽ COLOURS · powder blue · lilac · tea rose ◽

◽ MONTH · february ◽

◽ SONGS · persona non grata · said & done · say no one's home ◽

◽ NUMBER · two ◽

◽ PLANTS · blue diamond hellabore · snowdrops ◽

◽ SMELLS · almonds · sour cherry · morning frost ◽

◽ GEMSTONE · natrolite · quartz ◽

◽ TIME OF DAY · twilight ◽

◽ SEASON · winter ◽

◽ PLACES · snow-covered treefall gap ◽

◽ FOOD · cakes · tarts ◽

◽ DRINKS · icewine ◽

◽ ELEMENT · water · air ◽

◽ ASTROLOGICAL SIGNS · aries sun · scorpio moon ◽

◽ SKY · overcast ◽

◽ WEATHER · thawing frost ◽

◽ MAGICAL POWER · ice · illusion ◽

◽ WEAPONS · longbow · words ◽

◽ CANDY · maraschino cherry · candied pearlberry ◽

◽ ART STYLE · watercolour · impressionism ◽

◽ FEAR · betrayal · weakness ◽

◽ MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE · martlet ◽

◽ CELESTIAL BODY · star ◽

#oc asks meme #ask my characters #OC asks: Tayuin #two links for the second song #because I will forever die mad Bad Omens haven't got an official acoustic version of said&done on spotify #don't read the lyrics you'll kill me #also horoscope girlies don't come at me I don't know how accurate that moon placement is lmao #but I have no choice in Tay being an aries because his birthday had to be ~so specific~#his birthday isn't feb it's march #but feb makes me think of him more lol

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teejaystumbles · 2 years ago

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We are having snow and again the weather has inspired me to write a short dreamling thing. Enjoy :3

It starts innocently enough. Winter has come to London, in mostly rain and slush rapidly turning to mud. Real snow is a rarity these days. So when Hob wakes up to light from his window that he distinctly associates with daylight on snow, he is grinning before he has even sat up in bed. The snow is a measly thing, barely covering the ground, but Hob is elated nonetheless, especially because it is still snowing, and continues throughout the whole day. His colleagues and students are less enthusiastic, grumbling about the weather messing with transport and how it’s too early in the year to be this cold. Hob disagrees and joyfully goes about his day on campus. When he finally calls it a day in the late afternoon and steps out into the brisk air he inhales deeply, still smiling. It’s getting dark fast but Hob takes his time on his walk home, enjoying the clear cold air and the scrunch of thin iced over snow under his shoes. When he nears the New Inn he spots a tall dark shape loitering under the tree opposite. His smile blooms into a grin again and he gives a shy wave with one hand. The man under the tree slowly lifts his hand in a gesture of greeting.

This is now the fourth time Dream visits him. After the 130-year absence. He had introduced himself and explained himself to Hob, in very few words, but Hob had read between the lines. His friend had been imprisoned and had not missed their centennial meeting voluntarily. The thought that Dream now calls him friend, lets him call him friend, and now wants to meet more often still makes Hob wobbly in the knees if he thinks too long about it. They have now settled on monthly meetings, which is honestly more than Hob ever dared to hope.

Smiling he slowly heads towards the tree. Suddenly a bit of snow comes loose from a branch just over Dream – and drops onto his head. Hob can see the way Dream’s eyes widen as the cold snow slips down into his coat and down his neck. He looks like a disgruntled cat and Hob can’t help but crack up with laughter. He tries to stop when he sees Dream’s furious gaze but can barely suppress his chuckles.

“Sorry, it’s just… you should see your face.”

Stars flash in Dream’s eyes.

“You dare…” his tone is low, dangerous, and for a second Hob is distracted by worry. A second is all it takes for Dream to pull Hob a step closer and give the tree a hefty thump. When Hob sees the miniscule smirk play on his friend’s lips he is already being showered in cold white clumps of icy snow that miraculously miss Dream completely.

Hob yelps as Dream grabs his coat by the neck and draws it open so that the snow can more easily slide down his back. He sputters and struggles and grabs at the Endless.

“You tosser-!”

In his struggle against Dream’s grip Hob slips on the frozen grass, but before he can fall Dream has grabbed him with both hands and the next thing Hob knows is that he’s being pressed against the tree’s trunk. He’s staring straight into Dream’s face, the smile still playing on his lips and Hob feels himself blush fiercely.

“Ah...thanks…” he manages weakly, eyes darting between Dream’s lips, almost white from the cold and his dark, dark eyes full of stars.

“Hmm.” Dream only hums and makes no move backwards, still pressing Hob against the tree as if to keep him from sinking to the ground. Just as well, Hob thinks, because his knees are definitely weak right now.

“S-Sorry, for laughing at you.” Hob stammers and winces against the feeling of now melting snow running down his spine and reaching his buttocks. Dream is still watching him, not moving an inch. It’s starting to make Hob nervous. He desperately tries not to wonder about how it would feel to have these rosy lips press against his, if Dream would kiss him like the winter air, briskly cold and biting.

Dream tilts his head a tiny fraction, eyes sparkling. Hob hopes he cannot read minds. He’s so fucked otherwise.

“Want to...get out of the cold?” he asks tentatively, although he doesn’t want to break whatever this moment is.

“No.” Dream says simply and Hob frowns. Then his friend is leaning in and Hob can barely hear the next words for the thundering of his heart.

“I will warm you.”

The next thing he registers are Dream’s lips pressed against his. Oh, but he had it all wrong.

Hob always thought Dream would be cold. His whole aloof demeanor, the starchy, rigid posturing, the white skin, all of it had made Hob imagine Dream’s touch to feel cold and hard like ice or marble. He was wrong.

Dream is running hot. His lips are like a warm soft pillow pressed against Hob’s, his tongue, when it pushes inside his mouth, is like a hot poker. Hob moans helplessly and grabs onto Dream’s coat for support. His knees are definitely too weak now.

Dream kisses him like a drowning man and Hob tries to give back as good as he gets. When Hob finally draws back for breath, Dream chases his lips, brushes his mouth over his cheek and jaw. Hob laughs shakily, breathless. His toes and fingers are slowly going numb and he says:

“Not that I don’t appreciate your efforts to warm me, my friend, but…” he makes Dream meet his eyes with a gentle touch to his chin, “let’s still continue this inside, alright?”

Dream frowns.

“Was this… perhaps not…” he starts, and Hob can’t have that nervous look of anxiety on his face. Quickly he leans in and kisses Dream soundly, drawing a surprised moan from him.

“This...is perfect.” he gasps. “I said “continue”, love. Not stop. Now. Inside. Please.”

Dream smiles his little smile again and hums before pulling Hob off the tree and leading him towards the New Inn, Hob’s hand firmly grasped in his. Hob is grinning from ear to ear, cheeks flushed. His back is wet with sludge and he couldn’t care less. He loves winter. Best. Day. Ever.

#little feel-good fic for you and me #I'm on sick leave with shingles lol #so there's at least time to be creative #own writing #dreamling #the sandman fanfiction #may put on ao3 later

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kaigarax · 2 years ago

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New Beginnings

Lyon Vastia x Reader

Quote: “Fall in love with that sparkle in someone’s eyes.”

There’s a fragile and bitter kind of beauty that is found in the winter. A reluctant discomfort alongside newfound strength as one looks out upon the ground that’s beginning to be covered with freshly fallen snow. A cold and distant sensation that nips at the edge or your nose and sends your heart to a pause. A kind of beauty that Lyon feels represents you.

His first impression of you was quick and rather shallow. Your beauty is undeniable but leaves a rather strange sensation swirling in the pit of his stomach. It’s something almost nostalgic.

You are seemingly just another person who he happens to pass by. Another soul that he shares the surface of this earth with. Another individual that associates themselves with similar people. Just another person.

In truth, Lyon didn’t think there was much to you. You tend to blend in with your more tame and mild attitude, especially among the loud and rowdy individuals of Fairy Tail. You have a passive nature and tend to let things happen to you instead of going out in the world and changing things yourself.

There are many words exchanged between the two of you during your first interaction. Perhaps too many.

Lyon thinks that he likely would have found himself engaged in an argument with you if not for the playful look in your eyes. He thinks that look is very Fairy Tail.

---

His second impression of you isn’t much better. You’re crying and alone.

At first, Lyon wasn’t even certain if it was you. Your white cloak covered your small form as you sat in a dark and lonely corner. He knew for certain that a maiden had been crying and what kind of a person he would be if he just left someone alone on the street.

The snow is just beginning to stick to the ground.

Lyon can’t see his own breath but he can see yours.

“Are… are you okay?” asked Lyon.

You don’t respond but your small sobs seem to stop. The snow crunches beneath Lyon’s feet as he makes his way over to you. He feels a lump begin to form in his throat as his mind begins to fill with all the strange scenarios that could happen. He’s not nervous but there are definitely many ways that this situation could go wrong.

His slow steps seem to catch your attention as your head jerks up and your eyes meet with his own.

Lyon finds himself taken back by how bright your eyes seem to shine.

They’re like stars in the night.

There’s no shame in your face. No fear or anger. Just surprise and sadness, which Lyon now realises is a rather strange combination. Your face is contorted in an unusual way that would have made the Ice Make Wizard laugh if the situation had been different. Lyon wasn’t sure of what to say.

What could he have said that wouldn’t make it worse?

Words seem to escape him entirely as your eyes speak volumes.

They’re the eyes of someone who has loved and lost. So fragile, like frost upon a window pane the morning after it snows. So bitter, like the fury of a woman scorned. He supposes that’s why you’ve found yourself out here and not inside with your loud and boisterous crew.

After a long while of staring, you rub the tears out of your eyes. It’s almost beautiful as you look up to the clouded sky and take a deep breath in.

You suddenly seem so at peace with the world. So happy despite having just cried.

Briefly, Lyon wonders if you’re putting on a brave face. But your eyes are very determined. They’re honest. It seems almost an insult to think that your expression is anything else other than pure earnesty.

When you finally look back at him you smile. It’s a sad smile and one that seems to whisper for something. What that something is he isn’t too sure so instead he makes his way over to you and sits beside you on the cold steps.

You’re shivering ever so slightly and Lyon takes pity on you as he drapes his coat around you.

There are no further words exchanged as the two of you lean back and watch the snow fall from the sky.

Despite growing up in icy cold weather, Lyon hasn’t ever actually stopped to look around and admire the environment around him. Most of his life was spent moving forwards in hopes of discovering something else. Running ahead because life is always moving onwards. Getting left behind had been both an insult and threat to him when he was younger.

Stopping was an insult. A shame.

But Lyon is no longer that man.

He still struggles with slowing down but he’s able to take breaks and moments of rest. Sitting here with you, in the snow, seems to be exactly what he needs. You’re basically strangers but sometimes it’s moments shared with a stranger that mean the most.

The sky is beautiful.

Breathtaking even.

Lyon thinks that he might have been too quick to judge you the first time. Or perhaps it’s the lack of words. Regardless, Lyon makes a promise to himself that he’ll try his best to get to know you a little better.

---

“Aren’t you going to head out to watch the fireworks?” You ask.

Lyon jumps slightly, surprised by your sudden appearance, “ah, (Y/n)! I didn’t notice you were still here. I thought you headed out with the others to watch the show.”

“No,” you give that sad smile that no one else ever seems to see through, “I prefer to watch them from somewhere else.”

“A secret spot?”

You nod.

“So, is this a secret you’d be willing to share with me?” Lyon gives you a playful smile in hopes of improving your mood.

You give a closed eye smile, “it’s not my secret to share.”

“Oh,” Lyon feels a strange pang in his chest, “are you planning on meeting someone there?”

“I used to meet with someone.”

So that’s how it is.

Lyon has always suspected that you’re someone suffering from a broken heart. He would often catch you staring off into empty spaces as if you expected someone to be there or looking back over your shoulder to say something to someone that wasn’t there. You moved in a manner that expected someone else to be mirroring you. The kicker though was how the attraction others directed towards seemed to fly over your head. The only people Lyon had ever seen be unphased by romantic acts were those whose hearts already belonged to others.

Does it make Lyon a foolish person to like someone already in love?

Does it make him a bad person to covet someone whose heart already belongs to another?

Lyon has never directly expressed any romantic intentions towards you but that never stopped people from falling in love before. Lyon has always believed that no one can choose who they fall in love with or when they fall in love. If people could pick and choose he’s certain that this worlds problems would, at least, be halved.

“Is something upsetting you?” You ask, leaning in towards Lyon. That fluttering feeling in Lyon’s chest seems to intensify as you softly poke his forehead.

Lyon tries his best to muster up another smile, “no. Why? Does it look like something’s bothering me?”

“Yes,” you retract from him and lean back, your eyes bright and determined as you answer “it looks like you’re bothered by matters of the heart.”

“Are you an expert on that sort of thing?”

“No.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Why? Were you planning on spilling all your innermost secrets to me? Revealing the deepest whispers from the bottom of your heart in hopes of me being able to fix it?”

“No,” Lyon feels laughter begin to bubble up in his chest, “I was just curious.”

“Oh.”

Lyon thinks the way your face scrunches up is cute. It makes a little crease line on your forehead. He wants to lean forward and smooth the line but knows that it would be rather… awkward. It’s not like he’s your…

“Do you want to watch the fireworks with me?” You ask.

Lyon smiles, “of course,” the kind of smile that he can’t help but do.

---

The sound of water splashing against a sandy shore is the first thing that Lyon notices. In the dim starlight the water looks black and murky. Definitely not something that he wants to be swimming in.

The dark and murky water actually looks quite a bit like the sky when it isn’t crashing against the shore. It’s almost poetic how the dark sea reflects the twinkling lights of the sky.

Lyon can’t make out the colour of the sand, though he suppose it’s either bright yellow or white. Likely yellow, because white sand isn’t common here, but he can’t exactly rule it out. Not that it matters. With his shoes on Lyon won’t have to worry about the sand too much unless his shoes get wet or he takes them off.

Lyon isn’t the biggest fan of sand. It just always gets… everywhere.

The sand sparkles though. Even in the starlight it glimmers. Almost as if pieces of the stars have fallen from the sky and sprinkled bits of themselves into the sand to shine for those who are unable to look up at the sky.

Star dust.

A beautiful substitute for those who can’t touch the stars themselves.

The moon is in a crescent shape tonight. It’s beautiful but Lyon thinks it’s much more beautiful as a whole. Everything is more beautiful when all the pieces are still together. But, Lyon will settle for this tiny sliver that he has been allowed to see. He is now a patient man who tries to find value in the beauty of things others may not.

Your own gaze seems to be captured by the sky.

You’re wearing that look that only Lyon ever seems to notice. It’s a sad kind of smile that says ‘no you don’t want to talk about it’. Bright eyes that say everything will be okay eventually.

A forest, which you and Lyon had emerged out of, backs out on the edge of the water. They seemed to be in full bloom with their bright greens fading into brighter and warmer colours. Lyon thought it was rather ironic how the colours of the leaves were warm as the weather got colder. Perhaps it was the weather trying its best to cling to the warmth of summer before the long cold winter.

It’s quite like you. Clinging to the warmth of summer.

You slip your shoes off, leaving on the sand beside Lyon.

“What are you doing?” Ask Lyon.

“I want to touch the water.”

“You know you could just touch the water with your hand.”

You laugh in response to Lyon, “do you want to walk in the water with me?”

Lyon sighs, “yeah,” taking off his shoes and placing them beside your own. He may not be the biggest fan of sand but he is rather fond of the way your eyes light up. He has to roll up the sleeves of his pants but for you it’s worth it.

You tread ankle deep as you make your way along the shore. Lyon’s feet, on the other hand, barely touch the water as he walks closer to shore.

“So, what’s your favourite season?”

“Autumn.” you smiled fondly, “how about you?”

“I don’t have one.”

“That’s a shame.”

“What?” Lyon exclaims, “what’s wrong with not having a favourite season?”

“People that don’t have a favourite season tend to be indecisive people.” you explain, “they’re the kind of people that don’t move until they see what others have done.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m anything but indecisive.”

“Oh? And how so?”

“Well, my reason for not having a favourite season is that it’s unfair. Each season has something special to offer and its own reason for existing. To pick one over the other is just plain childish.”

You laugh, “why'd you ask in the first place?”

Lyon flushes, “because I want to know more about you.”

“That’s very sweet~” You’re still laughing and it sends Lyon’s heart into a fluttering mess. Lyon doesn't think he’s ever seen you so care free. So bright without pain behind your smile and laughter.

Lyon clears his throat, “so, why’s your favourite season autumn?”

“Because it’s the clinging of warmth before the long haul of winter.”

The answer sends a pang through the Ice Make Wizard’s chest. Just like the trees of autumn, you cling to the warmth of a summer long gone. Lyon knows it’s not the right for him to feel this way but he does.

He supposes he’s always been quite the fool.

“But there’s nothing wrong with winter,” you smile, looking towards the sky as the fireworks begin to fly into the sky, “it makes way for new beginnings.”

“By the way-” Lyon is cut off by the loud sounds of fireworks flying into the sky and exploding.

Your eyes shine and your breath is taken away. Your lips are slightly parted and you seem to be in awe.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore is drowned out by the fireworks.

Your warm hand brushes against his own.

Fall in love with that sparkle in someone’s eye.

#fairy tail #fairy tail x reader #lyon vastia x reader #100 ways to fall in love

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miscelunaaa · 2 years ago

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flurious | ksj

pairing: seokjin x female reader

genre: college au ig. slice of life?? really I have no idea tbh

summary: it's fine, you're not mad at your best friend at all! in fact!! you're so fine that you're going to work off some steam just to prove how fine you are!!

rating: T for too much swearing

word count: 3k

warnings: Based On Real Events™️ (at least in part). Reader can’t ice skate. Lots of swearing. Reader is a stubborn piece of shit (affectionate). Himbecile Namjoon (derogatory). Unrequited crushes if you squint. Very cold winter environments. Small college vibes. Lots of talk about falling on one’s butt and bruises and common impact injuries associated with learning how to do coordinated things like ice skating for the first time; reader’s a tough nugget, she’s doing great. She might also have a slight pain kink oops. Vague prejudice against tenors I’m sorry. Crack if you squint. Angst if you squint. The only thing fluffy about this fic is Jin’s coat tbh, it’s intended to be more of a slice of life than anything else.

notes: Hi. It's missing Seokjin hours in the emothy household so have a short oneshot that I started months ago and randomly finished last night when I couldn't sleep. This really is actually based on a real experience I had, but that's all I'm going to say about the matter alksjhfalsjkdh

For once, I’m not feeling super long winded, so we’re going to leave it at that! Enjoy <3

my masterlist | my disclaimers | read on ao3

The student union is vacant when you walk into its warm, welcoming arms. It’s perfect. No one can judge you for what you’re about to attempt and that’s exactly what you want.

“I’d like to rent a pair of skates please,” you ask the student worker at the desk.

She blearily looks up from a thick textbook and asks for your shoe size before standing to fetch them from the equipment closet. In return for the skates, you leave your student I.D. The entire exchange takes mere seconds. You haven’t even regained the warmth in your nose before you’re stepping back out into the cold night and stomping off to the shabby, makeshift ice rink on the quad.

It’s a clear evening. The stars flicker coldly above, making the eerie yellow light of the campus’s many lamp posts seem warm in comparison. It’s a Saturday evening; no one’s wandering around the tiny college at this strangely late hour, not with a foot of snow pack on the ground, so there’s no one around to watch you angrily try to teach yourself to ice skate.

Anger comes naturally to you. It’s easy, if not outright comfortable, for you to just sit and stew in the emotion. Yet still it’s all to your detriment, making you feel frazzled and out of control. Times like this call for full body distractions, and what’s better than teaching yourself something you’ve literally never done before?

Falling on your ass is the perfect distraction from your asshole best friend’s bullshit right now. It’s fucking perfect and nothing is stopping you from doing this, least of all him. After all, he’s the one who came back from winter break with a fancy new hair cut and now allll the girls are like “uwu Joonie you look so nice without the perm.” While he’s getting all that attention there’s nothing to stop you from sneaking away, because why on earth would he pay attention to you, his fucking best friend, when he could be paying attention to girls far cuter than you even if they’d thought he was gross when he had the perm? God he’s so fucking stupid.

It doesn’t bother you at all. You don’t really see the difference anyway. He’s still a total freak even without the perm so you don’t really get the hype. It’ll take five minutes for the fawning to cease because in that time he’ll open his big dumb mouth and anyone with two brain cells to rub together will see how much of a dweeb he still is. Even so, the people continue to come in flocks and crowd you out. There’s alway someone new who wants to look at the newly pretty boy.

Fuck ... being ignored like that (to your face!!) fucking hurts. Anger is always preferable to the sting of being ignored. The anger means that you’re at least trying to be productive, even as you hide yourself away from the world. The cold is as good a shield as any.

You sit on the rickety edge of the rink and kick off your boots. Carefully, you pull on each skate and lace them up tight, making sure that your ankles have no room to roll. You find yourself swearing angrily as your gloved hands struggle with the laces, but your anger bolsters your persistence. Nothing can take you down from this high, not even the threat of absolutely biffing it like you know you’re going to.

It takes a moment to talk yourself into standing once you’ve set the blades to the ice. “Just stand to start” is what you tell yourself. After a few moments, and a flash or two of dimples in your mind’s eye, you get yourself to stand.

With arms flailing, you stay upright for a good ten seconds. Your fatal flaw, however, is hubris. In your hubris you thought you could take a tentative step forward.

As it turns out, ice can smell fear and has an impact play kink.

You stare up at the sky for a moment after your first fall. Your ass hurts and will probably ache like a bitch tomorrow, but honestly you’re kind of a masochist; you’re not not into this. Why else would you be in this situation, so angry with your annoyingly cute freak of a best friend that you can hardly function? You knew he was handsome underneath the questionable aesthetic choices, and you knew he was dumb enough that he’d start ignoring you to talk to people he was more romantically interested in as soon as he fixed his appearance. You always knew this would happen, and yet you invested time in him anyway. You always rate last; experiencing this pain was only a matter of time.

And yet, the seconds tick by. You steel yourself and carefully stand, avoiding a second slip, but only just. You narrow your eyes at your goal: the rink wall opposite of where you started. You’re going to fucking do this, falls be damned. It’s like ten yards. You can totally do this. You’re going to make this stupid ice your bitch.

Eight seconds later, you’re on your ass again. But hey, you made it a few feet forward. Progress is still progress in spite of accrued costs.

And so you stand again. You try doing that pushing thing with the blade of the skate, but something in your body doesn’t expect to move, so you wobble unsteadily for a moment. A breath, and then another push, more gently this time. Ah, you’re doing it! Yet another push and—

Well ... At least the stars make good company. Your elbow hurts this time; you must’ve whacked it in the fall. Feels like it’ll bruise but that’s just the cost of doing business with this rink and your own stupidity. You carefully scramble up, and try again.

When you finally make it to the other side of the rink, you’re so excited that you trip into the little wall. At least you can catch yourself with your hands this way. And hey, moving to a sitting position isn’t so hard! The cold soothes your achey butt as you let yourself relax for a moment.

Maybe this was a stupid idea. You can feel the high of white hot rage beginning to cool. You’re not sure if it’s the pain or the exertion. Maybe it’s time to pack up and return the skates. It’s getting late after all, you probably need to at least try to sleep.

You’re so mired in your thoughts that you almost miss the backlit figure appear, exiting the student union. Whoever it is is wearing a big puffy coat, and they have something odd looking in their hands. After a moment you realize, heat crawling up your neck, that the item in their hands is a pair of skates, and they’re walking across the quad to the rink.

You stand quickly, albeit unsteadily, as if to show that the rink is occupied, but alas, they seem undeterred. Shit. The only thing that could make this worse is if you were to suddenly loose your balance.

Lo and behold, fate has a sense of humor, and you do just that before you can think to do anything else.

You grimace as you sit up. You weren’t expecting an audience for this. As the figure approaches, you see that it’s one of the guys who works the student union’s cafe some evenings. He’s always seemed nice enough and ugh, he’s cute too. He’s got these broad shoulders that your friends love to stare at while they wait for their drinks to be made. Definitely not the audience you’d prefer if you must have one. As you scramble back upright, he sits at the edge of the rink and starts to unlace his boots.

“Hello,” he says quietly, glancing up as he pulls on a skate. His voice is low, with a rich timbre you didn’t expect. He sounds like he might be a tenor. You hate tenors. You hate musicians. Namjoon’s a musician too, the bastard.

“Hi,” you reply flatly, trying not to grit your teeth in frustration. You don’t even look at him when he looks at you; you don’t need his approval, and looking at him will just make you shy. You don’t have time for that shit, damn it. With care, you try to push forward again, before stopping, arms flailing. You only just manage to preserve your balance and straighten up so you can try again.

The intruder watches you warily as he starts to pull on his rented skates. You can feel the press of his curiosity on the back of your neck and you don’t know how to politely ask for him to simply not.

You’re pretty sure you see him flinch when your skates suddenly, but inevitably, slip out from beneath you, leaving you sprawled out on your ass, the ice beneath cold yet soothing for your bruised buttocks. And yet, he says nothing as he pushes off from the side of the rink, gracefully no less. He says nothing as you pull yourself up again, only to fall again as well, just as you were finding your balance. You take a deep breath, fog slowly coming from your lips as you let it out. Once you’re to your feet again, and without falling this time, you can’t help but let yourself smile, just a little, just to yourself.

Giving up whomst? You could never.

For a moment, you just stand on the ice, breathing and letting yourself feel the skates wrapped around your feet and ankles. Just a small push now. Can’t let this rando see you sweat now, can you?

The stranger watches, his handsome face blank but for curious eyes, as you make it a whole fifteen seconds before slipping and falling again, this time onto a knee and your hands. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him grimace as you look at your hands and dust them of with a huffed little “fuck.”

He’s literally skating circles around you. It’s fucking obnoxious, but damn it, you want to be able to skate like that too. So you stand up again, and vicious cycle begins anew.

“You okay?” the stranger suddenly asks. It startles you, the wobble almost sending you to the ice with a crack yet again.

“I’m fine.” Your tone is clipped with frustration. You sure as shit don’t sound fine.

He drifts across your field of vision, going fucking backwards on his skates. It’s like it’s nothing! Fucking show off. What a fucking d—

Alright. That fall kind of hurt for real. Your poor elbows. They might be having a worse time than your knees. Did you just knock the wind out of yourself with that one?

His words come from a little closer this time. “Are you sure you’re—“

“—I’m fucking fine.”

You didn’t mean to snap. You really didn’t. Everything was fine until this dude just joined you out here out of the blue with his stupid face and his stupid talent and—

“You’re really scrappy, you know that right?”

You glare at him as you push yourself back to your feet. His plush mouth splits into a heart-rending smile. Fuck, he’s cute. Bitch, do not do this to yourself.

He keeps talking as you struggle aright. “I mean it. I’ve never watched someone keep falling like that just to get up and try again.”

You’re not even sure what to say to that. You’re glad you’ve got the built in focus of trying to do something out of your comfort zone and skill set, so an immediate reply isn’t expected. But you do have to say something in reply eventually. The comment was just ... kind of unexpected. And honestly, you think he meant it well, and it’s hard not to let the pride push a smile to your face. You fight it, of course, because you’re supposed to be angry, not pleased.

“I’m too stubborn for my own good,” you finally grit out. “But thank you.” Ah, that was good. Keep that shit up, and maybe he won’t think you’re a total freak by the time one or the other of you leaves.

“There are worse things to be.” His smile is warm enough to melt the ice beneath the blades of your skates. Cold? What cold? You feel nothing but blistering heat creeping up your neck. You’re not used to this kind of attention from anyone, if you’re being honest, let alone cute barista boys in puffy coats. “Tenacity isn’t a bad thing.”

“The bruises on my ass say otherwise.”

When he laughs, it’s low in his chest, velvety like the milk he steams for the cute folks that come to him for lattes and London fogs. You’d be swept away by his charms completely as well if you weren’t too busy being swept off your feet by your own stupidity.

You hardly feel the thump when you hit the hard surface of the ice this time. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re cold or if it’s just you’re used to falling now. The numbness of either is the same after a certain point; that’s the point of numbness, after all.

For a moment, you stare at the sky. It gives you a moment to catch your breath. Watching the stars twinkle and flicker as if they’re laughing at something reminds you that, right, you’re not alone out here on the ice. You hope the stars aren’t laughing at your shitty attempts to flirt with this stranger.

When you pull yourself up to sit, you see that the cute stranger is carefully skating backwards, his head turned and tilted so he can see where he’s going. Good lord, he’s handsome, even like this. In the grimy street lamp light, you can see that his face has been kissed by the cold, but it doesn’t do much to make him look less attractive. The focus on his face makes it almost look suggestive as he bites down on his plush lip. For a moment, you allow yourself to watch, thankful that he’s not looking at you.

When he glances at you, still sitting on the ice with your legs spread haphazardly, your eyes meet his. He smiles at you. Suddenly, the air leaves your lungs as if you’ve fallen again, the wind knocked from them like you’ve taken a blow. And then as soon as it happens, it stops, for one moment he was smiling at you, and the next he was sprawled on the ice with a thud and the smallest, cutest “fuck” you’ve ever heard in your life.

The look of surprise on his face is so aghast that you can’t help but laugh.

“I’m so—“ wheeze “—s-sorry, I shouldn’t—“ fuck, that’s hilarious “—laugh b-but the look on your f-face!”

The shock fades, only to be replaced by a pout that cracks at the edges as he tries not to laugh with you.

You start to push yourself forward him, half crawling, half crab-walking. Soon the pout breaks into a smile as you sit beside him and poke his cheek with a gloved finger. Where on earth did that fucking come from?? You’re poking strangers now??

“How does it feel to be a mere mortal?” you ask. Maybe the question will distract from the ... random face poking? Maybe the cold really is getting to you.

“Never said I was good at skating,” he says, still smiling at you. “Though I can’t say I feel like getting up and trying again after that.”

You scoff. “You’re giving up too easily. What’s the opposite of tenacious?”

“Cold.”

“That’s fair. I’m not even sure if I can feel my ass at this point.”

He laughs, and the deep sound seems to rumble in his chest, just like it had when you’d first heard it. But then he does the unexpected, and holds out a hand to you. “I’m Seokjin, by the way.”

You shake his hand and introduce yourself in kind. “You work at the cafe right?”

“Yeah. It gets hot back there, I like doing something in the cold after a shift if I can.”

You nod. “I get it. I’m out here because a friend pissed me off and I needed to work through it.”

“Can’t kick their ass so you’re letting the ice kick your ass instead?”

Not even the heat of embarrassment can heat up your cold cheeks at this point. He’s read you like a book. You’re poking strangers, and he’s reading you like he probably reads his homework.

“Alright, it’s getting really fucking cold out here,” Seokjin suddenly says. He pulls himself towards the nearest sideboard and sits on top of it. “I’m calling it a night.”

You don’t expect his expectant look. “What?”

“You’ve been out here longer than me. Can you even feel your fingers at this point?”

“Um.” There’s some small part of you that doesn’t want this to end, but lying about it feels futile when you know he’s going to see right through it. “No.”

“I think it might be a good idea for you to head in too ...” he says, and then: “I could sneak back into the cafe for some hot water. Want to have some tea to warm up? Maybe you could talk about this friend who pissed you off.”

It’s late, if you’re being honest. You should probably go home and lick your wounds. But as you pull yourself up onto the sideboard with Seokjin, you decide that staying out might be worth it. Staying out in the first place is what got you on the ice. Staying out kept you here, which in turn meant you got to meet Seokjin. Staying out meant you got to talk and have this moment. It’s a relief to just be able to talk, rather than fight for someone’s attention.

What’s another few minutes?

“Sure, I’d like that.”

Thank you for reading! Drop me an ask and tell me what you think. Find me in various places at my carrd :)

©miscelunaaa 2022. My work is only found on this blog and under my ao3 pseud. Do not, under any circumstances, copy or repost my work. Thank you.

posted: 12.6.2022

#bts fic #bts fanfic #kim seokjin fic #ksj x reader #ksj x female reader #seokjin fanfic #seokjin x reader #seokjin fanfiction #seokjin x f reader #seokjin x female reader

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corner-stories · 2 months ago

Note

Cute story idea: Grad school!AU Jeankasa ice skating on a date

*digs up an old drabble request on main bc I finally got hit with inspiration* y'know, I really love using this series as an excuse to be super canadian on main. (ao3).

It's winter when Jean takes me skating at the Old Port, when the city is merely sprinkled by the season's first snow and not utterly ravaged by a polar vortex. The rink is near the river. It is lit up with dreamy holiday lights and placed right under a ferris wheel that Jean (and Google) call La Grande roue de Montréal.

It both amuses and depresses me to think that I've been in the city for a year and my ability to speak French has remained exactly the same.

To distract myself from my lack of language proficiency, I look up at the ferris wheel as I wait in line. At night it is beautifully illuminated but unmoving, and as I go up to the rental counter and request skates in my size I imagine what the view would be like at this time of the year. The thought of seeing the city from up high intrigues me — maybe I can convince Jean to ride it with me later, and I can't help but wonder if it runs when it's fully snowing.

Once I get my skates I leave the line and go to a section at the side of the rink filled with benches and rubber flooring. The chill of winter nips at my cheeks as I find Jean where I left him. When he sees me he is tightening his laces on a pair of hockey skates that have seen better days. His face lights up with a pretty smile as I sit next to him.

"Got everything, Ackerman?"

I nod my head and begin removing my boots. "Yes."

As I slip on the rentals and try to remember how to lace up skates, a handful of familiar sounds resonate behind me. The blades scraping the ice, people laughing as they glide carefree, and the top 40 radio hits playing through a static-filled outdoor speaker. It reminds me of the rinks I visited as a child, sensations I can't help but associate with watery hot chocolate from the concession stand or me constantly insisting to my Aunt Kiyomi that no, I don't need to wear a helmet.

I lace the first skate and in typical rental skate fashion it feels like a block strapped around my foot. I wonder how many people it's served in the past before coming to me. I pull on the second skate and get a glimpse of Jean very patiently waiting for me to get ready. I notice that he's not as dressed for the cold as I am, opting for an aging hoodie under his suede jacket as opposed to the multiple layers hiding under my parka. I envy his ability to thrive in the cold while I'm here swearing that the temperature is hunting me for sport. Perhaps he was a polar bear in a past life.

I finish lacing up my final skate when I hear Jean go —

"Hm."

I look over to meet his eyes. "What?"

"You didn't strike me as a hockey skate person."

I shrug. "I don't have a preference."

"Tell me this," I start as I begin tightening the laces. "Did you ever go to a rink as a kid and see people only give figure skates to the girls and hockey skates to the boys?"

I see Jean briefly contemplate my words as I sit up straight on the bench.

"Well, now that you mention it..." he says, his arms crossed over his chest. He strokes his beard, then shakes his head and looks humoured. "Criss, if only I was given figure skates as a child, perhaps things would be different, là?"

I roll my eyes at the thought of two decades of aggressive puck-chasing could have been erased if someone handed a little boy in Trois-Rivières a different pair of skates.

"You'd make a good figure skater."

He chuckles curtly and smirks. "I'd make an amazing figure skater."

Once he sees that I've definitely not forgotten how to put on skates, his eyes soften as he offers his hand to me. He holds himself like a gentlemen, or at least he's trying to.

"Ready?"

My heart feels warm as I nod my head and take his hand. "Ready."

#jeankasa #jeanmika #jean kirstein #jean kirschtein #mikasa ackerman #grad school au #modern au #snk #aot #ask box memes

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goblin-d · 1 year ago

Note

A lot of the xenogenders you linked for the wttt gender headcanons list aren't popping up so can you explain what you mean by them please

Of course!! Here's a list of the xenos from this post and their definitions :3

Alaska

Catcolpuffic - A gender related to, connected to, or affected by, cats, oversized sweaters, cold cream puffs, cinnamon ice cream, and brown sugar almond milk lattes.

Dogboygender - A gender related to dogboys, or being a dogboy.

Drowsygender - A gender that is soft and connected to sleep, being drowsy, and tiredness.

Genderblanket - A gender where one's gender feels 'covered' by a blanket. It may feel warm, comfortable, or safe.

Lulovien - A gender related to falling in love, the moon and stars, and dusty, desaturated colors.

Moosegender - A gender relating to moose, or having a kintype related to moose. The gender can feel majestic, intimidating, and cold to the touch.

Mothgender - A gender associated with moths, fuzzyness, and bugs. Mainly masc, very moth.

Pawsgender - A gender related to small, fuzzy animals, and is childlike in nature.

Plosewial - A gender that feels as if it was sewn together, similar to how old and worn plushies are mended.

Remissious - A gender that feels soft, oversized, cozy and warm. It can be also filled with mysteries, items and even other gender labels.

Sleepyleite - A gender that feels warm, drowsy, sleepy, foggy, cozy, soft-textured, hazy, soft, and/or tied.

Soporcomfic - A gender relating to sleep, being cozy in bed, safety, warmth, and being sleepy. Can also relate to being half-awake while there’s daylight, on the brink of falling asleep or waking fully.

Sweatermasc - A comfy, masculine gender related to sweaters, wearing sweaters, etc.

Colorado

Ariemonic - A gender related to rams, mountains, and snow.

Cryobunnic - A gender connected strongly to snow, bunnies, ice, snowflakes, and snow bunnies/arctic bunnies.

Cryocattic - A cold and chilly-feeling Catgender that describes a special connection to winter, chilliness, snow, ice, and felines.

Frostmasc - A masculine and/or male gender related to wintercore and winter-related themes.

Icestormic - A gender related to ice/snowstorms, and their darkness and brutalness.

Michigan

Blaunauic - A gender related to the color blue, indigo, and aqua. can be related to indigo flowers, or any other blue/indigo flower. may also be related to the sea, winter, wind, water, snow, heaven, winter, ice, air, the sky, waves, tides, and/or sadness.

Chaosgender - A gender defined as when one's gender does lots of confusing things and doesn’t make sense to anyone. It can be thought of as a very complex gender, a very fluid gender, a gender which is difficult to understand, or a gender which is hard to fully pin down or describe in one word.

Clowngender - A fun, silly, clumsy, and colorful gender related to clowns.

Cufemian - A gender in which the user only feels feminine and/or female-aligned if it is in a cute way

Coldgender - A gender connected to cold weather.

Evilclownic - A gender related to clowns, jesters, juggalos, & the band insane clown posse. it also carries hints of a trickster, and might be perceived as sorta 'fucked up and evil'

Menacegender - A gender where one's relationship with gender involves being fucked up and evil.

Musegender - A gender that is infuenced by the gender(s) of the character(s) that are one's current muse.

Pincusmic - A gender related to being androgynous, mischievousness, neon pink, demons and incubi.

Prettygender - A gender in which one's gender feels strongly aligned with feeling pretty or beautiful and/or pretty things.

Softqualix - A gender that is soft.

Minnesota

Amocatix - A gender related to cute things, love, and cats.

Anlomeltic - A gender under angelgender and lovegender, relating to feeling like your heart’s melting, feeling soft, being in love (platonic or romantic), innocence and angelic themes.

Catgender - A gender related to cats

Comfnightgender - I can't find the definition :sob:

Cutegender - A femme gender associated with cute things, such as cats, animals, flowers, and squishy things!

Cutehorror - A gender that feels both cute and gory/horror like.

Gorrorhospic - A gender related to bloody hospitals in horror media. This gender is related to horror tropes associated with hospitals.

Horrificutegender - A gender connected to cute things that is actually something horrific, or, it could be a gender that feels like something horrific hiding behind a cute facade.

Lovelettic - A gender relating to love letters — be it writing one, receiving one, their aesthetics, or any way the user wishes!

Lunaboy - A gender that is corolated to the moon and femininity associated with the moon while being a boy in some way. Ways to describe this gender can be moonlit, sleepy, non-conforming, tired and dark.

Magicamoric - A gender connected/related to the aesthetic of a magical girl/boy/etc in love.

Magicattic - A catgender for those who have a connection to magical girls, magical girl aesthetics, and cats.

Pinkplanetary - A gender related to flowers, butterflies, pink, cherry blossoms, space, pastels, planets and stars.

Poromantian - A gender related to poetry and falling in love.

Shycatgender - A gender that feels shy and timid and also related to felines in a way.

Starcatgirlgender - Catgirl + Stargender

Verpgoris - A gender related to gore, pastel hospitals, teeth, and is slightly inspired by Jazmin Bean's music video Saccharine.

Nebraska

Deadboy - A masc gender that feels dead.

Rhode Island

Genderfuck - A gender that seeks to subvert traditional gender binary or gender roles

Stargender - A gender that feels like a star

Staricangel - A gender that is/relates to an angel sitting in the clouds on a starry night. Could feel sleepy, but doesn't have to.

Tauragender - A gender based on the zodiac sign Taurus

South Dakota

Aterpolillic - A gender connected to black moths.

Auraunpolillic - A gender connected to orange moths.

Cabbagemamesic - A gender connected to the Cabbage moth, Mamestra Brassicae.

Caepolillic - A gender connected to blue moths.

Flapolillic - A gender connected to yellow moths.

Greymothic - I can't find a definition, but a gender connected to grey moths.

Mothneut - A gender that is faintly neutral, and is connected to moths and forests.

Nivpolillic - A gender connected to white moths.

Primrosemothic - A gender connected to pink Primrose moths.

Rubpolillic - A gender connected to red moths.

Viripolillic - A gender connected to green moths.

West Virginia

Mothmangender - A gender connected to Mothman.

CDC

Cleancoric - A gender that relates to cleaning products, soap, water and sinks/baths.

Rosamistica - A gender related to rosewater facial mists.

Strawblainberic - A gender related to strawberry themed kitchen utensils. (i.e cookie jars, cups/mugs, bowls/plates, etc.)

IDC

Galaxyfeminine - A feminine gender that feels connected to stars, planets, moons, black holes, milky ways, and anything that is part of a galaxy.

Narcfem - A gender that is narcissistic and feminine. (Exclusive to pwNPD)

#wttt #wttsh #welcome to the table #welcome to the statehouse #ben brainard #wttt headcanons #goblin's headcanons #xenogender

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transmascfalin · 1 year ago

Note

you mentioned in the tags of one of your posts for suggestions on names for your au candy queen and winter king… gummie is definitely perfect for pb. if youre still looking for alt names for winter king, theres tons of really nice words related to snow and ice that dont get used much.

verglas (the proper name for “black ice” aka that thin sheet of ice that forms on roads and causes u to slip and shatter your bones. while black ice is verglas, not all verglas is black ice, since verglas can cover all forms of thin ice coatings on exposed surfaces), hoarfrost (that phenomenon where water vapor freeze and forms whitish crystals on plants and stuff), rime (often mixed up with hoarfrost. while hoarfrost forms under calm conditions, rime is caused during fog and high wind speeds), and the funniest option… FIRN (tiny granules of ice. usually associated with the tops of glaciers, and havent been compacted into a solid chunk yet) are some of the ones i see used less often that have an interesting sound to them

sorry it took me so long to respond to this ask! i havent really been as motivated to post about f&c lately, but i did enjoy getting this!

i really enjoy all the suggestions, and if i end up making more posts about him, i definitely think ill go with either verglas or hoarfrost. leaning towards horfrost out of the two of them though

thank you so much for the suggestions! :)

#finnpost #fionna and cake #simon petrikov #the winter king #fionna and cake au #ask #anon

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 5 months ago

Text

A Silver-Blue Fox

Having no success in breaking the curse put upon Sapphire, Icy transfers it to herself and becomes a fox so that her sister can be human again.

She doesn’t mind the cold. In fact she has always rather liked it. Sapphire was born in the spring and she has summer’s temperament. Icy had always had more of an autumn temperament; gloomy and somber. Pensive and pessimistic with spots of golden sunlight and a brillant flare of color that was always too quick to pass. For every autumn there is a winter and hers settled in suddenly.

It never passed.

It only grew.

It only grows.

Icy has grown fond of winter and how can she not when she derives her power from it. When her own nature has shifted to match its moods. Winter, snow, and ice kill her and save her at the same time. They drive her and depress her at once. She needs to drive winter out of Dyamond and she needs her frigid powers to do that.

At the very least she needs those powers and a whole lot more power to free her sister. She can live with Dyamond being lost to her. But not Sapphire. She will sacrifice one gem to keep another if that’s what it takes.

But these days she is beginning to think that she won’t salvage either one. And then what does she have? She has made a future for herself at Cloud Tower and then sacrificed that for the past.

She had given herself a chance; she could have graduated, gotten herself a respectable career, gotten herself at least a decent sum of money. She could have made something of herself. But she had taken her risks—gambles for power that never paid off. And so she has nothing at all, nothing but a white fox and the empty promises that she has made to it.

She thinks that Sapphire too is growing sick of her. If Darcy and Stormy could, then Sapphire could too. She had promised Darcy and Stormy a lot of things that she hadn’t been able to deliver. She had told Darcy that she would never have to worry about find a place to sleep or a meal to eat and she promised Stormy that, once they had all the power in the world, that he couldn’t hurt her anymore.

Darcy still has no home to return to and Stormy is considering speaking to her father again.

All Icy has is empty words.

So she may as well say nothing at all. She is certain that most people would be perfectly okay with that, Bloom, Mirta, and Lucy especially. When she isn’t making promises that she can’t keep, she doesn’t have anything particularly pleasant to say.

So really her decision is the right one.

They will like Sapphire better anyways.

She hasn’t any other ideas. She supposes that she could swallow down the scraps of her pride and ask the Winx girls if “always being able to protect the magical universe” extends to and includes Dyamond and her sister. Or if Dyamond is just some dead planet not worth their time. And Sapphire is just some fox that they can leave out of sight and put out of mind.

They are self-righteous, can never do wrong, everyone loves the Winx so dearly. Everyone worships them as eagerly as they had worshiped she, Darcy, and Stormy back in the day. And they do so with just as much zealous feverence. It is nauseating. Unbearable. And the Winx soak it right in and pretend like they don’t relish in it.

Pretend like they haven’t inadvertently harmed a few in their pursuit of the greater good; nobody ever likes to talk about that. Nobody but Griffin.

The Winx always did see things in black and white. There is no room for shades of gray in their perfect, vibrant, glittery world.

Icy is black and they are white.

By association, Sapphire is some dark twisted thing with a suspicious nature and a bad temper. They’d seen Icy cradle Sapphire in her arms and that was more than enough for them to judge and to decide. Sapphire had picked her side. She had picked Icy. She had picked evil.

And so to help Sapphire is to help evil.

Icy could ask them anyways on the off chance that she is mistaken. That her pessimism is unfounded for once. Or she could do things swiftly and easily.

One simple and swift exchange.

One promise fulfilled.

It is much easier than she had imagined and maybe that is because she isn’t trying to break a curse but rather transfer it. She feels the pulse of her magic but reaps none of the pleasantries of feeling it coursing through her veins.

She knows what she is doing and she knows that once she does it, her fate is quite sealed. Witch on witch curses are harder to break than witch on fairy curses; nearly impossible in fact. Witch on self curses…

She has heard of maybe three or four instances of those being broken. To cast a curse on oneself…almost nobody does it anyways.

Sapphire peers up at her with those big blue eyes. She probably has a lot to say but no voice to speak with. Sapphire had always been like that, spunky, daring, and bold. Loud and opinionated while Icy had kept herself tucked quietly into the background. Timid until the world and its cruelties had tarnished her. And she had promised that she’d pay it back one day. She thinks that she has done so many times over. That now it is time for the rage and resentment to subside. To put pointless quests and hopeless endeavors to the side.

Now it is time to slink back into the background without another sound.

Sapphire gives several of her discontented yips and yowls as the spell begins to radiate with a soft blue that outlines Icy’s hand. Sapphire can nip and bite all that she wants, Icy has already made up her mind.

The sensation of transformation isn’t entirely unpleasant. It is dizzying and disorienting more than anything else. It has that cold sting that her magic always takes on. It spreads all across her body like frost on a windowpane. And once it has crackled over and blanketed every inch of her, the spell’s work is done.

It subsides leaving an all over tickle and tingle to keep her company after its departure.

Icy lies still, breathing heavily as she tries to regather her senses, to reorient herself in a world that won’t stop spinning. She feels Sapphire’s hand on her side, her fingers running through silver-blue fur.

Fingers…

Fur…

It had been a success.

Some might call it karma. Some years back she had transformed Mirta into a pumpkin. Now she is a white fox. But where Mirta had Flora, Icy has no one. No one powerful enough nor possessing the right sort of magic to free her.

She wonders if Darcy and Stormy will bother looking for her. She hasn’t been treating them well lately anyways. Maybe she never had treated them well, she had always been so immersed in her own goals. They will do just fine without her, perhaps better. They likely won’t be coming for her.

And Sapphire? Sapphire is just a girl. A girl who had been suspended in time, deprived of the chance to grow up. A girl who has never ventured outside of Dyamond before. A girl who only knows how to leave because Icy had made sure to demonstrate that much to her prior to transferring the curse.

But it is alright. She doesn’t mind. Sapphire has a chance now whereas Icy had scoffed at every chance that she had once had. Yes. Yes, indeed she thinks that it is better this way.

“Icy?”

Icy smiles. She hasn’t heard that voice in so very long. It is just the same as she remembers. Soft and soothing. Enthusiastic and excitable. But the tone of it now is confused. Confused with speckles of fear.

Icy rises to her feet…paws? She rises to something but her gait is unsteady. Just as clumsy and unpracticed as Sapphire’s bipedal strides. And it occurs to Icy that she very well could have just made things worse for the both of them. If Icy, in all of her years, hadn’t managed to find a way to break the curse, then how can innocent, naive Sapphire?

Sapphire hugs her close. “Why did you do it?” She cries into Icy’s fur. “I don’t know what to do now. I don’t know how to break a curse. I barely even know how to use magic!”

Which is why she will learn. She knows how to open a portal and she knows where to find Cloud Tower. But when she steps into the vortex it is Alfea that she walks towards.

And maybe that is it. Maybe that was the key all along; Icy had wanted to be the strongest witch and, at least for a time, she thinks that she was. It wasn’t enough. But maybe light magic will be. “I hope that I’m not disappointing you.” Sapphire whispers as they approach Alfea’s gates. Icy can’t say it now, but Sapphire could never disappoint her.

.oOo.

Icy trails along next to her. She is a small, sleek, and nimble thing. Where Sapphire had been all full of yips and yaps, her sister is exceptionally quiet. Mistrust and a desire for solitude is something that they share. Icy, she thinks, is significantly more standoffish than she had been.

She keeps close to Sapphire, seeming to bristle and slink away from anyone who crosses their path.

“I can go to Cloud Tower instead, if you’d like that.” Sapphire offers. Sometimes her words are minced and wrong. The product of a dreadful lack of use. There are a lot of things that she has to get reacclimated with from speaking and walking to talking to other people and catching up with the latest trends and technologies.

She hopes for Icy’s sake that she will be a quick learner, she can’t imagine that Icy would enjoy having to readjust. She has always been substantially harder on herself. But then again, she won’t be as isolated as Sapphire herself had been.

Even so, Icy is less patient than she used to be. She has changed so much. She is harsher now, less soft spoken. Far less timid. Angrier. Meaner.

Sometimes Icy scares her.

Had scared her anyways. The fox is far less intimidating. She is so small. Small but refuses to be carried or cuddled.

“I can still turn back.” Even though she is halfway to the entrance of the Alfea campus. But Icy doesn’t tug at her nor sit definitely unmoving in the middle of the path. “So you’re okay with Alfea then?”

She doesn’t yet know how to read or interpret Icy’s head tilts and sideways glances. However Icy might be feeling about it, Sapphire is standing before the gates to Alfea. She lifts the fox into her arms. She expects squirming and nipping but Icy is as still as ever in her arms.

Sapphire clears her throat. Her heart races, she is certain that Icy can hear it being as close to her chest as she is. She can’t mess this introduction up. She won’t! She has never been shy before, why start now? “Hello, my name is Sapphire and I’m looking for the headmistress.” She can’t recall what Icy had said her name was. She knows of Mrs. Griffin. Darcy, Stormy, Bloom, and Stella are familiar names too.

The woman beyond the gate smiles at her. “I am headmistress Faragonda.”

“Excellent!” Sapphire declares. “I was hoping to enroll. One day I’d like to be…” Be what? The strongest fairy in the universe? She doubts that, that will happen. “I’d like to be like my sister.” She grins, stroking the fox’s fur.

“Was your sister a fairy too?” The headmistress inquires.

“She used magic.” Sapphire answers. “She was good at it.”

“Was?” The headmistress quirks a brow.

Sapphire never was good at keeping secrets. Icy had told her that it would get her in trouble one day. “Is.” She corrects. “She’s good at magic.”

And that is it. That is all it takes.

The headmistress welcomes her in.

She and her beautiful frosty silver-blue fox.

.oOo.

“We’re going to learn magic together!” Sapphire squeals. She twirls around and finds her way into the cafeteria. It would seem that she is just on time for first day orientation.

“Oh my gosh! Your fox is so cute!” Declares a fairy with pink braids. “Look at her, Clarice!”

And so she finds herself flocked by a gaggle of cooing fairies whose fingers look quite biteable. She refrains only for the sake of not causing Sapphire any trouble. The girl hasn’t had company in so long, she could use a few friends. Even if that means enduring a lot of unwanted attention and petting for a very long time.

“What’s her name?” Clarice asks.

“Icy!” Sapphire declares much too honestly.

“Because she’s an arctic fox?” The other fairy asks.

“Yeah.” Sapphire nods. “Yup! That’s right. Because she’s an arctic fox and for no other reason.”

Icy signs. It is going to be a terribly long year. Or series of years. Full of glitter and giggles and frolicking fairies with bad taste in fashion and worse taste in music.

“I think that she wants you to stop now.” Sapphire remarks. “Icy doesn’t really like people very much.”

“Is she shy?” Clarice asks.

Sapphire shakes her head. “Nope. She’s just really grumpy all the time. It’s okay though, we get along.” She squeezes Icy, too tightly almost, and rubs her cheek against the top of her head.

“Well you can come sit with us and we’ll try not to bother your fox too much.” Clarice says.

“But fairies like cute fluffy things.” Warns the fairy with the pink braid. “And your fox is very floofy.”

Icy grimaces to herself.

A long few years, indeed.

And four years of magic lessons might not amount to anything at all.

It is entirely possible that she won’t ever see her witch form again. But Sapphire is free. Free and beginning the adventure that she has always yearned for before the Shaman Witch had come along.

So it is alright.

Everything is just fine.

Icy is content. Perhaps more fulfilled than she had ever been.

#winx #winx club #winx icy #winx sapphire

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