#but this man (nation) needs an actual middle name

[despairgal2312]

What do you think America’s middle name is?

I’m curious since I’ve seen people give him the most random names, from Alfred Fucking Jones to names that are actually plausible like Alfred Franklin Jones.

So, if you want, let me know what does the F. stand for in your opinion

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-BANG CHAN

A loose retelling of Hades and Persephone-modernized and darker than before, but beautiful all the same.

A/N: I'm not happy with this. But you guys can have it anyway.

Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, Stay, Bang Chan, Chan, Christopher, Christopher Bang, Y/N, Femreader, Chan as Hades, Y/N as Persephone, Underworld, Greek Mythology, Hades and Persephone, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Chan x you, Chan x reader, Chan x y/n, SKZ x you, SKZ x reader, Other members make guest appearances as various Greek gods, Greek Gods

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Angst

Warnings: Underworld Shit, Dark Undertones, Underhanded God and Mortal shit and dealings, Death, Dying, Triggering Themes, Toxic Relationships (not main characters), Chan's fucking in love with reader to the point of obsession.

Playlist:

🌸I’ll Be Damned-Gavn

🌸Seven Nation Army-Stevie Howie

🌸Call Me-ShineDown

🌸Granite-Sleep Token

🌸Say Don't Go (Taylor's Version)-Taylor Swift

Title: Every Last Seed

He goes by many names.

He always has.

Hades.

Ploutos.

King of the Underworld.

God of the Dead.

Bringer of Death.

Lord of Darkness.

But by far, his favorite name is the one that only you are allowed, dripping from your lips, soft and sweet, like honey, like a deadly nectar he's become addicted to-

Mine.

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"Where the fuck is he?" Chan storms through the door to his office, terrifying the wraith he employs as his secretary, her throat jumping with a gulp, as she straightens her glasses, and clasps her clipboard to her opaque chest.

"Ah, sir, I was just asking his Lordship if he'd prefer tea or coffee-"

"No need." Chan growls, not even bothering to look in her direction. "He won't be staying."

Hyunjin grins from his position behind Chan's overly large desk, his feet planted directly in the middle of some important treaties Chan had been working on the day before for some particularly pesky mortals.

"Ah, is that any way to treat your baby brother, Channie?"

His given name. The only ones who dare call him by that name are his brothers and you.

Everyone else just refers to him by the name the mortals gifted him when he became God of the Dead eons ago-Hades.

Chan stalks toward his brother's reclined form and promptly shoves his feet off the desk with a little bit more force than necessary.

"The perfect way, actually. Especially when said brother is impeaching on my very valuable and limited time, uninvited, I might add."

Hyunjin sniffs, straightening the highly expensive baby blue suit he wears, and plants his feet firmly on the ground, swiveling in Chan's chair to face him.

He tucks a strand of his golden hair back behind his ear and levels Chan with a self important look that makes him grind his teeth in agitation.

"Fine. You obviously want me to get straight to the point, so I will."

Chan feels a muscle tick in his jaw as he taps his foot impatiently, motioning with his hand for the man before him to continue.

"Great. What is it?"

Hyunjin sighs, making a show of straightening the crown on his brow, and then he gives Chan a grimace which he tries to soften with a halfhearted smile that Chan sees through immediately.

It makes his clench his fingers into fists at his side.

"How's the new little wife, hm, big brother? Satisfactory, I presume?"

Chan feels himself prickle at the mention of you, but he keeps his expression unreadable, dark, as he stares back at his clearly prodding brother.

"Fine. Anything else? Or did you travel all the way here and risk your wife's wrath just to ask me how my honeymoon was?"

Hyunjin blanches at the mention of Hera, and clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable now in the face of Chan's obvious ire.

"Yes, well-" He stands up, planting his hands flat on Chan's desk and leaning toward him, as if to appear intimidating.

Chan wants to laugh at the pathetic display.

"-there's been a problem. I'm sure you've noticed the influx of extra souls ever since you uh, tied the knot, without her mother's permission?"

He fidgets nervously under Chan's unwavering, blank stare.

Tugging at the collar of his expensive suit once more, Chan watches as his younger brother, the supposed God of the Gods, seems to wilt under his penetrating gaze.

Finally, he sighs heavily, and seems to implore Chan to give him something, anything, he can work with.

"Her mother's fucking pissed with you, Channie, all right? I'll just come out and say it. I need you to fix this."

Chan remains unmoving, stoic, in the face of his brother's obvious plea.

After another moment of silence, Hyunjin throws his hands outward and exclaims with obvious exasperation, "C'mon, help me out here. Lord knows I've helped you in the past when you asked."

Chan arches a brow. "Helped me?"

His voice is flat, cold, deadly, and Hyunjin winces subtly.

"Okay, listen-" He holds up his hands, as if the weak gesture of peace will stop Chan's building fury. "-you know the delicate balance we have between the mortals. We worked decades for that, and if Demeter keeps fucking offing them left and right, just to spite and overwork you, and the Underworld, we're gonna have a much bigger fucking problem on our hands than a petty little feud between you and your recently acquired mother in law."

Chan hates to admit it, but Hyunjin's right, as much as it pains him to agree.

Fucking Demeter and the chip on her shoulder toward him.

God forbid, her perfect, innocent, naive daughter-the goddess of Spring-fall in love with someone as twisted and dark and wicked as Chan-god of the dead and ruler of the Underworld.

No, the Goddess of Harvest was not bound to let this go lightly, and it seemed he needed to put a stop to this before it ever really began.

A few extra mortal souls on his workload was nothing really, but if she even thought about dissuading you-

Chan pinches the bridge of his nose and screws his eyes shut. He can feel a headache building.

"Fine." He grits out, and he can practically hear Hyunjin breathe a sigh of relief. "I'll handle it."

Ignoring his brother and his babbled platitudes of thanks, he steps toward the window and looks down over the city below, flickering to life beneath the coming darkness.

"But know this-" He turns and levels Hyunjin with a dangerous, black gaze. "-if I even hear a whisper of you and Demeter's little foolish escapades putting my wife in danger, I will end you both without a second thought and with one snap of my fingers."

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He still remembered the first time he ever laid eyes on you. How could he forget?

Attending one of his younger brothers garish and old fashioned parties-he'd thought they'd stopped doing these kinds of things centuries ago-he'd been dragged over to rub shoulders with some of the greats, one stiff tuxedo away from going the fuck home where he belonged.

And then, he'd seen you, hidden in Demeter's shadow- though nothing could truly hide your exquisite and rare beauty, not even your mother's sour, pinched expression-and his feet had moved toward you without permission, as if drawn by an invisible thread of fate.

Your mother had looked at him as he approached with such disdain it would've set him on fire had he not been a god, but he'd ignored her, striding boldly forward through the party goers until he stood directly in front of you.

"Hades." Demeter had hissed in greeting, dark hatred flashing in her eyes as she'd put a protective arm out in front of you.

You stared up at him with the biggest, most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen, and extended one slender, soft hand out toward him, breaching the threshold of your mother's protection without a second thought, as if you could feel the tug of the persistent string too.

"Persephone." You had whispered, than blushed, your cheeks going red, as his fingers found yours. "Or Kore. O-or (Y/N). Whatever is to your liking, your highness."

Your hand was like velvet-warm and silky in his own-and his fingers dwarfed yours, making them feel delicate and almost fragile in his grip.

"I know who you are, Goddess of Spring." He had replied, with far more confidence in his low tone than his quivering gut felt in the moment.

Your expression had flashed surprise at his words, and you glanced away under his direct gaze, red, full lips parted, cheeks taking on an even deeper hue of scarlet.

The look of sudden shy demureness on your features intoxicated him, and his dick immediately took notice.

"I am honored that one such as yourself, your highness, has taken notice of me already."

He had cleared his throat, subtly adjusting himself in his too expensive slacks-some high end shit Hyunjin had insisted he wear-at the soft tone of pleasure your voice took on at his attention, and finally, reluctantly released your hand, even as Demeter ushered you back behind her looming form.

"We really must be going." Her expression went from pinched to furious as his eyes lingered on you just a bit longer than necessary. She ushered you away. "Say goodbye, Kore."

"Goodbye." You had murmured, eyes flitting up to his briefly, before you let your mother lead you away and out of his sight.

Chan took his leave shortly after, giving Hyunjin some bullshit excuse of the Underworld not running itself, and had hightailed it home, his skin itching beneath the ridiculous suit he wore, and his hard-on aching for a release.

That night, he came with his cock in hand, and your name on his lips.

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He arrives home to find you in the garden, kneeling in the dirt, fingers dug deep into the soil.

It's a common occurrence, a sight he's grown used to, but he still pauses, watching you silently for a few moments, enjoying the way your hair falls around your face, the way the curves of your body are accentuated against the early evening light.

Cerberus notices him first, raising his giant, blocky head from his paws where he lays beside you next to the garden plot, ears erect. His thick tail thumps the ground-once, twice-at the sight of Chan and you glance up, following the dog's gaze.

Chan steps from the shadows, and the most gorgeous smile he's ever seen graces your features as soon as you catch sight of him.

It takes his breath away, and as you stand, brushing the dirt from the dress you wear, he thinks, not for the first time, that you're the most fucking beautiful thing he's ever had the pleasure of calling his own.

"Channie." You breathe sweetly, throwing your arms around his neck as he draws closer, burying your face in the juncture of his throat. "You're home."

"I am." He agrees, wrapping you tightly in his embrace, taking a moment to let his nose skim your hair, the smell of blossoms and springtime filling his senses.

You pull back, just enough to gaze up at him, and he lets his finger go beneath your chin, holding you there, so he can study and memorize, once again, every single intoxicating line of your features.

Your lips quirk into the start of a smile, as if you know what he's doing, but you don't say anything.

He's grateful for that.

"Did you have a good day?" You ask softly, your breath warm on his fingers, as he traces the part of your full, soft lips.

"Eh." He lifts one shoulder into a shrug and lets it fall back down heavily. "Not as good a day as I would've had staying here with you, little blossom."

You arch a brow, and he sees it, the stubborn expression wash across your face that lets him know you know he's trying to deflect.

You put your hands on your hips and stare him down, and he resists the urge to lean forward and kiss the tip of your nose.

Fuck, you're adorable.

"I heard Zeus came to see you."

"Is that so?" He questions, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as he watches you hold your ground.

He leans forward, fingering one of the loose strands of hair that frames your face, before he lets his gaze dip to your throat, the golden chain you always wear dipping tantalizingly out of his line of sight where it disappears between the swell of your breasts.

"You're correct." He acquiesces, his fingers itching now to reach up and tug the chain free, so he can dangle the wedding ring he knows lies safely between your breasts between the two of you, just so he can remind himself who you belong to once more.

His dick swells at the thought.

He clears his throat, and brings his gaze reluctantly up to meet yours once more, noting the dark flash of stubbornness that washes across your eyes.

"However." He smirks now, stepping closer, letting his hand gently close around your throat, your pulse thready beneath his palm, like a fluttering bird beating against the bars of a cage. "I don't really want to talk about my brother right now, do you?"

He leans forward, and begins to suck kisses along the column of your throat, and you giggle, batting him away and stepping back before he can distract you further.

"Channie." You whine, putting your hands once again on the swell of your hips, and he thinks, not for the first time, that your delicious curves are going to be the death of him one day. "I'm serious."

He sighs, and tries to ignore the hardness of his eager dick between his thighs, knowing you're not going to let him off the hook-or let him fuck you dumb-until he's told you what Hyunjin wanted.

"Fine." He sighs again, and drops onto one of the many benches he had had installed in the garden solely for the purpose of watching you do what you love most.

You step toward him, and he opens his legs so you can slide between them, putting your hands on his shoulders as his fingers find your hips through the thin material of your dress.

"Tell me." You insist, staring down at him and Chan tilts his head back to look at you, arching a brow at your commanding tone.

"Goddess of Spring, are you really telling the Lord of the Underworld what to do?"

An amused smirk flickers across his lips at the look of exasperation that crosses your features.

You stick your tongue out at him, and he chuckles, tugging you to him. You protest a little, but let him do it anyway, burying his face into your stomach, the soft feel of your dress caressing his skin.

He breathes in your perfume, once, twice, and then leans back, meeting your gaze.

"Your mother is throwing a little temper tantrum it seems."

Your eyes widen minutely, and Chan sees your lips flatten into a determined, serious line.

"Because of our marriage?"

Chan gives a slight nod. "It would seem so."

One of your hands clenches into a tight, white knuckled fist at your side, and your chest stutters with a sharp intake of breath.

Beyond your shoulder, a vine springs to life, fraught with large thorns, curling around a nearby tree, up and up, tight enough to strangle the bark beneath its hold.

Cerberus raises his head, scenting the sudden unease in the air, and lets out a small whine.

You take in a deep breath, and the vine begins to slowly retract its hold on the tree.

"Little blossom." Chan murmurs, tugging you down onto his lap, and encircling you in the safety of his arms, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "It's nothing to worry about, I promise you. I'll handle it."

He feels you shake your head beneath his chin.

"You shouldn't have to handle it. She's my mother. I need to stand up to her."

Chan glances beyond you as Cerberus whines again, and sees the vine's thorns growing dangerously long with your distress, piercing through the trunk of the tree, cracking the bark into splinters.

"Pet." Chan warns quietly, nudging your chin in the direction of the destruction. "Take a deep breath."

You gasp, and let the air out on a long, shuddering breath, and the vine halts its upward progress almost instantly as you collapse against Chan, slumping into his chest.

He can hear the tears in your voice when you whisper, "I'm sorry."

His finger finds your chin again, and he raises your watery gaze to his own.

"Never, and I mean never, apologize for the power you hold, my love. For it will bring gods and mortals alike to their knees, and one day, when they all pass beyond this life, you will be known as their queen."

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"You know, it's usually easier to get into the palace through the front door."

The unfamiliar, male voice startled you and you lost your hold on the branch you were currently coaxing toward the palace wall, snatching it up again with a curse just in time to stop yourself from tumbling all the way back to the ground below.

"Fuck." You glared over your shoulder, down to the newcomer, but could only make out a tall, dark silhouette, cloaked in a hood.

The man tilted his head, as if he was looking up at you, and you swore you could feel his smirk even through the darkness.

"Yes, thank you for the advice." You snapped back with a huff, already reaching out for the next branch as your magic grew it down toward your outstretched fingers. "But I think I'll stick with this."

"Suit yourself, little blossom." The mystery man leaned against the thick trunk of the tree, and crossed his arms over his chest, staring out at gods knows what.

You paused, catching your breath, and glared down at him, even though you're sure he can't see you.

"Don't call me that."

You saw his chest rise and fall in a silent laugh. "Why?"

"Because." You huffed, reaching for another branch, out of breath as you work around the gods awful gown your mother had insisted you wear to visit Olympus. "I don't know you."

"Oh, but I think you do."

You paused to consider his words, racking your brain for anyone you knew in Olympus well enough to give you a nickname, and came up with no one. Your mother didn't let you visit often from the mortal realm.

"I don't." You insisted, standing up on your tiptoes to try and reach the top ledge of the wall.

You heard the man chuckle again as you stretched-up, up, up-and just as your fingers had grazed the cool marble, your foot slipped off its hold on the branch below, and you tumbled, shrieking, back down through the tree and toward the hard ground.

You closed your eyes, waiting for the impact, but it never came.

Cracking open one eye, you stared straight into the face of the mystery man, safe in the warm, strong curve of his arms.

His hood had fallen back in the act of catching you, and your eyes widened as you recognized the handsome face before you.

Fucking. Hades.

Brother of Zeus.

God of the Dead.

He grinned at you, and arched a brow, reiterating softly, "But you do."

Your heart did one sharp staccato against your ribcage, as he set you carefully to your feet, and stepped back, and almost instantly, you missed the warmth of his skin against your own.

"Thank you for saving me." You stuttered out, curtsying deeply, now that you had your wits about you.

He chuckled, staring at you as you straightened back up, and you hoped it was dark enough to hide the blush staining your cheeks.

"Oh, I have no worries that if I wasn't here, little blossom, you would have saved yourself."

He motioned upward with a jut of his chin, and you followed his gaze to the tree, gasping as you saw a thick, dark green vine wrapped around its bulbous trunk, stretching down from the palace wall and to the ground below, curling around your feet.

When you glanced back to the man before you, he was already pulling his hood back up over his face, ready to disappear back into the blackness.

"Wait!" You called out before you could think better of it, and he stopped, cocking his head.

You swallowed hard, and took a step toward him.

"Will I see you again, your highness?"

You swore he smiled beneath the hood.

"Call it what you will, Goddess of Spring-fate, destiny, the will of the gods-but I think you and I will be seeing each other again very soon. Very soon indeed."

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"You can't have her, you know."

Changbin took another long sip of his drink, cheeks already rosy, and followed Chan's hungry gaze across the room to you, standing close by your mother's side.

He simply shrugged when Chan turned to shoot him a glare.

"Her mother would never allow it. She hates your fucking guts. Not to mention-" He leaned over and lowered his voice, as if he was telling Chan a secret. He could smell the liqueur on the younger god's breath. "-the whole 'Underworld Ruling' thing."

Chan is saved from having to respond by the appearance of Minho, flute of champagne in hand, look of annoyed disgust on his face, as he slid past the hulking god beside Chan and took a seat on the duvet across from them.

His brother glanced dismissively at Chanbin, leaning back to take another long swallow of his drink.

"Nephew."

Changbin grinned and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"Uncle."

Minho arched a brow and his nose wrinkled slightly in open distaste. "Do you ever not wear armor?"

Changbin grinned bigger, and slapped a loud palm to the armor fitted perfectly to his broad chest.

"Of course not! I'm the God of War. Always have to be ready for anything, Uncle. You know how it is."

"I'm sure I don't." Minho sniffed, raising his champagne delicately to his lips, and taking a tiny sip. "The Ocean does not concern itself with the dealings of mortals. Let alone their trivial pursuits of war."

Changbin merely shrugged, and stood, slapping a powerful hand to Chan's shoulder, which sent him jolting forward in his seat, rubbing his offended arm and glaring up once more at the towering figure of his nephew.

"I'm off to find another drink. And maybe a few maidens." Changbin announced, giving Minho a mock salute, as the man stared him down with annoyed disdain. "Take care, uncles."

And with that, he was gone.

Minho's gaze flitted to Chan, and he took another long, slow sip of his drink.

Chan felt his eyes unwittingly pulled back to the other side of the room, but you had disappeared from view, probably dragged off by your mother for more introductions.

"I'm surprised you came."

Chan let his gaze drift back to his brother across from him, and offered him a tilt of his head in acknowledgement, reaching for his own glass of forgotten champagne.

"Yes, well, that makes both of us. I'd hoped to not find myself at another one of these damned archaic, presumptuous affairs for another eon or so."

The corner of Minho's lip flickered with amusement, and his eyes roamed past Chan to the dozens of gods and demi gods currently mingling on the expanse of Hyunjin's vast dance floor.

"Our baby brother is good for very few things, and throwing amusing soirees is indeed not one of them."

Chan felt his own lips quirk into the hint of a smirk, and he raised his glass to Minho in silent salute.

Minho tilts his own champagne in response, and they both take a deep draft of the shimmering, bubbly liquid.

His brothers were hard to tolerate on the best of days, but he'd always felt like Minho understood him just a little bit more than Hyunjin ever had.

Standing, Chan places down the now empty glass and nods to Minho in farewell.

"I've made an appearance. Now it's time to take my leave."

Minho watched him in silence for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, and then with a flick of his fingers, he filled Chan's empty glass back up with water.

Chan stared at him, and he arched a brow.

"Drink some water before you go, brother. It'll help with the hangover tomorrow."

He sighed, reaching for the glass, and downed the water in one gulp.

"There. Happy?"

Minho's mouth flickered again. "Almost." He cocked his head, and let his gaze roam over Chan's body, as if he could see the way his muscles tensed, the way his mind swirled, already thinking about running into you on his way out.

When Chan went to move past him, Minho put an arm out, stopping him in his tracks.

"Careful, brother." Minho murmured, eyes dark and discerning, trapping him in place. "Interest is a fickle, fleeting thing, but obsession is fatal."

There was a beat of tense, deafening silence, Minho staring at him like he could see right through him.

Chan shook his head, and broke the spell.

"Thanks for the advice." Chan grunted, pushing past him without another glance, stalking toward the exit, not caring as he shouldered past the partygoers, earning himself a round of nasty looks.

The cold night air of Olympus embraced him as he pushed through the double doors and into the opulent garden beyond.

Unlike the swirling colors and lights and noise of the party inside, the garden was deserted at this time of night-dark and quiet and abandoned-just how he liked it.

Taking in a deep breath, holding it as the frigid air seared his lungs, Chan strode deeper into the garden, walking between the towering, shadowy rows of hedges, clearing his head.

The music had almost faded out of ear shot, when he heard it-a small, unfamiliar sound that immediately caught his attention.

He paused, freezing, and listening.

There it was again, just around the next bend, somewhere near the center of the hedge maze, beside the fountain he knew graced the large stone courtyard lined with benches hidden amongst the neatly trimmed foliage.

Taking another quiet step so he could round the corner, he heard it once more.

It almost sounded like-a gasp?

Chan came around the hedge quietly, on full alert, his footsteps silent, and as the fountain came into view, he caught sight of a figure leaning back on one of its edges on the other side, obscured through the haze of the water.

Another creeping step forward, still hidden by the shadows of the bushes, and the person came into view.

It was you-sitting on the marble edge of the fountain, dress hiked up around your knees, leaning forward as you focused on something intently.

Chan narrowed his eyes, trying to see what it was you were doing, and when he realized, as another little breathy moan left your lips and your wrist spasmed, he halted, feet suddenly leaden.

Gods above, you were touching yourself.

He should move, he should announce his presence, he should leave, he shouldn't be watching you in this very private, very vulnerable moment, but he can't seem to get himself to break the spell, watching you silently from the shadows of the hedge as you pleasure yourself.

You let out that sound again-a breathless sort of stifled release of breath-and Chan felt his dick start to swell in response, straining against the fine fabric of the slacks he wore.

You let your head fall back, eyes screwed closed, lips parted, as your fingers continue their work, and Chan's eyes are drawn to the way your chest heaves for breath, the perfect swell of your breasts straining against the corset you wear.

Suddenly, he can move again.

Stepping quietly from the shadows, he approached, moving to stand in front of you, and as if you could sense his sudden presence, his eyes on you, your eyelids fluttered open, your mouth forming a perfect 'o' of surprise as you caught sight of him.

"Y-your highness-" You stuttered out, cheeks immediately blooming pink, and Chan was enthralled by the way the rosy color spread rapidly down your chest.

You made a move to remove your fingers, tugging at your billowing skirts, but Chan held up a hand, his eyes meeting your own.

"No. Don't stop."

You froze, staring at him, wide eyed, like a fawn caught in the daylight, and he made an attempt to soften the gravel of his voice, repeating again, softer this time, "Keep going. Please."

You stared at him for another long moment, and he couldn't breathe, maybe you were going to run, maybe you were going to tell on him, what a pervert he'd been, maybe you were disgusted-

And then, slowly, eyes still holding his own, you let your fingers dip back beneath the folds of your gown.

He could tell the moment you made contact again, because your body stiffened, and that sound-the one that went right to his cock-passed your parted lips once more.

Chan watched you, mesmerized, as you let your fingers do the work, arching your body on the edge of the fountain to find the right angles, all the while, holding his gaze unwaveringly.

You were brave, he'd give you that.

You gasped, mouth falling open, and he saw the way your wrist twisted, picking up pace.

He imagined how wet you were, how easily your fingers slid in and out, and he clenched his hands at his side to keep himself in place, to force himself to let you be.

"What do you think about?" He asked suddenly, licking his lips, his mouth desperately dry.

"What-" You started to question, the words breaking off into a breathy moan that had him painfully hard, even harder than before.

He took a step closer.

"What do you think about? When you're getting yourself off?"

Your eyes had screwed closed as you grew closer to release, but you managed to flutter them back open to meet his gaze, your face twisted into the start pleasure, your fingers never stopping.

"You!" You gasped out desperately, chest heaving, free hand digging into the marble ledge of the fountain, fingers white with the effort of holding back.

Chan watched as you came then, crying out and body vibrating, and when the orgasm had finished ripping through you, you slumped back, breathing hard and cheeks flushed.

Pulling your hand from your skirts, Chan tried not to focus on the way your fingers glistened as you wiped them off on your dress.

He was rooted to the spot, watching you come down, cock aching and leaking down his leg, wishing he was the one who'd undone you so fully, when you finally met his gaze once more.

Your expression was unsure, lips pressed into a thin line, when you repeated softly, defeatedly, "You. I think about you."

You sat up, straightening your skirts with your clean hand, and Chan resisted moving closer to you with what very little willpower he had left.

You were biting your lip, staring at the ground between the two of you, when he conjured a trace of shadow, using it to caress your chin and tilt your gaze back up to meet his.

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, your skin pebbling into goosebumps beneath the touch of the shadow, but you didn't move, you didn't look afraid.

Chan felt the corner of his mouth lift into the hint of a smile as he let the shadow trace your cheekbone, brushing back a loose strand of damp hair into your elegant braid.

"You know, little blossom, my brothers say you're a problem."

Your eyes widened a little more, and then a flash of indignation crossed your pretty features.

"Why?"

Chan cocked his head, studying you, and you stared right back.

"Because I want you, but I can't have you. And I tend to have a fatal flaw of getting obsessive over things that are kept from my grasp."

He flicked away the shadow with his fingers, burying his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he let the words settle between you.

His dick was still unyieldingly hard.

Your lips parted slightly, as if surprised by his admission, and then a brief, mischievous smile flashed across your lips, catching him off guard.

You tilted your head, and your lips quirked upward into a bigger, sweeter smile.

"Your highness?"

"Yes?"

You hopped down from the ledge of the fountain, and found your shoes, slipping your feet into them as he watched, waiting for you to continue.

When you stepped toward him, closing the distance, he resisted every urge to grab you and slot his mouth hungrily over yours.

You looked up at him curiously, studying his features, your eyes large and dark, framed by the longest eyelashes he had ever seen.

When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, as if you were telling him a secret only known to the two of you.

"What do you think about when you come?"

He stared at you, trying to put the words with the movement of your lips.

Finally, he swallowed, watching your eyes flit down to follow the movement of his throat.

"You."

"Hm." You hummed beneath your breath, lips twitching, as you finally slipped past him, headed back in the direction of the party.

Chan whirled, watching you go, and as if you could feel his eyes on you, you turned and paused when you reached the hedges, fingers trailing over the dark, emerald leaves, leaving shining pink flowers behind in their wake.

"Interesting." You arched a brow, giving him a half, knowing smile. "And here I was, thinking my little obsession was one sided."

Chan let a shadow slink from the hedge beside you and trail around one of your ankles.

You grinned at him once more, and slipped silently from view.

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Chan steps off the elevator and is immediately met with the largest bouquet of flowers he's ever seen, shoved directly into his face.

He swats them away with annoyance, and the person carrying the atrocity comes into view, panting like they've just carted weighted rocks up the floors of the building and not obnoxiously perfumed flowers.

"Oh, hey boss." Jeongin beams, adjusting the vase of flowers in his arms, so that he can reach up and push the cap he wears back slightly, revealing a sweaty swath of dark hair.

"I got you flowers!" He holds up the arrangement, as if Chan can't see them, and follows him when he stalks past him toward his private office.

Setting the bouquet down on the front desk as they pass, flashing Chan's assistant a winning smile, Jeongin hurries to keep up with Chan's long strides, floating slightly above the floor.

"Well, Persephone did, technically, but you know, she asked me to give them to you so-"

Chan ignores the chattering messenger god beside him, and turns a left down the hall, already silently going over the meetings he has scheduled for today in his head.

Turning another corner, he's just about to push into conference room two, when Jeongin slides in front of him, spreading his arms out to block his way and trying to catch his breath.

"Whoa, boss. You can't go in there."

Chan stares the kid down, expression stoic.

"Jeongin. Get out of my way."

Jeongin doesn't budge, though Chan can see a flicker of fear flash across his dark gaze as he stands in front of Chan's looming, annoyed figure.

He reaches up, scratching at the back of his neck in clear discomfort, and shuffles from one winged foot to another.

"Okay, but here's the thing-" He starts, hemming and hawing, glancing past Chan and to the hallway, then back to the god standing in front of him.

"Jeongin." Chan warns, beginning to think there's something going on that he doesn't know about, and nothing pisses him off more than to be oblivious.

Jeongin clears his throat and gives him a half hearted smile. "Persephone kinda asked me to keep you out of the conference room today because she's kindameetingwithhermomtodiscussthingswithoutyou."

Chan stares blankly at the boy in front of him, wringing his hat now between anxious hands, and then asks quietly, dangerously, "She what?"

Jeongin swallows, the gulp is audible in the tense silence, but still holds his position blocking Chan from the doorway.

It's admirable, he'll give him that.

He gives a little shrug and a sheepish smile. "Sorry, boss?"

Chan growls beneath his breath in frustration, and pinches his nose.

He can feel a headache coming on.

"Fine." He grinds out, the muscles in his jaw popping with his irritation as he clenches his teeth and glances past Jeongin to the waiting conference room. "But you're to come and get me as soon as they're finished." He points a stern finger into the middle of Jeongin's chest. "And Demeter is not, I repeat not, allowed to be alone at any time while she's in the Underworld, understood?"

Jeongin nods and gives him a little salute, even as Chan is already stalking away.

"Yes, sir!" He calls out down the hallway, voice echoing off the walls and exacerbating Chan's growing headache. "I won't let you down, boss! You can count on me!"

Chan mumbles something beneath his breath about hiring new wingmen, and locks himself in his office.

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Chan doesn't get to see you for the rest of the day.

The hours slip by, and he's faced with problem after problem-mortal souls unhappy with their judgement, wraiths he employs needing his every attention and signature, accountants wanting to see him about the toll to cross the Styx ('inflation is happening you know!')-and by the time he finally gets home, well after sunset, his every muscle is tight with irritation.

He walks in to see you in the kitchen, apron tied tightly around your waist, Cerberus at your feet, dozing with his head on his huge paws.

The dog gives a thump of his tail when Chan appears, alerting you to his presence, and you glance up from whatever it is you're chopping, giving him a wide, bright smile.

He's not fooled. It doesn't reach your eyes.

Pushing aside the monstrous bouquet from earlier that now resides in the middle of the giant, granite island that takes up a majority of the kitchen, he raps his knuckles on the stone, watching you carefully, his head cocked.

"I heard your mother stopped by today."

He watches the way your chopping stalls, but you don't look up at him, chest inflating with a silent breath before you turn, tossing the carrots into the large stew pot on the stove.

"Yes." You finally say, back still to him.

He tries to force the irritation simmering just below the surface down, relaxing his whitened fingers one by one, as he blows out a long, slow breath.

"(Y/N)."

You turn then, at the use of your given name said in his stern tone, and resume cutting, chopping blocks of beef into smaller cubes.

Chan blows out another breath, harsher this time, and rubs at his temple.

The headache from before is still lingering, pounding now that he's finally left the office for the day.

"What did you talk about?"

You flick your eyes briefly up to his, and then back to the meat beneath your knife.

"Her 'temper tantrum' as I believe you put it."

Chan winces slightly. That wording probably didn't go over very well.

"And?" He prods, leaning against the counter, leaning down so he can glance into your face.

You bite your lip, and he sees you blow out a breath, before you look up at him and force that smile back onto your face-the fake, overly saccharine one from before, the one he doesn't buy for a moment.

"Do we really need to talk about this right now? You just got home, and dinner is almost ready-"

Chan flattens his hands, palms down, on the cold granite, and doesn't let you look away.

"Yes."

Your fingers tighten around the knife, and he sees you let out a shuddering breath.

At your feet, Cerberus cocks his head, your obvious display of uncertainty grabbing his attention.

"Channie-" You start to say, and he watches the way your throat bobs with a swallow.

Anger swirls into embers in the pit of his stomach.

He leans forward, dark eyes flashing. "What did she fucking do? If she so much as made you feel bad for any of this, I won't hesitate to pay her a little visit in the mortal realm-"

"No, no." You wave your hands, finally meeting his gaze once more, your bottom lip wobbly and your eyes shiny. "It's nothing like that."

Chan feels his heart immediately sink.

A tear drips down the length of your cheekbone, and he resists the urge to lean across the counter and swipe it away.

You rub at your eyes with your hands, and breath in an unsteady inhale.

Cerberus stands, butting his blocky head into your hand, until you let out a slight, watery chuckle, and begin to pet his dark ears.

"She-" You start to say, then stop, and Chan stares at you, frozen in sudden fear.

The flowers sitting in their vase on the counter begin to wilt and turn brown and brittle, dropping leaves to the granite like snow fall.

Chan ignores them.

You take in another breath, and pick the knife back up, moving to chop again.

"She wants to make a deal. She wants me to spend Spring in the mortal realm, with her, so I can fulfill my duties every year. And then I'll stay here, with you, the rest of the time."

You look up at him, your expression vulnerable, unsure. There's hurt in your eyes.

Chan's thoughts stop. His body goes cold. There's a buzzing in his ears, and he doesn't know if the shadows are lengthening, or if his sudden loss of control is causing everything to creep in.

He turns, and without a word, flicks a shadow out to send the vase of now withered flowers crashing to the ground.

You yelp, jumping at the noise, and Chan stands, back to you, staring at the mess he's made, chest heaving, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

The mess he always makes.

After a beat of silence, he hears you put down the knife, and then your soft footsteps, as you pad around the counter and kneel on the ground next to the shattered vase.

Slowly, without looking at him, you reach out and begin to pick up the broken pieces.

Chan breathes in, breathes out. His headache is pounding.

"Little blossom, leave it-"

He starts to say, moving to crouch before you, just as you pick up another piece of sharp ceramic and wince, instantly dropping the piece back down with a clatter, as you pull your hand back against your chest.

Chan reaches out and tugs your hand back into view, watching as the cut on your palm starts to slowly leak golden, shining ichor down the line of your wrist, dripping on the floor between the two of you.

His breath stalls as he glances up to your pained expression, all the anger leaving his body in an instant.

"You're bleeding."

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"You're bleeding."

Chan glanced up at the sound of your voice behind him, meeting your concerned gaze in the mirror, where he remained, leaning over the basin, palms on the cool ledge of the sink, watching the water swirl away down the drain.

"Yeah, well-" He gave a little humorless chuckle as he watched the water shimmer with the ichor he washed from his knuckles, before he straightened and dried his hands, glancing once more at you in the reflection of the mirror. His mouth quirked up into the hint of a smirk, and he winced as it pulled at the split skin of his lip, tasting fresh ichor on his tongue. "-luckily for me, my brother hits like a pussy when he's been drinking."

Your eyes widened. "He hit you?"

Chan turned, swiping a hand across his mouth now, tossing the towel to the side. "Yeah, well, I probably deserved it."

He'd no more than finished the admission than you're at his side, taking his hand in yours, your eyes raking across the golden liquid that marked his knuckles, tacky and congealing.

You glanced up at him, curiosity flashing across your pretty features.

"What did you do?" You questioned in a whisper, as if asking him to divulge a dark secret.

Chan almost grinned-you're too fucking adorable-but he leaned in, his forehead brushing yours, expression serious, and lowered his voice to match yours.

"I told him, little blossom, that there's no way in fucking Tartarus that I'm going to another one of his stupid, historic parties, unless of course, it's thrown for us and planned in celebration of our marriage."

You stared up at him for a silent moment, and Chan almost backtracked, wondering if he'd been too bold, when a slight smile curved your lips up mischievously.

"Well." You released his hand and straightened the collar of the suit he wore, before stepping back, eyeing him up and down, head cocked with interest.

The look on your face took his breath away.

"Then I guess you'd better get me a ring, hadn't you?"

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Chan slips your ring carefully from your finger, lying it beside the sink, before he tends to the wound on your palm.

You protest the whole time, claiming it's fine and you're fine and he's being dramatic, but Chan's heart won't stop pounding in his chest until every last drop of your golden blood is wiped clean from your skin.

When he's satisfied with himself, he helps you get down from your position atop the bathroom counter, and pushes you gently toward the waiting shower.

"I'll just be a minute." He says, as you roll your eyes, but strip your clothes anyway, waiting before he hears the water turn on, before he darts back to the kitchen.

He cleans up the mess he made in his anger, and goes back to the bathroom.

He watches you for a moment, through the steamy, hazed glass surrounding the large shower, your perfect outline stretched back beneath the pounding water, and then gets rid of his own clothes, tossing his suit to the side, before he slips into the shower to join you.

You glance at him over your shoulder as he enters, wet hair plastered to your skin, lips pulled into a worried pout.

"Channie-" You start to say, but he steps to you and pulls you flush against his bare chest before you can get any of the other words out.

Your arms go around his waist, fingers tickling the skin of his back, and he lets out a long, slow breath, the exhale rustling your hair, your face buried in the planes of his chest.

"I'm sorry." He apologizes softly, and you pull back to look up at him, eyes wide and soft.

"You don't need to apologize." You say, reaching up to shove some of his thick, dark hair back off his forehead, starting to grow heavy with water.

"I do." He nods, staring down at you, letting his finger go beneath your chin, as he traces the line of your lips with the pad of his thumb.

You're so fucking beautiful.

"You're my wife, yes, but you're also a Goddess, and I need to remember that."

You stare up at him silently, letting him continue, and he lets out another breath, reaching his hand up to cup the side of your face, your skin warm beneath his fingers.

"You have your own duties and responsibilities, and I'm being selfish keeping you here. I can't hide you away forever."

The corner of your mouth wrinkles, as if you're thinking about smiling.

"Are you sure?" You nuzzle into his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm.

"As much as I would like to-" He starts, leaning over to press a kiss to the corner of your lips, moving up along your cheekbone. "-I can't. The mortals-and Demeter-need you."

You sigh, he feels it in the way your chest brushes his, and lay your head on his chest, listening for a moment, to his heartbeat.

He strokes your damp hair, and finally you say quietly, "All right. But I don't have to like it, right?" You pull back, looking up at him with a tremble in your bottom lip.

"No, you don't, little blossom." He gives you a half smile, bending his head to press a kiss to your throat, than to the swell of the start of your breast. His cock twitches at the feel of your soft skin beneath his tongue. "I'm sure as fuck not going to like it."

You give a little laugh, slightly watery, and reach up to swipe the tears from your eyes.

"What will you do?" You ask with a shaky breath, staring up at him in a way that makes Chan's heart squeeze, his insides feel tight with all the love he has for you. "While I'm gone?"

He gives a slight shrug, leaning against the shower wall, as you move to start shampooing your hair into a lather.

"Run the Underworld. Judge the mortals. The usual stuff. I mean, what did I do before I had you?"

"Brood." You reply back instantly, glancing at him cheekily over your shoulder as you turn to rinse your hair.

He leaps forward and pins you to the wall as you shriek, tickling your sides as you wriggle to get away from him, laughing so hard it makes you breathless.

He pulls back, letting you breathe, and you push some wet hair from your face, taking in a couple of calming breaths, before your eyes meet his once more.

The mirth disappears from your pretty features, and Chan feels his chest tighten.

"Seriously though, Channie, I-" You swallow, Chan watches your throat bob, and your eyes grow shiny again. "-I don't know how I lived all those eons without you. And now, to have to leave-"

"Hey, hey." He steps toward you once more, caging you in the protection of his arms beneath the warm spray of water. You bury your face in his chest. "Pet. Look at me."

Finally, you do, raising watery eyes to his, and he gives you what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

"Listen to me, little blossom." He reaches up, stroking your hair behind your ear. "We're talking about months here. Just a few months topside, to soothe your mother, and then you'll be back home with me before you know it."

You sniff, swiping at your nose, and then nod.

"You're right. I know you are."

Chan gives you a half smile, gentle and soft, and leans down to press a kiss to the part of your lips.

The thought of you leaving his side is ripping him apart, but he manages to keep his expression neutral, if only for you.

He presses another, longer kiss against the column of your throat, and takes a moment to breathe you in.

"I love you. I always have, even before I knew you, even before I saw you, and nothing, and no one, will ever change that. You are, and always will be, my obsession, Goddess of Spring."

You look up at him with tear filled eyes, and lean up to press a kiss to his own lips.

"I love you too, God of the Dead. You're the only thing in my entire, immortal days that has ever managed to bring my heart to life, and I thank you for it."

A genuine smile tugs at Chan's lips now.

"Ironic, coming from the Goddess of Rebirth about the Ruler of Souls."

You give a little laugh, eyes sparkling as you look up at him. "I guess so."

Chan tugs you to him and, determined to memorize how you feel, kisses you long and hard beneath the cooling water of the shower.

Inside his chest, his heart flicks out a shadow to meet the flowering vine snaking from your own.

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"Do you think we're all fated to another?"

You ask, lying beside Chan on the grass, the cool night breeze kissing patterns across your bare skin.

He turns his head to look at you, staring up at the stars overhead, fingers twined within his own.

The ring on your finger brushes his knuckle, and a warm sensation washes over him at the thought that you're his now-for eternity.

"Isn't that mortal shit?" He asks teasingly, and you turn to give him a glare, but it only succeeds in making him more endeared, your nose crinkling up and your lips pursing.

"Well, yes, but-" You shrug, turning back to the sky, reaching up your free hand to splay your fingers against the backdrop of the shimmering stars. "-do you?"

Chan considers.

He's never put much stock in fate, or destiny, or anything else the mortals believe in, and he says as much, rolling over to look at you, his hand skimming your bare hip.

"I don't know. But what I do know is this." He props himself up on his elbow, looking down at you, where you lie, watching him, from the grass.

He lets his finger trail over the marks of his teeth blooming on your shoulder, the love bites already turning purple up the column of your throat, soothed by his tongue.

"Fate is fickle, I don't like to rely on it. Fuck, sometimes, I don't even think I can rely on myself, but I do know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you and I, little blossom? We were meant to be. And nobody, not fate or any of that other shit that mortals believe in, made that happen. We did."

He watches you as you pause, considering, and then you give him a smile that steals his breath, sitting up beside him to throw your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

"Fuck fate." You breathe against his lips, and right now, in this moment, with your skin pressed against his, your warmth settled firmly in his lap, his ring on your finger, Chan thinks he has to agree.

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Chan trips over one of Cerberus' toys and gives the big dog a glare, tucked safely away under the kitchen table, his head on his paws.

"I swear to god, your mom is coming home today, and if she sees the state you left this house in-" He threatens vaguely, waving the toy around, before tossing it into the basket in the corner.

"I'll what?"

Chan whirls so fast at the sound of your amused voice that he almost gives himself whiplash, turning to face you in the doorway, a grin on your lips and your suitcase in your hand.

You give him a little wave, suddenly shy, as he continues to stare at you, rooted to the spot.

"Hi?"

He's moving then, crashing into you and sweeping you up into his arms with such force that you lose your breath, dropping your suitcase to the floor, as he pulls you in tight to his chest.

You're laughing and crying, and Chan breathes you in, nose pressed to the top of your head, like he's a starving man seeing food for the first time.

You pull back, just enough to smooth your palms over the side of his face, your eyes still shiny with unshed tears.

"I missed you, Channie."

"Fuck." He breathes out, crushing you back to him again, never letting you go. "I missed you too, little blossom."

You laugh again, a watery sound, and press kisses to every inch of his face you can reach from his embrace.

Chan feels like he can finally breathe properly for the first time in months.

"What did you think about while I was gone?" You ask, your eyes sparkling, as if you already know the answer.

He lets out the breath he's been holding, and leans forward to kiss you breathless.

"You." He breathes back in response, and your lips part with pleasure at his answer. "Always you."

And then he kisses you long enough to make up for all the time missed-past and present.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

the monster trio (but make it highschool!au);

basically, what if these mf weren't illiterate?? highschool!au headcanons for the monster trio!!

m.list

luffy:

- the class comedian (and doesn't know it) - like this man is out here just going about his day, doing stupid shit. he doesn't know why the class is laughing when the teacher asks him what he's doing and he says "eating. want some?" through a mouthful of doritos and a shit-eating grin - everyday, atleast once, he gets sent to the principle (the principle is garp lmao) and garp sends luffy back to the teacher because even he doesn't wanna deal with this precious himbo

- he runs track (and he is actually so good at it) - he's that one kid that has adhd and the whole school knows but he doesnt "adhd? what's that?" "you, luffy, that's you" - his homework? never complete; his handwriting? so shit it feels like ants crawling on paper; his uniform? something has to be missing always whether it's a button on his shirt, tie, belt, something. - one time he pulled up with one sock missing and when asked, he shrugged and said "sometimes things happen" - why did he say it like that??? - somehow, despite it all, he manages to pass (nami tutored him forcefully and made him pay her later) - best friends with the martial artist!zoro and cooking prodigy!sanji - nobody knows how these three are friends??? but they are ig - also, i headcannon him as the guy who is like 4 feet and after one summer comes back stretched out (hehe, pun intended) - always so kind to others even if he doesn't know them, always willing to help freshmen out and run errands for you if you need help - nobody knew he is related to his older brothers (ace, sabo) "how are you their brother??" "idk? how am i??" - just the bestest boy ever, golden retriever energy all day every day no matter what universe it is

zoro:

- you take one look at this mf and you think, ah here is the classic delinquent, stick-up-his-ass martial artist and you couldnt be more wrong - he is never dressed right but that's cause he doesn't know how to tie a tie and listen if he had the willpower to find the right socks at 7 in the morning, he will - he is just an incompetent fool, trust me 😭😭 - gets late on the regular cause he always takes the wrong turn - the one "jock" who isn't anything like a stereotypical jock? like he hangs out with soon-to-be valedictorian nami, idiot luffy, theatre kid!ussop and cook!sanji - nobody can understand how this friend group was formed??? - actually gets asked out a decent amount of times and always says "nah, im good" and walks away to his friends - people are starting to suspect if he's dating luffy from how hard their bromance is going "zolo!!! gooDMORNING!!" luffy yells as he launches onto zoro in the middle of the hallway at 8:03 am on a random tuesday zoro casually drops his backpack to catch luffy "morning" zoro replies as if it's casual behaviour - the amount of trophies the school has in his name is insane (nation level martial artist, roronoa zoro) - he is actually decent at school, he is just average and he's fine by it he doesn't give all that much of a shit in the academic sphere - casually pulls up to the parents-teacher meet with thE FUCKING WORLD REKNOWNED MARTIAL ARTIST, DRACULE MIHAWK??? "i see he passed in all his exams. how wonderful, zoro. let's leave now." "aight" - he doesn't even think twice when asked if he knows mihawk, he's just like "yeah that's my dad what about him?" - a certified dumbass in every universe

sanji:

- listen to me this mf went to masterchef junior and fucking won and people only know this cause the school hyped him up and not because he wanted people to know "omg sanji did you actually win-" "no that was my twin brother sanjo, please leave me alone" - actually prim and properly dressed, shows up at time everyday and gives in all of his assignments and submissions well before the due date (he is partially responsible for keeping zoro and luffy on track) - he was the one making cupcakes when nami was organizing a fundraiser for a nearby orphanage, he was the one who baked cookies cause sabo wanted to hand them out on his last day of school, he was the one who baked cakes for his classmate's surprise birthday party - rumor has it if you get on good terms with sanji, a mysterious box of homemade chocolate will be there in your locker the next day - despite all the hype he has, mf still gets no girls - like luffy, he is insanely kind to those who need help - has gotten almost suspended once for beating up a senior year kid for bullying a freshmen (luffy and zoro just stood by and laughed as that kid got his ass handed to him) - he is the son of THE FUCKING OWNER OF BARATIE, A FIVE STAR MICHELLIN RESTAURANT THAT IS FREQUENTED BY CELEBRITIES ALL THE TIME "omg omg sanji is it true that the rock visited your restaurant last night?!" "yeah, his daughter wanted to eat my tiramisu, she's really sweet" - so chill always (but simultaneously losing his shit) - the kinda person you'd love hanging out with - as i said, in any universe, he is still single (feed him the rizz rizz fruit pls)

a/n: tried something new tell me do you like it or love it? m.list

[its-time-to-write]

chapter 4

table of contents

we know the steps anyway

Jamie might have stretched the truth. He has an appointment, yes, but not a medical one, like. There’s enough doctors and shit on staff at Richmond. But no one there has fucking critical thinking or whatever, so he’s able to go early. He goes to the shops and doesn’t pray he remembers what you like, instead he prays that it hasn’t changed.

He gets recognized but he hopes the flowers in his hand don’t signal anything to the fans. If anyone asks he can just say they’re for his mum or something, it’s not totally fucking unrealistic, but his lying’s gotten progressively worse recently. Probably because he’s out of practice, but he doesn’t actually want to get back in practice, if you know what he means.

He also prays that your address is the same. You loved that house and he’d be surprised if you moved but it’s almost a year since he last saw you and much longer than that since you were actually together.

Maybe he should have become Catholic so he could say a proper Hail Mary. But he isn’t one, so instead he just hopes harder than he has in a while and knocks on the door. The doorbell’s taped off with a note that says, baby sleeping so he thinks he probably has the right house after all 

He hears footsteps, has the quickest panic attack known to man, then the door opens to reveal you.

Jamie has never wanted to make a baby more than this moment, if he’s being honest. He can tell you’re in the middle of work but the way it takes a split second too long to figure out what’s happening and the pen behind your ear. You look the same, but assured and he knows it’s because you don’t need him. He wants to unbutton your shirt and also tell you that he loves you more than he’s ever loved anyone in his whole entire life and he knows he’s a fucking idiot but his thoughts have never been good at finding their way to his mouth so instead he just says, “Hey,” and pulls the flowers from behind his back.

Jamie doesn’t miss the way your eyes widen in what he can only construe as fear at the sight of him. It subsides into wariness when he hands you the flowers, but he doesn’t like that the fear was there in the first place. He understands you want to be cautious, but fear?

That’s not good at all.

So he telegraphs all his movements as best he can. Shoulders down, hands at his sides and unclenched. He takes half a step back but asks, “Can we talk?” and watches you play a million outcomes in your head at once.

You don’t want to let him in, but Clare’s asleep in the living room. And the flowers are an indicator that he’s here for some positive reason so you step aside and say, “You can come to the kitchen.”

Jamie knows he’s on thin ice so he barely looks any other direction than straight to where you direct him. He doesn’t sit. He stands in the middle of the kitchen and awkwardly holds the flowers before you take them from him and set them on the counter. He opens his mouth to say something (he’s not quite sure what yet) and is saved by the baby crying in the other room. 

The baby. 

You sigh and go to get her and he scans the room as best he can for any indicator as to her name. He doesn’t see anything but photos stuck to the fridge. You come back into the room before he can move to look closer. 

“Her name’s Clare,” you say offhandedly. “You’re not on the birth certificate. You’ve always said you didn’t want to have kids, and I’m pretty fucking sure you wouldn’t want them with me. And-” you pause. Clare’s awake and staring right at your face. She really does look like Jamie.

“And,” you continue, “I didn’t really want you to come back just to fuck off again. Clare doesn’t deserve that. And you’ve been acting like a right fucking idiot all over national television, so.”

Jamie nods. “Makes sense.” 

You wait for him to say something else but he doesn’t, just looks so uncharacteristically lost that you sigh.

“You’re not here about custody, are you,” you. Jamie’s eyes widen.

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s what you thought this was about? I’m not- I wouldn’t- I’ve been to going therapy.”

You raise an eyebrow. That’s new. Maybe that’s what fucking Keeley Jones meant about decent. But he’s not getting off so fucking easy, if at all. 

“So what, you go to therapy a couple times and now you’re fixed? And you want a family? Or to apologize? You haven’t made it entirely clear why you’re here.”

Jamie says, “I’m here because I miss you,” and you scoff. 

“No- shit, I mean- I’ve missed you for a long fucking time but my texts weren’t going through, so I figured you blocked me. And Madeline is fucking terrifying, babe. But I was looking for you the other night because I wanted to apologize. And see if you wanted to get back together,” he says, and you’re not entirely sure how to react.

“Right,” you say, “well, that’s not fucking happening. You dumped me after a year, called me a two in the morning five months later, so yes, I blocked you. And you should be fucking scared of Madeline because I had to forcibly restrain her from ruining your goddamn life despite the fact that I actually wanted her to go completely apeshit. I have more important things than some twenty-six year old footballer who’s only just now getting his life together when I’ve had it together since I was eight. I have a job and a baby, and I’m handling both in the house that I’ve owned since I was twenty-two because like I said before, Jamie Tartt, I’ve had my life together since I was fucking eight years old. I had the same damn childhood as you and yet I’m not the one who has only recently learned what the fuck empathy is.”

Your rant upsets Clare, who begins crying. “Shit,” you sigh. “I’m sorry, Bean. You hungry?” You glance at Jamie. “I’m going to sit on the couch.”

“Right. Yeah,” says Jamie as he follows you to the next room. He sits gingerly on the couch across from you and you sigh again. He’s relatively harmless, and you’re well-versed in what he looks like when he’s up to no good. You pat the spot next to you and he sits, still carefully, while you adjust Clare. It isn’t until you sit down that you realize how fucking tired you are.

“She’s so fucking small,” Jamie whispers. “How the fuck do you ever get anything done? I’d just be looking at her.”

You laugh, but it’s short and brittle. “Things need to get done Jamie. She’s hungry, she needs to be changed, I have work to do and I’ve got to eat, but I’m sick of ordering in so I try to meal prep as much as I can but I don’t ever sleep and I’m afraid of burning the house down, so most of the time I eat frozen dinners at four a.m. because she’s awake.” Jamie doesn’t say anything, just listens. He’s inched closer or maybe you have or maybe both, because your thighs are touching and it sends the same shivers up your leg that it did two years ago. “I’m tired all the time,” you whisper. “It’s like my bones are tired. I think Madeline’s the only one who has any idea what it’s like and she can only help so much. Besides, she’s it’s her last night in fucking Milan and I’m not about to be that mum friend who’s constantly making everything about her baby. It’s just so much work, Jamie. You have no idea.”

You shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t but Madeline isn’t here and what she doesn’t know won’t kill her, so you rest your head on Jamie’s shoulder.

He freezes for a moment before tilting his face to touch the top of your head.

And you’re furious. It should have been like this before and as soon as it’s over your going to wish that it were like this more often. It’s a fantasy.

But you’ll indulge a little while longer before seriously considering moving somewhere else. Probably Chelsea if you’re being honest; it’s not too far away but it’ll give you the space you need to remind yourself that Jamie isn’t for you. He’s for someone else, someone like Keeley.

And anyway as soon as you want to let Madeline find you a man, you know you’ll have no shortage of options.

It’s not about that, though. It’s about the fact that you’ve been on your backup plan ever since Jamie left and you’d give anything to feel like you’re in control again.

Jamie murmurs, “I want to help,” and you shake your head slightly. 

“Don’t need money, my darling. I need someone to change her diaper at one in the morning.”

“That’s what I mean,” Jamie says and you chuckle.

“And when do you have time for that?” you ask. “Don’t you footballers have a strict sleep schedule? And you’d have to be here in the guest room because there’s no way I’m taking Clare to yours.”

Jamie shrugs and you sit up. “Don’t take this the wrong way love, but plenty of footballers ignore their sleep plan to fuck around. It’s got to be healthier and shit to take care of a kid, yeah?”

“No,” you say. “You can’t just show up and slip back into my life like that. I haven’t talked to you in almost a year and now you’re here on my couch, which is fine, but you can’t just come all the way back.”

Jamie frowns. “So what do I have to do?”

You shake your head. “That’s something for you to figure out without me.”

—

Jamie replays the whole thing from the time he gets back into his car to go home to the time he falls asleep. And then starts again when he wakes up and heads to the Dogtrack. The only person who looks at him twice is Higgins, although that may be more to Jamie’s choice of lime green sweatpants than his mental state.

He can’t get Clare’s face out of his head. He can’t get the feeling of your body on the couch next to him out of his system.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted when he returned to Richmond, he just knew he wanted something different. Maybe this is it.  

He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that he knocks completely into Roy on his way to get his lunch.

“Fucking watch where you’re fucking going,” Roy grunts but Jamie barely acknowledges him.  

And that’s how Roy knows something is wrong because the little shit is never one to back down from an argument. But he’s Roy fucking Kent and the last thing he’s going to do is ask Tartt about his fucking feelings so he just walks away and forgets about it.

In hindsight, he thinks it probably would have provided some fucking context to what he’s seeing in front of him. 

A very apologetic Keeley Jones hangs on his arm while he watches some short brunette march into the locker room as if she owns it, grab Jamie by the ear, and start swearing at him.

No one seems to know what to do, probably in too much shock to stop Madeline from dragging Jamie (still by his ear) out of the room and presumably to the car park. 

Roy catches Beard’s eye, entirely by accident, who shrugs. Ted claps his hands and says something to the effect of, “Everyone’s made poor decisions when it comes to women, Sam go check on Jamie,” before following Roy and Beard to the coaches’ office. As soon as the door is firmly shut, Ted says, “What in the Sam Hill was that? I know Jamie’s ruffled a few feathers in his time, but I’ve never seen anything like that before, no sir.”

Everyone looks expectantly at Keeley. After all, she was the one chasing Madeline’s heels as she shouted, “God DAMN it Tartt, I’m going to fucking kill you!!” down the hall.

“Well you see,” Keeley begins, voice mousy, “I was in Milan where I met Madeline. We were chatting and we both found out we knew Jamie. And she’s friends with this girl who lives here in Richmond, and it turns out she and Jamie dated right before he was with me. I don’t know what he did but he did something awful while we were away because she got a text, said, “Fucking Tartt,” and then stepped out to take a phone call. She came straight here from the airport; I think her taxi’s still outside, actually.” She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m just surprised Jamie’s fucked something up again. He’s been doing so well recently.”

“Jamie has a kid,” Beard says like he can’t hold it in any more. He’s met with shocked silence until Ted says, “Well I’ll be. Jamie Tartt’s got a little tartlet,” and then everyone’s talking at once. Mainly, how does Beard know and what does that have to do with his arse getting hauled to the car park?

Ted’s just thankful this debacle happened at the end of the day, because the team can’t afford to miss any training with the Aston Villa game coming up. There’s a knock on the door, and Ted opens it to reveal Sam. 

“Jamie is going home with that angry young woman,” he says. 

Ted asks, “Should we be concerned?” and Sam shrugs. 

“He did not seem as though he needed rescuing,” he replies, and that makes sense. From what anyone could tell, it almost seemed as though Jamie felt like he deserved whatever Madeline was saying to him. As if he expected it. But no one has any more answers so they all just sort of disperse to their various homes. 

Keeley though, Keeley is so fucking curious she thinks she might explode. So as soon as she’s at Roy’s and seated on his sofa she opens her laptop and scrolls through Madeline’s entire fucking instagram to look for clues. It’s hard, what with all the brand deals and photo dumps, but Keeley’s a professional. She has a list of girls who occur in multiple photos throughout the years, checks off their socials, but comes up empty. 

Well, almost empty.

Half of Madeline’s friends are private, so those are Keeley’s top suspects, but there’s one friend whose photos switch from being full length to shoulders-up only about nine months ago. And there’s a selfie of Madeline in a hospital bed with this same friend buried in a photo dump from two and a half months ago with the caption, “she lived, bitch.” It’s focused on their faces and nothing else, but Keeley’s one hundred percent positive this is the girl.

Keeley spends the rest of the night on her computer scouring the internet for as much as she can possibly learn while Roy makes her tea and reads next to her.

next chapter

[cam3lliaw]

Catching the eye of a prince

Chapter 1

-crownprince!gojo x maid!reader

contents/ warnings: (some are mentioned in the prologue), might be ooc,

word count: 1.8k words

series masterlist

the prologue here

notes: sorry for the long wait :) i hope you like it

“His Royal Highness was looking for you, my lord.”

If only Suguru had a coin for every time he heard that exact sentence in the past 20 minutes. The walk from the gardens to the crown prince’s chambers shouldn’t have taken more than 8 minutes, a few more if the staircase was in the middle of being moped but that only happens really early in the morning and really late at night, and at this moment it was neither of them. At least 12 servants that were doing their jobs stopped Suguru on the way to his office, letting him know that the crown prince was looking around for him not long ago. Sighing, the dark haired man decided to go to the prince’s chambers and see what he wanted.

Upon reaching the door, and not hearing any noise from inside, Suguru thought that the prince might still be out and about, and he entered without knocking.

Turns out that not only the prince was inside, but he was pouting as well as he was sitting on the window sill.

“What’s with the pout, Satoru? Missed me too much?” Suguru smirked as he approached him and took a seat on the other side of the sill.

“As if.” Satoru scoffed. “I’m just…deep in thought.”

“Oh, that’s certainly new. Weren’t you the smartest in this palace? That’s clearly what you boasted about around the place, last week. But don’t forget Satoru-“ Suguru came closer and put his hand on the prince’s shoulder “it’s more than okay to ask for help sometimes, it’s a proof of your maturity actually-”

Satoru slapped the hand away before Suguru had the chance to continue talking.

“Ouch.” the dark haired man faked a pained expression. “Seems like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“It’s your fault I’m like this in the first place.”

“My fault?? How is this my fault?” Suguru asked, genuinely confused.

“Who’s that girl from earlier?” the prince went right to the point.

“What girl?”

“Don’t act dumb, Suguru. You know who I’m talking about.”

The lord sighed “On the way here I was stopped by multiple servants, most of them being girls, telling me about the fact that you were looking for me, so I’m afraid you'll have to give me a bit more than just the fact that she was a girl, then maybe, I will know who you are talking about.”

“The girl from the garden! The one that was hanging the laundry. The one that you seemed awfully close to. Is this enough information for you?” Satoru inquired bitterly.

A smile stretched on Suguru’s face. “Ah, I see now. What about her?”

“Huh? What’s the deal with her? I never saw you that close with a girl, much less a servant.” Satoru remarked annoyed.

“What, you jealous? Don’t worry, Satoru. She won’t steal me from you. You’ll always be my one and only-“

The crown prince narrowed his eyes, interrupting his bestfriend again, with no shame whatsoever. “Jealous my ass. It’s pure curiosity. I’ve tried to make you talk with girls from the court or from foreign nations, for years, yet you never even glance towards them a second time. Yet, this maid seemed to have your attention without breaking a sweat.”

A short laugh escaped Suguru’s lips. “If you’re insinuating what I think you are, you can stop right there. Me and [name] are just good friends, nothing happened between us and nothing will ever happen.”

“Then what is it about her? I’ve seen her from afar but she doesn’t seem that big of a deal.”

“You have a bad habit of judging people based on their appearances, you know that’s not something a future good leader must do, right?”

Satoru’s face flushed ashamed.

“Of course I know that. And it’s not exactly judging-“

“It is.”

Satoru groaned. “Fine, I’ll chose my words more…carefully next time. But seriously what’s the deal with her?”

“She’s just a good friend and a nice company when I need to take breaks from your chaos.”

“Rude.”

“You’ll live.” Suguru smiled.

“So when do I get to meet her?”

“You won’t.” Suguru answered without thinking twice.

“And why is that?” Satoru inquired a bit offended.

“The last thing she needs, or would want for that matter, is to be center of attention, or even worse, to be roped into any of your schemes.”

“You make me sound like a villain of some sort.” The crown prince scoffed.

“From certain points of view you might be, yes.” The duke challenged.

“Hmph. Why does it seem like sometimes you forget that you’re talking with the crown prince?”

“Come on, Satoru, if everyone acted respectfully towards you or if they let you think you’re right all the time, you would become spoiled, or like, even more spoiled than you already are.”

Satoru hummed acknowledging what Suguru just said, but he seemed distracted for a moment, it seemed like he’s deep in thought again.

“What are you thinking about now?” asked Suguru as his eyes narrowed.

“What if…you don’t directly tell me how to meet her...but you give me a hint on how to find her. I mean, in that case it’s only a…50% chance I would actually find her. What about this?”

“Since I have a feeling you won’t drop this anytime soon, why not.”

The prince smiled victorious and waited for Suguru to think of something. A few minutes later, Suguru started chuckling.

“I got one.”

“Okay. Go on.” The prince nodded.

“You might find her...if you fall asleep in a meadow.”

“And?” Satoru waited for his friend to continue but he shook his head.

“That’s all.”

“What? How am I supposed to find her based on that?”

“Sounds like a you problem if you ask me.” Suguru added.

“Fine. But sooner or later, I will find her and I will see for myself if she’s such a nice person as you claim she is.”

A few days later the crown prince started getting annoyed. At first, he thought he can cheat and find you at the place where he saw you first, but over the next few days since the talk with Suguru, there were other maids working out there. Then, he thought he might just ask a random maid about you when he sees one, but then he quickly realized that was dumb, because there were thousands of maids working in the palace, some never see each other much less know each other’s names.

In every free moment that the prince had, his mind would wonder to Suguru’s hint.

“You might find her if you fall asleep in a meadow.”

One more thing that Satoru thought about, but didn’t have time for until the weekend, was going for a walk in the gardens hoping that he might spot you around there.

The gardens are like some sort of meadow, right?

Maybe you were assigned gardening work sometimes, it wouldn’t really make sense since the palace hired a lot of gardeners especially for taking care of the entire area, but what does he know about this kind of stuff really.

Satoru spent his entire weekend taking walks while scouting the entire area for you, hoping he’d at least see you once while passing, but he didn’t. However, he seemed to meet someone else in the gardens instead.

“I have to admit, I don’t think I’ve seen you spending so much time in the royal gardens since we were kids.” Shoko laughed as she gestured the bench she was sitting on, signaling the prince to take a seat.

“It’s not by choice unfortunately.” Satoru sighed as he sat down.

“I thought you were only doing the things that you wanted, something about being royalty and never having to listen to anyone.” The duchess laughed.

“You and Suguru seem to find pleasure in criticizing the things I say lately.”

“Well, if two people say the same things, without talking beforehand about it, that might mean they’re right.” Shoko smiled.

“What brings you here? Studying plants for your medicine exams?”

“Yes. It’s nice to study outside from time to time, the library is sometimes parched with people, so the best options to not be bothered by noise is either to read somewhere else or to read at night when there’s barely any people left.” Satoru nodded as Shoko finished explaining “What about you? What brings you out here?”

“A stupid riddle.”

Shoko giggled. “I thought you liked riddles…but I don’t think it’s just a normal riddle, am I right?”

“If I guess then I can find someone, but Suguru has been too vague.”

“Suguru is the one who riddled you? This has suddenly got even more interesting, who do you have to find?”

“A maid, [name], I think that's how Suguru called her. I caught her and Suguru once chatting and they seemed very close. But Suguru won't let me meet her.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have let you either. [name] is a really nice girl, you would just get her in trouble.”

“You know her, too?” Satoru exclaimed surprised.

“I do. We don’t see each other often, and maybe we’re not as good friends as she is with Suguru, but she’s a good and smart person.”

“Then…do you think you can help me? With the riddle? Suguru said that I might find her if I fall asleep in a meadow, but as much as I hate to admit it, this is harder than I anticipated. I searched everywhere in the royal gardens and I came up with nothing. And there are no meadows close to the palace either, well as far as I’m aware anyway, but I know the surroundings almost like the back of my hand.”

Shoko burst out laughing. “That is so easy. You overcomplicated yourself so bad.” she continued “Satoru, do you remember our favorite activity in the rainy days? What me, you and Suguru would do every time we weren’t at the palace together?”

“We would send letters.” Satoru responded quickly.

“You need more than that. What would we talk about in said letters?”

“Hmm…we talked about a lot of stuff but I guess we talked the most about the books we read.”

“You’re getting there. What was the one book you would not stop comparing all the others about?”

“Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland?”

“And what happens at the beginning of the book, Satoru? Where is Alice and what does she do?”

It took him less than a second to finally realise.

“She falls asleep-“ Satoru’s eyes widened “in a meadow!”

“There you go.”

“The library…how did I not realise before, you and Suguru wouldn’t shut up about how she’s smart. I should’ve seen it.”

“Well, its better late than never.” Shoko commented.

The prince got up quick but he remembered what his friends said. “She doesn’t like to be the center of attention” Suguru told him. And Shoko mentioned that the only moment the library is not full is at night…

“Thank you, Shoko. I owe you one.” Satoru smiled as he started walking away.

Seems like he has plans tonight.

taglist: @kalopsia-flaneur

end notes: thank you for reading :)

[niluffa]

tw : post-fight, moody keigo, fluff, sfw | cw : 0,4k

“nest head,” you whisper.

“excuse me?” hawks─no, keigo, looks at you. the cold cement presses against his cheeks, and he just glares.

“you heard me,” you whisper again, looking at the sky.

“i clearly didn’t─say it again,” keigo growls. the attack from earlier damaged his ear drum, so your voice was pretty much muffled and unable to fully reach his brain.

“nest head,” you repeat, this time more louder.

the ground was cold against his back, wings still sensitive from the fight against some villain whose name was long time forgotten.

“that nickname makes no sense,” keigo huffs.

“it does,” you argue, “just think about it.”

“i’ll pass,” keigo groans, proud of himself for not shooting you the most nasty glare he could manage to pull at this moment.

“your hair is a blonde─yellowish colour,” you point out, finally looking at him after an hour of staring at the stars.

keigo’s eye twitches, “so?”

“nests are yellow,” you pout, feeling stupid for having to point out such an obvious fact; especially to a pro hero.

“actually,” keigo clears his throat to put on a mocking and rather a nerd-like tone, “nests are usually brown, due to the stick’s natural colour.”

“somebody watches national geographic too much," you mutter; oh yeah, maybe that’s the reason he always ignores your texts in the middle of the night when you clearly know he’s awake.

“i literally don’t,” keigo rolls his eyes, lying. “that’s it?”

“what do you mean?” you raise an eyebrow at him, the cold night breeze picking up all of sudden; hair thrashing around wildly in the wind.

“my hair colour,” keigo says, squinting his eyes, “is that the only reason for that nickname?”

“of course not,” you laugh, and as much as keigo wanted to stay grumpy all night, his lips cracked a weak smile at the sight in front of him.

“the second reason is the fact that you’re literally a bird.”

“actually─” there he goes again.

“your quirk is fierce wings, not a bird─i get it.”

“but you’re always ignoring that,” keigo hisses, and you’re not sure if it’s because of your teasing or the fact that he got beaten up pretty badly, “the bird jokes are overused.”

“okay, ‘mr. i can't take a joke’” you shrug, earning an annoyed groan from keigo─not like you expected anything less.

yes, you were a pain in the ass, not helping him with the rest he needed after a tough fight; but you were always by his side, no matter what he did.

and yes, he did invite you to watch new national geographic episodes with him─branches for nests are brown, and that man is not a bird.

nevertheless, he’s your nest head.

[centrally-unplanned]

Oh lets drag up some more 2000's politics debates - Noah Smith had this take today:

So bait is bait, but I think this fun bait, I'll take this. Its a definition game (what does "win" mean) but that can still be elucidating.

There is obviously a sense in which the US won the War in Iraq - which is extremely easy to reveal by looking at Afghanistan! Unlike there, where the explicit, named enemy of the US outlasted us, overthrew our imposed regime, and took power, in Iraq it is true that the country is currently governed by the system the US built, and it rules with relative stability. Not ideal, but hey its not Syria or anything. This would in fact be *shocking* to people in the 2000's - back then the general vibe was that Iraq would descend into full-on civil war. People openly discussed throwing in the towel and just letting the country split in three. And then all of that just fizzled out over time, and people started buying into the system. Its not glorious "nation building" but it looks like it stuck. It is fair to say that Iraq is not in fact a disaster case study in the nation building timeline (from an outcomes standpoint, from other lens like humanitarian its different), and its often unfairly seen that way.

But there is just no coherent definition of "win" divorced from strategy, divorced from goals. Imagine if the US today jointly invaded Israel & Gaza both, and hey throw in Hezbollah too, what the fuck ever (Pro tip: don't do this) with the goal of setting up governments that did whatever the fuck they wanted, don't care, as long as they don't attack each other anymore. And we got Iraq today as a result? Eh, I won't fight you too hard if you call that a win. This magical funland scenario hit the target, right? The US wanted to de-escalate regional conflicts in the region, it did that. How nice a place those are to live or w/e wasn't the point.

In Iraq, "not falling apart" was not the goal. The goal was end Sadaam's WMD program, which well raincheck on that, but moving on was also to End Terrorism by Sending a Message to other enemy countries like Iran and also building a beacon of secular, liberal democracy in the Middle East to show the people that there was a better path to Islamic Fundamentalism, thus reducing its strength in the region.

It Did Not Do That.

Man, can I not emphasize enough how much it did not do that, how much the War in Iraq did not reduce the strength of Islamic Fundamentalism in the Middle East. It is literally, not figuratively-literally but actually-literally, one of the greatest own goals in the history of strategy since war has existed. I have explained that part in more detail too often in the past to repeat, but do I even need to? Say the sentence "The War in Iraq reduced Islamic extremism as a political movement" out loud and try not to laugh. You can't, its too absurd to get past your lips.

From that lens, the proper lens, I do not think you can call the War in Iraq a win. How stable Iraq is, while a dodged bullet for its people, barely scratches the surface of what would need to be shown to call it a win; and I see precious few nails that can join it.

[woneuntonzz]

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𝐓𝐞𝐤 𝐈𝐭

band leader!wonbin x song writer!reader

warning/s: cussing

genre: songfic

word count: 6.7k words!!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ you just can't call a spade a spade. ⭑♪⊹ ࣪ ˖ —the debt unpaid; inspired by Cafuné's Tek It. ✩🎧ᝰ.ᐟ

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The bundles of pillows of gas, outlined with the color of the sky, had been your favorite subject in photography. It fascinated you how everything else seemed to remain in their respective placements —the sun, the stars, and the moon— everything, but the clouds. 

Though you could never say that you favored it more than the moon. 

It somehow made you feel puerile, how something so trivial as moon photographs saturating your gallery made you feel sick to the stomach. You swore that you felt icky having mostly those photographs filling your precious display.

But why then? —why are your eyes so drawn to its shine?

Maybe it is for the sole reason of the void that it fills, even more so when there are none of its little friends —the stars— to accompany it. You hated that, though you admit that the moon is humbler than the spiteful sun. At least the moon allows for you to admire it from afar and closer whilst the sun denies you from it as if it's too glorious for the eyes of man.

You didn't love the moon, but you were true to its beauty and it's granted privilege for it. People loved the moon and you just questioned it. Overlooking its scientific significance, you just thought it put the clouds to shame. A moment would come where the clouds would conceal the moon, but despite its efforts, the moon will always outshine them, even more so with its light outlining the clouds and not the color of the sky that surrounds it. The moon is selfishly beautiful —well to be fair, if you hadn't grown, you would've never realized that the clouds were never meant to be focal. 

The art of photo journaling has been your passion for as long as you can remember. From a very young memory, you were a self-proclaimed photographer who held back a sour face whenever you were asked to snap pictures for your aunts who needed a picture next to every foreign sight and object they saw.

You wished you could just take the photos with your own eyes for even with the newest DSLR —at that time— you would never be able to capture the feeling of which the true vision draws from. 

Even then you were satisfied with your work, having experienced competing in national journalism competitions from middle school till your senior year in highschool, performing exceptionally well in some seasons and satisfactory in some, overall you were content with what you have and have not achieved. 

You never aimed for your name to be displayed all over your school's walls or for it to be countlessly mentioned by any of your teacher's before actually doing their job. You just wanted to bring your visions to life.

These visions would soon take a full swing to a different direction at the very last day of vacation before starting college. 

The sky had just turned pink. You felt so lucky, so intrigued with the seamless transition that had just occurred, seamless but conspicuous. 

With your camera in hand, you captured the pink clouds and the birds that flew along with them, the scenery of the park was just pure pleasure for your eyes. 

You shifted from place to place to take picture after picture of all you found worth your camera's SD card. 

You were taking a picture of the clouds that formed a subtle shape of two hearts. It wasn't your first encounter with such enigmatic forms, but this one would stick out like a sore thumb in your gallery.

Because right below it was an unsuspecting boy —well, he appeared unsuspecting at the very least. You took a picture where he looked up at the heart-shaped clouds, only the back of his head would be visible. The next picture was of him looking right into the lenses. 

Startled, you'd move the camera away from your face and avert your attention from the boy.

The once muted ambience of your surroundings would suddenly make sounds that seemed louder than they're supposed to be. 

You wanted to look back, to look at him again. 

His smile, his eyes, it all aligned with the hue of the sky and the sweet, sweet pattern in the clouds. This was the sublime portraiture that led you to where you are now. 

You weren't a stranger to Wonbin's appeal. He had quite a line of girls and boys who were smitten over him —and for that, you didn't even think of staring at him for too long, fearing that you might find yourself daydreaming, hoping. You thought you had zero chances with him, because it's him.

He's undeniably handsome, unreal even. He got decent marks and left a good impression on his teachers when it came to oral performance. He was in a school band that mostly performed worship songs during their youth, but would eventually resort to the more popular chart songs, censoring any words when necessary. 

Many were fond of him and just as much were jealous. 

“Good-looking, talented, and smart? there must be a jerk in him.” —you've heard from one of the many low-lives in your class that sat at the back. 

Maybe it was true. It was quite an impossibility for him to just be that good. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“What do you think of me?”

“Perfect.” you spoke, nearly spewing it as a question. 

“I'm not.” you laughed at him for wearing such a bashful smile as he replied. “I really am not.”

After that day at the park where you had accidentally snapped a picture of him in the most beautiful scene you have ever captured, you were captured by his allure. 

The way his hair danced with the wind and the leaves of the maple trees, the sight was all too heavenly. You were overwhelmed with the feelings that rushed through your veins, you felt like you needed to let it all out, one way or another. 

When you got home, you sat on your bed with your laptop sitting on top of your thighs. You stared at the loading status of your exporting photos that you captured earlier that day and a few days prior. 

Seeing his photo was all it took for you to start jotting down words, expressing how spellbound you are towards his presence. 

You hummed the melody you heard earlier at the park as he looked at you. It was like the breeze was singing for the two of you, and the sounds of the leaves that fell together in a beat that followed your heart's.

You were certain it was only you who's melting over such a small matter. 

Regardless, you wrote something, a poem. But you like to refer to it as your first song, and it follows the tune of the air that whispered to you.

“I like you, Wonbin.” 

It was scary. To remain standing there for what felt like a day, you thought you'd go home with red eyes and bottled tears. 

His hand slowly reaching up to hold yours gave you the thrills.

“I like you too, Y/n.” 

It was unbelievable, even for your friends. It's Park Wonbin, the Park Wonbin that could never spare people a minute of his time for insignificant matters, being too absorbed with music and the idea of creating a masterpiece of his own. He liked you? 

“You… like me?” you pointed your shaky finger on yourself.

He gently rubbed at the skin on your hands. “No doubts, beautiful.”

You would subconsciously scoff at people who called you pretty because people would often use it to ask for favors. You wondered, was this him asking for a favor? a favor to use you? to only want you when he needed you?

You wrote about these thoughts later that night, and that would be your second song you called 'Blissful but Bittersweet'.

These feelings would be subsided on your very first date. He took you to the studio where he and his band practiced and recorded studio versions of their covers that they'd upload anywhere they could. 

You two were the only ones in the studio at that time. 

For a while, you were both hesitating on looking into each other's eyes, or starting a conversation. When his eyes caught the lights of the studio and glimmered like fairy light, you couldn't look away. You had the tendency to stare and hold at the things that seemed too good to be true.

Just being there with him was all too good to be true.

He stared back at you, his eyes explored your features, breaking you out of your trance. And there he asked you what you thought of him. 

The way he responded to your answer made you think that he knew, he knew the effect he had on everyone else. But you hoped that he saw you differently, different from everyone else that blushed and gushed over him.

“I think your photographs are as beautiful as you.” he spoke as he set up the amplifier for his guitar. “It's your trademark I think.”

You were flushed, but even more confused. “What do you mean?” 

“I would know when a photo was taken by you.” His voice was like a bass line to a soul song.

It was true. He'd been noticing you for a while. He was amazed with how great your works in photojournalism were, he admired your passion for photography, turning even the most tragic elements into such beautiful imagery. 

Those things however, weren't the only basis for his fascination. 

He saw how diligent you were, how you seemed so happy and content with your school life. If it seemed as if he paid no care for the people who whispered for days and days with no end because his eyes would be darted towards god-knows-what, his ears were open for them.

The things he's heard being said about you were endless and repetitive praise, and some backhanded 'worries' they had for you. 

“I don't think Y/n actually has a life outside of the competitions”

“I know right, it's kind of sad. Must be boring, and her friends are no different. Might as well just be government officials.”

“She should let loose a little, maybe then someone would show interest in her.” — and quiet laughter.

He couldn't suppress a scoff, and later a rumor would spark that Park Wonbin had a crush on campus journalist Y/n. 

You never knew about it since you were out of the country for nationals, and when he told you, you had raised eyebrows.

It was only now that he could admire the elegance of your features. Your eyes and their unique shape, the soft curve of your cheeks and its tint, and your velvet lips. 

He had never seen you under a different light before, what he was seeing now went beyond what he could imagine. 

You would write again after that date, and this time you had an actual melody to follow, it was of his guitar's. He played a 'scrap piece' —as he would call it— and asked you if it sounded alright. 

He felt all warm and fuzzy inside when you enthusiastically answered. “I loved it!”

Your full voice made his heart bounce in and out of his chest. He thought, if only, if only he could incorporate your sugared voice into his music. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Are these yours?” you rushed over to Wonbin to recover your personal journal.

When you'd get it from him, it was turned to a page where you had written about your shared first kiss. 

“Uh, yeah.” you gulped when you heard his chuckle.

“You're a wonderful writer too?” you looked up, expecting to see him standing and towering over your very existence.

But he was just as flushed as you were. “They're songs.”

The luminosity of his eyes lit up the room.

“Can you sing them for me?”

He listened to the melodies you have grasped out of pure memory, memories you've had with him.

It wouldn't take a while for him to figure out the meaning of the songs, and somehow, he was surprised to hear,

“They're all about you.”

The feelings that Wonbin had put you through —without his perception— were feelings you have never felt before in your life. Having control over these foreign feelings, somehow, meant taking on new mediums of expression for you. 

You would continue to write songs about your moments with him, all the little and more. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You were both in your sophomore year in the same music and arts university. Your courses had apparent distinctions, but you two would share the same few classes together.

“I feel like I should be taking Composition instead of Media Arts.” you mumbled at the top of his head. 

The lecture hall was empty, you two took your time before leaving like everybody else. 

He had himself in between your arms and wrapped yours around him, like how dubiety wrapped around your brain and made it ache for that cause. 

“If you feel like it's the right thing, you definitely should, right? if Composition would help you to a point in your life where you're sound and happy, go for it.” he says, looking up at you with glistening eyes.

Wonbin was always the one to be in your arms and would often bury his face in the crook of your neck, taking in the whole of your warmth. You felt like his sanctuary, and likewise, he was yours.

Taking you to the studio became a routine for him, as a means of spending time with you. He would practice while you watched as his fingers moved rhythmically in a pace faster than your heartbeat. 

And it was with you that he'd first share his own solos and ask for your honest opinions. You were in awe every time. You had nothing but compliments to throw at him whenever he asked,

“Was it good?”

“It's incredible, Bin.” 

While he practiced, you wrote. 

It was a whole other experience to have him play for you as you observed and take in all of him, taking note of his delicate handling of his guitar, the sweat that would gradually build up and stick to his hair, and how he'd close his eyes, fully immersed in the music. 

Music resonates well with the two of you, it's like your own language, the one you shared and cherished by heart, the foundation of your relationship. 

“Let me see.” he'd say as he rests his chin atop of your head from behind you. 

You'd raise your journal to his sight, and you could feel his smile as he wrapped his arms around you.

“You make me feel so loved.” he whispers as he places a soft kiss on your jaw before once again burying his face in your neck. 

You'd always run your fingers through his hair, telling him that he makes you feel the same way, always. 

You loved Wonbin for everything he was —a musician, your best friend, your boyfriend. 

And for a long time, he'd been the Park Wonbin who owned a band, and owned your heart. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Going forward, you would change courses from Media Arts to Composition. You were back to square one. 

This is where your heart had led you to, where he had given you his full support and encouragement. 

Your schedules would crash because of the drastic shift, but still, you found ways to meet as much as you could. There were times where seeing each other wouldn't be possible, so you'd resort to calls instead. You two would talk to each other until you could hear his soft snores.

And when he'd wake up in the morning, he would apologize to you for falling asleep on you and you would always make sure to tell him that it's okay.

He would later take you to the studio again, but this time, there were others; his bandmates. 

It was your first time hanging around them, but you thought they were nice. The teasing was something you were never going to get used to, but Wonbin was relieved to have you by his side. 

He kept you close to him as he practiced, he took more breaks than retakes. He kept making mistakes at different points of their practice and would call for a break everytime —and each time, he went and sat next to you, laying his head on your shoulder as you delved your fingers in his hair. 

“Hey, Bin, you should really focus on your practice. This is for the finals —and I know you're tired, but your bandmates are tired too.” you whispered ever so softly into his ear.

It soothed him, and so he took a deep breath. “I will, starting this very minute.” He sits up and looks at you. He cups your face with his hands and leaves a kiss on your lips and on your forehead. “I just missed you so, so much.”

He goes back to practice, and he listens to you. He fixed himself up and focused. By the end of it they were able to finish practicing three songs.

He took you home to your dorm room, and asked if he could stay. Of course you could not reject him. You two would be all up on each other, all night.

Unfortunately for him, the next day won't be as pleasant as expected.

“Our bassist left.” He got up from your bed and stood near the edge, looking and scrolling on his phone. “That motherfucker.”

Your eyes widened. It wasn't that you've never heard him curse, it's his tone. It was frightening. You knew it wasn't for you —and hoped it would never be— but it made you think of the worse, what could be, and what would be.

“Where are we gonna find a fucking bassist? the competition is in three days.” he threw his head back as he ran his hand through his hair, clasping onto its ends out of disappointment and frustration. “That fucking asshole.” he muttured under his breath.

He turned to look at you, and he wished he shouldn't have. 

You had the face of an angel, and that angel, now, appears to be bewildered, petrified even. 

He sighed, bringing his eyes to the side. He stood there for a couple more seconds before he got his stuff, getting ready to leave.

“I'll go. I'm sorry Y/n, but I won't be around until I find a bassist that's competent.” he bluntly says before leaving, not shutting the door behind him —for he was afraid that if he did, he'd do it too hard and make you feel bad for it. 

You would go on for days without contact. You tried messaging him, but he left you on read. He would reply 16 hours later with: sorry y/n, we're really struggling here.

You stared at his message for hours. You didn't want to respond, so as to not further disturb him. After a few more hours, you'd receive a call from him.

“Bin?” you softly called for him as soon as you picked up.

“We found a bassist. We're practicing real hard since we really need to get it together. We're finished now, but we'll be back in the studio in a few hours. The bassist —she's great.” you nodded to yourself as you listened to him.

You didn't want to be that type of girlfriend, but you badly wanted to ask who this 'she' is. “Oh, who is she?”

“A freshman —so, how have you been?” Wonbin seemed to be speaking a little faster than normal.

You started to wonder whether he even truly wanted to talk to you in the first place. It took you a while to reply to him, you were once again stuck with such overwhelming feelings, having the need to jot them all down.

“Y/n?” 

“Bin—”

“You must be tired. Let's talk tomorrow, yeah? I'll call you when I wake up. Rest, beautiful.” 

Your eyes paced around everywhere. “I'm sorry Bin.”

“Hey, you have nothing to be sorry for. If anything, it's me who should be sorry.” he remained quiet for a while and you could slightly hear his breathing.

“Goodnight Bin. Please sleep well.” the hand that held his phone trembled slightly at the dim symphony of your voice. 

“Goodnight Y/n.” he weakly replied before letting you go and ending the call.

On your bed, you lie on your back, eyes wandering the ceiling as if there were more to the tiny cracks and the dormant light bulb. Unable to bring yourself to a slumber, you got up and went to your desk. 

You laid out your journal, opening to a fresh page. You let the tip of your pen hover over it for a few minutes, before you let it all go. 

We started off in such a nice place,

We were talking the same language.

A teardrop would make its way onto the paper, causing the ink of your pen to smudge.

You weren't meant to finish this song just yet.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It was finally the day of the competition you've long awaited. You hurried to the front seats, excited to see him perform, to hear his fervent voice, excited to just be able to see him again.

When there were others performing onstage, you tried peeping at the back, or somewhere behind the stage where you'd spot him. You were never able to, not until they were up next. 

He saw you and waved. You waved back, hesitant as their new bassist appeared beside him. 

They looked… perfect.

You zoned out. Your head would start blocking off the music, and all you could hear was your weak heart. You felt conflicted, the first time it palpated like this, it was for good reason, but now, it seems to be the opposite. 

When it was their turn to perform, you watched as they exchanged looks. Their charisma shook your core, and suddenly, you hated yourself for not knowing how to play bass.

You watched, and Wonbin would lay his eyes on you as he sang —but it within a span of a few seconds he fixed his gaze on the bassist, as they once again gave each other looks that made you sink into your seat. 

After their performance, you would find yourself clapping, standing up like everyone else, the only difference being that you were crying. Wonbin saw, but he couldn't tell if they were tears of joy or something else. 

They would be announced champions by the end of the day, and you couldn't be more proud. Wonbin would find you in the crowd, smiling as he slightly waved the trophy in his hand. You smiled back, just happy with what he's achieved. But you couldn't help but notice that something in the air was changing.

Later that night, Wonbin took you with him to their celebratory dinner. He held your hand tight, caressing your skin with his thumb as you both entered the restaurant. 

His bandmates were already seated nicely and the only seats left were ones next to their drummer, and the other, next to the bassist. When they saw you, their bassist would move next to the drummer, and Wonbin would sit across from her, with you next to him.

You were happy that they were all happy, and while eating, you would get over your thoughts from earlier. 

Your smile would slowly dissipate into the unmindful air feeling Wonbin's grasp becoming looser and looser as time flew by.

You looked over to him, and you saw the sweetest and most seraphic smile you've ever seen him wear. It was just a shame that it was not because of you. 

You grew insecure in your seat, the space you occupied shrinked by the second as you watched how differently their eyes reacted to one another —how different it was compared to how he looked at you. 

“Bin, I need to go home.” you touched his shoulder to get his attention.

He quickly turned his head to look at you. “Oh, I'll take you home—”

“No.” You spoke a little louder than intended. “Sorry, no need. I'll get going now, I have things to finish.” 

You stood up, expecting him to grab your hand to stop you as you walked away towards the exit. But he didn't. 

Were you asking for too much now? or are you just not enough anymore? 

You took slow and miniscule steps, waiting for a taxi to pass by. Once it did, you got in, feeling so dejected that your voice cracked when you gave the taxi driver the address to your dorms. 

Maybe you were overthinking things. Maybe you're just not used to him being as smiley and as lively as he was around other girls that weren't you. It had been like that since the beginning of your relationship, and yet you felt as if you had no right to doubt him.

By the end of the day, you'd be back at your desk, tear-filled, feebly writing down,

You can't stand the thought,

Of a real beating heart you'd be holding...

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Y/n! we got a record deal!” 

The thrill, the excitement, it all rushed through Wonbin, in his blood. He had called you early in the morning after receiving a call from a recording label.

“That's great, Bin.” Wonbin's smile would die out with the tone of your voice.

“Hey, are you okay?” he suddenly thought about the previous night with you, two nights ago.

“Yeah. I've just been really busy. Congrats Bin!” he bit his bottom lip, staring into nothing feeling your frailty.

“I'm coming to visit you.” he says nonchalantly.

“You don't have to Bin, I'm really b—”

“I can help—”

“Wonbin.” —silence.

You never called him 'Wonbin' throughout the entirety of your relationship, even when the two of you would argue. It left a stinging pain in his heart. “Y/n.”

“I'm sorry Bin. I know you have your own stuff going on so would you please jus—”

“Was this about the other night?” despite your efforts to respond, not a single word came out of you. “Look, I don't even know why you left, why don't you communicate things with me anymore?”

Fear. You feared this tone of his that you never thought he'd take out on you. You feared the eyes you could not see, glaring at your phantom in his studio. You feared his heart, his heart that would no longer yearn for you even if you called for him. You feared losing him.

“Y/n, speak to me. Please.” urgency was apparent in his voice, but you could also hear his disappointment.

“How? Tell me how, Wonbin.” you would break as his name fell off your lips, your tears falling down to your blanket that reeks of his scent. “I don't fucking know how, okay?”

From this moment on, you were able to see just how flawed your relationship truly is. Behind all the affections, you two were just too different. Sometimes, different can be good —there's a thing they call 'opposites attract'— but sometimes, people don't need different. 

It was not that the two of you stray far from each other's passions, heck, it was your passion that brought the two of you together. But rather, it was your values that contrasted with each other. 

He thought you were just as infatuated as he was, all the while you were thinking that you were all he needed.

Yes, he was the most comfortable with you, but his happiness was not you. He felt relieved by your touch, your voice —but he would never admit that that is all it was for him, a sense of relief and nothing more. 

He was thankful for everything you've given him, all the comfort, the nagging for him to take care of himself, the photos you've taken of him and hung on your little cork board, and the songs. He was genuinely touched and couldn't believe that you could get any more incredible than you already were. 

Unfortunately, you thought more of him, memorizing every bit of him, his physique and his very psyche. 

You two would resolve your argument, temporarily. 

He would begin to visit you again regularly, and take you to their studio, a new one, one that would be in a bigger building. And just like that building, everything was different. 

Your whole life, you've learned to fight change, to adapt with ease, but this was one you did not want to adapt into. It was one you wanted to escape.

You missed the way his fingers would play with the shorter strands if your hair that rested at the sides of your head as he rests himself on you. You missed the warmth in his voice, and now it was all fading into nothing. That fire in your hearts that you lit up for each other, it was slowly dying out. 

It was painful to be aware when you were still so in love, when you still saw the same Wonbin that one fateful day at the park. 

You knew that he knew. During his visits to your dorm room, he'd often doze off, and would lazily leave sloppy kisses to your lips, that would slowly become light pecks on your cheek, and soon nothing. 

When he took you to his studio, he would be practicing, and she'd be there too. You would be in your own little corner, writing your songs. 

“Hi Y/n, what are you up to in there?” she would ask, peeking at your journal.

“Oh, I'm writing songs.” she was a nice person, but she was also the reason for the falling out of your relationship, it was crystal-clear.

“You should seriously consider showing some to the producers around here. I feel like they'd love your work.” as nice as she sounded, you felt sick in the stomach, just like how those stupid moon photographs made you feel.

She and Wonbin, they were both like the moon, just letting others take in all of their physiognomy, all of their beauty. They remain unmoved, as if they're the pillar to everybody's constancy. 

They fit each other. —you thought to yourself as you kept writing.

I never could rely on you,

And a few times your face came into view, 

Into view.

I'm not into you,

Into you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It's been a good while since you've cut ties with him. You found it amusing how surprised he was with how you responded to his notion.

“I don't think we should continue being together, Y/n.” he blinked a few times, not having the heart to look into your eyes like he used to anymore.

“Yeah, I know.” you were so blunt with everything that he couldn't believe that it was really you who was speaking to him. “I'll bring you the stuff you left at my dorm. I'll just leave it here.”

You were in their studio, where he had asked you to meet him.

“I could just get it myself—”

“I'll spare you the trouble Wonbin.” you were so cold, it sent shivers down his spine. You were no longer the intelligent and timid girl he knew. “It's great to know you've been feeling the same way all along, if not, I would've felt bad for ever doubting you.”

A single tear would escape his eye, and he'd wipe it away before you could see it. 

“Thank you for…” you fished for his gaze, and you would catch it like never before. “...everything.”

You went out of their studio and started making your way out of the building with your journal in hand. 

The journal. It was full of him. From polaroids and sketches, to the lyrics that brought you to where you are. 

You were glad he finally came to his senses, that he was the one to break it up. If he never did, it would've taken you ages to blurt it out, or maybe you never would've done it. 

As your feet followed the same path you took going in, you could feel the hot tears flowing continuously. The last you would see as you stepped out of the building was her. Worry was written all over her face as she called for you once, twice. You looked back at her for an agonizing and very few seconds before completely turning your back from her.

That day was excruciating for you. You could only imagine, he already had her to comfort him, and you? you were still in the same spot, pouring all of your feelings out into a song. 

After a few lengthy months of practicing with your guitar, you were able to make a full song.

You recorded it within the confines of your dorm room. You were again satisfied with your work. It was a simple, homey video. Your voice was as soft as the clouds, and your presence was like that of the sun, bright, shining against the woe of your heart.

You posted the video to YouTube, even providing them with the lyrics you've put your whole heart into in the description box. 

At first, you didn't really think you'd get as much as fifty views, three likes and maybe one petty dislike. Either way, you didn't really care. It was the least of your worries at the time. 

You were planning to move back to Media Arts, in spite of him. You moved courses because of him, and now you are moving back another step for it. 

Though, your plans would be halted when you were approached by a deceptive man —what made him deceptive? you may ask, well, you would've never thought that this man worked for the same recording label that your ex was in.

“What do you want?” you spat.

“Okay, miss. I'm Jung-Sung-Chan. I've been in the xxxx label for two years now. So, I saw your song—”

“And what about it?” your voice was stern, and it seemed as though it was atypical for him as it did not match your appearance at all.

“So, there's this band, don't know if you've heard of them—”

“Is it 'Everiizing'?” he was flabbergasted with how you just kept cutting him off when he was supposedly the one to be intimidating you.

“Uh, yeah.”

He would go on to explain how the band had been struggling to come up their next hit single and they needed it by the end of the month. You told him off by saying that you'd think about it, and think about it, you did. 

It was quite funny, Wonbin would be the one singing since he was the vocal of the band, and he would be singing a song that you wrote and composed about him and the fallout of your relationship.

But you also thought, maybe this was a start for your own career. Maybe after this, you'd be a well known song writer, credited in every hit song in the charts. 

You would call Sungchan back and tell him you've made up your mind.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

So I started to think 'bout the plans I made,

The debt unpaid.

And you just can't call a spade a spade.

Wonbin read through the lyrics of their supposed upcoming single. He couldn't help but feel… familiar. The style of writing, the choice of words, he feels like he'd seen it all before, and he'd felt it all once upon a time. 

“The writer is Y/s/n Y/n.” Wonbin's breath hitched, very subtly that he was the only one that heard. “I saw her on YouTube —that's where we discovered that song. She agreed to sell it to us.”

“The song is on YouTube?” Wonbin asked as he grabbed his phone from the table in front of him.

“Yeah, that's what I said.”

He searched for your name, and there it was. He hurriedly tapped on your video, and watched, and listened. 

You never changed in his eyes. You were still as mesmerizing as you were when he could still have you in his embrace, or when you'd massage his hair.

“So what do you think?” he ignored Sungchan and kept his eyes and ears on his phone, following every note and every strum. 

“Wonbin?” —for a minute, he thought it was you who called for his name, but then he looked up.

“Paige.” he responds to their bassist. 

“I listened to Y/n's song. It's really a masterpiece, I say we try recording it now.” Paige, with pure excitement, would cling onto Wonbin, and he would look at her the way you would want him to look at you.

Sungchan knew, because you had told him everything. It was weird to tell a stranger about these things, but if he was buying your song, he should at least know the story behind it, right?

That day, Wonbin would record his vocals for the song, and Sungchan would be there to monitor. Wonbin seemed so emotional. He must've realized what the lyrics truly meant, and it punched him right in his guts. 

This is all she's been feeling huh —he uttered in his mind as he fought back his sorrow.

Sungchan had spared you the details of everything that went down in the recording, and soon they would release their own version of the song, and it would be theirs.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“...we have 'Everiizing', to perform their new hit single, 'Tek It'!”

You were once again, at the same seat you'd always be when he performed, but this time, you were happy. It was your creation being recognized and loved by many. Its story will remain in your memories forever, but it will never cause resentment.

You couldn't help but smile and just enjoy the music. They were the same —if not better than before. Wonbin and Paige were truly a different story. They seem to be doing great. You had no idea if they actually got together, but you didn't care. 

There was a lingering feeling for sure, but it would fall weak knowing that you have a line of opportunities ahead of you, and so did Wonbin and his band.

After their performance he would go on to acknowledge your presence, giving you credit for writing and composing such a beautiful song, though of course, he would never say you were his ex and you wrote it about him.

You two would meet again backstage, for the first time in almost a year.

“Y/n.” you smiled, not for the same reason as you would with him, it was because he failed to have the same effect on you as he did before, and it brought your mind to peace.

“Wonbin.” he would smile back, but it was quite not like himself.

He was a lot more tentative. “I'm guessing you've been well.”

You nod at him and say, “I could say the same about you.”

“So, will you continue to work under xxxx?” he asked hesitantly.

“You know I would never do that even if things ended a little better.” he would drop his smile as he listened to you speak. “I'm moving to Sungchan's label. He's starting one of his own. Might consider being an artist myself, but for now I'll finish my studies.”

Wonbin was once again fascinated with your strong will, it was something he thought he could learn from you, but as soon as forever was promised, it would disintegrate right before your eyes. 

The promises of making songs together, singing them together, performing them with your souls intertwined. They were nothing but long gone.

Wonbin is the moon, and you're the sun. The two are never meant to meet, or to even be close to each other. Being opposites was never a problem, it was because you two had different understandings of what it meant for you to flourish and shine, what your purpose is in this world and how you would salvage it —it is the sad tale of the serene but incredibly fallible moon, and the ravishing sun, that's just as tainted.

And there would be no more eclipses to follow. 

I never thought we'd see it through.

So long nice to know you, I'll be moving on.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

happy hearts day <333

[errorryx]

shitty batman fanfiction

So AO3 went down last night, and my friend @armyanimal156 was in the middle of a fanfiction and couldn’t finish it, so I offered to finish it for him. I used my vague understanding of comic book storytelling from my brief Marvel comics phase in 2019, plus the very minimal knowledge i picked up from some of my mutuals' posts, to assemble this nonsense. This is Damian What’s-his-face’s Journey of Self-Discovery, originally typed out stream-of-consciousness into Discord and then edited into a more digestible format.

Please for the love of god understand that this is not my usual writing style and also I'm not in this fandom and don't know shit about fuck. This is just a very long shitpost. ok enjoy

—

Damian, the newest Robin who was raised by assassins, was about to go on a journey to atone for his sins. He used Batman’s credit card to buy himself plane tickets to Eurasia and Africa, because there was a package deal he saw online or whatever. He decided to fly economy because he had self-esteem issues and thought he didn’t deserve first class.

He arrived in Eurasia, which in DC comics universe is the name of a small country in the continent of Syrup. Unfortunately, when he saw who was waiting for him at the airport, he was shocked.

“Mom?” Damian said. “Dad? Other Mom? That one guy?”

That’s right, it was the four assassins that raised him. The comics didn’t mention the other two assassins, Dad and Other Mom, because they weren’t relevant to the other stories being told. He calls his grandpa “that one guy.” This definitely isn’t someone poorly retconning comic canon into the fic after being told new information or anything like that.

“Yes, Damian, it’s us,” said Other Mom (that’s her legal government name). “We need your help. We’re going to assassinate the President of the United States.”

“No way,” Damian said. “I’ve changed. I fight for justice now.”

“Is that so?” that one guy said. “Then you should know that the President of the United States is actually evil and deserves to die.”

Damian wasn’t sure if he could believe that one guy, because he was a supervillain. But he decided to trust him just this once. He went and found the President of the United States, who was on a diplomatic mission to the small Syrupean nation of Eurasia, and shot him point blank on live television, Joker-movie-style.

Thankfully for Damian, that one guy was telling the truth: the president was evil and everyone had been secretly hoping for someone to assassinate him. People celebrated in the streets, and Batman and Tim and Drake and whoever else called and told him he did a good job. Even better, his mom patted him on the back and told Damian she was proud of him, which made him feel somewhat better about his childhood trauma.

Then, the president came back as a zombie who was impervious to bullets and wanted to eat everyone’s brains. Everyone was very upset about this, including all four of his assassin parents, and Batman, and Drake and Josh. Damian decided his best bet was to run away from his problems instead of facing them like a man, so he used his plane ticket to Africa and escaped.

—

The plane landed in Africa, which in DC comics universe is a small island nation in the Specific Ocean. Damian had never been to Africa before, but it was a popular tourist destination for its pristine beaches and overpriced coconut cocktails. However, after arriving on the island, he quickly learned that everything was owned by a mysterious billionaire known as Bruce Wane, Bruce Wayne’s twin brother who has never been mentioned in the comics before because he wasn’t relevant to any of the stories being told.

After some investigating, Damian learned that Bruce Wane was secretly a supervillain who terrorized the island, who went by the name of Badman (like Batman, but bad). Badman had a sidekick named Robbin. When Damian went up against this pair, Robbin pickpocketed him.

“Hey!” Damian complained. “I saw that! Don’t steal my stuff!”

“Damian,” Badman said in a fake deep voice, Dark Knight-movie-style. “If you want your wallet back, you have to join me. You can be Robbin 2.” Robbin looked upset about this, but didn’t say anything.

“No way, bitch,” Damian said (he gets to say swear words because of his childhood trauma). “Batman is way cooler than you.”

Badman took a few steps back and did a triple backflip. “Bet your stupid Batman can’t do that.”

Damian had to admit that Batman could not do that. “Fine, you win. I’ll join you.”

He followed Badman and Robbin to the Badcave (like the Batcave, but bad). Badman began explaining his plan to take over the world by dropping a bunch of badbombs (like batbombs, but bad) on top of the small island nation of Africa and then the rest of the world.

“That’s a really cool plan,” Damian said. “Can I have the password to your computer? I want to play Roblox.” BECAUSE AS IT TURNS OUT THIS KID IS LIKE TWELVE YEARS OLD HOLY SHIT WHY IS HE FIGHTING CRIME. WHY IS HE ASSASSINATING PEOPLE. WHAT THE FUCK MAN???

So Badman gave Damian the password to the badcomputer (like the batcomputer, but bad), which was, of course, “nanananananananabadman” and gave him unsupervised internet access.

Of course, Damian immediately hacked into the mainframe and set off every badbomb in the badwarehouse (like the batwarehouse, but bad). The Badcave exploded and everything was ruined. Then, Damian revealed that when Robbin was busy pickpocketing him, he was actually pickpocketing Robbin at the same time! He opened Robbin’s wallet and looked through his stuff.

As it turned out, Robbin’s ID picture looked the same as Damian’s, because they were secret TWINS and CLONES and TWIN CLONES. Robbin’s real name was Damien with an E. 

Robbin looked very sad, and he asked Damian if there was a way he could learn to be good instead of bad. “I could take you back to Batman,” Damian suggested. “You could be Robin 2. Actually, more like Robin 27 at this point.”

“That sounds great,” Robbin agreed, and they flew back to Gotham City together.

—

“Jesus Christ, not another one,” Alfred said when they got back.

Batman just shrugged and said, “This might as well happen.”

“It’s going to be really confusing around here if there’s two Damians,” Cass (one of them is named Cass right? or Cath? idfk) said. Everyone decided to call Damian with an e “Dame” and Damian with an a “Ian.” This detail was included despite the fact that it never came up again.

They turned on the news, which was conveniently at the beginning of a report about Badman, who had miraculously survived the explosions. He had now teamed up with the zombie president and vowed to destroy Batman and his league of child soldiers.

The zombie president staged a hostile takeover of the American troops, which was easy because the guy who replaced him was a wimpy loser. Soon the entire US Marines were outside Batman’s house, which apparently isn’t the first time this has happened, but this time they had all been turned into zombies. Which also isn’t the first time that’s happened. Writing an original plotline in DC comics is probably impossible.

So began the epic battle between Batman’s orphanage and the zombie marine corps.

Everything was going well for the good guys, but then Damian got into trouble. It looked like he was about to get seriously injured, until Damien jumped in front of him at the last second to save him, only to get bit by one of the zombies and become infected.

Soon enough all the zombies were defeated, but it didn’t feel like a victory, not when the twinclone kid they met ten minutes ago was dying in front of them.

“Listen, everyone,” Damien said, while slowly turning green (the color of zombies). “I know we just met each other, but the ten seconds of kindness I got from you were better than the entire rest of my incredibly traumatic life. So please, don’t mourn me. Put me out of my misery, and go save the world in my honor.”

Damian nodded and lifted his gun. “I was raised by assassins, in case anyone forgot,” he said. “I can do what needs to be done.” He proceeded to shoot Damien in the head.

But it didn’t do any damage at all, because as previously stated, zombies are impervious to bullets. So Damien finished turning green and stood up. “Please don’t eat our brains!” one of those other batkids said.

“Huh,” Damien said. “I don’t really want to eat anyone’s brains. I think I’m fine, actually.”

As it turned out, the zombie virus didn’t induce the desire to eat brains. The president and the entire US marines were just like that.

So the entire group hunted down Badman and the President and dropped batbombs (like badbombs, but not bad) on top of their heads, and they both exploded into one zombillion pieces.

Everyone lived happily ever after, and Damian now had a twinclone zombie brother and felt a lot better about his childhood trauma.

The end

—

bonus: more discord screenshots from last night for additional context, featuring my other friends @diligently-metastasizing (dyke lego homer) and @avloki-pal (wet ghost cat)

[bitchysoulwasteland]

Thranduil x Modern Soulmate Reader

Word Count: 3,367

Thranduil had always wondered who his soulmate was. But, that didn't apparently matter to his father, who insisted that he married a princess, to strengthen Mirkwood's power. He knew certain bits and pieces about his soulmate. For example, they liked music as they were always humming some tune that only he could hear. Their favourite song was called 'Keep Yourself Alive' by a band apparently called Queen. He also knew that, due to the fact soulmates could see each other's dreams, they did not hail from Middle Earth. 

He thought he knew his soulmate well, until one night, he was pulled from his own dream and into a nightmare of war. It was night, he could tell that much. Everything had an eerie green glow as his soulmate looked through an eyepiece for any threats. Within seconds, it went from quiet to deafening. Guns blazed around as a man diffused something. Shots fired from his soulmate hit their mark, even in the darkness. The man jogged back to them, the soldiers regrouping and getting into the vehicle. As his soulmate turned their back, they were hit by something in their right shoulder.

"We need medics at base, a.s.a.p. Sergeant Y/n L/n has been hit. Bullet wound to the shoulder. I repeat, Sergeant Y/n L/n has been hit." A woman's voice spoke over radio. Other shouts for medical treatment echoed in the small space, but, everything was muffled as shouts of 'stay with me, Y/n!' were herd various times.

"Don't you dare die on me, Y/n. This group has been through way too much to lose its best woman." The same female voice said as his soulmate's eyes fell closed.

That was when he woke up, in a cold sweat, his covers in the floor. He moved his hair out of his eyes as he looked around him. He was safe and sound. He worried about his soulmate, searching his brain for her name. The name he had herd when she had been hit. Y/n. Sergeant Y/n L/n. He scribbled her name on a piece of paper and put it on his bedside cabinet for later. 

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

You woke up in a medical bay, not really any memory of what had happened. You remembered shots. You turned your back and felt as though you had been punched in the back. Adrenaline had kept the pain at bay, now, unfortunately, it had worn off. You tried to sit up as you saw the Lieutenant Colonel walk through the door of the tent. 

"Don't get up, Sergeant. I just wanted to give you this." He handed you a letter from HQ. "I also want to thank you for your service to the nation. You've done immensely well. You should be proud." You knew he had herd about your resignation from the Army, probably from HQ. You also knew that although he pretended to be cold, he was actually a nice person on the inside. 

"Thank you, sir." You said. 

"Good luck with civilian life, Y/n. I mean it. Bluestone 42 won't be the same without you. As you were." 

"Thank you, sir." You said as he walked out of the tent with a nod. 

Six weeks of recovery and a day of travelling later, you were unlocking your London house, after two years of not touching it. You put your bags by the door, took off your uniform cap, coat and boots, leaving them beside your bag, before turning the electric back on, by the meter, along with the water and central heating. You put the kettle on and flumped onto the sofa, exhaustion draining from your body. No sooner had the kettle boiled was there a knock at the door. Reluctantly, you answered it. You couldn't quite believe what you were seeing. Thranduil. From The Hobbit. Or, at least an extremely good lookalike. 

"May I help you?" 

"My name is Thranduil and I was hoping that you could show me the quickest way back to Middle Earth." You raised an eyebrow in complete disbelief. "I'm only asking as yours was the first house I came across." 

"Hate to break it to you, but as much as I would love for fictional worlds to be real, they're not. Nice costume, though Halloween isn't until October, Barbie." 

"What is this 'Halloween' you speak of, and who is this 'Barbie', mortal?" Okay. Maybe he was the real deal. 

"It's a time when people put up decorations of pumpkins and ghosts, witches, ghouls, goblins and other magical stuff. And Barbie, is a kids toy. She's a doll with long blonde hair." 

"Aside from the toy, why would anyone want to worship goblins?" You saw the hatred. No, disgust in his eyes and remembered the movies. 

"The goblins aren't worshipped. It's about remembering dead relatives. The goblins and all of that are just meant to scare kids. You look freezing, come in. I can't promise a way back to Middle Earth, but I can make a decent meal." You said before hid did so. You closed the door behind him.

"You're very kind to a stranger.." 

"Y/n. Sergeant Y/n L/n." He took off his shoes by the door "Just through here." You noticed the state of his robes. "D'you want me to get you some clean clothes? I should have some somewhere." 

"What's wrong with my royal robes." He stated, matter of factly as he stood in his socks, still looking regal.

"You can't really go walking around on earth in robes, mate. You'll be a laughing stock. Besides, they're muddy." You walked upstairs as he followed close behind. You walked into your bedroom and began looking for the clothes. You went in your drawers and pulled out a stonewash blue Guns n Roses t-shirt, passing it to him. Then, you found the birthday presents that you had never given your family, as you had signed up for service. A navy blue hoodie and black denim jeans, along with a leather belt. The bathroom is just across there. You said as he went to go and change. You noticed that you were still in uniform, so you swiftly changed into jeans, a Queen t-shirt and a grey Rolling Stones hoodie.

You walked out of the room at the same time Thranduil did. "Where would you like me to put these?" He asked as you took the sight in. He looked hotter than you'd seen him on the films in normal clothes. And the hoodie and jeans were doing everything for his look. He looked at you, slightly surprised at how good someone could look in such simple clothes. 

"Erm, just leave 'em on there and I'll was them for you." You said, gesturing to the wash basket. He placed his folded clothes on the basket. "So, what kind of food do you like?" You asked as you both walked downstairs and into the kitchen to see what you had got, food wise. 

"I don't mind. In Mirkwood, we usually have majority of Middle Earth's cuisines." Ok now he was just showing off. You looked in fridge, freezer and the cupboards, but other than some icicles and some cups, there was nothing. 

"I haven't been here in about two years since I went in the Army. We could order food in?" You tried the house phone, which had been disconnected. "Let's go out to eat." You said as you grabbed your keys from the shelf above the kitchen counter. The pair of you walked to the door. You slipped your converse on as he put on his boots. Luckily, the trousers covered most of the shins of them. Thranduil was about to undo the door when you stopped him. "C'mere. If you have your hair like that, someone's bound to notice you're not human." You said as he stepped closer to you, so you were face to chest, due to his height. You got up on the bottom step behind him. You tied his hair in a low bun before stepping in front of him to tease a few strands to cover the points of his ears. "Perfect." You whispered as you locked eyes with him, butterflies erupting in your stomach. You wanted to kiss him right then and there. You cleared your throat as a blush made its way across your cheeks. "We should be going." You muttered, not trusting your own voice. 

On the walk around the path to your car, he slipped his hand in yours. You looked at the floor, trying to hide your face, by instinct. Thranduil stopped walking. You stopped a foot after him. He turned you so you were looking at him. "I've waited years to meet you, Y/n. I've never met anyone like you. This is probably premature, but, I love you." He whispered before he lent in and kissed you. You didn't have to stand on your toes with him. His arms pulled you closer by your waist as yours went around his neck. Images of both of your pasts flashed before both of your eyes. He was the one. Your soulmate. You had only ever been told that you would see images of each other's pasts. You didn't think it was true, until then. After what felt like a lifetime, you pulled away for air. 

"I love you too, Thran." He smirked at the nickname you gave him, a smile on your own lips. You felt something fall on your head, and within moments, you were standing out in the pouring rain with Thranduil. "This is gonna be so cliché, but, wanna dance in the rain?" You asked as you took his had and led him to the middle of the now empty car park. Holding you close, you both waltzed around the area, until a car horn pulled you from the romantic moment. You both ran to your car and you unlocked it as you both opened the doors and got into the dry. "That was the most fun I've had in ages." You breathed as you ran a hand though your wet hair. Turning the engine on, you began to drive. Noticing the time, you had a better plan than to drive to a fancy restraint that you could undoubtedly not afford. Houses and buildings fell back from the scenery as you drove along the M25 from London. Soon enough, you found a service station. You went into the McDonalds Drive Thru and ordered two Big Mac meals and two McFlurries. 

Half an hour later, you were back on the road again.

Thranduil couldn't help but stare at you as he took in your features. Your h/c hair was curling slightly at your temples, from being wet. Your e/c eyes gleamed as you watched the road whilst talking to him. 

"So, back in Middle Earth, what do you do?" 

"I'm prince if Mirkwood. I ride elks and horses and I have to attend the most boring gatherings ever." 

"So, the usual royalty stuff then." You laughed. "All heirs and graces, yeah?" You said in a faux posh accent.

He couldn't help but laugh along with you "Something like that, yes, meleth." He watched how your laugh lit up your features "What do you do?"

"Well, I was an aspiring singer and dancer. But, I couldn't get any roles or attention from the big names I needed to. I was loosing money, fast. I was on the brink of loosing everything. The house, this car. So, I found an option. I joined the army and became an ATO in Afghanistan. It wasn't the first choice, or the cosy one, but it was to help people, and to help myself." He looked at you sympathetically but blankly as you figured he wouldn't know what you were talking about after the word ATO. "Bomb disposal." He still looked at you blankly. "I was a soldier. Until I resigned." 

"What made you resign?"

"Job lost its appeal, I s'pose. I tell you what, if I had the gift of foresight I wouldn't have made half of the mistakes I did." You drove I silence for a while, until your SatNav tells you that you have reached your destination. You parked the car on the seafront and got out of it before locking it. "I hope you like the sea, your highness, cos here we are. The White Cliffs Of Dover." You put a blanket over the bonnet and sat beside Thranduil. You then pulled the corners of the large blanket over you both, his arms pulling you into his lap. 

"It's beautiful." He said, resting his chin on your shoulder as you leaned into him, your head on his shoulder, watching the sunrise over the sea. 

When the sun had risen higher, you spoke again "Y'see that dark line on the horizon that starts there and ends just there," you pointed "that's France. There's a song about these cliffs. And a story. When pilots were flying back to England during the Second World War, they would look for these cliffs and know that they were home." You didn't say anymore, instead, you began singing.

"There'll be bluebirds over The white cliffs of Dover Tomorrow, just you wait and see I'll never forget the people I met Braving those angry skies I remember well as the shadows fell The light of hope in their eyes And though I'm far away I still can hear them say "Thumbs up!" For when the dawn comes up There'll be bluebirds over The white cliffs of Dover Tomorrow, just you wait and see There'll be love and laughter And peace ever after Tomorrow, when the world is free The shepherd will tend his sheep The valley will bloom again And Jimmy will go to sleep In his own little room again I may not be near, but I have no fear History will prove it too When the tale is told It will be as of old For truth will always win through; But be I far or near That slogan still I'll hear "Thumbs up!" For when the dawn comes up There'll be bluebirds over The white cliffs of Dover Tomorrow, just you wait and see

When night shadows fall, I'll always recall Out there across the sea Twilight falling down on some little town It's fresh in my memory I hear mother pray And to her baby say "Don't cry!" This is her lullaby There'll be bluebirds over The white cliffs of Dover Tomorrow, just you wait and see."

Thranduil looked at you with pure adoration as you finished the song. He took off one of the rings he was wearing and put it on your hand. You took your phone out and took a picture of the two of you, the cliffs in the background, made it your lock screen, then took a picture of the sunset before falling asleep in your love's arms.

"That was magnificent, my sergeant." 

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

It had been three months since you had woken up alone. You hadn't entirely expected him to be there when you woke up. He had put you in the back seats of your car, the blanket over you. But, what you hadn't accounted for was the loneliness you felt when you woke up alone. You shouldn't have fallen for him. Even if he was the one. The only thing you had left of him was his robes and the ring he gave you. 

To get your mind off of the Elvenking, you went for a walk in your local forest. But, halfway through the forest, you tripped and fell. When you got up, you were no longer where you had fallen. You recognised the all too familiar shadow of the ruins of Dale a few meters before you. You were in the Battle Of Five Armies. Thankfully, the battle had not yet begun. You got onto your feet, noticing the rip in the jeans and the crack in your phone screen as it had fallen from your pocket. You ignored both. If you were in the third Hobbit movie, then that means that you had a chance of seeing Thranduil again. Running as fast as your body would allow, you made it into Dale. You stopped to catch your breath as you looked around you. The people of Laketown were preparing for battle. You silently thanked whoever controlled the universe when you saw armour clad elves. 

You were about to move when shouts came your way. "Oi." You tried to ignore the voice, belonging to Alfred. "We don't want any more beggars 'ere. Or any more wizards or vagabonds." With every word, you took a step away from him. 

"I'm here to see Thranduil. I'm from Rohan. I owe him a great deal of gratitude after he helped save my sister a short while ago from illness and most likely death, and I intend on seeing him to thank him once more." You just hoped that you had sounded convincing enough to pass for an inhabitant of Middle Earth with the whopping lie you just told.

He looked at you sceptically. "Follow me." He said as you did just that. He led you to a yellow tent.

"What do you want now, Alfred?" Bard said in a bored tone. 

"There is a woman here that claims to be from Rohan. She said that the king of Mirkwood saved her sister from death, so she would like to show her gratitude." Thranduil looked up from his wine glass, not remembering doing any such thing. 

"If you touch me with your grubby little mitts once more, I'll be your next big issue." Thranduil herd this as Alfred kept one hand on the woman, who was just out of sight.

"Send her in." Thranduil said, knowing your voice anywhere.

"As you wish." The man stated, pushing you inside the tent, tripping you up in the process, before walking off. 

"Arsehole." You muttered as you dropped your phone for the second time today.

"How do I know that you're my Sergeant L/n?" He gazed at you, as if looking for a fault that you were not the same woman he had been ripped from the arms of by fate and someone's magic.

"I met you on my doorstep, half an hour after I had just got back from being posted in Afghanistan. You stood in front of me and told me who you were. I didn't believe you at first. Until I spoke about Halloween and called you Barbie and you had no idea what I was on about. I offered you food, but then saw I had no food cos I hadn't been back for two years. I tied your hair in a bun. You were wearing the blue hoodie. Then, then went out and danced in the rain until we were soaked. We went to McDonalds and both had a Big Mac meal and McFlurries. We then drove to Dover and I showed you where France was. I sang the White Cliffs Of Dover song as the sun rose. And you gave me this ring." You said as he walked over to you and kissed you like it was the last thing he would ever do. You pulled away and spoke "It's only been three months, Thran."

"It's been three thousand years, my sergeant. I don't plan on ever letting you go again. It's not a coincidence that we met twice. Marry me, please Y/n, you've already got the ring."

You looked into his eyes, knowing you were safe "I'll marry you, Thranduil." you smiled as he kissed you once more. 

[ask-ricky-pawtts]

So, what about Cataris? (2018 SABM)

I AM SO SO SI GLAD YOU ASKED!1!1!1!1! AH I LOVE THESE ZOLAR QUESTIONSSS >w<

Cataris was an early edition of Zolar I made while I was still in middle school! Its story is a little more flat than what I have for my ACTUAL plans revolving around Zolar and K9 (named Calissyus for now as a filler name) (will be saved for LATER ASKS!1!!) however a lot of Cataris has been actually revamped a little and added to the story I’m currently working on!

Cataris is one of the several planets apart of the Zolarian star/planet cluster (several planets, seven suns) and its nation is home to the beautiful Queen Nefrititi Bastet III, of course the royal and leader of this sanction of the planet (each planet is ruled by its own governments, leaders, subsections basically! This monarchy on Cataris is one of the higher ups but it isn’t the big boss or anything basically)

Now the plot of this thing with the whole laser is pretty much scrapped due to again I can NAWT keep that many plots down for my story though I might write it as a pre-story thing just for funsies.

However! Nefrititi is very impawtent to Zolarian and Kanitian (K9 people, dogs) lore, and generally speaking her character stays the same.

TLDR without spoiling too much, the Space Age Bachelor man is sent to Cataris by the main Zolarian leaders for information and bla bla bla Nefrititi is kind of suspicious of the SABM because he’s this weird alien human guy so she’s kind of racist/xenophobic to him because she’s heard bad things about humans but after a few games and trials to like prove his worth and stuff they become friends and SABM gets aaaalll the info he needs :3

Sorry to like super duper ramble and stuff but like WOAWHWH I love this question SOOO MUCH THANK UUU !!!! 🐾🐾🐾🐾 I hope that answers everything there!

[ratsoh-writes]

Hey y’all! Say hello to

Ebott~

Or at least the first wip of the ebott map! I have all the main (above ground) locations so far!

For those who are wondering, dark brown is rocky hilly land/cliff sides, rusty brown is mountain ranges, khaki is grassland, green is forest, and light tan is beaches obviously lol. I don’t think I need to say what the blue areas represent.

I’ll add descriptions of each landmark below the next picture.

Alright starting from left to right:

Atlantis: home of the hadal monsters, the majority of this city is underwater, but some of it is accessible through the cliffs of bluefin island as well as floating buildings anchored to the shallower ocean around the island. The majority of Atlantis city houses its people in the curved section of the ocean trench by bluefin island. The buildings are carved into the rock.

Seashore: ebotts second largest beach town, seashore is a beautiful place where the majority of ebotts fishing trade takes place. It’s a popular vacation spot more for ebotts residents, but it does get some tourism too during holiday season.

Echo hills: the southernmost city of ebott, echo hills is a small city surrounded by grassy farmland. Due to the location, the place is raining more than not, and is perfect for crops that need lots of water! Echo hills is best known for its rice, producing just enough to sustain ebott.

Remembrance: located to the west on wells island, remembrance town houses one of the maintained entrances to the connected underground’s. It is also the point where the famine monsters were found and rescued. Here the royals placed the memorial of those left behind. Massive stone statues carved all over with the names of family who died underground or were left behind in the crash surround the caves entrance. A small town of monsters maintain the area, and some livestock are raised there as well.

The great dam: exactly what the name suggests, it’s just ebotts biggest dam. It’s part of the national forest so only a handful of maintenance workers and rangers actually live there. The dam is connected to waterfall lake.

The national forest entrance: this is the official way to see the national park, and access the maintained trails. Most of the park rangers live near here as well. There’s a small tourist trap too selling gift items, and farther up is a hunting lodge that opens during open season.

The Temple: located right in the middle of ebott, the actual temple building sits on top of three large mountains near kidney lake. The temple houses ebotts history and is a popular tourist spot. It also houses one of the maintained entrances to the underground, connected to some of the upper levels of waterfall.

NEW EBOTT: the largest city of ebott, and the capital of the county. New ebott has it all! The education, entertainment, shopping and jobs! And of course all the important big government buildings are here as well as most of the royals! New ebott is the only city connected to all the railroads and has the largest airport.

Rails Way: a city surrounding an important train stop, rails way is the in between rest stop between Portland and new ebott. Besides the trains passing through, it also is where trucks in ebott are made and fixed for the most part. There’s a few other factories in the city as well, like a few metal processing plants.

Metta Land: north to new ebott, this is basically a theme park, mega mall, and Hollywood all rolled into one spot. Metta land is so big that there’s even a few villages around it where its employees live. It also houses the only man/monster made entrance to the underground, going straight to hotland of course. What happens in metta land stays in metta land

Portland: this is the second biggest city of ebott located on the east. Almost all trade ships stop here. Portland is a bustling business city full of factories, and has a few houses of education too! It also houses most of ebotts navy and has the second largest airport.

Cape resort: located on the southern rocky cliffs, cape resort is in fact not a resort. It’s rocky, cold and generally horrible to live in if you’re not an aquatic monster lol. However it has an oil rig. Lots of hadal and sea monsters live there maintaining that oil rig.

New hope: new hope is a beautiful mountain town housing the entrance to snowdin, the largest entrance to the underground. It gets the largest amount of tourists year round and is a popular ski location during the winters as well. The parts of new hope that aren’t for tourists are mostly farmland or forests put aside for logging. Plenty of vineyards are in this area

Ridgeside factory: Ridgeside factory is ebotts main power plant and is directly connected to the core in hotland as well. It’s surrounded by a few villages too where more outdoorsy monsters live. Those who don’t work at the factory are either from hotland or are miners. The mountains in the area are littered with natural caverns being used as mine entrances

Golden valley city: the golden valley refers to the surrounding farmland, but in the very middle of it is the golden valley city. It is a rural type of place, is where the majority of ebotts produce passes through before being sold, and is a huge art center of the country. Just about everything above ground is grown in the valley surrounding the city.

Steeler city, the third largest city of ebott, steeler is where golden valley ships their produce to be preserved and spread around the rest of the country. Steeler is full of factories and restaurants. The most famous eating places of ebott are located here!

Crimson gate bridge: it’s a massive bridge named after the Golden Gate Bridge in California. This bridge is actually a sunny gold color, but they named it crimson in fear of being called copycats

Corncopia: a third farming community located between the split between white water river, ebotts biggest river. Corncopia is absolutely gorgeous but space is limited so it’s a fight to get any land there. The prime spots are taken by the rich for their homes or by the big wig farmers who cemented their place when the country was first forming

Not listed on the map is the underground! Ebott still has all the underground chambers from when the monsters were sealed away. New entrances to the underground are being discovered each day, and still plenty of monsters live there, preferring the comfort of a home they knew from before. Since there no longer trapped inside, the underground has become pretty comfortable. At least the discovered parts are ;)

I’ll describe the three main areas from smallest to largest

Hotland: hotland is really only a small thin chunk of the underground. A long but thin lake of lava surrounded by rocky chambers makes up the areas of hotland. The most popular spot of course is hotland city, connected to metta land, it’s pretty much the Vegas of ebott these days. The less visited spot, core, is a small town housing the core, connected to Ridgeside factory, and housing several research centers.

Snowdin. Snowdin is actual just the name of the small quaint town close to the underground entrance in new hope. They have year round skiing, and a pretty boat ride through waterfall straight to hotland for tourists. The outskirts of snowdin however have several villages filled with farmers growing magical crops that thrive in the cold temperatures.

Waterfall: it’s estimated that nearly 80% of the underground chambers are waterfall lands. Humid, cool but not frigid, and filled with varying levels of fresh and salt water, waterfall is underneath the majority of ebott, and even extends into the ocean some. Almost all of ebotts magical crops are grown down in the lived in parts of waterfall. It’s because of this area that ebott is self sufficient in feeding its people. Waterfall also houses the fourth and fifth largest cities of ebott; New Shell and Lily pad Fields.

Whew! That was a lot! I’ll probably add more to the map later on, but I think this is good for now

[amiiancasselmanyet]

Fix Me is a Mid 2000's Classic, You're Just Not From Canada

before I start this essay series, I would like to clarify that this is NOT a series of reviews but just me genuinely expressing my feelings I have towards the albums in question because I’m a highschool dropout…bon appetite or whatever

also tw for eating disorders, self harm, general mental illness and addiction but this is fix me, you probably knew that

When most people think about early to mid 2000s rock albums that became staples and bands that became household names, there's a few that genuinely come to mind. Let’s get the “emo trinity” out of the way; From Under The Cork Tree was Fall Out Boys sophomore album from 2005 that is still widely loved for good reason. The songs are good and the lyrics hit when you least expect it. Every. Single. Time. Then, of course, we have The Black Parade. I cannot express my love of this album enough, it is quite literally my all time favorite and while Three Cheers has a more solid concept (man kills other men to try and get his lover back, homosexual antics ensues), there's a reason it’s arguably their most well known and beloved by the kids who used to bully you in middle school. Of course we have A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out coming in right after this, there’s not much I can say since this album truly deserves it’s own essay that I won't manage to write (Ryan Ross please come back the kids and I miss you) but, like the other albums, it's a STAPLE at Emo Nites and Emo Nite knockoffs (shout out to Sneaky Dees in Toronto). There is, however, an album among them that's a hidden gem due to the fact that . Fix Me was the debut studio album from Marianas Trench, arriving in 2006. This album stands out from the others in a lot of ways, its sound, its vulnerability and its general lack of a concept. This album was a shot in the dark and a testament to taking chances. Let's talk about it. 

If you’re even a little bit familiar with Marianas Trench (you definitely are because you are on a blog dedicated to the drummer, my beloved bias Ian Casselman), the sound you’re used to most likely isn’t here. This album is gritty, it’s production is grungy. When you look at the other albums at face value, it stands out as nothing like the rest. If you dig deeper, however, you realize that this album truly was the foundation of what was to come. The guitar heavy sound continues throughout the discography, even if it feels less clean than its successors. It adds to the aggression a lot of the songs have, it makes the lyrics hit harder. It was too rock for the pop charts but too pop for the rock charts.(I’m pretty sure Josh said that but this thing isn’t getting a bibliography, this is a more sophisticated shit post on a blog that, again, focuses on the silly drummer with mutton chops) While the sound is incredible, the true core of the album lies in its vulnerability.

Fix Me is essentially an auditory diary, with each track feeling like a new entry. There are themes focusing on the actual struggles Josh Ramsay dealt with at the time. There’s a lot about addiction (specifically heroin), self harm, eating disorders (specifically bulimia) and general depression. It's angsty. It's difficult  to hear at times. You're not supposed to get personal during essays but this is literally on a blog where I refer to the followers as “casselman nation”, it’s a lawless land and fuck you I’ll do what I want. This album, at its core, felt like it was almost a diary entry from a younger me. 

14 year old me was very different from the current me, I had a different name entirely, a different outlook on life and a lot of things that shaped me today had not happened yet. I was unmedicated and everyone else's problem. If you ever scroll down on the personal tag of my main (you WILL NOT, you DO NOT need to see my digital footprint and angst), you'll notice that there's a lot of themes on this album that pertained to me at that time. I was VERY depressed, undiagnosed bipolar 2, bulimic and…doing things in school bathrooms I shouldn't have with items from my art class I shouldn't have had access to in that state (not going to elaborate, I’m sure you get where I’m going). When you deal with those things head on, you tend to, from experience, seek out public figures, whether it be musicians or celebrities or youtubers (shout out to Dan and Phil lmao) who have similar experiences that you had. For me, a big one from the get go was Marianas Trench. There’s something oddly comforting in not only knowing you’re not only alone but that you’re ALSO going to survive. I truly wish I was able to hug 14 year old me but I also know that they’d be proud that I DIDN’T do the thing I wanted to do before I turned 17.

There’s another reason Fix Me is truly removed from other albums and it truly feels like the biggest component; there's no concept. Fix Me has its own identity but it's not through a story or through successful singles, it's through the fact that it has none of it. It shines through its simplicity, its impact is through the way it can stand alone. It’s an album by the band that could be, and should be at times, put on shuffle. It’s an album where you can pick any song, off the top of your head, and listen to it when you’re feeling angry or sad or full of unbridled angst. Sure, you CAN listen to other songs on other albums one at a time, Masterpiece Theatre is the first on I can think of off the top of my head, however, would you want to? Would you want to listen to The End of An Era and have it followed up with a song like This Means War? It 100% kills the immersive nature that the band has carefully crafted over the last 20 years. (yes they’ve been a band that long considering the fix me bsides are from 2001, yes it makes me feel geriatric) I think the biggest reason that it personally hits every mark imaginable for a grungy punk record is the fact that there is no secret meaning hidden in each song, its open and honest from the get go. It’s raw, real and does exactly what it needs to do.

Through its sound, its ability to be honest and vulnerable in its writing and the easily accessible material, it's a staple. Shake Tramp belongs in an Emo Nite just as much as something like Sugar We’re Going Down and more than Welcome to the Black Parade (I love that song but it doesn’t fit the vibe as well as House of Wolves or The Sharpest Lives, Emo Nite is just catering to the normies and preps). Decided to Break Its video should be as beloved as I Write Sins Not Tragedies. Marianas Trench deserve their flowers for being such a staple in the lives of canadian teens who are struggling, the adults who want to comfort their inner teen selves and those who, in general, are feeling small.

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Are any of Sarge and Elaine’s kids as beloved in the nation as Elvis was during his time? Do any of them particularly want to be in the spotlight, now we know Marie is a famous photographer and Daisy is an entertainer. I just think that the nationwide love Elvis brought out should be replicated in one (or more) of his kids because his impact is truly amazing.

2nd question, during the divorce Elaine gets pregnant? What’s the public backlash for that? Can’t even imagine them being kind to her.

Ooooh, how fun is this ask?! 😍Especially as the answer is two in one, just like the question. First off, meet Mr. Danny Presley:

Yes, yes I went and made it a little odd yet sweet by using darling John John Kennedy’s face, BUT HEAR ME OUT

1. I adore that man and he needs a fix it fic himself and in this universe we can start from scratch a bit, 2. I just always envisioned their last son being a distinguished darling of the nation in a political capacity, 3. he’s just terribly handsome and well…distinguished, I’ll use that again and has the down to earth goodness along with the charismatic gravitas that suits my vision for Danny.

Which leads us to those questions.

Oh the backlash is nasty. It’s awful as expected but for the first time in her life, Elaine Presley, though divorced and perhaps unforgivable for it by her husband, actually has Elvis’ full support under the media glare. This is thanks, in part, to Colonel Parker and his damned tabloid machine -which was always her nemesis and the bane of her dignity- being out of service due to the Colonel himself being neck deep in an immigration lawsuit. He can’t quite issue spoon fed statements about his investment’s behavior from a holding cell, not when the investment himself is rethinking his place as the head of his family while curled up in his ex-wife’s hospital bed talking to her barely protruding belly.

And Danny, oh sweet, their lovely Danny Boy. Made in the middle of such tragedy, you’d never know it from his easy presence and boyish charm, the way from the minute he can interact during Elvis’ later international tours he treats his Daddy’s fans like his own. He’s the one in the late 80’s and 90’s still passing out smooches to admirers, young and old, who still flock around the gate. He’s the one who gets invested in Memphian politics and continuing on what America got robbed of somewhere along the way. He marries Shiloh’s best friend Bee and he wins the senatorship, he’s straight and honest as they come… unless you wanna press an inquiry about some of those badges he gets his daddy. But no harm in those.

He coulda been known as the kid made when the two crazy Presley’s couldn’t stop hate-fucking. Instead he’s a recalled as a unifying legacy to everyone who ever dreamed about love enduring and good people making efforts to live for something bigger than themselves.

If it’s true you attract the love you give, then Danny’s his daddy’s replica to a T, and maybe it helps that they share a birthday. 😉

…the whole saga of him being made and the divorce and the reasoning and the reconciliation will be coming soon, I swear

As for the others, you have Daisy who is a significant performer in her own right and certainly a bit of a fame enjoyer, there’s Jesse who is similarly acclaimed but not as lead, and you’ve got Marie who as a photographer and filmmaker might be more of a artsy success but as far and household name and universal admiration and fondness as was felt for Elvis -I see that being Danny. Your Grandpa and your lil sister both think he’s pretty fly.

[planktonlesbian]

Why Funny Valentine would make the best US president a post.

⚠️ This post contains spoilers for part 7 of JoJos bizzare adventure ⚠️

Funny Valentine would make the best US president if he was real. I will prove my claim using irrefutable evidence I have carefully collected and coagulated into this very text.

Part 1: Love for his country

Funny Valentine throughout steel ball run is shown to be a lover of the United States. He only wants the best for his republic and is willing to go to extreme measures for what he sees as vital to the success of his nation no matter the risk.

Funny Valentine goes through the trouble of setting up an expensive race costing millions of dollars of which 1.5 million USD is given as a prise to the victors (which is 1.5 million USD in 1890 adjusted for inflation)

However many forget that the Steel Ball Run Race expenses were not only it's prise money but also the extensive amount of resources needed to carry out the six month long journey across an entire continent. This is an unfathomable amount of money far exceeding the prise money by an amount I don't even think I have the time to calculate.

But do you know who did have time to calculate the race funds? That's right, the Valentine administration. Yes other parties were involved however the race was also funded by the US government. This task requires hours upon hours of time effort and dedication to prepare. Something most if not all other politicians would never think of doing.

The race brought tourism to the growing US economy. It was a monumental success not just on a national level but also an international level.

Valentine is very vocal about his love for his nation and he will do anything to see his nation flourish.

"As President, it is my sworn duty! In this world, to guarantee the safety of the people of my country. That is what it all comes down to!"

Valentine says this quote as he is in the middle of a fight to the death with a gay Italian cowboy. I highly doubt that any other US president would ever consider fighting a gay Italian cowboy to the death in order to guarantee the safety of his nation. His dedication truly is something we should all admire.

Part 2: Outlook on the world

Funny Valentine is a man of consistency. He is always wearing the same outfit. His coat, pants, shirt and gloves are formal and stylish. His image is unforgettable. His iconic pink coat matched with his lush curled hair gives him the fruity look we need from a president.

Funny Valentine will always take the napkin first. He acts first and has others follow suit. This is an admirable trait. Can you name any other president that is or has taken swift action to benefit their country. No, only president Valentine has the guts to act first. He isn't slow and he isn't a fool. He is a man of action.

Valentine is often seen overlooking situations silently observing. He is planning and cunning. All of his moves are calculated and carried out with pin point precision. He takes the time he needs to ponder and think. Yet he is never indecisive. His philosophy can guide his nation to the prosperous society it deserves.

Part 3: A man of the people

Funny Valentine is a charismatic and charming leader. His ability to stir up a crowd and influence those around him in a positive way are unmatched by all other political leaders past and present.

He is excellent at violinist. He enjoys parties and drinks. He understands the layman. He himself suffered through war and torture at a young age. Yet he never regretted any of it. He understands everyone and their needs. And that's why he would do anything to serve his nation.

"I have feelings of patriotism. Every action I have performed was because I judged it to be absolutely necessary for this country's sake."

He would do anything for his nation. Even going out of his way to fight a gay cowboy from Kentucky and his gay Italian boyfriend.

Thank you for reading! Just to clarify this entire post is a joke I don't actually believe this I just thought it would be a funny idea for a post.

[melanieph321]

Pedri x Black Reader - Our Secret Part 1/10

I realized when I read it through that is giving High School Musical 😅😅🤣

Hopefully I can put my own twist on it.

Enjoy!

The story of Marcella and Pedri. As students of the most prestigious high schools in the country, the two are very focused on developimg their indvidual talents. Marcella has music whilst Pedri has football, however, worlds collide when Pedri's secret is revealed, he has diabetes.

Enjoy!

How are you considered talented in a school where everyone was talented? Marcella asked herself this question everyday.

Estudios Filántropos. I mean the proof was in the pudding. She attended one of the most prestigious high schools in the country. A school made by the nation's philanthropists, for the nation's future philanthropists. An evil circle to begin with.

"Watch out!"

Marcella questioned her many talents, which predominantly involved musicial instruments, as they did not help her avoid the jungle that others referred to as: the school parking lot.

"Ouch." She groaned, as a football bounced off the top her head then slapped away the pile of sheet music in her hands.

"Forgive me." The boy said, as he rushed to help her collect the papers that were still falling from the sky.

"Thanks alot Gavi." Marcella groaned. "It's not like I worked all night on those."

"All night?" The boy frowned. He was her known classmate, mostly know for being annoying, but also known for being a very talented football player. "This doesn't even look finished." He said, tilting his head to the side.

"What do you know?" She hissed and snatched back the papers that he had collected. He was right though. You didn't need talent to see that Marcella was carrying unfinished work. Work that would stay unfinished if the teachers at her school didn't stop asking for perfection from their students.

"Pablo! Haven't I tought you better ways to hit on a woman than actually hitting her?"

A shadow was casted over the ground which Marcella and Gavi were collecting the remains of her homework. She stood on all fours, tilting her head up only to be met with the most taunting smile.

"I wasn't hitting on her, you know that Pedri." Gavi chuckled getting up from the ground, ditching Marcella for his friend.

"No? What were you doing then, helping her hand out flyers?"

She snorted at his arrogance.

"Something like that." Gavi said. "I think it's those papers you play music from."

"It's called sheet music, dumbo." Marcella muttered from below. Most of the sheets were gone with the wind anyway and would probably stay gone. Gavi's friend knelt down beside her. "Need a hand?"

"No." She mumbled, throwing one appalling glance at his outstretched hand.

"Come on Marcella, everyone needs a hand."

She paused. "How do you know my name?" The boy was a senior, know as Pedri Gonzalez, the captain of the football team. He was also known to have many wannabes', like Pablo Gavira, idolizing every breath he took, wanting to be just like him.

"Marcella, no?" Her name rolled of his tounge with ease. Unlike when Gavi said her name with that juvenile squeal that haunted his pubescent voice. Pedri's voice was steady, like a man's. "You're the singer, no?"

How did he know?

"You sang the national athem during the school cup final last year, didn't you?"

"Um, yeah. That was me." It wasn't the performance of her life. However, Marcella was honored that her music teacher had picked her to sing the national athem and not her classmates.

"Yeah, I remember." Gavi snorted. "Your voice cracked in the end, didn't it Marcy?"

"Don't call me that!" She shot up from the ground with unknown help from Pedri who let go of her hand as she marched up to Gavi. Marcella had known him since kindergarten, he was also her neighbor, a pain in the ass at that too.

"Little Marcy, always so clumsy." Gavi said, teasing her in that way that he knew many kids did in middle school. Back then Marcella was known for being clumsy because of the many instruments that she had to carry to and from school. A time  before she got accepted to Estudios Filántropos, that would eventually house all of the instruments that she needed.

"Marcy, Marcy, clumsy little Marcy."

"Gavi, if you don't shut your mouth right now......"

"Oooh, a threat." He taunted, to his friends amusement. Pedri seemed to enjoy the torment that he put Marcella through. That is, until a large Range Rover pulled up to the carpool lane. The door opened and a red bottom heel stepped out of the vehicle.

"Pedri don't just stand there, help me down." A determined voice said, to which Pedri immediately responded by walking over to the car. Another high heel stepped down from the vehicle, revealing the body of a housewife in the making. Although Rosie was more than gifted in mathematics, her true talent had to do with how she got every guy on campus to cater to her every need, despite already having rich parents that did just that. "Ugh, it's such an awful day." She complained, and moved to put on the sun glasses that sat on top of her black haired head.

"What are you talking about? The sun is shining." Gavi said, squinting his eyes at the light.

Rosie and Pedri approach, their hands intertwined. "Yes, but I hate the sun." She said.

"Who hates the sun?" Gavi chuckled.

"Someone who's dad owns a taning bed empire, duh."

Marcella chuckled at that, as she found it funny. A mistake, since it drew unwanted attention back to her.

"Marisol?"

"It's Marcella." Pedri coughed. They were boyfriend and girlfriend, following rumors that the two hooked up last summer. Every guy on the football team wanted to hook up with Rosie, it only made sense that she settle for the captain.

"Right, Marcella. You sang the national athem last year, at the cup final, no?" She looked to Pedri for reassurance. He nodded. "It was so good. You were so good." She smiled. A spiteful smile that Marcella imagined a snake would have if they turned human. "Not many people would have gone on singing after their voice cracked. You're honestly so brave for that."

"Ros." Pedri sighed. Gavi on the other hand slapped a hand against his mouth to hold his laughter.

Marcella crumbled before them.

"What's so funny?" Rosie said, looking genuinely confused. "It was a really good recovery, we almost didn't notice that her voice cracked, didn't we baby?"

"I noticed." Gavi laughed.

Marcella rolled her eyes at him, ready for the sun to burn out and extinguished everything man has come to know as life.

"I'm sorry." Pedri said.

Marcella collected the last of her things, ready to continue towards the school building. "Whatever, I'm late for class." She, muttered and hustled away as not to be late. It was indeed another day at Estudios Filántropos. When would things ever change?