#by the time it gets cold enough for beanies to do anything other than just take up space

[tj-crochets]

I set out to do some unpacking today after I finished the quilt and in one of the boxes I found a skein of yarn and I got distracted from unpacking and knit another beanie

[eseongsubs]

PDA | Lee Heeseung

word count: 1,078

format: drabble

a/n: I gave into those ugly fanfiction tumblr headers you guys…i’m so sorry to be assaulting your eyes with this basicness. I will be learning how to make headers for my series’ and plotted stories so you don’t have to stare at these nuisances. Anyway, I decided to start writing when I had an idea rather than when I want because I have the goal of being a more productive writer. I didn’t even want to write this, but I forced myself to because I know that sub!idol tumbler is sorrowfully dry, so. Enjoy. If you’ve got any requests or thirsts i will answer them. Like i said. I’m “Inspired.”

note: reader’s gender is not stated, implicitly or explicitly.

warnings: explicit cumshot, public blowjob…, sub!heeseung, dom!reader, uhmm thats it honestly.

Heeseung is not a “bad boy” by any means. Specifically, blowjobs in public have never been Lee's forte. He paints his nails black, sometimes, and he likes to wear a dark graphic tee with a silver chain every now and then, but, thats because it looks cool. And you always teased him for his sense of grandeur. No, Heeseung was a thoughtful man with a particular kindness and generosity that one can only learn. He doesn't have the guts, really, to be a “bad boy,” do the things "bad boys" do, only the foresight to be a well behaved one. He likes rewards, he likes praise, and he enjoys positive reinforcement. Negative talk makes him respond negatively, like a sorrowful golden pothos house plant. He needs sweet talk to keep him green and flourishing.

With that being said, today was an interesting mix of occurences that lead to your contemporary circumstances. 

You like the way that Heeseung’s long dancer legs tremble under your palms as you steady him, keeping him afloat amid the rolling waves of pleasure threatening him to collapse to the tiled restroom floor. His black skinny jeans slide down toward mid thigh, in a way that forces Hee to rear his butt off the bathroom wall, his dick in your awaiting mouth. It wasn’t tireless work, but rather a spur-of-the-moment decision you made out of your own curious lust. An inquisitive test to see just how much your boyfriend would let you get away with. 

“Ooh…” A curling pout expresses your heeseung’s pleasure across his face, as wobbly in stature as his thighs are, trying to hold his composure steady for you, not alert any outside passersby as to what was occurring inside this little single-person family bathroom. “Feels…feels really good” Heeseung concedes, his pink nose from the cold winter temperatures sniveling, his beanie slipping off toward the left direction of his head – your right – revealing the fluffy and mussed black shimmer of his hair. His praise is unprompted, so you smile, pulling off of his shaft and stroking it with an entire glove-clad palm. Hee’s hips twitch upward. 

“Why thank you, sweetheart. That’s so nice.” The ennuncuiation of your last two words was devastatingly intentional. Heeseung’s whole body shudders. He loves to feel like a sweet man for you. The praise sinks in deep to his skin, like a needle. You lave your tongue over his tip again, not taking him fully into your mouth this time just to watch him squirm, build up the peak in his balls already beginning to squeeze to completion. 

Like you said, Heeseung wasn’t one for public…service. He was too respectful, and a bit too believing in the rhetoric of “obedience in advance.” Conform to the wants of others, or any institution, and you will escape punishment, if you’re good enough. Unfortunately, that logic wasn’t real. Not with you, when you punish Heeseung for your own enjoyment, twisting his actions and behaviours into an excuse to watch him squirm under your cruelty, and not with the law either. But today, your boyfriend had been a bit too caught up in your lips, and pathetically eager to please. He followed your word like Mogli under the trance of that snake, in Jungle Book. Yes master, no master, I’ll do anything you say, master. Quite the perfect storm. 

“Oh– ngh…Oh! N-no, no…” you ignored Heeseung’s mutterings to himself. His head, shifting back-and-forth, pushing his hat further off of his head. His obedient hands, attempting with fail to grip onto the tile walls, squeezing into defeated fists. Your lips wrap about his tip, finally, sucking with little force, before sliding down his cock further and driving gratified whimpers from your Hee’s mouth. Whimpers that interrupt the low mewls he has already been unable to cage away. You push-and-pull your tongue on the underside of his cock with each stroke. One of Heeseung’s hands tug at the fingers of your right arm, interlacing yours with his as a surprised moan slips from you, replaced with a satisfied hum. Not a “bad boy” bone in his polite body. 

Another surprise sneaks up on you as Heeseung whispers, trying his absolute best not to shout. “I’m cumming!” Hee weeps, grabbing your hair with his second unoccupied hand as his pleasure converges into a delightful sight, yanking you off of his dick. First, his stomach tenses, then his balls, then the abused tip of his cock throbs as he releases string after string across the bathroom floor, your hair, cheeks, nose, and lips. Some even lands on your eyelashes, as his grippable hips surge forward in a euphoric blaze. Heeseung’s eyes don’t squeeze shut all the way, just into pretty little crescents, so he can watch with effort as he showers you in his release. You, on your knees, before him. “Oh god, I’m cumming…” he pules weakly again, his final droplets of spunk dripping from his defiled tip. You grin again. 

“Couldn’t wait?” you inquire, Heeseung’s head fallen completely forward as his muscles spasm, still swimming in pleasure and the aftermath of it. His beanie makes the quietest, softest plat as it hits the ground, like a sewing needle hitting the floor makes a soft clang. 

“I’m so sorry” Heeseung’s hand holding yours shakes in your embrace, his other hand relenting its hold on your hair. “I didn’t…I didn’t want to cum in your mouth without permission.”

You ignore, of course, that he could have subsided from cumming at all without permission. But, Heeseung didn’t like to cum in public, so, you decided it could be his reward. 

“Don’t be sorry, baby. You did a really good job.” Your lips meet Hee’s knee with a smooch, patting your mark with a frsiky grin. “Now lets get me cleaned up.” 

[humanpurposes]

I would love to suggest more than request this: 020. jamming out to a christmas song, and inflicting the pain of holiday songs on someone else

With Billy Washington. Like post events of TP and he’s healing. Happy even. Boy deserves some light.

Thank you for the request! This turned out quite bittersweet I think, I was listening to Phoebe Bridger's Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas and it sort of flowed from there 🌫️

A Sad Christmas Song

Billy Washington x reader

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of trauma, depression, yk the drill with Billy Wash

A/n: Not as sad as it sounds, I promise :)

Main Masterlist // Christmas Masterlist

A gentle Christmas song drifts through the speaker on the coffee table. You’re on the sofa sipping from a mug of tea just so you have something to do. Billy texted you half an hour ago to say he was on the way home. You’re waiting for the familiar sound of his key unlocking the door.

You’re about to check your phones when it comes. You turn towards the door as Billy walks in wrapped up in a black jacket over his suit and the red beanie you’d bought for him after he complained that the weather was getting too cold. He looks at you across the room. He’s frowning.

“Oh, Billy,” you say.

He can’t even say how the interview went, he just presses his lips together and unzips his jacket with his head hanging. 

You’ve been watching this unfold for months. He’s sent out ten job applications since Halloween and for the most part he’s heard nothing back but rejection emails, that is if they bother to say anything at all. Where’s the dignity in being ghosted by a corporation? But this was the one place that didn’t shut him down, the first place that had given him an interview. He had been nervous when he left this morning, but he wanted it, really wanted it. 

Back in September, you’d noticed a new barista working in the cafe opposite your office building. He was tall, with overgrown dirty blond hair, with these beautiful wide eyes and a coy little smile every time he took your order. The coffee was terrible, bless him, but he was cute enough that you kept coming back.

You’d talk over the counter when it was quiet sometimes. His name was Billy, originally from Nottingham, which you’d guessed by the midlands accent, but he’d moved to London with his family when he was a teenager. Working in a cafe had never been a career goal for him.

“So what is?” you had asked.

Billy looked utterly lost, but he tried to laugh it off. “I’m still figuring that out.”

There was a lot he was figuring out. He was in therapy after a close encounter with a bomb that had been planted in his own car. “My fault,” he said. He’d gotten himself involved with something he shouldn’t have that summer. Naturally you were skeptical. It was hard for him to talk about it, you could tell, and the last thing you wanted to do was push him. He said he was leaving that behind him, that talking through it with the therapist was helping, and his sister was offering some much needed perspective.

Then there was the ex-girlfriend; he didn’t want to tell you her name which you were sort of thankful for. “My fault again.” He seemed to think a lot of things were his fault. Things had been tough after the bomb scare. It was months before he could get himself into a car, and every time he did he would have to check the glove box. He woke up with nightmares most nights, shaking, sweating, crying. Eventually it became too much for the ex-girlfriend to deal with and once she’d moved out he was struggling to cover his rent. He said he would have lost the place if his sister hadn’t helped him out with the payments. 

Time went on. Billy got better at making coffee– as long as it was americanos and iced lattes– and after dropping a few hints that went completely over his head you finally bit the bullet and asked him for a drink.

You’d been seeing each other for a month when your own contract was up on your flat. It felt a bit fast but you figured you had nothing to lose. Move in with me.

You’re both still finding your feet in this new place, a cramped little one bedroom flat north of King’s Cross. You’ve done your best to decorate it for Christmas, fairy lights, candles and a little Christmas tree in the window. There are all sorts of things you want to do, host a dinner party, finally learn to bake gingerbread and it comes with the excitement of it being your first Christmas with Billy. It’s just a shame the job hunting has been casting a shadow over the season, even though you can tell Billy’s trying not to let it get in the way.

He mutters something under his breath, hangs his jacket up and slips his shoes off, but is less forgiving to the suit jacket and his tie, tossing them over the arm of the sofa. He tugs at his shirt collar before tearing the top few buttons undone and ruffles his hair with one hand. 

“I just feel…” his voice is quiet and thick. He collapses on the sofa beside you, arm instinctively draping around your shoulders as you curl into him, running your hand over his stomach, over the soft fabric of his shirt. His body is more than warm, the heat kept in by his jacket. His aftershave has mostly disappeared, he smells like himself and you can’t get close enough to him.

“Feel what?” you ask.

“God, I feel so stupid.”

You angle your head to look at him, ear pressed against his chest, over his heart. “You’re not stupid, Billy.”

“I panicked though. They were asking all these questions and I was stuttering like an idiot.”

“You’re allowed to make mistakes, and you’ll get better with practice.”

“What if I don’t get better? What if I…”

It breaks your heart to see those blue eyes glistening with tears. 

You sit up properly, legs tucked under yourself. You take Billy’s face in your hands, his cheeks rough with golden stubble. And a sad Christmas song drifts through the speaker. 

You’ll never get used to how dark it gets in the winter. It’s not even five o’clock and it could be midnight outside. Coloured lights flash from the street, through the open curtains; Christmas lights; shop signs; traffic lights. The room flickers with golden lights from the tree, the candles on the side table. Billy’s face is bathed in warmth and shadows.

You kiss him delicately, letting your lips linger against his as you take a breath.

He pulls you onto his lap by your hips, wide hands stroking along the curve of your waist. 

“You’re doing better everyday, I see it, Bill.”

He nods his head unsurely, like he’s trying to convince himself it’s true. “I’m trying,”

“And that’s all you can do. Something will work out, you’ll see.”

Looking into his eyes still strikes your heart like electricity. They’re wide and pleading. He leans up to kiss you again, keeping you close to him with a hand in your hair. Your hands fall against his chest, fingertips settling at the opening of his shirt. It doesn’t feel close enough. You slip your hands underneath the fabric to feel his skin and the edge of his silver chain.

Then he starts to smile.

“What?” you ask, holding back a grin of your own. You love the way Billy smiles, the way his lips curl and his eyes light up. It’s imperfect and charming and so infectious.

The sad song has ended. An upbeat, synthy melody appears next on the playlist, a song you’ve loved for so many Christmases.

“I’m just happy,” he says, “and I’m sorry if I don’t seem it.”

Your heart sinks and lifts, lurching between aching and an overwhelming urge to take him into your arms and never ever let him go.

You take one of his hands and kiss his knuckles. “You don’t need to apologise to me.”

“Sorry– fuck,” you both giggle to each other. “No, but I know it’s hard to put up with me.”

“Billy, that’s not your fault.”

He settles his hand against your cheek, keeping his thumb at the corner of your lips. “There were times this year where I thought… I couldn’t picture myself being happy again. And I’m so glad that’s been proved wrong.”

No taglist, follow @ficsbygee and turn on post notifs for updates!

[seivsite]

PICTURE-PERFECT CONFESSION.

prompt : being asked to take photos of them and of course they accept, but they can’t seem to focus properly.

includes: blade x gn!reader. mentions of reader wearing lipstick, modern au, friends to lovers, reader’s shorter than bladie, he’s a simp, and a loser, my loser, one kiss — wc: 806

As the sun blared through the windows, you couldn’t help but rest your head on your desk. These morning classes were killing you. The only pleasant thing that could have happened today was Blade chasing Jing Yuan over a book he stole.

There was something about the book being precious and secretive, but you didn’t care much.

Suddenly, someone tapped the top of your head, breaking you out of your trance.

“Wakey, wakey, sweetheart, time to get up~” A sweet, melodious voice said, patting your head gently, as if trying to rouse you.

“I am awake, Kafka,” you replied, finally sitting up straight. “Anything to do after this?” you inquired, tidying your clothes and belongings and then putting them in your bag.

“Not much. Silverwolf wanted to go to the arcade again, something about a new game,” Kafka said, watching you stand up from your seat.

“Alright, let’s just go meet with her.”

The two of you walked in unison, chatting about each other’s day. Silverwolf waved you over when she saw the two of you exit the building.

“Over here!” Silverwolf shouted, waving at the two of you.

“Took you long enough. I even got myself a milkshake,” she complained, sipping the cold beverage.

“Sorry, darling, this sweetheart was lost in thought again,” Kafka nudged you teasingly.

You rolled your eyes before moving on to Blade, who was standing behind Silverwolf with his sunglasses and beanie on. While Kafka and Silverwolf conversed, you quietly approached him.

“Hey, want to ditch and go get some coffee or something?” You whispered in his ear, tiptoeing a bit to match his height.

With how close you were and your breath in his ear, Blade couldn’t seem to stop the blush from creeping onto his face. Turning his head to the side to avoid your eyes, “Ahem, sure, if they don’t mind.”

“Hey Silverwolf, you don’t mind if Bladie and I ditch for today? I just remembered I have some stuff I need to buy,” you said, conjuring a semi-truth on the spot.

“Eh..? But you promised to play with me...” she complained, a small pout on her lips.

“Next time, I promise. Gotta fly~!” you said, sheepishly grabbing onto Blade’s hand and dragging him away.

You savoured the café’s desserts with evident delight, your soft hums of pleasure filling the air. Across the table, Blade propped his chin on his hand, his gaze drawn irresistibly to the alluring contours of your features – your captivating eyes, the cascade of your hair, and above all, your inviting lips that he yearned to taste.

“…Ade, Blade!” your voice pierced his reverie, snapping him back to reality.

He blinked, swiftly adjusting his posture. “Yes?” he responded, a hint of breathlessness in his voice.

“What’s gotten into you? I’ve been calling your name several times. Anyway, could you take a picture of me with this adorable kitten-shaped coffee?” With a playful smile, you handed him your phone.

“Of.. course,” he managed, taking your phone gingerly into his hand.

With utmost care, Blade positioned the phone to frame you perfectly at the centre — not too high, not too low, capturing the ideal angle. As he fumbled momentarily, his focus was suddenly ensnared by the enchanting curve of your lips, accentuated by your radiant smile.

SNAP!

After what seemed like an eternity of wordless admiration, he eventually managed to snap the perfect picture. To him, the moment felt like a mere blink, but to you, it was an entire minute of him fumbling and gazing without uttering a single word.

“Enjoying the view? I could send you the pic so you can savour it for the rest of the night~” you playfully teased, poking his bandaged hand.

“Hmph, as if,” he retorted, though a hint of bashfulness tinted his response.

Your smile grew, and you gracefully rose from your seat to settle next to him.

“Bladie~ Look here,” you coaxed.

“What—mph?!” He began to protest, only to be taken aback by the sudden warmth of your lips against his. You took the lead, skillfully cradling his neck, while he stood as rigid as a plank.

“You’re quite obvious, you know. It’s rather cute,” you whispered, punctuating your words with kisses on his flushed cheeks.

Blade remained wordless, ensnared in a trance as your mellifluous and soothing voice echoed through his thoughts, leaving his mind in a delightful whirl. You couldn’t help but giggle at his captivated state, indulging in one more cheeky kiss planted on his lips.

Slowly, he emerged from his daze, his fingertips gingerly grazing his lips and cheeks, as if to confirm the reality of the tender encounter.

“It’s indeed real, Bladie. I love you, loser.”

NOTE. ending is a bit… eh, not to my liking but it’s okay for now, i forgot to reply this to ur ask bff but here ya go 😭

TAG LIST. @yanqingisim

LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! ‹3

[wowbright]

Chapter 17: Supportive

Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU for december klaine fanworks challenge. Also on AO3.

Kurt arrived in Sochi in the middle of the night, exhausted from flight delays, air turbulence that shook him awake every time he’d just managed to fall asleep, and now the customs line from hell. At this rate, he'd be surprised if he got to the hotel before sunrise. The current hold-up was a media crew with cases and cases of equipment requiring a thorough poking and prodding by officials. Just Kurt’s luck, to end up behind these guys. People with that much luggage should have the courtesy to stand at the back of customs and let everyone else go through first. He scanned the luggage of the dozen or so parties between himself and the media crew and hoped against hope there was nothing interesting in their contents.

Kurt took a deep breath and reread the text from Blaine that had been awaiting him upon landing: Going to bed now so I guess I'll be asleep when you land. :( I miss you so much I’m stupid with it. xox

He smiled and texted back. Good morning, handsome. Landed safely. Can’t wait to see you. <3

Perhaps these kind of text messages weren't exactly what Sue had in mind when Kurt had promised not to be a distraction. But surely it would be even more distracting to Blaine if Kurt went cold. Not that Kurt could go cold if he wanted to.

“It’s a camera battery,” Kurt heard someone say in a familiar lilt. He looked to the front of the line.

Kurt cursed out loud. Fuck or shit or fuck me or fils de chien—he wasn't sure which one he'd said, only that a child who looked to be about eight years old (and was taking the whole standing-in-a-line-at-midnight thing with more aplomb than Kurt) stared at him with mouth and eyes wide open in shock.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Excuse-moi.” He turned away before the kid’s parent could stare at him too.

Nothing made sense. Kurt must be jetlagged and hallucinating. He'd heard of people having waking dreams when they were exhausted. Had reached that level of sleeplessness?

He shook his head and blinked. He looked front of the line again. Nope. It was real. Up at the head of the line, in one of his countless identical-except-in-color henleys and signature beanie, Adam Crawford was bickering with a customs agent.

This didn't make sense. It made absolutely no sense. Adam had moved back to England. Very dramatically, in fact, with a promise-threat that they would never see each other again as long as Adam had anything to do with it. Don't try to get in touch with me. I'm blocking you on social media. Don't ask my friends after me. I never want to see or hear from you again. Fuck, if I could keep you from seeing me on the telly, I would! Those had been, more or less, the last words Adam had spoken to Kurt. A slammed door had been involved, with a force strong enough to send the framed poster from Kurt’s production of Sweeney Todd careening to the floor.

So many fights. They had all started—or the last round of them had started—because Adam had been offered a job as a presenter for one of the big British TV shows (or maybe it was a small TV show on a big British network; Kurt never got clear on that amid all his willful avoidance of the topic). It wasn't a role on Downton Abbey, but Adam had resigned himself somewhere along the path of their acquaintance to the fact that he was better at lighthearted fare than drama, anyway. That’s why they wanted him as a presenter—because he was light and casual and funny in a non-challenging way and handsome without being threatening, which made him simultaneously someone to admire and someone viewers could imagine sharing a pint with at the pub. And being a presenter on one show could lead to being a presenter on another show, and, “Kurt, this is the break I've been waiting for. It’s not like my other television gigs, where I fly out for a few days or weeks and it’s over. It’s a steady paycheck. We’ll be filming most of the year. Come with me. The West End theaters will adore you, and the film industry is right next door—not 2,500 miles away like here. You could do it all!”

Adam had presented this like it was good news for both of them, with flowers and dinner and a three-star Michelin restaurant, the same as he’d done two years earlier when he’d announced he was ready to move in with Kurt—and Kurt had been so carried away by the gesture that he had somehow failed to notice the announcement sort of assumed that Kurt had been waiting for Adam to be ready, when in fact the idea of them moving in together wasn't even a topic that they had discussed before in any degree of seriousness. But it made financial sense, and it seemed like the next right step if Kurt was sincere about his high school bucket list item of Get married by age of 30, legally. Adam adored him, and Kurt loved being adored, and that had sustained their relationship longer than any of Kurt’s previous ones. It might not have been the all-encompassing romance Kurt had dreamed of as a lonely gay kid in Ohio. But at some point you had to learn the difference between fantasy and reality. Adam was real, and kind, and handsome, and hunky, and grounded and practical about things in a way Kurt just wasn’t. That pragmatism was a useful counterweight to Kurt’s doing things by impulse and gut feeling. It tethered Kurt to the ground.

Kurt knew Adam’s pragmatism was good for him. Even when it sent him into fits of panic, like the time—a year or so into living together—Adam had announced at another three-star restaurant that they should start planning for kids—“Not right away, our apartment’s too small for that, but maybe we could start looking at places in Connecticut, or a brownstone—and of course we’ll need to weigh adoption and surrogacy; I've never been clear on whether you have a strong preference”—and Kurt had run into the bathroom and lost all his exquisite dinner before splashing his face and telling himself he was being ridiculous. Hadn't Kurt always imagined kids as a possibility in his life? It was only logical of Adam to bring it up now. Taking care of infants was exhausting, if the co-workers who complained about it were telling the truth. Kurt shouldn't wait until some vague future a decade-plus from now when he’d have presbyopia and the sleep loss would be even more of a nightmare than it would be now.

That's what Kurt had told himself in the restaurant bathroom. Then, he’d gone back out and told Adam how forward-thinking it was of him to bring it up. But somehow over the following months, every time Adam suggested they go househunting or visit a surrogacy clinic or talk to an adoption lawyer, Kurt mentioned something else pressing that needed their attention or, if all else failed, distracted Adam with sex.

Now, in yet another three-star Michelin restaurant—this one specializing in molecular gastronomy and serving its exquisitely crafted works of art in tiny portions that left Kurt famished—he found himself unable to accede to Adam’s logic.

“I can't leave here,” Kurt had said.

“Of course you can, Kurt. You'll have no problem getting work on the West End. Actually, I already spoke to …”

Adam had connections. When those connections contacted Kurt, it was easier to send out his portfolio than not. He got lots of meetings out of it. A contract for a London production sat on his desk for weeks, even as Kurt made an impromptu weekend trip to Ohio for Father’s Day.

“You need to get that settled,” Adam scolded before Kurt left. “If there's a clause you don't like, get it fixed. But if you leave them dangling, you'll lose the job. I don't know why you're procrastinating.”

Kurt didn't know why he was procrastinating, either. Or rather, he did know, but not in any way he could explain to Adam. It was just that, every time Kurt thought about relocating to a place where everyone talked like Adam, his skin crawled. My skin is crawling, however, was not the kind of explanation Adam could understand. Adam understood things like pay rate and opportunity and weighing the pros and cons. He did not understand making life-altering decisions based on I just feel uneasy and I've developed a sudden revulsion for English accents.

In Ohio, talking with his father on a perfect June evening with, perhaps, one too many Yuenglings under his belt and the setting sun lighting up the backyard in vivid yellows and oranges and pinks as the first fireflies signaled from the grass, Kurt let it all out: how frustrated he was with himself, how terrible he was as a partner, how he knew he should be supportive and it was a great opportunity for them both, but still—he didn’t want to upend his whole life. Not for this.

“Not for what, Kurt?” his dad had asked.

“For any of it. It’s not worth it.”

“It’s not worth a future with Adam?”

The puzzle Kurt had been trying to solve for the last few years suddenly clicked into place. The reason he clammed up whenever Adam talked about the future, the reason he couldn't talk about kids or moving away from New York—it wasn't because Kurt was impetuous and impulsive and couldn’t deal with the choices one had to make as an adult.

It was because he didn't want to make those choices with Adam.

And it was bewildering. There was nothing wrong with Adam. He had come along at just the right time, right in Kurt’s mid-twenties as he was tiring of casual dating and fooling around. Adam wasn’t like the other guys. He believed in commitment. He’d swept Kurt off his feet, won Kurt over with flattery and genuine admiration, and Kurt had been so high from it all that he hadn't realized—he'd never fallen in love with Adam. He'd only fallen in love with security and the feeling of being loved.

Back in New York, Kurt looked up from the contract and said, with a decided calm and finality that surprised even him, “I've decided not to sign it because … I'm not going to England with you. I’m sorry, Adam. But I’ll never be what you want.”

It seemed gentler than saying I'll never feel what you want me to feel.

Adam hadn't left immediately. He tried to speak sense into Kurt. But Kurt held fast. Adam wasn’t used to that. I don't even know who you are, Kurt! he’d shout, and Kurt would just look at him sadly and say, I know.

Once or twice, after Adam left, Kurt had been tempted to google “Adam Crawford” in hopes of finding news of his success. Despite a resentment of Adam that had built throughout their breakup and sometimes flared up again out of nowhere, he wanted Adam to be happy. Kurt knew what it was like to have your heart broken, and he hated that he’d been the one to break Adam’s. But Kurt never followed through on the search. Adam wanted nothing to do with him.

Well, Kurt didn’t need to worry about googling or not googling now. Because here was Adam with a full media crew in the middle of a Russian airport. He must be doing okay in television, at least.

The line moved forward. Adam was out of sight now along with the rest of his crew, dissipating into the faceless masses on the other side of customs, becoming tiny contributions to the hundreds of thousands in Sochi. Kurt likely wouldn’t see him again. And if he did—well, certainly they’d be in a crowd. It would be easy to disappear.

“Thank goodness,” muttered Kurt, and the eight-year-old stared at him again. Huh. Maybe the kid didn’t understand a word Kurt said but just liked staring or, perhaps, was fascinated by Kurt’s stunning couture. Kurt smiled. The kid smiled back.

Kurt’s phone buzzed. It was Blaine. Good morning to you, too. I can’t wait to see you either.

Did I wake you up? I’m sorry.

No. Woke up because jet lag. Good dreams though.

Oh?

We were standing in the Garden of the Gods and I wanted to kiss you.

Heat rose to Kurt’s face. He forgot all about Adam. It wasn't possible to hold all those complicated memories in the same space as this bliss. Are you sure that was a dream? he texted back.

A memory, maybe. I always want to kiss you.

Kurt stared at his phone. Damn pragmatism. Damn Sue Sylvester. I always want to kiss you too.

[renzireads]

Ice skating, one of the most popular dates around this time of year, and it seemed like he would be third wheeling it with some friends.

Daichi and Sugawara had invited him on their date after Kuroo complained about how he didn't have time to mingle and do fun things after work because he's usually oh so tired and no one interesting had come into his life recently.

He didn't complain often, but whenever he was calling with Daichi or Suga, he felt safe enough to do so. They'd understand, they always did.

So they invited him out on their date with the lame excuses of "maybe you'll meet someone" and "you're allowed to have fun!"

Kuroo was allowed to have fun, actually. That's something he often forgot now that he was working more often than not. His life turned serious way too quick.

Another thing Daichi and Sugawara seemed to understand all too well.

"Kuroo!" Suga yelled as he saw him, running up to him and enveloping him in a warm and crushing hug. "We missed you."

Kuroo gently put his hand on Suga's head, his silver hair poking out from underneath his beanie. "I missed you too."

Another pair of arms wrapped around him, Daichi hugging them both from behind. "It's been too long."

"Too long indeed." Kuroo smiled, a smile that quickly wavered. "Doesn't mean I don't feel guilty about interrupting your date."

"Don't!" Both Daichi and Sugawara exclaimed as they let go. A soft blush made its way onto Sugawara's face.

Kuroo blamed it on the cold.

"C'mon, before the ice melts." Daichi teased as they walked towards the ice skating rink.

As they approached, the atmosphere buzzed with the joyful sounds of laughter and the rhythmic scraping of blades against the ice.

Daichi, Sugawara, and Kuroo rented a trio of skates, each taking a moment to adjust them before gliding onto the glistening surface.

Almost immediately, Sugawara fell flat on his ass, getting a laugh out of both Daichi and Kuroo he had been aching to hear, or so his smile seemed to say.

But the occasional slip and slide only added to the amusement, especially when they tried to help the other up but they pulled them down.

The cold air bit at their cheeks, giving them all a red nose.

"Cute." Daichi remarked with a wink as Kuroo tried to rub his nose warm again.

"What?" Kuroo asked, trying to figure out if he misheard his friend.

"You heard me." Daichi smiled before skating away.

As they circled the rink, Daichi and Sugawara exchanged knowing glances, silently communicating their unspoken plan.

Sugawara skillfully maneuvered beside Kuroo, his gloved hand reaching out to entwine with Kuroo's.

Kuroo glanced at Sugawara, surprise and realization dawning in his eyes. He didn't pull away; instead, he tightened his grip on Sugawara's hand, squeezing it softly.

Yeah, okay, maybe he has had a crush on both Daichi and Suga for years. And yeah, okay, maybe he was jealous, but he made sure to never let it show.

Did they finally figure it out? They didn't seem to be mad, not in the slightest even.

Daichi, skating a step ahead, turned with a warm smile. "Kuroo, you're not interrupting anything. In fact, you're exactly where you're supposed to be."

Kuroo smiled at that, extending his hand towards Daichi, who grabbed it in a fluid motion as he started skating next to him.

They skated in silence for a while, just enjoying the company of each other.

After some time, they paused at the edge of the rink, breath visible in the crisp air.

Sugawara, breaking the silence, spoke with a gentle smile, "Kuroo, we've been thinking... how about making this a regular thing? You, us, dates, everything."

"We, well, we like you, romantically, both of us. And well, we have a feeling it's mutual. Is it mutual?" Daichi almost rambled. Kuroo couldn't help but wonder if he always got this nervous when asking questions like this.

"It is." Kuroo silently confessed, turning around to look at all the other people skating around. "Has been for years."

Sugawara and Daichi exchanged glances, a mixture of relief and excitement evident in their eyes. The cold air seemed to freeze time for a moment as they absorbed Kuroo's confession.

"Well then," Sugawara said with a mischievous glint, "how about we continue this date somewhere warmer? Maybe with hot chocolate and a bit more privacy."

Kuroo smirked, feeling a newfound lightness in his chest. "I'd like that very much."

[starsurfacemortalkombat]

So I saw that someone asked for a Shang Tsung regressor and I just think it's fair that there is one of Quan Chi.

so that's my request, regressor Quan Chi, it's a little strange to imagine him like this, but he's my baby and he deserves a healthy way to deal with such a difficult life he's had

It's not weird at all!! :D

I don't know a whole bunch about Quan Chi though so they might be a bit off. :(

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Regressor Quan Chi Hcs

🔮 Quan Chi feels like a baby regressor, about 0-3

🔮 But also, a patience tester regressor >:)

🔮 He can never be at fault for anything, it's always your fault <3

🔮 Why didn't you tell him that spilling his oatmeal on his clothes would mean oatmeal on his clothes?? 🥺

🔮 You did, he's just fussy and doesn't want the blame on himself

🔮 For being a patience tester, he's a pretty decent listener

🔮 Will listen if you tell him to stop because it's dangerous

🔮 Or if he deems your reasoning good enough

🔮 IF HE is the biggest statement

🔮 What do you mean it's bedtime? It most certainly is not!! >:(

🔮 . . . He passes out two minutes later though, don't worry

🔮 Really likes bath time but will splash everywhere!!!

🔮 He finds it funny, so just make sure to put some extra towels down

🔮 He is in charge of all the rules around here >:3

🔮 Unless you put your foot down . . . then he'll listen to you, he guesses 😒

🔮 Cannot handle yelling and will burst into tears the moment you look away from him

🔮 Also cannot handle any kinds of threats of physical labor, it sends him spiraling, reminding him of his harsh times with the mines

🔮 Now, this doesn't mean he won't pick up his toys, he will don't worry

🔮 He would prefer for you to help put though, he's a little bit too small

🔮 The threat has to be more extreme than that anyhow

🔮 Doesn't like punishments either, but he'll serve them sometimes

🔮 Sometimes he's honestly so small that he can't understand what he did wrong and only knows you're using a mean tone because his bottle fell off the table 🥺

🔮 (^ he pushed it because you grabbed the wrong bottle)

🔮 (^ It's better to bring him along when getting him a snack or stuff because he wants to be in control of what he has)

🔮 When while small he has to be in control of things, otherwise it makes him upset (although it's quite easy to accommodate to this if you ask him what he wants or tell him that he needs to be nicer with his tone)

🔮 But sometimes he's a bit bigger and understands when he's being naughty

🔮 He might not like it!! . . . But if you want him to go sit on the steps, he'll do it >:/

🔮 But you better cuddle him afterwards!!

🔮 Loves affection, specially your affection <3

🔮 Im so sorry for you if you have both little Shang Tsung and Quan Chi in the same room at you (they swabble and fight for who gets your undivided attention)

🔮 There is NO sharing your attention >:(

🔮 . . . Okay, maybe if he HAS to, but no other reason!!!

🔮 Absolutely loves cuddles and will cuddle you for hours at a time

🔮 What do you mean you've gotta go potty? Don't you wanna cuddle with him instead? 🥺

🔮 Very messy colorer

🔮 Nothing is in the lines, it's a bunch of scribbles and lines outside the line

🔮 But he's very proud of it, which means your very proud of it <3

🔮 Likes wearing beanies when he's tiny, he's head gets cold <3

🔮 But like, cute beanies!!! Like with cats eats or a cute design (in his aesthetic of course)

🔮 If you made him a meanie your getting a very clingy, loving baby in the next two seconds, he's very thankful

🔮 One of those babies that if you look away for a minute, he's crawled into the kitchen and is chewing on his new fork friend

🔮 Hell giggle and happily show you his fork, only for you to take it away because your a big meanie!! >:(

🔮 Your not a big meanie, don't worry, you just didn't want metal in his mouth (he gets very huffy puffy at this explanation)

🔮 Although if you give him his paci, he guesses he could let your horrendous acts slide this time

🔮 Doesn't really use his powers while small because he knows they can get out of hand and he doesn't wanna get in too much trouble

🔮 Has made a portal to teleport his sippy cup across the room, he didn't wanna get up

🔮 Doesn't wear diapers often, but when he does he gets incredibly fussy and cranky over them

🔮 They have to be very specific ones and they're practically locked away in a safe

🔮 Gets cranky over a lot of things though

🔮 You woke him up from naptime? Oh boy, he is one of the fussiest babies you've ever seen

🔮 You didn't wake him up from naptime? Why didn't you wake him up? You were suppose to wake him up! >:(

🔮 It takes a good thirty minutes for his brain to start processing his emotions after he wakes up, so he gets fussy at anything you suggest until then

🔮 Does, however, need a nap time though because he's just a baby and babies get sleepy 🥺

🔮 Main CGs are you and Shang Tsung

🔮 Does NOT like babysitters and will begin crying if you ever suggest one (he only trusts you to watch him)

🔮 Favorite little nicknames are Squidy (he finds it funny), Baby Boy, Little Guy, Chi, and Sweetie Pie (another he finds amusing, Earthrealmers are funny)

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

[jojikawa]

Amnesia

1 • Distant Memory

Master List

You are released from the hospital.

Series Theme: カミイロアワセ · binaria

Shizuo hates his strength. It is probably the thing he hates most about himself given how inescapable it is. It basically ruined his whole life…well, Izaya ruined his life but his strength disorder is a close runner-up. There are so many moments where he couldn’t think of a good reason for why he was cursed with such an ability. All he can do is destroy…

So, is it wrong for him to feel a sudden sense of thankfulness? He can proudly say that you had someone you can rely on. He is strong enough to take all that will come your way. He just needs to be responsible and disciplined so that he doesn’t hurt you by accident. The man can’t help but be nervous when the doctor permits him to take you home. As your caretaker, he needs to make sure you take your medicine and that you don't put too much stress on your legs.

‘I can just carry her everywhere.’ He thinks to himself. You won’t be leaving the house much so all he has to do is remember to administer your medication. The unfortunate thing is that you have a bit of an infection. It will make the healing process a little longer and more painful than it should be. Shizuo being upset about that is quite an understatement. He wants to refrain from showing his anger in your presence but at that moment he isn’t able to contain himself.

You patiently wait in your hospital room for Shizuo to come back when you feel the building shake. Its enough force to make the lights flicker. Then you hear him. His once quiet voice is unrecognizable as roaring and loud as it was. Louder than anything  you’ve heard before. 

“YOU GAVE HER A WHAT?!”

The both of you are forced to get out shortly after…but your hospital bill is free of charge! Shizuo has quite the reputation. He never elaborates, telling you that he would talk to you about it when you got better. At least, you figured he cares enough about you to get upset. But…did he really cause the building to shake or was it some kind of mild earthquake?

The two of you stand outside, waiting for a ride that would take the two of you home. Your legs feel like jelly. Sometimes, it’s like they aren’t even there and you’d collapse. Fortunately, Shizuo is always there to catch you before you could hit the ground but it reaches the point where he’s just holding you now. Connected to you is a hospital IV that fed you antibiotics every few hours.

“Shizuo, how much longer until your friends get here?” You ask as you notice the clouds above and it seems like it’s supposed to rain soon. “Not much longer.” He replies. “Damn, where the hell are they?” You hear him mutter. You frown, securing your arms around his neck as he holds you. The wind is beginning to blow and you are getting cold underneath your hospital gown. Luckily, a van pulls up, parking in front of you and Shizuo.

The sliding door opens to reveal a girl wearing a black outfit and hat to match. Her face lits up at the sight of you. “Oh mai gosh! Dotachin, you were right! (y/n) did wake up!” she stares at you for an uncomfortable amount of time. Behind her emerges a boy wearing a gray hoodie. You notice he has fox-like eyes. “Whoa! Long time no see! Your hair is mega short. You kinda look like the protagonist of this new manga…if he were a girl.”

“Will the two of you shut up already and make room for them?” The man who speaks is in the passenger seat. He wears a beanie.

Shizuo places you inside the back door before breaking down your IV stand to put it into the back of the car. “Thanks for doing this,” he says as he passes by his friend. The name you catch is“Kyohei.” He and the others were driving Shizuo and you home. These people knew you. You feel so bad that you can’t remember them. Their faces are mildly familiar but the memories would come and go as if you were trying to remember a dream. You try to think about the adventures they talk about having with you. Your mind misconstrues the info being given.

The woman’s name is Erika and the man is Walker.

“We were so excited when Shizuo told us you’d be waking up! We bought you a ton of manga!” Walker reveals a bunch of books from his bag. “O-Oh, thank you.” You take the stack of books that’s practically shoved into your hands. They are seemingly brand new! On top is a particular-looking manga. “Kagura Bachi?” You read out loud. “That one’s my favorite right now!” Walker says. “Trust me, you’ll like it too.”

“Hey, don’t overwhelm her. She’s supposed to take it easy, not read all that weird shit you two are into.” Shizuo informs them before getting in and sitting next to you. It’s a tight fit but hopefully, the ride isn’t long.

And, thankfully, it wasn’t. Shizuo just didn’t want you to deal with getting through Ikebukuro with your legs still weak. Plus, it began to rain.

The driver is a man named Saburo.

“If you need anything, just let us know. We’ll always be on standby.” Saburo shoots you a smile and you smile back. “Thanks.” You bow to the two men in the front section of the car. You talk to them as you wait for Shizuo to get your things from the van. Kyohei smiles too before it turns into a frown. “You don’t remember us, do you?”

You shake your head. “No, but I was told that it's temporary. So, I’m not worried.” You chirp reassuringly and his smile returns. “Alright. ‘Hope Shizuo takes good care of you.”

“Bye (y/n)!” Walker yells from the backseat. “Bye-bye!” Erika chimes in. “See you later! Thank you for the manga.” And then they drive off. They seem to be a lively bunch. “Come inside before you get wet. Can you walk?” Shizuo examines your legs as he holds all of your belongings from the hospital. You nod. “Yes.”

You follow Shizuo into his apartment. It is extremely minimalistic and surprisingly small. The man is always out and about so there was no need to decorate or have an extremely spacious area. It isn’t much longer before you feel a sense of dread. Your muscles stiffened just a little and is sore as if you’ve been carrying heavy things all day

“I’m kinda tired.” You announce, prompting Shizuo to perk up. “Already?”

You nod in response.

“You’re probably low energy from not eating. Have lunch first and then get some rest.” He set up your IV stand and attached the bag to it. “Do you think you can walk or do you need help?”

When you hear his question, you look down at your legs. They healed up fine but ached endlessly with pain. “I can walk.” You’re lying. Clearly. You haven’t taken a single step since you entered Shizuo’s home. You suddenly realize you’re being lifted. It’s Shizuo. He places you on his couch. “I don’t got groceries so if you want something, I gotta go pick it up.” He says, opening his phone and typing away. “I’m not really hungry.” You shake your head. “Don’t say that. What are you in the mood for?” He insists.

“Um…” You tell him what you want and he makes a phone call. You didn’t know who he called but it didn’t sound like he was ordering from a restaurant.

“Hey. Need a favor. Can you pick up some food for me?.... She’s awake. You can come say ‘hi’ if you want….try to hurry. She needs to eat before she can take her medicine.”

You didn’t hear a voice on the other end. “Who was that?” You tilt your head. Shizuo couldn’t get enough of your small mannerisms. The way your hair shifts and falls...or how cute your droopy eyes look whenever you try to keep eye contact with him.

“It’s a friend. Her name is Celty. The two of you were close…before the accident.” He explains, not being able to do anything else but hide his face from your gaze. “She’ll be by soon.” 

Your eyes flutter shut as you try your best to remember that name. Celty. It rang no bells, for now. Maybe once you see her face, things will come back to you.

Suddenly, you became aware of your attire. You were still in a hospital gown. “Um, Shizuo, do you think I could get changed?” Your tone seems rather annoyed, as you are becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the thin piece of fabric. You desire your clothing. 

Shizuo tenses up at your request. “Sure.” He mutters before picking you back up and taking you to his room. The bedroom is rather minimal like the rest of the house…except something particularly cute catches your eye! On the bed is a medium-sized stuffed bear. It has light brown fur with pink accents. Tied to its arm are three pink balloons filled with helium that causes the bear to fall over on its side.

“Oh.” You become flushed at the sight of it and you feel Shizuo’s heart rate quicken as he holds you bridal style to his chest. “Shit, ‘forgot about that.” You hear mumbles, which makes you blush even more. He seems so…genuine.

“That was supposed to be for later.” The man sits you down on the bed next to the bear and goes to the closet. You smile. “Why later? I think now is perfect.” You pick up the animal and hold it in your lap. It’s so cute! You trace the fabric with your fingers, squeezing its paws and simply taking in the adorable design. A moment later, Shizuo brings out an oversized sweater of his. “Just put this on for now.” He gives it to you. You take it from him, puzzled as to why he doesn’t just give you one of your own. Although, this could prove much more comfortable.

“Thank you.” You smile kindly before promptly removing your hospital gown. Shizuo is completely unprepared! His breath hitches at the sight of you. It was inappropriate but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your body. Your hair was short from the hospital hair cut, but he kinda wonders how you’d look right now with hair so long that it touched the floor. 

Yeah, you’re kinda Shizuo’s type. No matter what you do with your appearance, he loves every bit of it. Even if your perfect skin was tainted with scabs and scars from the accident—in his eyes, you are still perfect. You are still his.

His daze is cut short once you got the sweater up over your breasts and the fabric falls like a curtain over the rest of your body. He hasn’t even noticed you noticing him!

His sweater fit you like a mini-dress, so that’s how you wore it. It isn’t much longer before the person named Celty arrives.

When she lays eyes upon you in Shizuo’s living room, her behavior becomes odd. You notice that she doesn’t speak but communicates via her cellphone. She types various things that don't make sense to you.

She writes:

“Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re okay. I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to walk anymore!!”

You read the message as quickly as you can. The words and letters seem to jumble themselves up on their own but after some time, you understand what she says. You grin. “I’m glad I’m okay, too.” You reply, hanging onto Shizuo for support.

“Hey, try not to overwhelm her, kay?” Shizuo mutters, seemingly holding you with ease.

Celty writes:

“So, you can’t remember a thing, huh?”

You shake your head. “No, but Shizuo told me that the doctors said my memories should come back in time.”

She types:

“Great! Shinra said the same thing but I had to come and ask you myself!”

You open your mouth to speak but she pulls back her phone to type something new.

“Why did you come to visit Shizuo of all people set getting out?”

Your lips part. You can’t think of a proper response. Shizuo is your boyfriend, so why wouldn’t you visit him? 

Shizuo soon steps beside you. “Don’t overload her with anything. She's still prone to a lot of headaches.” He informs the dullahan. “It’s gonna be like this for a few weeks. ‘Prolly months.”

Celty jumps slightly at Shizuo’s statement. “Months?!” A puff of smoke leaves from beneath her helmet, “I can’t wait for months!”

She is able to manifest herself so much that she doesn't need to type for you to hear what she said. But it’s only a moment before she calms down. She types a message one last time.

“Can I speak to Shizuo privately?”

Once you read it, you nod. “Of course.” You turn your attention to the delivered food that Celty brought. “I’m gonna get started. Don’t take too long.”

Shizuo tenses up but once you had sat down and opened your bento box, he began to move. He follows Celty to the outside of his apartment.

Once you’re alone, you begin to eat. Japanese cuisine is always so tasty. You aren’t able to remember much but one of the things you could remember was your favorite savory food. While eating, feel a draft going up the bottom of your sweater. No issue, you’d just get some leggings or a skirt to put underneath. You didn’t wanna bother Shizuo either so the best course of action would be getting it yourself. After a few more bits, you close the bento and make the slow but treacherous journey to the back of the apartment. You hadn’t even noticed how bare the apartment was until now. There didn’t seem to be any traces of you left behind.

It fills you with a prang of sadness in your heart with a side of anxiety. Your accident is always described as horrible but was it so bad that Shizuo expected you to die in your coma? The feeling intensifies when you look into Shizuo’s closet and see that there was absolutely nothing that belonged to you in there. No matter how much you look, all you run into is bartender suit after bartender suit. All of them, identical.

You take a deep breath. Maybe you and Shizuo lived separately? If so, going home would be nice. You could see everything from the past and it could help jog your memory.

“(y/n)?” Shizuo calls. You leave his room and are reduced to a crawl from standing in the closet for so long. You don’t answer, you just let him find you and he does. “What’s wrong? Why’d you get up?” He questions, picking you up. “I was looking for some pants or something,” you tell him. “To put on.”

“Why? ‘You cold?”

You meekly nod. He sighs. “Well, don’t worry about all that. I’ll get you something.” He reassures you. You can’t put your finger on it but something about him is so suave and soothing. Maybe it’s his voice? It’s deep and firm. Or it could be his build. He is tall and strong. It makes you feel safe. You still can’t fathom that he’s your high school sweetheart. Shizuo fetches you a blanket and the two of you relax on the couch together. He eats and you finish your half. It was time for medicine.

This is your least favorite part of everything. The medication makes everything so fluffy like it’s a dream. You get extremely tired and end up sleeping away most days. You recall Shizuo’s face and voice but rarely remember anything he says. Your days consist of eating, a bit of affection from Shizuo and then you’re back to sleep. Just as you’re dozing off, you feel as though you remember everything: who you are, what you do, who Shizuo is…

And then it’s gone.

You fall asleep and the next day, you can’t remember a thing. This goes on for about four weeks. Walking becomes less painful and you’re off the medication that causes you to fall asleep at any given moment. Your hair has grown to about your shoulders. You can’t seem to figure out what you want to do with it. You don’t remember how you wore your hair. So, you just let it do its thing until this rather large hurdle passes.

Shizuo offers to begin taking you out with him since you can manage without him and you accept. Of course, by now, you have some of your own clothes to wear out. Shizuo had Celty get them from your apartment.

“You ready yet?” Shizuo asks through the door. Since that day he saw you naked, he’s insisted on giving you privacy to change. You didn’t mind at all. “Yeah, sorry,” You emerge from the bedroom wearing a thin knitted sweater with a high skirt and boots to match. At first, you felt overdressed for a date at Russia Sushi but Shizuo reminds you that you always wore things like this. They were your clothes, after all. 

The two of you join hands and head out. You notice that once you’re actually outside, he breaks away from you, preferring to let you lead. You assume it’s because of his job of being a bodyguard. That’s fine.

You follow his directions to the restaurant. It sticks out like a sore thumb because it’s the only restaurant that has a Russian black man outside of it. Although, you never anticipated that you’d be hoisted up in the air by this very man. 

“Oh, (y/n)! You are walking again! Now you can enjoy sushi just like before!”

You are too shocked to reply. 

“Shizuo tell me that you don’t remember me. I pray that you remember soon!”

“Cut it out, Simon.” Shizuo steps in. “She's still recovering. Just because she’s walking doesn’t mean she’s okay.”

“Oh goodness!” Simon puts you down. “I am sorry little lady.”

“I-It’s fine.” You give a meek, nervous smile. Almost everyone you run into says such similar things. It’s so strange. All these people were your friends? It’s a bit overwhelming and the pressure weighs on you. You needed to remember. 

“Come in! Eat Sushi!” He ushers the both of you inside. You meet the owner who tells you that his name is Dennis and although his face is vaguely familiar, the two of you exchange no words after that. You’re seated and you both order.

“Shizuo, can I tell you something?” You’re across from Shizuo. He stares at you a lot, you’ve noticed. Sometimes, it makes you nervous. “Shizuo?” You call again, he blinks before turning his attention back to the menu. “You’re staring again. You look so hard that I never know what to say.” You joke with a light laugh. “Sorry.” He says. “You’re just pretty.” He adds.

“Well, you’re quite handsome too.”

You compliment him but he never says thank you. “What is it you wanna say?”

You grip the edges of your menu, trying to distract yourself with the images of unorthodox sushi as you let the words pour out.

“I’m beginning to remember some things.”

You can’t see him but you know he’s frozen up. “What…do you remember?”

You purse your lips. “A lot of them are childhood memories. My mom and dad. They were always so strict.” You scrunch up your nose at the thought. “They wanted me to learn Japanese so bad. Then it was Chinese and then Korean. Learning them all at once made my head hurt. I didn’t realize I knew all of these things until I saw them. I could see all these languages and understand them.”

Shizuo eases. “That’s great. I’m sorry about your, uh, parents, but you are pretty fluent in a bunch of languages. I dunno how many.” He shrugs. You wonder why your family made you participate in such things. Since you could remember them now, you should probably contact them. They never reached out after you woke up but maybe if you try to reach out on your new phone, they could help you.

Things progressively get easier and easier. After some physical therapy, Shizuo began letting you go out on your own. Ikebukuro can be dangerous but he’ll always be nearby doing debt collecting runs with Tom. You let him know that you’ll give him a call if you ever need help. He tells you that Celty is out and about everyday as well.

Upon investigating your belongings, you noticed that you had a lot of money. Shizuo said you had a high end job, so it was a pleasant surprise. You thought that Shizuo’s apartment needed a bit of a woman’s touch so your plan is to visit a few convenient stores to look for decorations. Plus, he deserves a nice gift for taking such good care of you.

The thing is that your day has barely begun and there was already chaos, involving Shizuo, nonetheless.

“IIIZAAAAYAAA!”

Is that Shizuo? It sounded pretty close. You stop in your tracks on the sidewalk and just as you do, a pair of hands grabs your shoulders, spinning you around to see Shizuo approaching with what looked like the entire guard of a railing! The person grabbing you seems to be using you as a shield as Shizuo refuses to swing. Like an angry predator, he holds the huge piece of metal and stalks closer. He gets so close that the person abandons you and Shizuo darts after him. “Get back here, you damn flee!”

You get a glimpse of the person who grabbed you. He had dark hair and a familiar coat that you definitely remembered. It was the man who visited you before you were discharged from the hospital. That reminded you of everything you experienced that day. That odd email. His claim that someone hurt you and that it wasn’t just a bad accident. You’d gotten so distracted by getting better that you completely forgot. You are determined to get to the bottom of this.

Master List

[homo-adaptionem]

Urbex Tips

Urban Exploration tips:

Learn basic first aid & bring a first aid kit.

Don't go in alone. Bring at least two other people.

Build up your strength before hand.

You need a tetanus shot every 10 years. If you haven't had one in the last 10 years, get one before you start.

If you're asthmatic, bring your inhaler.

Do research on the building / area beforehand. Figure out why it's abandoned. Learn the history. If it's condemned, find out why. Could be health reasons.

Enter at your own risk.

Tell a trusted person(s) where you're going. Give them the location of any places you're exploring. This is in case something happens, they know where you are/were going. Make sure they know who you're going with.

Hard hats. Being serious. Shit falls, even in "newer" buildings.

Wear gloves (thick leather work gloves, not that plastic faux leather shit, actual leather. not disposables, they won't do shit against glass and metal), goggles (to protect your eyes), a face mask (ideally construction-grade but the fabric types will work well enough), thick, long pants (like jeans), work or hiking boots, long sleeves, and something to cover your hair, like a beanie. If you've got long hair, put it in a ponytail and stuff it under the hat. Trust me. Also deodorant is a good idea.

Invest in a headlamp (easier than using a flashlight)

Avoid the "white 16 year old boy with friends" mentality. Don't do stupid shit because it's funny. If that floor seems unstable, avoid it. Don't smash shit. Don't jump down dark holes.

Don't steal shit. It's tempting, but I don't recommend it.

Avoid tagging / making graffiti, esp identifying graff. Again, tempting, but you can still get in trouble for it.

If someone catches you, BAIL. Don't get into a fight. Don't stick around for pigs to show up. Don't engage, just get out of there. Most of the time, urbex is trespassing.

If you find (which you probably won't) large sums of money, it might be best to report it. It could be stolen or counterfeit and get you in trouble if you use it. But ultimately it's your own choice.

If you find (which you probably won't) bloody clothing, blood-covered knives (or other weapons), or a gun, report it. Fuck pigs yada yada, but it could be connected to someone's death. Don't touch anything, don't take anything, just call the authorities and tell them where it is. I mention this because it could be connected to the assault or murder of sex workers, partners, and/or minorities.

If you find drugs (which you probably won't), report it. Don't use it. Could be laced. Not safe to use, bro, not worth it.

If you find a body(s), (which you probably won't), report it. Check for a pulse, but if the body is cold and/or stiff, call the authorities. If they're still warm, you can try CPR on them while you call for an ambulance. If they have a pulse, call an ambulance. If it looks like they're ODing, use some narcan if you've got it.

If you find Satantic imagery or whatever, 9 times out of 10 it's just teens fucking around. Like I promise you, they were probably left by some guys wanting to cause a stir or trying to make their own ARG or something.

The building isn't haunted, sorry to say. There are rational explanations for every "supernatural" thing you'll encounter. Sometimes they're the aforementioned guys. If you're superstitious, scared of the dark, easily frightened, or suffer from psychosis, you're probably gonna have a bad time.

You may encounter looters, homeless folks, addicts, and/or mentally ill/disabled folks. Try to avoid confrontation. Let them be. If they're alive and unharmed, leave them alone. If they're injured or ODing, attempt first aid (narcan, tourniquets, compresses, etc.) and call an ambulance. No pigs, just medical help.

Watch out for animals. Don't pet them. Don't hurt them. Leave them alone. Also watch out for snakes, esp in buildings with a lot of concrete or gravel.

Don't wear iconic or identifying clothing. Don't worry about looking nice. Don't wear shit you like because it WILL get torn, stained, and trashed.

Just… never assume you're alone.

Feel free to reblog with other tips.

[b4tracha]

Bad Day (Hyunjin)

(Hyunjin x Male Reader)

Sometimes, (M/N) wondered if the world was against him. Today, unfortunately, was one of those days. Nothing seemed to go right, and every little thing made him want to snap. But out of respect for others around him and not wanting to embarrass himself in front of the whole university, he held it all in until he was at home.

The second he stepped in the door, the tears he held in all day finally poured down his face. A loud sob he didn't realize he was holding in was roared from his throat, raw and wet. He slowly took off his shoes at the door. He sluggishly scooted his way to his bedroom, his feet barely moving in front of the other before he reached the cold, empty bed.

(M/N) whimpered as he held the pillow to his chest, covering his body with the blankets to feel the warmth he desperately desired, reminiscing on the day that just occurred.

It all started when (M/N) woke up late, his phone dying in the middle of the night. He fell asleep doing a project and didn’t plug up the phone. He rushed out of his dorm in unmatched clothes, hair barely done, and was compressed in a beanie. And because he fell asleep doing the project, he got a giant 0% and which dragged his grade nearly 25 percent lower. Now he’s failing horribly. What made it worse he was called out in front of everyone for not doing it on time.

Everything he just did just seemed to make everything worse.

Now that (M/N) was home and alone, all he wanted to do was cry, sleep and maybe get cuddles from his boyfriend. He also had class today, but he wasn't so sure if he would come over today as he has a big art project to do.

They didn't live together at the moment as Hyunjin wanted to stay with his parents and save up for a bigger apartment with (M/N) after they finished their studies and got a stable job.

Click-

That must be him. Hyunjin has a spare key and usually would come over whenever he could. However, from the monotone messages he received today, he was probably worried about his boyfriend.

Without moving from the tight ball position he was in, he heard shoes hitting the floor and the creaking of the floor as Hyunjin walked closer and closer to the bedroom he was crying in.

“Hey baby, are you okay?” He opened the covers and cuddled up to him. "You weren't talking much when we were messaging earlier."

“No.” (M/N) sniffled and rubbed his eyes hard, face scrunched up as another hard sob came from him. Hyunjin frowned and pulled (M/N) into his chest as he ran his hands up and down his hips and back to calm him down. He cried into his shirt, gripping it tight enough to almost rip. Hyunjin knew he was ruining his shirt, but he just didn’t care at the moment. His baby is hurting.

“You don’t have to talk about it, baby. Just know it’s all going to be okay. You know why?” Hyunjin reassured the man. He hummed, not trusting his voice to answer the male.

“Because I’m here, my love. I’ll make sure everything is okay.” He kissed the top of her head and smiled down at him. “Do I have to fight someone? Was it Seungmin? Jeongin?”

(M/N) laughed and shook his head at the joke about their friends. After a long silence, the crying finally stopped. Hyunjin always made things better.

“How about I get up and grab the ice cream from the freezer? We can watch a drama and eat it while we cry?” Hyunjin suggested. (M/N) finally looked up at him and smiled.

“Yeah, I think my head will explode if I let out another tear. Thank you, Hyunjinnie,” He kissed his cheek, and Hyunjin's eyes creased as he smiled hard at the sentiment. That was the smile (M/N) fell in love with. "I just want to take a nap right now."

“Of course, (M/N). I love you so much” He kissed him softly and held him closer to his chest.

“I love you more than anything, Hyunjin."

[solomons-poison]

Hi Tarren 😗 I would like to request Mammon + 2. Kissing rosy cheeks when It's cold out. It's been quite chilly where I reside and can think of no one better to warm my lips than Mammon 😍 Please and thank you in advance 😊

Omggg that's such a cute idea 🥺🥺 yes I'd love to write it. I definitely imagine Mammon doesn't like the cold so he's definitely doing whatever he can to warm you both up hehe~ ugh I'm so soft for him help

Mammon x GN!reader

♡ kissing their rosy cheeks when it’s cold out

Mammon hated winter. He hated shivering, he hated being cold, he hated having to bundle up in layers just to try to keep warm. It was restrictive and too much effort. And of course it would be his luck, it was winter when he volunteered— really, permitted with very very tight restrictions— to go with you to your next trip to the Human Realm. That left him now, bundled up in a knit sweater, gloves, beanie, and a checkered scarf, as he walked with you back to your house from the market.

He knew he sounded like a whiney baby when he complained about the cold, but he couldn't help it. The Devildom and Celestial Realm each had their own special weather, so the only times he experienced anything different was perhaps on a trip to deal with the witches. He was just thankful that you were putting up with him, clouds of white puffing up as you couldn't help but laugh a little at his disgruntled expression. Your laughter made him pout a little, but it helped warm him a little inside, seeing the smile on your face.

For a while, you just spent the return trip talking about anything and everything. You started with your plans, what all you needed to finish during your trip, what souvenirs you should get for his brothers, etc. Finally the topic moved on to little things, plans for dinner, signs for a new café that was opening soon, and something silly you read online. It was peaceful, fulfilling, just taking a moment to catch up with each other. Mammon didn't always respond, he wasn't always sure what to say, but you knew he was listening. He always listened to you.

As your walk continued, it was easy enough, trading your bags to one hand in order to slip your hand into his, interlocking your fingers. You couldn't help but giggle at his flustered look, but he recovered quickly, squeezing your hand as he continued onwards. In front of his brothers, Mammon was always a little flighty when it came to PDA, perhaps embarrassed to seem like a softie when he worked so hard to put up a tough front. But you knew how he really was.

Feeling a little mischievous, you stopped walking under the guise you needed to fix your shoe, and just as Mammon drew his gaze away from you to look down, you took the chance to sneak a kiss to his cold cheek. His face instantly lit on fire, his mind no longer aware of the bitter cold and instead on high alert for the feel of your lips. Of course, he wasn't going to let you get away with it, and soon after smushed a kiss back on your cold face in return. It got you both giggling, fighting to kiss the other's cheek before finally coming together in between, lips a little chapped from the dry air, but sweet all the same. Mammon hated winter and feeling cold, but as long as you were beside him, it made things a little more warm and bearable.

—

Send me a type of kiss and a character!

[alex-the-bard]

new draft

Disclaimer: The following content is not suitable for small children. It contains topics such as violence, mutilation, self-harm, depression, and PTSD. As this is a work designed to evoke fear in the reader, I would also not recommend reading this before bed. By proceeding, you acknowledge that though this book may seem fine at first, it gets incredibly dark incredibly quickly. If you are struggling with suicidal thoughts, depression, or anxiety, help is available. Call 988. 

Chapter 1: 

Expedition 

The cold was biting as Garrick Heath trudged through the snow towards the door of the shelter, certainly colder than London. Why couldn’t they have done this when it was sunny and bright out? Well, he didn’t suppose it would get any better, considering they were in the Arctic Circle. He’d just have to live with it. 

He’d gotten the call two months ago. They offered him a job, working an ice drilling rig in the Artic. He had accepted. The pay was good enough and he was assured the bunker would be warm and the coffee strong. Now it was time, and he was here. He opened the door and a blast of warm air from the heated shelter enveloped him as it rushed out into the cold. He hurried inside and shut the door, no sense in letting the heat out. He looked around, seeing six other individuals sitting in a sunken seating area in the center of the large room playing cards. They greeted him as he entered, gesturing for him to sit down.   

“Well then, now that we’re all here, I suppose we’d best get started” said a man in hiking gear, his voice layered with a thick Swedish accent. He stood up, the fabric of his clothing rustling as he did. “I am Jonas Pourison, I’m the NOAA representative on this assignment. My job is to monitor the samples we take for anything significant.” He gestured to the woman to his right, wearing warm clothes and a beanie with a red cross on it. She sipped her coffee and said in a faint Texas drawl “The name’s Darcy, and I’m here to make sure none of y'all die.” Having spoken her piece, she returned to her coffee. The next to introduce themselves was an Australian man named Ivakov Hill-Gray, the technician on the team. When he spoke, it was with a dry, gravelly voice. Next came a geologist, Olivia Runnisdöttir, another Swede. “We’ve had some reports of volcanic activity in the region, and I’m coming along to check it out.” Ryan Kurchatov, a paleontologist spoke next, he said he was tagging along from Russia to investigate possible Neolithic ruins in the ice, which could completely rewrite the timeline of human habitation. Walter Heyman, a Canadian, was the team’s guide, here to make sure no threats of the Arctic claimed them. Lastly came Garrick, who spoke with a heavy British accent. “I’m Garrick Heath, and I’m here as the historian to complement our good friend Kurchatov here.” As he spoke, he gestured to Ryan, who nodded curtly. 

Once the introductions were done, Jonas spoke again. “Now that we all know eachother, the helicopter’s waiting. Let’s go.” They all sighed, finished their drinks, and trudged out of the shelter to the waiting helicopter. They took off without incident, and no words were spoken during the flight. Indeed, no one could hear each other over the sound of the aircraft. When Jonas finally landed the helicopter an hour later, they were all too happy to stand up again. They entered the bunker, where they would be living for the year, glancing around at the welcoming decor and furniture. Darcy spoke first: “Y’know, as far as subzero shitholes go, this is top notch” she said as she plopped her bags onto the ground. The group nodded in agreement. Walter found a bottle of wine in storage, and poured drinks for the team. As they plopped onto the couches, Olivia asked a question: “So, do any of you have families?”  

“Yes, actually” Ryan replied, “a wife and two lovely daughters.”   

Walter set the bottle down and dug into his pockets, searching for his wallet. He eventually found it and he took three photos of it. He also pulled a body camera from his bag and clipped it to his collar. As he unfolded the pictures, he said “I hope you don’t mind me recording, our patrons want records of our stay out here.”  

Garrick arched an eyebrow at Walter. “And who exactly is financing this operation? This level of equipment certainly can’t be cheap.” 

While Garrick was talking, Walter had started passing around the photos from his wallet. They were of his family. His husband and their dog. One photo showed them on the bow of a cruise ship, smiling and laughing. Another was of the dog, Niki, staring at a Christmas tree in wonder. The last picture showed Walter saying goodbye at the airport before leaving for Sweden.  

Walter cleared his throat before answering Garrick. “We are being funded by several different agencies, but this rig belongs to Permafrost Group. This is one of twenty-seven they have across the world. Most of them are at the poles.” Garrick nodded, satisfied with the answer.  

The time passed quickly after that, with the team swapping stories and sharing drinks and good-hearted laughter. Jonas told them a story about the time he was stood on a sinking research vessel. The engine had exploded, and the hole in the boat's keel was filled with rushing water. Just as they were about to be pulled under by the currents, a group of fishermen spotted them and pulled them out of the water. He made it sound as if it were just another day in the life, and not an extremely perilous situation. 

After a night of revelry, they all retired to their bunks. After some tossing and turning, the seven of them drifted off to sleep, comforted by the soft humming of the bunker’s generators 

++7 HOURS LATER++ 

Ryan awoke to a pounding at the door, the dull clang of metal reverberating through the concrete and rebar of the bunker. He stood up, putting on his jacket and boots before wearily staggering to the door. He slid the shutter aside, looking out through the bulletproof glass that covered the peephole. He saw a man in a tattered ski jacket collapsed in front of the door. Ryan hurriedly unlocked and threw open the door, and saw the man was completely drenched in blood, the red liquid seeping into the snow around him. “Shit” Ryan hissed, before shouting back into the bunker, saying: “Darcy, Jonas, come quickly!” He started dragging the man inside, and shut the door. Darcy and Jonas rounded the corner, grumbling. Their objections ceased when they saw the reason Ryan had called them. 

Jonas rushed to help Ryan carry the man to the infirmary, while Darcy muttered a few Southern expletives and grabbed her first aid kit. Jonas and Ryan set the man down on a cot in the infirmary, and Darcy cut his jacket off, much to the objection of Jonas. “It’s fucking cold in here, he’s gonna need that later!” Darcy started wiping the blood from the man, replying through gritted teeth “There ain’t gonna be a later if he’s dead!” 

The man’s injuries were brutal. A large section of his torso was slashed, with scraps of broken skin dangling limply from his mutilated chest cavity. His right arm was bent all the way in the wrong direction at the elbow, with a bone protruding from his wrist. His face was a horror show of shredded skin and muscle, his eyes were clouded, milky white orbs in a pit of red.  

Darcy finished cleaning his wounds, sighing heavily as she readied bandages. “He’s lost a lot of blood, but somehow he hasn’t lost anything important.” 

The man’s chest was wrapped, his arm splinted, and his face bandaged, but every bandage they put on was quickly soaked with blood. The rest of the team had been awoken by the commotion, and they staggered groggily into the infirmary. Olivia and Walter both had mugs of hot coffee. Ivakov was furious, storming into the room. “What the hell were you three doing out here!? I thought there was a goddamn-” He paused when he saw the injured man. “Oh fuck.” 

The man started awake, screaming “No! No don’t take them! Don’t take them!” He winced as he sat up, looking around the infirmary, and then to his own injured chest. “Where- where am I?” 

“It’s okay, you’re safe. You were in a pretty bad shape when we found you.” Darcy answered, trying to calm the man. “What’s your name?” 

“Isacc. Isacc West.” The man replied, his hands shaking. Darcy turned to whisper to the team. “At least he remembers his name, eh?” She then turned back to Isacc. “What happened to you?” 

“I was with a tour group, we were up here to see the Northern Lights. We were on our way back to our camp when something attacked us. Long, sharp fingers. And blood. Oh God, so much blood...” He shuddered as he spoke, as if reliving the horrors he had experienced. “I ran, but one of those fucking things caught me, tackled me. It did this to me.” He gestured vaguely at his injuries. He whispered one final sentence. “I don’t think anyone else made it out.” 

In the bathroom, the group heard Olivia vomit. 

“Well then” Darcy remarked, “since I suppose we ain’t gettin’ any sleep now, might as well start the work.” The rest of the team murmured agreements and went to get ready for the day. Madman or not, they had a job to do. 

Chapter 2: 

An Ordinary Day 

The team shuffled into the rig, ready for the day and running on caffeine, adrenaline, and seven hours of sleep. Isacc was still in the infirmary, as he was in no condition to move. As the first core came up, Jonas stepped over to examine it. Ivakov played Sudoku with Ryan on the upper level of the rig deck. All was well. 

“Thirty-one!” Garrick exclaimed as he slammed his cards to the table. “Read em’ and weep.” Olivia and Darcy groaned. “That’s the third time in a row,” Darcy grumbled, “let’s just play poker.” 

“The problem there is I’m the one who brought the cards and I know absolutely fuck all about poker.” Garrick chuckled. Darcy mumbled something in angry Texan under her breath. 

Walter poked his head through the door, carrying several cups. “I brought coffee!” he said in a singsong voice. He placed the cups on the mess table, grabbed one for himself, and sat down on a bench on the lower deck next to Jonas. Walter leaned over quizzically, sipping the coffee and placing one next to the focused Jonas. 

“Find anything yet?” Walter asked, taking another sip. Jonas sighed. “No, not yet. Just ice, ice, and more goddamn ice.” Walter arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a good thing?” 

“Yes, but I thought I- Well I don’t know what I thought.” Jonas grunted the words from his mouth, as he hauled the next core onto the table. “Wait... Is that...? Ryan, Garrick, get over here!” The two men startled at their names and shuffled over. “What is it?” Garrick asked.  

Jonas pointed to an anomaly in the ice. A long, off-white splinter, about as long as a thumb, was embedded in the frosty substance. “Is that what I think it is?” He asked. Ryan leaned closer, inspecting the object. “I’d have to cut it out to get a closer look and know for sure, but at least from here it does look like bone.”  

Garrick leaned closer, trying to get a good view of the object. “There’s some equipment in the bunker, I could date this.” Jonas nodded, sipping his coffee. “Please do.”  

Garrick chipped a sample from the ice, cradling it as he trotted off towards the lab. Jonas turned to Ryan. “Do you want to take over?” Ryan shrugged. “Sure, go rest your arms.” Jonas nodded and went to sit with Ivakov, who had finished his Sudoku and was doing a crossword. He glanced up as Jonas sat down. “Seven letter word, a distilled spirit originating from Scandinavia.” Jonas chuckled. “That’s easy, Akvavit. It’s kinda like shitty, cheap tequila. I think we’ve got some in storage.” Ivakov grunted his thanks, scribbling the word down. Jonas shifted to face Ivakov. “So, what’s your story?” Ivakov set down his pencil and leaned back in his seat. “Well, my mother was a park ranger, and my pa was an accountant. They’re both retired now. I’ve hopped around from job to job for the past few years after the mines ran dry and they didn’t need me to fix the drills anymore. Turns out a degree in electrical engineering doesn’t do you much good as a tour guide. I got the call for this job a few months ago, and I thought I couldn’t get any more broke. I signed a contract, so the only way I’m not getting paid is if I die. And what are the odds of that happening, eh?” Jonas shrugged. “I suppose you could always fall off the rig. But you aren’t that stupid.” 

Garrick came back into the rig deck, carrying his laptop. “Alright, it was a bit of a pain, but I got the date for that bone. 523 BCE.” Ryan choked and spit out his coffee, the precious liquid becoming a fine mist. “I’m sorry, did you just say 523 BCE!?” Garrick nodded. Ryan stormed over, grabbing the laptop. “Let me see that.” His eyes panned over the screen, widening with amazement. “I’ll be damned.” 

Walter looked over at Ryan. “Everything okay?” Ryan whirled to face Walter. “Okay!? No I’m not okay! This is scientific proof that humans inhabited the Arctic more than four hundred years before the Roman Empire was founded! This could make my entire career!”  

Walter chuckled. “Alright, calm down. I just thought something was wrong. I’m glad I was wrong.” 

The core drill had stopped, the motor overheating from the continuous operation. Ivakov glanced over at the halted machine. “Drill’s stopped” he remarked, “it’s gonna take a while to cool off. Break?” The rest of the group nodded.  

The crew shuffled into the bunker, settling into the common room. Garrick sighed. “Since Darcy gets pissy every time I win at thirty-one, how about a movie?” Walter perked up at the mention of something to do other than play cards. “Yes, please.” Garrick flipped open his laptop, opening his library. “Let’s see... We have the Lord of the Rings trilogy, the Incredibles, The Thing-” Olivia interrupted him. “The Thing, yes, that one!” Garrick shrugged. “Alright then!” He put the movie on as Jonas came back with a massive bucket of popcorn.  

The festivities were interrupted by screaming from the infirmary, followed by shattering glass and the sound of tearing meat. The team startled at the noise, rushing to the infirmary, only to see a gruesome scene. Torn scraps of flesh littered the room, which was splattered with blood. One of the windows was shattered, allowing the storm outside to whip into the bunker. Isacc was missing, along with the spare bandages. The rig crew rushed to suit up to give chase to the screaming of Isacc. Walter grabbed his shotgun, Darcy grabbed the medical bag, Garrick retrieved his camcorder, and Jonas hefted his hunting rifle. Walter glanced back at the rest of the team. ”After we leave, shut and lock the door. Only let us in when we say ”Canada is just a bunch of ice.” Got it?” Olivia nodded. ”Good. Let’s go.” Walter grunted, hurrying out the door, which was slammed behind them. 

Garrick yelled out to Walter, his voice shaking with fear. ”Walter, remind me again why we’re going out in fucking fifteen below to look for someone who’s probably already dead!” Walter replied through gritted teeth. ”Because “probably” doesn’t equal "is”, Heath.” Garrick grumbled assent, before shouting his response. ”Just because you’re right doesn’t mean I agree with you!” Walter just chuckled. 

The wind from the storm whipped at the group as they reached the helicopter, still where they had left it. Isacc’s trail of blood went off into the void of impenetrable white as Walter stopped them at the aircraft. ”Fuck!” he hissed. “Someone trashed the damn helicopter!” Jonas hurried over, recoiling from the stench of motor oil and smoke, still detectable even in the storm. “One problem at a time Walter!” The group carried on, into the storm. 

After trudging through knee-deep snow for several minutes, the trail of crimson they had been following through the snow went down into a cave in the ice. Walter shook his head. ”We’ll need the proper gear to go down there! We’ll come back tomorrow!” Darcy agreed, very openly. ”Let’s get back to the bunker. It’s colder than a northern night up here!” With that, the small group that had gone searching for Isacc began the trek back to the bunker, shaken by what they had seen. 

@shrimpysstuff @eternal-nyxx

[astrehours]

LOSE.  ›  AMOUR PLASTIQUE ݃ 2023

SYNOPSIS.  being nothing more than a play date isn’t fun anymore.

STARRING.  chiara ainsworth .. choi san

DURATION.  507 words

CW + NOTE.  breakup & allusion to cheating + unofficially call this mini plot sad girl, mad girl 

“here.”

the gold band sits quietly upon san’s palm, cold from the lack of wear. he looks up at chiara, brows furrowed to meet in the middle. “what’s wrong, does it not fit anymore? i can go get it adjusted—”

“don’t,” the tired woman shakes her head. “i don’t want you to get it fixed. i want you to take it back because i don’t want it anymore.”

all of a sudden, it feels like he has been frozen. san sits stiffly, jaw slack as he tries to comprehend her reasoning. but he fails to do so.. 

or maybe he doesn’t want to succeed.

“you’re not fond of promise rings anymore?” he feigns confusion, even going far as smiling—crinkled eyes and all those other nuances chiara wishes she didn’t notice. “i’m sure i can find something else; anything for my sunshine.”

“enough. i’ve spent far too long enduring the pain that comes as a side effect to pretending.” 

“what are you talking about, sunny?” 

“stop it, stop it, stop-” before he can hold her, she hastily stands up and heads out his room. her.. former lover hurries after her, desperate to know that this is all just a dream. by the time he finally encircles his shaky fingers around her wrist, hers is gripping onto the door handle.

no matter how much chiara tries to resist, he cups her face and gently turns her gaze to focus on him. his sharp eyes shimmer from the tears that threaten to cascade down his cheeks, but he resists. his mind is already a mess, he doesn’t need a blurry vision too.

“talk to me hyejin, tell me what i did wrong. please let me know, scold me, yell at me if you want to. i want—no, i need to make this right.” san’s slipping; words and posture wise. just like how he’s fallen on his knees, he’s reduced to begging. “don’t.. don’t leave me hyejin.. please.. i- i don’t want to lose you..”

chiara bites her trembling lip, eyes momentarily screwing shut as she composes herself. a bitter laugh slips off her tongue as she orders, “get up.”

he follows through almost immediately, albeit with a shaky stance, and stares at her. the young man looks so hurt by her actions, her heart almost convinces her to take him back.

but tonight, she’s no longer looking through those hideous rose tinted glasses.

“you know what, san? you’re absolutely wrong.” 

the doorknob twists. the lock’s click satisfyingly bounces through the silent hallway. 

“you’re not losing me, nor am i losing you.”

the night breeze that had been twirling along the entrance welcomes itself through the open door. 

“it’s impossible to lose what you never had.” 

chiara cradles the pieces of her heart and finally does what she should have done months ago. 

“i know i’m not her, but it wouldn’t have hurt you to try and love me.”

she’s gone. 

and the ring—the broken promise—tightly clutched between san’s fingers, has never felt more heavier than it did in that moment.

꒰ TAGLIST. @stealanity @thelargefrye​​ @lost-leopard-beanie​ @starmaniic 𐬹 send an ask if you’d like to be added ꒱

[just-anothe-user]

It didn’t take much to make Kagami happy (as long as you were Marinette)

Kagami/Marinette ~700 words

CW: none

——————————————————————————

Even if it snowed often during this time of year, Kagami still found herself appreciating the white blanket being draped over Paris. Her mother would lecture her, telling her that it’s because she’s protected from the headache of the weather, with her not ever driving, enjoying activities indoors and never actually needing to take care of the snow she’d admire. If all she truly knew about snowfall was its appearance then what did she truly know about it or the season it appears in?

Regardless Kagami chooses to enjoy it, she enjoys a warmer drink sitting by the warmer fire, she enjoys the idea of going back to ice skate, with more positive experiences attached to it than the last and finally, she knows she’ll enjoy doing it all of it with the young woman on the sidewalk sneezing into her sleeves, her pink backpack falling to the ground as she does so.

Perfect timing. “You can drop me off here. I’ll walk the rest of the way,” Kagami said while reaching for her own bag, already prepared to leave the car.

Her driver turned back, slightly worried “Miss Tsurugi, I’d prefer to take you all the way, I understand there isn’t much distance from here to school but I can’t just leave you.”

“Sorry, but I’d prefer if you did. You can just follow me from a distance to assure I’m safe if you must,” With the car door left open and Kagami far from it, she couldn’t help but hope her driver heard her when she was leaving and that her voice didn’t get picked up in the light wind. She didn’t wish for him to be in trouble, she just wanted to spend some of her morning with Marinette. It could be called a selfish wish sure, but it was one she was happy to make.

Approaching the girl scrambling to get her stuff in order, all the while sneaking on said stuff, Kagami scooped her girlfriends' bag along with a couple of books that seem to have fallen out.

“If you aren't feeling well, it might be best for you to go home. The last thing I’d want is to see you deal with an excess school workload and a cold.”

Looking up from her fallen belongings Marinette notices the other girl with shock. “Kagami!” God, she was cute. “Wait? Sick, me? No. No way, absolutely not,” Marinette brought herself up with Kagami who was offering a hand and hurriedly tried to explain herself.

“Trust me, I’m not irresponsible enough to come to school sick, I just never do well with the cold,” With Marinette's hands moving so quickly back and forth, Kagami made sure to catch one of the girl flying pens falling from her flailing.

“I’m anything, it's just my body reacting badly to being a tiny itsy bit tired,” She continued, “Since valentine's day is fast approaching Papa and Mama have been getting orders like crazy. They’ve been working all night to organize in advance for a couple of events and plan how they’ll complete so many orders so quickly”

Noticing the look sent her way, Mari chose to wrap her arm around Kagami, bringing her tightly to her and finally adding, “Though if I ever was sick, I promise to stay home and tell you.”

Adding a warm kiss to cold and absolutely not sick girl cheeks, Kagami relented. “As long as you know, I can’t take care of you and make you soup to help you get better if I’m not the first person you inform.”

“I’m sorry? Take care of me how? Kagami, let alone making me soup, do you even know how to cook?” Marinette asks while seemingly hiding a laugh.

Stiffening, Kagami left the short girl's arm and was starting to walk at a normal pace to school.

“Let’s go Marinette, I don’t want to be late and you shouldn’t either.”

“Kagami don’t you dare run from me, I have three projects that I’m carrying and they are way too heavy for me to catch up.”

Smiling while Marinette followed her, Kagami remembered turning back and seeing Mari's cheeks pink and delicate snowflakes stuck in her equally pink beanie and hair. She was happy, joyous even, at all the time they had together and plans waiting to happen.

If all Kagami knew about snowfall was Marinette in it, it was all she needed to know to know she loved it.

~~~~~~~

I wrote this months ago but with a lot that happened in my personal life and other I knew I completely forgot I had this account and basically abandoned social media for a bit. Either way I though I’d post this and edit a couple others thing I had for a short fic about these two being cute also a smidge of winter propaganda. I’ve also read way to much manga of people making chocolate for valentine day and wanted to give it a try. My dumb dream of “making” chocolate for Valentine’s Day as been completed, it was quite easy and I think these are adorable (if a bit messy) so I’ll probably try to do smt more complex next time. Happy Valentine’s Day, hope you enjoy it with yourself or anyone you care about and thank you for reading!

[byanyan]

"Here. I know punks care more about style but it's too cold for the leather jacket." I love you. It's an old dusty canvas, heavy, waterproof, stitched with an inner fleece layer and decorated with outdated military camo. It's masculine, maybe more than they prefer, but it's nothing a few bedazzled belts and whatever buttons they can get through can't fix. It is, after all, all about the accessories.

"And this, too." She stuffs a scarf atop their coat folded in their hands. This, on the other hand, was sparkly pink and knit by hand by a friend of hers. I love you.

ㅤjacket thrust into their arms before they can even try to reject it, the scoff that escapes their throat mirrors the distaste which marks their features at the mere glimpse of camo print. they don't even have to unfold it to know that it's not their style and to guess that it's all straight and boxy and more about effectively blocking cold than looking good. ...which is probably smart, with how cold the weather's been and how they've had to make the choice between an impractical leather jacket that fits them and the more ideal hand-me-down winter jacket they've been using for years whose sleeves don't even cover their wrists anymore, but they don't love that fact. god, they hate this time of year.

raising a hand in order to run their fingers along the canvas material, byan's lip twitches yet again at the texture. the look, they can at least work with — some colourful dyes or fabric paint, a few buttons or pins or even some studs if they can get those through the thick material, and a cute belt to adjust the shape will be enough to make it suit their tastes a bit better. the texture, on the other hand, they'll be stuck with. ...but they suppose it is more practical for the winter months than anything else currently in their possession.

mouth opens with intent to expel some snarky, albeit not ungrateful comment, but they're stopped short when something much more their speed is set atop to coat. fingers gravitate toward the scarf, grabbing a handful of the much softer material while they admire the cute, sparkling pink yarn it's been made with. ...well, this makes it a lot harder to complain about the jacket. not impossible, but certainly more difficult.

ㅤㅤ" ...cute. "ㅤthe comment sounds a touch reluctant, like they don't want to admit to liking it but can't help it, their gaze remaining fixed upon the scarf as the weight of the gift finally starts to settle in. the coat is too big to have been hers, they're sure, and something so heavy duty is expensive. maybe it's thrifted, or passed on to her from one of her veteran friends, or something, but still... they can read the concern for their wellbeing in it even while she tries to conceal it so they'll just take the damn thing. and the scarf... lena doesn't knit, they're pretty sure, but she does know what they like. —not that they do anything but flaunt their love of pink and glittery, sparkly things, but it's not even just that, it's the fact that she knows them well enough to mix the practical with something they enjoy, that she knows to be casual and completely blasé when she hands it all to them so they won't refuse. they can see through the whole charade, the same way they're sure she'll see through theirs, but... it still makes it easier to accept how much she cares, and how thoroughly she has them figured out.

ㅤㅤ" coat kinda makes me wanna barf. thought you were trynna hand me a tent at first. "ㅤthank you.ㅤ" —but i can prob'ly make it work. even if my leather jacket is cooler. i like the scarf, though. think it might actually match my beanie — y'know, the one with the cat ears? ...although i'm startin' to think that might be on purpose. "ㅤi love you too.

[singingshutin]

Islands: Sunset

alex feels alive again.

Read on ao3 or down below!

The first day after the island came and went like a scene from an old movie: grainy, muted color streaked across the landscape, blurring together in a runny watercolor palette of rain and mud and quiet Sunday stillness. No sun peeked through the clouds—the only hint of the passage of time was the fade of the cold, hazy light into pressing darkness. Even the house lights felt heavy on her skin, casting a grim yellow spell across the distant dinner table conversation. Yes, Mr. Wright, no, Mr. Wright, she didn’t know, Mr. Wright. Her mom was happy, Mr. Wright, and that’s all that really mattered, wasn't it, Mr. Wright?

Sleep, school, dinner, sleep again: three more days passed, the sky heavy with unrelenting rainy malaise. Alex went about her business, a single ant falling in line with eight billion others, all in a mindless march toward a state of normalcy that she wasn’t sure was ever going to come. None of it felt real—not classes, not homework, not even Alex herself.

It was a Thursday evening: her mother was working late again, and Jonas’ dad had run out of milk halfway through cooking—something. The look on Jonas’ face told Alex it was probably better not to get her hopes up. Not like she was hungry, anyway. Being unreal wasn't conducive to developing an appetite.

“We’ll be back soon, Dad,” Jonas folded himself into his green jacket. “Just milk, right? Nothing else?”

“I’ll text if I think of anything,” Mr. Wright smiled through steam-fogged glasses. Whatever he was stirring glopped unappetizingly in the saucepan. “Thanks, Jo-Jo.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Jonas herded Alex out the door with an embarrassed huff.

“Be safe! Be good-”

Jonas shut the door.

Alex pulled Michael’s jacket tighter around her arms, wrinkling her nose at the nippy autumn air. Red and yellow summer trees blurred together in the cold, cloudy light, washed out and stark against the backdrop of green-black pines and grey sky.

Jonas gestured down the sidewalk. “After you,” he said.

Alex obliged.

Perhaps, to an outsider, the silence between the step-siblings making their way down the road would have looked awkward. Uncomfortable. Resentful, even. Michael’s kid sister, bright and quick and smart, and a boy branded by the law—tied together by the thin, thin thread of their parent's remarriage.

Absolutely nothing could be further from the truth.

Alex was older than time. She’d watched the universe explode into being a million times, and watched it fizzle out a billion more. She’d seen countless lives, sailing across the churning seas of time and space like tiny ships—some sticking together in tight fleets, others breaking off and disappearing over the horizon all alone. Each time it was different, pasts, presents, and futures all converging and diverging in endless different ways simultaneously.

But for all that, for all the eons she’d existed—she was still only seventeen. Seventeen and infinity at the same time, all tangled up inside her, whirling in a frantic loop of never-ceasing contradictions. She had seen possibilities on possibilities that could have, would have, should have happened. She knew every single way the earth would end, every single way humanity would go down with Terra’s sinking ship, every single way it could live on among the stars—and yet she had no idea what was for dinner tomorrow.

And that was painfully lonely.

Jonas had believed her. Every single time, every single loop, he believed her when she told him “we’ve done this all before.” He always tried to flip the breaker switch, always fussed at her reckless leaps across the island cliffs, always cracked the same bad jokes. He was always there, and when he wasn’t, he always found his way back.

He was always her brother.

And for Alex, that was enough.

"You doing alright?"

Alex looked up. Jonas was next to her now, his eyebrows knitted together in a concerned frown. "You've been really quiet since…well—you know." He gave his beanie a quick, awkward tug. "Since we got back.”

Ah, yes. Hell.

“I—hah,” Alex cut herself off with a sigh, folding her arms in a tight knot, squeezing herself against the foggy undertow of swirled-up feelings. “I don’t know yet. I’m…thinking. I think. Processing? I don’t know.” She tilted her head towards him. “And you?”

Jonas looked down, treating the asphalt passing beneath their boots to a humorless smirk. “I was kind of hoping you’d have an answer so I could figure out how I feel.” 

Alex bumped her shoulder gently against the sleeve of his jacket. “We’re on the same team, then, bud.” 

“Bud?” Jonas pulled a face at her. “Who are you, my dad?”

“Champ,” Alex shot back, unable to stop the smile creeping onto her lips. “Kiddo. Big guy.”

“Little sis,” he retorted.

Alex faked a gag. “No one really says that.”

“I could start.” Jonas’ threat didn’t hold much weight when compared to the wide spread of his lopsided grin.

“Fine.” Alex tossed her hair over her shoulder. “But I get to call you Jo-Jo.”

What little Alex could see of Jonas’ ears flushed beet red. “Ugh,” he groaned, “I give up, I give up. You win.”

“Dork.” Alex flashed him a grin of her own.

***

The fog of unease had gathered over Alex’s mind once again by the time they reached the corner shop, and the old feeling of unreality was slowly creeping its way back into her body. The sensation was both blurry and stark: her feet didn’t feel like her own as she floated up and down the narrow aisles under the deafening hum of the fluorescent lights. She could barely feel the chill of the cooler on her skin as she picked out a gallon of milk at random—a bright blue cap, she noticed, the pebbled plastic of the bottle an alien texture on her fingers as Jonas slid it from her grasp—and she hardly registered the cashier’s voice as she handed over a crumpled bill gone soft with time. The register dinged and slid open with a mechanical click. Cold metal clinked into her palm, and she closed her fingers over the smooth coins. Huh—what little remained of her dark nail polish was chipped and peeling…

Back out into the open air they went, the hiss of the automatic doors accentuated by the thick smell of tar and the heavy glow of the street lights against the darkening blue of the sky. Blue as the cap on the milk jug.

A forgotten something stirred in Alex’s chest.

“Clouds’re gone,” Jonas remarked. The thin plastic grocery bag hanging from his arm rustled with the movement of his long, slow stride.

Alex nodded.

“Wonder if we’ll see the sunset tonight.”

The something in Alex’s chest clenched.

“Sunsets in North Valley were always, like, this weird muddy yellow, I—hey, where are you going?”

Alex’s feet were moving on their own, shooting off the side of the road in a flailing sprint. Blood thrummed through her veins as she flew up the nearest knoll, wind rushing across her eardrums, drowning out Jonas’ shouts behind her. Grass and weeds and wildflowers all fell before her boots, the sharp, clean scent of green flooding her head in an intoxicating rush: faster, faster, faster, she had to see, she had to see it—

She skidded to a stop.

Red and yellow and orange and purple: the most vibrant flames she had ever seen licked at the bottle-cap blue sky, wreathing the dazzling golden sun in a crown of paradise. The tiny corner store—before so plain, so sleepy, so everyday and grey—lay beneath the face of the heavens like a pendant, windows gleaming like rubies and diamonds set in silver. Bright and hot and heavy, the whole scene dripped with scintillating splendor, the thick oil paints of nature running down and mingling in brilliant rainbow smears that she could see, that she could taste, that she could hear, that she could breathe—

“Hey—! Ho—holy shit—” Jonas’ voice wheezed up behind her. “What the Hell—”

Alex whirled with a shout of laughter that echoed off the trees. “Just look at it, Jonas!”

He swallowed, eyes fixed on the sky over her shoulder. “...whoa.”

“Don’t you feel alive?” Alex whirled around him in a wild dance, her chest heaving in something between a breathless laugh and a happy sob.

“It’s—wow, uh—” he took a shaky breath. “Holy—damn, it’s—”

“Yes,” Alex crowed in triumph, spinning into his chest with a thud, wrapping her arms around him as tightly as she could, squeezing him like her life depended on it. “It’s all that and a bag of chips!”

“Careful—” he wheezed, catching himself from a stumble, “you’ll knock us down the hill—”

Alex laughed. “God, I feel drunk.” She buried her face in Jonas’ shirt.

Jonas chuckled at that. Alex drank in the sound—oh, so, delightfully Jonas—raspy and dry and low, laced with a light cough and accented by a gravelly huff. It was warm and soft and familiar: just like the time-worn fabric of his jacket clutched in her hands and the wrinkles of his shirt pressed against her nose.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“We’re gonna be okay.”

“Yeah.” Jonas folded her into an all-encompassing hug. “We are.”

And—you know what? In the end, Mr. Wright’s weird casserole-soup-thing was the best meal Alex had ever eaten.