#cut to the time when i tried to memorize this entire poem

[humansofnewyork]

(23/54) “Each night when I came home from parliament I’d find Mitra ready to go out. And no matter how tired I felt, off we would go. She always looked perfect. She stayed current with all the latest trends. Every few months she’d have her hair cut in the style of a different American actress. I loved having her by my side in social situations. I was horrible at parties. I could never think of the right thing to say. If I tried to make a joke, people would tickle themselves to laugh. But not Mitra. She was spontaneous, she was funny. Words came from her like light from a lamp. And she could speak to anyone. There were never any formalities. No warm-up. She’d talk to every person as if she’d known them her entire life. We’d go to gatherings with ten or fifteen of our friends; often Dr. Ameli would be there. As soon as Mitra walked in the room the silence would end. At some point in the evening the conversation would always turn to politics. And the moment I began to debate an issue, Mitra would take the other side. She would team up with anyone against me. The person never mattered. The topic never mattered. She never wanted to get me started, so she’d always shut me down. It’s how we’ve been our entire lives. I’ve been the gas, she’s been the brakes. I thought about her every time I wrote a speech. She’s always been my antithesis. The hardest for me to convince. It could sometimes seem like her main purpose in life was to oppose me. To the outside world our love made no sense. We seemed so far apart. But there are many types of closeness. And some the world will never see. We still read poetry together. Mitra still trusted me to find the melody. There was one poem called ‘Sin,’ by Forough Farrokhzad. It scandalized religious society; everyone was talking about it. But it was one of Mitra’s favorites, so I’d memorized the entire thing: 𝘐 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 / 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳 / 𝘐 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 / 𝘩𝘰𝘵, 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 / 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘴 / 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 / 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴.”

 هر شب که از مجلس به خانه برمی‌گشتم، میترا را می‌دیدم که آماده‌ی بیرون رفتن بود، با همه‌ی خستگی‌ها باید می‌رفتم. بودنش در کنار من همیشه دلپذیر بود. خوش‌لباس بود. بریده‌های مجله را نزد خیاطش می‌برد و مو به مو آنچه را می‌خواست به او می‌گفت. موهایش همواره آراسته بود. هر چند ماه یکبار، موهایش را به سبک بازیگری آمریکایی به مدل‌های گوناگون کوتاه می‌کرد. در مهمانی‌ها آرامش نداشتم. هرگز نمی‌توانستم سخنان مناسبی برای گفت‌وگوی معمولی بیابم. هر بار تلاش می‌کردم شوخی کنم، مردم به زور می‌خندیدند. ولی میترا نه. واژگان به را��تی از دهانش بیرون می‌آمدند مانند نور از چراغ. او خودجوش بود، شوخ بود. می‌توانست با هر کس سخن بگوید. هیچ رودربایستی نداشت. نیازی به آمادگی نداشت. با هر کس چنان سخن می‌گفت که گویی همه‌ی عمر او را می‌شناخته است. با ده، پانزده تن از دوستان‌مان دوره داشتیم؛ در پاره‌ای از مهمانی‌ها دکتر عاملی هم می‌آمد. همین که میترا به اتاق وارد می‌شد، خاموشی پایان می‌یافت. زمانی می‌رسید که گفت‌وگوها به سیاست می‌گرایید. درست زمانی که من وارد بحثی می‌شدم، میترا بی‌درنگ جانب شخص مقابل را می‌گرفت. او در برابر من با هر کس متحد می‌شد. مهم نبود چه کسی‌ست. مهم نبود زمینه‌ی گفت‌وگو چیست. او تنها می‌خواست مرا ساکت کند. من چون پِدال گاز بودم و او چون ترمز. هر گاه متن یک سخنرانی را می‌نوشتم، به میترا فکر می‌کردم. او همواره نقطه‌ی مقابل من بوده است. سرسخت‌ترین شخصی که می‌بایستی متقاعد می‌کردم او بود. گاه به نظر می‌رسید که هدف بزرگ او در زندگی مخالفت با من بوده است. از دیدگاه دنیای بیرونی، عشق ما منطقی نمی‌نمود. بسیار دور از هم به نظر می‌رسیدیم. ولی گونه‌های بسیار از نزدیکی وجود دارند و برخی را دنیا هرگز نتواند دید. ما همچنان با هم شعر می‌خوانیم. میترا هنوز باور دارد که من آهنگ شعر را به درستی درمی‌یابم. شعری‌ست از سروده‌های فروغ فرخزاد به نام «گناه». این شعر جامعه‌ی مذهبی را به چالش می‌کشید؛ همه درباره‌ی آن سخن می‌گفتند. میترا این شعر را چندان دوست داشت که آنرا از بر کرده بود: گنه کردم گناهی پر ز لذت / در آغوشی که گرم و آتشین بود / گنه کردم میان بازوانی / که داغ و کینه‌جوی و آهنین بود / در آن خلوتگه تاریک و خاموش / نگه کردم به چشم پر ز رازش / دلم در سینه بی‌تابانه لرزید / زخواهش‌های چشم پر نیازش

[themissingmarvel]

Moments and Lifetimes

(Just a quick snippet. No real spoilers for TFATWS but just something nice I decided to post. Creative burst I guess. Let me know if you like it.)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

“Hey, doll,” his voice, deep and rumbling, low but without any sign of threat, dances into your ears. You feel his rough, calloused hands slide just under your shirt and onto your hips. You’re stirring your coffee, knowing he waited until the kettle was out of your hand. He’s caught you by surprise again, though your reflex has now become a smile and a sigh. A sort of melting. Without seeing him you know how he looks; a few cuts on his face, looking like a man who needs a shower and does. You know he needs to shave but you like the scruff, honestly. His hair will be mussed and you’ll tease him about hair gel.

On instinct you fall back gently against his strong form, the metallic hand on your hip no longer fasing you. Once it did. Twice it did. The third time it didn’t matter and when he realized that he stopped hesitating to touch you with it, “Missed you,” your voice dances out and the coffee smell is replaced by Bucky, his sweat and whatever locations he was forced into. No. Not forced. Asked. He is not the Winter Soldier.

Two-word conversations are enough as so much is said without words, and you like it that way. There are nights you listen to him recount stories he can’t hold in anymore but can’t tell his doctor. Can’t tell Steve. Steve is gone. But you’re here. You’re his world.

Soft lips press against your bare neck, a shiver running over your body as you take him in, the scruff you knew was present feeling like a soft tickle, causing more of a smile as he rests his chin on your shoulder, “Sam said he could wrap up the rest of the paperwork himself. Said he likes that kind of stuff,” he sighs, inhaling through his nose and taking in your scent all the same, the coffee you make, the coffee you try to make, mixing in. He associates that with you. It makes me yearn when he smells it. He tries not to. You’re always in his brain and he likes it that way.

Chuckling you close your eyes, reaching back and placing your palm against his face, “You mean you ditched him to deal with it so you could come back to the love of your life,” the words feel like home to Bucky and he absorbs them and their warmth. Humanity and compassion. Kindness. Goodness. Things you would never brag about are things he loves so deeply about you.

You think back and remember, as the two of you stay frozen and breathe in tandem, accidentally and on purpose. You remember when Bucky returned from Wakanda, how he looked as he did before, but with grief. Grief he had been searching for. He had learned to understand his pain but with you, accidentally, he had found compassion. Sam gave some good lessons but you had taken him in with ease. He had fallen for you the moment he laid eyes on you, but knew he was done for when you had laid with him in bed that night, forcing him off the floor, telling him you would stay through the nightmares. That you weren’t afraid.

Bucky had realized what he had longed for, yearned for, desired and needed, rested not with you but with what you gave him. Love. Forgiveness. Truth. Home. Compassion. Healing. A new start with a new person. He knew with you he was home, whether it was at the Avengers compound or in your cramped apartment that kept you safe.

You turn, the world around you bright and warm, his eyes, those grey eyes you find yourself falling into if you’re not careful, are wide and vulnerable. He looks exactly as you had imagined and he’s wearing his grey henley you’ve washed a dozen times. But he cooks, and he cleans, and he does a million other things. He pushes back your hair and you sigh at his warmth, “I will always come back to you,” he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips as you soak in the moment. So does he.

There will be time for laughter and chaos, for surprising him with trips to the theater an hour outside the city playing movies he hasn’t seen since before the war. You like seeing that smile brighten that brings back the old Bucky. The flirt Steve always said he was, the way he’d sling his arm around your shoulder. The charm that he uses like a sword, cutting away at your defenses. Making you weak. There will be time for bodies under sheets, never forgetting curves and scars, bumps, divots, perfect imperfections. Skin on skin, lips on lips, a mashup of both with heat filling the room and the world non existent. There will be time for quiet moments with books open as hours pass in silence filled with love, of quick glances over pages when he isn’t looking. When you aren’t looking. There will be time for quarrels over silly things like whether there needs to be a topsheet at all. Over what music to play. That lo-fi is in fact a genre and that Bucky needs to ‘get with it’ or that sometimes, maybe, you can be a little abrasive.

In this moment it is only you and Bucky. Lips close, but his taste always there. His smell. His entire life memorized and yours just the same. He wishes he could recite you like a poem but none would do justice. He keeps Steve’s book in his pocket, but another for you as well. Scribbles of notes and reminders of who you are. Songs and movies. Museums. Events. He has you in a small book that he keeps always next to Steve’s.

In this lifetime it is only you and Bucky.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Land Mammal | Feeding Habits Update #7

Hello! We are back for another Feeding Habits update, but this time we’re chatting chapter 8, aka Land Mammal.

Just a reminder: This is my original work and plagiarism of any form will not be tolerated.

Scene outline & excerpts under the cut because this one is a long one! If you missed previous updates or are new to the project, check out the novel intro page (which links all the updates) HERE!

Taglist (please ask to be added or removed): @if-one-of-us-falls @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @ev--writes , @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories , @august-iswriting, @berinswriting​​

Scene A:

After Harrison enters his apartment to find his ex Lonan hanging out in his kitchen in chapter six, he nopes to his room and tends to his German Shepherd puppy, June.

His mother, Suzanna interrupts him and attempts to explain that he can’t run away from his problems, and after the two argue, Harrison exits his room to find Lonan mopping up Harrison’s tracks of seawater from chapter six.

Scene B:

Harrison brings Lonan to a kiosk for canoe rentals and rents a canoe. Harrison sets up their journey whereas Lonan refuses to enter the water after subtly announcing a new fear of it. Instead, he collects beach stones from the sand. They have their first conversation in months where Harrison eggs Lonan on until he finally gets in the canoe. They set out on the water where Harrison questions Lonan regarding his relationship with Eliza (who he presumes he’s still in a relationship with) who is not there with him. Harrison accuses Lonan of murder and subsequently capsizes the canoe so they reunite underwater.

Scene C:

Harrison wakes up alone the next day on a hay bale, having stolen Lonan’s money (and shirt tea tea tea). We can assume he’s abandoned him and has travelled to the barn mentioned in chapter six. Here, he decides he needs an excuse for why he’s there early to the homeowners. He decides, since they hired him to fix up their barn, he’ll just say he was trying to be a good worker and get a head start.

However, as he approaches the farmhouse, the door is opened for him by Sharleen Harvey, his boss’ wife. He bullshits his excuse for being there so early just as Sharleen leads him to the breakfast table where Lonan sits (lol). Everyone there knows Harrison is clearly lying.

Scene D:

Harrison eats pancakes on the porch with the Harveys’ dog when Lonan joins him.

Scene Ea:

We dive into what happened after Harrison capsized their canoe. Harrison gets a lil unhinged and things get a lil murdery oops. This leads to shenanigans!! That is all I will say!!!

Scene Eb:

A very short, poetic paragraph that collects details from sentences in scene Ea that follow a Blue [NOUN] structure.

Scene Ec:

A two-sentence nudge at the ~the shenanigans

Scene F:

Harrison notices Lonan wears the ring he and Harrison tracked Eliza down to retrieve, and questions him as to why he didn’t propose to her with it. He goes on a desperate rant on why they should’ve gotten married before Lonan insists it’s now time for him to bring him home. The end of this scene signals a very slight glimpse of Harrison finally humanizing Lonan after a chapter of demonizing him (and also Harrison’s failing mental state).

Scene Ga:

Harrison falls asleep on the car ride back to his apartment in the city and doesn’t wake up until a day later. In this time, Lonan has stayed with him. He eventually wakes up and immediately notices Lonan fiddling with the guardian angel pendant he gifted him. Harrison seems to finally realize the weight of Lonan’s humanity in this scene and allows himself to trust him once again to some extent.

Scene Gb:

A second poem paragraph that references the water shenanigans that occur in scene Ea

Can you tell I’ve been really into poetry lately the poet in me said hello!

Excerpts:

This is a ~tender excerpt that explains Harrison’s mindset!

Suzanna is prettier in bad light. The tungsten of his bedroom’s cheap lightbulb cratering her waterline so the smudge of kohl shifts, the zip of her crow’s feet, the shimmer on her cheeks, all the soft things about her. She holds a beach towel, cactus print. This new life a second try neither asked for but committed to, this move back to the east their thing. Window-shopping for kitchenware on Sundays, snatching samples of bratwurst and sauerkraut for each other at the market, sharing each other’s toothpicks, burning caramel popcorn and renting the wrong DVDs, inventing new takes on boeuf bourguinon, sending postcards to each other even though they share an address. Undeniably theirs. A life unappreciated, and yet what he says next is “Where’s Eliza?” instead of I don’t want this life to end. Harrison pets the dog.

The following is the entire scene of the boys’ first interaction in months. TW: homicide, religious content, suicide, nods to self-harm

A canoe-rental kiosk ruching the Hudson River. Harrison pays for a two-hour timeslot with the last of his savings and lugs it to the shoreline by himself. It is nearly midnight, the sky clogged with fog and moonlight.

Lonan will not enter the water. Back near the kiosk, he fiddles with a beachstone, bathing in tungsten from the streetlamp above him. He gave no reason for his rejection, just picked stones as they walked along the boardwalk, through the parking lot, to the kiosk. As if he’d polish them, feed them through a rock tumbler as if he has the patience for that, tend to them like infants, shape, polish, burnish, sell them for thirty dollars a piece and donate the money to an animal sanctuary, as if has the mind to.

Harrison shifts the canoe perpendicular to the water and steps in. The boat cranks under his weight, its coldness seeping through his jeans.

Lonan stoops for more stones. His knees luminescing in white sand. His hair oilslick, cropped to his scalp like blunt grass. His fingers arrowing through sand, a raven filching seed. He unearths the stones with urgency, a paleontologist, a gravedigger.

“You’ll never make a sale on those,” Harrison shouts from the canoe. His voice splinters the night and puffs with the sand.

Lonan nearly drops his handful of stones. It takes him a moment to look up, and when he does, he searches the treeline first, the windows of a parked SUV, the gaps between a thicket of lifejackets before reaching Harrison, and he’s so deerlike, Harrison thinks, he’s so limp, so feeble, so susceptible. His hair jutting briefly from his scalp like an accordion, badly cut probably because Eliza likes it that way. His skin nearly lilac in places, a gauntness in his face, a hunger.

“My mother tells me you like her cooking,” he continues. “That you’re here for your sister. That you’re here alone.”

Lonan reaches for another stone.

“Eliza wants you to look like a deacon.” Harrison frills a hand toward his hair, snaps his fingers like scissors. “So holy. I could ordain you right now. Make you born-again. There’s so much water.”

“I don’t swim,” Lonan says. He reaches for another stone, then another so his palms turn into one.

“You don’t? You’re a land mammal. Rhinoceros. Hippopotamus. Is it the stones? You’re afraid they’ll sink you?”

“I’m not keeping the stones.”

“Then why search for them?”

Lonan sets the pile down. They clatter into the sand and toil into new holes, a sand cloud disguising them in the minute he rises, dusts himself off, limb by limb, and walks toward the canoe.

“Is it supposed to be avant garde?” Harrison asks as he gets closer. “The hair. So avant garde. So high fashion. Everyone wants you.” And then, “You’re scared of water now. The last time I knew you that’s where you wanted to be buried. It’s a good opportunity. Take the stones with you. Company that serves a purpose.”

Lonan hikes into the canoe. He takes a seat opposite Harrison and grips the paddle as if it’s a murder weapon ready to save him.

“She might be dead,” Lonan says. They push from the shore, and Lonan scores the water with the paddle until the kiosk shrinks. His hands jitter, unsteady, but takes them through the water. “She’s not with me.”

“Are those things related?” Harrison shifts closer to him, that haunted, lilac, hungry face, the edges of him he knows, he’s touched, the nose he’s nudged, the eyelids he’s dabbed, the ears he’s breathed into and out of, the mouth he’s spoken into and spoken out of. That hunted lilac hungry face, searching for a place where he can be sustenance, a place he knows, a place of comfort. The holes all closed. Those pores no longer constellations he’s memorized. That haunted lilac hungry face no longer his. “How did you do it?” Harrison asks. He stares at Lonan’s hands, the hands he should know, nailbeds he’s scored with his own, fingers he’s matched with his own, palms he’s stamped with his own. “Asphyxiation? Death by drowning. Death by land mammal.” He tries his wrist next, tendons flexing with the paddle, that expanse of skin a flute of ivory, those veins he should know, where they conjoin, where they branch like an oakwood. Those scars he knows the stories of—accidents, non-accidents, safety pins, lighters, cigarettes, ballpoint pens. Harrison could recite those stories a year ago and now they’ve dissolved, unmemories.

“It was an accident.”

“You’re a murderer.”

“I’m sorry.”

They’ve paddled so far from the kiosk, it’s like they’re on their own planet. A planet of only water. A planet uninhabitable, where land mammals sink and never come back up. Lonan’s eyes glisten with moonlight, and his waterline should be recognizable, dampening now, cattled with wet eyelashes, should be memorable, what it felt like to touch their ledge. All foreign. He’s foreign. So foreign. His anti-hair, anti-face, anti-hands, anti-wrists. He’s crying and immemorable. He’s crying and sorry.

Harrison shuffles forward until their knees touch. He reaches. He makes contact. He touches his skin. He touches his ear. He touches cheek. He touches eyes, fingerprints his irises, wrings the tears from his waterline, pulls his face by the jaw, cradling his land mammal. He is crying. They should both cry. They are both crying. Their own lake puddling in Harrison’s palm. Theirs as Harrison dips his free hand into the water. Theirs as he hushes Lonan’s writhing. Theirs as he christens him, the water gorging his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Theirs as he promises it will be okay. Theirs as he says he will get to know this stranger. Theirs as they promise to both regrow. Theirs as Harrison jerks the canoe. Theirs as they capsize. Theirs as they reunite in fizzing tide, caught in the river, both animals trapped in amber.

Tea:

The next time he is dry, he is lying on a bale of hay, wearing the wrong shirt, a hundred dollars richer. All of these things are related. The hay only because he paid for a cab with money he only has because of the shirt, five twenties easily slipped into the breast pocket when Lonan wasn’t looking. Twenty on the cab ride to Brooklyn, and now he’s face-first in a spool of hay that is better than sleeping in his own bed.

Harrison being chaotic and embarrassing lol:

A seagull on a ceiling beam gorges on a French fry. It eats with conviction, the fry lost in its throat before he even blinks. It flies through the hole in the roof as Harrison rises off the hay bale.

He did not announce his arrival to Theodore Harvey. In fact, he entered the property like it was his own, picked the barn’s lock with the edge of one of Lonan’s beachstones—he did keep one, in the pocket with his shirt, right behind the money—and slept without worrying what his mother would think. His third life is no longer necessary—it has already been disturbed. It is more efficient to deescalate than renew.

He decides he will not tell Harvey of his stay but lie and say he arrived at the farm early, 6AM, a good man trying to start his work early. Trying to impress. He’ll lie, say he tried picking up a tray of raspberry danishes from the bakery but it was too early for anyone to have opened. He’ll lie, apologize to Harvey’s wife Sharleen for showing up empty-handed. It’s rude to bring no offering.

Harrison fixes himself in the reflection of an overturned wheelbarrow, its silver belly clouded with rust. He exits the barn dry, well-rested, a richer, more fashionable man.

Before he even finishes ascending the veranda of the Harvey house, Sharleen opens the door. Her white hair is pearled into a bun. She wears a paisley patterned apron, chartreuse.

“Raspberry Danishes,” Harrison says. “All I wanted was to bring you some fresh raspberry Danishes, but all the bakeries were closed.”

Sharleen rolls up her sleeves. Her hands are caked with flour and fat.

“I considered tulips, but realized I’ve never asked for your favourite flower. Is it tulips? Hydrangeas? Chrysanthemums?”

Sharleen juts open the screen door and holds it open for him. He enters the foyer, and it smells like cinnamon, like sugar.

“I’ve heard marigolds are helpful for warding off squirrels,” he says, taking the hand she offers for his jacket. Sharleen doesn’t jump when he runs his finger across her wedding band and pecks her knuckles with his mouth. She doesn’t even speak. “Is that true?” as they usher toward the kitchen. “Pretty and purposeful. Sounds fake.”

Sharleen dusts her hands on her apron and jars open the kitchen door.

“Could be a double whammy. Or a scam. Or an old wife’s tale,” Harrison is saying as they walk into the kitchen, so occupied with the marigolds he does not notice when Sharleen returns to the stove to flip a pancake, so occupied, when he turns to the kitchen table, expecting only Harvey but seeing Lonan, all he says is, “Sounds too good to be true.”

Lonan joining Harrison on the porch after the above:

Harrison eats his pancakes on the porch. The Harveys’ dog joins him, a golden retriever named Leila. He cuts her a rift of cake and slots it into her mouth when she whines. One bite for him, another for Leila. Him, Leila, him, Leila. The good news is since he fixed their coffee machine, he now drinks drip.

It does not take long for Lonan to follow him outside. Harrison’s known this was inevitable and has dreaded the last five minutes because of it. He slits another triangle of pancake and feeds it to the dog.

It’s too cold to be out without a jacket. Wind nips Harrison’s ears and icicles his fingertips. Lonan’s shirt, the pale blue button-up he nabbed knowing he’d have cash, brays under the breeze, barely denser than a tissue.

TW: This gets a bit murder-y!

Suspended in water, Lonan was aquatic. Blue eyes turning into blue skin into blue lips into blue throat, chest, wrist. Shards of his sheared hair slung in sheathes of bubbles, his face blissfully marred by their movement. Blue collarbones, blue earlobe, blue shoulder blade, blue pinkie finger.

Harrison pulled him by the shirtsleeve before he could swim back to the surface, contorting them under the hex of the overturned boat. Him and the water a double team as they took Lonan by the shoulders and held him underwater, an insect stilled and ready to be inspected. Saltwater burned Harrison’s eyes as he stared, but that wasn’t a deterrent. If he only had a moment to look, he wanted it to be in stillness, in a place time unravels. Blue knuckles, blue abdomen, blue forearm, blue tibia.

When Harrison dragged them toward the six-inch gap between the water’s surface and the canoe’s dome, he held them both there, sheep and shepherd, slain and slaughterer. His hands cupped around his throat like butterfly wings, holding him there for safekeeping. Blue nose-bridge, blue sclera, blue cheekbone, blue teeth. He coughed water.

Iconic dialogue (TW: this is also a bit murder-y!):

“Pull me under,” Lonan said, spitting water, his voice grating under pressure. He trembled, his limbs his betrayal, tremoloing in the waves.

And Harrison did. Dousing him by the shoulders and holding him under so only he floated in the miniscule gap of air, Lonan a sunken, thrashing speck. It was thrilling, holding a body in his hands, determining its fate. And equally as thrilling to hold it as he lulled Lonan back up and over his shoulder where he deflated, gasping. At first Lonan coughed, once twice, heaving saltwater and saliva. But then a birdlike sound, compact but jittering, the wisp of a laugh, and Harrison couldn’t help but wonder if he was thrilled, too

“Do you feel accomplished, Harrison?” Lonan asked, his teeth prattling like an accordion. His hand trailed up the tail of his jacket, scrawling along the soaked leather. Lonan shifted, his body dead weight nearly drowned. And there was the sound again, chirping, “You’re not the first person who’s tried to kill me this year. Congratulations.”

Harrison angst in its prime:

Harrison adjusted his grip around Lonan so one arm supported his torso and the other scored his jaw. His fingers pressed against the skin there so it paled, exploring along that blue skin, blue mouth. The facts were: Lonan was not there for him, or so he told Suzanna, and so he was a changed man, uncoupled, unromanced, a clean restart. They would get out of the water. Harrison would climb into the backseat of the car Lonan drove instead of the passenger’s side because he wouldn’t want to look at him, and they would return to the apartment and not speak again. Suzanna would intervene in the next morning, maybe get up early to make breakfast, French toast, or crepes, or single-serve omelettes, and they would look at each other and it would be easier to forgive Lonan for a decision Harrison made. Suzanna would say he shouldn’t feel rejected when he was the one doing the rejecting and apologize a few hours later, blame it on the side effects of her cough drops. So it would be fine. They would be friends, or whatever they were before Eliza, and Harrison would live his cyclical life with a new-old person who didn’t come searching for him. Glamorous.

This is scene Ec if you were wondering what that looked like:

After, in a wash of cattails, saltwater in their mouths. Their bodies keeling over the other’s like the matrix of a ribcage. Snowmelt turning them both blue.

I find this description v cute ok I need a Harrison flannel:

Lonan is on his fifth button. His skin crests from underneath the squares of orange and red. The fabric smelling dangerously of Harrison: cigarette smoke, cinnamon.

Harrison badgers Lonan about not marrying Eliza and then it gets PURE:

“Why won’t you marry her?” Harrison asks. “You could have children. A honeymoon.”

Lonan stuffs his free hand into his pocket. His breath fogs with every exhale, his nose pinkish with cold. Harrison doesn’t feel any of it, the breath, the cold, his hands. He doesn’t move to button up his flannel. He doesn’t want to move.

“You’re going back to her. You’re here to check on Reeve, and then you’re going back. To get married. To have children. To honeymoon forever.”

Lonan’s hair is awful. Spoking from his scalp like a raven’s wings, some sections ragged, uneven. Not a haircut, but punishment.

“You’re perfect,” Harrison says. He should being shivering, be freezing, but he feels nothing. “Why can’t you say you’re perfect?”

Lonan moves first. They could reabsorb. Go back to blue. But Lonan only reaches for the flannel with his free hand and drapes it around Harrison’s shoulders. Arm by arm, slotting them through the sleeves. Button by button, securing it up his abdomen, his chest, right up to his throat. If Harrison looks closely, one of his eyes is rimmed with scarlet, like a vessel there popped, and a pool of lilac simmers, almost undetectable, across his temple.

“You could’ve married her,” Harrison says. His voice has dropped to a whisper. Lonan swings his jacket around his shoulders, securing his arms through each loop of leather, one, two. Zipping so his exposed skin may rewarm.

“I need to take you home,” Lonan says. Lonan with the broken eye. Lonan with the blackberry skin. Lonan with the teeth-shorn shirt. Lonan with the mowed hair. Lonan with the burned palms. Lonan with the wedding ring that was never really a wedding ring. Lonan who looks as if he’s always prepared to blink, just in case something comes out to get him.

The following is from scene Ga:

Harrison sleeps in the car on his way back and doesn’t wake until the next day. In that time, Suzanna slots takeout boxes through the unrolled window, three full meals: sweet corn and tomato fusilli, beef stifado, meatless cassoulet. What she doesn’t know is they sit, untouched, under the passenger’s seat, not because Lonan is averted by her cooking, but because he’s saving them to share, just in case. She brings a vacuum sealed bag of extra comforters the first evening when flurries dot the windshield, Harrison is swathed in them all by the time the snow reaches half an inch. One lined with Sherpa closest to his skin when he stirs, the bulbs of fabric like cottage cheese. In the time he’s in the car he dreams. Of driving into the ocean. Of haircuts. Marriage.

When he opens his eyes, Lonan is nuzzled against the windowpane, his arms folded over his chest. He wears only the corduroy jacket, the layers of blankets piled over Harrison’s arms in dense tufts, like the Pasteis de Nata he and Suzanna watch the bakers laminate at the local bakery.

The only valid thing about snow is that I can get these descriptions out of it:

The snow has levelled to a healthy four inches. In sunbeams, it griddles with light, fractals picking the windshield, Lonan’s eyes. And for a few minutes, this is it: the blanket life-ring, the sun coiled in the space between them. Suzanna makes apple cider in weather like this. Cinnamon to pair with the subtle remnants of winter, cloves to warm, turmeric and ginger to surprise. Inside the apartment, Harrison imagines her stirring a saucepot bobbing with fruit and rind, skinning oranges, lemons, turning the kitchen lights on, off, on, off, until her son comes home.

And to end this update, here is the final “poem-y” paragraph:

Land mammals in the water. Spitting bubbles and rims of wave. Their mouths caverns, limbs rattlesnaking, lungs inflating. Land mammals in the water. Coasts apart now re-seamed, kicking up sand, knocking teeth, touching spines. Land mammals in the water. Eyelashes drowning, mouth to mouth. Land mammals in the water, gaping at each other’s throats.

Thank you for reading! Hope y’all enjoyed this very chaotic chapter!

--Rachel

[moonknightly]

Now I’m Hungry For Blood Again : Poe Dameron x Reader

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader 

Word Count: 2.7k

Excerpt: “...you could find sweet religion in his eyes and build a church in the palm of his hand, but those eyes, that tongue — you would sin, and sin, and sin as he brought you to your knees. He was your confessional, his name your most desperate prayer, your moans an erotic hymn.”

Warnings: Blood, bad words you shouldn’t repeat in front of a 5 year old, sexual references but no smut. 

I totally 100% recommend listening to “Run” and “Blood Red” by The Maine oKAY

You love him.

Present tense.

You love the way your name drips from his tongue like honey, and the way his fingers tangle in your hair, and how they pull, sending pinpricks across your scalp and shivers down your spine. You love how he seems to know exactly what’s bothering you before you even have a chance to say it, and how his eyes scan your face as if he’s committing it to memory every single time he looks at you, as if he could never possibly get enough of you.

You love him, and his stupid messy curls, and the way his brown eyes sparkle in the sunlight, and the taste of his lips.

And those lips of his, they taste so fucking sweet, because you know he loves you just as much. There’s no doubt in your mind that he loves you with every ounce of his being, with every fractured piece of his soul, set on fire with a single touch.

He had managed to climb his way inside of you, settle between your bones and make a home inside of your chest, but you had managed to do the same. You could feel his devotion for you in the way his gentle hands gripped your hips between rough sheets, and in the way his eyelashes fluttered across the skin of your cheek as he breathed you in.

You love him.

And Poe Dameron loves you.

Even if he was no longer whispering your name in the dead of night and stealing the breath right from your lungs with a single touch of his lips to yours, he still loves you.

A love like that can’t just die.

Living things die. Plants, animals, people. Parts of people.

But not love. Not your love. It was infinite, and knew no bounds. It couldn’t just cease to exist, it didn’t make any sense. You refused to let it make sense.

It couldn’t have just disappeared, dissolving into the night sky like a cloud of gray smoke. Poe Dameron could disappear, but his love couldn’t.

Or maybe, it could. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe he really was gone. Maybe you were holding onto some sense of false hope and false promises of forever. Maybe you were stuck in the first stage of grief — denial.

You were okay, staying there. Remaining in the first stage. You didn’t want to be angry, or bargain, or fall into a depression you doubted you would be able to pull yourself out of, and you definitely didn’t want to accept the fact that his heart no longer belonged to you, and that it was over.

You didn’t know it was possible to grieve the loss of someone who was still alive, still breathing.

Maybe you weren’t grieving. Maybe you were just feeling.

Feelings. Emotions. You were so out of touch with them. The numbness, the nothingness, it was all you knew now. You couldn’t remember the last time you had actually let yourself feel something.

Actually, you could. It was that last night — your last night with him, now over a year ago, where you spent hours memorizing the feeling of his tongue sliding across sweat soaked skin and how his lips crafted a sinful poem between your thighs.

You had felt everything then. Every electric touch, every fluttering beat of your heart. Sex with Poe Dameron was nothing short of spiritual; you could find sweet religion in his eyes and build a church in the palm of his hand, but those eyes, that tongue — you would sin, and sin, and sin as he brought you to your knees. He was your confessional, his name your most desperate prayer, your moans an erotic hymn.

You missed feeling.

You missed him.

And Gods, you were determined to find him.

He was there, somewhere. Somewhere amongst the burning village, between the blood and the carnage lining desecrated streets. You could sense it. You’re with a person long enough, your bodies start to react like magnets.

You wanted to believe that maybe, he was looking for you too, that his soul still felt that pull to yours. Because it didn’t take you long at all to cross his path, nearly running into him as you both bolted around the corner in a deserted alley, and when your eyes met, for the first time in so long, he didn’t seem at all surprised.

You certainly were.

Surprised was probably an understatement.

Because seeing him, standing there with his hands clasped behind his back, in a black uniform that you hated to admit fit perfectly in all the right places, with the curls you so loved tamed, cut short and graying — it made it real. Made the fact that he left real, that he gave up sleeping next to you at night for a cause he had once sworn to destroy by your side.

Another thing you had been in denial over: you didn’t want to believe that the rumors, or rather, facts, were true. That he had joined the First Order, that he was now flying a TIE instead of his precious black X-Wing. That he had traded peace for power.

You could only stare at him, still trying so desperately to cling to that denial, but then he smiled at you. He smiled at you, but his eyes — you had never seen the warm brown so cold. So devoid of emotion. So lifeless.

Poe Dameron, your Poe Dameron, was anything but.

This wasn’t Poe.

The hope you had been holding onto immediately vanished, and you were finally slipping into that second stage of grief, because Maker, were you pissed. Pissed at yourself for refusing to believe what everyone else had told you, furious that you had been too blind to see it. Angry that his promises to you had meant nothing. Angry that he left the Resistance, left you for this.

The anger was quickly replaced by another response. You watched in something akin to horror as his smile turned to a smirk, and the feeling that creeped its way into your chest — it wasn’t relief. It wasn’t relief or happiness or contentment. It was nowhere near any positive emotion you could think of.

You didn’t even know what to call it.

All you knew is that you wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk clear off his face.

“Fancy seein’ you here, darling,” he said, and you cringed. His voice sounded exactly the same, his tone as soft as when he was still yours, contradicting everything else about him.

“You actually fucking did it,” you scoffed, surprising yourself by how steady yet full of venom your own voice was. You had nearly expected it to crack. Infact, you hadn’t planned on saying anything at all for that exact reason. It just slipped.

“I see you’ve still got that mouth on you.”

“You used to like my mouth.”

“Oh darling,” he chuckled, though the sound held no humor, his smirk turning even more wicked than before. “If I remember correctly, you used to love mine. Had you begging for it.”

He was right.

Used to.

Past tense.

“Still cocky as ever. Nice to know some things never change.”

“Everything changes,” he shrugged, slowly strolling closer to you, those brown eyes holding you to your spot.

“Not everything.”

Poe began to circle you, his gaze trailing over your body in a way that sent a shiver down your spine, but you worked so hard to ignore it, tried so hard to push it away. Tried to remind yourself that he wasn’t Poe anymore, he was just another member of the First Order. Your enemy.

Your hand twitched, knowing it should fly to your blaster, rip it from the holster. You knew you should spin around, and at least keep it pointed at him as you made your escape. You knew you would never be able to actually use it on him.

He had to have seen your fingers reach for it, or maybe he still knew you well enough to be just one step ahead, or maybe he was remembering his own training, because he was suddenly pulling the weapon from its spot on your hip and before you could even register his sudden movement, you felt the cold metal of the barrel press into your lower back.

“You’re not going to use that on me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re not going to kill me, Dameron.”

You felt the pressure let up, and even though it was only for a second, it gave you another ounce of courage to speak out against him, to let him know just how truly pissed off you were.

“You don’t have the balls.”

And he growled. He growled, and you huffed as your back collided with cool brick, the air catching in your lungs. You were so focused on trying to remember how to breathe properly, you almost didn’t notice when the tip of your blaster was suddenly jammed into the underside of your jaw.

Almost.

“Try me.”

His voice was threatening, eyes cold, calculated. He was watching your every movement, and for  a moment you thought that you might’ve been wrong. Maybe he was going to kill you. Maybe Poe Dameron would end your life with your own fucking blaster.

But there. There was just a flicker of something else in those cold and calculated eyes as he watched you gulp, visibly showing for the first time that you were scared. Something not entirely warm, but it was still something. A memory, an old, nearly forgotten feeling. And that was enough for you.

“You’re not a killer Poe.”

He laughed, the sound downright caustic, dripping with poison. “You have no idea just how fucking wrong that sentence is, sweetheart.”

He removed his hand from your hip that you hadn’t even realized was holding you to the wall, and once it moved into your line of vision, you noticed that he quite literally had blood on his hands, crimson running down his fingertips, still fresh, probably still warm.

Poe of course noticed you blatantly staring, almost entranced, and his eyes narrowed, gaze flickering between his fingers and your face. You didn’t notice.

“Open.”

That caught your attention.

“Excuse me?”

“Open your fucking mouth, Y/N.”

You gaped. He couldn’t be serious, could he?

“Fuck yo-”

He took the opportunity, and before you could finish your sentence, his blood soaked fingers were moving past your lips, sliding across your tongue and down your throat as far as he could get them. You gagged.

“Suck.”

You had half the mind to bite him.

“Come on, my fingers aren’t the first thing of mine you’ve had shoved down your throat.”

Yeah, you bit him.

He hissed as your teeth sank into his skin, but he didn’t move, didn’t yank his hand back like you had expected him to. Fuck, you had been anticipating a hard smack across the face. None of it came. If anything, a hint of arousal found its way into his eyes.

“You always knew just how to tighten my pants.”

Your eyes widened, and you hated the fact that his words traveled straight to your core, made you whimper around his fingers.

He smirked again, devilish and sinful and fuck, why didn’t you hate this?

“Now suck.”

Why did you fucking oblige him?

You slowly, just a little hesitantly, swirled your tongue around his fingers, the tangy metallic taste familiar, and you still didn’t hate it.

“That’s it,” he cooed, brown eyes nearly black, blown with lust and desire more so than you had ever seen. It drove you crazy.

He pulled his fingers out of your mouth just a few seconds later, letting them drag along your tongue again, making you gag a second time.

And Poe laughed, raising his other hand, still covered in that sweet, heavy blood, to his own lips, his eyes fluttering shut as the taste hit his tongue.

Your stomach flipped, but you couldn’t look away.

Gods, he was crazy, but you were crazier for letting his actions shock your system and send electric jolts through your veins.

“Almost as sweet as your pussy.”

Maybe you weren’t that crazy.

You had enough of your sense left to punch him, swift and hard, your knuckles landing square on his jaw.

And he only laughed again.

Poe really had lost his mind.

“What the hell happened to you?” you nearly gasped, your voice barely above a whisper, the weakness you had expected before finally finding its way into your tone.

He only shrugged. He didn’t need to verbally answer, you knew. He had always liked control, and power, and he had finally given into the primal side of himself that always hid below the surface — a side of himself he only talked about at 5 in the morning, and only ever to you.

You bit the inside of your cheek, finally averting your gaze. He laughed a third time, and you suddenly felt a familiar weight in the palm of your hand.

You looked down, your fingers automatically curling around the blaster that you were now holding. You couldn’t help but furrow your eyebrows. Every single action during this short exchange had you so utterly and entirely confused.

Looking up, you met his stare once again, lips pursed. You didn’t ask, not verbally, but your expression must have been enough of a question.

Poe tilted his head to the side, studying you carefully for just a moment, though his eyes weren’t any less intense, any less crazed.

“You wouldn’t be able to use that thing on me even if you really wanted to, sweetheart.”

“I’m not weak.”

He scoffed, and this time, he was the first to avert his gaze, staring down the alley, appearing almost lost in thought for just a single moment, that flicker in his eye returning, though it vanished as quickly as it came.

“No, you’re not. You never were. But you love me.”

Present tense.

He was right again.

You still didn’t hate him, couldn’t bring yourself too. Didn’t know if you ever could. And of course he knew that, but he wasn’t dangling it above your head, teasing you with it. No, he stated it as a fact, as if he had read it off a file from his datapad.

You weren’t weak, but you weren’t immune, either.

And he knew it. He knew it, and while he wasn’t exactly ignoring it, he wasn’t abusing it, either.

You didn’t understand.

And apparently Poe wasn’t going to explain, not that you expected him to. He was done talking, his hands moving behind his back once again as he started down the narrow alleyway once again. You were still frozen, and all you could do was watch him go, not knowing what else to do, but knowing that the blaster in your hand was useless. Why did he always have to be right?

But then he stopped, turned his face to the side just enough to look at you through his peripheral, and even from ten feet away, you could see that his jaw was clenched, and his eyebrows were furrowed.

“Next time,” he started, his voice quiet, though it dripped with acid, sending a chill down your spine and goosebumps across your skin. “I won’t hesitate.”

Still frozen, you wished that he had gone ahead and pulled the trigger.

Because even with a threat looming over your head, a threat that your instinct told you to not ignore, you just couldn’t bring yourself to believe him.

Still couldn’t bring yourself to hate him.

You still love him.

Present tense.

And he was gone once again, like a cloud of gray smoke.

[yuthoe]

Practice Makes Permanent (PENTAGON: Yeo One)

Hello, friends! This fic is entirely inspired by this post made by Changgu SO LONG AGO, and it looked so cute that I couldn’t get it out of my head. I’m a big theatre geek--I love acting and I was even in an org for it in college, and was cast last minute for a film, too. it’s one of my biggest passions, and hearing news of changgu being in something rotten! made me extremely happy. i needed an excuse anyway to get into the show, and this is the perfect opportunity!

this one took sooooo long to finish. it’s been in my unfinished folder for the longest time, and i’m so glad i’m finally finished with it. changgu’s last performance as Nigel Bottom is today, so i really tried to wrap it up before then. nothing like a deadline to get your ass in gear, am i right lol. but i do apologize if this one seems messy.

btw, the title is something my director would tell us to keep in mind: practice doesn’t make you perfect, it makes you and your body remember what you’re doing, whether it’s correct or not. so you have to practice things in the correct way before it becomes a habit and you keep repeating things the wrong way.

PAIRING: Yeo One x reader. GENRE: fic, general. WARNINGS: N/A. WORD COUNT: 1,635.

---

You knock twice on the door of a dance studio in the company building, before opening it a smidge and peeking your head through, immediately spotting your boyfriend sitting cross-legged against the floor length mirror, his script for the upcoming show he’s in on his lap. Changgu turns to the door at the knocks and smiles wide when he sees you.

The door clicks closed behind you as you skip to where he’s sitting to give him a peck on the cheek. “Hello, handsome,” you greet as you put your messenger bag down on the floor near you; he murmurs a quiet hi as you settle down beside him. “So what did you ask me to come here for?”

He lifts one of your hands to his mouth and presses a soft kiss there. “Okay, so you know I was cast as Nigel Bottom in Something Rotten!, right?”

“Of course, and I’m exceedingly proud of you for landing the role,” you gush, leaning forward and smacking him on the lips. “I know you’ll do great in it.” You’ve seen the musical before, and it’s hilarious, so when Changgu told you the news, you couldn’t help but feel that playing Nigel would suit him to a T.

Changgu chuckles, grinning widely as he kisses you back. “Thank you, love. But yeah, I have a love interest in the play. And much of Nigel’s character development is helped forward by her, so… you know… if you’re okay with it… could you--,”

“Help you memorize your lines with Portia?” you ask with a smile. It’s been a while since you’d done any acting, apart from what’s necessary for your group’s comebacks. The last gig you could remember was for a short film two years ago that was screened during a film festival, and you’ve been itching to get in front of a camera again.

Your boyfriend shrugs nonchalantly, as if it’s no big deal. “Only if you want to, though. I know you’ve been busy lately.” He levels you with a disarming smile and soft caramel eyes. “But I’d really appreciate it if you could help me.”

You had been ready to say yes to the request even before he gave you that look, so you gently cup his face, press a light kiss on his nose, and say, “I’m never too busy for you, love.”

***

“Okay,” Changgu says, sitting on the “bench” (three chairs you’d put in a neat row), sheaves of papers in his hands. “Act 1 Scene 8… action!” He taps his rolled-up script against his palm, quickly unfurls it again, and starts scribbling on the cover with an invisible pen.

You stand a little ways away, clutching a piece of fabric you found in the corner around your head and shoulders like a cloak. Your feet want to move, want to pace around a bit from nerves of seeing and possibly talking to Nigel.

Nigel groans in frustration. “Uggggh, no you can’t.” He sighs, makes to stand up, and you spur into action, walking straight into him as he begins to walk away. “Oh, apologies. Good day, mistress.” He avoids your eyes, defeated.

He begins to side-step to excuse himself when you say, “‘Good days were those when lit with love, till dusk of death did herald th’eternal night’.”

It puts him to a stop, and he finally looks at you properly. He recognizes the line and confusion is written plain on his face, obvious in the way his brows furrow. “Hey… I wrote that.”

“Yes, I know,” you say, trying to fight the smile growing on your face as you lower the “hood” of the cloak. The cloth precariously hangs on your shoulders as you pat your pockets for the paper you stuffed in one of them earlier. “I accidentally took this after our first encounter,” you fumble with the blank page and show it to him. “Your sonnet. It’s--it’s perfection.” You’d never read something so deeply sorrowful and yet yet incredibly hopeful.

“Really?” Nigel’s eyes had lit up when you took off your hood, and now he’s fiddling with his hands, embarrassed but flattered. “You thought it was… good?”

You clutch the paper to your chest. “It touched me in places I did not know could be touched.” Instantly, your eyes widen and you inwardly curse yourself for making it sound like something sexual. You try to backpedal. “Forgive me. Poetry is forbidden in my house, especially poems of earthly love.”

You take a step forward, lifting a hand in front of you like you’re reading a marquee. “OH, IS THERE NO PITY SITTING IN THE CLOUDS THAT SEES INTO THE BOTTOM OF MY GRIEF?!” you yell, and press a hand to your heart with an impassioned sigh.

Nigel points a finger at you, the play coming to him easily. “Romeo and Juliet, Act 3, Scene 6!”

You whip your head towards him, more excited now. “You’ve seen it?”

He nods, just as elated as you. “Six times! And you?”

“Eight! If my father knew, he would disown me,” you reply.

“My brother, too.”

“I adore Shakespeare.”

“Me too! I’ve got Comedy of Errors, first edition,” he says proudly.

You smile. “I’ve got ‘Sonnet No. 1’.” You hold up a finger. “Signed.”

Nigel’s jaw drops. “Wow.”

“I know,” you say, giggling. Talking about literature always makes you so excited that it’s taking all of your willpower to not jump around right now. Nigel chuckles with you, overjoyed to find someone just as in love with poetry as he is.

The laughter dies down after a while, replaced by embarrassed smiles from both of you. As you move to tuck a hair behind your ear, you remember the paper you’re still holding and the reason you sought him out in the first place.

So you take a breath and look at him, completely serious now. “I think you’re his equal--if not better.”

Nigel is already shaking his head. “No, no way.”

“Oh yes,” you insist. “Your sonnet has Shakespearean sophistication mixed with the complexity of Daniel Webster and the sensitivity of Samuel Daniel.” The analysis has been eating at you since you first read the poem, that the words just tumbled out of your mouth. You needed someone to talk to about it, and who better than the author himself?

Nigel looks at you fondly, mouth upturned in an amused smile that shows his teeth. “You really love poetry.”

You sigh, grinning so wide it feels like your face is going to split in two. “Oh, I do. I really, really do.”

“And cut!” Changgu says. “This is where the song comes in, so we’ll skip that.”

“That was a good run!” you say, pulling off the fabric and folding it into a loose square. “I mean, I’m a little rusty so I could use some more practice, but you were good!”

Changgu does a tiny fist pump and gestures to his script. “Can we do another scene?”

“Yeah, sure,” you say, eager to try again. You didn’t think you’d miss acting this much, but Changgu just ignited that fire in you that absolutely loves being on stage. “What did you have in mind?”

***

Hours later finds you both in a cafe, you sitting across Changgu and exchanging notes from your mini-rehearsal earlier that afternoon. He nods in understanding as he highlights his lines on the open script, occasionally scribbling notes and tips in the margins. The serving of iced coffee sits half-empty beside him and you carefully sip your warm latte.

You like this, you think. You like practicing lines with Changgu, acting out scenes together, and delivering a whole new dynamic to your characters’ relationship. It makes you want to actually act with him on a legitimate project and, not for the first time, wish you auditioned for Something Rotten!, even as an ensemble character. 

You hear the clack of Changgu capping his highlighter; it takes you out of the spiral of envy you were slowly tumbling into. He looks up at you, eyes soft and gazing at your face.

“Thank you for practicing with me earlier, Y/N,” he says, smiling.

His smile is literal sunlight and has you grinning back. “Anytime for you, Changgu,” you say with a giggle.

He chuckles and sits back on his chair with a sigh. You study him as he studies the highlighted pages.

“I wonder what it would be like if we worked on a project together,” he muses. “I bet it’d be so much fun. We could practice lines together, have loads of inside jokes…”

His eyes focus on you again. “And it would be an excuse to spend more time with you.”

It still amazes you sometimes, how much you two are on the same wavelength. Because of your packed schedules--comeback preparation for you, and musical rehearsals for Changgu--you hardly have time for each other lately. Truth be told, you miss him, and you know he misses you. Today is just an excuse to see each other after such a long time, and you’re just making the day count until you have free time again. And who knows when that’ll be?

You shake off the solemn vibe and say, “Okay. Next time, we audition for a musical together, yeah? Something… darker, maybe? More drama?”

Changgu grins at you conspiratorially. “Are you thinking romance? Or possibly a tragedy?”

You hum, tapping a finger on your chin in mock thought. “Why not both?”

“Oohh, Sweeney Todd? Chicago?” He starts humming the hook to “Cell Block Tango” while doing vogue-like moves, and it’s taking everything in you to not kiss him right now. You’re in a public place right now, and though there aren’t many people in the shop, public decency is still a thing.

No matter--you’ll make sure to shower his face in kisses later.

[i-write-shakespeare-not-disney]

Director’s Commentary- Lovesick Side Effects, Lance comes out to his mom

My commentary is in bold italics. I have so much of this memorized from when I revised it endlessly and then directed it aklfjakdjfak-

He walked to the kitchen where Mami was washing dishes. Lance took a deep breath and leaned against the fridge as he watched her scrub a pan, the white bubbles turning an orange red from the tomato residue. This was it. I really like the specifications, and I have very distinct memories of a pan turning orange from the rice. I wanted something concrete for Lance to focus on during his internal panic. 

So far, he’d spent his break watching telenovelas with Mami when he wasn’t watching movies with Vero. He’d watch Mami cook and keep her company. I know a lot of guys don’t usually do this, but I mean. For one Lance is very close to his mom especially as the youngest. And for another, I had the idea that he was looking for a way to tell her each time. As they were watching, or cooking, he was constantly like, “I’ll do it now” then he wouldn’t. He always loved spending time with her when he was home, even if most of that break, he’d felt like he was lying to her. 

“Que me ves?”

He blinked and reminded himself to breathe as he refocused. “Nada.” 

Mami raised an eyebrow and kept scrubbing. She was almost done. “You’ve been quiet all day today. Te estás sintiendo mal? Tengo Vicks.” Cmon. All Latines understand the accuracy of this right? 

Lance let out an amused huff through his nose. So the guy who played Lance in the skit delivered this line differently. More of a panic like l ah shit not vicks ma pls and I loved it. “No, Ma, I’m fine. I’m not sick or anything....” He clasped his hands together behind his back so she wouldn’t see them shaking. 

“Is this about your graduation? Te dije que no te preocupes, your Papi and I are figuring it out.” Her head is in a different place than Lance’s. She assumes it’s about economic issues, the gown, the ring, the travel, etc. She gave him a slightly chastising look. “You focus on your studies, leave the rest to us.” 

“No, it’s not that…. It’s just…” He gulped and forced himself to keep talking. “I wanted to talk to you about something…. I met someone.” 

Her surprise was immediate. 

“Really? You met someone….” 

Lance’ mouth was dry, but he kept talking. “Well… we met a while ago, but we recently started... dating. Like officially.” 

She tried to seem casual by rewashing the pan as he talked, keeping her expressions in check. This was mentioned in my workshop class, and I was really happy they picked up on it. She’s giving him a space to explain without putting too much pressure on him. The class called her emotionally intelligent, which made me happy bc as a mom, that’s important and that shows through the rest of this (I hope!) “It must be serious. I wasn’t sure when you would start dating again, but I knew that when you did it would be someone really special.” This line was influenced by something my professor said. She said that because of his age, she didn’t think the adults around him would believe he would absolutely never date again even if he did. And I wanted to be careful because I didn’t want it to come off as Caridad brushing off or minimizing the importance of Lance’s relationship with Allura. I still wanted her to be aware and understanding of the pain and permanence Lance felt. So for her it was like He’s very young, of course there’s going to be someone, but whether that’s in 30 years or 3 I don’t know. And it plays a lot into why Caridad is more accepting more easily. She just wants Lance to be happy (which she says)

“It is,” he said. His throat fought to cut his words off, but he pushed through it. He thought of those deep indigo eyes and a full-hearted laugh paired with a scrunched up nose. “That’s why I wanted to tell you about him.” This shows more in the skit, but I really wanted the pronoun to be a casual mention, though his actions would be more anxious. I didn’t want the “him” isolated because I wanted to show what it would be like in a world where gender and pronouns didn’t cause a big deal, it was just natural to hear. But of course, the following silence carries the tension and fear. 

If the pronoun registered, he couldn’t tell. Mami just kept making the same circle on the pan, eyes cast downward in fixation. He didn’t notice any change in her breathing. Her expression remained the same with its slightly intrigued quirked eyebrow. 

She rinsed the pan and set it on top of the other dishes where it balanced precariously, the pans balancing as precariously as her shock is ahaha no but really this little detail is just a nod at Caridad’s deliberateness. then she shut the water off and dried her hands on her apron. She looked up at him, her eyes glossy but not exactly tear-filled. “Quieres café? Voy a hacer café.” She turned away and grabbed the coffee pot. 

“Uh. N-no.” He watched her as she measured out her Colombian roasted coffee and let it brew. In all that time, she didn’t speak, and Lance felt more and more tense. 

“Mami?” he risked saying when enough time had passed that she’d started preparing her coffee with a lot of milk and more sugar than usual. This entire silence and pretext of coffee is just giving her time to think and sort through it. She heard the “him” she knows. And part of her had her suspicions since Christmas. This was just that moment of why didn’t I do better and catch on earlier? But also her thinking “this isn’t about me, this is about him, and I need to focus on that.” 

“Let’s sit.” She walked past him to the dining room table. Her eyes remained on her coffee as the spoon clinked against the porcelain. Lance sat on the other side of the table, facing her. She looked at him, her gaze somewhat distant. “How serious is it?” Honestly this is... the safest question when you don’t know what you’re allowed to ask. 

Again, he wondered if she’d caught what he said, but he answered anyway. “Mami, I… I wouldn’t be talking to you about it if it wasn’t serious. If I didn’t see a future… with him.” He caught the way she gulped, but her face remained composed. There’s a lot to unpack. I mean. A lot of beliefs to turn over. A lot of moments to rethink. A lot of “could this have been done better?” i.e. Christmas. “I don’t… I don’t want to hide a part of my life from you, especially not one this important. It’s been killing me to keep this from you, but I didn’t know how to… tell you…. The thing is, I’d like for you to meet him one day.”

Mami took a deep breath and nodded slowly. After a while of silence, she said, “That’s why you’ve been…. so hesitant. So quiet. So unlike yourself. Not to steal from Love, Simon, but it is a lot like holding your breath and tiptoeing around. She could see that. Mi niño. You know one of the hardest times for me as your mother was watching you fall apart after Allura’s death. Fue lo peor tener que verte así. You were so sure you would never want to be with anyone again. You didn’t eat, you didn’t write, you didn’t talk, you didn’t laugh. You weren’t yourself. Has estado en duelo por casi tres años-” This part... well to be honest, she was starting to veer towards an “Are you sure, or is this just because someone is making you feel happy, it might not be romantic” kind of thing. Like... is this just to get past all that pain?

“Grief doesn’t have a time limit, Mami. Even now…. he’s still mourning now and then” He sighed and shook his head. “You know I can’t write about her anymore.”

“Y ahora? Do you write poems for…?”

“His name is Keith.” Just saying his name gave Lance a small sense of comfort. He knew that whatever happened, he would have those arms to run to. “And no, I haven’t. But he makes me want to.”

Her eyebrows went up as she looked down at her coffee. because honestly, she expected him to say yes, and that would’ve made her say okay fine. If he brought that back to you, then this is it. But there’s something more meaningful I think in that sense of “not yet, but I want to because HE makes me want to” and being able to acknowledge that. It shows that Lance is actively trying to... create again. She didn’t stir it, she didn’t drink it. Lance expected many reactions. At worst, he expected screaming, slurs, maybe even a chancla thrown at him. At best, he figured she would cry and ask what she did wrong. The different scenarios had plagued him all night. But this silent, pensive response was somehow more terrifying. He didn’t know what to do about the fact that her mind seemed elsewhere entirely. 

He reached across the table to take her hand, and while she didn’t pull away, she didn’t seem to even notice it. “If you have questions… Mami, please. Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

“I just don’t understand how…. I thought you loved Allura, but this boy…? No entiendo como…?”  she doesn’t understand bisexuality/pansexuality. she’s also afraid to ask the wrong way because she doesnt want lance to shut down.

Her unformed questions fell between them in the empty silence that frustration and confusion left. He looked down at their hands. 

“I did love her. I still do, and I know that, and so does Keith. What I feel for Keith… it’s new, and it’s wonderful, and once I let myself… feel it, it made sense. It’s just another part of me. It doesn’t erase Allura. It’s just… when I lost her, it felt like- like everything about myself was dimmed. Like part of me went with her, and I couldn’t….” Lance sighed and rubbed his face with his free hand. “With Keith I feel like myself again. Y el me quiere, de una manera que no pensé encontrar de nuevo, Mamita. I’m not dim anymore.”

“Lo amas?” she asked. 

Lance squeezed her hand and smiled. “I think I could one day. I think if anyone could help me love again, it’s him.”  again, back to the “he makes me want to write” there’s a lot of weight in being aware and wanting something you might also be scared of. if that makes sense.

So many people in his life had known him when he loved Allura, as he grieved her, and they all waited for him to become who he’d been before he lost her. Hunk, Pidge, his siblings, his parents. They all noticed how he seemed to flicker in and out of life, and they had all been waiting on that spark to come back for him. But not Keith. KEITH DOESNT LOVE HIM IN SPITE OF HIS GRIEF HE LOVES HIM WITH IT. 

“Mami, he knows me the way I am now. He found reasons to want to be with me at my worst. He doesn’t need the version of me before Allura, he just… wants me as who I am now and who I want to become. Ahora es tan facil respirar, existir, vivir.”

She let out a shaky breath and started tracing the flower patterns on the placemat. “I don’t know if you remember, but when you were about five… you’d just met Pidge in school, and her and her brother would stop by to walk to the bus stop with you.” oh man i’d thought of this like.... this was one of the first scenes i had in mind with this memory.

Lance nodded. He recalled vague memories of those days. Skipping the lines on the sidewalk with Pidge as Matt would count to see how many they could avoid. How they’d meet Hunk and his mom at the bus stop. The only day that really stood out was when Lance tripped getting off the bus, and Matt and Pidge walked slowly with him until he got home.

“There was one day,” Mami continued, “you didn’t want to eat breakfast, you just wanted to go outside. And you started picking all the dandelions on the ground. I asked what you were doing and you- you said-” She broke off, laughing softly to herself. “You said, ‘Mami, es que son para Matt.’ Y dije, achis- what’s Matt gonna do with those?” Her eyes finally met Lance’s and seemed to focus. “Of course, I told you that you couldn’t give a boy flowers. Dios mio, the tantrum you threw. You got so upset, and you wouldn’t let me take the flowers, so I said, ‘Mira, ya se. Why don’t you give them to Pidge instead?’ Your face was still red when they came to find you, and you were still so mad when you gave them to Pidge.” She sighed and shook her head. “By the time you got home from school, you’d forgotten all about it, you just wanted to watch PBS Kids.” It’s just. not a big deal to kids until they’re taught that it’s supposed to be. This innocent little kid crush, or even if it isn’t a crush, it’s just giving a friend flowers because they’re pretty, it’s seen as such a bad thing and it’s like... really what is so wrong about a child doing that when you know there’s no ulterior motive the way there is with adults. 

Lance furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t remember that.”

Suddenly, there were the tears he’d been waiting for. They fell down her cheeks, each one a knife to his heart. He hated that he was the cause of them in any way. 

He pulled her hand to his lips. “Mami, no llores.” 

“Tengo miedo, mi niño.” heaven. hell. wrath of god. living against religion. yknow that shit. but also that the real world won’t care about lance the way she does. She wiped at her eyes only for more tears to slide down to her chin and drip to the table cloth. “I love you. I love you more than my life, and you know that. This doesn’t change that. You are my son. Y estoy tan orgullosa….” 

She paused, trying to compose herself. When she began again, she sounded exhausted. “You fell in love at the worst age, mi amor. And to have lost her…. Le pedi a Diosito mil veces, I begged Him to help you heal, to show you that you could be happy again…. And if this is who makes you happy, then okay.” Her hand tightened around his, and with her other hand, she cupped his cheek. “You need to be careful. The world can be unkind. I know I can’t protect you from it, but you’re strong… so be careful.” this is entirely about the fear of people hurting lance just because he holds hands with a boy. She’s afraid for his safety. She barely got the last word out before she was overwhelmed by her cries. 

He reached over and wiped her tears away, leaving his fingers cold and sticky. “Ya, Mamita. No llores. You didn’t cry this much when Ricky Martin came out.” He’d hoped to make her laugh. the audience did klsjdfkaj

Instead, she just sniffed and ran her thumb along his cheek. “Es diferente. When it’s your own child. It shouldn’t be, pero….” she was going to add it is but She shook her head. “It shouldn’t be. that’s the important part of the phrase. It shouldn’t be different. But I’ll pray. I’ll pray and I’ll… I’ll be okay.” the praying thing... idk. The reality is that for some reason accepting a kid’s sexuality is something parent’s gotta pray for peace about? And it sucks, but... if that’s what helps...

Lance nodded, reminding himself that this had been his best-case scenario. Reminded himself that he hadn’t been hoping for something better, a reaction that didn’t make him feel like he was being loved in spite oh look at that. IN SPITE OF of something. Lance never understood why people cried when someone came out. It wasn’t an identity she had to live with. It took a lot of effort to talk himself out of thinking she was crying because she was disappointed, but if that wasn’t the reason then what was? What was she so scared of? Why did she need to pray to be okay with who he was? honestly I don’t have answers to this question. And I’m not a mom, and if I was my beliefs are already so different. So I think the answers are here in Caridad’s responses and actions, but they elude me even as a writer. I think a parent might be able to understand her, but I just know I tried my best to keep Caridad’s reactions consistent and realistic. 

“Y tu? Are you okay, mijo?” she asked, pulling him out of a series of questions that was bound to leave him upset. “This is a lot. Quien mas sabe?” 

Lance cleared his throat and rubbed his neck nervously. “I told Veronica… Luis overheard me on the phone with him. They helped me tell Marco. Hunk and Pidge know.”

She tried to hide her expression, but Lance caught the way it crumbled. The way it hurt her to be so far down the list of people who knew. She feels that she didn’t do enough for Lance to trust her with these things. And that’s what hurt her. Lance wished he could get her to understand that it was because her thoughts mattered most. 

“And I want to tell Papi, but….” 

She cupped his face with a warm hand and smiled at him, the same deep blue eyes he inherited from her boring into him. “We’ll do it together. Sabes que el te quiere mucho. You’re his flesh and blood.” 

“Yeah but you remember what happened on Christmas.” 

“Oye. Give your Papi some credit. Es cabezon, but he loves you. We both do.” 

He smiled and put his hand over hers as he nuzzled into her palm. “I know. It’s still scary.” 

“You didn’t answer me. Are you okay?” 

He considered it for a moment. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay, Mami.” 

“Que bueno, mi amor,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes again. But she smiled and squeezed his hand tightly, like she was sending all of her affection through that single touch. “And I would really like to meet him. No puedo hablar por tu Papi, but I want to meet this boy who’s so special.”

 Lance smiled and got up from his seat to kneel beside her as he hugged her tightly. He rested his head in her lap as she stroked his head gently. “Te quiero mucho, mi vida. Tu sigue siendo valiente.” Her voice was soft when she added, “Maybe you should pick some dandelions to take back to him.” because we gotta tie back to our motif yknow? Dandelions. 

[imagine-organization-xiii]

The first time each member said "I love you" (and meant it) to their SO, what was going on/what made them say it?

@nopantssaturday deserves the world for writing so much for this post. Also a shoutout to PhantomMuze and bookie who are equally amazing.

Below the cut because it got kind of long.

Xemnas

Surprisingly cute. Like the two of you are heading to bed, curled up next to each other, and he recites a poem he memorized specifically for you.  He would explain that it’s one of his favorites and you have to turn around to face him when you ask “since when are you interested in poetry - and love poetry, at that?“  “When I realized that I fell in love with you.” *swoon*

Xigbar

Absolutely says it on accident. His s/o says something snarky and shitty to him during a spout of their usual playful banter.  Instead of saying “i love it when you talk like that,” Xigbar says “I love you when you talk like that.” And you just… stop dead.  “What did you just say?”

Your emotionally constipated boy freezes and goes wide-eyed. Warning alarms are going off in his head “Wait, no, I just meant -” “NOPE. No, no, you can’t take it back.  You just said you loved me.” Then there’s a pause and you have to hesitantly ask “Well, do you?”  And he would have to awkwardly say “I mean, yeah?” So it’s pretty much as awkward and uncomfortable as you expect.

Xaldin

Now, Xaldin was in love once and he was betrayed by the person he cared about, so it would take him a while to admit that he was in love.  When he was ready to say it, he would want it to be said in a special moment.  Like the two of you are in bed after a night together and you’re almost asleep, but he wraps his arms around you and mutters in your ear, “I never thought I would experience this feeling again, yet here I am, wishing that a night like this could never end because… I love you.  And I would move heaven and earth to be with you. I just hope that you feel the same.”

Vexen

Would literally hate being in love.  Doesn’t like what it makes him do, doesn’t like what it makes him feel, and he just feels like he acts like an idiot.  He can’t really explain why he feels that way at first, at least not until someone sees him pining and is like “Well, well, well, looks like the resident Ice Queen is in love.”  “What are you even saying?  That’s preposterous.”  But he would think it over and be like… well, shit.

He’d have to pull you aside and say “It seems after rigorous observations and self-searching, I have come to the conclusion that you… have an effect on me.  I find myself thinking of you when you’re gone and I experience weird symptoms when I’m around you.” “Vexen, are you saying… that you’re in love with me?”  “It would appear that way, yes.” And you would just smile and kiss him.

Lexaeus

Would probably also take a while to admit his feelings.  He’s a man of few words - he has to be sure, but it’s mostly just because he doesn’t like to talk.  He probably won’t admit his love to his s/o until asked or, more likely, until he sees you cry.  You’ll be crying over something that brings you a lot of grief, and Lexaeus would wipe your tears with his big fingers and say, “Please stop crying, my love.” You would look up at him with wide eyes and he wouldn’t really say anything else, but you definitely understand the depth of his feelings for you now.

Zexion

Zexion would totally write all of it down in a letter or a journal.  He finds it easier to explain his feelings when he’s writing it down, so he can actually sort out his feelings into words and such.  Would write it down in a letter to you and then hand it to you and ask you to read it while he’s there with you because he wants you to know how he feels, but he doesn’t know if he’l be able to get the words out.  He’d be all flustered and get more and more embarrassed as you continue to read, but when you finish, he’d probably hug you and eventually tell you that he loves you.

Saix

It literally takes him years to realize that he’s in love with you.  he values your friendship, but he’s been set aside for other people more times than he can count that he eventually put love at the bottom of his list of priorities.  When he finally tells you “i love you,” you know that he means it. He doesn’t plan for it, so it’ll just be a random opportunity that presented itself by chance when the two of you are alone.

Would probably combine his confession with a potential breakup.  Would take you out on the castle grounds under the moonlight, hold your hands and look into your eyes as he says “I have been fighting this feeling for so long that I feel it’s become painfully obvious that… I have grown feelings for you. But I am not someone who can be involved with love.” And it would take a bit of persuading with him trying to push you away at any turn, but he also might be selfish enough to give in to what you want.

Axel

It would take Axel a pretty long time to realize that he was in love with you, then an even longer time for him to figure out how to say it to you.  Plans out this whole elaborate scheme in which he takes you out on a wonderful date with a great dinner and gives you flowers, but then one day it just accidentally slips out while you pass him a box of tissues or something.  Definitely ends up crying because he gets super emotional.

Demyx

Demyx definitely has those schoolboy antics.  Like at one point, he definitely passed you a note during an important organization meeting that said “do you like me?? Yes or No,” but he definitely wouldn’t be courageous enough to actually say the words out loud.  Definitely sends “i love you” over text before everyone is like “what the fuck, that is the worst thing you can do”

Tries to say it on several different occasions but can’t really get the words out.  He says it on a date, trying to make the moment right, but ends up saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.  It isn’t until the end of your date night when he finally blurts out “ME LOVE YOU” like some sort of caveman. It’s incredibly endearing.

Luxord

Overwhelmingly the classiest, all things considered.  He’s a slimy, mischievous guy, but he takes pride in his gentlemanly attitude.  One of the only things in his life that he takes seriously is his relationship with you, and he never really realized how he felt about you until he saw you do something super badass.  Like a really cool attack in combat.  After the fight is over - or he might even pull you away in the middle of the fight - he’ll take you aside and wipe away some of the sweat on your face and you’ll have to ask why he’s looking at you like that.

“You know, pet, I think I might just be falling in love with you.“  And he’ll give you a huge, heart-stopping kiss mid-combat for everyone around to see.  Leaves you momentarily stunned before he either whisks you away or you’re thrust into combat again.

Marluxia

Marluxia is naturally an affectionate man, so fancy words and feelings come naturally to him, but in a strange and indirect way.  He’s not much for public displays of affection, hand-holding, or cuddling. He would probably be spending the day with you and watching the sun shine in your hair and something suddenly makes you laugh - a joke, a funny face, Demyx tripping and falling on the pavement, whatever.  But there’s something there that makes his chest warm where a heart should be.

And he would gently just take one of his hands and brush a strand of your hair behind your ear before trailing his fingertips across your cheek and jawline.  He’ll look deep into your eyes and say something like “You fill my life with such wonder and your laughter replenishes my soul.  It almost makes me feel like I’ve always had a heart.  Maybe life is possible for beings like us.  What else could possibly explain the way I feel about you?” It’s an almost instant panty-dropper but Marluxia is a fancy bitch who can’t just say “I love you.”

Larxene

Would probably be like Xigbar and not really realize how she feels about you until the words just came tumbling unwillingly out of her mouth.  Knowing her, she’s more likely to say it when the two of you are fighting with each other.  She seems to have a hard time controlling herself when she’s really pissed, so they’ll definitely be fighting when she blurts it out.

“Why are you being like this, Larxene?  This issue doesn’t even concern you!“  “It’s because I love you, you ass!“ And then there’s just dead silence as she completely freezes when the words come out of her mouth.  She would absolutely turn on her heel and leave the room and avoid you for hours, if not days.

Roxas

Roxas is such a baby, he doesn’t really know how to deal with his own feelings.  Literally just yells, “I LIKE YOU. I mean…. I really…. really like-like you!”

Xion

small, sweet, and innocent; still coming to terms with emotions.  She probably wouldn’t even know what the feelings were, at first. Every time she talks about her s/o, Roxas is always like, “you’re blushing” and she would just be super puzzled.  And Axel takes pity on her and is like “that sounds like love to me.”  “L-love?” “Yeah. Love. Cherish it, kid.  Not a lot of us are lucky enough to have something like that. Especially people like you and me.”

So the next time you hang out with Xion, she’ll probably sit you down and turn serious.  Maybe you’re watching a movie or playing a game and suddenly she would turn to you and look entirely too tense for such a playful situation.  Even though you could see fear in her eyes, she would reach out and hold your hand and tell you how she feels.  “I know it’s kind of… soon, and I shouldn’t really be telling you this but I really need to tell you. I think… I think I’m in love with you.”

[phantasieandmirare]

Okay so this is going to be fun. I haven’t seen Cats yet and I’m torn between wanting to just for the Experience and not wanting to to preserve the love I have for the musical itself. But I know a lot about the musical and characters (and I’ll be sharing my/the fandom’s general headcanons with you) because I watched the 1998 TV film on repeat when I was younger. So here’s what happens in the musical (keeping in mind that I’ve only seen the 1998 movie and not the actual show but I know that the show is different) that y’all are missing.

If you didn’t know at this point, the entire musical is based on the book ‘Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats’ by T.S. Eliot which is a book of short cutesy poems. This was one of Andrew Lloyd Weber’s favorite book when he was younger and he wrote the entire musical as a composition exercise to see if he could write music with predetermined lyrics.

There are so many interviews of Andrew Lloyd Weber explaining what the musical is about in the 80s and it’s just as awkward as literally anyone trying to explain Cats right now. But he’s trying his best. Cut him some slack.

I am literally watching the 1998 movie on YouTube as I type this. It’s all available there. Please watch it if you need to purge the Cats movie from your brain and replace it with something watchable.

I used to have all of the names of the cats memorized. I’m not kidding. I could tell you who was singing what line in every song. I knew the background characters. I could look at a picture and tell you who everyone was in it with extreme accuracy. I had every song memorized. I knew everything. I am the Cats God.

Munkustrap is the narrator of the musical. He’s also the de facto leader/protector of the Jellicles when Old Deuteronomy isn’t there. He’s like the prime minister to Old Deuteronomy’s queen/king. From what I understand he does not have the same sway in the movie which sucks because he’s my favorite and I love him.

There are two cats in the musical who are psychic. They’re twins. Their names are Coricopat and Tantomile. I’m not making this up. I think this is only mentioned in the stage show itself but on the off chance that it’s not and I just happen to know this now you know too.

“There’s a man over there with a look of surprise. As much as to say ‘well now how about that’. Do I actually see with my own very eyes a man who has not heard of a Jellicle Cat? ‘What’s a Jellicle Cat? What’s a Jellicle Cat? What’s a Jellicle Cat?’” Please tell me this line is in the movie. I’m begging you. Because this is hilarious now that this is now every single person’s reaction to the very concept of Cats.

From all the reviews I’m guessing that The Naming of Cats is not in the movie or it’s not played the way it is on stage. Which is a shame because that would be another delightful moment that confuses and horrifies everyone who has no idea what Cats is. If they played The Naming of Cats the way that they do on stage that alone would have cleared the movie theater instantly. For about three minutes they tell you how cats are named. In complete sync. They get louder and move closer to the audience as they go on. It’s low key terrifying. I also had this memorized. It was one of my favorite songs in the musical.

Our boy Mr. Mistoffelees is not named Mr. Mistoffelees for most of the show. He’s called Quaxo. The consensus is that ‘Mr. Mistoffelees’ is a separate identity and/or personality. I swear I’m not making this up.

Victoria and Quaxo/Mistoffelees are brother and sister. That’s a general headcanon that either I came to or is a consensus in the fandom. Not making this up either. Bustopher Jones/James Corden is their father. This is all assumed based on their coloration. This is also where I mention that I used to know all the family dynamics in this musicals and who’s with who.

It’s also a general consensus that Victoria isn’t ‘new’ but has just reached the age where she can be involved in the Jellicle Ball. She has the very first dance solo in the musical and is the one to finally accept Grizabella but that’s the only importance she has for the entire musical. She doesn’t have any lines or her own song but is instantly recognizable in every picture ever.

Jennyanydots is introduced wearing a large fur coat/get-up that she can barely stand up in and then removes it to reveal a flapper dress later. I assume that’s what they were going for with the whole ‘Rebel Wilson takes off her skin’ issue. Her song/dance is tap-based. She’s the wine aunt of the group. She never eats the cockroaches. That’s never mentioned in the song. I don’t know why they did that.

Rum Tum Tugger is supposed to be based on Mick Jagger. I don’t know how well that translated into the movie but I hear they tried to redesign him into a more modern version on stage recently that did not go well at all because it was kinda racist. So let’s just stick with the Mick Jagger version cause it works better. All the girls in the group are obsessed with him/groupies. All the moms/queens are so over it. He and Quaxo/Mistoffelees have a love hate relationship. I used to read fanfiction and people ship the heck out of them. General consensus is that he and Bombalurina/Taylor Swift are a thing.

Grizabella’s entire deal is that she used to be a show cat who got dumped/a mangy stray who used to be beautiful but then got into too many fights/it’s vaguely implied that she was a cat prostitute. 

Elaine Paige originated the role of Grizabella and then reprised it for the 1998 movie and that is the only reason that I know who Elaine Paige is.

The entire plot of this musical is that Grizabella is touch-starved. 

Is Demeter mentioned in the movie? She’s also my favorite. Does she have a major role? Where’s my girl? Where is she? Anyway Demeter and Munkustrap are often shipped together too. 

Bustopher Jones is essentially the Godfather and is the 1% of the Jellicles. Everyone loves him. He’s like Tugger for the older ladies/queens because they all also adore him. Quaxo/Mistoffelees chases him and plays with his tail and stuff like that a lot in the stage show and generally has this really proud air around him/is center stage in the song during his song which adds to the headcanon that Bustopher Jones is his dad.

To clear it up, Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer are brother and sister, they are not together. They’re also twins. 

Old Deuteronomy shows up. The psychic twins say that he’s coming. As far as I know that’s the only indication we get ever that they’re psychic.

Tugger and Munkustrap are friends/frenemies. The headcanon is that Tugger wants to be the leader or just doesn’t like that Munkustrap tries to keep them all in line/doesn’t let Tugger do whatever he wants but besides that they’re buddies. 

I think it was also implied somewhere/I had the headcanon that Old Deuteronomy and Grizabella are brother and sister. I think. I also think I had the headcanon that he’s Quaxo/Mistoffelees and Victoria’s grandfather because they also hang around him a lot. Ken Page who you may recognize as the voice of Oogie Boogie in The Nightmare Before Christmas plays Deuteronomy and originated the role and casually mentions that he’s probably the father of most of the cats so there you go. 

They cut this from the movie and I understand why now but there’s a musical number about a battle between two tribes of dogs that they put on as a performance for Old Deuteronomy. Yes it’s musical inception. This is a big song for Munkustrap because he narrates and sings the entire thing. At one point Tugger plays bagpipes in it. I’m not kidding. Munkustrap spends the entire song being an exhausted stage manager trying to keep everything under control and it’s not going well and I feel that. 

There’s a cat superhero called the Rumpus Cat. Yep.

The Jellicle Ball begins proper. There’s a lot of flirting and dancing and acrobatics and generally wild stuff for a good ten minutes. Generally it’s framed as Old Deuteronomy deciding which one of them gets to enter the Heaviside Layer through dance. What is his criteria for who gets to die? They never tell us. 

Anyway Victoria performs the mating dance with a cat named Plato/Admetus (again, Victoria and Quaxo/Mistoffelees are never together and they are siblings thank you very much). The orgy is real folks. We don’t talk about it. I think I watched this scene once when I was little (also when I say little I mean like 12/13) and then never again because it’s extremely awkward to watch. I would just skip right over it as soon as the music started getting slow and move on to Memory. This right here is the first time that I’m watching it in literal years. It’s still as awkward as it was then. 

There’s a cat named Jemima/Sillabub (a lot of these cats have multiple names/their names are different between productions/regions if you haven’t picked up on that already). She’s basically what they made Victoria into in the movie and is important for the plot. I don’t know why they focused in on Victoria when Jemima/Sillabub is right there. 

Gus the Theater Cat sings his song and I also cry every single time because Gus is the sweetest cat in the entire musical and I love him and also the song is sad as heck especially if you think about how this is an older man playing this role and talking about how his acting days are past him. There’s another musical number about one of Gus’s most famous roles but they didn’t put that into the 1998 movie because of budget issues and not having enough space on the set to do it anyway. 

I do not remember this moment but for about ten seconds a specter of Gus as his most famous character comes out, walks around menacingly, and then leaves and I DON’T REMEMBER THAT AT ALL. Anyway Gus follows it around because it’s his memory of his younger self and the heartbreak on his face when it disappears and the fact that this character cries at the end of the song and doesn’t even finish it shatters my entire heart. Gus has six minutes and then he leaves and we never see him again and sometimes I think about Gus and cry. 

So after breaking your soul with Gus we jump directly into Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat who is also a delight and from what I hear people in the movie really liked him too. If you like nothing else about Cats you have to agree that Skimbles is wonderful. 

Macavity the Mystery Cat is my second favorite song in the entire musical. Bombalurina/Taylor Swift and Demeter both perform it together (I listened to Taylor Swift’s version after I finished watching this and I am so mad that they cut Demeter out of it entirely because Demeter makes this song and she’s another one of my favorites). It’s the female power ballad of the entire musical and their voices/belting is sick as heck and also I used to have the choreography memorized on top of everything else. It’s implied that Demeter and Macavity used to be a thing before she escaped him. There are layers to this. 

Macavity tries to sneak back in dressed up as Old Deuteronomy but because Demeter is his old flame she sees right through it. The cats all fight and then Macavity escapes and is never mentioned again. We can safely assume that he does this every year.

My absolute favorite song in the entire musical/the first one I ever heard is Magical Mr. Mistoffelees. Tugger introduces him and sings most of the song. Mistoffelees actually doesn’t sing for the entire thing, it’s all Tugger. Tugger keeps singing about how Mistoffelees has a signature move called the ‘conjuring turn’ which on stage is twenty-four consecutive fouettés en tournant and it’s impressive as heck. Mistoffelees is one of the most demanding dance roles in the entire musical. Here’s the thing though, they don’t have the conjuring turn in the 1998 movie, the way that the music is cut we can assume that they filmed it and then it got cut or they lost the footage or something so for a long time I never saw it and then I looked it up and it was awesome. Anyway this is my cat son and I love him. 

Onstage Grizabella ascends to the Heaviside Layer in one of two ways: either by a staircase that descends from the ceiling, or (again I’m not making this up) in a flying saucer. If you’re still confused about the plot of Cats take the fact that they ascend to cat heaven on a UFO and go forth knowing that the answer to ‘What is Cats?’ has a legitimate answer of ‘Aliens’.

So that’s Cats. Namely the version that I hoped we were getting and that we were robbed off in favor of God-awful CGI and a lot of uncomfortable horniness (or at least more than there normally is in the actual show) and Rebel Wilson tearing off her skin. 

[baby-fites]

u spoiled me and now im back for more, hc's of your favorite bnha characters? swf nsfw whatever u feel :-)

Oh I spoiled u but consider u spoiled me do u have any idea how much I love that bird? My faves tho that’s a long list I’m gonna narrow it down to the ones i have oc ships with but thats also still a long list lmfao. under the cut bc its fuckin a lot

SFW

Deku

-Worlds most intense cuddler, won’t even let go if he rolls over, he just picks up his partner and pulls them over to his other side.

-Knows every detail about them, favorite food, favorite color, blood type, birthday, height, quirk stats, favorite song, general daily routine. He has it memorized and in person it’s a little creepy, He means well though he’s just overzealous.

-Will ask them about their quirk constantly and when they stop talking has follow up questions, and follow up follow up questions. and follow up follow up q- He asks a lot.

Ururaka

-Does that really cute thing where she lies on her stomach and kicks her legs up in the air when she’s talking to a partner, you know she’s really excited about what they’re saying because her legs kick faster and she wiggles in place.

-Has a little scribble pad she brings with her to doodle in, usually she draws hearts and flowers and writes down things she’ll need to remember later.

-Cries when she gets gifts, especially food. She’ll take the food she won’t turn it down, she’s just tearin up a lil bit.

Tamaki

-Once he’s close enough and trusting enough he’ll start hiding his face in his partner instead of a wall- depending on where they are because pda can also be nerve-wracking.

-If he gets a call from his crush he will ignore it. Usually Nejiri will pick up and he will ask her to tell them he’s dead.

-No matter how long or committed your relationship is he still doesn’t really like talking on the phone. He can manage it for you if you need him or if there’s an emergency, but it still makes him anxious in general.

Tokoyami (yes again)

-Knows calligraphy and it shows because that’s how he writes out those long ass love letters and poems. They’re always beautiful.

-He’ll also fold said letters into little paper stars or cranes or other little origami animals, whatever the favorite of the person they’re written for is. 

-He’s the kind of person who would want his partner to wear his jacket or ring or something- anything of his just to remind them of him always.

Shigaraki

-Doesn’t know what a feelings is.Seriously though liking someone makes him feel fucked up and scared and uncomfortable and he’ll simultaneously avoid them and stand in the same room as them at an uncomfortable rate. He won’t talk or even look at them when they look at him but he’s just There and the second they look away he stares so hard they can feel it.

-Will go through cycling phases of putting himself on the other side of the room and directly next to them. He’s either afraid to touch them or needs to be pressed as close as possible, and only he can decide when, approaching him first is a terrible idea he’ll bail.

-Not a cuddler at all but as touch starved as he is if he shares a bed with someone half the time he can’t help lightly resting his back to theirs. 

Mr. Compress

-He tries to be a romantic but it doesn’t work. Pulls flowers out of his sleeves. pulls a tablecloth off the flat table revealing a fully set up candle lit dinner. It’s so cheesy and bad. He tips his fucking hat. Pulls their chair out for them, opens doors. Like dude come on.

-Compresses their stuff so they think its missing then SoMeHoW is the one to find it. He truly believes this is smooth. It’s not.

-Makes up random things wrong with his arm and asks them to look at it, no matter how much knowledge they have of robotics.

NSFW

Deku (age 18+)

-He cums so much. So Much. He didn’t used to but it’s a consistent side affect of OFA. The first time he had a wet dream in the dorms Todoroki caught him washing the sheets after and bluntly asked if he’d wet the bed.

-Makes the most high pitched breathy sounds, he tries so hard to hold it together and be the strong tough silent type he thinks he’s supposed to be but he can’t do it, his breath hitches and he tears up and he can’t hold in his whiny little moans.

-at one point I said Tamaki does this bc he does but Deku also cries during sex. Every time. He just loves the person he’s with so much and he feels so good and he can’t help it he’s a crier in general.

Ururaka (age 18+)

-Is never sure what she’s supposed to sound like so she tries to hold her hand over her mouth and stifle herself, or she tries talking but she can never form a full sentence so it’s usually her chanting ‘yeahyeahyeahyeahyeah” and trying to announce when she’s going to cum.

-Really likes having her boobs played with but is embarrassed as hell about it. She’d love giving a titjob but she’d be red in the face the whole time. Suck on her nipples and she’ll be soaked in minutes.

-Sometimes thinks about what 0-gravity sex would be like. She’s kinda bummed that she’d get too nauseated to try it.

Tamaki (age 18 +)

-Even after a relationship has started he’ll still be too nervous to get it up sometimes. He ends up either walking out or shoving his head into a pillow. He needs patience.

-No he won’t gain his partners appearance or quirk if he gives them oral, but he always really, really wants to. And he’s really, really good at it.

-He loves the idea of blindfolding his partner so they can’t look at him, it takes so much of the pressure off. Of course he’s too shy to ask for that

Tokoyami (age 18+)

-Really likes having his feathers pulled, not hard enough to pull them out but just like you’d pull someones hair.

-Would get insta-hard from the prospect of candle lit sex complete with silk sheets and rose petals he’d be so into it.

-His feathers get all fluffed up when he cums and it’s really, really cute.

Shigaraki

-Doesn’t want to be entirely naked for sex like. Ever. It’d take several months in a relationship for him to get past clothed grinding and the idea of being vulnerable with someone makes him feel sick.

-He’s so touch starved but also so uncomfortable being touched, he gets nauseated and sweaty and he feels gross but then the second he’s not being touched he wants it back asap. Progressing a sexual relationship is VERY stop and go with him.

-Won’t ask for what he wants but also won’t let his partner initiate out of nowhere, they’re just supposed to know what he wants and want the same thing at the same time. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, he has the communication skills of a wet egg salad sandwich.

Mr. Compress

-Talks big game like he’s some sort of sexual gift, casually mentions being called daddy, acts like the suavest thing on earth. Get him in the sheets and it’s “Yes sir/mistress, of course, anything” He wants to get dommed real bad.

-Sends nudes. Constantly. Don’t answer his texts in public ever because the message is probably a nude. Also sends videos, he sees it as a performance and honestly gets off a lot better knowing he’s being watched.

-In the same vein he wants to jack off in front of his partner while their in the same room, just so they’ll praise him and tell him how good he looks and how well he’s doing.

[pinkgrim]

东宫 CH42

A large number of the Yu Lin army have already started to charge towards me, i turned to face the gateway, rushed forth and ran straight up the city gate tower. I leaned over the city wall battlements from above, and stooped down to see A'Du who was still there by herself thumping at the city gate with her fists, that grand and well fortified gate, just relying on her own strength, how could she possibly push it open ? I saw her grimacing and silently weeping, He Shi suddenly came to mind, he had entrusted me to A'Du, and how was it not that he entrusted A'Du to me. If it weren't for me, A'Du might not of survived, just like how if it wasn't for A'Du, i wouldn't of survived either.

The massacre of Tu Jue must of made A’Du feel a thousand, ten thousand times more lonely and aggrieved than me. 200,000 of her tribesmen died at the combined strength of Yue Zhi and the Central Plains army. Despite the deep hatred from that sea of blood that had been spilled, but for my sake she accompanied me in the Central Plains for 3 years. Now that things have reached this stage, she is the only one i felt apologetic to. The Yu Lin army had now already reached the bottom of the gates pass, a numerous amount of people escorted Li Cheng Yin as he dismounted from his horse and from behind i could hear a mass of footsteps, they have ascended up the gate. However i had no fear, calmly standing in my place.

Li Cheng Yin's neck was still bandaged with a white gauze. If my blade had cut even a little bit deeper, perhaps he wouldn't of been able to stand here. He faced me and walked towards me alone. However, every time he took a step forth, i took a step back. I kept on retreating my steps until couldn't retreat any more and reached the edge of the battlements. The westerly winds blew my sleeves upwards, producing a whistling sound, just like the day i was standing on the summit above the River of Forgetfulness. Right below my feet appeared to be a bottomless abyss of interweaving clouds and mist. Li Cheng Yin was observing me with a deep and profound gaze, he finally spoke : " Don't tell me you really are that unwilling to be my wife ? " I smiled at him but did not answer. He asked me : " That Gu Xiao Wu, what makes him so special ? " The heels of my feet were already suspended in mid-air, only the tips of my feet were standing on top of the battlements above, teetering back and forth. The Yu Lin army had already retreated far away, silently and attentively watching me. Yet the gaze from Li Cheng Yin, held an anguish so tangled and complicated, as if he was silently enduring, as if he was miserable. I felt as if i had a dream, where everything was the same as 3 years ago, and for the past 3 years, life was just a vain illusion, but after all, nothing had changed. I said : " What made Gu Xiao Wu special, ill never tell you " Li Cheng Yin suddenly cracked a smile : " It's a pity hes already dead. " Yes, its a pity hes already dead. He tried reasoning with me : " Return with me, we can turn over a new leaf, i will still treat you well. Regardless of whether you still have that Gu Xiao Wu in your mind, as long as you're willing to return with me, i will never mention this matter again. " I gave him a smile and said : " As long as you promise me one thing, i will wholeheartedly return with you. " His face held no expression and only asked : " What thing ? " I said : " I want you to catch 100 fireflies for me. " He slightly staggered, he looked at me seemingly utterly perplexed. My line of sight gradually started to get misty, yet my smile remained : " The River of Forgetfulness, where love can be forgotten.... the divine water from the River of Forgetfulness allowed me to forget for 3 years, however, it failed to allow me to forget for a lifetime."

Tears trickled down my cheek, i smiled and said to him: " To be someone like you who has forgotten it all, how great would that be. " He dazedly stared at me, as if he couldnt comprehend what i was saying, i was also unaware of my current expression, i was certain i was smiling at him, however i couldnt help but cry at the same time. I said : "This time, i must truly forget you." I turned around, like a bird about to fly towards the sky, like a butterfly about to flutter towards a flower, i was determined to leap without hesitation. I knew without a doubt that there was no River of Forgetfulness here. That right below was a myriad of piercing-sharp rocks and as soon as one jumps, only a gruesome death awaits. I heard a number of people crying out in fear, in a moment of desperation Li Cheng Yin scrambled to grab his belt and wrapped it around my hand. All that was happening felt like a reenactment of exactly what took place 3 years ago. Suspended in mid-air my entire body became rigid as he held onto me, he was hanging from the edge of the battlements due to the inertia from my plunging body. With one hand he held onto the battlements, and with the other he leaned over holding onto me. Due to the physical restraint the veins on his hands violently bulged and the wound on his neck started to seep out blood, the wound has probably split opened, but instead of letting go, he loudly roared : " Guards ! " I knew that if the Yu Lin army rushed here to help him, i would have lost all chances. I raised my hand, a cold light flashed past his eyes, he cried out : " No ! " I severed his belt, that thin silk cloth ripped apart in the air, i poured all my remaining strength into giving him one last smile : " I'm going to forget you, Gu Xiao Wu. " I saw the startled expression in his eyes, and the blood from his neck slowly flowed out, as if his entire body was suddenly inflicted with serious damage, he even slightly stumbled backwards looking upwards towards the sky. I saw the blood burst and splash forth from his wound, falling upon my face. I held onto my smile and watched him, he seemed to want to grab onto me in vain, but he missed by the smallest margin and his fingertips could only catch air, his mournful cry echoed within my ears : " Its me.... Xiao Feng.... I'm Gu Xiao Wu.... " I knew he finally remembered, and so this will be my greatest revenge against him. The massacre that he commanded over 3 years ago, was what completely obstructed our affections for each other ; and now 3 years later ill use this to cut off everything between us. I saw his clothes fluttering out, perhaps just like 3 years ago he'll follow me and leap down, but this isnt the River of Forgetfulness, to fall is to die a bloody gruesome death. I saw Pei Zhao grabbing onto him, i saw him turn his hand and hit Pei Zhao in the chest, undoubtedly he used all his strength, i saw that the attack to his chest caused Pei Zhao to throw up blood, but Pei Zhao did not let go and even more people started to rush forwards, firmly hindering him.

The was sky so blue.... the sound of the wind created a "huhu" sound past my ears, everything before my eyes gradually started to blur. It appeared as if i could see myself sitting on top of a sandy dune, watching the slow setting sun, along with my heart gradually descending, until the very end, until the sun had eventually vanished and was obstructed by a far away sandy dune, never to be seen again. The heaven and earth was heavily surrounded upon by the darkness of the night, even the last of the light was not to be seen.

It appeared as if i could see a circle of people watching and laughing. The majority of people from Tu Jue did not seem to believe that the white-eyed wolf king was really slayed by Gu Xiao Wu, so they continued to hold a thread of contempt. Gu Xiao Wu clasped at the bow, as if he were to play the zither, he used his finger to pluck at the bowstring. The bowstring made a clanging sound, the circle of people laughed even louder, yet among the roaring laughter he aligned his arrows, shooting down 100 bats.

It appeared as if i could see a myriad of fireflies flitting towards the sky, like millions of shooting stars flying across from the tips of our fingers, when the gods release their shooting stars, perhaps it would look just like this. Thousands upon thousands of fireflies encircling us, gracefully flying by, luminous lights scattering in all directions, like the golden rays from shooting stars that streak across the night sky. I think of the poem in the song, the god and the lover he longs for, standing in the river of stars, just like this so wondrous and dazzling.

It appeared as if i could see myself standing above the River of Forgetfulness, the heel of my feet already suspended in mid-air, the wind from under the cliff blew me unsteady, i swayed as if at any moment i could fall, the wind blew my garments it producing a loud whistling sound, my sleeves as if a thin blade unceasingly lashing at my arms. Now he didnt dare to step forward and coerce me, i say to him : " I misjudged you, and now my home and people are in ruins, to suffer this ordeal is the punishment sent from the gods. Enunciating each word distinctly, i say : " For all eternity, i shall entirely forget you forever ! "

It appeared as if i could see the evening of our great wedding, he lifted up my veil. When the veil uplifted, everything before my eyes was bright, brightly lit candles surrounded me, illuminating his face, and his entire body. He wore a black robe, exquisite designs were embroidered on top. Several months before, under the supervision of Yong Niang, from the book 《Rituals & Etiquettes》 i had to memorize it to heart, i knew that that was a black attire, crimson garments, ninth chapter. Five chapters on attire, dragon、mountain、flower insect、fire、ceremonial goblets ; four chapters on garments, seaweed、rice、axe、bows. This was weaved into it. The single patch of white silk, axe on the collar、 jade cuffs、lapel. Leather belt, bright gold strokes, great apparel, silk belt nor vermilion lining, sets of concise knots. Bow on the lower garment、fire、mountain. He wore the ceremonial imperial crown, nine tassles with various beads, appearance as his silk cord, green-black silk around his ears, guided by a sharp hairpin, a grand bearing.

At that time, i thought that that was our first meeting. What i didnt know was that we had already met, under the moonlight in the vast Western Liang. The last thing that came to mind was the precise moment i severed the belt, his eyes that were full of glistening tears. But its too late now, we conflicted for three years, however we still fell in love with one another. This is the punishment the gods have bestowed on us. Those who have drunk from the River of Forgetfulness, shall eternally part and shall never remember one another. Whilst rapidly falling I serenely closed my eyes, waiting for my body and bones to be crushed. The pressure from the fall eventually ceased, the sharp pain i imagined still never arrived. I opened my eyes, A'Du's cold arm was wrapped around me, even though she tried to use her strength to jump up, but no one on this earth could withstand the immense force from such a fall, i could practically hear the sound of her bones disintegrating, she had forcibly used her own body as a safety pad and cushioned my body from smashing on to the ground. I saw the blood from her ears、 from her nose、and from her eyes all flowing out, i loudly cried out : " A'Du ! " I had twinges of pain coming from both my legs, i had no way of standing up, i heavily struggled to get up, bewilderedly i wanted to embrace her, but it seemed that even the slightest touch would bring forth acute pain, her expression showed agony, but her jet-black eyes gazed at me, her glance was just as poised as in the past, and didnt hold the slightest intention of blame. She looked at me as if i had merely done something naughty, or perhaps like in the past, when ever i wanted to slip away and take her out to roam the streets. I embraced her, muttering her name.

I clearly knew i had long lost the chance to return to Western Liang, i merely wanted her to leave first, but i failed her, because i clearly knew she would not cast me away to live upon this lonely world alone.

As well as how I could not bear to cast her away to live upon this lonely world alone. A'Du had already closed her eyes, no matter how much i cry out for her, she wouldn't even know. I heard the sound of the city gate squeaking open, an imposing amount of soldiers advanced towards us, i knew that everyone still had thoughts of pulling me back to that insufferable world, to bring me back to that cold and grim Eastern Palace. But now i no longer want to suffer that type of misery anymore. I said to A'Du  : " Let's go back to Western Liang together. " I lightly picked up A'Du's golden knife, a moment ago A'Du had used it to cut down a large amount of iron bolts so the blades surface had ruptured and many small fine nicks appeared. In an instance i deeply stabbed the knife into my own chest, and yet i felt no pain. Perhaps ive already experienced all the sufferings of this world, so how could death even compare ? Blood gurgled out, i held onto A'Du's hand with both of my blood-stained hands, slowly I leaned over and fell by her side. Now, we can finally return home. I could feel my temperature and consciousness all gradually parting from me, and darkness gradually enshrouded me. It seemed as if i could see Gu Xiao Wu, sitting tall he urged his horse forward rushing towards me, i knew he had not died, but he had merely gone to catch 100 fireflies for me. Now I want him to fasten his belt on me, by doing so he will forever stay by my side. With a slight meaningful smile, i swallowed my final breath. A vast and desolate land, a song speaks out : "A single fox sitting on top of a sandy hill, sitting on top of a sandy hill, gazing at the moon. Alas, it turns out it was not gazing at the moon, it was actually waiting for the girl who herds sheep.... A single fox sitting on top of a sandy hill, sitting on top of a sandy hill, basking in the sun.... Alas…. It turns out it was not basking in the sun, it was actually waiting for the girl riding her horse to pass by..." Turns out that fox was unable to wait for girl whom it wanted to wait for all along.

《Eastern Palace》 End

[sonnycarisicannoli-blog]

Open Mic Night

A/N Okay, so this is my first attempt at writing for Sonny and the fandom. It’s also a shameless plug of some of my poetry/personal experiences. This is just the first little tidbit I wrote but I wanted to see if there was any interest for me to continue and potentially make a series? Please please let me know what you think!

This was the first poetry reading you’ve ever been to. You were scared, nervous, excited, and every other emotion possible in the human body wrapped up into one. “It’s just an open mic,” you thought to yourself, “everyone’s an amateur here,” you tried to reassure your anxieties, but as each poet or musician hit the stage you felt you inferiority creep into your consciousness, telling you to just leave and abandon your bucket-list dream of reading your poetry aloud. As you tugged on your coat to leave and wallow in your misery in your apartment, your name was called. You froze in your tracks, taking a deep breath to decide whether to conquer this Mount Everest or pussy out like everything else you do in life. You abandoned your coat, rushed to the bar and ordered a double vodka shot, downed it, and stomped up to the stage with a new-found confidence you’ve never experienced before. But once you got up on that stage with the spotlight burning down on your skin, all the eyes watching your every move, you panicked. You wanted to run, but you wouldn’t. You were here for a reason.

“Uh, hi. My name is Y/N and this is the first time I’ve ever read my poetry out loud to anyone, so cut me some slack, please?” you murmured timidly into the microphone. A loud whoop emanated from the back row along with a, “You can do this!” but you had no idea who it was through the darkness of the crowd. “Well, here goes nothing. This is called, ‘It Takes Two to Tango”. You took a deep breath and began the poem you’ve memorized since you put the pencil down to paper:

“I grasp at that night like a childhood memory. You know you rode that merry-go-round through scrapbooks and home movies, but do you actually remember physically being there? Do you remember the up and down motion of the white pony, your little fingers gripping the pole, smiling and waving to your parents as they cheer you on? I don’t,” you inhaled deeply before realizing you had your eyes closed the entire time. Opening them, you exhaled and delivered the rest of the poem with a newfound intensity you didn’t know you possessed. You stared straight at the back of the room at no one in particular, but determined to conquer your fear, “I remember the pounding of my head as I took in my surroundings, empty bottles strewn throughout the room. I remember the panic I felt waking up bare from the waist down, ashamed of my anatomy. I remember moving on with my life as if nothing happened, blissfully cocooned in ignorance. I remember when you told him what you did to me over the phone. I remember how you blamed me. I remember how repulsed I was, mostly at myself. I remember those five words you spewed. I remember your apology text nearly three months later. I remember how your words tore open the wounds not yet healed. I remember the shame. But for the life of me, I cannot remember that night.” You blinked away your tears and wiped a stray one that fell as you finished your poem. After a short pause, snaps and claps rang out through the audience. You felt an immense relief wash over you that it wasn’t a complete flop.

“Thank you,” you spoke quietly into the mic and scurried off the stage. As soon as you were out of the spotlight you started laughing to yourself. You couldn’t believe you actually did it. Once the laughing stopped there was something else lingering, a fear. You just told a very personal story in front of a bunch of strangers. You felt vulnerable, the feeling you hated the most. Shaking the rest of your nerves off you decided to go back to the bar to drink away your feelings, something you knew how to do best. You had just finished ordering a vodka soda when you felt a tap on your shoulder. Still on edge, you jumped before turning around in surprise.

“Woah, sorry there, I just wanted to say I really loved your poem,” a very tall gentleman spoke with a thick Staten Island accent. As your initial surprise wore off you noticed his piercing blue eyes framed with laugh lines and his perfectly gelled hair with gray on the sides. Quite simply, he was beautiful… and what the hell was he doing talking to you?

“Uh, sorry you just caught me off guard. Thank you though,” you replied politely to the handsome stranger before turning back to the bar eagerly awaiting your drink. The lanky man leaned on the bar next to you, apparently not done with the conversation.

“So, uh, what you said up there… did that actually happen to you?” Your heart stopped beating, this is exactly what you didn’t want to happen. You didn’t want people to know.

“N-No, uh, just something I made up. C-completely fiction,” you muttered unconvincingly, inwardly cringing at how fake you sounded. He obviously knew you were lying. Thankfully the bartender chose that moment to pass you your drink. Pretending to be very occupied with the alcohol in front of you, you stirred the straw around the glass, hoping this stranger took the hint and left you alone.

“Oh, well, if by chance it may be even a little bit true, here’s my card,” he slid a card in front of you that read, “Dominick Carisi Jr. Detective Manhattan SVU, “you can call me Sonny, though”. You turned your head in horror to the detective next to you. He was still smiling, his features so kind that you almost disclosed right then and there. But he saw you exactly how you didn’t want to be seen. He thought you were some fragile, broken baby bird he wanted to nurse back to health.

“No thank you, Detective,” you spit back before chugging the rest of your drink and turning to leave. Your nerves were shot, hands shaking and breath heavy. You felt a panic attack coming on. As soon as you were outside in the fresh air, you could feel the oxygen filling your lungs again. You were okay. You were okay. You were okay. Finally feeling like yourself again, you went to raise your hand to hail a cab back home and wallow in misery. Why the fuck did you think this was a good idea?

“Hey!” you heard from behind you, turning to find the detective chasing after you. “Fuck, he wants to interrogate me or some shit,” you thought to yourself.

“I’m really not interested in speaking to the police or anything about the matter. Please, let it go,” you plead with Detective Carisi.

“No, no. Forget I said any of that. I was, uh, actually wondering if you’d wanna go to this little dive bar I know not too far from here. I just, uh, think you’re really brave for getting up on stage and doin’ that, ya know? I’d like to get to know you, as just Sonny,” he scratched the back of his neck, looking you directly in the eyes. It felt like he could see right through your soul. Despite your better judgment and his potential ulterior motives, you agreed.

[keeroo92]

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch15 (V x Reader)

Chapter 15 - Love’s Agony

____________________________________________

June 6th, 12:14 pm

V

V's blood runs cold as he hears you scream. His emerald eyes go straight to where you lie on the ground, prone beneath an enemy as it prepares to land a forceful strike against your already wounded form. Time seems to slow as V starts to run toward you, Shadow not far behind him. He can hear his blood pumping in his eardrums; he knows it will be too many beats before he can reach you, but he tries anyway out of desperation, his face strained and tight where moments ago it held a grim smile.

Griffon moves so rapidly he seems to teleport to your side, swooping in and taking your outstretched arm in his mighty talons and dragging you out of reach of the demon, leaving a trail of blood on the sun-dappled sidewalk behind. V has never seen the demonic bird fly so fast. The second you are out of immediate danger his eyes narrow along with his focus.

He hastily pulls out his book of poems, letting it fall open to any page.

“Every wolf’s and lion’s howl, raises from Hell a human soul,” he reads aloud almost snarling, and snaps his fingers to summon Nightmare. V's hair goes white, the black dissolving like dust into the humid air.

V watches, carefully timing his advance as Nightmare bursts through a storefront, brickwork and shoeboxes flying across the street. He darts forward, jumps lightly and lands on his final familiars form, cane sinking in to give him something to steer with.

Nightmare trods slowly forward and with every step V’s rage grows, a towering inferno of wrathful flames in his mind. He channels it into Nightmare as the mammoth creature swings a motorcycle-sized fist at the demon that struck you down. It hits with a sickening crunch of metal and the demon disintegrates as V turns his attention to the final threat. He sends another burst of energetic rage to Nightmare and it emits a thin laser from its single eye, leaving a trail of explosions in its wake. Shadow and Griffon rejoin the fray, lightning and spinning blades quickly bringing the final demonic knight down. V launches himself off Nightmare and darts to the demon, thrusting his silver cane into the creature’s face without his usual flair; his mind is on you. The moment the last demon dissolves, V is by your side, panting.

V gently pulls your blood covered body into his arms, the crimson bright against your too-pale skin. The wound on your hip still oozes out yet more of the precious liquid as V brushes the hair out of your face.

“Ah, fuck, V, that doesn’t look good! Is she still breathing!? What do we do!?” Griffon exclaims worriedly, flying in circles overhead. Shadow pads up to stand next to him, letting out a low whine as she sees you in her master’s arms, bloody and covered in dirt.

V cradles your still form carefully, noting the growing blood pool beneath you with terror squeezing his heart until it feels like he no longer has one. He strokes your cheek and your eyes mercifully open. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, a small portion of his fear dissipating as you regain consciousness.

"V... it hurts… Shit, V, get my bag. You have to… dress the wound," you say haltingly. V swallows heavily, his eyes quickly spotting your bag a few feet away.

"I got it, Shakespeare!" Griffon swoops over to the bag, gripping it in his deadly talons as he drags it to V. He looks down at you again, unsure how to proceed.

"Y/N, I don't know how..." he whispers. He looks to your hip, seeing the blood still flowing. It's slower but the sight still terrifies him. His heart feels tight, too tight in his chest as he realizes he may lose you.

I just found her... this can't be happening.

"It's okay V, I'll talk you, aaah, through it. First you need… to stop the bleeding. Get one of the small towels and just, augh, press it on my hip," you tell him. He's amazed at how calm your voice is; there's not even a hint of fear; only the painful exclamations. You’re acting like its nothing worse than a stubbed toe and it reassures him. Griffon digs around in the bag, finally pulling a towel out and dropping it in V's waiting hand. He does as you say, pressing his long fingers over your hip, his other hand still holding you off the blood-soaked cobblestone.

"Y/N..." he whispers your name tenderly, and his heart loosens just a fraction when you smile at him. Please, don't leave me alone again...

His arm tightens around you as if he can keep you alive through sheer force of will. He knows his fate is sealed, but yours remains a mystery to him. He takes another breath and presses the towel against your hip with more force.

"Good, that's good, V. Hold it like that for a while," you say quietly. Too quietly for his liking.

"Tell me what to do next," he begs you, not knowing if you'll stay awake long enough to show him how to save you. He needs to know now; he needs to plan and be ready. He needs to be able to see the next step in his mind, as he always has. Even before his rebirth.

"You'll need to clean the wound and… bandage it once the bleeding slows. There's some antiseptic in my bag, pour a little over it and… use a clean towel to wipe away what you can. Can you tell me how big the cut is? How deep?"

V glances down at your hip, forcing himself to look at your injury. Slowly, he peels the towel away from the wound just enough to see the damage. He catches his breath as he glimpses bone within the deep gash, his skin prickling in terror.

"I... oh, Y/N, I can see bone. The wound is about five inches long, I think. Oh, my little fox..."

Blood gushes out and he hastily presses the towel against it once more. His heart is beating painfully fast now, panic filling his mind.

"Please don't leave me, Y/N. I need you at my side," he mutters under his breath, tears falling freely now as his heart starts to wither; it wants to follow you into the abyss. He wants to tell you he loves you, but now is not the time. He bites his tongue hard enough to taste the coppery tang of his own blood.

"V, I'm not going anywhere yet. It looks bad but I can… heal from this with your help. Hold it together just a little while longer, my poet, you can do this," you say slowly, struggling to get the words out. "A wound that large… uhh… will need stitches. And we can't stay here much longer; the demons will find us. Get the antiseptic ready."

He nods, gathering his strength as best he can. Griffon brings the bottle over and a new towel. He slowly, delicately lays you on the ground to free the arm that’s been holding you. Shadow pads over to your injury, her nose taking the place of V's hand to hold the blood-soaked towel against your wound so that he can prepare the antiseptic.

He takes your hand, giving it a quick kiss, then pops the lid off the bottle. Shadow backs away slowly, taking the crimson towel with her. Blood starts to run from your wound again, but it seems slower than before, to V's immense relief.

He pours the liquid across your hip, and you bite your lip, suppressing a scream. A whimper escapes your throat despite your best efforts. V takes your hand again, giving you an anchor from the pain. A tear escapes his eye as he watches you in agony. He knows that most others would be howling and thrashing away from the source of the agony, but you barely even flinch. He's amazed and saddened by how accustomed you seem to be to pain.

"That's plenty, V. Now clean it, gently," you gasp out. He takes the clean towel and slides it slowly across the wound, taking care to not jostle the still forming scab.

"Okay. Now it needs to be stitched. I can do it myself but I'll need… you to hold me up so I can see," you say, determination filling your eyes, lips set in a firm line.

V's shoulders slump in relief - he wasn't sure he could bear to cause you any further pain. But this much he could do. Bringing the required needle and medical thread to you, he lifts your torso and braces you against his own, so you're leaning against his chest. He kisses your neck, holding you up despite his obvious exhaustion. He feels you brace yourself as you bring the needle down, piercing the flesh near the wound. He watches as you carefully stitch yourself closed again, once more amazed and saddened by the ease with which you do so. Finally, you tie the thread off and are finished.

"That should hold for a while. Last step, we have to bandage it," you say with an exhausted sigh.

"Allow me, little fox. You lie back and let me take care of you now," V murmurs in your ear. He gently sets you on the ground again, careful to keep your wound off the dirty cobblestone.

V watches you as you relax on the ground. Your eyes drift closed, unconsciousness taking hold. He suddenly can’t keep the words from spilling from his mouth.

"Rest, my little fox. I've got you," he pauses, making sure your eyes are closed fully. "I love you, Y/N..."

________________________________________________

June 6th, 6:07 pm

Awareness returns to you slowly. The pain in your hip comes first, then the stiffness of having been in the same position too long. You lick your cracked lips, but your mouth is so dry it does little good.

 Assess the damage.

You take a moment to feel the pain in your hip, letting the agony fill your mind and analyzing it with a sense of detachment perfected from years of practice. You memorize the sensation, making it all the easier to then set it aside and focus on the rest of your body. Nothing else hurts anywhere near as much, but you feel a dull ache from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head. It feels like your entire body has been clenched for hours, probably from the pain.

 I have feeling in all my extremities; that’s good. Probably no permanent damage, but too soon to tell for sure. I wonder how much blood I lost. At least a liter from what I remember.

The thought reminds you of your dry lips, and you make a mental note to drink plenty of water to replenish yourself.

 Ok, now where am I? Is that… cigarette smoke and oil? V must’ve gotten me to Nico’s van.

Thinking of V brings the memories rushing back. You remember looking in his eyes as the edges of your vision went black, the sound of his voice as he spoke. Normally so soothing and lovely, yet he had sounded so scared while he was helping you treat your wound. Panicked, even.

But he had sounded intensely focused and serious when he spoke those last few words. Like nothing else mattered in the world. Your heart fills to bursting as you recall the moment.

 "I love you, Y/N..."

Your mind swims in bliss, reveling in his words. You feel as though a piece of your soul that had been missing your whole life has finally been returned to you. You feel… complete. You resist the urge to laugh, knowing that it would hurt.

 I love you too, V. And I can’t wait to tell you.

Finally, you open your crusted eyes. As you had thought, you find yourself in Nico’s van, the mechanic sitting across from you and tinkering with some piece of machinery you can’t identify. You don’t see V and let out a whimper.

Nico looks up from her fiddling and immediately drops the chunk of unknown metal to the floor as she rushes to sit by your head.

"Hey hey hey, look who's awake! Ya had me worried, Y/N!"

"Nico? Where's V?” you rasp.

"Hush now, it's alright. V brought you to my van, then he went back out again with Nero. It's only been a few hours, so they should be back soon enough. I hope," she explains. She holds a bottle of water with a straw to your lips, a kind smile on her face.

"He... left me? But..." you feel like you're about to cry, wondering if you imagined his words. Your eyes dart around, taking in the sight of Nico’s van; the red tabletop across from you, the stove not far away, the complete lack of organization. The familiarity of it soothes you, enough to get your heart to slow down as you gulp down the water.

You drain the bottle, carefully lift your hand and wipe your cracked lips as you pause to gather your thoughts. Emotion and agony mix to form a strange haze over your mind, dulling your senses and numbing your impulse to hold back. You sigh softly, the words tumbling out before your pain and love addled brain can think to hold them back.

"He said he loved me. I want to tell him... need to tell him..."

Nico’s eyes go wide and she lets out a quiet squeal of delight, her hands clapping together seemingly of their own volition.

"Oh honey! Spill! Tell me everything! I need an update!" Nico sits next to you, listening intently. She looks at you, waiting impatiently, and you realize how much you’ve missed having female friends. Having a kindred spirit to talk about boys with isn’t something you’ve been able to enjoy for a few years since your oldest friend died. You grimace tightly, the pain of the loss even after all this time twisting your guts into unfamiliar shapes.

“I’ve been falling for him since the library, he’s just so…well, he’s everything I like in a guy. Then yesterday, as I was passing out after stitching my wound closed, I heard him say it. That he loved me.”

Your lips stretch into a smile here, your heart light remembering the soft tone of his voice as he spoke the words.

 “I love you, Y/N…”

Nico smiles at the look on your face too, clearly thrilled for you. You blush a little, nervous to hear what she thinks.

“So did’ja knock boots yet?” she inquires with a lewd grin, leaning forward on the edge of her seat. You blush heavily, remembering that perfect night with V, the heaven of being with him in such an intimate way rushing through you once again.

Nico shoots to her feet, clapping her hands and laughing at the look on your face.

“I KNEW IT! I knew it, the way he was looking at ya, oh my gosh it was like he thought looking at anything else was some kind of crime! You might actually be able to make the idiot smile,” she exclaims, hands gesturing wildly in the air around her.

The thought of his smile, that special smile he saved just for you, makes your heart melt into a puddle of goo in your chest. A warm mass of joy and excitement that somehow managed to fall for someone amidst the chaos surrounding you. Another grin splits your face in half, thinking of V and all the things you want to say to him, to do with him, everything the future holds once Urizen is gone.

"Sugar, you are head over heels! I'm so happy for ya! And heaven knows V could use a little joy in his life; that boy looks like he wouldn’t know a joke if it walked up and bit him in his scrawny little gothic ass!" She pats your shoulder as you yawn, still exhausted from your ordeal. She reaches to her pocket to pull out a cigarette, still grinning at you happily.

"You get some more rest now, y'hear? I promise I'll wake you when he gets back."

You give her a grateful look and slip back into oblivion, dreams swirling around your handsome poet. ________________________________________________

June 9th, 4:56 pm

V doesn't return for another three days.

For the first day, it doesn’t bother you much. You assure yourself that he’s just helping Nero, he’ll be back soon and you can talk. Nico brings you her best attempts at food, and after two meals of her concoctions you ask her to just bring you your bag, stuffed full of all the food you and V eat when away from her van. She does her best to distract you, chatting with you as she works in her little corner, cracking jokes and asking you all about what happened with V in between bouts of noisy welding and curses.

You tell her slowly, saving a few details for yourself alone but enjoying her little squeals and clapping hands whenever you tell her something new. Her joy for you is obvious, her friendship an anchor against your rising tide of concern for the man you love.

You go to sleep that first night thinking he’ll be there when you wake up, smirking adorably at you as he sits down to read from his poetry book, the words of William Blake filling the silence.

On the morning of the second day, you start to get angry.

 How could he do this to me, just up and leave when I’m sitting here like this? Especially after what he said!

By midday, your rage has peaked and you refuse to answer any of Nico’s questions, instead crossing your arms and fuming silently as the hours pass with still no sign of your poet. Your blood boils in your veins as you angrily chew a granola bar and slurp down water with your eyes fixed in a Death Glare.

Night falls, and your fury shifts to concern.

 He couldn't have... fallen, could he? No, no way. Nero would watch over V, surely? He has to be okay, he has to be.

You run your mind ragged imagining all the ways that V could be in trouble, your heart breaking a little more with each new thought. You envision his lifeless eyes staring up at you from a blood-soaked street. Him holding his guts in as he trudges away from a battlefield, barely supported by Nero. His cane lying forgotten in a muddy ditch, his corpse nowhere to be seen. Nero, with only V’s bracelet left to bring back to you.

The second night, you barely sleep. What little time you spend resting is destroyed by nightmares, a blend of the past and all your visions of V’s death. You wake up screaming twice, Nico holding you and rubbing your back until you calm down enough to tell her what you had dreamt of.

The third day dawns and you feel your heart being dragged over a field of broken glass as your eyes open and V is still not there. All the images of his dead body flood your head once more, and you sit there in silence, shuddering as your mind tortures you brutally from within. By the time Nico wakes up, you are in the midst of a full-blown panic attack, your arms gripping your knees to your chest, your shirt damp from all the tears that have fallen on the fabric. You stare forward, unseeing for a length of time you cannot measure until finally, Nico holds you close, her own tears joining yours as she rubs your back and does what she can to comfort you.

“Nico… is there any way you could go outside and look for them? Not too far from here, but just… please?” you beg her and despite her hesitance she agrees, taking your baseball bat with her just in case.

You start counting, keeping track of how much time passes after she leaves. You’ve just reached 2,249 when the door opens to reveal a long-fingered hand on the doorway, tattoos barely visible in the low light. You catch your breath, scarcely daring to believe what your eyes are showing you.

"V?"

He enters slowly, unsteady on his feet. He's leaning on his cane now more than ever and your heart stops when he loses his balance, falling just at your feet. He looks completely exhausted and you wish you could reach down to help him up.

"Y/N... you're awake?”

He sighs, slowly getting back to his feet. You carefully adjust your position, making room for him to sit beside you. The moment he settles, you tug him into your arms. He nuzzles your neck, holding you so close it makes you ache. You feel the tension leave his body as he wraps his arms around you.

"I love you too, V," you whisper in his ear, unwilling to wait a second more to tell him. You hear his breath catch in his throat, and he pulls back to look in your eyes. His emerald orbs are shining, sparkling, and you stroke his cheek gently.

"You weren't meant to hear that part," he whispers, "but I'm glad you did."

He leans forward and presses his soft lips to yours and you sigh with joy. His tongue probes your mouth and you open eagerly, craving his taste. He moans in your mouth, and you tug his hair gently.

He pulls back, looking deep into your eyes again. "I love you," he says wondrously, as if the possibility of love had never occurred to him before. He says it again and again, punctuating it with kisses. He seems to be exploring the words, getting used to the feel of them in his mouth. You grin, then start to giggle, all the terror and rage of the last three days leaving you in a single peal of joyous laughter. He looks at you, confused for a moment, but seeing you so happy he soon joins in your laughter.

"What the hell is so damn funny?" Nero shouts from the doorway. V doesn't even glance at him, instead giving you another deep kiss. You hear Nero cough loudly and then start clapping, shaking his head in amusement.

"I'll uh, leave you two alone, and I'll keep Nico busy for a while for ya,” He chuckles as he closes the door behind him, leaving you and V alone.

V pulls back, giving you that smirk you love so much. He traces a finger down your side, stopping at your injured hip.

"How does it feel?" He asks quietly, his adorable smirk morphing into a frown.

"It's healing, getting better day by day. I can't move it too much yet or it might tear open again."

He kisses you again, voice breaking as he speaks. "I thought I'd lost you, little fox."

"I'm more durable than I look. I'll be here for a long time to come. We have all the time in the world, my poet."

His handsome face twists into a grimace and he pulls away from you, taking a deep sigh. He stares at his tattooed hands, considering something internally for a long moment of silence before he finally speaks again, his mournful tone making apprehension rise like a tsunami within you.

"There's something I must tell you..."

[thebeethathums]

Writing Question Tag Thing

Tagged by the always amazing @angryteapot and I stole their under the cut message because I am lazyyy.

Some of these answers are pretty long, so if you’re interested in learning a bit about me, then by all means, read under the cut! 

Q: What is your coffee order?

Coffee isn’t really my jam. I’m more of tea drinker. I like most teas and I vary a lot but my current order is a London Fog... it’s like... Earl Grey tea with Milk and sweetener. Pretty good.

Q: What is the coolest thing you’ve ever done?

I don’t really consider myself cool thing kind of person but, to me, two things stand out. First, I’ve seen the Mona Lisa up close like behind the rope >:) My Grandmother was still spry enough at the time to travel with only minor accommodations but the Louvre is massive so they offered her a wheelchair. She graciously accepted and the guards let us go behind the rope so she could see. An amazing and serendipitous opportunity. Second, I cosplayed Lumpy Space Princess from Adventure Time at Comic-Con with a couple of friends dressed as Marceline and Finn and we met the voice actors for Marceline and her Dad! It was pretty awesome. YES, I’m a nerd. Deal with it.

Q: Who has been your biggest mentor?

Honestly, it was the lady my parents hired to help me with my college transfer application. She was a tough love kind of person (which I needed at the time) and one of the only people to tell me that what I could do art and writing wise HAD VALUE. That was kind of a turning point for me in a lot of ways. I will always ALWAYS be grateful to her for that.

Q: What has been your most memorable writing project?

OKAY. So fanfiction wise. Observers. Pretty obvi. Academically, my thesis for my English degree. I wrote about the idea of ‘the other’ in the Mass Effect video game series (ALL THREE OF THEM.) It was very long and involved lots of gameplay for research purposes. Personally, the most memorable for me out of them all would be the first short story I wrote. It had a really interesting concept and was well received by my peer reviewers and that made me happy which made it memorable *shrug*

Q: What does your writing path look like, from the earliest days until now?

I’ve always been a bit of a scribbler in a lot of ways. I had a poem published after some sort of school contest or something and I kept a sort of haphazard journal for years. To be completely honest, I didn’t start writing anything that wasn’t for school until fan fiction. That’s not to say I didn’t like writing. I just always channeled it into an academic setting. Which meant my teachers got A LOT of strange papers from me... to name a few: Aliens in Mystic anthropology vs. Aliens in modern media, Shakespeare's Effects on Science Fiction, Stage or Screen: How well do musicals translate into cinema, A Cinematic Analysis of Monsoon Wedding, Van Helsing the Hugh Jackman movie related Bram Stoker’s Dracula... among others. I think I also wrote an entire philosophy paper about unicorns at one point. I was that kid that always took a prompt somewhere the teacher never really intended. It wasn’t until I transferred to a different college that I felt like I had anything important to say story wise... and then fan fiction became an almost frantic outlet to get all of it out- followed quickly by some original work and more poetry. It’s been kind of a wild ride from there.

Q: What is your favorite part about writing?

Honestly, the control. I love being able to do whatever the heck I want with characters- mine or canon. Since I don’t really plan all that much when I write it starts out more of an idea like what if this person existed. What if they were all in this place. And then I get to run with it however I want and that is the best feeling. Soo... Control and details. I love world building.

Q: What does a typical day look like for you?

It depends on day. I’m not an early riser and thankfully my job doesn’t make be get up early at the moment. Work days I’m up by 8:30, work by ten, work either 7 or 9 hours. Then home and SLEEP. Front facing sales jobs for introverts are exhausting TBH. I hate it. Looking for something different ASAP. Off days are more relaxed but I’m a caregiver for my Grandma so mostly cooking and cleaning and then chilling with my puppers/writing/whatever else catches my fancy.

Q: What does your writing process look like?

Mostly staring at a google doc for an embarrassing amount of time. I only seem to have two writing modes. Staring or greatly inspired. When I’m actually writing good chunks it usually because I imagined some bits of how it will go over a day or so and then it just flows. Other times it’s staring and rewriting things a million times. I suppose that's pretty normal.

Q: What’s the best advice you’ve gotten?

Letting go of toxic people in my life. I’m a big giver in a lot of ways and shy so I don’t make friends easily... unfortunately its led to a lot of situation where I’m taken advantage of or stomped on emotionally. It took me a long time to learn to be picky with who you surround yourself with.

Q: What’s the biggest lesson you’ve learned?

You can’t force other people to change. I’ve struggled with my relationship with my mother for ages and in an amazingly clear moment, I realized that no matter how hard I tried, if she doesn’t want to make a change to be a positive and more sensitive person toward me then she won't. I can’t force her to change her ways no matter how healthy it would be for both of us. Once I accepted this, things got easier to handle. I see her less but I know exactly what to expect when I do and let things roll off me a little better than I used to.

Q: What advice would you give someone who wants to start writing?

Writing anything, even if it's short and horrible in your mind, is better than writing nothing. Really. When I’m struggling I force myself to at least write something because a bad first draft can only improve whereas no draft can do absolutely squat.

Tagging: No tags. Don’t want to annoy anyone. BUT if anyone would like to answer them TAG me I would love to read your answers!

[ahgaru]

I’LL REMEMBER // DAY6 Fic

Pairing: Park Jaehyung x Kang Younghyun | Jaehyungparkian Word count: 2,170 Summary:  Jae comes to their old school with Younghyun like what they did eight years ago. He did exactly the same thing they did except for one thing

also posted on twitter

Jae lets out a heavy breath as his eyes scan the area. His gaze drops on the small frame he's holding. He caresses the glass and paint a small smile.

It's been eight years since he last set foot in this place. The last time, he's with the same person he's with right now.

He looks up to take a glimpse of the area again. “Let's go.”

He carefully takes every step as he enters the place. It's where they spent their entire highschool life--their puberty period, where they first had flings, where they first read adult magazines during class, where they first got their hearts broken, where they first fist fought, and where they built the foundation of the unbroken bond they have had.

Jae playfully kicks the pebble in front of him slowly, like how the other did it eight years ago.

“You remember when I first dragged you here?” Younghyun asked as their eyes wandered at the soccer field of their school. “You didn't want to because you want to play badminton or basketball instead. Yet you didn't want to leave when I told you that we should head home.”

Both of them went back to their school two months after graduation day. They want to go to every corner and reminisce everything, keep them in their hearts and treasure them forever.

“My mom scolded me, you know?” Jae chuckled. “My uniform was full of dirt. My face was, too.”

“But then you asked me to play soccer the next day.”

Jae lets his eyes study the area for another minute as he recalls all the fun times they ran around the field, trying to steal the ball from each other, and dropping on the ground when exhausted.

“It was really fun playing with you, Hyun.”

Jae starts walking again, holding Younghyun in his left hand. He halts at the tree near the wash area. He traces the familiar carving on it: JPian

He laughs. “You remember this? Jaehyungparkian. You loved it, didn't you?” He looks at the other with a bright smile. But after a while, it turned into a sad one. “Let's head somewhere else.”

They go all around the campus. Jae voices out every memory he can remember in each place. Like how they both did eight years ago.

Jae doesn't let go of him as they go from one place to another.

They went to their old classroom where Younghyun would always fall asleep during class, write poems in his notebook, or read manga. Jae would always play games under his desk. They would always get scolded every time and were made to stand on the hallway.

They pass by the classroom where Younghyun would always take a peek to see what a senior was doing--a senior he has a crush on. And Jae would always appear behind him and try to surprise him. When the senior would look at their way, Younghyun would hide and Jae would wave a hi with a bright smile.

Jae opens the door of the infirmary. He remembers sitting at the edge on the bed at the corner when he sprained his ankle after jumping when he was playing badminton with a classmate and Younghyun immediately ran to check up on him. The sprain wasn't anything serious but the worried look on the younger's face has triggered something inside Jae. It's as if a candle has been lit up or a switch has been turned on.

“I guess that was the time I realized why my past relationships, or flings, didn't go well.” He caresses Younghyun with his thumb.

He also takes a peek at the science laboratory where they were lab partners and Jae confidently mixed some chemicals that blew up.

Jae smiles as he sees the cafeteria. He recalls how Younghyun would always squeeze himself to get their food. It's always a battlefield there.

Jae does not forget the library, where Younghyun sometimes go to sleep. Or write again. He strolls around the shelves, letting his hand touch the books he pass by, until he reach the last shelf and arrive at the very corner.

He slowly pulls three books at once, the last three on the middle row, revealing a hidden notebook stuck behind the books. It's where Younghyun wrote his poems and songs. His dream was to be a songwriter.

Jae flips some pages slowly and with utmost care. He can still see how bright Younghyun's smile every time he finishes a piece. But no one would seem to give him attention. Although the younger would always keep mum about it, Jae knew about his frustrations. Who doesn't want his talent to be recognized? Or at least be appreciated a bit?

They proceed to the music room afterwards. The first time Jae caught Younghyun there, he was mesmerized. He didn't tell the younger that he knew about his little secret. Jae didn't know why Younghyun didn't want anyone to know that he plays.

The song was soothing yet sad and heartbreaking. Every time Jae couldn't find Younghyun at the library, he would always go here in silent, and he would always see Younghyun sing and play the guitar; or piano sometimes.

“Shall we head to the theater?”

It was the last place they visited eight years ago. And the last place they'll go to today.

Jae's feet are heavy as he takes every step after entering the mini-theater of their school. When his eyes land on the stage, he can feel his heart squeeze.

He takes a seat as his knees are about to give in. He lets Younghyun take the seat on his left. They both face the stage.

“Remember what happened eight years ago?” Jae smiles as he curbs himself from breaking. “I was surprised, too. I really didn't know they will all come.”

He smiles softly as he plays a song from his phone. He places it on the arm rest. He listens to it as he reminisces the unexpected event that happened the last time they went here.

“You're supposed to perform here.”

“Yeah,” Younghyun smiled with a hint of sadness. “But I couldn't come.”

“You were so happy then,” Jae tried so hard not to make his voice crack.

The younger was supposed to sing his own composition during the school festival. But because of unfortunate events, he couldn't make it.

“Of course. I've always wanted for people to hear my piece.”

“Why don't you play it?”

“Now?” Younghun looked around. “But no one's here.”

“I'm here,” Jae locked their gaze until the spotlight suddenly switched on.

They flipped their eyes shut from the blinding light. Their hands in front of their faces to shield it from the light. A figure revealed itself behind it. It's their class president, Sungjin.

They heard footsteps behind them and saw Wonpil carrying a guitar, and Dowoon with a stool. The latter carefully put down the chair and the former handed Younghyun the guitar.

“We're here,” the class president behind the spotlight exclaimed.

As if on cue, people started to fill the theater. Their classmates took their seats and readied themselves to hear Younghyun's song.

There were some familiar faces, too. Their homeroom and math teacher, his favorite, at the side with some other teachers. Their P.E. teacher, who would always scold him, was there, too. Ayeon, the senior he has a crush on. Jieun, his first ex.

Jae nodded at him and motioned him to take a seat and start playing.

“I'm nervous,” Younghyun whispered.

Jae tapped his shoulder. “Don't be. You always tell me to do things with so much enjoyment.”

“As if it's your last,” Younghyun continued and Jae choked a sob.

He shook his head not wanting to think about it. “Not that, let's stop at the ‘enjoyment’ part, okay?”

But that's what Younghyun would always say. “As if it's your last.”

When he dragged Jae to the soccer field. When they first cut classes. When they jumped in the river, still wearing their uniform clothes. Everything Younghyun has been wanting to do that Jae seemed a bit hesitant, he would always say it. “Let's enjoy this, savor the moment as if it's our last.”

Younghyun showed a tight-lipped smile and sat down. Jae went down and took a seat in the front row.

Younghyun took another glance at Jae before closing his eyes and started playing.

In the passing time You’re fading away now I’m afraid that I’ll lose you Even in my memories

Jae bit his lips to prevent them from shaking. He kept on looking away to restrain the teasing tears to fall. No, he's not gonna lose him. And no, he's not gonna lose every memory of him.

The moments you gave to me They were so precious I’ll remember

Of course. He will never forget.

Jae could hear some of their classmates crying. Their P.E. teacher kept on wiping his tears, too.

Younghyun was a naughty student. But he sure brought unforgettable memories and made their highschool lives worth remembering.

Just the fact That we were together I’ll leave it in a deep part Of a corner of my heart (I’ll remember)

Younghyun was alreading shedding tears. At the last line, his voice almost cracked from trying not to cry. Jae stood up and went up the stage.

Younghyun couldn't almost continue the song but was surprised when someone sang the next verse. How did Jae know it?

In this slowly fading picture You’re fading away as well It’s sad because Time can’t be stopped

Younghyun's right hand that was strumming the guitar dropped. He stopped playing and Jae stopped singing. The latter just stood there and let tears leave wet trails on his face.

Younghyun couldn't look up. His shoulders were moving up and down from heavy breathing because of his wailing. The room was suffused with grief and tears.

Jae stops the song. It was a memorable yet painful day. He couldn't stop the time.

“As if it's your last.”

They all knew the possibilities. They all knew that it's gonna be the first and last time they'd hear Younghyun sing and play the guitar.

He was sick. He couldn't come during the school festival because he was in the hospital.

He looks at the man beside him. He holds him again. “I lost many opportunities. And even eight years ago, I never had the guts to tell you what I really feel.”

His hands softly brush the countenance of the other. “I love you,” he sobs.

Jae is now a successful singer. He became one to fulfill Younghyun's dream. “I want my pieces to be heard. Sing them for me.”

Jae's songs were all written by Younghyun. The latter gave him a couple of notebooks with his works when they went back to the hospital after visiting their school eight years ago.

Yesterday, I'll Remember, the song they sang here, was released. He went back here with him to reminisce once again, celebrate their victory, and get Younghyun's secret notebook at the library, which Jae only remembered yesterday, too.

He did every single thing they did eight years ago. He's still with him. The only difference is, he's now with his picture and not the person himself.

Jae embraces the frame before he takes a deep breath and stands up. The notebook resting on his lap falls. He takes it and is about to walk away when he notices a page with a folded part at the top edge.

He opens it and sees his name being scribbled multiple times. Some lines that are probably potential lyrics, too. Like, “You’re too much. Why do you drive me so crazy?” and “What can I do? I’ve already fallen for you.”

Jae keeps on flipping the last pages. There are a lot of lines that seem to be written in hurry. Like an idea just came and you didn't want to lose it. Maybe it was like that.

Jae drops on his seat again and holds the notebook and frame close to his chest when he sees what's written in the last page.

Everything I write is about you, Jae. I have no courage to tell you but I love you. I hope these songs and poems are enough to tell you what I feel.

I'm sorry for falling in love with my best friend. Also, I'm not sorry because that's the best thing that has ever happened to me.

They didn't hear each other say it. Younghyun didn't have the chance to know that Jae feels the same. Jae sobs some more, clutching his chest.

Yes, he won't lose him. He won't lose even a single memory of him. An even now that he's gone, he's still in his heart. And another thing to remember was added: Younghyun loves him, too.

Just the fact That we were in love No matter how much time passes I’ll remember Because I loved you without regrets I’ll leave you inside of me

Fics masterlist

[errantknightess]

A game for three

Chapter 1/3: Two nerds and a newbie

Pairing: Lavi/Allen/Kanda

Word count: 3,427

Summary: searching for his place at the new school, Allen joins a struggling karuta club -- and soon finds there’s much more for him to learn than just the cards and the game rules

[Read on AO3]

Allen roamed helplessly through the corridors, searching for anything at all to set him on the right track. His lousy sense of direction had thwarted him again. This school was huge, and the two weeks since he transferred hadn’t been nearly enough time to get used to it yet. How ironic, to get lost on his way to see the student advisor. Maybe he should ask him to draw him a map when he finally gets there; that’s one way he could definitely help him assimilate.

He wasn’t too sure which room Komui-sensei said he would be in. He wasn’t even sure he would be there at all. It was pretty late already, and the entire wing seemed dead. Allen strode briskly along the hall, peeking into each and every classroom he passed. All empty, not a soul in sight.

As he rounded the corner, the silence broke, punctured suddenly with a distant thumping sound. Intrigued, Allen decided to follow it;  so far, it was the only sign of anyone’s presence. The thumping continued, growing louder the further he went along the corridor. Soon, Allen started to make out other sounds, faint voices and some sort of – singing? It was coming from the last door just next to the staircase, pretty clear now that he stood right in front of it. Puzzled, Allen slid the door open a crack and looked in.

Something whizzed past his head at a dangerous speed and smacked loudly against the window behind him.

“Sorry!” a voice inside the room called. “Can you get that?”

Allen turned around and picked up the deadly projectile. It was a card – fairly big and springy, with a few columns of hiragana printed in a simple font. He turned it in his fingers with interest, so preoccupied that he nearly tripped as he stepped into the classroom. Grasping at the doorframe, he steadied himself quickly and tried not to look too embarrassed under the taxing gaze of the two students watching him from the tatami mat set out on the floor.

“Thanks.” One of them, a guy with an eyepatch and red hair of a delinquent, reached out his hand with a smile. Allen gave him the card and watched that smile grow even wider as he inspected it.

“See, Yuu, I told you! You got it wrong! This is The spring has passed, not If I lay my head. That’s another penalty for you! You’re careless today.”

“Whatever,” the other one snorted, his long dark hair flying as he snapped his head around to glare at Allen. “Hey, you! Be useful and get that one as well.” He pointed at another card laying under a desk by the door, seemingly thrown there with the same force.

“Yuu!” the redhead hissed with a slight panic. “You can’t order people around like that!”

“Then what the hell am I the captain for?” Yuu rolled his eyes and once again fixed them expectantly on Allen. The redhead cringed.

“He’s not even in the club!”

“It’s fine,” Allen minced out politely and bent under the desk to retrieve the card. It looked similar to the first one, but with a different set of lines.

“What withers and falls away in this place is I myself,” he read out loud, his eyebrows rising higher with every word. He looked up from the card, shifting his eyes between them, from the red hair and piercings to the murderous scowl. “… Are you a poetry club?”

“Something like that,” the redhead laughed and leaned towards him, eye glinting with curiosity. “Hey, you’re that transfer student, right? From England? Have you ever heard about karuta?”

“A little bit,” Allen admitted, glancing at the tiles spread out between the two of them. “It’s a card game, isn’t it?”

“It’s a sport,” Yuu growled with emphasis. “For fuck’s sake, we’re a sport club.”

The redhead laughed nervously.

“I know, Yuu, I know.” He turned to Allen again, his smile apologetic. “He’s right, it’s a sport, in the same way go and shogi are, I guess. You can play for fun, too, but it takes some skill to do it at a competitive level. The rules are pretty simple, though! After all, even kids play it, you know. Once you memorize those hundred cards, it’s a breeze. In the end, it all boils down to how quickly you can match the poem being read with the correct ending – not that hard, eh? By the way, we haven’t introduced ourselves yet! You’re a first year, so you go first. What’s your name?”

“Uhh… Allen. Allen Walker,” Allen said, his head reeling a little from this rapid speech.

“Nice to meet you!” The redhead grabbed his hand and shook it with joint-twisting enthusiasm, plucking the card from his fingers while he was at it. “I’m Lavi Bookman, and this grumpy prettyboy here is Kanda Yuu, our esteemed club captain.”

“Shut up, moron.” Kanda turned away, glaring at them with the corner of his eye. “We both know you should be the damn captain.”

“And we both know you need it more, Mr. I-Have-No-Social-Skills-To-Speak-Of-In-My-College-Application.”

“College?” Allen looked at them with surprise. “So you’re third years?”

“He is.” Lavi pointed his thumb at Kanda and lowered his voice to a conspiratory whisper. “I should be. Got held back a grade cause I was travelling abroad last year. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Everyone knows,” Kanda growled. “Now stop clowning around and get back to the game already.”

“Aye, aye, captain!” Lavi saluted and scooted back to his spot, but his eye was still fixed on Allen. “Hey, just a thought. How good are you with reading?”

“I can read, thank you very much,” Allen replied, offended. “I wouldn’t be going to school here if I were illiterate.”

“Relax. I meant loud reading,” Lavi chuckled, waving his hand towards the clunky CD player at his side. “I’m sick of the recordings. Let’s see how you’ll do with these.” He reached over to a nearby box and procured another deck, which he promptly thrust into Allen’s hands.

“What do I do with them?” Allen shuffled through the cards, taking in the colourful pictures and the crisp lines of kana.

“Just read the poems out loud, slowly and clearly. You can stop when either of us takes a card, just finish the line so we know which one it is.” Lavi cracked his knuckles and turned to Kanda with a wide grin. “Come on, Yuu! Let’s show the kid how it’s done!”

Allen cleared his throat and started reading, his voice wobbling uncomfortably. He didn’t even get through the first line when Lavi and Kanda both slammed their hands on the mat and sent the cards flying across the floor.

“It’s mine.” Kanda got up and went to pick up the card that landed the furthest, casting Allen a patronizing look as he passed by. “Speak up, Beansprout, we can barely hear you.”

Allen looked back at him with annoyance and deliberately raised his voice a little too much with the next card. Once again, though, he was cut off by the both of them pounding on the mat just three syllables in.

“Nice one.” Lavi smiled as Kanda took the card off his field and put it to the side. “Your guard is sharp as always, I see.”

“You could put up yours more, too,” Kanda grumbled. “Don’t let me leave you behind, idiot. I know you can do better than this. Stop being lazy!”

“All right, all right,” Lavi laughed, poking at Kanda’s hand as he straightened his cards. “I’ll take the next one, if you insist.”

Allen watched them over his cards, only partly paying attention to what he was reading. There was something mesmerizing in them, in this air of fierce focus shooting sparks between them as they moved, bent low over the mat, faces hovering just inches apart. He barely had any work to do there at all, it went so fast. Their hands cut through his words with the speed and grace of a tiger, taking the cards out one by one until just three remained, all in front of Lavi.

“Thank you for the game.” Kanda bowed deeply, his long hair obscuring his face as he touched his forehead to the mat. Lavi followed suit, though it seemed more like he just banged his head on the floor in frustration.

“I can’t believe you beat me again! Three times in a row! Man, this isn’t my day.”

“It’s never your day,” Kanda shot back, tapping his cards flush into a neat pile.

“You’re just too good.” Lavi sat up with a sigh and turned to Allen, his sour face lighting up immediately. “Nice job on the reading, by the way! Not bad for a beginner at all, I’m surprised. You should work on keeping the rhythm though, your intonation was all over the place. But you have a pleasant voice, even if it cracks a lot, and you breathe with your belly, that’s good.”

“Uhh… Thanks,” Allen said slowly, not sure if he should be more flattered or embarrassed.

“See, this is why you should be the fucking captain.” Kanda measured Lavi with a long glance, waving his hand in frustration. “I can’t do any of this… people shit.”

“Aww, don’t sell yourself so short, Yuu! You’re great at other things!” Lavi wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug, rubbing his cheek on top of Kanda’s head. “You’ve got this awesome, intimidating presence, you know! And a strong sense of leadership! And a proper Japanese name, let’s not forget about that. You’re perfect for the job! If I was the captain, no one would ever take us seriously at the tournaments!”

“We don’t go to any tournaments.” Kanda rolled his eyes and swatted half-heartedly at Lavi’s bicep to shake him off. “We can barely keep it up here. You heard what the principal said. Find more people, or we’re out.”

“But now Allen is here, so we’re good, right?” Lavi let go of him, only to throw his arm around Allen’s shoulders instead. “You’re not in any clubs yet, are you? Help us out and join here, how about that?”

“And what will I have out of it?” Allen freed himself from the embrace and looked at them both with a frown.

“Participation points?” Lavi shrugged. “It will look good in your papers. Plus, you’ll get to hang out with two coolest guys in this school,” he added cheerfully, leaning into Kanda once again.

“I don’t know…” Allen scratched the back of his neck, hesitantly eyeing the discarded cards between them. Sure, it looked fun, but could he do that? And was it okay for him to burden his two senpais with his lack of experience? Club activities were for people to have a good time with their friends. The last thing he wanted was to get in the way.

“I’m not really sure this is my thing. Sorry. I need to go.” With a twitching smile, Allen heaved himself up, brushed his pants off and reached for his bag.

“Of course,” Kanda scoffed with a nasty smirk, not even looking at him. “Didn’t expect anything else. At least it’s good that you know when you’re too weak to handle something, Beansprout.”

“Weak?” Allen turned to him in a blink, gritting his teeth. True, he had a similar thought just a moment before – but he couldn’t stand hearing it in this tone, from this guy. “What does weakness have to do with this? It’s a memory game!”

“That just proves how little you know.” Kanda crossed his arms, finally meeting him with a burning gaze. “I’ve told you, it’s not a game. It’s a sport. You need training and technique. Reflex. Stamina. Precision. And clearly, you don’t have any of these.”

“Oh, you think so?” Allen took a step forward and dropped his bag back on the floor, fists clenching. “Challenge accepted. Bring it on, I can show you just how much I’ve got.”

“It’s pointless,” Kanda scoffed. “Waste of time. You don’t even know the poems.”

Allen held his glare, his stomach twisting. Too late to back out now.

“It’s the One Hundred Poets, right? That classical anthology. We’ve discussed them in the literature class recently. I’ll give it a shot.”

“Oi, Allen!” Lavi piped in, his eye wide and shooting between the two of them. “Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into? Yuu is a B class player. He’ll run you into the ground!”

“We’ll see about that.” Allen narrowed his eyes, still piercing Kanda with a furious look. Somewhere deep down, he realized he was on a straight course to disaster, but right then, he didn’t care. If he had to make a fool of himself, he’d rather do it trying than giving up.

“All right, then. Here’s a quick rundown of the rules for you, sprout.” Lavi scooted over to make room for him on the mat. “You get twenty five cards each. The first one to clear all of his is the winner. With me so far?”

Allen nodded, watching him shuffle the deck, cut it in half and in half again.

“Great.” Lavi pushed the two stacks towards them. “Here are your cards. Now, you put them in front of you and memorize the positions. Remember to pay attention to your opponent’s side as well, you’ll be taking his cards too.”

“Like hell he will,” Kanda snorted. “I’ll be damned if he can take even one in the whole match.”

“He might get lucky.” Lavi shrugged with a smirk. “You know sometimes it’s just guesswork and gamble as much as skills.”

Gamble. Allen lit up a bit, hopeful. That, he could do.

He placed his part of the deck in three rows in front of him, mirroring Kanda. The cards felt weird in is hands, thick and heavy and unfamiliar; still, he caught a glimpse of a few verses that rang a bell faintly – or so he thought. Allen glared at them with determination, doing his best to remember their positions and ignore the seething presence in front of him.

“Are you ready?” Lavi looked between them, impatiently fiddling with the reading deck at his side.

“Yes,” they replied in unison. Allen wiped his hands on his pants, anticipation tingling like steel needles on his dry tongue. Across from him, Kanda took a deep breath, his eyebrows knit together as he eyed the cards in front of him.

With a sigh, Lavi took the first card from his pile and brought it slowly to his eye. Allen barely managed to register the first word he read when Kanda already slapped a card out of his field with a force that sent it spinning to the other end of the room. Lavi leaned away just in time, clicking his tongue with reproach.

“Careful, Yuu! Wanna knock my other eye out?”

“Is that what happened to you?” Allen blurted before he could stop himself. Lavi just laughed, following Kanda with a fond gaze as he stood up to pick up the card.

“Nah, but I like telling people that just to mess with them. It’s fun to watch them get all shocked when they learn we’re actually best friends.”

“I can see that,” Allen muttered, just before Kanda returned to his place to hear it.

It went on much like he had seen in the match before. Kanda took the next card too, and the next two after that, lunging on them before Allen could even make a move. It got his blood boiling, his heart pumping faster, raising the pressure until he felt ready to burst. The frustration coursing in his veins made his head light, but his limbs felt lighter too – weightless. Matching Kanda’s swift movements, Allen started throwing himself at the cards with a newfound aggression. He was going in blindly, but it didn’t matter, just as long as he could be quicker than his opponent – just to get the card he was aiming at, just to swipe it right from under his fingers. His hand knocked into Kanda’s more times than he cared to count, always just a second too slow. Lavi’s voice, strong and oddly melodious, rose over the battlefield, a sharp contrast to their violent thuds and cries. Another card, and another – and then Allen finally got this chance. This one, he knew – he had read that line out himself not long ago.

He remembered.

And in a blink, he slammed his hand against the mat so hard it reverberated in his bones, hitting the card right in front of him and sweeping a couple others out along with it.

“Whoa, Allen!” Lavi cut himself off, staring at him with a proud grin. “Your first card! Congrats, man! It feels good, doesn’t it?”

Allen let out a heavy breath and squeezed the card tight in his fingers.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It does.”

It was not the turning point he was hoping for, though. This one small victory set him on fire, but it was merely a flickering flame compared to the roaring inferno he was faced with. A few more strikes, fast and forceful, and soon enough Kanda was giving him the obligatory bow of the winner, bent over his empty field with a neat stack of cards to his right.

“Don’t worry.” Lavi gave Allen a consoling pat on the shoulder. “You stood no chance against Yuu on your first try. Even I hardly ever get to win against him, and I’ve been playing for over ten years.”

“Wow, really?” Allen blinked at him in amazement and turned to Kanda, his frustration slowly dissipating into grudging respect. “Have you been playing that long, too?”

“More or less.” Kanda shrugged, looking right over his head at Lavi. “So, what do you think?”

“A little rough on the edges, that’s for sure.” Lavi tapped his chin with his finger, shuffling on the floor around Allen to look at him from all sides. “But you’re quick, and looks like you have a pretty good memory. You’d only seen those poems  in lit class and when you were reading out loud for us earlier, right?”

“Right.” Allen nodded, fidgeting under their insistent stares. “I guess a few of them stuck.”

“That’s great.” Lavi beamed, turning to Kanda with a shine in his eye. “Maybe he doesn’t know much yet, but he makes up for it with a hell of a fighting spirit. Some practice, and who knows what will come out of it!”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself.” Kanda flicked him lightly in the forehead before piercing Allen with a steel gaze again. “All right, so maybe you’re not as completely useless as you seem. And hell, we can’t be picky right now, anyway. You sure you don’t want to join?”

Allen hesitated. He thought back to the thrill of the game, the tension coiling up in him, the adrenaline-driven focus that sharpened his senses; and most of all, to the warm wave of satisfaction flooding his chest as he gripped the card taken right from under his opponent’s nose.

It was fun.

“I think I can try,” he decided, looking up at them with a small smile. “If you will have me.”

“Woohoo!” Lavi yelled and grabbed both him and Kanda by the shoulders, pulling them in a painful, awkward group hug. “Welcome to the team! Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you”

“You take care of him,” Kanda growled. “I’m not babysitting a complete newbie.”

“But Yuu! Isn’t that your responsibility? You’re the captain!”

“Yeah, and as your captain, I’m telling you to do that.”

“That’s mean.” Lavi pouted, poking Kanda in the cheek with his finger. “I’ll train him to kick your ass for this, is that what you want?”

“I’m counting on you.” Kanda gave him a punch in the arm, probably a light one by his standards, but it still made Lavi wince.

Allen watched them struggle for a moment, sinking back into the silence of the empty room. It was new to him – people wanting him to join them, to be a part of a team. Was there really something he could help them with? Even if they just took him because they needed members, it would be wrong not to give it his best. He still wasn’t sure if it was really a good idea – but somewhere inside him, the spark had already been lit, and now it was glowing faintly in his chest, warm and pleasant.

[queenhelene]

Ben Writes a Poem

AN: This was written by my boyfriend, but he’s too shy to post it himself~

In thoughts, in wishes

I call to you, to stay here

Near for evermore.

 A handful of claps escaped the small classroom and trickled into the hallway, mingling with the quiet voices of a school day afternoon. Rey smiled towards her group of friends, her eyes darting around the room, noting the applause from the other members. If someone was to walk by room 210, the poetry club at this time of the day, Mondays and Thursdays from 2:30 to 3:30, they would see small bundles of students clustered together, writing limericks and discussing poetic prose. The class bathed in warm sunlight, a seemingly enchanting and memorable time to be young and alive.

If, at this time, one was to pass by room 103: the gymnasium, they would be greeted by the immortal fire of scorching hatred, Ben, that was currently attempting to lodge a volleyball through an opponent and into the ground, which is naturally an entire different way to spend one’s afternoon.

Still though, there were days when Rey wished Ben would stop by on his way to practice occasionally, not that they’re dating or anything (though, she totally would, but he apparently prefers to spend his days screaming at a net, or a wall, or his opponent, or his parents, or his dog). Every once in a while though, as she had seen, he stopped his yelling, he put aside his anger and his frustration, and he seemed at peace with the world around him. She had once spotted him, in a moment of pure relaxation, pick up a fallen leaf in the heart of autumn and hold it up to the sun, studying the veins that were threaded into the fibers. She watched as he stood there, and she was genuinely impressed that he lasted a whole ten seconds before dropping the dead tree fingernail and crushing it under his size 12 shoe. How does she know his shoe size? Don’t fucking worry about that.

And before she knew it, her club had closed for the day and she had seemed to have become so lost in thought over the boy that she barely remembered gathering her belongings, waving goodbye to Finn, and walking to her locker. She barely even remembered starting a conversation with Ben. Oh, shit! She’s having a conversation with Ben!!

“I almost got into a fight today.”

“… With… who?” She asked cautiously.

“No one, it was the net.”

“The net?” She was understandably confused. “How-”

“The net got in my way when I was hitting the ball, and I hit it really hard- Sorry I interrupted you,” he stated curtly, before continuing, “and the net was in the way so the ball hit the net and so I got really frustrated because I don’t get in the net’s way when it’s trying to do things, and so I…“ Ben realized his fists were clenched, no, actually his whole body was clenched.

“W-well I’m sure the net didn’t mean to,” Rey replied sarcastically. Ben caught on to her joke, and showed that he caught onto her joke by laughing, somewhat too loudly, to show that he caught on to her joke and to prove that her joke was funny to him, because apparently that’s how he thinks human interactions should work. Rey chuckled at the awkward gesture, but this only caused Ben to laugh harder, since he wanted to show that he knows that she was laughing and that he was laughing with her because he gets social cues and he knows how to be a normal human being. Rey, not knowing how to handle the violently laughing sweaty guy next to her, turned to look at the notebook in her hand. Ben immediately stopped violently laughing. Rey racked her brain to think of a topic.

“So, I-”

“So-”

The pairs’ words collided into each other’s, followed by quick apologies.

“Go ahead,” Ben said quietly.

“No, you can go,” Rey replied.

“I was just going to say,” Ben’s voice regained its edge, “that some of the guys on the team gave me a new nickname.”

“What n-“ Rey began to prod, though she was interrupted again.

“Kylo Ren. –Sorry– What do you think about it? It’s cool, isn’t it?” He sounded genuinely excited. She liked that.

“I do-” She started, though she was interrupted again… again.

“What did -sorry- you want to say?” he blurted out.

“Well, I… I was going to ask if you would…” She had forgotten what she was going to say, and then she remembered “…If you would like to come to one of my club’s meetings?” She looked up at him and noted that he had relaxed somewhat.

“Poetry?” He asked, his voice unsure.

“Yeah, we’re having a meeting next Monday, so if you would like, maybe you could come join us… if you wanted, you could write something…” She trailed off.

“I’ll come. I love poetry.” It shot out of his mouth like a bullet, and before he knew it, he was sitting at home, freaking out over what he had just signed up for.

“I don’t know what to do, I HATE POETRY,” he screamed into the phone. Hux pulled the phone away from his ear.

“You don’t have to-” He attempted to calm Ben down, but was cut off by a loud, commanding voice on the other end.

“STOP YELLING UP THERE!” Ben heard his mom yell.

“SORRY, MOM,” he replied.

“IT’S FINE! DINNER WILL BE READY IN A BIT!” Leia yelled.

“THANKS, MOM!” Ben replied. He turned his attention back to the phone.

“You don’t have to go, you know,” Hux stated politely. Ben knew that already, he’s Kylo Ren, he knows EVERYTHING, but he didn’t want to disappoint Rey.

“I understand you don’t want to disappoint her, but if it’s going to make you uncomfortable, why go? Hux replied. The sun had gone down slightly, with golden rays splashing against his walls through the slits of his blinds. He sat, phone held up to his ear by his shoulder, shoveling forkfuls of spaghetti into his mouth, chewing sporadically.

“I knowsh da bu I jus wan her do lu ee” He forced out between the delicious pasta.

“What the fuck did you say? I can’t understand you,” Hux demanded. Ben chewed less sporadically.

“I said that I care about her, and…” He sighed. “And I just don’t know how to write poetry, and I’m scared I’ll sound stupid.” He punched a stuffed penguin sitting on his bed. He felt bad for the penguin, so he put it back, patting it on the head.

“Well, why don’t you get some help from that Finn guy?” Hux offered. “He knows Rey. He knows what she likes. Maybe he could help you.”

Friday classes came and went quickly, and as students padded out onto the sidewalks, Ben stalked the hallway, looking for that jerk he keeps seeing around Rey, though he’s not jealous, its just that he doesn’t like seeing her around- oh, there he is.

“I need your help,” Ben tossed out, attempting to sound casual. Except it wasn’t casual, he just blurted it out without Finn’s prior acknowledgment, causing him to drop his books and squeak in surprise, before whipping around to face the tall sack of rage that hovered a thousand feet above him. Finn tried to compose himself, but only managed a second nonhuman mumble, though there was some improvement as it was closer to a squawk than a squeak.

“Stop that,” Ben stated, though it seemed more like a demand.

“Sorry! Sorry… yeah,” Finn mumbled, regaining his voice slightly. “Sorry, uh… sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry,” Ben pleaded, though it seemed more like stab.

“Sorry, uh, sorry-” he stopped himself, attempting to appear calm by leaning himself on his locker, though he forgot it was open, so now he stood with his elbow buried about a foot into the opening. He figured it would be best to just leave it there. “Uh, what do you need?”

“I need to write a poem.”

Finn had to take a moment, or a couple moments, in fact it took him the remainder of the day and part of the next one to realize what he had just heard. He wasn’t even sure he heard those words come out Ben’s mouth. He had to clarify.

“So, you need to write a poem?” He poked, though his attention had turned towards the room he was sitting in, the posters of games on the walls and the models of spaceships hanging on fishing line floating a foot above their heads. Ben swiveled in his chair away from his desk to face the boy.

“Yes,” Ben replied. Finn sat there, hoping he would say more, but that was it, I guess.

“Okay, well, why?” He prodded.

“Because I want Rey to like me and my cool poetry.” He was very straightforward.

“Well, ok, sure…” Finn had no idea how to talk to this creature. “I know she likes haikus, so you could do one of those, and they’re simple, just five syllables, then seven, then five.” Ben looked at him, which concerned Finn, because Ben always had this thing where he looked like he was mad, but Finn wasn’t sure. Ben swung back around in his chair, followed by a flurry of typing.

It took the entire afternoon to pen out a poem of merit, at least by Ben’s low standard. Finn left for home, half his mind in thought over the situation.  The writing, though decent for his first poem but unfortunately, well, this was Ben Solo, a boy who prided himself on how many walls he punched in a day, so, you know, no Walt Whitman there. Finn didn’t know why, but he was worried about Ben, about how the club would react. He was sure it would be bad, but what was there to do? He quickened his pace.

A Monday morning approached rapidly, followed by a swath of classes, and before long the black-haired noodle man was standing down the hall from room 210 and he was genuinely frightened. He grasped his notebook tightly, and began the thirteen steps to the door that would seal his fate in the tomes of- oh, never mind it was only nine steps, must be his long legs. He swung into the door frame and froze, not because of the ten or so students scattered around the room, not because by swinging into the room he accidentally smacked right into Finn, knocking the books out of his nervous little hands, but because sitting next to the window, bathed in bright golden light, sat Rey, who turned to look at him, or Finn clambering for his books, or him, no, definitely him, and suddenly Ben felt a jolt of excitement and fear. He swung back out of the class, melting against the wall as he panicked, and in this panic, he realized his poem, of which he spent an afternoon of his life on, was absolute ass. He couldn’t recite that poem, he couldn’t imagine the reaction he’d get, he couldn’t face a group of students laughing at him, he couldn’t imagine Rey…

He raised the notebook, noting the black plastic front and silver lettering of metallic Sharpie spelling out ‘KYLO REN’ across the top, rad, before flipping it open to a blank page, and reaching into his pocket to retrieve his pen. All he wanted to do was impress Rey, to make her like him, to make her talk to him, and to spend time with him and to walk home with him, and to hang out after school, and to eat his mom’s spaghetti with him like those dogs in that movie, and to sit outside in autumn, and to crush leaves, and to ride bikes, and to have sleepovers, and to sit on his roof, and to spend holidays together, and to see her in the snow, and to see her every day, and to spend as much time as he could with her, and for her to WANT to spend time with him, and to have a friend that he could cherish, and to feel cherished, and then he realized that he was done… and he took a deep breath. He turned the corner into the room, and ran into Finn again, because apparently that bumbling, squirrely idiot likes to nest under fucking doorframes, and then he saw her, again, and he sighed.

The meeting began and students came up to recite poems of nature and water and schoolwork and stress and before long, there was no one left but him, and so he stood up, and he looked at Finn, who sheepishly smiled, and he looked at Rey, and she looked back at him, and his eyes flitted down to his notebook, and he paused, and then he started.

 My heart burns of cold embers for you,

Your tears cool me,

Your breath enflames me,

I grow and shrink according to you,

And I love it.

 For days and weeks, it seemed that time itself stopped in room 210. That seasons had passed, that years had passed in the time it took him to blink. The world had stopped, and it seemed that Ben lived every century in the look of shock on Rey’s face, that he experienced lifetimes on her cheek, that he blew through millennia staring at the tip of her nose, and only when they locked eyes, did the world seem to finally jolt into existence, and with it the chorus of cheers from the room, though Ben could only hear one, and it was the only one he ever wanted to hear, and whether the world ended there, or continued, it mattered not to him, because he could see everything he ever wanted in front of him.

And then he sat down next to her.