#even if its through the sentiment of 'i love this country so i want it to do better'

[hevendor]

i dont kno how u cud leave this class im in w/o hating the us so fucking bad (even if u didnt already feel this way for whatever fucked up reason) like some of these readings make me so mad i cud tear multiple phonebooks in half

[ikeuverse]

BIRTHDAY SURPRISE — p.jongseong

PAIRING: jay x fem!reader  GENRES: fluff WC: 2.3k+

WARNINGS: maybe two swear words. just something simple for our jay's birthday.

SYNOPSIS: jay didn't think he'd make it home in time for his birthday, so he didn't bother celebrating at all. but he didn't expect his best friends and you, his girlfriend, to prepare a lovely surprise.

NOTES: happy birthday to our black kitty and guitarist jay! i'm not 100% happy with this, but i wanted something quick just so i wouldn't spend his birthday doing nothing (and because i'm sick today), but all for our jay. i hope you like it!

masterlist

Jay was thrilled to be returning two days before his business trip. He wished he'd had time to tell his family and friends so they could organize a party to celebrate his birthday, but he only managed to call Heeseung and Sunghoon so they could pick him up at the airport.

Seeing his two best friends after passing through the arrivals gate, Jay breathed a sigh of relief because he could finally take his mind off work and go home. To his family.

"Hey, buddy" Sunghoon waved to him when he was close enough, welcoming him with a hug that Jay didn't even bother to reciprocate.

"Hey man, I missed you," Jay mumbled after letting go of Sunghoon and going to hug Heeseung.

"Awn, did he come back more sentimental?" Heeseung squeezed him in his embrace, hearing his friend laugh after releasing him.

"Italy does that to people," Jay said.

"So," the three of them started walking through the airport, Sunghoon making a point of carrying Jay's suitcase, assuming the boy was tired from his trip, "how did you find inspiration in another country?"

"Italy surprised me, I'll be honest" Jay walked between the other two "I think I'll be able to bring a lot of ideas to the restaurant."

Being a chef had its advantages, such as traveling to a country in search of something new for the menu, which Jay always made sure was sophisticated. He knew that after graduating in gastronomy he would never stop studying, because that was the fun of it, learning all the time in a vast culinary world. Where he knew he could get to know even more, learn even more, and make his restaurant the most talked about and visited in the country.

"Where are we going?" As soon as the three of them reached the car, Sunghoon put Jay's suitcase away and pulled up next to his friend, smiling.

"Oh, we managed to warn your mother and she wants to have a little get-together for your birthday," he shrugged as if it were a completely casual conversation.

Jay looked surprised, raising his eyebrows and even smiling a little more than usual.

"Really?" Jay's smile widened even more when his two friends agreed.

In his mind, it would be something very small indeed, as many friends as he could gather and a few relatives who lived close enough to give them time to get to Jay's parent's house for the reunion.

But little did he know about the plan hatched by Sunghoon, Heeseung, and you. Jay had no idea of the surprise that awaited him at his parents' house and perhaps that was the fun of it all because everyone wanted to see how he would react when he arrived.

"What's up Jay, did you tell Y/n you were back early?" Heeseung was in the passenger seat, Sunghoon driving and Jay was comfortably in the back. The two in the front didn't want to show too much to their new friend.

"I sent her a message, but she won't be able to make it," he sighed tiredly, running one hand through his dark hair "Since I traveled to Italy, she went to her grandmother's house on the other side of the country. We were going to celebrate my birthday by Facetime, so…"

"Oh, I'm sorry" he tried to send a sad smile – which he had rehearsed in the mirror with you and Sunghoon – because you had already told him that this would be Jay's answer when asked about you. Little did he know that his trip back had been part of the plan between Heeseung and Sunghoon, who wanted to do everything they could to get their friend back ahead of time.

Jay also had no idea that the trip to Italy had ended early thanks to the two friends in the car. They had expedited everything so that Jay would think he had finished things ahead of time and could return.

It had never been so easy to fool Park Jongseong, Sunghoon laughed the night before when he saw Jay's message telling him that he would probably make it back in time to spend his birthday with his friends.

The car journey continued with them catching up, Jay telling them about the things he'd done and hadn't managed to send a photo to his friends. Sunghoon wanted to scream when he talked about the sights he'd visited, making Jay promise to go back with the two of them so that he could show them everything he had to.

"And here we go" Sunghoon announced as soon as he stopped the car.

Jay's parents' house had always been very cozy, large, and bright. Jay remembered every moment he spent there with his two friends since high school. When they rang the doorbell to ask Jay to play video games, or when the three of them stayed out late at night on the front porch drinking beer and idealizing life after university.

That house had so many memories that Jay hadn't been able to stop smiling since he got back and was getting out of Sunghoon's car.

"We'll get your suitcase later, come on" he locked the car with the alarm after the three of them had left, letting Jay go ahead and walking very slowly so as not to spoil the surprise.

The plan was for him to get in first while Heeseung pretended to tie his sneakers in case Jay asked what was taking them so long, and Sunghoon would help him when Heeseung pretended to trip. Lucky for both of them, Jay just followed. Too eager to open the door to his parents' house.

"Wait for us, Jay!" Heeseung made sure to shout as loudly as he could to let Jay know he was near the door. The people inside the house were as quiet as possible so as not to spoil anything prematurely.

"You two are too slow, what's going on?" Jay turned quickly, seeing Sunghoon and Heeseung laughing as they slowly approached. Without missing a beat, Jay turned the handle and the door opened.

The cry of surprise caught in his throat as the house seemed much fuller than he would normally have thought. The balloons in the corners and his family and the rest of his friends were well positioned in the living room for the arrival of the – almost – birthday boy.

"What…" he turned to the two behind him.

"Surprise, man" Sunghoon held Jay by the shoulders while Heeseung ruffled his hair, excited that it was finally over.

"Hi, my son" Jay's mother was the first to approach, hugging him as tightly as she could. Jay hugged her back lovingly, conveying in that gesture how much he missed his mother.

The moment was spent with Jay greeting his family, and hearing congratulations on his birthday, even if it was only a few hours away. But he would accept because, from the amount of booze he heard Heeseung say, no one would be sober until midnight to remember to congratulate him.

Jay finished hugging his friends and inevitably looked for you among all those people, even though he knew it would be impossible for you to be there. Not because of the way Heeseung had apologized for mentioning you in the car.

He quickly took his cell phone out of his pocket to text you and was surprised when he picked it up and your name flashed on the screen. You were finally calling him.

"Hey, my love" Jay didn't even wait to answer, immediately hearing your voice.

"Hey, almost birthday boy" he could have sworn his heart was floating just from hearing your voice and your laugh, two sounds he missed very much "How was the trip back?"

"Great, I'm finally home" he said, looking around as he saw his friends interacting with his family "Hee and Hoonie threw a surprise party for me."

"Oh, really?" you tried to hold back the urge to murmur cute things because he was telling you that, hardly knowing that things were still over "And how did it feel?"

"It would be better if you were here, to be honest" Jay found a secluded corner in the living room where no one would mind if he stayed while talking to you on the phone.

"I wanted to be there too, love" your voice was sad now, thanks to your role-playing with Jay's two best friends. Everything had to be perfect for him to believe it "But I can't miss your birthday, can I?"

"What do you mean?" Jay asked. Eyebrows knitted together in curiosity, he looked up when he heard Sunghoon shouting excitedly to Sunoo and Jake about something they could do later as a group.

"Let's go, shall we, Jay?" he heard Sunoo ask from afar, nodding in agreement even though he didn't know what it was about.

"I sent you a present, I hope Heeseung and Sunghoon took good care of it."

"Babe? What…" Jay got up from the sofa to look for his friends, spotting Heeseung near one of his uncles and beckoning him over "What have you prepared for me, huh?"

"I can't tell you or it'll spoil the surprise."

"What?" Heeseung mumbled as he approached.

"Y/n said he has a surprise for me and it has help from you and Hoonie" Jay hadn't hung up the phone yet, knowing that you could hear the two friends talking.

"Hi, Y/n" Heeseung shouted enthusiastically and laughed when he heard, even low, your greeting to him "Okay, your present is outside."

"Outside?" Jay asked, not knowing if it was meant for you or Heeseung, but you both agreed at the same moment "Babe, what are you up to?"

"Getting up to something? Babe, I swear I did it with all my heart" Jay heard a noise behind your voice, as if you were fiddling with something, but as soon as he went to answer, the call ended.

"Shit" he looked at Heeseung and then at the cell phone with the call ended.

He'd asked Jay to call after he'd picked up the present, perhaps to tell you his reaction once he'd gotten it. Jay had no idea.

Walking up to the front door, he put his cell phone back in his pocket and opened the front door a little dejectedly. His eyes drooped even though it was for his surprise, but he didn't want to show how sad he was to have missed his call.

Or not. Now Jay was in complete shock. It wasn't possible that you were standing there in front of his parents' house.

"What the fuck?" Jay almost shouted.

"Oh" you pouted your lips, "I told you he wouldn't like the present, Heeseung."

Heeseung would have answered if it hadn't been for hurricane Jay, who burst through the door to take you in his arms. Hugging you tightly and spinning you around in the air.

Your laughter close to his ear was even better than over the phone, your voice calling his name was even more comforting than listening to you on a cell phone. Jay was on cloud nine.

"How…" he caught his breath after hugging you for long minutes, pulling his face away from your neck to meet your eyes as he leaned his forehead against yours "How did you all manage it?"

"Surprise you?" you asked, your warm hands running down Jay's cheeks and holding his face between your hands "Maybe because you deserve it after a long and tiring trip."

"I didn't know you were coming, I didn't know anything about it" Jay felt like running down the street shouting that this had been the best birthday of his entire life.

"We did our best to make everything perfect" you said.

"And it's only because I have you all with me" Jay whispered, sliding one hand around your waist and the other up to your face.

Finally he was able to feel your lips against his in a kiss he'd been needing ever since he got back. The taste of your lips and the gloss you were wearing mingled with his tongue as he rubbed the tip to ask for passage, soon tangling it against your tongue and pulling you even closer to him.

Jay wanted to eternalize this moment. Eternalize the vanilla-flavored kiss with a taste of longing that only you could provide.

"I love you so much" Jay whispered against your lips after he needed some air, but he didn't want to part with you so soon.

"I love you even more" you whispered back, kissing him again just in time to hear someone call his name from inside the house.

Now it was time to part, in fact, and intertwine our fingers in yours to enter the house.

"How about we start the party now before happy birthday?" Sunghoon stirred up the crowd, lifting a bottle of booze and filling a glass to hand out to anyone who felt like starting to drink.

Everyone celebrated together, wanting to start Jay's little surprise birthday party.

"I bet everyone's drunk by midnight" Jay leaned towards you to whisper, drawing a laugh from you.

In return, you leaned towards him to kiss him once more, accepting the glass Sunghoon had offered you when he passed you and Jay.

"Well, I bet they will be before then" you drank a little, handing the glass to Jay who also drank, choosing to share the alcohol with you so that neither of you would get drunk so quickly.

Looking around, Jay felt complete and fulfilled. He was lucky, and he wasn't even talking about having traveled out of the country a few days ago, but rather because he had something more valuable than any tourist spot: and that was all the people who were inhabiting his parents' house for his birthday at that moment.

© ikeuverse, 2024. do not copy, translate or steal my stories.

[sparklingmineraltequila]

American Wasteland

Note: Sorry this took so long. I moved city and pretty much have a new life. Still obsessed with Rust, though, so some shit sticks

Warnings: 18+, talk of war, alcohol, drugs, sex work, talks of past domestic violence, smut, just genuine misery between the two of them

America venerates suffering, that's what Travis had always told Rust. Sacrifice isn't pure if it isn't coated in a blood so red and so hot that your family can smear over their words, for centuries to come, excusing their comfort, their indulgence, their ignorance. They are afforded that comfort off of slaughter beyond their imagining. At least, that's what had happened after 'nam. A hero for his fucking country was the propaganda they had fed Travis; squash the bug of communism and, along with it, massacre millions of innocents, because what is America without its sons who are willing to fight for it.? Yeah, a fucking hero for a father, who's night terrors kept both of them up at night and who kept his engraved lighter saying High Speed Low Drag in his hunting jacket, always. That same lighter that Rust had used to light his first cigarette: rolled up flimsily in newspaper with the leftover tobacco and tufts of filter that he'd scraped from Travis' cigarette butts. The same lighter that Cassandra is now using to light her Marlboro Gold, hands shaking,

'Rust. That's all I get, huh? Not even a fucking surname?!' she spits, through a shaky exhale.

'I ain't gonna give you my surname. The less you know about me, the better,' Rust says back, his stoic demeanour attempting to mask that churning in his stomach. One that he has realised isn't for him but for Cassandra.

'Is Rust even your actual name?'

'You want a fuckin' social security number, too?' Rust drawls dryly.

'Don't you-Don't,' Cassandra's head shoots up from where it's been in her hands, her shaking tone now gaining a momentum of uncontrollable anger, 'Jesus-fuck. You men are all the fucking same. I-I ain't staying in this fucking place, anymore. Fuck it, fuck you, fuck every goddamn person in this wasteland of a place!'

Rust regards her with an even look,

'You ain't going anywhere. Not tonight. You ain't in the right state.'

'You ain't my daddy, motherfucker.'

'Goddamn right, I ain't but I'm also the only person you have who doesn't want to take advantage of you. So, hedge your bets tomorrow, baby, but tonight you're stayin' here,' Rust's voice is lapidary, stopping Cassandra in her tracks as she starts to shove clothes and books into her duffel bag.

'I said: you ain't my daddy and you sure as hell ain't keeping me in a place where I don't want to be,' Cassandra says in a tone equally as gelid, throwing her duffel bag over her shoulder. That elegant, fine-boned shoulder tinged with its bronzed hue; some of the love bites that Rust had left a few nights ago decorating Cassandra's collarbone. Rust fears that the sentiment festering under his skin is nostalgia. A nostalgia that scares him and, then, makes him cruel,

'No, Cassandra. I ain't your daddy cause all he did for you was get heavy handed with you and cut you up with his empty liquor bottles when he really wanted to teach you about mouthin' off at him.'

The colour drains from Cassandra's face,

'How the fuck do you know about that?' a sudden spark of spite reaches her as she sneers, 'Pull my file in your spare time, huh?'

Rust grabs her arm and yanks up her tank top, ignoring her yelp. He nods to the fine, white line along her ribcage,

'I ain't a fuckin' idiot, Cassandra. Skateboardin' fall, my ass,' Rust snarls, holding her ribcage with a calloused hand. Cassandra viciously claws at his hand, tears threatening to spill from her eyes,

'Get off! Get the fuck off!' and Rusts lets her go cause in that moment, the smooth, sultry cadence made slightly husky from after-sex cigarettes reverts back to the pleading of a little girl. Cassandra's words are devoid of any real bite, Rust notes. All that rage has been stripped away and all that she is left with is the panic of a little girl's voice turning into burning sobs in her throat; the stale cookies in her stomach turning sour from terror. There's that wide eyed looked, too. He can see it as Cassandra hastily covers herself back up and rearranges the duffel bag back onto her shoulder.

'Fuck you, Rust,' she says his name like it's a poison that she needs to spit from her mouth before it corrodes the flesh into a pulpy mess. Corrosion. Rust. That's what he is, it's what he does because sometimes corrosion is needed to get to the bone of things; to see what everyone else in too caught up in their delusions or affectations about fucking Natural Law to truly comprehend.

'Don't you fu-Cassandra!' Rust's voice boils up from his chest in a rough bark, watching Cassandra explode out of the trailer door, almost stumble down the rusted metal steps and collapse into the red dirt. He thinks he can't get any angrier until he realises that she's pocketed the keys to his Harley, on her way out, and sees her bolt over to where it's parked, behind the trailer. A cloud of dust rises up as the bike rumbles out of neutral and Cassandra desperately revs on the accelerator; her legs hardly off of the ground before the Harley tears away. In other circumstances, the dramatics of the exit would have made Rust scoff and chalk it up to youth's thirst for impact: the flurry of a scene. Not now. Not when this kid is tearing down a highway in a bike that doesn't have enough gas to make it to Liberty, let alone wherever the fuck Cassandra thinks she's headed. A kid, Rust thinks, A fuckin' kid that I've pulled into the abyss with me. Rust calls her a kid now but knows that when he finds her, he'll treat her like she's grown. A sentiment that propels him into his truck, cursing to himself as the engine splutters.

It doesn't take long to track Cassandra down; there's only one road from the trailer park that lead to the freeway. No doubt, where Cassandra is headed to. Ride fast and hard, and get the fuck out when the heat starts to sting: the classic cocktail of self-preservation cooked up by kids who've already been burned. There are too many of them down here, below that Mason-Dixie line. Rust would know. Fuck, if he hasn't spent his entire career on the force witnessing the aftermath. Drugs, abuses, assaults, homicides: you name it. The abuser becomes the abused; Nietzsche's infinite return has those poor kids falling flat on their faces into the nice shit storm of generational maladjustments that their parents left for them. Shattered dreams, skin sucked dry from mosquitos, teeth black and rotting from sweet tea, underneath that sticky southern sun. Rust wants to believe that it's an innate sense of duty towards these kids is why he's currently violating every Highway Code there is. And for part of him, it is. The other part, however, won't allow himself the comfort of what he knows is a lie. What started as pure sex appeal has started to morph into something deeper, messier.

The bike has even less gas than he thought as, the first Texaco that he sees, has Cassandra next to the pumps trying to wrench open the bike's gas lock. She wants to be caught, Rust knows, Wants me to chase after her, show her I give a shit. If she didn't, she would've gotten a hell of a lot more reckless. He watches her, almost with pity, as her pulls into the gas station and slows the truck to a halt, the breaks groaning with their lack of galvanisation. Rust shoves the car door open, his leather boots landing heavily on tepid asphalt,

'Get your ass over here,' his voice rough, as he strides over to Cassandra.

'I told you to get the fuck away from me,' she whips around, her fury making her abandon her previous task.

'Get in the fuckin' truck, Cassandra. I ain't doing the whole scorned boyfriend act for these nosey fuckers,' Rust deadpans, his ice blue gaze conveying to her just how fucking pissed he is.

'Did you hear me, motherfucker? I said to go back to your junkie biker brothers, find some hooker so that you can fuck out your half-baked emotional needs and leave me the hell alone,' Cassandra says with such venom dripping from her mouth that she almost fully means it; warm milk out of hand, she resorts to spite. Not fully, though: Rust can see the tears glazing her eyes and that's enough for him. A firm hand comes to grasp Cassandra's arm and put her in what is practically a headlock as Rust drags her to the truck. Cassandra's duffel bag slips off of her shoulder as Rust holds her firmly against his chest, bicep right up against the column of her throat. Some old man up from his pump, spit collecting at the corners of his mouth as he calls over,

'Everything alright over there?' Not from the area, Rust notes. Not solely due to the licence plate and milky arms but the slight wariness of his expression. A man unacquainted with the imperatives that the arrid terrain commands. The violence. Cassandra takes it upon herself to drop the unwanted attention as she chokes out,

'They don't teach you to mind your own fucking business in Iowa?!' the rage in her voice stemming from a deep humiliation in how she must look, Rust's arm tight against her neck. Rust takes in the man's mortification and grits into her ear,

'Shut the fuck up.'

He opens the truck door and shoves her in, slamming the door and heading over to the driver's side to catch her as she climbs out. Rust concedes her a heavy slap to the face before getting in, essentially crowding her back to the passenger's side. As he starts the ignition and pulls out of the gas station, Cassandra is eerily quiet, tears leaving hot tracks of salt and mascara on her cheeks. Rust debates on whether it's shame at getting caught or just pure desolation at, once again, finding herself completely fucked over, until he feels his jeans' waistband go slack. He feels the air hit that sweaty patch of back where the barrel of his .38 S&W was pressed and licks the inside of his cheek in an almost smirk. There she is, Rust thinks, knowing full well Cassandra's loathing of acquiescence as she points the gun at his temple, sweat curling his caramel hairs.

'Pull over or, I swear to God, I'll put your brains all over your goddamn car windows,' Cassandra's voice is firm but Rust sees her fingers trembling. Red. Her nails are lacquered the same colour as a Shirley Temple, poised on cool gun metal of the safety.

'You don't want to shoot me, Cass,' Rust says, his tone flat.

'Oh, I don't?' Cassandra scoffs.

'Nah, you wanna make a fuckin' scene so that I'll burst into tears and beg for your fuckin' forgiveness or some shit. That ain't gonna work on me, baby. I'm around too many pussies who ain't man enough to pull a fuckin' trigger, as it is. I can tell when someone's bluffin'. And you, Cass, I can sure as hell tell when you're bluffin'.'

'How are you so sure?'

Rust looks at a small trail leading off of the main road before sparing a sideways glance,

'That gun ain't even cocked.'

Cassandra narrows her eyes and pulls the hammer back,

'Happy?'

Rust steers the truck off of the road, onto the rocky country road, before stopping and turning to her,

'You wanna go? Go.'

Cassandra's gaze falters before she contrives it into that practiced indifference,

'You're kicking me out?' she says, her voice so fragile that Rust almost feels bad for putting her in this situation but tough shit: wisdom comes hard.

'Nah, just callin' your bluff. You got 30 seconds to go, if you want to,' Rust says, not even facing her but staring straight out ahead.

Cassandra stares at him, lowering the gun, and looks around helplessly. The tears come back, not when she looks at Rust's stony expression or the destitute surroundings, but when she looks at her duffel bag. All her life fitting into some beat up gym bag and, now, she's about to throw away the one thing that can protect her. A gun isn't shit compared to his hand on her ass and his fingerprints bruising her thighs; not to these fucking animals. Rust gives her the mercy of two minutes of silence before speaking,

'You ain't movin',' he says more as a statement than a question.

'Don't mock me,' Cassandra murmurs out.

'I ain't mockin' you.'

'You know that I ain't gonna go. I don't think I'm ever gonna be able to.'

'You can and you will, eventually.'

'I ain't sure, Cra-Rust. You ain't either.'

'Use Crash. I don't need you gettin' confused and fuckin' this up,' Rust says, gruffly.

'You sure that's it?'

'Am I sure 'what's' it?' irritation starting to creep into his tone.

'That the reason you don't want me using your real name is cause I'll jeopardise your cover.'

'I thought you were smarter than that, Cass.'

'What the fuck's that supposed to mean?' Cassandra suddenly straightens, her voice hard but still slightly tremulous.

'I thought you were smarter than to get your emotions mixed up with what is gonna keep your ass outta the crossfire.'

It's a low blow but it hits home. Cassandra looks down at her scraped knees, gravel and raw skin, before looking up again; her voice now a whisper,

'Do you feel sorry for me?'

Rust clenches his jaw, the simple juvenility of the question making him feel sick. He knows neither of them will be able to bear whatever tidal wave of sentiment is about to breach their carefully instated distance. The partial revelation of his true identity has already been more of an unmasking than he can stomach; especially to someone he cares so deeply for as Cassandra. Her knowledge of 'Rust' throws whatever the fuck they are doing with each other into something that goes beyond sex and protection, and Rust can begin to feel everything veering off track. He won't allow her to expose herself to him like this, not when he's already emotionally fucked her over so much, today. So, Rust finally turns to her and says,

'Take off your top.'

Cassandra falters, her voice still that hoarse whisper as she ask,

'What?'

Rust wills himself to turn his pity into scorn,

'Did I fuckin' stutter? Take off your top. Those shorts, too,' he says, his tone unnervingly even and made rough from his Camels. Cassandra stares at him for a moment before indulging him: shirt discarded first before she lifts her hips and awkwardly shimmies out of them. Rust notices her holding her side, her hand cradling the scar; something she's never really done until now. Not until Rust had forced her shame into the searing white light of recognition. He knows what Cassandra must be thinking, grouping him into that homogenous, male blob of ill-intent: her next job, her next dance, her next humiliation. He tries to pretend that it doesn't slightly tear him the fuck up when she looks at him with those eyes, now cold.

'What now?' Cassandra asks, sitting up with her spine long and upright, shoulders terse.

Rust pats his lap,

'Come here.'

'Rust, I-'

'I ain't ever remember sayin' you could call me Rust, Cass,' he says harshly, completely disregarding whatever appeal Cassandra's about to make over how to treat her. Pretty words that don't mean shit to Rust nor to this godforsaken part of the country. A place where women bring guns in their purses to hookups and there are wards for the babies born hooked onto opioids, has no use for floral, storybook sex. Here, it's fast and it's hard and it's painful and it's often paid for. Cassandra knows this type of sex, or rather its corruption. So, she shuts up and sits in Rust's lap; swallowing the bitter pill of docility.

'Move 'em to the side,' Rust taps the waistband of her panties with his knuckles. For a moment, a light tinge comes across Cassandra's collarbones at the crassness of the act. She hooks her fingers into the waistband, moving to pull them down, before Rust grabs her wrist,

'I say to take 'em off, Cass?'

'No,' Cassandra murmurs, trying to asses if Rust is pissed beyond belief or on some pretty loopy downers.

'So, you can hear me. I was thinkin' otherwise, given some of the shit you've managed to pull,' that dangerous mix of anger and worry begins to seep into Rust's tone. He can feel her wet heat through the lace of her panties; almost disappointed that she can get turned on by this shit. Old habits die hard, Rust thinks, lighting a cigarette and leaning back into his seat,

'Undo my belt.'

Cassandra stares at him, holding unflinching eye contact as she unbuckles him and unzips his fly. It's like a game of fucking chicken: which of them is willing to degrade the other more, for the sake of self-preservation. Rust exhales a slow stream of smoke watching Cassandra's thighs tremble from the exertion of holding her position. He quirks an eyebrow,

'You gonna tap out on me, baby?'

'No.'

'You wanted this shit that bad, didn't you, Cass?' Rust says, the forcefulness in his tone coming out of the pit in his stomach when he thinks what he's done to her.

'I did. I wanted this shit. Don't paint me out to be some dumbass little girl who opened her legs to the first man who reminded her of her daddy. That ain't what this is. I'm tougher than that, you know I am,' her voice starting to tremble again. Her hands absentmindedly wrapped around her midsection., as if to protect herself from the next laceration.

'You want it? Then move those fuckin' panties to the side.'

Cassandra stares at Rust with that fucking stupid bravado of rapacity, before gripping the crotch of them to the side; the tepid truck air mixing with the heady scent of her arousal and Rust's cigarette smoke,

'Go on. Fuck me like a man.'

Rust looks up at her while he pulls down his boxers, before grabbing her bruised hips and slamming her onto him. Not giving a fuck about the sharp, shuddering inhale. The lamb must learn to run with the wolves and Cassandra is far from a lamb. Especially as she is now, gulping down her whimpers of pain, desperately rocking her hips against his coarse hair to stimulate her little nub. She buries her head into the crook of his neck, nose rubbing against his jugular as Rust lands a firm slap on her ass,

'Don't get sentimental on me now, Cass,' he manages to grit out, feeling her arousal literally drip down him, 'Fuck am I gonna do with a weak lil' thing, huh?'

Cassandra tries to nod, her eyes squeezed shut and her groans muffled into the leather of Rust's jacket. Rust wraps his arms around her, holding her in a vice grip for the third time today, all of which have been some form of degradation or excavation of the dirty, nasty shit that Cassandra keeps hidden under sultry, bedroom eyes and that cutthroat tongue. At least this time, the aggression of the act is more tangible; neither of them are allowed any delusions. Not with how Cassandra's spit smears against Rust's stubble when he fucks into her especially hard or the cutting of taught lace on her hipbone or Rust's still lit cigarette burning dangerously close to Cassandra's dark waves. Apt symbolism, Rust thinks, as she angles her head to inhale from the tip; eyes starting to roll slightly at the mixture of in adverted friction of her bundle of nerves, and Rust's angry, frantic pace. She turns to look him right, as she leans her head in him, exhaling the smoke right into his mouth. Rust catches some powdery grey wisps, shoving Cassandra down once more onto him. As she groans, her hands never loosening, Rust leans in to mutter into her ear,

'You never fuckin' learn. Do you, baby?'

[autistichalsin]

"What is it like to be so uncaring? I wish I could spend a day being as unempathetic as them. (Unspoken: What's the point of having empathy anymore?")

This is a sentiment that I've seen so many others express, and myself have kinda had to work through too, in the past 24 hours.

And it's a damn good question, isn't it? The people who care for no one but themselves- and worse, who actively want to hurt others not like them- won. They got everything they wanted. Meanwhile, good, kind people lost, and are now being mocked. "Triggered, liberals?"

So what's the point, then? Why should we care anymore?

It's one of those questions where you really have to be your own guide with that. We live in a world that punishes kindness and tries its best to beat it out of people, and sometimes it's tiring to do so.

But I answered that question myself and maybe my answer will help some of you.

In a world like ours, kindness is an act of defiance. Becoming cruel/callous/selfish feeds in to the reality they peddled to steal American democracy for good. By being kind, you remind them that not everyone is like them. And believe me, under their taunting, under their cries of "own the libs", this unsettles them. Kindness is an act of resistance. Love is an act of resistance. You are telling them that they will never change who you fundamentally are, they won't take away the things that make you better than them. And there is nothing evil people hate more than reminders that not everyone is evil!!! Do you remember that scene from The Dark Knight where the Joker had a group of prisoners and ordinary citizens on two ferries with bombs to blow up the other's ship, expecting them to hit the button- but no one did, because they wouldn't take the others' lives? And how utterly baffled he was? Your continued compassion enrages fascists.

You are gaining so much more from remaining kind and empathetic than you can understand. Yes, the ones who lack it won and will get to abuse people, but they lack human connection, and most of theirs are shallow. Alpha male types don't enjoy close friendships; Matt Walsh himself said he never had a friend say he loved him, Tucker Carlson's mom hated him so much that she left him $1 in her will, and Donald Trump's wives only ever married him for his power and status. The few connections they have lack depth and care and genuineness. Sure, they have families, sometimes, who love/care for them. But it is a very different kind of love because it is conditional. That's the only kind of love they know. "Be like me, espouse my values, and then I will love you." They disown their queer children, they fear their wives being independent or their husbands being 'soft.' The instant they become "wrong" in some way, they'll be discarded. You, in seeking relationships with people who genuinely love you for you- and offering that in turn- are never going to know that terror.

You deserve to be loved. You deserve to get to continue to feel the full range of human emotion, which does and should include compassion and empathy and love. You don't deserve to have to give that up just to survive this dystopian hellscape. You deserve better and if this country has failed too much to give you better, you should still at least hold on to what scraps of better you can find.

Things are about to get worse in nearly every aspect; financially, socially, geopolitically, I could go on. Staying your authentic self- loving and compassionate- is one of the only ways you are going to be able to survive what's coming, because you'll need support, and so will those around you.

Not going to numb to what's happening is the literal only way we can fix this. And I'm going to be blunt here, no fix is coming in our lifetimes. We're going to try and salvage something in the future we aren't ever going to see here. But that makes retaining your fundamental kindness even more important, because when there's nothing in it for you, the only way to keep going is to retain a love of humanity, no matter what flaws it has, because otherwise you'll get discouraged and give up. We won't get out of this, even in a few generations, without radical acts of altruism for people who are going to live here after us. They deserve your help even if they're not here yet. They NEED you.

Don't let this change who you are. Who you are is good. Who you are is perfect. You're a normal person in an utterly insane world, and this insane world won't become sane again without people like you.

[noacfapologyst]

birthday wish - matty healy

(the birthday party; day one)

summary: matty, as his very best, has one of the best birthdays of his life and receives one of the warmest surprises he has ever had, with all the people he loves.

warnings: flufly stuff, sickness mentions. nothing more than this, is tender as well.

a/n: thank to @abiiors and @the1975attheirverybest for organize this incredible project! both are such an angels. the dates do not coincide in reality, so do not expect truthfulness in it, 'cause the tour continues in this universe and there are no haircuts, and also the english is not my first language.

wordcounter: 5,1k

Matty wants you to be with him at the exact time when the clock strikes midnight. It doesn't matter if you're an ocean away, just wait to hear you sing her happy birthday.

He knows that even if he wants you to, you can't come out the door. This shouldn't make him sad because it's something he's been facing for years.

You work for the UK's most influential finance company, and while the insistence on doing the work outside has been almost unbearable, Matty knows that you love being in your office or doing the work in the house where you both live together. God, that sounds good.

Officially he's a year older, and without wanting to touch sentimentality, he just feels tired when he rests his head on the white pillow in the hotel room. He doesn't look at his phone screen for a long time, just think about how you're going through the flu that kept you from coming with him to New York.

In the meantime, you have other plans that doesn't involve fever, soup, and phlegm.

You look at your phone screen, you know it's past 12 in New York, so Matty is oficially 35 years old.

It's four in the morning in England, and once again you confirm how much you hate such an abysmal difference in schedules. You could call him now and tell him you still have the flu, but he'd end up figuring out the trick.

Maybe when it's six o'clock in the morning you can greet him with more credibility.

For now, you finish arranging the house and the final touches before taking the suitcase as you sigh out of the house.

--

"Honeeeeeeeeey" Matty literally jumps into bed making them both jump. You rub your forehead and he gives you an innocent smile. It's not an argument at all, but he's gone dumb. "Come on, fly with me to York.

"Matty, I can't." You straighten up on the mattress, giving it room to rest its head on your trunk. "I would love to go, but it's impossible." You wrap your fingers around her hair and massage it into circles. You hear him purr like he's been waiting for him all day. "I have a lot of work, we have like fifty new clients or something like that. I can't apart myself from the company, i really sorry."

"I'm not saying you get apart, you still can work through your computer." He turns to see you with a pretty sad look in his features. "I don't want to be annoying, it's just…it will be my birthday. The first with you as my girlfriend."

"Hey, i can't even say how much i'm sorry, but i really do." You grab his right hand and squeeze his, on your way to kiss his head a desperate fit of coughing interrupts you. "Shit, I'm ill."

It doesn't sound so convincing, but if all goes well, an idea begins to form in your head that might consecrate you as bride of the year.

"But hey, babe, I'm going to reward you when you return. I promise." You see him unravel at your touch, watching him as he indulges in sleep. While he is awake closing his eyes, you whisper into his ear. "You're going to have an incredible birthday, Matty."

- - -

Even though spring has been running through London for over a month, the dawn suddenly turns cold. Not only because you got sick in the course of two days, (even if you did it on purpose and forced yourself to sneeze around the corners), but also because everything feels a little tense in your room. Matty's not mad, obviously he knows he can't get you out of the country in the middle of a flu outbreak let alone by force, but he's pretty sad about getting used to the idea of spending his birthday away from you. It's satirical to him, they've officially been together for nine months, but you've spent more birthdays near him than it looks. By chance or fate, they were always in the same bars or pubs where they celebrated their years of life.

What's ironic, too, is that they met after a financial argument. It was 2017, you were relatively new to the company and Dirty Hit needed a safe backing, betting on the company you still work for. At first there were no complaints, until a money leak was triggered and backing the company you basically went to the studio to talk to Jamie in pretty strong terms.

In the end, there were no dead to bury, everything worked out. What you did bury was your washing soap shirt, thanks to Matty literally spilled his coffee machine on you when you were about to leave. It wasn't a good day for anyone, your folders just fell off and picking them up you bumped into Matty, in a semi-sleeping state with coffee running over your skin and a cheap apology as he opened his eyes surprised enough. Then it just happened for some reason, they both found fun in the same places. It was too many years of seeing each other at nightclubs maybe four times a year, saying hello from afar and going on, until a year and a few months ago they needed an insurance upgrade, which gave you another visit to Dirty Hit, no spilled coffee this time.

Matty asked for your number, then he bought you a drink, and here they are, saying goodbye to each other.

"Hey listen, call my mom if you feel bad or if you need something. At least promise me this." Kiss your head as they both walk towards the front door, you wrapped in a blanket and him between bags and suitcases.

"I'll do." You reassure him with a broad smile. "Stay safe, love you."

"See you soon, love." You and him kiss quickly as he presses his thumb on your cheek. "Love you, too."

"Matty."

"¿Yes"

"You're forgetting something, dude." You unlock your chain with a small white stone hanging, to lock it around her neck later. "Now it's okay." You steal a hug and when they finally part, the taxi comes to the door. "Bye."

"Bye." He greets you with hishand and throws the first accessory he has at hand, his bracelet.

You hate to say goodbye to him when he goes to the airport, and even though you'll see him in two days, you still hate him. You're so used to waking up with him, having its scent all over the house, that when that bubble disappears, you hate what it's created at some point. It hasn't been five minutes and you miss him like you haven't seen him in months.

You squeeze his bracelet. It's their little tradition. Every time one goes on a journey, both exchange accessories in a way to show the other that they are still there even at a distance. You don't remember when it started, but you like the sentimentality of the issue.

Now, of course Matty's right: you'll call Denise. You already have, actually. She's aware of all the deception and she's the one who's most excited about it. He talked to Tom and Louis while you talked to Adam, because he's the least likely to reveal it to your boyfriend. It's not that you don't trust others, it's just that he's wiser for this.

- - -

You touch your head down because actually if you feel sick, maybe you've been too extreme, but you hope it's worth it. Denise calls on your portal with the car horn pulling you out of the trance, you get in the car and when you want to say something else you just fall asleep in the backseat.

Half an hour later, she wakes you up gently rocking you. She's so much like Matty you could cry, you love everything her family is and how you've been treated from the first day you walked through that door. Even if she's your mother-in-law, they get along incredibly well considering how fast they've connected.

"Are you sure about this?" She asks, handing over the car keys and lowering the suitcases from the trunk. "I mean, you look really tired."

"I know, I know. I spend the day thinking if i had everything, and thinking about the gift, and trying to organize the things with Adam, meanwhile i tried to not being colapsed by the numbers." The two laugh, she looks at you with a more relaxed expression and just lets her walls fall down.

"Matty is so lucky to have you." She murmurs with bright eyes and genuine happiness. "I don't know if I've ever met someone capable of getting sick just for surpise his boyfriend in his birthday…on the other side of the world." You think she's about to get emocional when her eyes start stinging, and she notices it. "I get a bit emotional but you know, my son is growing up next to someone who truly loves him, and as a mother you don't know how important it is to know that."

Well, now you'll cry.

"Oh god, I love you Denise." You drop your bags and embrace her with the greatest affection you've ever had. "I'll might cry."

She laughs tenderly. "Keep the tears for the show, darling."

----

The belief that it would be a seven-hour flight (plus the check-in hours, obviously) that would be somewhat exhausting and that it would take time to pass becomes part lie and part truth. You actually have a lot of fun with Denise telling you anecdotes of her life in the span of waiting time to board, you can't lie, but then on the plane you start to get bored after a few hours: you've seen a movie, you've slept, you've saturated your Spotify and you only think about how Matty will be. You feel guilty about the birthday message because you know he'll be worried thinking that something is up, but later you'll ask for forgiveness.

Happy birthdayy Matty. I love you so much, i hope you ́ll always be happy.

This is too short, but i feel totally sick. I'll send you a large text later.

Matty tosses and turns in bed heavily after waking up with that message as his first course. He sighs as he goes to the bathroom, looks at himself in the mirror running a hand through his hair. It feels terrible.

Well, you haven't forgotten his birthday, but he feels that you have. Maybe it's not that.

He knows you don't like him smoking too much, but you're not here and it's the only thing keeping him sane so he doesn't yell at you if he's done something wrong. He opens the window and collapses on the balcony floor, a cigarette between his lips. He exhales, he can't believe he's spending the time like that on his birthday.

He feels like he has a dagger stuck somewhere in his body, he feels tense and knows he's not in the bliss mode that someone should have on their birthday. But God, he hates to blame himself and blame you for things.

You've been weird for days, and yes, maybe you're sick, but in the months you´ve been with him you've never been this weird. Overthinking things isn't something he likes or does too much, but now he's debating whether something has happened and you don't want to tell him. He exhales again and relapses into the state of his cuticles, but as a cumpulsive reflex he bites them. Has he done something wrong? Has he crossed any limits? Did you get angry about something he didn't do? Did he forgot your birthday? No, he hasn't forgotten that.

Trata de no permitirse pensar en la pregunta más dolorosa para él: ¿Hay alguien más? ¿Estás cansado de él y de su vida de poca estabilidad? Bueno, en cualquier caso te merecerías algo mejor.

Adam knocks on the door as an answer to problems. He knows he has to take care of him until you make your appearance, but everyone is aware that he may not be in his best mood.

"Hey, birthday boy, how did you wake up?" When Matty opens the door, he hugs him and Adam knows his best friend needs him. "Matty, tell me."

"It's just…No, it's a silly thing." He regrets it fluttering his eyes, but collapses on the bed tiredly. "I'm tired, that's all."

"No, it's not. Something is affecting you, so definitely there is something more than being tired. You dońt have to fake it with me, you know." Adam knows the reason why he is like this, and although he wants to tell him that she's really on her way, he can't.

"It's her, Adam. She ́s been in a distant mode for days, acting strange." He shrugs, Adam sits on the other end of the mattress, sinking it. "Her greeting was a bit cold, or too generic. It's not typycal for her.

Adam feels really bad lying to his friend, he feels like a traitor, and he really struggles to find the right words. "Didn't you tell me she was sick?" He asks, and Matty sighs, nodding. "Should be this."

"yes, but.."

"Listen to me, really." Adam cuts him off and thinks about how much he can take this like this, he can't allow his partner to collapse before the show, much less the surprise. "She loves you, i d on't know the reason for his behavior and I would love to know so I can tell you, but unfortunately I don't know." Guilty, liar. "Despite that, you just turned 35, it's too early for the midlife crisis for a congratulation. The day is not over yet

Matty slurps as he swallows without the strength to continue the conversation, not in this tone at least. He doesn't have any argument to play in his favor and that makes him a little angry.

"You have a birthday show tonight, it will be nice."

- - -

Madison Square Garden will never cease to amaze you and seem practically huge. You do not manage to make the connection between the measures of the venue, it seems much bigger than it is. You have entered more than once, both as a spectator of shows or as you are now, as an accompanist of the band that presents on the day, and still it leaves you breathless how massive it is. Not in your best dreams would you imagine having the chance to tour it.

But, what makes you more sensitive is to hear so many people divided into the branches and sections of the seats and the standing field cheering, shouting and even crying with a euphoric amount of adrenaline in the body by the celestial and pink lights that illuminate the stage, decorated in its scenography representing a house with all the rooms. It's still hard for you to believe that you're dating the lead singer of a band that has mobilized so many people around the world for years. They have come to see the four of them, they have come to hear what is the story they have to tell and to show them their affection and loyalty as they identify themselves in tears in the four chords of their best songs.

In a way you think that's everything a singer expects, and that by the same token, it's the most sincere reason for the fans in front of Matty's birthday. Because even though you don't spend too much time on the floor, you manage to see posters related to her birthday.

The whole Healy family, followed by you, take refuge in George and Adam's dressing rooms, because even if you came out of a cake in Matty's dressing room when the delivery changes, you'd lose the idea you planned. Now, you just hope Matty doesn't find it weird enough that they switched The Birthday Party to Act 3, and Guys is almost after. I wouldn't have to do that, in fact, since it's a pretty emotional and pretty setlist to play on your birthday.

When Matty's nightmare act ends and he descends from the second stage you try to make as little noise as possible next to his dressing room, mainly because you're going to scare him. The one you're scaring is George, but he's covering it up by saying there was a spider in his dressing room. Then with a thumb sign him shows that everything is ready for the next step. When the act of Still at their very best (the last of the show) begins with If you ́re too shy, you get ready, two songs later you have to get the whole audience to see you, but not Matty.

Then, It ́s not living reaches the middle with a consecrated closure between the drums and the guitar. Cheers fill the place. The action then begins when all the screens change focus and signs appear saying that, in front of the people you will see now, keep quiet because it is a surprise for both Matty and the fans. There are confused looks, intertwined, nobody understands anything but they keep singing so as not to show that the screens have changed again.

The crowd wants to go crazy, and some screams escape when it's you who's seen go behind the scenes. For the sake of greater care, you go behind George's drums and ask everyone with your fingers to be silent on the subject. You sit behind the biggest drum and you see it over your head.

There he is, dressed up in his black pants, his white shirt and previously the suit jacket with the pants. His tie's almost untied, and it makes you laugh, you don't think he knows he tied it wrong. The curls fall in front of him out of control due to tiredness and sweat, but you think he's never looked better in years.

"Thanks for coming to see the greatest band in the world, the 1975!" The sticks resonate on the drum, the play of grey lights makes everything a little psychedelic. The crowd bursts into cheers without differentiating the why. "And today it's my birthday, so thank you for coming here. I love you guys."

There's a mixture of exasperated emotions all over the compound. Even you have glassy eyes to see him smile in such a pure way, his place has always been and always will be the stage in front of the fans, when he is freer than ever and where he feels comfortable. This particular show is not just important because of this event, but because in fact, it's the end of the tour. It's emotionally sad, the melancholy is reciprocal in the stadium because nobody knows when there will be a new tour of them.

"Yeah, I know, this is sad. It ́s ironic that my birthday will be the last show of the tour." He grins and laughs showing his teeth to the audience. "But, thanks for being here, is my biggest gift."

So, Matty freaks out when he hears a noise behind him.

"And it's not over yet, friend of mine." Absolutely everyone is surprised to hear George through the microphone resonating in the stadium, Matty doesn't understand what's going on either. "Ladies and gentleman, please everybody look at the screen."

What happens next is the best and the worst that Matty has had in front of him, cataloging it as the worst because when pictures of him appear when he was little with his mother and father, playing guitar or just being a kid, it makes him wiggle and feel like he could really die right there from the excitement. Without looking away, dazzled and uncertain but motivated to keep seeing him, he sits on the edge of the stage.

The atmosphere is automatically warm, but even the noise does not break it. The screen now changes, and begins with a greeting from George, pointing to a picture of when they were 13, how they have grown up so far and how you can't imagine a life without him, then closes Charly telling how much she enjoys talking to him, and how much fun he is in any situation. Then comes Adam, along with Carly, telling how he is the youngest of the group, but how important he is for both of them in their lives. Finally there is Ross, who talks about how fortunate he is to have him as a friend, how proud he is of everything he has accomplished and how much he appreciates his friendship.

Screen in black. Matty takes care of the tears because he suspects it doesn't end there, but his eyes turn to candy, all his factions calm down and he refrains from leaping into the arms of his friends.

You can't tell how many, but suddenly fans appear in the video, talking about how they've saved their lives through the band, the refuge it's for them and how much the band has done in terms of connecting them with their closest friends, and giving them a reason to keep fighting. Everyone laughs when they hear the reactions of the fans appearing in the video, realizing it.

Now yes, everything seems to indicate that it's over. Matty tries to stand up, but something stops him.

Her mother. On the screen.

Satirically, her greeting begins by asking if she thought they had forgotten about her, but without giving any room to react, Louis and Tom appear on the screen, their entire family in one place.

Really, Matty feels like the luckiest person in the world to have so much affection around him, he doesn't know if he deserves it, but he accepts it and feels like the feeling of familiarity and brotherhood envelops his body as his brother and his parents talk about how he's changed everyone's lives, the support he's been in his brother's life, and how the little boy who played the guitar off-tune at four o'clock in the afternoon has become a man made and upright, able to love and defend his people, with a exemplary talent.

Matty blinks, doesn't know how to go on now. He simply knows that he cannot ask for anything else for his life, he is loved by those he loves, and is reciprocated.

The screen lights up for the last time. You and Mayhem.

You look the at George, who cries just like you. He notices your gaze but responds only with a quick smile.

"Hey, honey, this will be short because I hope you know how happy I am to have you in my life." Matty stops controlling the tears, bathes in them, his shirt is full of water right now. So he remembers your message today, and he knows that you were behind all this, no one else would have done it this way otherwise. He sees his dog move his front legs and really misses him: "Happy birthday, I love you more than my words can prove. Thank you for being the most amazing, sweetest human being I've ever met. You're an angel and I love to agree with you." The greeting ends when you send a kiss to the camera, followed by Mayhem's osico in the foreground with a heart, with an M drawn.

The legend of The End stands on top. Everyone has cried, the makeup has gone off but this is the most intimate thing that everyone has experienced today. Everybody's grateful for coming to celebrate Matty.

"Could you please close your eyes?" Adam asks, and Matty is not the one who could say no.

Matty continues sitting, not moving. He can't process everything his head is telling him miles per second. He knows that he can't speak well enough after crying and will only say silly phrases, But it has to. Ross comes to his rescue and has a hand to lift him up. They hug with Matty crying on his shoulder while continuing to repeat that she loves him. Ross pats him on the back and points to Adam on the microphone.

He smells something as smoke, and he's right. Behind the scenes of the three entrances appear his mother, his father and Louis beside him with a rectangular cake with porcelain figures of the little house, and the four figures of the band, with a 35 as a candle.

Ross lets Matty go, and when the distance is unbearable, you're the one who runs to grab his hands when everyone screams to open his eyes. He opens them and finds you embraced to his body more tightly than ever. By inertia, he tightens the grip on your waist without ceasing to hug you. Now neither of us knows who to blame for the water running down the Briton's white shirt.

"I love you. I love you. I love you." You whisper incessantly, as he stabilizes in front of you, trying to get out of the surprise and accepting that you're actually in front of him, it's not a dream, he looks at the cake and cries again. He watches the audience feeling their heart pouring out into their hands. "Happy everything, my love."

He pulls you away from the grip when the birthday song rings out and has the cake in front of him without realizing it, but holds your hand in his fist. He coins it, and he protects it inside him. His smile is sadly short, but he has never had a greater look of genuine love on him than now. His wet eyelids, his face full of dry tears and his eyes glowing like never before. All thanks to you. He looks back at the cake and makes a face of utter surprise when he sees his figure made of porcelain sitting on the piano.

"Hey, that's me!" He's chirping like he's a kid who just ate a paddle he's seen in the store. Its essence is discovered there, that immeasurable happiness that creeps through all present.

He couldn't even think about how much he loves you because everything happens too fast, but he knows that after this he could never leave you. He doesn't know it yet, but this is the moment when Matty would close everything else. After this he would decide that you would be the woman of his life, that he would marry you and that they would have a family. You just kind of signed a sentence saying that he would never let anything happen to you and that if he had to lay down his life for you, he would.

George, Adam and Ross approach Matty as well, along with Polly, John and the rest of the band, all standing in a semicircle in front of the stage. The fire lights up Matty's face who has refused to block the touch of you two. You literally have to whisper his name in his face with a silly smile so he'll let you go and be the only one in the middle of the round.

The flashes of the phones illuminate the scene, there is the same chorus symphony composed of dozens of voices that work at the same time without prior coordination. No, it's not a movie and it's not a dream that someone's going to wake up from, it's really happening.

The fire dissipates, again the sound of clashing palms comforts the place. Denise leaves the cake on the piano and hurls herself at her son. She loves him so much, and is so happy that he can be really happy being who he is. The sequence is quite fast, his family hugs him, then the four hug and the difference in height is noticeable between the four males. Then goes Polly, Jhon and everyone else who's there. The show is delayed for the same reason, but nobody really cares about sacrificing a song to be part of this moment.

He opens his arms towards you and makes you fly through the air for a second before giving you his best Chesire Cat smile. Seize the moment to steal a quick kiss leaving behind the expanse of euphoria that surrounds them. For Matty there really is nothing else right now than him and you on the whole ethereal plane he's met at the age of 35. Fans disappear, the band and their parents too, as long as it merges into you in touch can only feel how they function the same way, being really a single soul trapped between two bodies. God, he's lovesick of the love he has for you, and he could throw it up right now, but surely all he could do is throw up his heart.

The contact ends, and finally he approaches the microphone.

"I really have the greatest persons and the greatest fans in the world. I ́m incredibly glad about it." He runs his hand through his hair and laughs, shedding his last tears. "Saying thanks it wouln ́t be enough, and I could never finish thanking you for all this, but i love each and every one of you, honestly."

Matty grabs his acoustic guitar almost the second he says that. The chords of The birthday party are heard. Everything is extremely special about this song and it is something narrow and deep, there is a truth to count on the song at this moment so charged with sentimentality.

Matty has spent years of his lost life without having a reason to keep him going, floating around while surviving, or trying to. He has come and gone as far as anyone could imagine, has suffered perhaps too much to expose his vulnerability. Indeed, he felt lost in hell during the most unbearably difficult years of his life. He's driven so many people away by his personality and by neglecting so many ties, but now he knows.

He has alienated so many people by his personality and by neglecting so many ties, but now he knows that although he may be late for some, he has enough with him. All your friends are here, in the same scene, no matter what that means.

The following of Guys in a much calmer tone makes everyone end up crying, their most personal song as a band. Matty feels the same as before, his friends have been the best thing that's ever happened to him, and they've saved his life thousands and thousands of times. He could not get used to the idea of lose them, because he would crumble without them in his life.

Just like he would do without you.

In the end, Matty makes fun of himself for being so bitter all day. He really had the best birthday of his entire life.

in my head this is a tender idea of ​​how much I would give way to see matty happy, so I hope that was achieved. also, happy birthday weekend matty you are the best.

let me know what you think, also let me know if you want to be on my tag list <3

[angelofthenight]

hey listen yk how Yan polite reader *USE* to be together with reader right! right what if reader started dating another person

(new follower also I only have crumbs of this guy

Purge Leader x Reader: Yan!Headcanons Pt.2

Warnings: Yandere, Dark themes, Paranoia, Stalking/Spying, Jealousy/Possessiveness, Emotional cruelty, Murder/Gore, Non-Con, Kidnapping, The Purge being its own warning

Word Count: 1.9k

( BRO SORRY THIS TOOK LIKE YEARS???😭😭 )

Part 1

Requested: @narcozmx-blog @iskamr

~

♡ You genuinely didn’t expect to fall in love again after everything you’ve been through

♡ You thought your emotions were far too distracted and invested in fear to ever feel feelings like that ever again, especially since last time you indulged in attraction it cost lives

♡ But then someone just came around at the right place and right time while you were at your lowest and told you all the things you wanted to hear

♡ They were so selflessly honest. You didn’t have to read in between the lines, there was no guessing game about what they really meant, and no mind games. All things you had to suffer through in your past relationship with him

♡ You didn’t want to put their life in danger just because of your selfishness. You even warned them off your predicament with the purge after their pursuing flirting never seemed to falter

♡ They didn’t care. In fact, they said they would dedicate their life to protecting you if you’d have them and let them be yours and let yourself be theirs

♡ So for multiple months, you felt true happiness again and peaceful bliss. They made you feel safe and secure and you never looked over your shoulder when you were in their presence. In fact, sometimes it felt like your life was normal and nothing bad ever happened to you. As if you didn’t spend every night thrashing and whimpering in your sleep. You forgot how cruel the world really was when staring into their eyes, angel orbs staring right back at you

♡ They told you that you both would save up money to move to a country where the purge doesn’t occur at all. Any country you wanted

♡ That proposal made you so happy, beaming over the edge with joy and sentimental tears

♡ But as Purge Day grew closer and closer, a deep pit slowly began to rot in your stomach, pinching your insides every once in awhile. And when the date was just a month away it grew clear to you and your lover that you did not have enough money to run away just yet. Enough for the plane and a hotel for a couple days. But not enough to make a safe start in a brand new country

♡ You had to stay in America for Purge night. You had to survive one last purge

♡ Your lover had never seen you as such a mess of a person before as you became obsessed with the countdown to the dreadful night. You had so many panic attacks, mental breakdowns, hyperventilating meltdowns, and sobbing sessions

♡ They had told you of many sanctuaries you could hide, wealthy families who were generous enough to offer safety in their homes, bomb shelters, places no one would think to hide in

♡ They didn’t understand that you’ve hidden in those places before. And he found you every single time. No matter what building you hide in, no matter what state you ran to, he would find you

♡ They reminded you that all you had to do was survive for only twelve hours

♡ Why didn’t they understand how much can happen in twelve hours? How much mental pain and irreversible trauma you’ve been forced to endure every single purge

♡ They tried to comfort you by mentioning that you’ve survived every purge so far and you are still a free individual

♡ They didn’t understand that it’s not about you surviving, it’s about whoever is standing in his way surviving. You wanted to break up right there and then to spare their life, but they refused to leave your side

♡ All you had to do was make it through one purge night then you can run away across the ocean

~

♡ You whore. You bitch. What the hell did you think you were doing?

♡ You really thought you could be with some other person and he wouldn’t know?

♡ You had to know he was watching you. You were just trying to piss him off. You’re like a child rebelling. That had to be the answer. Why else would you lower your standards, and yourself, to the level of dating some lowlife nobody

♡ You were his. His only and his forever

♡ Outside of the Purge, he was always watching you. Watching you go about your everyday life. Stalking you. Spying on you. Following you

♡ He used to approach you many times, just to mess with you and mentally antagonize you, knowing you couldn’t do anything about it other than running away. As if that did anything. Even some of his purge friends, ones you’ve grown familiar with on Purge night through the years, would wave ‘hi’ to you in public. He knew it drove you mad, and he loved that

♡ He loved how sensitive and reactive his toy was. He loved his fragile little plaything

♡ But when he sees you with some walking piece of shit, his anger boils underneath his skin so hot he wants to claw his own skin off

♡ He was most furious at the observations of little quirks you also did when you were officially his

♡ Like rubbing your fingers over their knuckles, always pulling them by their neck to get closer during make outs, needing to take a bite out of their food first before digging into yours claiming it was to make sure theirs wasn’t poisoned, softly bumping your nose against theirs before you kissed them

♡ You did all of that stuff with him. And now you were repeating all your little quirks for them

♡ They didn’t deserve you. No one on the face of the planet, both dead and alive, did. He was the only one for you

♡ He was going to make you realize that. No matter what. And he didn’t care how many lives he had to brutally slaughter or casually destroy to do it

♡ But just like with your old best friends and everyone else who stood in his way, he had to wait till Purge night to butcher that scum

♡ He daydreamed about how he would do it. He loved when he axed your friends but he thought this specific person deserved a special death. He fantasized about killing them in front of you, imagining all the different ways he could do it. All those thoughts made him smile to himself

♡ He fantasized chopping off their limbs one by one so they would die slowly, drilling out their eyes, slamming a chainsaw right down their head, stabbing every inch of their skin so their corpse would be unrecognizable, gutting them open in front of you. All of this as you would cry rivers from your eyes, begging him to stop

♡ And once the execution was carried out, he would immediately go down on you right on that floor, right next to their body

~

♡ He was coming for you. Him and all of his friends

♡ Even from the far corner in the small kiln room of the abandoned middle school your lover had found, you still heard the distant, almost muffled, sounds of their laughter

♡ How did they find you? How did he find you?

♡ Your courageous lover held their gun tightly in their hands, having it concentratedly aimed at the locked and barricaded door. You hugged their arm as your eyes never once left the door, your heart pounding so loud and heavy you feared it would give away your location

♡ What two hours felt like two minutes, they were closer than ever. You heard them roam the art room just outside your door as they giggled to each other, none of them bothered being quiet

♡ Suddenly they were slamming a battering ram against the door, two swings broke the lock and four more swings tumbled your barricade down. You fearfully and shakingly whispered your lovers name repeatedly in their ear, needing to know they were getting ready to shoot even though they’ve never killed anyone before

♡ The barricade had fallen and the door opened without anything else in the way. Your lover fired five bullets as soon as they saw someone in the doorframe. You witnessed the first two people in line fall backwards. When more people stepped in, your lover’s shooting never stopped

♡ Your heart coldly stopped at the haunting sound of the clicking of the gun. It was empty

♡ Your fate had been sealed into doom

♡ Your lips quivered uncontrollably as your masked ex boyfriend suavely stepped into the room, carelessly stepping over his fallen friends. He slid off his mask to reveal his malicious smile and cocky gaze. “Smart of me to let them go first.” He said with a humored snicker. It made you nauseated

♡ “Thank you for keeping them warm for me, but I’ll take it from here.” He said as he positioned his axe in both hands, his cheshire cat smile widening down at the two of you. The very same axe he used on your highschool best friends, the very same axe that started it all. How fitting it would be the one to end it

♡ It all happened so fast, your lover bolting up to try to wrestle the axe of his hands, and then you heard a sickening sound of a swing and a slush

♡ You were paralyzed from your spot on the ground, your mouth only parted but shaking as if you’ve been splashed with freezing water. Your eyes wide open as if you had no eyelids, your waterlines overflowing like pitchers, never ceasing the ongoing streams of tears down your cheeks. Your fingers were clutching onto the hair closest to your scalp

♡ You were frozen in absolute terror and traumatizing grief. Watching him hack the one you were going to run away with apart from their stomach, crimson blood and entrails spilling out like cutting open an egg sack

♡ He chopped away until their torso was mutilated and their body was now in two. He took heaving breaths as he ran a hand through his hair to smooth out the locks that fell in his face

♡ He turned to you with that Cheshire grin and eyes that were the embodiment of a danger sign, fresh beads of blood vaguely dripping down his long face. His expensive clothes were stained with splatters of blood. Their blood

“Happy Purge, my dear.”

♡ And then he intended to do exactly what he had been fantasizing about for the past months. To fuck you right on that ground, right next to your bloodily mangled ex lover

♡ And that’s exactly what he did. Unbuckling his pants as he stalked toward you with strides and a taunting smile. You whimpered with terribly shaky sobs as you tried to scramble away backwards while still on the ground

♡ He grabbed your ankle and tugged you closer to him, lunging down at you to forcibly pry open your thighs and force his arousal into you

♡ After the deed was done and he buckled his pants back up, he hurdled your torso up to make your red puffy, exhausted eyes look into his excitedly dilated ones

“Our games have been much fun, but I think it’s now time for you to come home.”

[taetaespeaches]

“So this is heartbreak, huh?”

jimin x reader (oc) genre: angst word count: 1.8K

a/n: Hi lovelies! Sorry this is a little late but I hope it’s at least somewhat worth the wait. In this, reader/Dear is dealing with the loss of Jimin during the period of their brief breakup. (So Jimin only appears through being talked about). She can’t get him out of her mind, and she’s realizing she doesn’t actually want him out. Oh, Peaches (Taehyung’s to be girlfriend) is also in this. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading :))

For three weeks you had been waiting for the anger to take over. As your best friend dug through your grocery bags and filled your cupboards with the items, you stood against the kitchen counter, tense and horrifyingly not angry.

You should be furious at the betrayal you felt. If your life was a movie, surely you would have already gathered up his shit and everything that reminded you of him in a box, ready to be tossed out or at least dropped off at his place. The problem was that everything reminded you of him. And every item of significance sat around your apartment like some kind of memorial to the man and the shared life you lost.

The persistent thoughts of him wouldn’t be so unbearable if only you could conjure up the fury inside you and remember the negative sides of the man. Like the fact that he broke up with through a text while on tour in another country. But you couldn’t make yourself hate him. You couldn’t bring yourself to come up with reasons to not still love him. You couldn’t even convince yourself to be mad at him. Not really. Not mad enough to drown out the longing.

He broke up with you over text while touring in another country. It was so unlike Jimin, but he did it. That one thing should have been enough to make you despise him, have you throwing his shit out the window, dismantling every last bit of the life you built together, that you were still building. Yet you were still standing there at the counter thinking of him, loving him with every fiber of your being, waiting for him to give you a reason to forgive him.

“How has work been?” Your best friend asked, drawing your attention to her, the tension in your knuckles as you squeezed the edge of the counter easing just a bit.

You sighed, moving your head back and forth to silently say, so so. “It’s hard being around kids. To be honest.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I wish we could just- I don’t know. Just take off for a couple weeks.”

“I’m not sure it would turn out any different than our weekend away,” you forced a pathetic smile. The girl had taken you out of town for a weekend and you had spent the entire time crying in the hotel room, under the influence of copious amounts of wine. Self-medication. “That was so sad, I didn’t even get drunk at some bar.”

The girl shrugged, giving you a sympathetic smile. “Drunk is drunk.” You snorted, nodding in agreement.

“One of these days I’m gonna drink enough to get really fucking mad instead of just-” you shook your head. “You know.”

You began helping put away your own groceries as she watched you carefully for a moment. Since the breakup you had been relying on your friend so much, you were riddled with guilt despite her telling you daily that she wouldn’t want to be doing anything else. The sentiment was sweet but you figured she wasn’t being entirely truthful. Surely she didn’t actually want to be putting your groceries away for you and wiping your tears every single night.

At least you’d moved back into your apartment, giving her her own space back. Plus, you did your own grocery shopping. Baby steps and small victories.

“Since when do you eat spicy ramen?” Your friend suddenly asked, holding up two containers of the food. She had her eyebrows pulled together in question, your expression mimicking hers because it was a good question. You didn’t like spicy food.

You eyed the packaging, your heart feeling so heavy and sharp in your chest you weren’t sure how long you could even continue carrying its weight and all its jagged edges. “I don’t,” you whispered, your eyes finding the girls as she realized your mistake. “Jimin does-”

“-I’ll eat it,” she quickly said, talking over you as she put it back in the grocery sack and shoving the plastic into her tote bag.

“Jimin does? Jimin did? Past tense?” You pondered your own wording. “I don’t know how to refer to him. He’s not fucking dead but like, he’s not here,” you scoffed, inhaling deeply, trying to ignore the way it shook as you exhaled. “I don’t really know what Jimin does anymore.”

“Babe,” your friend spoke sadly, taking a step toward you but not moving any closer. She was always so careful with providing space, careful not to take up too much of it.

“So this is heartbreak, huh?” you shook your head at yourself, at your situation. “Buying spicy ramen for people who aren’t even here.”

“You’re allowed to take time.”

“Maybe the wound is too fresh but- I honestly don’t know how time is ever going to heal this.”

“I just wish I could be mad, you know? Like I am mad. I’m angry, I know I am. But more than anything I’m just- I miss him so much. I’m so fucking sad. I want the anger to take over, I want to want to set his shit on fire and cast him off as an asshole but- I can’t. Because I love him. And I know him. He’s not an asshole. He did an asshole thing but-”

“I know.”

“It’s Jimin.”

“I know.”

That was when you finally noticed how much this was hurting your friend, as well as you. Maybe that was your reason to be mad- he dragged your two closest friends into this mess. It wasn’t just a rift between two people, but rather four people. The girl tending to your every need knew Jimin before you did. They were friends first. And now she was left not knowing how to feel about him, not knowing if their relationship would ever be the same again. You didn’t even want to think about the fear that would inevitably be instilled within her and Taehyung, setting them even further back from taking the jump from friends to lovers. You knew she would look at this and come to the conclusion that these things don’t work. It didn’t pan out for you, after all.

“I’m sorry,” you shook your head, trying to brush off the rawness of your emotions.

“Stop saying that,” she lightly scolded. “You’re allowed to be upset, and you’re allowed to talk about that. Especially with me.”

You weren’t sure you should be talking about it with her. She had a strong and sincere affinity for Jimin, you knew you were putting her in a difficult situation. An impossible situation. But she was your friend, your rock, and she was offering. And you were selfish. Shaking your head, you took a deep breath. “Will I ever stop wanting him?”

“I don’t know.” It wasn’t the answer you were hoping for, but you knew it was the honest one.

“You know he sleeps all day on his days off. All fucking day,” you complained suddenly, making the girl raise her eyebrows slightly as she tried to gage your emotions. “And he’s so dramatic, so much of what he does is so over the top,” you continued, spewing your grievances with the man.

“That’s true,” she responded tentatively. You were trying to convince yourself that these traits actually qualified as negatives to Jimin. She knew that.

“And the attitude on him,” you scoffed halfheartedly, failing to fool yourself.

“He’s very sassy,” she whispered.

Shaking your head, you thought of the times you had walked into your apartment after a long day of work to find Jimin curled up in bed, lifting his messy head of hair and flashing you a smile through his puffy, sleep-filled features. You loved finding him like that. You loved crawling into bed with him. You loved that he’d sneak away as you fell into slumber to make you breakfast for dinner.

And you loved his dramatic nature. He was so animated, like his face was made just to express every emotion as fully as he felt them. Jimin was always so enthusiastic, loving every bit of life that was given to him. You even loved his attitude, even encouraging petty bickering to release his sass. It was both adorable and sexy, and you also loved when it was directed at other people. He was one of the few people who could top your attitude.

“I wanna be angry,” you finally admitted through tears, watching the girl nod her head in understanding through your blurry vision.

“But it’s ok to just be sad,” she assured you, stepping closer to you.

“The anger would be easier to carry,” you said as the first tear slipped down your cheek, making a trail for more to follow.

Suddenly, her arms were around you as she tucked the side of your face against her shoulder. “It would be,” she whispered into your hair at the back of your head.

Staring at the girl’s tote, thinking of Jimin, you wondered if he was also running into you in everything he came across. As he bought his own spicy ramen, you wondered if he bought the mild version along with it, out of habit and consideration of you. You wondered if he thought of you, and if he did, did he imagine you angry? Did he think you were letting go, forgetting about him, moving on? If he knew you bought spicy ramen because he never left your mind, would he want to take back his actions?

“I just miss him.”

You’d keep missing him. You’d miss him on the couch, in the bedroom, as you stood in your classroom in front of your students, as you passed by his band’s advertisements all across the city, in the grocery aisle, and every time you looked at your phone and saw no new notifications from him.

Your heart would keep breaking into smaller and smaller pieces. You’d keep hoping he’d come back, give you a reason to forgive him. Give you a chance to forgive him. It would take time, he’d have to be careful and patient as he put the pieces back together. But you’d keep hoping.

“It’s ok to miss him. Just miss him,” the girl told you as you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to stop the flood of emotions pouring from your eyes.

“Can you leave the ramen?” You asked. Your friend ran a soothing hand up and down your back as she nodded. You just wanted it there.

[slavicafire]

How do you feel about the new government sworn in? Do you think they will actually legislate same sex marriage?

I’m waiting cautiously. I’m from the diaspora, but I’m eligible (on paper) to claim citizenship. I’m in a queer marriage tho, and on top of that I am trans. I am extremely lucky to live in a country where my status as a queer trans person is not only protected but also entirely unremarkable.

I know things have been so dire for so long, and that even if legislation changes for the good, the opinion of many people are probably still extremely queer phobic and willing to commit hate crimes, what with the death grip the Church still has.

But it would be nice to see the land my grandparents loved so much and missed even more.

I will be honest with you here - my opinions on this subject are certainly unpopular, and thus rather tricky to discuss in depth within the limitations of an ask answer. still:

one, I do not believe they will legislate same sex marriage anytime soon - it is as if wondering whether we will reach that beautiful island on the horizon when we've not only not built the port yet, but haven't even felled the trees for the boat. and the forest is church property, too.

but two - it's not part of the criteria through which I judge the new government; the fact that I don't see them bringing about 'marriage equality' is nowhere near the list of gripes I have with them. partially because I believe there are much more pressing issues that I fear they won't focus on enough - and, perhaps more importantly, because I am at heart an opponent of marriage as such.

this is where the complexity of my views starts making the online discussion more difficult. while I am, personally, anti-marriage, I am not actively advocating for its dissolution or attacking those within the civil rights movement - including lgbt+ activists - who want its rank, and legal and cultural protection, bestowed upon them. it'd be unrealistic and entirely counterproductive of me - as these efforts are simply realistically understandable. but it does mean that I don't see it as this glorious end-to-all-troubles for gay people, nor do I focus my political endeavours and stamina on advocating for it, so it is not a lens I look at things through.

still, if you want to see the village or city of your grandparents for sentimental reasons, I do hope you will be able to safely do so in as near a future as possible.

[ellssbellss]

Lavender Roses ~ Kyoya Ootori x Reader

pairing- Kyoya Ootori x Reader

In which a rational head hides a generous heart, but you have always known how to see past his walls and help him bloom into the gorgeous rose he is.

Enjoy a slow burn between an honor student and our beloved glasses character!

summary: He stepped even closer to you, trying to reassure you the best he knew how. 

“Whatever it is you need to tell me, you can say it. You can trust me.”

word count: 14.3k

legend:

(e/c) = eye color

(n/l) = native language

(c/n) = home country's name

(p/c) = pick a color

see masterlist! : masterlist

taglist!: @abbysblogsstuff @sunukissed @kisskissshutmydoor @idonia-dovahkiin @greensnakegoblep @vervainnnn

The Grade School Host The Naughty Type! pt. 1

“What kind of music do you like, (Y/n)?”

You leaned forward on the table, your billowing sleeves falling down your forearm to reveal beautiful rings and bracelets covering your wrists and fingers. You gave your guest a loving smile, biting your lip slightly as you stopped to think.

“Hm,” you say, a seductive hum rolling its way to your guests ears, and resonating within the blush on their cheeks. “I’m not entirely sure. I love all kinds of music.” Your deep lipstick moves as another flirt slips out of your mouth.

“But, I think the sound of your voice is what brings me the most joy, honey.” The girl across from you loops arms with one of your male guests and they both lean on each other to keep from fainting. 

You reach out to steady them, the vibrant skirt of your dress swishing with your movements. The flowing cloth was dyed in a deep (p/c), bringing out the brightness of your (e/c) eyes. Your lipstick matched perfectly, and gold jewelry accented the entire look. 

Tamaki promised a royal Arabic theme, and boy, did he deliver.

“Careful,” You warn as you place your guests back in their chair. “You shouldn’t be falling for me so soon.” A blush is fabricated on your cheeks as well as all three of you giggle at your pun. 

But before you can continue your conversation, you pause your hosting to watch Tamaki excuse himself from his guests. 

A rare sight, indeed. Tamaki would never leave his guests alone if it wasn’t important. 

Hikaru and Kaoru rise with him, but you ignore the way they rush to their places in the foyer of the music room, getting into their positions. You didn’t want to leave your guests unattended.

The guest that you were laughing with suddenly becomes very close. You had entertained her many times, but she had never been this brave. It was a good-natured advance, so no alarm was needed on your part. It was just surprising. 

She looked confident, but a blush raged a war on her cheekbones as she grabbed your hand. Her friend beside her looked at her in awe. 

“I think it’s a little too late for that.” She admitted, a small smile on her face. It was your turn to blush when she grasped your face in your hands and planted a firm kiss on your cheek.

Her forwardness caught you off guard, a nervous sound coming out of your dropped jaw. 

Kissing was definitely not encouraged in the club. It was too sentimental, too intimate. If the hosts went around kissing guests left and right, too many people would be let on, and things could take a dramatic turn. All guests were made well aware of that fact, but some people thought that they deserved special treatment. Not surprising coming from a crowd of heirs and rich nobles. 

Your guest smirked at your disbelief, and you didn’t know what to say. As uncomfortable as this situation was, you didn’t want to make a scene. 

Before you could figure out something to say that could gently defuse the situation, the girl’s eyes flicked to somewhere behind you, causing her to draw back slightly. Her other friend swallowed.

A pale hand gently grasped your shoulder. 

“Kyoya?”

“A new guest is arriving. We need to get into our positions.” He said, his slightly-more-than-monotone voice piercing through the room. Over his glasses, you saw his stare catch onto the guest that had just crossed a club boundary.  

“I’m afraid to say that (Y/n)-san’s hours have unfortunately come to an abrupt end.” He voices to your guests, a host grin pulling on his face. His words were like ice. “Thank you for choosing to spend your free hours here, but you may be excused.” 

“You need to leave?” The girl whined as she leaned ever closer towards you.

Kyoya moves in front of you and offers a hand. You take it, his skin soft against yours, and gracefully peel yourself off your chair. 

“As I said,” Your best friend glazes a stare over his shoulder at the guest behind you. The grin was gone, and his gaze was casted to the women who sat below him. It was the look he used for when the people who worked for him disrespected his father’s work. For when inferior individuals questioned his authority. “You are excused.”

A chill went down your spine as the girl huffed then grabbed her friend’s hand. She pushed out her chair, allowing it to skid across the tile. Throwing a fit, her friend followed behind her embarrassed, his head down and a sad blush dusting his cheeks. Your eyebrows crinkled in sympathy as he was dragged away to another chaotic event that girl would surely create. 

You both watched them walk away before making your way to the foyer, where the twins adjusted their uniforms as they took their places around Tamaki, who draped himself over the couch, a royal centerpiece of jewels and fabric. 

“Please tell me she won’t be back here.” You laugh nervously, trying to play it off as a joke. But it was hard to contain the insecure wobble in your throat, and you tried to disguise it as a chuckle. Kyoya’s jaw set as he picked up the crack in your foundation, and squeezed your hand as he led you to your position: in a window position behind Haruhi. 

“She won’t.” He didn’t need to elaborate more. As cold as he was, you felt safer, appreciating the action Kyoya took when your boundaries were crossed. Add that to the lists and lists of reasons your heart yearned for this man. 

A breeze rushed over your palm as the ravenet let you go. He made his way to his place behind Tamaki’s right, directly to the side of you. A moment passed before your gazes met again and he offered a small smile, washing away the last bits of the scene that had played out minutes ago. 

On the other side of the coin, Kyoya’s nerves were a light with a new flame. 

There wasn’t much more he could take. A female host was a smart addition to the club, as you were bringing in more money and more popularity to the club every day. But with that came more risk, and the money was becoming less and less of a reason to keep putting you in the spotlight. 

Guests got courageous, lazy. A slip of the hand here, a caress there. He has seen the way some look at you, the least bit of good intention in their eyes. He especially had a bad feeling about the girl who had just made a new enemy of the Ootori company. It was a pity no one taught her to follow the rules. 

However, what was he going to do when someone made their advances clear, and you accepted them? 

That kiss on the cheek shocked him back into reality. He had become complacent with softened gazes and light touches here and there, but he wanted more. Kyoya wanted to be more.

He had to act soon. But how?

Being a club member didn’t automatically mean that Kyoya knew how to bring his relationship with you to the next level. Naturally, he didn’t know the first thing about relationships. 

He fidgeted, adjusting his glasses as he looked around the club, watching the girls cry when Honey and Mori-senpai said their temporary goodbyes as they walked towards your side of the picture they were creating to greet the guest that was on their way. Each host was skilled in knowing what these guests wanted in an entertainer.

Extravagant gestures, money, power. Promises of devotion no matter what consequences their choices led too, words of everlasting beauty and riches. 

The ravenet knew you enough to be sure that you were above all that. If there was one thing Kyoya knew he wanted to give you, it wasn’t empty promises. 

Before he could think about it more, the door to the club creaked open, a boy walking in tentatively, choking on a rose petal that had flown into his mouth. 

His thoughts instinctively transferred back to the reputation of the host club and the megane’s back straightened. 

“Welcome to the Ouran High School Host Club!” Your friends said in unison, setting the tone for the atmosphere that you all created around you. 

Your host smile shifted slightly when the short figure plucked the rose petal from his mouth, shaking it away when another one caught onto his fingers. He looked up in awe, his deep brown eyes glittering as they flicked over each costume, Arabian culture deeply rooted in the vibrant colors and jewelry. 

He was just a child, fascinated by the shiny things. 

Hikaru’s arms flopped to his sides, having put them up in a romantic, outstretched gesture. He blew a ginger strand of hair out of his face as his eyebrows drew close in confusion. You had dyed their hair a third time when they grew bored of the bright colors. They liked the sneaky potential of always being mistaken for the other, and the colored hair made it too obvious.

He grumbled to his brother and Tamaki posed in front of him. “Oh, it’s a kid.”

Tamaki, never one to break character, floated a hand towards the boy, gracefully splaying his fingers out to show off his rings. “What’s wrong little boy?” The prince’s voice drawled, a soft, royal tone passing over his tongue. “Did you come to my palace in search of something?” 

The kid shuffled, one foot pointing toward the blonde, and another pointing toward the doorway. His response shook in hesitation as he struggled to make eye contact with the blonde.

“Are you the King of this place?”

You immediately looked at Kyoya, and gray met (e/c) in an exasperated effort. You sucked on your cheek, trying not to roll your eyes as Tamaki sat straighter, a glimmer glossing over his violet irises. 

“Well?” The boy pressed on. “Are you?”

Tamaki’s hand turns, his palm facing upwards. A finger curls, beckoning the child to come closer. 

“Come closer, lost one.” Oh god.

The kid’s green uniform crinkles as he makes his way towards Tamaki, and your posture sinks even more as he adjusts himself to tower over the poor child. 

“What did you just call me, little boy?” Tamaki asks. Egotistical, lovable prick. 

Brunette eyebrows furrow on the young face. “The King?” 

The king lights up, standing to sway around the club room, basking in the words of a naive little child. “Ah, the king! Yes, I am the king of the host club!” You could’ve sworn you saw stars appear in his eyes. “Long live the king!”

“God, kid, what have you done?” You grumble, and watch as Haruhi’s shoulders struggle not to shake with her contained laughter. 

In the presence of the supposed king, the boy straightens his back, putting both feet together in a structured salute. 

“I’m an elementary fifth year! Shiro Takaoji!”

Shiro had a look of determination on his face that seemed too brutal for his age. His soft cheeks were clenched as he set his jaw, and the downturn of his eyebrows accented the shine of a purpose in his brown eyes. It was off-putting.

Then again, Honey-senpai didn’t act like how you would’ve expected either. 

Tamaki gasps as the posture of the child, and you didn’t think his head could get any bigger than it already was. That was before Shiro pointed to your blonde friend. 

“I want the host club king to take me on as an apprentice!”

You were sure the entire host club was going to suffocate under Tamaki’s ego. 

Tamaki rejoices, spinning the kid around in his arms as the boy kicks and spits until he settles under his grasp. 

More than displeased, you lean over to your left, scoffing as you whisper to the handsome director next to you. He notices and discreetly leans to his right.

“Please, an apprentice?” You scoff, your lips curling into a joking frown. “What is Tamaki going to teach the little squirt, huh? His detailed skin care routine?”

A small puff of air exerts from Kyoya, encouraging a small chuckle. He looks at you with a roll of his eyes while you turn your attention back to the boy in front of you, watching how you analyze the little boy like he is a mutant strand of the flu. His gaze softens without you noticing, then he looks to Tamaki as he immediately begins spouting small lessons to Shiro.

His eyebrow quirks as an idea flashes through his mind. If Tamaki is already going to be giving out free lessons on how to flirt with women, how bad would it be to sit in on a class?

“Oh my Tamaki, you have an apprentice?” A girl asks as she basks in the light that is Tamaki Suoh. Guests surround the prince like a moth to a flame, the center of the host club becoming something of a hive. But that wasn’t the unusual part. Today, there was a new kind of bug in their mist. 

Shiro watches intently as Tamaki grasps the girl’s hand, smiling down at her. 

“Yes. He is in elementary school, but I quite like the fire in his eyes.” 

“But are you sure it’s okay for such a young boy to become a host?” The guest says, looking between the elementary fifth year and the high school second year. 

Tamaki’s expression simmers down to a smirk, but clearly ignites a fire in the girl’s heart as he draws nearer, causing a blush to form on her cheeks. 

“Why wouldn’t it be? Love has nothing to do with age.” He rests a hand on her cheek, and you watch as she leans into the touch. “Take us for instance. When I’m with you, my heart starts pounding.” He leans a little closer. “Suddenly, I feel no different than a love-sick little boy.” 

She swoons. “Oh Tamaki~.”

Across the pastel tile, You, Kyoya, and Haruhi watch from the snack table as Shiro leans onto his tippy-toes, poking his head slightly above the table so that he can get a better look. 

“Don’t you think it’s weird that he’s making the kid observe him up close like that?” Haruhi asks, wincing as Shiro opens his eyes a little wider, hoping not to miss anything.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that this kid is here at all?” You say, frowning as you watch what you think to be a 10 year old take notes on how to seduce women. 

Leaning on a table behind you, Kyoya slightly glances up from his writings to check on Tamaki before focusing back on the pages in front of him. 

“There is a theory that people are considered more beautiful when observed up close.” He pauses, disguising it as a bored sigh, while taking the chance to glaze his eyes over your features. It wasn’t that you were more beautiful up close – because he didn’t think that was possible –, but he will always revel in the effect of your presence, and will never bore of you being inches away from his touch. 

“Tamaki seems to live by that theory.” He continues, and writes down the way Tamaki angles the girls face towards his, forcing a blush away from the thought of touching you that way. 

You roll your eyes as an irritating look on the kid's face forms when he tries to focus on the conversation happening in front of him. 

“Well, let’s leave them alone.” You say, as you gather what you came to the snack table for in the first place. You set pastries and sandwiches onto a silver platter, then begin walking back over to your guests for the afternoon. “I’m here to work, not to babysit.”

Both Kyoya and Haruhi look at you as you leave, taken aback by your harsh tone reserved for the fifth year. Haruhi looks between you and Kyoya, who has an eyebrow raised on his forehead, but otherwise seems unfazed. 

“What’s up with her?” The honor student asks, directing her question to the club director while still keeping an eye on you. As you pass Shiro, you give him a wide girth, your posture slouching slightly.

An amused chuckle resounds through Kyoya. “(Y/n) is scared of children.”

Haruhi’s brows furrow together, and she looks at you again. You are so bubbly and kind, accepting of everyone and everything. For you to not like something as innocent as children is almost hilarious in a way, if it wasn’t so confusing. 

“I was just as surprised as you are when I first figured it out.” Kyoya assured her. “But she finds them incredibly annoying, especially when they aren’t supervised by their parents.” 

“But that’s so unlike her, she’s usually so open.” The brunette debates, remembering how caring and motherly you can be towards the members of the host club. 

Kyoya sighs, glancing at you once more, and Haruhi catches a glimpse of sympathy in his facade. “(Y/n)’s past is more complicated than she makes it seem. When she was younger, her parents made her feel like a burden. She had to rely on them so heavily, being a child and all, and her parents weren’t able to live their lives the way they wanted too.” A chuckle of dark humor travels past his lips. “Because who can travel and do business with a toddler attached to their hip?” Kyoya’s tone is dry as he looks down at Haruhi, whose eyes have lost their mirth. 

“So, psychologically, she feels like she has to avoid kids at all costs. She’s scared to treat them the way her parents treated her.” 

His statement leaves Haruhi even more confused, and a little saddened to hear about your past. “Since when are you a psychiatrist?” 

“I’ve never claimed to be a medical professional.” Kyoya smirks once more. “I’ve known (Y/n) for a long time, and I’ll admit I’ve come to learn how to read people.” 

He shrugs. “Additionally, I know a thing or two about parental issues.” 

The ravenet lifts his gaze again and watches as the boy apprentice calls one of Tamaki’s guests a carp, and as Tamaki tries to comfort his offended guest, Shiro casually walks around, looking for something more interesting after grumbling under his breath.

Kyoya’s jaw clenches from holding back a smile as he follows Shiro’s path. “Would you like to know the irony of the situation?” 

Haruhi nods and aims her brown eyes in the direction of Kyoya’s gaze.

“Because (Y/n) is so kind and open, children are drawn to her.”

As if punctuating the megane’s statement, Shiro drops down into an empty seat next to you, and they both laugh as you stiffen. 

“Man, what a crybaby.” Shiro casually says, resting his elbows on your table as he interrupts your conversation with the guy across from you. 

“You look like you won’t annoy me.” He says to you, and you wince internally. 

You look at him, your (e/c) eyes piercing through him, and Shiro gives a little gasp. You definitely remind him of someone. A girl in his class. She has the same smile that you do.  

Too bad he didn’t know that this smile was forced. “Shiro, you can’t sit here right now. I’m working.” You’re trying to be kind, you really are. You might be uncomfortable around children, but that didn’t give you the right to be rude to them. 

“Who says?” He looks back at you. Your cheeks puff out, and your face takes on a deadpan expression. Your eyes slide back to your laptop as you continue working out the budget, typing up financial plans to save up for some more specialty items for those who are a part of the point system. 

“What are you doing?” Shiro asks, and he sits up on his knees, prying his eyes over your computer. 

As he gets closer, you slide the laptop away from him. He leans even more, and you slide it away. Eventually, he is crawling on the table, scrambling to get a glimpse at your screen.

Biting your cheek to keep from cursing at a kid, you stop typing and pick him up from his armpits, treating him like a radioactive piece of lab equipment, and set him back down at his chair. 

“Stop being nosy, or go find someone else to bother.” You say, firm, but there was no anger in your words. Just exhausted annoyance. 

He huffs, folding his arms and pouting, but he stayed in his seat nonetheless. Your company was somehow less stressful than the king he was observing from your table.

That is, until two gingers came up behind you and wrapped around each shoulder. Like you weren’t already annoyed. 

“So how’s it going, (Y/n)? That’s an adorable little buddy you got there.” They tease you, also knowing your distaste for the young.

The twins laugh at your dismay, and you hunch further over your computer, struggling to focus on the task in front of you. Not with three immature little brats surrounding you. 

“But, Hikaru…” Kaoru suddenly becomes very sheepish, his laughter coming to a halt. You turn slightly to see a blush painting his face, and you roll your eyes in favor of watching your screen. 

Kaoru continues. “Do you wish you had a little brother like Shiro?” 

Stars and moons light up in each guests’ eyes as they watch Hikaru gather a tearful Kaoru in his arms, cradling his head as he looks down on him with dramatic longing. 

“Don’t be silly.” As if on cue, rose petals fall over them, most likely from the ones Renge had installed in the ceiling for moments like this. “I could search the whole globe and I’d never find a better brother than you, Kaoru.” 

“Hikaru…” Kaoru sighs.

Boys and girls all swooned around them as they shouted praises at their brotherly love act, especially after being deprived of it for so long.

But beside you, Shiro scrambled, leaping off his chair and pointing at the two brothers. He tugs on your sleeve, and with more strength than you would expect from a fifth year, pulls you out of your chair. He drags you away from the twins and sets you in front of him like a human shield, pointing at the Hitachiians in disgust.

“What the hell? Their brothers! That makes this totally insectuous!” 

You rip your hand from his grip while you roll your eyes, already exhausted. You’re so used to the twins’ act by now, you forget it takes a while for people to get used too.

You sigh as you try to make your way back to the table. “I think what you meant to say was incestuous.” 

You stop and turn at a grunt from Shiro as Honey jumps on his back, a cute smile on his round face. “Hey Shiro-Chan! You wanna have a piece of cake with me? We’ve got three kinds: chocolate, strawberry, and lime!” 

Manically, Shiro shoves the third year off, and you wince as Honey lands on his butt. “Hey back off! What grade are you in anyway? Why’re you wearing a high school uniform?” 

A shadow looms over him as Honey stands, rubbing his sore backside. You watch as Shiro looks up to see Mori, tall as ever, looking down at him over the bridge of his nose. 

“Something wrong, Mitsukuni?” Moris deep voice swept over the kid, and he backed away, finding refuge behind your legs, much to your dismay. 

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Shiro cries. “A little kid like you can’t have a cool older friend like him!”

Mori picks up Honey while you back away from Shiro, turning only to run into Haruhi. Why can’t you just make it the two steps to your seat?

Startled, Haruhi looked up from what she was doing. She grips a fragile tray in her hand, balancing a teapot with snacks that you helped prepare this morning arranged in a small little circle. 

“Sorry Haruhi- oof!” You say as the elementary schooler bumps into you once more, and you take a deep breath before you could explode on the poor kid. 

The honor student peeks behind you and sees Shiro gripping onto your skirt for balance.

“Are you alright?” She says, and both of you face the kid, considering you were awkwardly trapped between them. Might as well become part of the conversation. 

Haruhi leans down so she can be slightly more level with Shiro, and a kind smile traces her features. “I know, it’s kinda hard getting used to all the weirdos around here.”

Her joke puts you a little more at ease. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all. 

“It took me a while to get adjusted to all the craziness, so don’t freak out.” You say, hoping to give the kid some sort of comfort. Your voice doesn’t come out as confident and bright as you would like it, but it was soothing. So A for effort. 

Haruhi nods. “We’re sure you’ll get used to it.” 

You both pause as Shrio’s face becomes wrinkled with concentration. His eyes pin down Haruhi’s face as he studies her, confusing you to no end. Was he listening to anything you were saying?

You try again. “Shiro? Is there something wrong?” 

The kid’s eyes squint at Haruhi a bit more before he opens his mouth, causing your breath to stop in your throat. “Are you a crossdresser?”

You gasp. “Oh no.”

Suddenly, the twins and Tamaki are at your side, Kyoya walking over at a leisurely, but purposeful, pace. They become the Keep-Haruhi’s-Gender-A-Secret committee as Tamaki covers Shiro’s eyes.

“Okay! That’s enough!” The prince declares, chuckling nervously as he tries to direct Shiro away from your best friend, but the student doesn’t budge. “I think Shiro should take care of the tea for us! Don’t ya think?” 

You nod urgently and promptly take the tray from Haruhi’s grasp. The twins form a tag team, reaching out and patting her on the back to assure her of her manliness. 

“Wow, Haruhi, you’re looking extra manly today!”

“Yeah, you’re too macho for tea sets!”

Kyoya arrives at your side, humming in interest. “This kid is smarter than I thought.” 

Your mouth curves in distaste as you move to hand Shiro the tray. But not before you’re able to respond under your breath. “He may be a kid, but he has quite the eye.” The sarcasm couldn’t have been thicker in your tone. 

Trying to be more polite for Shiro, you paste a light grin when you face him. The tea tray extends out in front of you, and you give him a gentle warning. 

“Now be careful with it. It’s pretty heavy.” 

When you pass it to the kid, a crash sounds when he immediately drops the expensive pottery. Your gaze falls to the porcelain that lays shattered at your feet, just like your patience. 

“It’s not my fault I dropped it. It’s your fault because you’re the one who made me take it in the first place.” 

Your hands were frozen out in front of you, still grasping an imaginary tray as you prayed that you were dreaming.

“Are you kidding me?” You ask, mainly to yourself, despite being in the company of the entire host club.

Disbelief flooded your senses at the spoiled audacity of this kid, and your mood deflated even more when you realized that you were the one who had to clean it up. Your hands came up to rub at your face as you turned on your heel, heading for the broom closet. Baring your teeth behind a closed grimace, you kept your profanities to yourself as you calmly walked away from the little devil.

Throughout the years, you had come to realize that Music Room #3 was larger than it seemed. Tucked into corners of the clubroom were closets, hallways, and cabinets that were hidden in plain sight, and once you found them, you couldn’t figure out how you had missed it. The broom closet was one of these rooms. Past the kitchen and to the left used to be a door you had never opened. But at some point, the twin’s curiosity got the better of them, and a vast storage space was discovered. 

So, briskly, you made your way to the privacy of the broom closet, already a little emotionally overwhelmed from this aspiring new host, even if he had been here for only an hour or so. 

Once you’re faced with the entrance to the broom closet, you sigh, letting your head rest against the white paint on the wood of the door. Eyes closed, you will your bubbling anxiety to simmer, but it doesn’t really go away until you feel another presence lean against the door beside you.

“That tea set was one-hundred-thousand yen. I’ll have to add that to your debt.” A familiar voice resounds within the confined space of this hallway, erasing the rest of your tension.

Leave it to Kyoya to find the humor in your dismay. 

“And what debt would that be?” You ask, opening your eyes to see his shoulder pressed against the closet door, a smug look with a touch of softness painting his face. “It seems I only owe you favors, Ootori.” 

The club’s director hums, a teasing light sparking in his gray iris. “Then I suppose you owe me two favors.” 

The heartbeat in your throat is no longer caused by anxiety and you scoff, annoyingly enamored by the banter you two share. 

Motioning him away and moving towards the door handle, a monotone response leaves your lips. “What a joy.” 

With a creak, the door opens to reveal various multiple cleaning supplies. At the esteemed Ouran Academy, even the janitor’s closet is a walk-in space. Reaching above your head, you pull a small silver chain, turning on the lights and walking towards the back corner of the room. 

Shelves on the walls are illuminated by the bright light of a fixture in the center of the ceiling. Different tools are organized on all levels, while the larger of them hang on the walls in front of you. You scan the room before stepping in, trying to get a better look when you realize that what you were looking for wasn’t in its usual place. 

“I could’ve sworn the hand-held broom was back here.” You say, pantomiming the kind of tool you were looking for, as all you could see hanging from the walls were mops and brooms taller than you were. 

“You mean this?” His voice projects behind you, and you spin to see Kyoya holding a small brush and a dust pan. Gratefully, you smile and reach for it, only for him to move it slightly out of your reach.

“Kyo?”

“Are you alright?” He asks, and you blink. It takes a second to process the change in mood, but a small smirk appears on your face nonetheless

“Are you worried about me or something?” He deadpans, and his concern is replaced with a slight regret of ever being associated with you.

The ravenet crosses his arms, the small broom hanging over the crick of his elbow. “I am simply aware that your emotions might be a little more than negative at the moment.” 

You give him a ‘really?’ look, but he meets it, peaking over his frames for an answer. 

Taking a deep breath, you give in. “I’m fine. Kids just put me a little on edge.” 

“It seemed like you were about to rip the poor child’s head off.”

“I know, I know.” You wince at your previous behavior. Apparently, as much as you tried to hide them, your feelings still managed to be sewed onto your sleeve. “Honestly, being in here helps me cool off a little.”

With a classic eyebrow quirk, Kyoya turns his wrist, holding out the small broom in front of him for you to take. But when you take it, he doesn’t move out of your way. 

The megane studies you before pushing himself off the wall and reaching towards your face. Delicately, his pale fingers push a runaway hair out of your face, tucking the strand behind your ear. His light touch causes something to bloom in your chest, and he takes comfort in the way you don’t push him away. 

The light touch of his fingertips morphs into a palm resting on the side of your face, your cheekbones warm from the pressure. Your flustered confusion manifests in a slight drop in your jaw when he draws in a breath, adjusting his hand to tilt your head slightly. 

“I realize that this may be a stressful situation for you.” Kyoya says, and in the small closest space, his quiet tone bounces off the walls and settles into the hollows of your rib cage. “But I hope I can be a place of comfort for you, if you need it.” 

It takes you a while to find your breath, but the oxygen rushes in soon enough, pulling along a fluttery feeling by a romantic ribbon. 

“Thank you, Kyo.” 

A soft smile etches into his handsome features as time stops for a moment, allowing the two of you to bask in the other’s presence, a treasure that is always hidden in plain sight, but doesn’t present itself often. 

That is, until a slam is heard from outside your little energetically filled bubble. 

Your mind is given whiplash as you are yanked out of the dazed feeling Kyoya always seems to give you, and harshly released into the present. Kyoya follows your lead as he spins his head, trying to peer his vision around the corner.

“What the hell?” You ask, trailing off as you quickly circle around Kyoya, shoving your shoulders together before dashing off towards whatever made that disrupting noise. 

In your dust of sunlight, Kyoya stands. He doesn’t follow you in favor of pulling out his notebook. He flips to the most recent page and scans it, finding the checklist he started at the beginning of the day. 

In his neat handwriting reads: Head Tilt. 

Shaking his head, Kyoya goes back to that moment when his hand touched your cheek, sighing at the electricity he felt surge through his fingertips. Maybe he didn’t copy Tamaki’s movements well enough?

Next to it, he writes Ineffective before pulling the chain above him, darkening the small space. 

As you turn the corner from the closet, you nearly drop the small broom onto the polished tile when you find the newest addition to your club trapped in a giant metal cage. 

“What’s going on here?!” The kid shouts. “Why did you put me in a cage?”

“Yeah!” You say as you stomp over to the group that has now been made around the poor child, making your presence known. “And where did it come from?”

Haruhi is also in awe, speaking through a dropped jaw. “Isn’t this supposed to be a music room?”

Shiro bangs on the bars as they ring in defiance. “This is no way to treat your loyal apprentice! Now let me outta this cage!”

“Jesus Christ, I was gone for two seconds.” You say next to Tamaki as you watch the elementary school kid bar his teeth at the seven of you as Kyoya joins the commotion. 

“His attitude was in absolute distaste and he insulted Haruhi. Drastic actions call for drastic measures.” Tamaki states, arms folded in a scold towards the boy. 

The blonde grabs a cup of tea that was freshly made by Haruhi before all of this began and sips on it, completely brushing off the kid’s whines. 

“I will not let you out of that cage until you’ve learned your lesson. I made you my apprentice because I thought you were serious about becoming a host, but I guess I was wrong.”

Another cry comes from Shiro, and sympathy pulls uncomfortably in your chest. “I am serious! I am totally serious!”

His pleas seem to fall onto deaf ears as the King continues to ignore him, so he tries again. Your brow crinkles at the tears that glisten in his eyes. Maybe this was too much. 

“I want you to teach me how to make a woman happy!” With desperation and defeat, he slumps to his knees, his knuckles white from his hard grasp on the prison bars. “I’m gonna run out of time.”

You share a look with Haruhi, both of you catching that brief example of vulnerability while Shiro takes another wet gasp. “Please, won’t you teach me?” The boy looks up, still on his knees. 

“You’re a host because you like girls. You like bringing a smile to a girl’s face.” The kid swallows, not having the proper adult experience in controlling strong emotions like these. “That’s why you do it right? Please, won’t you teach me to be like you?”

Tamaki still continues to give Shiro the cold shoulder. Your discomfort for the child is momentarily erased as you come to Shiro’s aid. 

“You should help him, Tamaki.” You say, and his violet eyes meet yours in suspicion. “After all, you are a genius. The King at making women swoon. You’re the only person that could help him.”

Tamaki drops the tea cup, but he skips over the shattered pieces towards Shiro with stars in his eyes. At least you already brought a broom from the closet. 

“Well, you may be a brat, but I admire your ambition!” The prince exclaims with eagerness in his voice, his pride overflowing more than the tea that was previously in his cup. “So, I’ll teach you! You know Shiro, you and I are so much alike!”

You roll your eyes as Tamaki starts hugging himself, and the twins saunter up to each side of you. 

“That poor kid…” Kaoru starts.

“...He doesn’t know what he just got himself into.” Hikaru finishes. 

Chuckling, you roll your shoulders, feigning annoyance as you shove them off. They’re laughing too, but they twist their heads, trying to see if anyone was within earshot of the three of you. 

“Too bad you weren’t here to see the shit Shiro pulled to get him landed in a cage.” The mischievous twin states, his golden eyes locking with Kaoru’s in another spurt of twin telepathy. 

“Yeah, wonder what took you so long in that broom closet? Didn’t we see Kyoya go in there with you?” Kaoru states, and relishes in the blush that quickly rises to your cheekbones. They start snickering at your burning face, but their humor is interrupted as you yank on each one of their ears, crouching down and pulling them with you. 

Your voice is a hushed whisper as you try your best to not bring any attention to yourselves. “If you guys don’t cut it out, I’m gonna call your mother and have her cease your weekly allowance for a month.” You tighten your hold on them and they wince. “Ms. Hitachiian and I are very close.” 

They roll their eyes once you release them and dust off your skirt. “Geez, since when was your grip so strong?” They whine in unison as they rub their red ears. 

You smirk as you walk past them to tune back into the conversation, serving them a fake smile. “It’s powered by my pure annoyance for the two of you.” 

Rolling their eyes for the second time in a row, the three of you make it back to the host club’s shenanigans. 

When Tamaki’s voice comes back into earshot, his tone has taken one akin to a teacher. “If this is really what you want, Shiro, then you’ll have to figure out how to use the material you already have.”

His innocence is highlighted when Shiro scrunches his eyebrows together. “What does that mean?”

The click of a pen is heard as Kyoya opens his book, turning to an earlier page. You scan it to see all of the host’s names, along with the advantages and disadvantages of each persona that you all hold. You were pleased to see that your category was recently added in a different color of ink, the few sentences suggesting that there was more to learn about how you can contribute to the club’s image. 

“You see, here at Ouran Academy, our policy is to use our individual personality traits to meet the needs of our guests.” The ravenet speaks, a tiredness twisting into his tone as if he’s had to explain this exact thing several times over. 

He gestures to Tamaki, who puffs out his chest proudly. “For example, there’s Tamaki, who is the Princely-Type.” Kyoya’s open palm then moves to each of you as you are introduced, seemingly proud of the system he has put together. 

“Then, there’s the Strong Type, The Boy-Lolita Type, The Little-Devil Type, The Cool-Type, and the Natural-Type. It’s all about variety.” Finally, he points to you. 

“And now our group is complete with the addition of (Y/n), the Sweet-Type.”

The brown-haired honor student points to herself, clueless of the nickname that had unknowingly been given to her. “The Natural?” You chuckle to yourself at her question.

Kyoya continues, looking up from his journal. “It would seem now that we have the perfect blend of characteristics. So it’s going to be hard to find a new one for Shiro.” 

“If you go by his age, he would be the Boy-Lolita type.” You think out loud, the logical side of your brain taking over.”

Honey’s eyes wells up, his pupils glistening with sudden tears as he looks at you. “Is he gonna replace me?” 

Before you can comfort him, another sudden noise pierces the air. Machinery crashes together with tremendous power, but unfortunately it wasn’t loud enough to silence an annoying voice tearing into the host club. 

“Oh, come on! Is that all you’ve got?”

Your stomach ties in knots at the familiar voice, and you spin on your heel. 

Laughing nervously, you wave to the rest of the host club. “Sorry guys! Last minute robotics club meeting, gotta go!” You briskly walk towards the front door. But before you can make it to the large double doors, the floor below you begins to open. 

Wobbling on the edge, you nearly crash into the tiered platform rising out of the tile, but strong hands steady you just in time. Mori pulls you back onto stable ground, but as a pink bow reveals itself from the depths of the music room, you wish you would’ve fallen anyway. 

Renge stands on three metal circles that get smaller as your vision rises, each acting as a step as she descends into the host club. You suddenly feel emotionally worn out, all of your patience draining at the sight of her sickly sweet smile. 

“I need to sit down.” You tell Mori in a lower tone of voice than usual, rolling your eyes at her victory laugh as she makes her way over to the host club. 

The otaku sighs dramatically. “Sorry to interrupt gentlemen, but what’s with the lackluster character analysis? I must say I’m quite disappointed. I thought I taught you better.” 

You sink deeper into your chair when Haruhi appears at your side, her tolerance equally spent. 

“What’s up with this place?” She whines. “I thought it was supposed to be a music room?”

“A Renge-free music room.” You grumpily add on.

Tamaki sighs and folds his arms at Renge’s statement. “Alright then, Miss Renge, how would you work Shiro into our collection of characters?”

“Hmm.” She taps her fingers against her chin cutely as her eyes scan the room, landing her gaze on you, pinning you against the cushions.

Renge smirked and sighed. “First of all, I think you have too much variety. (Y/n) sullies what a host club is supposed to be!” 

Grasping her hands together, her eyes shape into hearts as she twirls. “A room full of beautiful boys! Take her out of the club, put her back on sole errand boy duties, take her away from my Haruhi.” She stops twirling and points to the boys. “That’s what I would do first.” 

On the other end of her finger, the host club deadpans. 

Haruhi chuckles next to you. “Wait until she finds out I’m not a boy.” 

Kyoya steps out from the group. “(Y/n) will not be leaving the host club. If you don’t have anything that’s actually useful, then feel free to escort yourself out, Renge.”

Renge pouts. “So mean.” But her demeanor completely shifts once again, from an annoying whiny spoiled brat, to an annoying loud spoiled brat. 

“Listen up!” Your head reels from the whiplash of her emotions. “There are plenty of girls out there who have a thing for younger boys, or boys with baby faces. These girls are considered Shota fans.”

She begins to pace, walking in a pattern similar to a military general commanding her troops. “Now shota can be a broad category, so it’s important to know that the genre can be broken down into many different smaller categories.”

You hear scribbling and scoff as you see Kyoya taking notes on Renge’s mini lesson. 

“If I had to pick a category for this little boy,” Renge contemplates as she walks in front of Shiro’s vision and crouches down, scanning the poor boy from head to toe. “Then he would be the Naughty-Boy Type for sure!”

A creaking sound emits from the ceiling as the cage rises, disappearing into the room as if it was never there. A now freed Shiro points to himself, confused.

“The Naughty Type?” He asks.

Renge rushes him, pulling a whistle out of the neckline of her dress, and blowing it. “Now to be the Naughty Type, you have to wear shorts!”

“He’s already wearing shorts.” You point out as you stand, a headache budding behind your eye sockets. How you were still sane with a kid and Renge in the same room, you couldn’t say. 

Too focused to insult you, Renge blows her whistle again, and the noise ricochets off of your skull. “Okay! Then, you gotta have bumps and bruises! Give him a couple scars!”

Skilled in the makeup department, Hikaru and Kaoru get to work, painting on scratches and securing some bandaids to Shiro’s body as you make your way towards the ruckus. 

Too soon, Renge slaps Shiro on the back, making that same damn whistle noise. “Now run like a spoiled child. Make it reckless!”

Flabbergasted, Shiro sprints to one side of the room, flicking his heels behind him and staying low to the ground, throwing off his balance and making a messy sprint. Renge watches as he runs suicides for a minute or so before she interrupts with another blow, catching his attention. 

“Now I want you to trip and make it big!” Shiro does as he’s told, and takes a nasty fall to the tile. It looked like it hurt.

“Jesus Christ, Renge, he’s just a kid.” You say as you rush to him, grabbing the spot under his arm and pulling him up gently. “Are you okay, Shiro-chan?”

Renge laughs victoriously. “Now say your catchphrase!”

Shiro simply smirks, wiping the dust from his mouth that came from the unswept floor. His voice comes out scruffy and forced. “No big deal, it was nothin’.”

Realizing you’d been played, you promptly drop the kid and walk away. “Last time I help a kid like you.”

But Renge squeals. “That was perfect, Shiro!” 

Tamaki claps behind her. “That was outstanding! I never knew you were such a great coach, Renge!”

You rolled your eyes and took a stance between Kyoya and Mori, the land of non-expressive annoyance. 

Shiro stands, and when he lifts his head, he has the same look that all children have when they are frustrated, or can’t understand why something is happening. 

His brow furrows, and there’s a desperate shine to his eyes as his mouth parts in disbelief before his entire facade shifts into anger. 

“You’re idiots!” He shouts. “You’re all a bunch of idiots!”

Before any of you can stop him, he starts towards the door. “I’ve had enough of you people!” Shiro’s voice drops to a sad tone before he steps out of the club room. “This is so stupid, none of this is ever gonna make her happy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Who’s her?”

But Tamaki is calling after the kid. “Wait, Shiro, we haven’t taught you how to apply the techniques you’ve learned yet!”

It was too late. Shiro had left Renge’s crappy teaching in his dust, along with a hint to a secret he has clearly been hiding. 

‘None of this is ever gonna make her happy!’

Completely ignoring Shiro’s feelings, Tamaki marches back to the group. “I can’t believe he ditched us because he didn’t like the lesson. What a selfish little brat.”

“It takes one to know one.” Haruhi says, and you both snicker as Tamaki whines. 

“Haruhi! Mon ami!” He runs to hug Haruhi and cries, but the noise is swallowed by the sound of the platforms turning. You spin to see Renge slowly lowering herself back into the floor, the machine descending into wherever it came from.

“You’re leaving?” You ask, maybe a little too hopeful.

She sighs. “I swear, young boys are good for nothing. I went through all that trouble, and he quits!” Renge throws her arms up in an exasperated expression just before the tile closes around her, placing her out of sight and out of mind. 

The air in the clubroom seems suddenly calmer, for some reason.

Haruhi breaks herself from the prince’s grasp. “Listen Senpai, weren’t you listening to what he said?” 

Tamaki stops trying to grab her and pull her to him to tilt his head, humming in question. 

Her brown eyes meet yours as Haruhi silently asks for your support, considering you heard the same things she did. 

“He said ‘I’m gonna run out of time.’” You clarify as you make your way to her. “What do you think he means by that?”

Haruhi gets a thoughtful look on her face, her eyes drawing downward to focus on the tile that apparently holds many secrets. 

But soon she answers with a quiet confidence. “I think, maybe, it’s a girl.”

Giving her a confirming nod, you think back to how desperate a reckless little boy was to take instruction from a bunch of uptight strangers. But you guessed that nothing was a better motivator than love. 

Why Kyoya let Tamaki make up these ridiculous plans was beyond him, but here he was nonetheless. In the dark, pressing himself against a wall of a school he hasn’t stepped foot in in over a decade. He rolled his eyes as the idiotic trio couldn’t stop themselves peaking out from the door they hid behind, watching as Haruhi and Honey pranced around in grade school outfits, Haruhi’s being more revealing than was needed. 

“You think the fact that Tamaki practically forced her to wear that outfit would reveal a little secret crush or two, wouldn’t you say?” 

Ah yes, you were here as well. Crowded against him in another conveniently small closet where your shoulders were pushed together and the air smelled a little sweeter from your presence. He felt you chuckle against him at your comment, and soaked in the sound as he shook his head. 

“Those two are too stubborn and ignorant to interpret their behavior as anything other than a close friendship.” He whispered.

Without light, it was hard to make out how close your face actually was to his, but you were close enough that he could see a few features in the shadows. The shape of your jawline, your nose, your jewelry that reflected the small sliver of light that was streaming from Tamaki’s peephole.

You were close enough to make his heart race.  

His response expelled another small laugh from you, causing a small smirk to rest on his face. 

You peep out the little crack in the door and shake your head. “Why did they even bother with those disguises?” You ask while Kyoya brings out his notebook. “They stick out like a sore thumb.”

The ravenet hums as he flips to the first page with some open space and begins to draw small spirals. He couldn’t bring out his phone since it would be too bright, so doodling seemed to be the next best conqueror of boredom. 

“Oh ho, (Y/n), never doubt me.” Tamaki says in front of you. He’s crouched, and there’s a creepy glint in his usual violet irises. “There’s a reason, a damn good reason.”

“Gross.” You chide next to Kyoya, watching suspiciously as he rubs his hands together like a madman. 

The twins sigh next to him, and Kyoya rolls his eyes at the drool that leaks from their mouths. “Isn’t she the cutest?” They admire, watching Haruhi being pulled around the elementary school by Honey’s direction.

“Just because she is helping you infiltrate the school and look for Shiro, doesn’t mean you can ogle at her the whole time.” You say, and Kyoya’s shoulder feels colder when you move away from him to wack all three of them. 

Tamaki barely feels the impact, the evil glimmer in his eye turning into adoration. “Look at her in that little mini skirt! Haruhi looks like a little doll!” He whisper-squeals.

You roll your eyes and hit him again for good measure. 

“So basically, you just wanted to see her dressed like that.” Kyoya says as you slowly make your way back to your spot in the dark. He reaches a hand out and you take it, feeling a small buzz in his palm while he gently guides you back to the wall.

The twins turn back, and the megane watches as their eyes drop to your intertwined hands and then back up to him. Kyoya lets go and rolls his shoulders, emitting a practiced nonchalant aura around him. 

But the red heads smirked anyway, and he braced himself. 

“You wouldn’t let us dress up (Y/n) like that, so Haruhi was our next best option…” Kaoru whispered, raising the right corner of his mouth. 

“Let us enjoy this, Shadow King.” Hikaru finishes, the left corner of his lips mirroring his brother’s.

Kyoya ticked his jaw, not bothering to look at your reaction. Not like he could see it anyway. 

Thankfully, there wasn’t time for you to reply when Haruhi and Honey walked into a classroom at the end of a long hallway, moving out of sight of the host club. 

“We need to follow them.” Kyoya looked at another dark shape across from him when Mori spoke. From where Kyoya could see, he was leaning up against the wall, keeping a watchful eye. 

At the stoic’s words, the club files out of the closet. You stretch next to him, sighing as you both are released from another small closet space. 

“Is this your elementary school?” You ask beside him, and he looks down at you over his glasses. The two of you had fallen behind the rest of the group, and he watched as you looked at the walls full of trophies and pictures, appreciating the memories. 

He hums, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “It is.”

“I bet you were kind of a nerd.” You say and he rolls his eyes. Kyoya thinks back to those times where he sat at a cafeteria studying rather than enjoying the period with friends. At the time, that’s what he preferred, but now he could barely imagine what lunch would be like without the chaos of the host club. 

He supposed he would miss it. 

“As were you, I assume.” Kyoya replies while turning his head to look down one of the corridors. Classrooms bustled inside and nostalgia hit him like a truck, remembering what it was like to be about a foot shorter, roaming the halls silently and carefully just as he did now. 

A whack on his shoulder brings him back to the present, and he sees you scoffing at him for what seemed to be the hundredth time today. And then that scoff turns into a smile. 

There wasn’t much that could incite an obvious emotional reaction from the megane. While there was quite a bit that could make him feel something, usually anger or annoyance, an apparent expression of contentedness and joy was rare to come by for him. 

From the mixture of nostalgia and love, he feels a smile bubbling behind his lips, the corners twitching from the restraint of holding it back. The usual knot in his chest is unwound, falling instead to the bottom of his stomach, the strings feathering slowly and tickling the muscles beneath his abdomen. 

He is too distracted, something that has never truly described him before, to realize that they've made it to the end of the hallway. Or to realize that a door has opened up from a corridor behind them. Or the gasp that sounded off in the distance. 

The classroom that the club has stopped in front of set off another round of bursts. This was his old music classroom. He had played the flute for a time in elementary school before his dad made him drop it to focus on his academics. This was his old music teacher’s classroom.

Kyoya calmly made his way to the front of the crowd, leading them behind Haruhi, who had stepped in first to examine everything. 

“Hm, there’s nobody here.” She states, and everyone else files in. Or, at least he thought it was everyone. 

Tamaki enters the space, a hand to his chin. “So the kid’s classroom is empty, is it?”

But instead of being curious, the twins look as elated as Kyoya feels. “Man, this takes me back.” They say in unison. Hikaru rounds one of the desks, bending over to look on the underside of the wood. 

“I wonder if my doodles are still on my desk.” 

Another hum emits from the club’s director, except this one was dismissive instead of amusing. “Doubtful. The school changes the desks out every year.”

When he came back to his second year of flute lessons, he had thought the same thing when secretly observing each desk, looking for the tell tale sign of spirals. They had been wiped clean. 

The twins, conventionally, ignore him and continue spelling off nonsense. “Let's check out the cafeteria after this!” Hikaru exclaims, with Kaoru nodding along with him.

“I wanna see the old gym!”

“Great idea, Kaoru!” Tamaki chimes in, still looking around. But unlike the rest of the host club, there wasn’t the glint of nostalgia in his stance. Kyoya’s mouth draws into a thin line before continuing to slowly walk the classroom. 

Before you, Tamaki was Kyoya’s only source of this peaceful feeling. Even if he had to fight his way in, the blond prince had proven that people could and would take the time to truly get to know someone like Kyoya. So when Tamaki had opened up to him months later about where he had come from, Kyoya knew that he needed to be there for the prince. The same way that the prince had been there for the Shadow King. 

Haruhi cleared her throat, breaking the ravenet from his thoughts. A vein was popping from her forehead in an attempt to control her frustration. 

“If you’re just gonna barge in here like that, then why did we wear these stupid disguises?” 

Tamaki flicks his wrist, ignoring her while the brothers laugh. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Hikaru assured, shaking his head. 

“Yeah,” Kaoru agreed. “There’s no one here to catch us.”

Ironically, at that moment, a pair of footsteps was heard walking down the hallway. 

Like rats, the host club scattered. Heads ducked underneath desks, even if some fit more awkwardly than others. Kyoya adjusted his legs around the weirdly placed support bars of the table as the footsteps got closer, two muffled voices becoming clearer as the intruders grew near. 

Weird, Kyoya thought, to label them as intruders when I’m the one hiding with a metal chair leg stabbing into my back. 

“Is everyone hidden?” A cute whisper sounded in the classroom as Honey checked to make sure that everyone found a hiding spot. Always analyzing, Kyoya scanned from his uncomfortable position, taking a sort of attendance. He checked off a list of names in his mind to the beat of shoes against tile, the assumed teacher inching closer and closer every second. 

Silence followed as the footsteps stopped right outside the door, and Kyoya realized he was missing someone. 

A very important someone. 

Doing his best to keep calm, he double checked. 

Tamaki, Mori, Honey, Haruhi, the twins, and-

Where were you?

His collar felt uncomfortable against his neck when he angled his body slightly so that he could see farther down the line of desks. Catching the attention of Haruhi, who had picked the desk right beside him, he asked her if she knew where you were.

You and Haruhi  had grown so close in these past few months, if you hadn’t told him where you were going, then certainly you would let her know-

“I thought she was with you?” 

Confusion pulsed inside of his rapidly beating heart as his jaw clenched too tightly. The tip of his canine scratched the tissue of his lip as he rewinded the past few moments. His nostalgia had distracted him from those short moments between the closet and now, which had felt much longer in the moment. 

As he looks deep into his memory, he swallows, remembering a small gasp emitting from where you were beside him before he took the lead into the classroom. 

But before he could start the search party, the door to the teacher’s classroom opened, an airy laugh filling the space.

“This is my classroom.” A deep voice speaks in (n/l) as the two pairs of footsteps file onto the tile, and the host club instinctively pulls their feet closer to their bodies, making them as small as possible. “I just need to grab some sheet music, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Wow, Mr. Salling.” Another voice compliments in the same language as she begins to walk between the aisles. “This is much better than the classroom back home.”

Kyoya meets Haruhi’s shocked gaze across the way. That was your voice. How in God’s name had you become acquainted with a teacher? All while not being detained by the school?

Who the ravenet assumes to be Mr. Salling laughs, a deep but quiet chuckle that was nothing other than genuine. “Yes. While I loved what I did back in (c/n), opportunities like this don’t come around very often.”

“You definitely deserved it, though! The music room was never the same without you.” You said as you continued walking. It sounded like you were dragging your palm against the desks as you slowly passed, taking in the new environment.

Black dress shoes came into Kyoya’s vision, and the moment of freedom was fleeting when he recognized the Ouran Academy sigil on the heel. 

Shooting his hand out from beneath the desk, he laid his hand on the top of your foot. Tapping it twice with the pale pad of his fingers, he smirked as you jumped a little before looking down. (E/c) eyes met with his gray ones, and he watched fear, shock, and then annoyance pass through them as you noticed little tufts of hair scattered under the desks.  

“(Y/n)?” The (n/l) speaker asks as your teacher notices your pause, and Kyoya raises a firm finger to his lips. 

“Yes! Yes, sorry.” You cleared your throat as you quickly, but calmly made your way back to Mr. Salling. “I was just still processing that I was able to see you! What a small world!” 

Another laugh emits from him. “It is nice to be able to speak (n/l) outside of the house.” Mr. Salling’s feet shift as he adjusts his weight when leaning on his desk. “What have you been up to all these years? Still practicing piano?”

“Oh, god no.” You scoff. “We both know I gave that up years ago.”

Even under the stress of the situation, Kyoya takes the risk of opening his journal to write down the fact that you had taken piano lessons. 

You and your teacher take a moment to laugh a little more before it dies down. “I actually have a club that I joined that I’m really enjoying so far!” You lean back on your heels with a sigh. “Even if the people I work with can be pretty annoying.”

“Sounds exciting.” Mr. Salling says knowingly. The twins and Tamaki share offended glances. 

You walk towards him again as you change the subject. “I hope I’m not keeping you from your students. I know you mentioned you didn’t have much free time.”

From where Kyoya can see, the brown shoes of your old teacher turn towards the clock, and then turn frantically as the megane hears papers rustling together. 

“You’re absolutely right, Ms (L/n). I’m sorry to leave you, but my students are waiting for me in the practice room.” Salling rushes as he goes around his desk to retrieve the last of his things. 

“You’re more than welcome to stay here until I get back, but it will probably be a while. If I don’t see you again, call my office. We can catch up over dinner with my husband.”

Your shoes follow him out, then stop by the doorway. “That sounds perfect! It was amazing seeing you, Mr. Salling!”

Down the hall, his footsteps are growing quieter as he calls out his reply. “Please, call me Esben.”

When the music teacher from the past is out of reach, the soles of your shoes spin as you close the door behind you. 

“He’s gone.” The sweet voice you were using with Esben dropped many octaves as you alerted the bodies under the desks. The hosts crawled out of their hiding spots, stretching their torsos from the longevity of unnatural folding. 

When Kyoya rises, you’re folding your arms across your chest. 

“Where were you?” Haruhi asks.

“Where was I?” Your eyebrows raise in disbelief as you scoff. “I turned around for one second to say hello to one of my old teachers, but when I looked back, you guys were gone!” 

A chuckle follows your amazed tone. “Of course you guys were hiding in the one classroom I just happened to follow Esben into.”

Haruhi shakes her head, but is satisfied with your answer. “So what do you think we should do now?” She asks as the hosts begin to explore the classroom. 

Mumbling voices fill the classroom as the hosts pair together and split up, knowing that this place was as good of a start as any to begin their search for answers. 

Kyoya makes his way over to you, the light in his eyes darker than usual. 

You smile at him as he approaches. “What’s up?”

“You left.” He realizes his tone comes out flat as he speaks to you, and he tries his best to inflect it differently. “Without telling me?”

Another small laugh passes your lips. “Do I need to ask permission?”

“Not necessarily.” Kyoya turns, and he feels you naturally begin to walk at his side as you both scan the numerous pictures on the walls of the classroom. It feels right. “I’m just disappointed I wasn’t invited on your rogue mission.”

“Was that a joke?” Your finger pokes lightly into his shoulder, and he can’t fight back the smirk that appears on his lips at your playful voice. “Did Kyoya Ootori just make a joke?”

The ravenet jolts his shoulder, shrugging you off lightly, and scoffs when you act offended. “Get away from me.”

You laugh again, and the constricting knot in his chest loosens. There was a time in a certain private dressing room where he wasn’t close enough to help you. When you disappeared this time, that feeling of panic surfaced too suddenly, crescendoing into something monstrous and consuming. 

But you came back, and that was what mattered. You were your own woman, and could take care of yourself, but he still wanted to be with you, in case you ever needed him. 

“Here’s something interesting.” You muse as he snaps out of his daze. He sees you standing in front of another picture hanging up on the wall. 

“What did you find?” He asks, making his way to your side while eyeing the picture in a golden frame. 

Kyoya’s gaze softens as he processes the image. Shiro sits at a grand piano, a happy smile on his face. His fingers are dancing across the keys, but they aren’t alone as another set of hand rests next to them. Delicate fingers belong to a girl sitting next to him, a happy blush across her cheeks as they play and talk, joy seeping through the captured memory. 

You hum next to him, and Kyoya sees an expression similar to his on your features.

“He may be a pain in the ass, but it seems he’s found the thing he loves doing.” You say dreamily as you zone in on Shiro’s content face. “And the person he loves doing it with.” 

(E/c) orbs meet gray as you look at him then, and those words combined with the emotion in your eyes conduct an orchestra in Kyoya’s chest, his heart beating to the melody it creates. 

The look lasts longer than it was meant to, but it’s broken as the rest of the host club gathers around to look at the photo. 

“Wow, is that Shiro-chan?” Honey asks next to you, taking Kyoya away from his sweet (e/c) oasis as you nod.

“I’ve never seen him look so sweet. It’s nice to see him enjoying himself.” Haruhi says on the other side of you, and Kyoya focuses on the image again.

“It seems that he is in the classical music club. His teacher must be Mr. Salling, the man (Y/n) met earlier.” The ravenet states, and the rest of the class nods. 

“Let’s see if we can find him.” You say, and with that the club pours out of the space, everyone staying together this time around. 

Now, the eight of you watch from outside the window of a classroom, trying your best to stay out of sight. It was creepy, yes, but the club’s curiosity on this new side of Shiro was overwhelming, even Mori looked interested as you watched Shiro sit on a chair in his classroom. 

The host club gathered closer toward the window when the same girl from the photo made her way over to him, a blush on her face as she clutched sheet music in her hands. 

Her voice is cute and high, and she stutters when she speaks to him. “Excuse me, Takaoji? I-I’m sorry, but have y-you been practicing the new piece that Sensei gave us?”

When Shiro looks at her, there are no daggers, no downward glances. Just warmth. “The new piece? Not really…”

She perks up at the opportunity. “If you want, I can show it to you! Do you wanna come play it with me?” The little girl gestures to a grand piano near the far wall of the classroom, the sun reflected off the elegant, black exterior. 

Shiro looks, and the warmth is replaced with a quiet sadness. “No thanks,” he says to her, his eyes meeting hers with less joy than before, “you go ahead. After all, there’s only one grand piano. You should use it, Kamishiro.”

The little girl’s disappointment rests in her shoulders as they droop slightly, but she keeps a kind smile. “Thank you, I will then! But if you want to join me, just let me know.” Kamishiro says before giggling and making her way to the large instrument. 

As she places the sheet music on the stand and settles in front of the keys, Shiro’s eyes follow her the whole time. It’s even hard for the club to look away from her as she begins to play. Her fingers dance gracefully over the keys, showcasing the skill, talent, and love that she holds for her art. The hosts watch as she sways with each crescendo, falling into muscle memory and contentment as she plays. 

A ding from a bell is heard, the sound interrupting the host club’s trance with this little girl, as another one steps out from the hallway. The child seems more bubbly than Kamishiro as she dances out of the room, into the hallway, only to pause at the sight of eight random teenagers looking like they just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Her innocence is practiced as she shrugs and keeps walking, sensing no apparent danger, but Tamaki stops her politely. 

“Excuse me, mademoiselle.”

“Huh?” The girl stops, only to see a white rose in her face. Her eyes grow wide and happy as she takes it from the handsome prince, and looks up at him with her full attention. 

“I’ve never seen a rose more beautiful than you, my dear.” The little girl gasps while you cringe internally. If someone had talked to younger you that way, let alone a stranger, you probably would’ve either crawled into yourself or bolted away at the speed of light. 

The prince continues. “I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the young lady playing the piano. Do you know her?” He says in a gentle tone, and you soften slightly at the interaction, feeling your soft spot for Tamaki grow as he interacts with the young girl. You imagine you can’t be the only one feeling it. 

The young girl perks up, happy to help. “That’s Hina Kamishiro!”

“Her name is Hina?” Tamaki asks, still gentle in his inquiry. 

She suddenly gets serious. “That’s right, but you better not fall in love with her.” 

A small chuckle emits itself from the prince’s mouth. “Why not?”

“Didn’t you know?” The small girl asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Hina has to move away soon. Her dad just got a new job in Germany, so they have to move there at the end of the week.” 

You and Kyoya meet eyes, both of you connecting this recent piece of information to all of Shiro’s previous actions. It made perfect sense. 

“What are you idiots doing here?!”

A deeper, but still pre-pubescent, voice interrupts their conversation, and the hosts look to see Shiro in the doorway of the classroom. He walks up to the eight of you, ignoring the girl with the white rose. “I want you to leave immediately!”

But Tamaki is not stunned. Instead, after a moment to think, Tamaki reaches down and scoops up the younger kid, Mr. Salling completely oblivious to the actions happening outside of his practice room. After throwing Shiro over his shoulder, Tamaki leads the host club out of the school. Trudging along, you drag your feet, unenthused about having a kid back in the music room. 

The soft tone that Tamaki used with the little girl was gone when they got back to the clubroom. Heaving Shiro from off his shoulder, the kid bounces on the couch, shock inhibiting him from speaking. 

“Tamaki, what are you-” You were about to scold him for tossing Shiro around like a sack, no matter how funny it was, but the prince cut you off, disappointment and anger twisting through his words like vines. 

“What is your problem, you big idiot?!” Shiro yells, his voice cracking slightly from the volume.

Tamaki huffs, his eyebrows creasing with restrained emotion. “I’m sorry, but you’re the idiot! You said that you wanted me to teach you how to make women happy, but that’s not it, is it? You’re not concerned with the happiness of just any woman.”

You jumped in, catching onto where Tamaki was going with this. “You’ve got your sights set on one woman in particular. You only care about Hina Kamishiro.”

Tamaki moved to kneel in front of Shiro, taking on a sort of brotherly aura. “Listen Shiro, I know I told you it’s the job of a host to make every guest happy, but when you care for someone, you must find the courage to express what is in your heart!”

Your head turned as Tamaki stood again, a determined look in his eyes as his words resonated throughout the host club. “You have to tell her how you feel! You didn’t come to me wanting to be a full-fledged host, you wanted to be a full-fledged man.”

Your breath was hitched when you subconsciously met Kyoya’s eyes during Tamaki’s speech, swallowing at his indirect advice. When you realized that you had slowly fallen into his gaze once again, a blush burned your cheeks as you smiled slightly and looked back to the front, heartracing. 

Kyoya’s heart matched your pace. 

A sigh brought your attention back to the couch as Shiro dipped his head, his bangs falling sadly in front of his face. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve run out of time. I just- I wanted to hear her play before she left…that’s all.”

Just as your heart slowed down, it broke in two at his admission. Forgetting your vendetta against him, you knelt down beside him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“That piece she played…it’s Mozart’s Sonata in D major for two pianos, isn’t it?” You asked him, sweetness pouring out of your voice like sugar. 

He looked at you in slight amazement. “How did you know?”

Another soft smile graced over your lips. “We have the same music teacher.”

With a slight tilt of your head, the prince walks over a large sheet near the back center of the music room. He pulls it away like a curtain, the fabric floating through the air before billowing to the polished tile. 

The host club relished in the sight of a glorious grand piano, barely used to the point where it was basically brand new. The window behind it surrounded the instrument in the light of the sunset, but the image wasn’t complete until Tamaki sat down behind it. 

“Wait a minute, since when was there a grand piano in here?” Haruhi asked. 

The twins smirked as they turned to look at her. “Well, this is a music room.” Hikaru stated.

“So why wouldn’t there be a piano?” Kaoru asked, expecting the frustrated look Haruhi gave them. 

A smirk tightened on Kyoya’s lips. “This is a music room after all.”

“It is a music room.” Mori adds with a curt nod while Honey stuffed his face.

“It’s always been there, we just had it covered up.” The boy lolita explained through the crumbs of his cake. 

Kyoya looked at you, expecting you to join in on the bit. And you would’ve, if Tamaki wasn’t playing the most beautiful thing you ever heard. 

Your fingers caged around your mouth, trapping any sound that might disturb him as Tamaki’s finger moved expertly on the keys. The piece was perfect, technically and artistically as Tamaki brought his own emotion into the piece. The feelings translated so strongly that you fought to keep the tears in your eyes from falling. 

It wasn’t everyday you got to hear Tamaki play. The first time was at one of the school’s recitals a while back. You had cried then too, not prepared for the sheer light of his content smile as he made every single audience member sit on the edge of their seat. 

Since then, he played rarely, the most frequent being when you had asked him to teach you a song. He had laughed and pushed you onto the chair, and he spent the whole afternoon watching you fumble over the keys. Then it was your turn to laugh. 

Now you need to learn how to listen to Tamaki play without crying. 

Snapping out of your daze slightly, you look over to Shiro, hoping you’re not the only one struck with inspiration. You laugh softly when he looks as amazed as you do, his eyes fuzzy as he sinks deeper into his thoughts. 

A touch on your shoulder drew your attention away from the little boy and onto Kyoya, who was giving you a soft look.

He glanced around the two of you before raising his hand to cradle your cheek. His thumb came up to wipe a stray tear that was rolling down, gentle and slow. The piano grew louder, the notes adding to the moment as a chuckle escaped his lips, watching your surprised face.

“I apologize if I’m intruding.” He said in a quiet voice, but he still moved closer, so as not to draw attention to the two of you. “It’s hard for me to see you cry without trying to help you.”

A wet giggle blows past your lips as you cover his hand with yours, leaning into his touch.

‘You must find the courage to express what  it is inside your heart!’

“Not at all.” You say in an equal whisper, the music wrapping around the space where your hands touch and holding them still for a moment. “I would do the same, I think.” 

‘You have to tell her how you feel!’

After a moment of forced motivation and relishing the sudden closeness, you both drew synchronized breaths, speaking at the same time.

“Kyo-”

“(Y/n)-”

Both of you gaped at the other. Kyoya quickly closed his mouth and swallowed into a small smile, while you laughed slightly at the accident. 

Ever the gentleman, Kyoya waited. “Please, after you.”

Feeling more confident as the music swelled to a dramatic ending, you licked your lips slightly before trying again.

“Kyoya, there’s something I need to tell you.” You moved both of your hands to the space between you, putting your other hand over his so you can grasp it tighter. 

You took a deep breath as your heart began to race. Everything suddenly felt wrong. 

Sensing the serious tone, the ravenet lifted an eyebrow, still waiting through your hesitation. 

Your head dipped as the floor spun, and you were discreetly aware of how many people were around you, even if they weren’t paying that much attention to you. The realization that you were about to maybe lose the best person in your life struck you like a bad note, interrupting the perfect feeling you had just seconds ago.

The notes on the piano began to bang, Tamaki reaching the end of the piece with the dramatism that was expected from him, and you felt rushed. Like if you didn’t do it now, then the moment would be over.

Were you supposed to feel rushed?

The hand that you weren’t holding felt cool against your chin as Kyoya brought your gaze back to him, and the spinning world came to a halt. 

“Are you alright, (Y/n)?” To him, your hands had gone tense on top of his, and the sweet look in your eye had turned a little wild. 

He stepped even closer to you, trying to reassure you the best he knew how. 

“Whatever it is you need to tell me, you can say it. You can trust me.” 

Cool air rushed through your lungs as you took another deep breath in the space of peace that Kyoya gave you. The wild look in your eye dimmed into a determined look, accented with a bit of nervousness. 

Your lips parted, and your voice was breathy as you muscled out the words you had kept hidden for all these months, maybe even years. 

“Kyoya…I-”

“That was awesome, Tama-chan!”

The moment shattered like glass, your confidence breaking with it as you realized that Tamaki had stopped playing, and was rising to get out of his seat. 

Both you and Kyoya panicked slightly, firmly aware of your proximity to each other, and jumped away, unclasping your hands and holding them back at your side. 

As Tamaki detaches himself from the piano, you fight the blush that lingers on your cheeks, trying to cope with the whiplash of being so close to expressing how you felt in front of everyone, just because of some motivational words and good piano playing?

It all happened so quickly. What were you thinking?

But Tamaki's voice filters back into your focus. “For the next week,” he speaks to Shiro, “you will spend your mornings, lunches, and free time after school in piano lessons with me.”

Shiro scrunched his brows, looking as confused as you were. “But why?”

The prince laughs softly. “You wanted to be my apprentice, didn’t you? Besides, that young lady looked like she wanted nothing more than to play the piano with you.”

He begins to play again, and you sneak a look over to Kyoya, with his jaw tense and pulsing. 

You hung your head back down. He didn’t look happy.

Everyone knows Kyoya is one of the most observant people in the room. His entire life, his mind was sharpened to process even the tiniest of details. Surely, he already knew what you were going to say to him. 

And he looked angry and sad because of it. 

Of course he did.

When piano notes filled the air, you couldn’t stand the emotion of it all. Turning on your heel, you silently left without another word.

sorry it took so long! here is a long chapter to tide you over till the second part! please comment if you can, i love reading them :)

[menlove]

i am not trying to start a fight with the person that reblogged this on my dash. or get into it on the post itself. but.

i genuinely think this kind of sentiment is so... blind? i get where it's coming from, but it is incredibly privileged and blinded and i'm gonna go through why here

first of all, if your only problems with biden are that he's too old and moderate and "makes sucky choices from an array of sucky choices," do you actually care about these causes? or do you just care when there's a big scary red elephant slapped on them? because i don't know about you, but actively funding genocide, ignoring the 68% of americans that support a ceasefire (and 75% being democrats, the people who elected him), is not just a "sucky choice." when countries like italy sided with germany in ww2 during the holocaust, do you refer to that as having been a "sucky choice"? or do you refer to it as being complicit in genocide? let's not babytalk our way through this. he is complicit in genocide.

yes, trump absolutely does do all of these things. and he is scary. but you know what happens when he does these things? the news covers it. the left tears him apart. we KNOW about him saying these things and doing these things. meanwhile, biden is also still putting people in camps. what i just linked is to aclu. it details how the number of people in ICE detention camps has GROWN since biden has come into office. he issued an executive order in january 2021 directing the DOJ to "to phase out its contracts with private prison companies," but ICE was notably and purposefully left out of this. also according to this linked page on aclu, ICE detains 30,003 people each day as of july 2023. this is an INCREASE from january 2021 when that number was at 15,444 per day. under trump, 81% of people held in these camps were held in facilities owned by private prison corporations. under biden, this number has risen to 90.8%.

in january of this year, they cracked down even further on enforcement measures for illegal immigration. this is a statement from their administration. while they do have measures in here to support LEGAL immigrants, the entire focus of this page is how they are channeling EVEN MORE FUNDING to the detainment of immigrants and border security.

here's another article on the situation.

not to mention, literally all of the horrific laws that have passed in the last 3 years of his presidency with regards to abortion, trans healthcare, etc. and the clusterfuck that is student loan debt relief. these things are not necessarily his fault, i understand that, he is being blocked by other parts of the government. however, it goes to show you that he is functionally useless. all of these horrific things have happened under him anyway. what protection does a democrat president give us?

"we don't get to vote for the candidate we love. we get to vote for the one who won't actively kill american citizens."

bolded that actively for you, because that is exactly the problem. he IS killing american citizens. and american citizens are NOT the only people that matter. how are we more important than the thousands of palestinians he's had a hand in killing? why do they not matter? but to the point- he IS killing americans. y'all just don't care because he's not looking into the camera and saying "we should kill immigrants and trans people". he's just letting it happen anyway. he's enacting policies that let it happen. but it doesn't get NEARLY as much pushback or media coverage as trump, because he's a democrat. y'all stopped caring the second he stepped into office.

i voted for him in 2020, after i'd voted for the candidate i'd wanted in the primaries. i couldn't vote for clinton in 2016 because i was 17. but i would have. because i listened to y'all say over and over "vote blue no matter who" and that you SWORE you would push him further left by protesting and pushing back on his moderate and right wing policies. you didn't. you let all of this slide. and the second ANYONE even THREATENS not to vote you all started shitting your pants and even IN THIS THREAD started calling people fucking russian spies again.

if we cannot even THREATEN not to vote, they are NEVER going to change. but he is NOT the "lesser of two evils" here. he is just the quieter of two evils. there is a huge difference between those two things. and i'm sick and tired of y'all acting like anyone who doesn't want him in office is morally bankrupt and wants trump to be president. the answer isn't "grit your teeth and keep voting us further and further right". the answer is that this government is not working.

[just-antithings]

The harry potter discourse annoys me

Like “the game is offensive” okay and how does harassing and suicide baiting, or assuming the worst out of people who like it, especially trans and jewish folk who like it, help?

And don’t even get me started on the people getting hate for using it to cope with their mental health problems

I’ll start with the disclaimer that harassment and suicide baiting is never okay from any side. If you see someone playing the game then simply block them because at this point if they’re playing the game and promoting it in social media then they already know about the issues and are willing to let them slide so it’s not worth engaging.

However you seem to misunderstand something here. The biggest issue isn’t that “the game is offensive” (although it certainly is). The issue is that the money is going directly toward the oppression of trans people in the UK.

The Harry Potter game isn’t the only offensive game to exist and JKR isn’t the only bigot out there. However people either don’t understand or don’t care about just how influential she is. It’s not just her spouting transphobia on twitter and writing bigotry into her stories. The money she gets from her Harry Potter properties she uses to directly fund anti-trans legislation in her country.

Were you aware that at the start of the year Scotland was set to pass a bill to help transgender people in their country? It would have incredibly eased the struggle trans people go through to transition legally and be recognized as their gender by the law. It was passed through by the Scottish Parliament! But then the UK for the first time in history used their veto power to block this law from going into practice. This is the sort of legislative decision making that your money is going to when you buy the game. Because JKR talked extensively on how against this bill she was. And JKR has outright said that she takes the continued monetary support of Harry Potter as support and agreement to her ideals and she uses that money to donate to organizations and back lawmakers and fund legislative decisions such as this.

Anti-trans sentiment is at an all time high in the UK. Shortly after the game came out there was an article about a trans girl who was murdered by two of her classmates for being trans. These were highschoolers. The rhetoric that is being spread in the UK right now is literally life or death for trans people.

I get that people have an attachment to this series from before it was clear what a horrible person the creator is. I get that some of those people struggle with their mental health or are trans or Jewish themselves. But it’s not about them being comfortable with letting it slide. It’s specifically about the trans people fighting for their lives in the UK.

It doesn’t matter how many trans people from outside the UK say they’re fine with playing the game and giving JKR money. They aren’t the ones being directly harmed by this. It’s only up to those in the UK that JKR is legally fighting against to determine where the line is drawn. And an overwhelming majority have begged people not to buy this game. To not play and promote it on social media for others to see and decide to buy.

There are so many other incredible series out there to discover and fall in love with. And even if you decide you wont do the work to separate yourself from this series, there are plenty of ways to indulge without giving money to its creator. Read or write fanfiction, draw art, start a roleplaying blog, whatever! This game is in no way a need, even for those who feel they rely on the series for their mental health. It is purely a want and buying the game is a decision that your want is more important than the fight for trans rights in the UK. If that’s your prerogative then that’s your decision to make. And while you shouldn’t be harassed for it you should know that it’s the choice your making and people have a right to lose respect for you or cut you out for it.

[liaromancewriter]

Every Day

Premise: Cassie shows Ethan she’s ready to move past the miscarriage and look to the future.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 710

A/N: Submission for @choicesmonthlychallenge March prompt “Smile”. Using @choicesflashfics week 24, prompt 1 & 3 (in bold). I'm also using story starter prompts (no.9) from @creativepromptsforwriting for an anon request. Tagging for reblog to @creativepromptfills Latest art commission from the amazing Art by Ainna on Instagram!

She had made a promise to him that she would probably break today. Cassie Valentine knew her husband was worried about her despite her assertions that she was fine. But there was a reason why Ethan Ramsey had been one of the country’s top diagnosticians. Nothing got past him.

Ever since that fateful day last month, she had thrown herself into her work. Between her responsibilities as head of Edenbrook’s Diagnostics team and polishing up the manuscript for her book, she made sure every hour of every day was accounted for.

Anything to not have time to think about what she’d lost. The baby they had lost.

But she was so tired of being sad. It wasn’t her natural habitat.

The Cassie she knew enjoyed watching panda videos on Pictagram, dancing to a fun song with the love of her life even when he grumbled, and laughing. She missed the warmth of a good laugh.

So, today she was determined to get back to who she was. Being stubborn will get you nowhere, she told herself. It was time to look forward.

As Cassie poked inside the fridge, she pushed back the long sleeves of a blue shirt she’d borrowed from Ethan’s closet. It was her favorite color on him, harking back to their first meeting. Today, she wanted to be reminded of that. And everything they were to each other.

The first phase was cooking a lazy Sunday morning breakfast they could linger over. During the week, their respective duties at the hospital kept them busy. But from the beginning of their relationship, Sunday had been theirs to do whatever they wanted together.

The morning sun shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows, its rays brightening the kitchen. Music drifted from the Bluetooth speakers, the playlist set to shuffle. Cassie’s hips shimmied to the music as she plated bacon and eggs and carried the platter to the kitchen island.

She was pouring orange juice when Ethan’s hands slipped around her waist from behind. She leaned back against him, savoring the heat of his body surrounding her. Angling her head to give him access, she shivered as he trailed kisses down her neck.

“Good morning,” his deep voice rumbled, turning her to face him.

Cassie smiled up at Ethan, a familiar mischievous twinkle in her green eyes as she scanned his body from head to toe. His chest was bare; his dark blue sleep pants hung off his hips in a way that was entirely too appealing for words.

Her arms circled his shoulders, and she stretched on her toes to kiss his mouth, a soft brush of lips. He deepened the embrace, and his hands clutched her sides.

Cassie broke away first, whispering against his lips. “Thank you.”

When he quirked one eyebrow in confusion, she explained. “I know I haven’t been myself these last few weeks. I appreciate your patience despite the fact that it doesn’t come naturally to you. I love you even more for it.”

“You’re a mess. But you’re my mess,” Ethan quipped in such a deadpan manner that Cassie doubled over in laughter.

“I’ve missed that laugh,” he said wistfully.

Cassie stilled at the sentiment as much as the words. She reached for his hand and laced their fingers together.

“I’ve missed us,” she confessed. “I promise you that I’m going to work at being fine. We have each other, and that’s what matters.”

Ethan squeezed her hand in comfort, in acknowledgment, in love.

“Dance with me,” she said when the music on the speakers changed to something soft and romantic.

She held out her hand, and he took it, gracefully pulling her into his arms. Cassie looped one arm around his neck, and Ethan rested his hand on her lower back. He clasped her free hand and placed it on his shoulder, covering it with his.

And then they were dancing, their bodies rhythm perfectly matching the song. When he dipped her dramatically, his strong hand sweeping along her back, her joyous laughter bounced off the walls.

As they continued to dance around the kitchen, blue eyes locked with green, Cassie’s heart lifted at the thought of spending all her days with Ethan. Love like this was surely worth everything.

-----------------------

All Fics & Edits: @annfg8 @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @doriopenheart @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @takemyopenheart @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @hopelessromantic1352 @mrs-ramsey

[voiceofsword]

Rinne and Niki used to be a two person unit that flopped, rigth? Any opinions and takes on that?

HI ANON it didnt flop! rinne did, later on as a solo artist for reasons outside of his control. i'll explain the situation a little bit (there honestly isn't a lot to go off of considering this is covered exclusively through bits and pieces in main story – niki backstory event when NOT HOT LIMIT another one)

we learn thru main story that niki's dad used to be a fairly popular chef that hosted various (or was it just one?) shows before the events of hot limit, presumably a few years before. other idols at the time felt threatened by his rising popularity and like eichi says, allegations were made about him consuming and making dishes from human meat on his shows to tarnish his name. which is why both of niki's parents left the country – they tell niki that they left in search of ingredients, and i don't doubt that they also do that, but it's obviously not just about that. they're not gonna tell their son they had to leave the country because they were labelled as cannibals but niki isnt that stupid. he knew ANYWAYS OKAY when niki's dad catches wind of him joining an idol group he's not very pleased about it and niki mentions that this disagreement was what led to him and rinne splitting up and rinne going his own way.

presumably the two of them still live together during this time so im of the belief that niki doesn't really... see his parents, after they leave the first time. so while rinne does have to go out and do idol work all on his own, he still comes home to niki and likely tells him all about it and about his day. niki does mention at one point in main story that he'd often see rinne be depressed/tired, and given that we know his solo career wasn't exactly the best time for him, it was likely making reference to that. i think there's a lot of guilt coming from both parties at this point in time: niki likely feels guilty that he'd "left" rinne to do all of this on his own, while rinne feels guilty that 1) he exposed niki to the idol industry at such a young age (he wasn't exposed to the seedy underbelly of it like rinne was, but the feeling still lies there) 2) he even put niki through strenuous idol work to begin with – a sentiment that he still shares currently, although not as strongly. nevertheless the two of them probably have a steady rhythm: when rinne comes home he tells niki about his day, niki helps with any fan letters, and on worse days, when rinne's not feeling great, they can both be comforted by the fact that rinne doesnt have to go through it all alone, that niki's there to lend him a shoulder when he needs it. this probably continues until rinne's solo idol career is forcibly ended – the influential person that initially granted him all of those opportunities having been exposed as part of a larger corruption in the industry – and after a while is when rinne drags niki off to cospro.

going back to address this guilt they both feel i think it's important to note that, yeah, rinne still blames himself for "imposing" being an idol on niki at all. usually he makes a joke out of it, with niki playing along often saying that yeah its true if he werent an idol he would be chilling. but when both of them are being more serious, it's evident that rinne actually does feel guilty for taking niki out of his previous peaceful life (even if one of the reasons he suggested niki being an idol was to raise his self esteem – see HOT LIMIT I WONT REST UNTIL UVE ALL READ IT) and for putting up with him for as long as he has, presumably talking about those 4 years: taking him in, duo solo career, and especially the crazyb summer fiasco. while niki time and time again reminds him that he stuck by rinnes side because he wants to, that he's learned to like being an idol, that he would accompany rinne to the ends of the world even if he didn't ask. and then they turn around and bicker anyway. love is love ❤️

ive used this sc before but idgaf

as much as i love rinne and niki duo i think it's great that they have crazy:b now. theyre a dysfunctional family, but that's THEIR dysfunctional family, dammit! i rly hope that in the future we get some more exposition on what happened during those four years – event or lookback scout, i'm not picky – because 4 years is a long time!! i also just want to see both rinne and niki and rinniki develop bc i love them. if it wasnt obvious.

[kennamirzayan]

Panel Presentation: Guys and Dolls (1955)

Directed by Joseph Mankiewicz, Guys and Dolls (1955) sees gamblers Nathan Detroit (played by Frank Sinatra) and Sky Masterson (Marlon Brando) make a bet for the sake of funding Nathan’s illegal craps game as he falls under increasing scrutiny from law enforcement. According to the bet, if Sky can get Sergeant Sarah Brown, a sister at a mission, to come with him to Havana, Cuba the next day, he wins $1000; if not, Nathan wins the $1000 to fund his craps game. 

What do the musical numbers signify about identity in the course of the film’s narrative?

The film employs musical numbers to flesh out and define the identities of its characters and the world that they occupy. The numbers serve to enrich the viewer’s understanding of the characters’ relationality to one another, the community they find in criminality, and the distinct identity of the film’s setting. For example, in the number “The Oldest Established Permanent Floating Crap Game”, Nathan’s gambling friends sing about the good that he has done for them as the organizer of their games. It’s in songs like this where the audience is able to understand this community’s reliance on gambling and the roles played within it. 

Even the film’s first scene is a number which employs musical sensibilities and dance to illustrate the characteristics of the world in which Guys and Dolls is set. The film’s setting, as it is depicted as early as the first scene, is a hub of depravity and crime. It is overun with gambling and petty crime – and from it is born a rich community and language. We are also introduced to the presence of law enforcement in this first number which the characters entrenched in this world are able to stave off. 

What is the purpose of the songs in the characters’ lives? 

In most of the film’s songs, the focal point is the relationships and romances that form between characters. There is a somewhat overexposed motif maintained throughout the film that the male characters want to avoid romance, while the female characters (with whom they are paired) yearn for love and marriage. The ol’-ball-and-chain sentiment of the film is expressed numerous times in the text of the film - the most notable song of this sort is “Guys and Dolls.” In it, Nathan laments how “men all over the country” are falling victim to love and marriage. “Guys and Dolls” comes as Nathan has been arguing with his girlfriend of fourteen years (!) about the merits of their getting engaged. His girlfriend, Adelaide, has been imploring Nathan to propose to her for years (she has an entire song in which she claims that she has had a chronic cold because she is stressed from being unwed) but Nathan continues to refuse to do so. As far as all of the men of Guys and Dolls see it, women hope to manipulate and reshape their partners through marriage. 

Another, less cynical manifestation of the themes of romance is found in the song “If I Were A Bell”. Sung by Sarah, “If I Were A Bell” expresses her excitement at her growing closeness with Sky. The number is an earnest and eager illustration on behalf of Sarah about the happiness found in spending time with Sky. 

In what ways are the songs and/or musical performances racialized and/or gendered?

Guys and Dolls has very few people of color in its ensemble and zero people of color in its principle cast. However, there is a portion of the film in which Sky and Sarah visit Havana, Cuba, and the movie’s performances are racialized in this segment. In one scene set in Havana, Sky and Sarah get dinner at a locals’ bar. It is in its depictions of Cuban people around the bar that the film creates caricatures rooted in stereotypes. The men are depicted as leering and drunk while the women are depicted as overtly sexual. One woman attempts to seduce Sky, to which Sarah responds by competing for Sky’s attention (which in itself is both gendered and racialized). Eventually Sarah and Sky come to blows with this unnamed woman, starting a fight that extends throughout the bar. However, the fact that Sky and Sarah – two white Americans – physically fight exclusively Cuban people (even if they were not involved in the conflict which led to the row) after the film made caricatures of all its Cuban characters feels racialized and tone-def.

What elements of the film align with White musicals’ longing to transform the ordinary into utopia? 

As Dyer explains, white musicals have a tendency to create a utopian world from the everyday. The utopian impulse within Guys and Dolls manifests in its romanticism and happily-ever-after ending that occur at the movie’s close. In one of the film’s most famous songs, “Luck Be A Lady,” Sky is able to win an unlikely, luck-based bet because of his love for Sarah. Another example of this longing to build a utopia is the film’s sugar-coated ending in which both of the film’s couples – Sky and Sarah with Nathan and Adelaide – get married in Times Square side-by-side. These flourishes in narrative serve to conclude the film on an optimistic and cheerful note. 

How does the film reflect the temporal circularity of Black musicals? 

In “Is Car Wash a Black Musical?” Dyer contrasts the temporal circularity of Black musicals with a more repetition-based, linear structure of white musicals. Of these two distinctions, Guys and Dolls falls moreso into the white musical structure than the Black musical structure. The narrative emphasizes the ability for change (for example, Nathan grows from being staunchly anti-marriage to getting married by the film’s end). 

Songs and tunes are reprised so as to illustrate this point of character growth. In reprises, the film stresses the change in the various meanings of the same song. For example, there is a specific melody which Sarah hears during one of her first nights in Havana that, upon hearing some days later, represents something that is altogether different.  

Discussion Questions:

One of the most central motifs to Guys and Dolls is the question of marriage. How are these discourses gendered, frequently?

How might a Black musical depict a similar narrative?

Sarah is depicted as buttoned-up and “prudish”. Sarah’s “prudishness” is depicted more fondly than other characters’ more overt sexuality – how have depictions of women’s sexuality in film evolved since this film?

[theoddcatlady]

I Moved Into The Cat Lady’s House

I bought my very first house last month.  

I had to sit in my car for a few minutes, I was just in awe for a few minutes that this house was really mine. It was one of those things that I wanted since I was kid, as stupid as it is- my very own house. And I got it for a steal, the previous owner had just gone into hospice and her son just needed to get rid of it.  

Dylan was waiting for me when I got there, he was a really sweet guy who was just going through one of the roughest times a person can. He welcomed me in, offered to help me sort through the furniture to see what I was going to pitch and which I was going to keep- he wasn’t the sentimental type when it came to flower printed couches, apparently.

I had just laughed and was about to tell him yes when something large ran past my leg and raked its claws down my leg. I screeched, hopping up on a chair and pulling up my pant leg to assess the damage. That was one deep cut, and I looked over at that flower printed couch to see the furry culprit-

a gargantuan calico cat, with the most angry amber eyes and the meanest face I’d ever seen on a cat.  

“Goliath! That’s where you are!” Dylan attempted to reach for the cat, who just hissed at him and bolted down the hallway and I heard him zip up the stairs.  

“Goliath?” I questioned as I sat down on the chair I’d so carelessly leaped on.  

Dylan held up a finger before he went to the bathroom and brought me a wet rag to care for my ankle. Then he told me about Goliath.  

His mom had apparently always loved cats, but the accident that killed her husband also killed her three cats. Dylan, all sorts of messed up from the grief of losing his father, ended up pulling away from his mom and moved across country to go to college. By the time he sorted himself and returned home several years down the line, his mother had taken in the feral tom.  

“He’s always suspicious of strangers, but he’ll warm up to you soon enough. When you can get him calmed down, call me, I’ll take him to the shelter. I’d rather not have Goliath chew up animal control. Besides, he’s a good cat. He saved my mom, I think if he hadn’t shown up, my mom would’ve died from loneliness.”

I don’t know how anyone could be friends with that jackass tom. That night when I was about to go to bed, I found him again. Sitting on my bed. Staring at me with a murder glare.  

I sat down on the bed, the hair on my neck standing straight up as Goliath growled at me. “Stop that,” I shook my finger at the angry cat, “I thought male cats couldn’t be calico. Well, they can be, but apparently the few that are are typically infertile or have a bunch of other issues.”  

Almost as if he understood what I said, the hair on his neck went flat and he stopped growling, like I took the wind out of his sails. That made me snort, but I held firm. “Now, Dylan’s going to pick you up the moment he can, whether you like it or not. I don’t want a cat. Not now. Capiche?”  

Goliath responded by flicking his tail before grooming one of his front paws. I sighed and pulled myself under the covers, feeling a bit silly for talking to a cat. “Goodnight, Goliath,” I said.  

That first week was a nightmare. Other than that initial conversation before bedtime, Goliath spent all his time hiding under thing and waiting for the right moment to come out and bat his paws at me. My ankles and calves were covered in scratches. I complained about his guerrilla warfare to Dylan, and I think he was trying really hard not to laugh even as he offered his sympathies.  

It was irritating and I couldn’t wait for Goliath to take a damn chill pill so Dylan could send him to the shelter.

It was exactly one week after I moved in that I woke up to hear Goliath yowling.  

At first I thought he was just being pissy and this was his new attack on me. But as it carried on… I felt like he sounded sad. Just really sad. I ended up getting up and checking to see what was wrong. Goliath was sitting on the window sill in the living room, for a cat of his mass he was surprisingly agile. He continued to cry and my heart melted. Here I was, being all ticked at this cat, when no doubt he just missed his previous owner.  

I don’t know what possessed me to pick up Goliath and carry him to the couch for some much needed cuddle time, but he didn’t try to hurt me. I stroked his ears and softly told him he was okay, that all was going to be okay. Goliath just repeatedly headbutted me in the chest as his cries quieted, we both ended up falling asleep on the couch. My neck and back were killing me by morning, but Goliath was still asleep as I grabbed my phone off the sidetable where I’d left it charging the night before and I called Dylan.  

“Hey, Goliath’s stopped being so angry, I think now would be the time to take care of him,” I said, quietly as not to wake him up.

Dylan was quiet for a few seconds before I heard him take a deep, shuddering breath. “Yeah, um… I can’t. Not now… my mom went last night. Just passed away in her sleep. I’m sorry,” He said.

I looked down at the sleeping cat in my lap. “Oh, it’s fine. He can stay here then for a bit more. I’m so sorry.”  

He just ‘mmhmm’d’ before he hung up. I looked down at the slumbering Goliath and decided I was heading to the pet store after I showered. Whether I liked it or not, I now had a damn cat.  

I wondered if Goliath knew if he’d lost his owner, that he was mourning her last night.

Now I know he did.

There was another reason I got this house for as cheap as I did- about two years ago, there was a bunch of unsolved disappearances and murders in the area. Heck, the next door neighbors lost their three oldest kids to some sort of wild animal attack before they just vanished themselves. Creepy, but I’m not the kind of person who gives a shit about that sort of thing. So someone may have died on this street, big whoop, people die all the time.  

But Goliath was different. I think I always knew he was different. 

I talked with him all the time and he always seemed to be listening. I usually talked to him about how work was going, or what I was going to make for dinner or what was going on in the book I was reading. Sometimes we talked about more serious things, about my depression and how hard it made it to get up in the morning sometimes, about how I always wondered if moving out to this small town was really the right choice, how I really wanted to be a writer instead of an accountant but I lived comfortably because of accounting and I wouldn’t as a writer. Goliath was a great listener. Never said anything back, but he was a cat after all.

Last Saturday night though, someone broke into my house. I had fallen asleep on the couch watching Netflix, Goliath had just gone out the back cat door to do his night prowls, I was alone.  

I woke up when I heard someone going through something in the kitchen. My half asleep brain first thought it was Goliath just trying to get into the cat food, so I stumbled my way over there to tell his dumb ass to knock it off. Instead of an oversized house cat though, I saw a figure with a black ski mask holding one of my kitchen knives.

I tried to bolt back to the living room to get my phone but didn’t get too far when I felt something cold slice through my back and impale me through the shoulder. It’s not like I had a reference for what being stabbed felt like, I didn’t even realize I had been until I fell to my knees, barely able to even breathe much less scream.  

My attacked pulled the knife back out and I looked up, saw the glint of the blood covered blade preparing to make another strike. I couldn’t move. My dumb ass didn’t fight or run, I just laid there like a complete waste of space while the knife came down again… or it would’ve, if Goliath hadn’t pounced his arm and sunk his teeth right into his skin.

The guy shouted and shook the infuriated cat off, Goliath smacking into the kitchen cabinet before sinking to the ground. I scrambled as fast as I could to the hallway, blood dripping down my arm as I scrambled to get away.

The sound that came from Goliath as he got back to his feet- house cats don’t make that sound. Tigers, maybe.  

Goliath growled again, I felt the temperature of the room raise as cats just starting pouring into my house. Through the open window my attacker had probably come through, through the cat door, hell some even pawed their way up from the basement one way or another. They ignored me as they surrounded Goliath and the intruder.  

“What the fuck-”  

Goliath roared, his tail whipping back and forth as he paced around his prey. The guy gulped before looking down at me. “Call him off! Call your fucking demon cat off!”  

I coughed and shook my head. “He’s not mine,” I said before I began pulling my body down the hallway. I made it to my bedroom and heard my attacker screech in horror before I lost consciousness. I don’t know how long I was out, but I woke up to Goliath licking the wound on my back.  

I only saw what Goliath really was for a second. I’d seen tigers at the zoo smaller than he was, his black fur thick as a wolf’s and the orange patches now glowing like magma. Those fiery eyes flicked up at mine, I blinked, and he was back to being a normal- if not slightly oversized- housecat.  

I don’t know what he did to my back, but the stab wound’s gone. Just a scar now. I’d want to believe it was a dream, but although my kitchen was mostly clean, there was a few swaths of blood left under the table. And I now have like four other cats living in my house. One of them had the nerve to have its babies under my sink so I have to find homes for the fuzzy freeloaders.  

While I lounged in the living room, I saw one of them hack up what I think was a finger. It scarfed it back up before I got a good look. I turned and looked at Goliath, who was perched on the couch arm. “Just what the hell are you? Did that old lady who lived here before even know?”  

Goliath just looked at me, and I swore he winked before yawning and dragging his claws down my couch arm.  

At least I don’t have a body to clean up. And I’ll never need a guard dog with this asshole cat in my home.

[krikeymate]

I hold by the idea of Tara and Sam having a off childhood from the jump like the idea that their father would dip completely and not stay in contact with Tara, who as far as we know, is his biological kid, just reeks of “I’ve been searching for a valid way out that wouldn’t make me a complete deadbeat and you just gave me one.” He probably married Christina out of obligation since they were together in high school and fell out of love (if he was ever in) years ago. And I like the idea that Christina was always unstable and Sam was the solid foundation for Tara growing up. Sam leaving knocked Tara off balance and made it easier for someone like Amber to insert herself in Tara’s life (shout out to the tamber crowd tho no shade)

Anon I'm in love with you.

I've mentioned before that I had some really dark thoughts on how their childhood could have been, and I have decided I am going to explore some of them. I've kind of held off on them because they seem to focus more on Tara than Sam, and I don't want people to think I love Tara/Jenna more than Sam/Melissa, because that's just not true, I love them equally. I'm just very cautious of the Sam v Tara attitude that I've seen a lot of. My theories hurt both of them, just in very different ways.

I think you're spot on that Mr Carpenter married Christina out of obligation. Neither of them were in love with each other, they were just having fun, but well shit they're in this situation now. Maybe they were even prom king and queen, jock and cheerleader, a real stereotype. Maybe there was an expectation they would end up together anyway. Christina didn't want a fucking baby at 18 but she really did love Billy and now he's dead.

They make the best of it.

She puts her career aspects on hold, he works in sales and sometimes travels for work. Sam is an easy baby, all things considered. She's a deep sleeper and she rarely cries and it means Christina can continue living her life with barely any interruption. He doesn't care for children, but Sam is his and he can admit she's cute in the recesses of his mind. It works for them, they even settle into the role.

Then one day, Christina learns she's pregnant again.

Despite being relatively content with the life she's found herself in, she's not looking to add to it. She makes the mistake of talking about it with a girl friend over lunch, about how she doesn't want another baby. Sam, who should have been napping, is awake and hears and gets excited. It's all over from there. Her husband finds out and he's weirdly excited about it. He didn't pay attention the first time, content to let Christina do the parenting, but he's ready now. He loves Sam, and he can't wait for the baby.

The enthusiasm doesn't last long.

Tara is a difficult baby.

Born 10 weeks early, it takes a month in the ICU before they can bring her home. Sam nags her to see the baby daily, as if staring at the little thing in the basket sucking on a ventilator is worth wasting her time for. She has problems with her lungs from the get-go. And that's only the start of it. She cries, she doesn't want to feed, she won't sleep. There's constant hospital visits and check-ups with specialists. Her husband decides to go back to work early, escaping across the country, previous sentiments forgotten.

One day she just won't stop crying. She was crying when she left to pick up Sam from school, and she was still crying when she returned. The only thing that stops her from taking a pillow to its face is the sight of her daughter on her tiptoes, reaching through the bars to press chubby fingers to its cheek, cooing at the baby. The thing actually shuts up for once.

Christina offloads most of the parenting onto Sam.

Baby Tara is receptive to Sam because she's gentle and touches her and doesn't yell. Babies are sensitive to emotional cues.

By the time Sam is 10, Christina is gone most of the time, working, or not working, it's hard to tell.

They're both cheating on each other. He gets so mad about the Sam lie because of all the years he wasted stuck with her.

Tara starts pre-school a year late because neither of her parents remembered to enroll her. The school tried to put her in the grade she should be in, but quickly realised that wasn't going to work. Tara was smaller than the other kids, and with her health problems, they decided it was better to downgrade her a year.

Sam does her best to help Tara with school, but she doesn't know about learning disabilities or how to help her.

By the time their father left, Christina did nothing except drop off an envelope of money on the counter monthly and pay the bills. Sam learns to forge her mother's signature to sign off on Tara's medical needs.