#every tuesday it's a new horror movie i have not heard of

[pricegouge]

Have you ever watched the movie don’t breathe? Imagine reader breaking into the 141 guys house thinking it’ll be an easy robbery😭

Oh, I had too much fun with this lmao.

cw: poly!141, gn!reader, horror elements, kidnapping, reader is a cat burglar, spoilers for Don't Breathe, I guess? Abrupt ending

They weren't supposed to be home.

You'd been so careful, watching for weeks - months, mapping out their unpredictable schedule obsessively, finding rhyme and reason where you were first convinced there were none. But desperation drove innovation, and soon you'd found yourself running proper work sheets dedicated to each of them, cross referencing between them obsessively until you'd found a few hard and fast rules - minimal, but workable. Enough to have you slipping confidently past their high end security system in the early evening of a quiet Tuesday night.

Fuckin' Tuesdays. You should have known better; nothing good ever happens on a Tuesday.

It's hard to say where you'd miscalculated. Perhaps an error in your extrapolation of the little data you'd collected, just because they had always been gone for days on end each time they packed up their obscenely big SUV in the past didn't mean they always would. Maybe before that, when you'd decided the unassuming, but tightly secured house across town should be your next target after little more than some whispered gossip at the grocery store. ("Four incomes, and living in a place like this? I've seen the way they shop. Prepper types. Bet that house is insulated with cash.") Probably, it was earlier still, when your life had first started unfolding in a direction that often had you sneaking through windows and pawning gold lockets engraved with the names of loved ones you'd never known.

When you'd first heard the thud of car doors outside, you'd laughed to yourself a bit deliriously, thinking the only thing you were likely to make it out of this pickle with was a nice, new pair of matching silver bracelets. Now, watching through the slats of the cheap closet door as the biggest man you've ever seen in your life (Simon, as your brief stint as a PI had told you, though it's hard to recognize him now beneath the hard mask he has on) begins to undress for a shower, the pit of dread in your stomach sinks lower with each knife he pulls from the concealed folds of his damn tac gear and you know you'll be lucky to make it out of this place in cuffs.

The air is stifling in your little closet space, growing more so with every minute that passes as the growing humidity seeps into the unfinished wood of the door. The material blooms in the heat, the musty smell growing strong enough to override the strange mix of expensive cologne and cheap five in one body wash which adorn the shelf currently digging into your shoulder blade. It's hard to keep your breaths shallow in your panic, but you manage, jaw hinged wide and tongue pressed to the bottom of your mouth to avoid any latent nose whistles, or the wet sound of your saliva. Minutes pass. The man before you finally seems to run out of weapons and armor to remove and pulls his shirt up over his head, taking the skull mask off with it and your breath wheezes ever so slightly at the sight.

It's not a shock that he's big and mean, but the severity of it all takes you by surprise. Criss-crossed in corded muscles and scars alike, Simon is somehow more frightening now than he was before and there's no helping the loud sound you make when you swallow back your fear.

When his head whips around, it nearly startles a shriek from you, but you seal your lips tight when his gaze lands on the window, kitty corner to your hiding place. Still in his boots, you expect his step to ring ominously when he paces closer, but Simon moves with lethal grace, silent as the grave. You didn't even realize he had grabbed a knife until it glints in the streetlight glow, light speckled and refracted through the obfuscatory, pebbled window cling. Your breath stills, Simon's eyes narrow as he cranks the window open wider, confusion and apprehension evident. You're on the second story so no doubt he wonders how on earth he heard someone outside -

"LT, ye in h -?" The question cuts off with a low whistle and Simon looks like he's visibly fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Nothin' you 'aven't seen before, sergeant."

"Nothin' ah wouldn't mind seein' again." Johnny, one with the mohawk, counters. You'd never heard him speak before and the accent throws you briefly. He's dressed much like Simon had been, decked out in the kind of tac gear you've only ever seen in movies. Just your fucking luck. He sidles up behind the bigger man, hooking his chin over Simon's shoulder "What're ye doin'?"

"Thought I 'eard somethin'."

Johnny hums, distracted. His palm slides down the swell of Simon's stomach, fingers dipping just slightly under his waist band. "Well, when yer done bein' all paranoid, we should stop wastin' this wa'er."

Simon scoffs but follows easily enough after a final sweep of the street below. The two move together with distracting ease, the sight of their thickly muscled bodies sliding together as they finish undressing getting your breathing labored for a whole new reason, though you know better than to lose too much focus. You wait until they tuck themselves into the shower, the curtain bulging in places as it tries to keep them both hidden away.

The door creaks a bit as you slink out, but a well timed gasped from the Scot covers it and you suppress a relieved sigh, darting down the hallway on silent feet after a quick check reveals a clear path. At the top of the stairs, you stop and listen for movement below, barreling on before you can hesitate too much when you hear voices ringing from the kitchen and know you have a real shot of slipping out the front.

You've trained for moments like this, tiptoeing up and down your own stairs at home, balance beam precise, steps perfectly placed on the center support to avoid creaks. You've never had to use your skill before, always so careful to slip in and out when no one's home. It was a matter of time, you knew, but you can't believe your luck that it's paid off now of all times, in a house full of four extremely large men, all likely some sort of military as you're rapidly inferring.

The landing on the first floor is ill-guarded. You duck behind the dining table as quickly as possible and cast around for a better hiding place, thanking whatever god might be listening to thieves like you for older model homes. An open floor layout would see you dead right now, probably.

It goes against every instinct in your body to take a moment and collect your bearings but you force yourself into stillness, taking stock of your position before moving forward. On the other side of the wall to your right, the front door holds the key to your freedom. Before you, the hallway stretches toward the downstairs bath and the master bedroom, both of which have a window which will do in a pinch. But on the left, with a doorway which overlooks the corner you would need to pass to get to either, the kitchen houses the two remaining men - John and Kyle - who are currently talking animatedly about the mission they'd just been on. One of them, voice whiskey dark and gravel thick, recounts the frightened look on some poor sod's face right before he'd blown it clean off and the other hoots with laughter, diving into a tale of his own.

You don't listen much after that, ears ringing with panic. It makes it hard to gauge how much noise you make as you shift forward, peering through the rungs of the seat backs into the kitchen to check the angle of their view. They keep talking so you slink forward more, and more, until you're sure you have a shot.

But when you step forward into the open corner, your foot catches on the leg of a chair and the men fall silent as if drags across the floor.

Eyes locked on the kitchen, you don't take note of the direction which you're backing toward and suppress a curse when your hands find the wall of the hallway. You debate diving forward into the living room for all of two seconds before, in the kitchen, stools drag across the floor in an eerie echo of your own blunder, and you shuffle down the hall, thankful for the carpeting muffling your clumsy steps.

You're aiming for the bathroom, but you open the first door your hand falls on.

Cold, damp air greets you as you duck through the door, shutting it as quietly as you can manage, even forcing yourself to stay put as you slowly rotate the knob back into place to avoid the latch clunking into the strike plate. Straining your ears over the general hum of the basement appliances below, you hear the men grumbling in the dining room, pacing back and forth as they try to figure out the source of the noise. You slink back as they draw closer, walking sideways down the stairs with your eyes locked on the door above. The light's on, blessedly, dim bulb painting the cobwebs overhead yellow and amber. It's strange how proper fear reprioritizes such silly things as arachnophobia.

One of the the men - the same gruff voice from before - tells the other to check on the lovers and you sag in relief, assuming they'll head upstairs to see how the two men in the shower are doing -

But then the doorknob is turning again, and you're casting about for a place to hide when you finally take in your surroundings properly, your eyes falling on the cage and the two girls within as your breath stutters out and you truly start to hyperventilate. They watch you with owlish eyes, holding their fingers over their mouths in an attempt to keep you quiet. There's no need for that, but you watch raptly as they point to one of those narrow, high basement windows on the far wall. You nod, stumbling down the remaining steps, only to draw short when the door opens and a soft gasp tells you you've been spotted.

"The fuck -?" Kyle hisses and you panic, lunging behind a storage shelf and rifling around for a weapon as he thunders down the stairs. You settle on an old broom handle, wood dry and coarse in your palm. Kyle laughs when you spin around the shelf to meet him, but it's not him you aim at, arm arching high to smash the bulb. One of the girls shrieks, Kyle grunts when you jab at him, the end of your handle landing hard in his gut, unprotected in his blindness. He yanks it from you, splinters catching in your palm but you don't stop to acknowledge the pain. Eyes adjusting to the dark, you set your sights beyond him to the stairs and slink around him.

You know he hears you when you pass but he doesn't follow. You're confused until what little light you had goes out and you look back behind you to find the window covered, the basement now nothing but an inky darkness you can't navigate.

Overhead, the basement door creaks open again and the other man - John, you now figure - grunts in confusion before flicking the light switch a few times. "Alright down there, sergeant?" He calls, and Kyle's voice is much closer than you'd anticipated when he responds

"Cap, bring the goggs. Got a fun game for us."

[solitarelee]

hey @cipheramnesia guess who found out that there's a nearby horror movie film club that shows random horror movies I've literally never heard of at a really cool theatre nearby that has a full restaurant and bar built in and tables in front of all the seats

[soft-boi-eli]

Hello Hello!

I just wanted to say I love your fics!

ALSO!

Could I request a CC!SBI X Gn! Insomniac Reader! Where the reader is an insomniac (Obviously-) but is somehow a pro at MC!

Like they are basically god at the game! They also REALLY enjoy horror games! They don’t get scared easily and LOVE horror movies! They basically love anything horror/creepy-

ANYWAYS!!

The reader lives off of ramen and Monster energy drinks (For fun-)! They have a Twitch (Which has about 18 mil followers and 14 mil subs!) and a YouTube channel (Which has 20 mil followers!)

They mainly play horror games (Obviously-) and MC!

You can do headcanons or scenarios/images with the SBI! Maybe like playing a horror game together or MC? OR! Maybe some things they do together? Or when they meet up? Or-to many ideas Nightmare-

ANYWAYS!

I don’t really care! And don’t worry about taking too long on it!

ALSO!

Maybe we could be friends? Only if you want too!

Remember to eat, drink, and get enough sleep!

<3

Yes. I lovesthese ideas and I'm gonna choose headcannons due to they are a bit easierfor me to write.

And yes I'm perfectly fine with being your friend! I'm actually happy to make friends on this app so yeah!

Pronouns:nonbinary

Tw: cussing. Insomia, mentions of horror movies. Mention of horror games. Fluff.

SBI with a horror streamer friend head cannons.

*Ahem* tommy wanted to paly a game with you so you choose a game that didn't look like horror until the middle. He screamed at the jump scare and it made both of your chats so happy.

When phil decides to play with you there is literally a silence after a jump scare. Everyone thought he had a heart attack and honestly so did you until he spoke up about accidently hitting his mute button when he jumped.

Wilbur. He's a bit better then tommy but more scared then phil would be. Any little noise won't get him but when it starts to get noticeable the noiseless to him. The jump scare, he'd fall out of his seat and stay on the ground for a bit. You ask if he's good and he literally doesn't answer. He's dead. You killed him. Congrats.

Techno. He'd handle them a bit better then everyone else. Not as good as you but heisnt very paranoid. He literally runs at the noises trying to get jumpscared. While you run after him telling him to stop because if he doesn't then you'd lose and die. And technoblade never dies.

If you all play together both tommy and wilbur pussy out. Techno last the longest and phil the second longest. While you remain the ruler of horror games.

Now how you all met was dream invited you to the dream smp to add to the chaos. Needless to say it got extremely chaotic due to you being on almost 24 hours. You first ran into techno. He seemed confused and skeptical.

You both found eachothers love for potatoes. You set up camp quote close to techno but not too close.

Phil popped in when he needed something for a build and noticed a new name. Talked to you in chat and asked to join your VC. You both found each other talking for a bit.

Wilbur was next. Wilbur got curious over the new person and just hoppedinto the same VC as you techno and phil. He was quick to realize that you were a famous youtuber. Mainly for your horror videos and your extreme Parkcore skills.

In minecraft that is.

Tommy noticing that all of you were in the same VC joined in with shouting. He was low key jealous that everyone was obsessed with you. Then he saw why.

You literally cracked jokes at his shouting.

"Is that an angry pomeranian? Nah nah. It's an angry child. Even better an angry blonde!" - you.

He was shocked and immediately started joking and laughing with you. He wasn't fully angry for long.

Now about your diet. When they heard that you had only eaten ramen and drank angry drinks they were concerned. You lived quite close to techno so when you guys met up he was shocked that you looked as healthy as you did.

He hated the fact that you literally didn't eat anything else.

You told him occasionally you have something other then ramen but you were just too lazy to really cook anything and that you didn't feel like burning the house down.

One month phil, tommy, wilbur, and techno decided to organize a month long sleep over so that they could celebrate your birthday. Phil being quote the father figure cooked different, but easy dinners every night just so you didn't eat only ramen that day.

When they actually arrived though you got a text from Phil asking about your address in your dms. Not think much of it you just sent him your location.

You were going to take a small nap. Just to bost your energy before you went and streamed later that night.

As you were sleeping there was a car heading to your house.

Phil, wilbur, tommy, and techno were all just existing in the car. And when they arrived to your house they didn't expect to actually see a clean house.

You woke to a loud knock.

When you opened the door in your half dazed state you expected a package. But to see four people standing on your porch.

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

You were stuck there blinking at them.

Finally snapping out of it you let them in. Confused on why in the ever loving fuck they were here.

Phil explained they were here to celebrate your 21st birthday and they were here for a month.

You stared at them for a while. Confused on what to do since you haven't had people over in almost 2 years.

But you got use to it.

So when you got done streaming and smelled something other then ramen you were thrown off guard. Like what was that. I haven't smelled that in years.

But after the second day you got use to it too.

For your birthday phil literally made a feast.

Like he found your favorite food other then ramen and cooked it. With that he prepared everything you could dream of.

Your sleeping habits. Let's dig into those.

I'm in no place to talk as right now it's 3:05 in the morning. And here I am.

But when they are over they don't let you stay up till no 3-4 in the morning. They all know the importance of sleep.

But there are those nights where no once can sleep and it results in a late night stream. And streaming for hours none the less.

The amount of accidental all nighters everyone has pulled was immense. But that's what happens with jet lag, adhd, and insomnia.

Literally you get tired randomly. Sleep for only 3 hours. Wake up. Drink coffee, energy drinks, highly caffeinated tea. And don't sleep till late at night.

Pillow forts.

It's a must and it happens. Horror movies, pillow forts, and snacks. Like you all are in this massive fort, watching horror movies, one by one you all are falling asleep. You and techno were the last up due to technos active mind and your body not letting you sleep.

You two literally just vide there, changing the movies from horror to some silly animated movies, like how to train your dragon, frozen, Luca, and many others.

You two pull an all nighter and it's actually a bet to see how long anyone else takes to notice.

You bet an hour. Techno says all day.

You won. Philza notices the worse eye bags under both you and technos eyes and immediately starts scolding.

He is papa bird and he won't let anyone of his children neglect their needs.

"Did you even drink water at all? You guys should of been sleeping not binge watching horror movies all night!" -philza

You could only offer a smirk, along with a laugh.

"I think we did I just can't fully remember. Also we were watching animated films. Not horror. Surprised you didn't wake up to let it go." - you.

You turn to techno.

"You owe me 15 bucks pig boy!"-you again.

Handing you the money he rolls his eyes. "Yeha yeah. Rub it in." -techno.

Ah yeah they found a horror game that you were scared of surprisingly. It was actually surprisingly you hadn't played it yet.

Outlast.

You had been holding off that game until you finished your other one but here you were. Bored out of your mind.

So you decided fuck it.

That game teriffed the shit out of you. It was so good though.

When you screamed they all came rushing up due to the fact that you never scream.

They say you out of your chair, on the floor, blinking. They thought you were hurt.

But you sat up and looked at your computer.

"Damn. That was actually really good." When you looked behind you and found the boys all staring you smiled and waved.

"You need something?"-you

"You screamed. We heard a thud. We thought you fuckin died!" -tommy.

"No I'm alive. My soul almost divorced my body but it's still quite here."-you

That day made highlights.

The popular y/n actually got jump scared. The one person who never screamed at horror games screamed.

When they left you were sad yes but they were still your best friends. Ready to talk when ever you want.

Sometimes I think that you guys talk all through out the night. Them forgetting that you were actually in a different time zone.

Sometimes they pop into your streams, be it MC, horror, you just talking to your fans, or even the once in the blue moon, cheerful games.

They just pop in and start talking to you. And you talk back like they were there since the beginning.

Phil is now one of your moderators too. Along with tommy, wilbur, and techno. When they pop in they make sure no one picks on you.

And since you are now close to the SBI. You are now part of it.

You didn't choose the fans did. But they are your new family. No matter what.

Even if they disagree with your eating habit.

Or energy drink addiction.

Or insomnia.

Or you mainly playing horror games.

Or you basically living in your streaming room.

Or even the nearly 24 hour streams.

I could go on but I'm not gonna.

I'm tired. But I can sleep. 2 days and I get to have a tour of my new school.

And it took so long to finally get into it.

We have been going through a huge hassle even before school started to get me enrolled.

And then we had to get me into this program.

But now on Monday I get to go in. Get a tour. Then start either Tuesday or Wednesday.

Anyway hope you liked. It's now 3:50 and it's no proof read I'm sorry

[quirklessidiot]

title : cigarettes and parfaits [3] pairing : older!nanami kento x younger!reader [13 year age gap, ft toji fushiguro] Genre: romance, fluff, slice of life, josei, angst, comedy, strangers to lovers au

Summary: you’re pretty sure you’d remember marrying a man 13 years older than you, right?

Warnings: alcohol, smoking, mild smut, y/n making stupid decisions, everyones a human-au so yeh non-canon stuff and everyone’s happy (periODT) i keep forgeting to add that this isnt beta-rread..all of my stories arent so yeah shshs Notes: ah, i feel like this story will be lengthen more than 8-10 chapters shshshs i wanted to add a little spice anyways thanks for all the comments uwu ily all!

Masterlist || taglist || [prev ; next] [updates; every saturday!]

“Y/N-chan!!!”

You cringe in embarrassment as soon as you hear that awfully familiar and cheerful voice, you could barely remember this man and the events that transpired the night before but here he was, acting like your new best friend. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to go here but you needed clarity. Surely you didn’t just legally marry a man at an Izakaya out of all places last night?

“Oh, you actually did marry him.” Gojo Satoru proclaims as soon as you take a seat across him, he gestures around his face, “I could tell by your whole, ‘I hope this guy is messing with me’ face. You have it, signed and sealed. Even got the cute matchy rings that I had one of my assistants delivered.”

You pale at the thought of his assistant coming in with a silver ring. Wasn’t he sober? How could he not have stopped you two from doing something as reckless and stupid as this? Weren’t older men supposed to be more responsible than this?

“Why the hell didn’t you stop us?” You groaned, burying your face in your hands, embarrassment painted all over your features.

“I was just as drunk as you two.” He confessed, scratching his head, “probably even more drunk but anyways back to the topic in hand, I only remembered it when the same assistant came in and congratulated me about it. It’s good I had your number on my phone before you two bailed.”

“So you don’t really remember?”

“Bits and pieces.” Gojo grinned, this guy was a maniac, how did the serious man you met just this morning have friends like this? You probably wouldn’t even last long, “I did call Nanami-”

He’s cut off by the rough sound of someone pulling a chair out, you immediately jump on your seat when you realize it’s Nanami Kento, the guy from this morning. The man you had recklessly married!

“This better be some prank you’re pulling, Satoru.” His voice was anything but kind that you almost wanted to hide behind Gojo’s back.

“Hey, hey.” Gojo raises his hands, “Don’t look at me. I didn’t force you into anything and stop scaring your poor little partner.”

Nanami snaps his gaze towards you and you notice how his eyes soften just a bit when he sees your red ears and your eyes looking away from him, “You better call Geto and fucking fix this, I refuse to bother this young-”

“It’s fine.” You cut him off, still shy and red, “It’s...fine...I just…Please don’t think I’m burdened by it. It was technically my fault for even agreeing immediately.”

Nanami clenches his jaw and turns away, “Nevertheless. L/N-san’s young. I hope to not be such an uncouth man like you.” he retorts, voice sharp as he eyes the white-haired businessman up and down. Gojo, seemingly used to it, rolls his eyes behind his dark shades.

“Maybe you guys should try it out.”

The blonde man looks like he’s about to smite the white-haired man out of existence yet Satoru remains oblivious to his friend’s gaze, “Don’t ya think so? It will take a while for those divorce papers to settle in so why don’t you two go out and get to know each other? Who knows…” he sing-songs the last part and Nanami is so close to chunking his briefcase towards the tall businessman, not even caring 

“Ah, he’s not exactly wrong, Nanami-san.” you try to calm him down, placing a small hand on his broad shoulder.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually listening to this idiot’s idea.” Nanami replied, gaze narrowing.

“Not really but you have some problems I can help you out on and I have problems that you can help me out on...Of course, the last say is on you...”

“Told you I actually had a brain.” Satoru piped in.

“Shut up, Satoru.” he quips, then turns to you, “I’m thirteen years older than you, L/N-san. I have two high school kids that could pass off as your siblings, and-”

“Well, I technically did marry you.”

“You were drunk.”

“Doesn’t exactly really excuse it.” You laugh nervously, “The whole divorce process usually lasts up to a few months, some even takes a whole year. I could help you out with the boys and I can use you to ward my family off from moving back home.”

Nanami is quiet for a moment, actually thinking about it. Weighing the pros and the cons, not only would you be able to help him out but you’d also be able to get Gojo and blind-dating out of his back.

There really wasn’t anything he could loose, really.

“Or you two might fall in love.” Satoru teases, making Nanami throw him another side-eye, as if saying ‘I dare you to say another word.’

It’s a Thursday today and Sukuna absolutely loathed Thursdays     apparently because it reminded him of Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays. They all were far from the weekend     Everyone seems to be happier than usual though. Maybe it was because you were there teaching some basic shit at the board or something.

“...and if we transfer this here and change the positive to a negative, you’ll end up having five as your answer.” You smile, placing your chalk down, “Does anyone have any questions?”

Echoes of no’s resonated throughout the room.

“Alright then, let’s end the lesson here so you guys can have an early lunch. I don’t think an assignment is in order since many of you were able to get a perfect score in the activity awhile ago.” You winked. A couple of whoops resonated throughout the whole class right after. 

As the kids shuffle out of the room of the class, Sukuna remains behind. The ojisan had cooked them something delicious this morning and he wanted to eat it in peace without that pesky Nobara grabbing a share from his bento and Yuuji’s annoying babbles about horror movies with his best friend Junpei (the only one who was really bearable was Megumi, really)

“Sukuna-kun?” you called out, snapping him out of his small trance,  “Are you alright?”

He notices a glint of worry in your eyes, he had to admit since his transfer here last Monday, you were the least annoying teacher in the academy     the blue-haired professor in Japanese literature was absolute shit since he loved to tease him a lot and that bald-headed teacher in science who looked a lot like Mike Wazowski was an annoying twerp who loved dawdling in him and Yuuji’s business     and you were kind of good at your job. Not only did his idiot of a brother stop coming to him and their ojisan for help in math but he could actually do the worksheets right and get an actual decent grade at it.

“Yeah.” he roughly replies.

“That’s good.” You smiled, he watched as you bind their worksheets together and clip them in utmost delicacy, “You should head to the cafeteria now, I heard they’re serving milk bread today.”

Without saying anything more, you left the room, leaving him there in the silence.

Well, the Christmas tree idiot was right.

You kind of had a motherly aura on you and it didn’t even look forced.

No wonder, everyone in this room was whipped for you despite your subject being a pain in the ass.

“You look like an idiot.” You mumbled as you slapped Mahito’s hand away in annoyance, your workmate wiggling his eyebrows like the little shit he is.

You completely forgot you did have someone like Gojo Satoru in your life and it was one of your co-workers, Mahito, a Japanese literature teacher who was too nosy for his own good.

“You’ve got a ring on your ring finger and a mailman comes in and gives you an invite for Zen’in Toji’s fortieth birthday.” he whistles, “Even Jogo-sensei gossiped by the water cooler awhile ago, saying that you had eloped with the man. Not that I’m judging you or anything...”

You choke on your saliva, clearly thrown off by the backhanded comment. That darn bald-headed fool that looked like the green eyed monster from the DreamWorks cartoon, he sure needed to lay off the gossip and actually focus on his job as the head of the science department, “You’re not denying it.” Mahito stated, narrowing his eyes in suspicion, “Why aren’t you denying it?”

“I’m not dating Megumi-kun’s father.” You grumbled, finishing up your paperwork, “That man is off limits.”

“Right,” he drawls on sarcastically, “...because you have a strict rule against dating hot older men with money.”

“I also teach his kids and his cousin…” You deadpan.

“We don’t even have a rule against that.” He retorts, rolling his eyes, “If we did, Hanami-sensei would’ve been fired a long time ago.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re so secretive. If it isn’t Toji Zen’in, who’d ask you out?”

“Hey, I do have a man.” You huffed, “and he’s very kind and considerate...”

The image of the tall and lean man sleeping next to you slowly wormed its way back from your memory and you feel your cheeks start to flush. Good god, what were you? twelve? How embarrassing.

You needed to get that image off of your head, it wasn’t right.

It was all temporary, anyways and he doesn’t even see you in that sort of way-

“Yes, I’m Sukuna and Yuuji Itadori’s guardian…” a very familiar stoic voice could be heard from the nearby table, cutting your thoughts short. Wait, were you so head over heels for the man that you started imagining him here? Yuuji and Sukuna’s guardian? Wait a minute.

All color drained from your face as you snap your head behind you to find the same man you were imagining.

Oh no.

Oh no, indeed.

There stood Nanami Kento in all his glory;  crisp suit, stoic face, and eyes laced with mild worry.

“...L/N-sensei is Sukuna-kun’s adviser, by the way. It would be best to discuss this with them.” Akari somberly informed the man, turning to your direction. You don’t miss the shift of expressions when he sees you standing there.

Your mouth parts and you know you look like gawking fish trapped in a small aquarium.

“Akari-sensei’s looking at you with the new hot daddy.” Mahito mumbles next to you, eyeing him up and down, “Definitely wonder where all these old men come from these days.”

You were only half-listening to your co-worker because your head was all over the place, just what were the odds that he was the guardian of the new transferee’s? Just how awkward would everything be? Why did it even have to be at this school out of all places?

Never ending questions pop out of your head as you approached them, “Good afternoon, Nanami-san.” Your smile comes out very stiff and awkward while you hold your hand out for him to shake, clearly there was no memo on how you were suppose to act around your sort-of-fake-husband-whos-kids-you-actually-taught.

Nanami reverts back to his stoic expression as he clears his throat, “Yes, good afternoon to you too, L/N-sensei.” he greets, maintaining a straight-laced tone.

“Akari-sensei says that Sukuna has been quite...rude...in class…” you try to rack your brains up to describe his kid.

“Your son literally pointed out that the history lesson I was teaching was fake and that I should study again so he could get his tuition’s worth.” Akari looks clearly perplexed and ready to throttle the boy if it was legal. You had to admit, Sukuna went overboard with that insult.

You knew how passionate Nitta was about her job and what Sukuna just said to her was like a big ‘fuck you, you suck.’ to her.

“I’ll be sure to talk to him about this,” he sighs, bowing down, “I’d like to ask for forgiveness for that, the boy is a good and smart student-”

“Nanami-san, the school not only cares about grades but character as well.” Akari Nitta sighed, cutting him off, “I’ll let this slide once, if he does that again, it goes on the record.”

You internally bit your cheek, still trying to process everything that was going on.

“I understand. Thank you for that.”

“I’ll walk him out, sensei.” You immediately say soon after, wanting to have some alone time with him, “Let’s go, Nanami-san.”

You walk right next to him silently, some students peerlessly glancing at the tall blonde next to you but you were too immersed in thought to notice the stares, “Nanami-san?” you ask softly as soon as you reach the exit.

Nanami Kento looks at you, his eyes still laced with a bit of worry, “It’s okay.” you silently comforted him, “Just talk to him calmly.”

“That’s not the problem.” he sighed, “I just didn’t expect that the person I married would be the boy’s teacher.”

You sweat drop, “Aren’t you worried about talking to Sukuna? I mean, he literally just disrespected a teacher and you said that he and you weren’t in good-”

“It’s easier to talk to him about that rather than…” he paused, showing his ring, “this.”

You blinked.

Seemed like Nanami knew what to say about the little attitude problem his son had, “So you must be used to this?” you asked, “Him disrespecting the teacher?”

You notice the shift of expressions on his face, you had only known this man for a few days so far but he was starting to get easier to read. His eyes shed more emotion than his face, no wonder he likes wearing those funny sunglasses a lot.

“It’s something I’ve scolded him over a couple of times,” he gruffed, trying to dance around the subject, it seemed like he had such a soft spot to the point where he had a problem with disciplining them, “At times I believe it’s just because he’s way too smart for his age. The boy has read history books for fun when he was a kid and solved quadratic equations to prove that he’s better than me when he was ten.”

“It still doesn’t give him the free pass to say things like that to a teacher”

“I know,” he acknowledged, “I’ll be sure to give him a better scolding-”

“No, you see. This is why he thinks he can get away with it. He isn’t afraid of you. You’ll only probably tell him that you can’t do that.” you frown, crossing your arms, “You do know that not all sensei’s are as nice as Akari-sensei and he could get in trouble for that even more in the future, right?”

Silence lingered between you two for a moment and suddenly you realize that you must’ve said something way off the rails.

“I..” you turn red, embarrassed by the sudden outburst, “That was too much, wasn’t it?”

You look at him directly in the eye, the worry-filled ones are now replaced with a softer gaze. God, he really needed to stop looking at you like a kid. It would only make this set-up more awkward!

“No,” he mumbles, “It...It wasn't too much…”

“Oh.” you cleared your throat, flustered and looking away from his face, “Well, okay then goodbye then Nanami-sa-”

You needed to get out of this conversation quick.

“Kento.”

Your gaze snaps directly towards him, clearly taken aback by the correction.

“What?”

“We’re technically married now, right?” he softly corrected, “Call me Kento.”

“Oh,” You uttered again, this time softly. You looked down on your shoes, it seemed like the floor looked really interesting now, “Then bye-bye, Kento.”

“Bye Y/N.”

He leaves you standing there, cursing yourself because of your erratic heartbeat at the way he says your name in that voice. First name basis? okay, totally normal for sort-of lovers, right?

taglist [if crossed out, i can’t tag u ; - ;]

; @coldbookworm  ; @frankenstein852  ;  @neavil  ; @shephard17895  @kristineyoshaii ; @airybnb ; @okachansenpai ; @amortentiaxo ; @rinvtaro ; @franko-pop ; @kozutenshi ; @kaldoesthings ; @moonlitdabi ; @chococroissant ; @bleepop ; @kaldoesthings ; @moonlitdabi ; @chococroissant ; @pettybroccoli ; @nixxona ; @kiyoo-omi ; @omibaby ; @bokkunto ; @peccobagnaia​ ; @sangwoahbigbussy​ ; 

@Kurok1717 ;  @hcn421 ;  @shinhiromi ;  @airybnb ; @katshuya ; ​@atsuhaya

[canmom]

Toku Tuesday 49: David Cronenberg

Hey friends! Toku Tuesday’s back. As usual, we won’t be watching any tokusatsu.

David Cronenberg! The master of body horror. As you may well have heard, he’s back with a new film, Crimes of the Future, unrelated beyond title to his previous film called the same thing. Despite how much he’s up my street, I’ve barely seen any of his films beyond, by chance, eXistenZ and Scanners. I think it’s about time we remedied that!

For the uninitiated: David Cronenberg is a Canadian director of, for the most part, sci-fi horror films. He began directing films in the 70s, backed by the Canadian government, and has continued to make films every few years since then. His films are known particularly for their fantastic practical effects portraying gooey, slimey flesh in various configurations. His inspirations are often literary - notably William Burroughs, who he would eventually approach in film by adapting Naked Lunch, and JG Ballard, whose ‘important and seminal’ Crash he adapted in 1996. Many of his films deal with transformations: he once spoke of directing films ‘from the point of view of disease’.

aaand... let that suffice, I guess. I won’t do a big biographical writeup right now - I would like to do that but it will take time to do it properly, so let’s save it til after we’ve watched a couple more of his films~

So for tonight I asked @lyravelocity​ what would pair well with Crimes and she proposed The Brood (1979), one of David’s earlier films; she described it as a way of presenting medicine as a kind of vaudeville that’s been a recurring theme for Cronenberg. This one deals with... hey, more evil doctors! This time we’ve got... a psychiatrist whose methodology is messing with peoples’ bodies, asexual reproduction of weird little monster kids, and a sort of allegory for Cronenberg’s divorce. Sounds fascinating.

Then we’ll hit Crimes itself, which sends us to... what sounds like a pretty fascinating future in which people no longer feel pain allowing surgery to be performed while awake, everyone interfaces with biotech prosthetics, and human biology is in general rapidly changing.

That’s about all I have time to write, but I did find an interesting quote on the subject of why he makes so many movies revolving around weird body stuff while talking about his movie A History of Violence (2005), which I found rather admirable, so let me reproduce it here...

For me the first fact of human existence is the human body. I’m not an atheist, but for me to turn away from any aspect of the human body to me is a philosophical betrayal. And there’s a lot of art and religion whose whole purpose is to turn away from the human body. I feel in my art that my mandate is to not do that. So whether it’s beautiful things—the sexuality part, or the violent part or the gooey part—it’s just body fluids. It’s when Elliott in Dead Ringer (sic) says, “Why are there no beauty contests for the insides of bodies?” It’s a thought that disturbs me. How can we be disgusted by our own bodies? That really doesn’t make any human sense. It makes some animal sense but it doesn’t make human sense so I’m always discussing that in my movies and in this movie in particular. I don’t ever feel that I’ve been exploitive in a crude, vulgar way, or just doing it to get attention. It’s always got a purpose which I can be very articulate about.

Pique your interest? Our films will be starting at picarto.tv/canmom about 30 minutes hence, around 21:30 UK time~ Please hop in the lobby and I will see you there!

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP meme from Scream Queens Ep 11 "Black Friday"

"Be careful. I'd really like to kiss you again."

"I'm saving my energy for Black Friday doorbusters tomorrow morning."

"How about you do the honors?"

"Oh, the holidays. That festive time of year where everyone's decked out in their Christmas finest."

"The season of joy and love and presents begins when the clock strikes midnight."

"I thought you got all your clothing hand-delivered by A-list designers."

"Black Friday is about buying deliberately cheap, totally forgettable Christmas gifts for friends. The obvious cheapness of the gift makes them question our friendship and makes them way easier to manipulate as they try desperately to get back on my good side."

"Is this black toilet paper?"

"Amazing. A pair of mink albino boy shorts."

"I bribe the dude who deals weed off the loading dock to let me in a half hour early."

"Torturing these soulless manatees of senseless consumerism brings me so much joy. And isn't joy what the holiday season's all about?"

'At first I was like, "What a weird turkey." And then it clicked. Like... "Damn, that's a head."

"When you agree with me, it makes me question whether I actually agree with me."

"I am gonna take this opportunity to be the strong parental influence you have never had."

"You are gonna march over to that sofa right now and you're gonna sit down because you are in a time out."

"I'm sorry. Did you just put me on a time out? You do realize I'm not seven, right?"

"Well, behold how badly you've failed."

"I think it's pretty safe to assume that your career is over."

"Now, if you'll excuse us, we're going to the mall to exercise our patriotic right to join hundreds of thousands of our fellow out-of-breath Americans in sweatpants as they make frenzied, ill-thought-out purchases of cheap, crappy garbage they can't afford and don't need. To deny us of that right would be un-American."

"Let's go, sluts."

"I want to know what I'm being charged with."

"You drove your pickup truck through the front window of a Best Buy."

"You killed or maimed people. Let's go."

"Sounds awful, but I'd keep that to yourself."

"You're not really helping yourself."

"Most of the uniformed cops out there are working on a volunteer basis because they get backed up inside if they don't crack a few skulls every day."

"There's a killer on the loose and you're telling us this town has no police force?"

"I don't understand why you have to get us the crappiest gifts possible and then make sure we know about it beforehand just to ruin the surprise."

"I mean, that's like bringing pineapples to Hawaii."

"So would you feel the need to waste $13,000 buying me something I already have?"

"Maybe instead of using my disgusting wealth to buy my friends crap, I should use my disgusting wealth to buy my friends things they would actually enjoy."

"The mall is deserted."

"Oh, go on and shoot me, hag. It'll just make me young and skinny forever and you'll still be old. Come on, finish me off, you shriveled, old crone!"

"First day on the job and I caught a killer."

"Wait, you have a gun?"

"Damn! Why didn't I shoot him when I had the chance?"

"How's your crossbow wound?"

"The arrow missed all major arteries, and I'm currently rolling on some sweet painkillers."

"What exactly are you proposing?"

"I've always had this vision of a band of sisters who stand together like an impenetrable community of shields who kept everyone safe and secure."

"Sometimes, instead of shields, we need swords."

"No one is going to help us."

"No one is going to stop this until we are all dead."

"Well, I'm sorry, but she is a vindictive, amoral woman who no one is gonna miss."

"I say we poison her."

"Did you ever do it in my bed?"

"So you were gay lovers?"

"No, we were not gay lovers."

"I'm an investigative journalist."

"Well, you know, I really love the idea of a bunch of guys from different backgrounds getting together and forming a brotherhood for life."

"Have you ever been to a driving range?"

"What sort of ab regimen are you rocking, bro?"

"I guess the fact that you and I cannot stand one another is finally out in the open."

"Name your weapon."

"So pick your weapon. You can choose sabres, guns, baseball bats, small pebbles, spoons, doesn't matter to me. What does matter, is that we will fight, and we will fight to the death."

"Well, I am sorry that took so long, but, you know, a watched pot never boils."

"Being a millennial feminist means growing up listening to Taylor Swift say she doesn't like to think of the world as boys versus girls."

"That's not what feminism was about."

"How come all the pictures on the wall are selfies?"

"Oh, it smells amazing."

"Where did you get puffer fish venom?"

"I want to be there when she dies."

"That's bliss!"

"Is it nutmeg?"

"I am like a soldier at war. I am killing to stop more killing. It's totally justified."

"But what about moral law?"

"Oh, that would be hard for you?"

"I don't "rage" on Tuesday nights or have competitions about how many girls I can have sex with in one day."

"What I'm trying to say is guys join fraternities to get a sense of structure in their lives. Problem is the structure

they're buying into is antiquated. It's misogynistic and hierarchical and dangerous."

"It's misogynistic and hierarchical and dangerous."

"I don't think I'm in the right headspace right now."

"You're a rare breed, one of the true good guys."

"That's the weirdest explanation for anything I've ever heard."

"We need to think of new ways to kill her!"

"I'm really gonna cherish our time here together."

"Killing is wrong, but, under this circumstance, I don't know what other choice we have."

"Hold on, sluts."

"When I was your age, I was thoughtless about sex."

"If you don't think you're ready, you probably aren't. And if you aren't, well, then no good can come from doing it, anyway."

"The main thing is you have to be perfectly dry. The cryosauna is set to 200 degrees below zero, so any water on your skin freeze instantly."

"How come there hasn't been any screaming?"

"No, we need to get away while we still can."

"Hey, hey, it's enough. The point has been made."

"Why do you want to continue taking this any further?"

"Yes, I feel guilty!"

"Don't you ever call me again."

"I heard about these Buddhist Monks that found a way to meditate, so they can sit outside all night, way, way up in the Himalayas in weather that would kill a normal person, but their core temperature stays totally normal."

"You're thinking of the movie Teen Wolf, you brainless gash, which is not, in fact, a documentary!"

"Uh, Rasputin. He was a mystical Russian peasant who became a close advisor of Tsar Nicholas II because he could magically cure Prince Alexei of his hemophilia."

"Okay, this seems totally not germane to what we're talking about, so can we please just skip ahead?"

"Maybe she has some magical powers that make her unable to die, like some horror movie villain, like Michael Myers, or Jason, or Dr. Giggles."

"So, maybe try on a size zero."

"Okay, I'm not gonna try on the size zero because I won't fit into the size zero."

"This is discrimination!"

"Look at her. Give her something. Give her something to be happy!"

"Come on, what is wrong with these idiots?!"

"Why did you ask me to meet you here? And why are you carrying a bag clearly filled with chains?"

"I thought we could talk about bondage and go for a swim."

"You're all packed up. I thought you were staying until you cracked the case."

"I was just gonna go to the woods and write or something,

like Thoreau, but with WiFi."

"I mean, maybe I could come with you. Might be kind of romantic, you know?"

"I could bring a slow cooker, and we could talk about the case all night over short ribs?"

"Well, I do love short ribs."

"I'll always be able to say that my first was with a great, great, great guy."

"I am a sentient grown woman who has been through

hell the past few weeks, and I'm sitting next to you, now, with open eyes and an open heart, telling you that I want to give myself to you."

[sleekervae]

The Neighbour [0.1]

Masterlist

Everything had played out like the rising action in a horror movie. And before the whole world's eyes, life on Earth had slowed to a snail-like crawl. Covid 19 was ravaging through cities and countries faster than a salmonella outbreak at a restaurant even Gordon Ramsay couldn't attempt to save. It was terrifying to watch, and even more terrifying to see work and interaction dry up so quickly. Especially for those who relied on social interaction to stay sane.

Luckily for Remington, he happened to be stuck with his brother when quarantine measures went into full effect.

It was no big deal living with Emerson, if anything, it was relatively more calm with two out of the three of them sharing a space. Sebastian and Larissa were staying well and safe in their own house, popping by now and again at the gate to check in on his little brothers. No doubt, it sucked. The album was pushed back, the tour called off, the only thing keeping the hype for 'The Bastards' release was social media.

At least Remington had comfort in the fact that he wouldn't have to endure this quarantine alone. Living in his own house all by himself, he'd probably drive himself up the wall and find himself hanging off the rafters (literally).

Tuesday morning was bright and warm, as they tended to be in LA. Emerson was sat comfortably at the kitchen table, drinking his usual cup of tea and reading the depressing headlines coming out of the news. Pepper was curled up at his feet, snoring softly and her little marshmallow body rising steadily. The neighbourhood was quiet, it always was, but it was especially tranquil these spring days in April. He simpered sardonically when he read the latest quote from the president, promising that the pandemic would pass come July.

His attention was gripped suddenly when he heard the low squeal of car tires. The youngest brother glanced outside the window, his dark eyes falling over the little blue Waivecar that had pulled up at the opposing apartment complex. Those cars had been coming back and forth for the last four days, with the same girl coming and going. And at night, the apartment facing the house would keep the lights on until two or three in the morning, but she wasn't partying. The most noise this girl made was the hum of her radio drifting out of an open window.

Clearly, whoever she was, she was still in the weeds of moving. Perhaps when she was settled, Emerson would go by and introduce himself, make her feel welcome. Considering how warm the climate was, this particular neighbourhood had a tendency to be quiet cold and private towards neighbours. No doubt many of them weren't a fan of the band and their at home antics.

Emerson was startled when his brother came bounding in, dressed in the same moppy grey sweats he had been practically living in for weeks. Thank goodness he wasn't wearing his heelys this time around; the other day he had crashed into the couch and flipped over onto the cushions, nearly smashing his head on the coffee table.

"The guys will be by in about half an hour," he said. Emerson narrowed his eyes at his older brother.

"He says as we're under strict orders from the state health officials to not see anybody," he murmured.

Remington pouted, running a hand through his evidently growing blonde hair. He pulled up a seat next to his brother, "Hey, you were the one who said it's getting too quiet around here. And besides, it's not like we're coming from opposite counties. Seb lives like four blocks down from us,"

"I'm just getting a little nervous, is all," Emerson shrugged, showing him the article on his tablet, "The numbers are still going up,"

"And they'll keep going up until they find a cure. And while they're doing that, we're going to be in the backyard playing soccer and eating pizza," Remington smiled.

"Who said we're having pizza?"

"I did. I just decided,"

"Maybe I want Mexican? Did you think about that?"

Across the street in the fresh red brick and black-trimmed apartment, three floors up from the ground and in direct line of the sun sat Eva. The twenty-four-year-old literary bachelor sat comfortably at her newly furnished desk, typing away at her laptop that was due for a battery change -- Eva just hadn't found the time to physically take it into the store. On her right she had a lukewarm cup of coffee, on the left her speaker which was softly blasting Tove Lo's new album. All the while, her bony fingers flew over the keyboard, her big stormy blue eyes skimming the words that sprinted across her document.

Eva got by as a writer, not a novelist or a poet, but as a ghost writer. She was hired to write materials for would-be authors and journalists, all of whom either didn't have the drive or commitment to write to the extent Eva did. Surprisingly, she made some pretty good money just off that. And while that work tended to be dry and bleak, Eva had spent her free time writing various fanfictions -- mostly for Hannibal and Criminal Minds. She happened to be quite prolific on Tumblr because of her literary fantasies.

And while her work was often isolating, Eva didn't live alone by any means. She had her pale tabby, Pluto, to keep her company. He was snoozing on the couch, despite how often Eva had trained him not to do that when he was a kitten.

She had just returned from an early morning run from the grocery store -- having learned the hard way that despite the pandemic, people will continue to flock to the stores in droves and it's almost impossible to social distance within them. As if moving out of her old apartment wasn't hard enough, now she had to deal with hastily late movers, jumbled lease agreements, and a pandemic.

In the throws of bittersweet silence, Eva's concentration was broke when a shrill alarm had her nearly jumping out of her seat. It was only her phone, the screen lighting up with a 'Blocked' ID. Eva smiled wickedly and declined the call.

The young writer pushed her rolley chair away from the desk and did a stretch, her head turning towards the house across the street. She figured a couple of frat boys shared the place, they had a few of their friends over from time to time but they were relatively quiet. The most she would hear out of them is some smack talk coming from the backyard.

Pluto's head popped up from the couch, then he leapt onto the floor and trotted over to the window sill, hopping up to spy on the unfamiliar car that was pulling up to the house. Eva could hardly care less. There was a statewide order to see only a small group of people as little as possible, and as long as the neighbours wouldn't bother her, she wouldn't bother them.

It was a shame, as if having to meet new people wasn't difficult enough for her...

A few hours passed and soon the silence in the Los Angeles neighbourhood was broken by the grunts and thwacks of a backyard game of pool basketball. The boys and a few of their friends were all the more engaged in their game while their girls sat aside on deck chairs under the beating sun. Under the shade of the pergola, their friend Andrew was grilling some sausages -- beef and tofu -- on the barbecue.

Remington was taking the piss out of Sebastian for being all over his girl, but who the hell could blame the kid? There was a new rush of life in the guitarist's face whenever the topic of Larissa came up. The same could be said for Emerson and Shy. Remington wouldn't dare admit he was a little jealous of his brothers' happiness, so he'd settle for loving his brothers but torturing them at every opportunity.

Breaking out from the cold water, Emerson gripped tightly to the rubber red ball in his hand. Just as Sebastian came to take a running dive into the pool, he reared the ball back and hucked it at his older brother, nailing him square in the chest. Instead of a graceful dive, Sebastian flailed sideways and crashed into the water. The ball ricocheted onto the deck and bounced away towards the front yard.

"Oh my God!"

"Emerson!" Shy scolded, a little horrified and yet not surprised at her boyfriend's actions. Sebastian broke out of the water and shook his hair out of his eyes. It was more his pride and the laughter of his friends that hurt than the fading sting of rubber against skin.

Emerson meanwhile just giggled happily as he high-fived Remington.

"You guys fucking suck!" Sebastian glowered at the younger boys.

At the same time, Eva had given up on work for the day. As random as it was, she decided she'd try to make bread: the apparent trend that was surging during this quarantine. She bought all the things she would need this morning.

Stepped a few feet into the kitchen, she pushed open the window a brisk breeze flooding in and freshening up the air. Her attention was skewed to the house across the street, hearing some mild echoes of conversation and the thrum of a radio in the air.

She went to gather her ingredients and tools, however, as she turned to fetch an apron she realized something was missing: the patter of feet behind her. Pluto was usually Eva's shadow whenever he was in the kitchen, always the opportunistic cat he was. However, he wasn't on the couch. He wasn't in his bed. He wasn't snooping around in her closet or hiding under the desk.

"Where'd the ball go?" Daniel called, clinging to the ledge of the pool.

"I'll get it" Remington swam to the ladder and pulled himself out of the water. He shook out his sopping blonde hair, unintentionally shaking his ass in his colorful swim trunks. Their friend, Michael, whistled from the pool. Remington only smirked on him.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, hunny," he sassed, waving his hand and ducked off to fetch the ball.

Puzzled, Eva grabbed Pluto's favorite bag of cat treats and shook it, the sound was always able to bring him out -- when he was within ten feet of the treats. The fact that he didn't appear told Eva that he must've gone out the window once again to wreak havoc.

With an irritated huff, she switched out her house slippers for her sandals and hightailed it out with the bag of treats.

The red rubber pool ball had rolled across the grass and lodged itself into a bush at the fence. Remington was awash in frigid goosebumps, not even the California heat could will away the pool's chill quick enough. Nevertheless, he crawled down and retrieved the ball from the brambles, swatting off what little dirt he could. However, his fixation swerved to the complex across the street when he heard a heavy slam.

"Pluto!" a young girl came charging out of the apartment complex, dressed in a slightly wrinkled white t-shirt and her jaw-length hair swivelled smoothly around her face as she frantically looked up and down the street, "Pluto!" she was shaking a little yellow bag.

Remington looked up and down the quiet street, almost expecting to see Pluto the Dog standing at the corner like Cartoon Cat. He glanced down quizzically at the ball, then back at the young woman.

Eva rubbed the stress lines on her forehead out of pure frustration. This wasn't the first time Pluto ran off, he always came back. However, the damn cat would always find ways to stir up trouble; rowling up dogs, plucking fish from little ponds, scratching at hanging laundry.

"Pluto!!" she shook the bag of treats.

"Hey!" Remington called, waving his hand to the stranger, "You alright?"

Eva glanced at the owner of that soft, yet scratchy voice. She hadn't even noticed the bleach blonde kid standing in the glint of the sun. Eva crossed the street and stood a few feet from the gate, keeping more than two meters distance.

"I'm sorry. Have you happen to see a cat running around? He's a pale tabby, couple black stripes, likes to chew shoes," she shrugged.

Remington only shook his head, "Sorry. I'm afraid not," he smiled sheepishly, "Did -- did you say he was a cat?"

"Yeah,"

"And you named your cat 'Pluto'? Like -- the dog?"

Eva smirked, but shook her head, unable to help but glance at the tattoos that crossed over this boy's torso, "He's named after The Black Cat," she said, "You ever read Edgar Allan Poe?"

Remington smiled sheepishly, "Oh right, right! I haven't read that in a while, actually. He named the cat after the Roman God for death,"

Eva smiled pleasantly, not having pegged this boy to know so much about EAP, "That's right. I wanted a black cat to fit with the theme but the damn tabby stole my heart,"

"He knew what he was doing, obviously," Remington grinned, "I'll keep an eye for him though, if I happen to --" he was cut short however when he heard Pepper start yapping from the backyard. The yapping was followed by the clanging of metal and a screeching yrowl.

"What the fuck?" Andrew suddenly shouted, “Where’d this cat come from!?”

Panic flooded over Eva's face and Remington didn't think twice to open the gate and let her in. Social distancing aside, they two of them rushed into the backyard to find a tray of sausages had crashed onto the floor, the meat had rolled everywhere. Shy clung to Pepper as the little pomeranien yapped and growled incessantly at the scruffy tabby on the patio table, back arched and hissing at the dog while he guarded his captured sausage.

Eva was understandably horrified.

"What the hell happened here?" Remington asked, just as in shock over the mess.

"Cat came out of nowhere and dive bombed our lunch!" Daniel replied, having just crawled out of the pool.

"Pluto!" Eva ran to the table and scooped up the snarling cat, Pepper was still yapping away, "What is the matter with you?" she scolded at Pluto before turning to Remington and Andrew, who still wielded the metal tongs in his hand, "I am so frickin' sorry!"

"No, no, it's okay," Andrew shook his head, glancing at the lost sausages longingly, "I was kind of craving sushi, anyways,"

"It's no big deal, honestly," Remington assured her, "Five second rule applies, I'm sure,"

"It's been about thirty-seven seconds," Sebastian spoke flatly.

"Since when were you counting?"

Larissa was the only one who didn't seem annoyed or surprised at the feline intruder. She smiled warmly at the young girl, "Is this your cat?"

"Unfortunately," Eva grinned sheepishly, "I should know better. He's in a new area and he tends to get into trouble. Also, if anyone happens to lose a shoe, he did it, and I'm apologizing in advance," she pointed a finger at the now calmed tabby.

Shy smiled, "Well, Pepper's no better. She tends to think she's a way bigger dog," she held up and coddled the fluffy pomeranian. Eva smiled awkwardly, only now noting that she forgot to grab a face mask. And here she was: in a backyard full of strangers in a pandemic.

"Wait, I recognize you," Emerson said, "You just moved across the street, right?"

"Yeah, that's me. Eva," she nodded, "Great first impression, right?"

"You couldn't do any worse than Curcio over here," Sebastian grinned, "Remember the split pants?"

"You're going to hang that over my head for the rest of my life, aren't you?" Daniel glowered.

"Maybe," Emerson turned back to Eva, "I'm Emerson, that's Sebastian, Daniel, Larissa, Michael, Shy, Andrew... and you've already met Remington, I see,"

"The best looking one," Remington grinned.

Eva nodded, "Well, it was very nice meeting you all, I should get going, though. And again, I'm so sorry about the cat,"

Remington shrugged, "It's just sausages. We can get more," he assured her, "Here, I'll walk you out,"

"Thanks," Eva smiled, keeping Pluto close to her chest as she passed Shy and Pepper. Pepper gave one last fleeting bark as the cat passed by. Pluto simply licked his lips.

Michael couldn't help but lean over as he caught one last glance at the new neighbour, then turning to Emerson, "How come you get the pretty neighbour?"

The drummer shrugged, reaching over to grab the rubber ball that Remington dropped at the end of the pool, "Dumb luck?"

[uhgood-dooghu]

Trouvaille

Author uhgood-dooghu

Pairing Underground Fighter!Namjoon x Reader

Summary He met you with blood on his hands. You didn’t even flinch.

Genre Angst, fight club!au not the movie, the concept, part of the Dichotomy universe

Warnings Mentions of violence, mentions of blood, dark & troubled Namjoon

Word Count 1.5k

a/n This takes place about ten years before Dichotomy, and Namjoon & OC are roughly 21-22 years old.

Dichotomy . . Trouvaille . . Redemancy

It’s at 11:38 PM on a Tuesday night that Namjoon realizes he’s fucked.

It doesn’t matter that he won The Fight. It doesn’t matter that he raked in a hundred grand off the back of a dying opponent. It doesn’t matter that every illegal fighter in a fifty mile radius now knows his name and the man who created him.

It doesn’t matter, because he asked for an out and caught a brass knuckle to the jaw. It doesn’t matter, because he nursed the bloody gash with nothing but his fingers as threats battered him into the concrete below his feet. It doesn’t matter, because for the first time, he understands what it means to feel powerless.

He’s fucked at 11:38 PM on a Tuesday night, and all he wants is a cigarette.

He’s frequented the corner store across from the gym a thousand times, but tonight, Jungkook is not there. No, tonight, there is a new face behind the counter. You look up when the bell above the door chimes, and he instantly feels his heart sink. It’s not enough that you look the picture of angelic, lazing behind the counter with a messy ponytail and a sleepy smile, stalling his thoughts in their tracks as soon as he lays eyes on you. But where your face is soft and innocent, his is hard and depraved, and he thinks he should leave the moment your eyes go wide with horror.

He expects you to recoil, to ask him what he wants and call the cops. He braces himself, prepares a defense, a hurried explanation that will allow him a quick retreat, and begins to back away. But when you move, it’s not towards the phone.

“Oh my god, are you ok?”

You rush around the counter and approach him without hesitation, and he stares. He stares at the way your look of horror morphs into one of concern. He stares when you wait for an answer with bated breath, scanning his face with anxious eyes. He stares because it doesn’t make sense. He stares because his chin and hands are streaked with blood, and anyone in their right mind would have called the cops yesterday.

When he doesn’t answer, you falter, the first flicker of unease flashing across your face, and that forces the words from his lips. “I…had an accident.”

“No shit.” You brush past him, and he turns to watch as you head straight for the first-aid aisle.

You reemerge with a pack of disinfectant wipes and bandages, beckoning him towards the counter. He expects you to ring him up and push the items his way, but instead you point at the metal stool next to the register.

“Sit.”

He obeys only because he is too bewildered to process.

Your hands are gentle, cupping the unharmed side of his jaw to tilt his neck the right way as you run a wipe over his cut. It stings and he hisses, shying away from your touch, but you click your tongue and keep him still with firm fingers. As you work, he can’t help the way his eyes draw to your face. He tries to read you, tries to find the motive hidden behind your cute pout of concentration and the way your tongue pokes out between your lips. But you’re standing close enough that your flowery scent tickles his nose and floods his senses, and he comes up empty.

You meet his gaze briefly as you reach for a bandaid.

“You good?”

He doesn’t miss a beat, tracking your movements as you tear at the packaging. “Do I know you?”

Your lip twitches as you pause, thoughtful. “No, I don’t think so.” That’s all you say before pressing the patch over the worst of the cut, the smooth press of your fingertips sending tingles across his skin.

When you step back to lean against the counter, he frowns. A quick glance down reveals your name, embossed on cheap plastic, and he’s sure he’s never encountered it before. Still, you smile when he looks back at your face, and it’s infectious. A playful gesture that makes his own mouth tug faintly.

“Are you sure I don’t know you?”

You laugh, moving to toss the red-stained wipes into the trash. “I’m sure.” Producing another cloth, you motion to his soiled hands. “I just moved here.”

As he rubs away the blood, he lets the question fly. “Why didn’t you call the cops?” He almost chuckles at the way your eyebrows shoot upward.

“Why would I do that?”

Blinking, he throws the final remnants of his night out with your handiwork and shrugs. “A shady guy walked into your store at near midnight with blood all over himself. Most people would shit their pants.”

The thoughtful look returns to your face before you laugh once more, a musical sound that strikes a chord in his heart. With a shake of your head, you slide your hands into the pocket of your sweatshirt. “You’re not shady.”

It’s amusing how you look at him with complete nonchalance, wholly oblivious to how far you’ve missed the mark. He wonders how your face would change if you knew who he is. If you knew what he’s done. The thought makes him grimace.

“You don’t know that.”

Another laugh crinkles your eyes. “Trust me.” Reaching up, you tuck a tendril of hair behind your ear. “I have a radar for shady. You just looked like you needed help.”

He allows himself a lifeless smirk. Maybe you don’t know the history of this neighborhood. Maybe you haven’t heard the whispered rumors, haven’t caught on to the way people rush past certain buildings with their heads down.

Maybe no one’s told you that every other man walking the streets of this town has a bodycount. Now including himself.

It’s that sudden realization that reminds him he should leave. You’re new in town and he’s the last person you should associate with. Any realities about this city you can learn from someone else. Someone not caught in the storm. Someone without a hundred vices clamped around their throat.

Standing abruptly, he winces at the way you jump in surprise.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, stepping away from the counter. “I should get going.”

Though you blink rapidly, you nod. “Oh. Okay.” He makes to turn away, but you stop him. “Wait.” Meeting your gaze, he curses himself for the way his heart skips. You tilt your head, fidgeting with your sleeves. “Do you have a name?”

He really shouldn’t give it to you. He should turn right around and walk out the door without another word. But you’re fixing him with eyes that are far too bright, far too hopeful, far too captivating, and he can’t stop it from spilling out.

“Namjoon.”

You shake your head slowly, as if turning it over in your mind. “Namjoon.” You shift on your feet. “Will I see you around?”

There is a twinkle in your eye, an intrigue he can’t quite place but ensnares him completely. It is then that he feels the slight shift in the air, the unexplainable pull in his gut, and he knows with a resigned awareness that this is far from the end.

“I think you will.”

He forces himself to turn, to put one foot in front of the other and walk towards the exit, but the pull does not relent. Pausing with his hand against the glass, he grants himself a final look over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Your eyes dance from across the room. “Anytime.”

He lingers a moment longer, memorizing your smile before pushing out the door.

The frigid midnight air blows back the gust of his reality, the ache in his jaw finally surfacing in the absence of distraction. He trudges towards the bus stop with a hunch in his shoulders. Angry voices echo in his mind, taunting him with the choices he’s made, reminding him of the consequences he has yet to face. For the thousandth time, he wonders when his life blurred from black and white to shades of grey. When the high of the fight gave way to the crash of the fall.

It overwhelms him. It lures the darkness into his heart and spreads the frustration under his skin. It has him clenching his jaw through the pain and itching for a cigarette. It has him ready to connect his fist to the glass of the bus stop until he thinks of your face.

Your face that cut a bright spot straight through his shitty night. Your smile that held all the simplicity he lost years ago. Your touch that reminded him kindness still exists in the dark.

It’s 12:05 AM on a Wednesday morning and he’s fucked and he never got his cigarette.

But he thinks, maybe for tonight, he doesn’t need one.

© uhgood-dooghu/moodievitamine, written October 2020. Please do not copy, repost, or translate!

[starkerforlife6969]

Summer lovin’ - Starker

break up make up fluff, some possessive/jealous tony, and some healthy relationships over here! 

It feels damn good to be back for Senior year.

Summer settles neatly onto the past of Tony’s shoulders, and he steps through the main entrance with a smile on his face.

Immediately, his crew flock to him. Abandoning their lockers- newly painted after summer- and eagerly inquiring after lunch plans and new timetables.

“I heard about Pete,” Steve says quietly, bumping Tony’s shoulder in solidarity. “That sucks man, I’m sorry.” 

“I’ve had all summer to get over it,” Tony sighs. He’d hoped it would be old news by the time school started. They’d had over two months for the gossip to die down. He should’ve known it was a long shot. “It was amicable. Mutual.” 

“Doesn’t have to be,” Natasha grins slyly, “we can say you dumped his sorry ass.”

He knows she’s teasing, but he trips her up just in case she’s not.

*

It only takes a week to settle back into old routines. 

He cruises by in classes like always, relying on his natural flair and intelligence to get him by, and football season starts up again. The freshmen learn their place quickly, check the rungs of the social ladder and know where to sit in the cafeteria. Tony’s at the top, of course, and it’s all pretty great. He likes seeing new faces of admiration to add to his narcissism bank. 

He’s walking down the hall on a Tuesday morning, when he looks up and by chance, catches a glimpse of Peter Parker setting books into his locker.

It’s the first time he’s seen him in a long time. Summer’s done him good. His freckles are all pronounced, hair longer and curlier than Tony remembers, in a cream sweater and tight green pants that should awful but just look good. 

“Tony,” Peter smiles, voice soft, and Tony had thought he was over it, but his heart jerks and flips like he was punched in the chest.

“Pete,” he manages, coming to a staggered stop by the boy’s locker. “How was your summer?”

Peter bounces on his heels the way he always does when he’s excited. “Math camp was awesome!” and he barrels into an enthusiastic regaling of the few weeks away. “I haven’t- haven’t seen you since we’ve been back.”

Tony nods. “Big year.”

Peter meets his eyes. “I’ve missed you. We could…hang out, if it’s not…I mean, it’s probably weird-“

“Not weird.” Tony murmurs, even though it is weird. “We could get milkshakes sometime when you’re free.” 

Steve and Natasha are sending him curious looks from across the hall. 

“That’d be great,” Peter beams, “I’ll text you?”

*

He’s over it, he says to himself, watching Peter suck down a strawberry milkshake with extra whipped cream. 

He’s over it, even as Peter manages to pry him open the way even his own mother can’t. 

He’s over it, even when Peter touches his wrist and says that he doesn’t have to play football if he doesn’t want to. And that MIT will definitely accept his college application. 

“I was thinking,” Peter’s cheeks blush, a lovelier shade than the milkshake, “I might apply to MIT too. That could be kinda fun, right? Imagine if we both got in?” 

Totally not over it, Tony thinks to himself, as he imagines four years of college with Peter B. Parker. 

*

“So, what’s the 411?” Nat asks in the cafeteria, squinting at her pudding cup.

“The what?”

“The lowdown, c’mon, Tony, you and Peter broke up right after the semester finished. No one saw you all summer. And now you’re friends? I want details.” Her eyes light up with possibilities, “was he cheating with that guy from Harrison college like you thought?”

He has to close his eyes, shame rushing through his system, “no, he wasn’t. We’re- we’re in a good place. It’s good.”

“Where were you all summer?”

“I was working on myself, that’s all. A little fine tuning, here and there. It wasn’t too hard. Can’t really improve on perfection.”

She throws her pudding cup at him.

*

Contrary to popular belief, Tony’s never actually started a fight before. Never thrown a punch. 

He has now though. There are bruises on his knuckles. 

“We have to break up,” he says to Peter, on the last day of school, tucked away under the bleachers near an empty field. Everyone’s pulling pranks inside as per tradition. 

Peter nibbles on his bottom lip, and his lashes are long and his eyes are huge. “We love each other,” he points out, but he doesn’t sound beseeching. He’s nodding, like he thinks they should too. 

That gives Tony the final push. He’s making the right decision. “I love you so much, Pete.”

“I love you too, Tony. But I think you’re right.”

“Is Harry okay?”

Peter looks away and Tony feels ashamed. “He’s fine. He’s not- he’s not angry with you or anything.”

“Tell him I’m sorry again, anyway,” he swallows hard, ducks his head. “And are you…are you okay?”

“I can’t believe you thought I’d-“

“I didn’t, really-“

“I would never do that to you, Tony.”

“I know, I know.” Tony takes a breath. “I know you wouldn’t. I’m sorry. I’m- I’m gonna change. But I think we should…”

“Be apart.”

“Yeah.”

Peter nods, and he smiles, tiptoeing up to kiss Tony right on the mouth. Sensual and full of longing. Tony groans against him. “Just something to remember you by this summer,” Peter sighs, winking, and Tony laughs.

He moves out of his parents house that summer and in with his aunt.

His dad is a bitch to get out of his head but every day it becomes easier and easier to ignore him. 

*

They tread carefully around each other. There’s a new friendship on top of an old foundation and they want to make sure everything’s solid before moving too far. 

“Separate timetables,” Peter confirms, sliding his back into his pristine notebook. “But we’re still on for Karaoke this Saturday? You can bring your friends.”

“Not a date,” Tony chuckles, “just friends hanging out.”

“Just friends.” Peter beams, “but…we should bring people. A lot of people.” Tony quirks an eyebrow and Peter sighs: bashful. “To resist temptation.” He explains. 

Tony laughs at that, loud and delighted.

*

“Maybe take another route to class.” Steve mutters, hands warning on Tony’s arm, trying to tug him back. “Let’s go around the west block-“

But now Tony has to see. He rounds the corner and- and-

There’s Peter, his hair ridiculously, adorably mussed from the wind outside and he’s in a flannel shirt with fucking dungarees, but more important than any of that- there’s a letterman jacket on his shoulders. 

The name B A R N E S - 12 embellished on the brilliant blue.

And that must be the name of the guy leaning against Peter’s locker, and looking down at him with interest. The guy’s built, with slicked back hair and dark combat boots and a weird sort of brooding intensity. 

“Who the fuck is that?” Tony asks, voice level, tone quiet.

“New guy.” Steve winces, “James, I think? Peter’s his assigned tour buddy.”

His knuckles ache with the memory of Harry, and he turns away.

*

Peter gets a new profile picture on facebook. It interrupts Tony’s flow of memes to see Peter balancing on a hay bale against the sunset looking like a country child. He smiles, before noticing-

It’s a video pic.

Tony plays it. 

“I’m king of the world!” Peter yells in delight, nearly losing his balance, arms flailing. 

“You’re a moron!” Someone behind the camera hollers fondly and Tony recognises the voice. The low, brooding timbre.

*

“So, you and James, huh?” He asks, going for nonchalant as he catches up to Peter as they walk to the parking lot after school.

Peter quirks an eyebrow in surprise. “Who?”

“James, new guy, very built, very tall.”

“Oh, Bucky,” Peter laughs, “I’m his assigned tour guide, I think he wants to try out for football so you could have another player on your team!”

Tony gets to his car and feels like everything’s slipping away. “How your MIT application going?” He asks desperately, and Peter hums.

“Sent it off yesterday, how about you?”

Relief courses through Tony’s system. “Sending it off tomorrow.” He promises and Peter gives him a ludicrously adorable thumbs up. 

*

The next morning, Peter is wrapped up in a leather jacket three sizes too big, and Bucky Barnes is  at his side.

Tony’s knuckles ache. He tries to pretend to be interested in the contents of his locker, but his ears are straining-

“Dinner, tonight?” Bucky says, voice low and inviting.

“I promised Ned we’d finish the Lego death star. You can join us if you like.”

“A movie on Friday.”

“Buck…”

“Think about it. Please.”

The bell rings. 

“Wait, take your jacket-“

“Keep it. I like seeing you in my clothes.”

Tony slams his locker shut. 

*

With blood pouring from his nose, Harry still manages to gargle out: “I’m straight, you dick!”

“Tony!” Peter cries in horror, rushing back to the booth. “What’s going on? Oh my god, Harry-“

Tony feels the world slipping out from under him. “I thought you were-“

“Oh fuck, it hurts! I think he broke my nose!”

“I don’t understand- someone call an ambulance! Tony, why are you even here?”

The words sound disgusting as he spits them out. “I followed you.”

Peter eyes are huge and astonished. “Why?”

“I thought…” He can’t say it. 

Peter gasps.

Tony doesn’t have to. 

*

Peter’s still in the band room after school, and Tony slips in silently, and just watches for a moment. Then he clears his throat. Peter jumps, before beaming at him. It’s a smile that makes you feel like the centre of the universe. 

“Why aren’t you going out with Barnes?”

Peter gapes, looking stunned, before scoffing. “Don’t be ridiculous, Tony, I couldn’t-“

“Why not?” He presses. “He’s handsome. He cares about you. You like each other.”

“Tony…”

“Pete.” Tony shakes his head. “Please, for the love of god, don’t think about me. Think about you. Do what makes you happy.”

Peter’s hazel eyes are swimming. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He admits after a long moment, and it stings Tony more than he’ll ever admit. 

“I have nothing to be hurt about. You’re my friend, Peter, and I only want you to be happy, okay? Do what makes you happy.”

Peter gives him a long look, before sniffling. “That’s really cool of you, Tony,” he whispers gratefully. 

Tony lets out a wet laugh, but has to admit that though it hurts- it feels a little good too. 

* 

“Alert, alert,” Nat whispers frantically, “incoming!”

Tony turns in his seat in the cafeteria, only to feel warm lips press against his own. 

Someone whoops.

“What makes me happy,” Peter whispers, once Tony’s returned to reality, “is you.”

Tony could fly. He gets up, cups Peter’s face in his, and grins. “Well then, I can only oblige. As a friend.”

“As a friend.” Peter giggles, and they kiss again. 

*

“Don’t be too upset about it,” Steve consoles Bucky in the corner of the cafeteria watching the couple kiss. “They’re kind of endgame.”

Bucky gives him an unimpressed look. “And who are you?”

“Steve Rogers. I play football.”

Bucky scoffs, but can’t stop himself from admiring the way Steve’s shirt clings to his chest. 

[bronanlynch]

(bi)weekly media update

apparently I just. do these every two weeks now huh. sorry to the tuesday again no problem extended universe crew for being unable to keep to a consistent schedule

listening: Curses by The Crane Wives, a band that I just started listening to but I like their sound, nice and fun and folksy, lots of songs with ominous lyrics that are good on fanmixes

honorary mention to the new Lil Nas X song because we are all love the new Lil Nas X song, it’s a bop, it’s been stuck in my head on and off ever since I heard it, and I am not immune to sexily blasphemous music videos

reading: finished Smoke & Ashes, the most recent book in the Kate Kane series that I talked about last week, and I enjoyed it a lot but there sure is a cliffhanger and afaik no set release date for the next one. it’s pretty angsty but does have lots of nice moments of hope, and some discussion about recovering from both depression and alcoholism that I appreciated.

also read more romance novels, and I appreciate that Cat Sebastian, like KJ Charles, knows how to write about rich characters while making it incredibly clear that hoarding wealth is morally indefensible. it’s like the “wow, cool robot” thing where I want to be told that I’m right for disliking capitalism/imperialism/the military industrial complex, but also I do very much want you to show me the cool robot (hot rich prettyboy in nice clothes)

also finally started Harrow the Ninth today, so I’m sure I’ll have more to say about that next time

watching: speaking of “wow, cool robot,” watched a little bit more Turn A Gundam, which sure does have some cool robots. also some gender. the main character crossdresses to like, hide their identity for fun complicated spy reasons and it’s not treated as a joke or anything? it’s just a thing that they do? and no one comments on it beyond when they were like “hey you have to wear a dress to this event because the people from the moon think our mech pilot is a woman and they can’t know it’s actually you because they still think you’re working for them”

absolutely hate that the guy on the right is just wearing a normal boring suit though like. c’mon man

Zan and I have been watching The Falcon and the Winter Soldier aka the sambucky show each week and my review so far is. well it’s about what I expected. the first episode was incredibly slow and kinda disappointing (Sam and Bucky never interact! the fact that Bucky might maybe miss Steve is never brought up, not even by his therapist, who tbh gives me incredibly bad vibes! if my best friend and the only person I knew from my past fucked off and left me alone to deal with my trauma in favor of ruining the life of a woman who’d moved on from him, I’d be pissed!) (for the sake of not being angry all the time I pretend Steve died instead of did That).

the second episode was more fun, more happens, there’s some incredibly heavy-handed corporate queerbaiting mixed in with some actually nice emotional moments (this article and this thread by the same person have a pretty good summary of All That). the handling of race, uh, could be better tbh. I appreciate what they’re going for, and to be fair the whole show isn’t out yet so it could get better (since some of the problems are tied to, y’know, the overall political problems, i.e. the fact that the villains are a group of people, led by a Black woman, who hate borders and illegally deliver medication to refugees which is somehow a bad thing, I kind of doubt it). but there is something about the way they’re making a Black man the mouthpiece of American imperialism, and the way that the new (white) Captain America who takes the shield when Sam doesn’t want it has a Black girlfriend and a Black best friend who, so far, have mostly just given him motivational pep talks, that doesn’t really inspire confidence. (this article and thread are a good overview of that aspect of the show)

also, I think it’s very funny when people are like “well you can’t say anything about the show yet, only two episodes are out” like. first of all lads it’s a six episode show, a third of the content is a decent chunk to use to form an analytical opinion, and second of all, if something strikes you as Not Great, you’re allowed to feel that way and say that, you don’t have to wait to see if there might be some twist or context that makes the thing you didn’t care for great and fine, actually,

that being said,

(when we watched the first episode, the immediate next thing we did was watch Winter Soldier and I was pleasantly surprised how well it holds up. not perfect obvi but still a solid movie, and the music does fuck)

also watched this very neat little video essay on Victoriana costuming and like, why so much media is set in the Victorian era, and started the c-drama Word of Honor which I’m sure will either be in a future post or just. something I start blogging about normally

playing: the weekend before last was the Beam Saber season finale, which I’ve already posted about quite a bit because it was fun and I love to play games with my friends. played a very fun game of Things, Eldritch and Terrifying by S. Gates this past weekend. it’s a very fun game, with very easy-to-follow rules and lots of helpful adjectives and scene starters, and also just conceptual it slaps (one person is an eldritch terror, the other person is the human that they’re courting. there’s a variant where you play as a vampire. it slaps). we made it uh, more of a rom-com than a horror story but I had a very good time, we told a very cute love story, and we’re gonna try again to make it more horror-y next time.

also I finally started Brigmore Witches and it’s very good and fun. my one complaint is that I want the Whalers to have names, because I enjoy the bit at the beginning where you can eavesdrop on them and some of them are concerned for you and some of them are fucked up about the Overseers invading their home and some of them want to fucking betray you. also, I didn’t realize that the very beginning when you fight Corvo is a dream sequence so I spent the whole fight being like “wait why does he get a gun and I don’t, where are my powers, wait aren’t I supposed to lose this fight for Plot Reasons why is he dead.” also, fucking love the favor that lets you dress up as an Overseer to get into the prison. I do love a good disguise mission

making: citrus chicken (from a cookbook so no link), plus some citrus-y root vegetables. very good if you like orange.

writing: nothing I can share yet for ~zine reasons. yes I have several fandom event weeks coming up that I want to participate in, no I haven’t written anything for any of them yet

[naitiaclo960writings]

Day 14 - Fun & Games

The evening was already well advanced when Dean decided to turn off his computer and take a break from his essay. That last year at engineering degree was starting to give him a hard time and, frankly, he was looking forward to graduating and being hired somewhere. Hopefully, he would find a job in the same city and not have to look for another apartment.

It’s been 3 years since he shared a place with his best friend Castiel and things suited him perfectly like they were. Castiel had already been in the active life for two years, working as a heritage officer at the Kansas City Museum, but sharing the rent of their apartment was a relief for everyone. Moreover, they had now settled into a comfortable routine that gave rhythm to their lives in the most pleasant way. Most often, they would invite friends on Friday nights and spend an evening together over a beer. Saturday was reserved for a video game night where Castiel often ended up winning and bequeathing his dishes tour of the week to Dean. Sunday night was a mix of movies and popcorn while Tuesday was a board game night. On Wednesdays, finally, they always ordered from the Japanese caterer on the corner of the street and zapped between Netflix and YouTube until they were too tired to put away their plates and left them on the coffee table in the living room.

Dean stretched out at his desk before he got up. He quietly shut off his laptop and put down the glasses he used for work on top, massaging the back of his neck gently. When he turned off the light from his desk, his room was plunged into darkness and, as if to confirm the late hour, his belly began to grumble softly.

"Okay…" He sighed while putting a hand on his belly. It was time for him to return to the real world.

Outside, he heard Castiel moving a few pots and he smiled softly. He could always count on his friend to cook for them when he was too immersed in his own classes to care, and truly, Castiel was not such a bad cook as he claimed. Dean walked blindly to his door and opened it to a good smell of melted cheese. Growling with envy and a tenfold appetite, he approached the kitchen to find his roommate tidying up some kitchen utensils, the oven gently purring behind him. Dean leaned against the central island with a relaxed smile.

"What’s up, chief?" Dean asked, raising his voice in the hope of surprising Castiel.

The latter did not even jump, probably having heard him arrive without showing it. He put away the spatula he had in his hand before responding to Dean with a smile on his face.

"Four cheeses Mac’n’Cheese!" Castiel proudly announced, turning to him.

"Wow." Dean said, raising his eyebrows, truly surprised. "And what did I do to deserve one of my favorite comfort foods tonight?"

Castiel smiled even more and shrugged, returning to his storage. He took the time to rinse a knife before answering.

"You hardly left your room in the afternoon, I thought you might need a pick-me-up."

And it was as simple as that. It has now been 7 years since Dean and Castiel met, they had found each other at school and had not really left each other since. As a result, Castiel was obviously able to read Dean like an open book and the opposite was also true. They were confidants for each other, brothers almost, pillars on which to lean when everything went too fast around them. Dean and Castiel had actually painted the town red in high school before going to enter together into the terrifying life of a student or, for Castiel, an active worker. Above all, they had always been there for each other. Dean had been more than present during the divorce of Castiel’s parents and the ensuing family debacle, he had even taken his friend out of a very bad drug past for which Castiel would be forever grateful. Castiel, meanwhile, had supported Dean when Mary Winchester had lost her battle against a disease and John spent about most of his time at the bar, drowning his grief while his sons remained helpless at home. Dean no longer counted the number of times Castiel had welcomed him and Sam into his home simply to give them a break from everything else.

Such events bound destinies for a long time when they were lived like this. However, although Dean cherished his friendship with Castiel more than anything, he had to face reality about a year earlier. Dean was not particularly known for his long introspections, but he was obliged to admit after several months of living together that his friendship with Castiel had perhaps turned into a more concrete and disabling feeling in his situation.

Okay, maybe he had a thing for Castiel. A little bit. Okay, good time! He wasn’t even sure it was mutual, so he certainly wasn’t going to waste 7 years of friendship on a simple… feeling? For God’s sake, he had spent whole evenings struggling with this very question, thinking about it again and again until he got migraines, and he had finally come to the conclusion that if he did not have absolute confirmation of the reciprocity of his feelings, then he wouldn’t try anything. It may have been giving up without a fight, but whatever he had was too valuable to make decisions lightly. It was not even certain that Castiel liked men! Well, yes, perhaps, his friend qualified himself as"pansexual". What Dean always said to him was that it was just "being a fucking care bear, but more complicated, just to piss me off."

Anyway, after months of internal debate, Dean always found himself in the middle of that kitchen, with a best friend and roommate he loved a little more every day, but to which he had to continue pretending to maintain the ideal routine in which they had settled. Dean smiled tenderly at Castiel, who had now finished tidying up the kitchen and, realizing that he might have been staring at him for a little too long now, he sighed and went to the couch to choose their program.

They ate in a good mood in front of a horror film so lame that Dean was seized with a hysterical laugher in the middle and nearly choked on a macaroni. For dessert, Dean got up and came back with two ice creams — vanilla for him and a much more sophisticated taste for Castiel like wild mango or whatever — to finish their meal. Surprisingly, Dean was not particularly tired despite his long day of work and considering the energy that Castiel still had in front of the film, neither was his friend. When the credits began to scroll on the screen, Dean sighed.

"What time do you start tomorrow?" He asked in an innocent tone.

Castiel stretched out on the couch before falling back heavily into it.

"At 11:00, I’m closing." He said, grimacing. "But I won’t be spitting on some extra sleep, really."

Dean let out a contemplative "mmh" before turning to his friend.

"Does that mean you’re up for continuing the night a little longer? I’m starting late tomorrow too, and I admit that I’d like to enjoy the last few hours of the weekend without thinking about my damn essay." Dean pouted.

At these words, Castiel laughs softly and Dean already knew his answer by the expression of his face alone.

"What do you propose?" Castiel asked, raising a defiant eyebrow.

Dean took a short moment to think before his gaze landed on the drawer in which all their board games rested. Immediately, his brain set out to lead him towards an idea that would gradually stretch a malicious smile on his face. Of course, he had long established that he could not reveal his feelings to Castiel, but that did not mean that he could not take advantage of them here and there when the opportunity presented itself.

"A card game?" Dean suggested, turning an angelic face to Castiel again. "Do you know how to play poker?"

Castiel frowned and tilted his head slightly to the side, as was always the case when a situation confused him somehow.

"Uh… I can’t say I do, no. It always seemed rather complicated to me when I saw you playing that during parties." Castiel replied slowly, his blue and curious eyes fixed on Dean.

"It’s pretty simple once you understand the basics!" Dean assured, already bending over to open the drawer with his plan still in mind. "I can teach you if you want, it’ll save you from getting ripped off by Gabriel the next time we play."

As he hoped, these words seemed to unlock something in Castiel’s mind, for his friend straightened himself up with new interest before nodding.

"Okay, but only on one condition." He said, raising his eyebrows. "We don’t bet money. I already have to pay Charlie back because of our last night together."

Dean laughs softly at the mention of that stupid bet that Castiel had royally lost while he was reinstalling himself on the couch with the card game in hand.

"Okay, okay. That’s fine with me. But we still need to spice things up or poker is a lot less fun." He pretended to think for a moment under Castiel’s innocent gaze before resuming. "For lack of something better... we can consider a strip poker?"

As these words left his mouth, Dean felt his heart speed up in his chest. Of course, he had already seen Castiel half-naked many times before, and although he had always appreciated what he saw there, he had to admit that this context would be otherwise amusing. Nevertheless, Castiel remained forbidden and inexpressive so long before him that Dean quickly lost his smile.

"I mean, no… Of course not, I was joking. What-"

"Strip poker works for me." Castiel cut off.

His friend had answered so confidently that Dean was caught off guard for a moment before he could recover. Castiel agreed with his idea, really?

"But it’s quite uneven." Castiel replied, pouting. "You already know the rules, I’ll be naked in less than ten minutes."

That’s the idea, Dean thought. But as he still had compassion for Castiel, he looked around before he got up.

"Mix the cards, I’ll come back." He said to Castiel.

Quickly, he arrived in the kitchen and began searching in the cupboard just below the central island.

"Do we have any bottles left from Friday?" Dean asked as his eyes swept over the contents of the closet.

"I think Benny left a bottle of sherry, yes." Castiel replied from the living room.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. Sherry, seriously… Did Benny think he was a modern-day pirate or something?

"It’s an insult to call Sherry alcohol when you’re under 40, but… fine." Dean said while grabbing the said bottle before heading out in search of tumblers.

"It’s more of a set of brandy-cut wines, actually, but you did you know that-"

"Cas." Dean sighed again as he returned to the salon with his findings.

He did not need to look in the direction of Castiel to know that he had rolled his eyes heavily. Dean reinstalled himself in the sofa and placed the sherry bottle and the tumblers on the coffee table. He began his explanation while serving the first cup.

"Well, the rules are simple. If you lose a turn in poker, you take off one piece of clothing and the last one naked wins." He grabbed another tumbler. "However... Since I am an extremely nice and magnanimous teacher, we will have three jokers each." Dean pointed to the liquor bottle. "Therefore, if you lose a match, you have the right to choose to drink a shot bottom up rather than take off clothes. We’ll have three jokers each for the whole night. Is that all right, Mr. Know-it-all?"

Castiel did not pay attention to the comment and watched Dean pour the last shot with special attention. He seemed to be much more focused than he wanted to appear until then, and Dean restrained a smile. Castiel had always been a competitor.

"If the three jokers are only usable for the whole evening, then three is not enough." Castiel protested. "I really don’t know anything about it! Allow us at least five? Please?" He added with a more than pronounced pleading expression that came straight to Dean’s heart.

He rolled his eyes before taking out four new cups.

"Yeah, yeah, if you want. Five jokers each then, but don’t expect that to save you from not exposing those gorgeous leopard panties that I gave you for Thanksgiving last year." Dean replied with a mocking smile.

Castiel pushed him with his foot from the other end of the couch and kept his mouth shut on the fact that he, at least, was not knowingly buying Scooby-Doo underwear. Nevertheless, he let go of the remark and straightened himself up on the couch as Dean began to deal the cards. Judging by the smile on Dean’s face, he was more than confident.

* * *

Turns out Castiel was either a damn good liar or he had a freaking knack for poker. Dean continued to bitch in his corner while he was already in his underwear and socks on the couch, his five empty sherry glasses on the coffee table while three on Castiel’s side were still full. Not to mention the fact that Castiel was still perfectly dressed and even sprawled out among the blankets in a casual attitude that only offended Dean more.

He himself was curled up and kept staring at his cards with a sullen expression, alcohol already making him spin his head to make matters worse.

"You’re sulking." Castiel unnecessarily remarked as he was knocking down other cards on their improvised playground.

"I’m not- Damn it, seriously!" Dean suddenly exclaimed in a raging gesture as Castiel won that round again." Dude, I don’t have any more clothes to take anything off!"

Castiel raised an almost cruel eyebrow.

"You still have your socks. Why didn’t you take them off first anyway?" He asked, tilting his head one more time to the side.

Dean simply groaned as an answer and placed his card game with ill-humor on the armrest of the couch. The truth was that he had always been a little chilly in their apartment, whatever the temperature indicated by the thermometer, but he preferred to stand naked in front of Castiel ten times than to admit it in person. Eventually, he began to pull on his left sock reluctantly before letting the poor piece of cloth fall to the ground. If he got sick because of that damn game he started himself, he’d never play poker again.

By attending to his friend’s obvious bad faith, Castiel had to restrain a smile. Eventually, poker was quite instinctive according to him and he even enjoyed playing it now.

"We do one last game before we go to sleep?" Castiel asked, putting the cards together and mixing them again.

Dean sighed loudly.

"What, so I can go back to my room barefoot and bare-bottomed?" Dean grumbled.

Castiel rolled his eyes and began dealing the cards in silence, ignoring Dean’s bad loser attitude and his naked and shivering body before him for a moment. He briefly thought about an alternative before biting his inner cheek with apprehension considering to the direction in which his thoughts were going. Maybe these two sherry cups finally got to his brain... Castiel had never held his liquor very well. However, he was the first to be surprised — and mortified — by the forbidden words that came out of his mouth:

"I have another idea. For the last match, I’ll give you an extra joker." Castiel began, feeling a knot in his stomach as to the turn the events would soon take.

"Mmh?" Dean replied with a questioning look, his curiosity obviously bringing him a new interest.

"If I beat you again on this game…" He handed Dean a few cards, face down. "You will have the right to refuse to take your clothes off. But in that case, you will have to trust me and let me… challenge you? 

Dean raised an eyebrow before turning completely to Castiel, sitting cross-legged on the couch. He remained silent for a moment before taking a deep breath and finally grabbing the cards that Castiel handed him.

"… Will I regret it again?" Dean asked seriously.

Castiel swallowed. He had no good answer to this question. Was he himself certain of what he was doing? Not at all. But he needed Dean to play tonight, because right now, he felt brave.

"No." He lied.

Dean seemed to gauge him for a moment before finally nodding. Thus, another game engaged in a silence filled with concentration. Both of them knew there was a real stake in this game even though Dean was advancing blindly this time. No matter the outcome of the game, he already knew that he would choose Castiel’s challenge, just because he was a player and possessed a curiosity far too strong for his own good. Moreover, this redness that he had thought had subtly appeared on Castiel’s face when he had imposed his condition did not cease to come to torture his mind. He needed to know.

Of course, as if it had been bound to happen, Dean would put his cards down on the couch just to see his chances of winning be wiped out by Castiel a few seconds later. His shoulders dropped heavily, the adrenaline of the game diminishing to give way to defeat. He did not say a word, hardly surprised though, and looked up at Castiel who offered him a compassionate smile. Dean sighed and clasped his hands before him, shrugging.

"Okay Doc Holliday, you got me cowboy…" Dean pouted. "Okay… Joker. What should I do?"

Castiel suddenly seemed nervous in front of him, which did not help Dean relax. He frowned slightly, uncertain, while Castiel laid all the cards on the table.

"I.... I need you to close your eyes. It has to be a surprise or I.... Anyway. Close your eyes please." Castiel stuttered in front of him.

Dean watched him for a moment without saying anything before finally taking a discreet breath and closing his eyes. As soon as the living room disappeared around him, Castiel’s beautiful face faded behind his eyelids as he tried to ignore his crazy heart beating in his chest. The atmosphere had suddenly become special in their apartment, and this since Castiel had brought up the challenge. Dean’s instincts were yelling at him that this was the ultimate time to trust his friend, because something important was going to happen. He could not explain it more than that, he knew it, that’s all.

Dean remained as calm as possible as he tried to listen to what was going on around him. In the first place, only Castiel’s quick breathing made itself heard while Dean remained straight in his place, gently squeezing his hands against each other to control the nerves that he felt rising in him. After a few seconds, he heard movement in front of him and felt the couch rise a little, as if his friend had just changed position. Suddenly, he felt this same rapid breath close to his face and frowned gently, confused. When he could endure it no longer, Dean opened his mouth slightly to ask the question that he was dying to ask before his lips were covered by warm, wet others. Sweet and yet trembling.

Dean opened wide, astonished eyes, in shock as his heart missed another beat. Immediately, he fell upon Castiel’s face, gently close to his own, and swallowed a surprised exclamation which had gone up his throat. The kiss was not really one while Castiel quickly stepped back with nervousness to look into Dean’s eyes, their faces still close and frozen in the moment. Dean looked at Castiel who was looking back at him and everything was crumbling around them in a silence filled with electricity and unspoken confusion. Dean felt like dying and being reborn at the same time, silently in that body that suddenly seemed so narrow to him.

"You…?" Dean whispered, even if he never managed to finish his sentence.

Castiel feverishly licked his lower lip before shaking his head imperceptibly, the face so devastated by the fear of rejection at the moment that Dean felt like he had fallen into his worst nightmare. He could not bear such an expression on Castiel’s face, Cas who had kissed him, Cas who was afraid of his reaction, Cas who cared for him right now. Castiel who loved him.

In a surge of combativeness and surely relief, Dean filled the space between their mouths again and slipped one of his hands to the back of Castiel’s neck to keep him close, preventing him from escaping this time. Once the surprise has passed for Castiel, Dean could almost see his whole body lighten up and melt into their shared kiss. This simple contact seemed to open so many doors that they were too blind to see before that Dean almost had his head spinning. Did Cas have at least as much desire as he had for him the whole time? He tightened his grip around his roommate’s body, he needed to hold on to something so he wouldn’t fall right away.

But he fell anyway when Castiel gently pushed him onto the sofa so that he lay down under him. Later that night he fell again into this large bed in Castiel's room, his lips unable to leave the body of the other as if he desired to make every inch of him feel loved. He fell and fell and fell all night long, tumbling down into the most exquisite and liberating of the falls as a smile split their two faces in the frenzy of the moment. Dean kept falling, but he didn’t do it alone, clinging to the one thing he had never hoped for in recent years and that he could finally touch with his fingers now.

Finally, he was unable to remain angry with Castiel for having beaten him at poker, just as he was unable to detach himself from him that night. As the sun’s rays filtered through the closed shutters of Castiel’s room, Dean gently caressed his lover’s face in the hollow of the pillow with a new, fascinated tenderness. He barely waited until Castiel opened his eyes to steal another kiss before whispering against his lips.

"Hey… I have no fucking idea what happened to my remaining sock yesterday."

When Castiel let out a hoarse chuckle before drawing him closer to himself, Dean promised to do everything to hear this sound every morning now. They were going to need more games night from now on…

* * * @winchester-reload​

Yep, I’m late haha, sorry! It took me a while to write this one but no worries, I’ll post day 15 and day 16 today too. I’m really proud of this OS, don’t hesitate to come and talk about it with me in the comments!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

@misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @styggtroll @thanks-tacos @petrichoravellichor @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect @ladywaywarddsc @hellfire37 @destiel-221b-sabriel @aloha-cowgirl @destielhoneybee @dysfunctional-destiel @ozonecologne @doofcas @castielrisingabove @zoerayne2426 @tibbinswrites @vicmc624 @thegirlofstarlight @berrieseveryday @staycejo1 @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel @bab-spnfamily @lo-mindpalace

[mountainsluna]

wicked regrets

request: “a seonghwa scenario in which he’s a “serious” looking boyfriend who doesn’t really celebrate Halloween but the reader does, so he gets jealous of her friends cuz she’s spending too much time with them decorating and shopping for costumes”

pairing: seonghwa x reader (gender neutral besides reader in a female character costume)

genre: angst + fluff ending

word count: 2.1k

✩ [author’s note] for those of you that aren’t familiar with the movie the nightmare before christmas, theseeeee are the characters/costumes i refer to in the story! :)

✩ masterlist

✩ requests : check bio or masterlist ♡

One afternoon in late September, you and your boyfriend were out shopping when you passed by a new Halloween store that immediately caught your attention. “Oh my god! Baby we have to go in, can we just look around inside really quick please?” 

“Hmm okay love, but just really quick.” The lack of excitement in Seonghwa’s voice didn’t register with you as you were already halfway in the door before he he could finish replying. You were nearly bouncing off the walls that were filled with scary costumes and spooky decorations. You two had started dating last November so it was your first Halloween with Seonghwa as your boyfriend and he could honestly say he had never seen you this ecstatic.

"Baby look!!! They have the cutest decorations look at these pumpkins and these candles!! Oooh we can get these small skeletons for the living room! What do you think?" 

"Uhm I guess if you want. I don’t really celebrate it...well not since I was like 9. Isn’t it really just for kids anyways?” His words made your smile falter a bit. Halloween was your absolute favorite time of the year, and there were already so many activities planned out in your head that you wanted to do with your boyfriend. However, from the looks of it, it didn’t seem like he’d be interested in the slightest.

“No of course not...Are you telling me you don’t think Halloween is fun as an adult?” 

He shrugged his shoulders as his fingers grazed a large plastic butcher knife in front of him.

“No horror movies?”

“No.”

“Pumpkin carving?”

“Too messy.”

“Decorating?”

“Waste of money, we live in an apartment and if we decorate inside no one will even see it.”

You hated to admit how disappointed you were at his answers. You knew from the start that Seonghwa was a very serious person and you rarely ever had an issue with it. However, you were a couple and wanting to do couple things for your favorite holiday would’ve meant a lot to you.

“So, you wouldn’t even go with me to a haunted house?”

“I don’t see the appeal in literally paying someone to scare me. Aren’t your friends into all that stuff too? I say you should go with them.”

The fact that he wouldn’t even entertain the thought of having a little fun with you made you sad enough but for him to just pawn you off to your friends so he didn’t have to participate made you feel even more disappointed.

“Alright then Hwa, I guess I will.” You said sighing to yourself as you walked away from him.

----------

You decided that no matter how Seonghwa felt, you weren’t going to let his lack of excitement ruin your October. You even made sure he was aware of that the day you visited the Halloween store, leaving with nearly four bags full of decorations that he helped you carry home.

When October 1st arrived, your mind had already begun to wonder about what costume you wanted to get this year. Not wanting to hear Seonghwa shoot down your couple costume ideas you decided to not even mention it to him to save yourself the disappointment. Luckily, most of your friends were eager for the holiday just like you, one afternoon as you all hung out at a coffee shop, you vented to them about your problem with Seonghwa. You added in that you were a bit sad you couldn’t live out your couple costume dream with him by going as Jack and Sally from the Nightmare Before Christmas, a movie even Seonghwa knew was your favorite.

“Well I don’t have a costume picked out yet and I know that movie, I wouldn’t mind dressing up with you if you want?” Your eyes lit up at your friend Hongjoong’s suggestion. He wasn’t as tall as your boyfriend to be able to fit the costume as good but he was taller than you and that was enough.

A few days later, Seonghwa had just gotten home, walking in as you were grabbing your keys. “Oh? Are you leaving?” He asked, you never left the house that late on a Tuesday night. 

“Oh, yeah I forgot to tell you my friends and I are going costume shopping. Don’t worry I won’t be out long and your food is on the stove.” You placed a quick kiss on his cheek before walking out the door. He stood there a bit shocked by your exit, but brushed it off. It’s not like it was an everyday thing.

It wasn’t until the week before Halloween that Seonghwa had begun to get frustrated. You had spent nearly every weekend either inviting your friends over or going to their apartments for Halloween baking or scary movies while he kept to himself. The first few times you told him it would be nice if he tagged along but he refused and after the third rejection you stopped asking. But now, he felt left out. Seonghwa swore to himself if you asked him again, he would accept this time, he just missed spending time with you. But you never asked.

The day before Halloween, Seonghwa was scrolling through his feed when he saw an ad for a haunted house that was only open that night and Halloween and he remembered you asking him if he’d go to one, regretting his words, he decided he should be the one to ask you this time.

He walked into the bedroom where you were adjusting your red wig onto your head. “Hey baby”, he started, sitting on the edge of the bed as he watched you at your vanity. “I know you probably have plans with your friends but...I would like to take you somewhere tomorrow night...to make up for everything I’ve missed this past month.” You saw his reflection in the mirror in front of you and you could tell how bad he was feeling, he never looked that sad.

“Where did you want to go?” You asked, turning to look at him directly.

He began telling you about the haunted house he had found but when he noticed your expression change from curiosity to a pout he stopped, knowing you had something to say.

“I...I’m sorry baby but...my friends and I are actually going there tonight. That’s why I’m all dressed up.” You said, spreading your arms to display your Sally costume to him.

At that moment, Seonghwa felt even more embarrassed of himself realizing he never even bothered to ask you what costume you had chosen and what your plans were for that night. He sat there staring at you for a few minutes, not knowing what to say to you. Before he could find the words, there was a knock on your door. You stood up, looking down at your boyfriend as his head hung slightly. “Maybe, we can try again next year?” You said, placing a kiss on his head before walking to the door to let your friends in.

When Seonghwa finally joined he looked over all your friends in their costumes, the laughter that filled the room made him feel jealous that he wasn’t apart of it. He felt his heart nearly drop as his eyes landed on your friend dressed as your cinematic lover. Even with the round mask covering his face, he knew it was Hongjoong. He always trusted him as your friend and he knew you had every right to dress up with any of your friends that you wanted but never did he expect to see this. As you all begun to head out you noticed as your boyfriend silently retreated back to the bedroom without telling you goodbye.

“Baby...Are you okay?” You asked, slowly stepping into the room to see him sitting in his previous position. He could barely even look you in the eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t try harder, I knew how much all this meant to you and it’s my fault for not wanting to be apart of it. But...seeing you and Hongjoong made me realize how much I really missed out on.” You caressed his cheek as he spoke, you knew he meant his apology but you weren’t sure how to comfort him. You didn’t want to leave him home all alone to feel bad while you went out with your friends. But then you had an idea, your body shot up as Seonghwa looked at you in surprise. 

“I think I may have an idea...wait here!” you said and before he could question you, you were gone. He could hear muffled exchanges as you and Hongjoong talked in the living room, right as he stood up to go check on you, you opened the door to reveal yourself and Hongjoong’s costume mask and jacket in your hands. “Try these on!” You said, extending the items to him.

“Is...is Hongjoong okay with this?” He asked, hesitating as he lifted up the jacket, inspecting it slightly. 

“Mhhm.” You said, smiling back at him as you two heard Hongjoong’s voice coming down the hallway.

“Oh I’m fine with that.” He chimed. “It’s this I’m not too sure about.” He said, holding out his black and white striped costume pants to Seonghwa as he stood there in his white shirt and gray boxers.

“T...they may be too...short for me.” Seonghwa said, earning a small glare from your friend.

“I’m sure you can squeeze into them, my love. Now change quickly while I help Hongjoong with his new costume.” You said, pushing the smaller boy out as you closed the door behind you.

After fumbling with the other boy’s pants for a few minutes, (omfg that sentence did not come out right hjsjshdkhs) Seonghwa joined you two in the bathroom biting back a laugh as he looked over Hongjoong.

A large white bed sheet and a pair of Seonghwa’s white pants now adorned his body along with a thick velvet pink choker you had worn a few times that matched a dress you owned, and to top it all off, two small bathroom towels tied to his hair with your hair bands.

All Hongjoong could do was glare at the taller male, as he stood letting you adjust the costume around him. “I let you dress me as the dog to help your relationship, I just want you both to know that you owe me your lives.” You smiled as you placed the red clown nose that you had draw a jack-o-lantern face on, on his nose.

“Zero is the best character in the entire movie, it’s not that bad.” You laughed, clapping your hands together. “Anyways, now we can go!”

--------

As you three exited your car to meet up with your friends, you looked over the two boys standing in front of you, Seonghwa’s pants looking more like high waters and Hongjoong’s cuffed nearly three times over to reach his ankle. “Can I ask you guys something?” You smirked as they looked back at you expectantly.

“How does it feel to be wearing each other’s pants?” You laughed, tears nearly ruining your face paint as you dodged Hongjoong’s bedsheet clad arms that were swatting at you playfully.

Once you found your friends you all got in line together, you rested your head on Seonghwa’s arm as you waited, the feeling of having your boyfriend next to you tonight made you feel so happy and the feeling of you in Seonghwa’s arms made him even happier. The entire haunted house was exactly what you had expected. You nearly threw yourself into Seonghwa’s chest every time a zombie got too close to you. Your boyfriend on the other hand practically laughed throughout the entire thing, finding the setups and actors to be quite amusing.

As you walked back to your vehicles Hongjoong told you he was going to ride with your other friends to another haunted house if you two wanted to join but you declined, Seonghwa looking at you confused as you waved bye to your friends getting into your car instead.

“Love, why did you say no?” He asked, hoping he hadn’t ruined your night.

“Because, I want to spend tonight and Halloween night with my boyfriend... If he wants to...” You said your eyes moving to look at him slowly.

“O..Oh, of course I do! But, I don’t want you to miss out on anything with your-”

“I’m not missing out on anything.” You interrupted him. “I wanted to spend Halloween with you and that’s what we’re going to do. We can go home and watch scary movies while we make snacks and I can listen to you rant about the dumb characters and their bad choices.” You suggested as you two pulled out of the parking lot.

“Maybe we can even carve some pumpkins.” Seonghwa added making you giggle as he smiled at you, his gaze focusing back on the road as he drove you two home. 

-------------------

the scariest part about this story is that seonghwa is driving yall home and he doesn’t even have a driver’s license

[fics-by-maria]

Hair Dye Adventures

Red Bug and Noire AU

Chloe was not expecting Noire to knock on her balcony door at 5pm. She didn't patrol on Tuesdays, and she wouldn't usually be out at this time of day unless there was an akuma. Opening the door to let the heroine in, she thought back on all her interactions that day.

"I promise I didn't mean to upset anyone, I've really tried to be nicer and-"

"There's no akuma Goldie, I just needed your advice on something, you dye your hair right?"

"Well yeah, but how did you know that?"

"Chlo you've been in the spotlight since you were born but you've only been blonde for around six years."

"That's a pretty good point, what do you need advice on?"

Noire flopped down onto Chloe's big white couch and groaned. "I want to dye my hair pink but I have no idea how any of this stuff works! The most I ever do with my hair is tie it back, you've gotta help me Goldie!"

"So like? Now? Because I can totally bleach your hair tonight but you should probably get it done professionally and then wait a day before dying it."

"Ugh really? I'll be back on Friday then. Thanks Goldie!"

Chloe never knew how Noire was going to be, she was a whirlwind of a hero, always scatterbrained and running late. She was a good hero, but not the most organized. Under any other circumstance it probably would have bothered Chloe, but it endeared her to the girl, and she had saved her when Red Bug had written her off as unworthy. She wanted to be worthy of saving, to be better, if not for herself, then for her kitty.

Marinette was thinking about Chloe all through Friday’s patrol. The heiress had changed since Stoneheart. When she had been thrown from the Eiffel Tower, Red hadn’t even blinked, he wasn’t going to bother to save her. She had never been nice to Marinette, but she was unwilling to let her die. Chloe had yelled at him but he just calmly told her that where he was from, casualties were inevitable, and she should endeavor to be worthy of saving.

The girl had seemed to take those words to heart, she no longer went out of her way to antagonize others. That wasn’t to say that she wouldn’t bite, but she didn’t create problems to exploit. Marinette found it sweet that she was willing to try, and had found herself lingering around the girl more and more as Noire.

Chloe had all but forgotten about the whole ordeal by Friday and had been watching a movie in her room when she heard a knock on her patio door. Letting the heroine in, she cast a judgmental glance at her fluffy mass of black hair.

“You know I can’t dye your hair without bleaching it first.”

“Oh yeah, about that, the costume doesn’t change, magic and all, but I did have it bleached.”

“So how are we going to do this then? Because I doubt you can just reveal your identity.”

“Don’t worry, I thought about this, watch this!”

Noire spun around and whispered something about claws, a bright light surrounded her and left a girl with pale blonde hair wearing a black hoodie and domino mask.

“I was inspired by your costume! Also by some of America’s heroes, but mostly by you!” Chloe blushed at this and turned away, fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt, trying to save face she announced that she was going to order snacks and was about to ask what Noire wanted when a black blur flew in front of her face.

“Cheese. Get me some cheese.”

“Plagg! Be nice, oh my god Goldie I’m so sorry, he has no manners” Noire grabbed the catlike shape out of the air and frowned at it.

“What the hell was that?”

“Sorry, he’s a kwami, he gives me my powers. His name is Plagg, he likes cheese and he killed the dinosaurs.”

Chloe just blinked at her and shrugged. “I’m ordering a cheese and fruit platter, because snacks. We don’t have time to unpack all of that, so I’m going to throw the whole suitcase away. ”

“Why do I feel like you’ve done that? Rich people are crazy.”

When the cheese plate was brought up and Plagg was happily munching away, Noire pulled out a bottle of pink dye and they moved to Chloe’s en-suite, because she was not going to risk staining her couch. It came as a surprise to both of them when she began to purr when Chloe was washing the first dye from her hair. Both girls blushed profusely and Noire tried to stutter out some jumbled apology.

“Oh god I’m so sorry- I didn’t- I mean, I didn’t t know I could do that when I wasn’t suited up and-“

“It’s okay kitty cat, I think it’s cute, I didn’t know you could do that at all, but I won’t tell as long as you don’t tell anyone my hair is naturally curly or that I wear glasses.”

“Yeah about that, why do you straighten it? It’s really cute and fluffy like this, I just want to paw at it.”

“Wow you really are a cat,” a sheepish smile from Noire, “but I do it because my mom said it looked ugly like this.”

“You’re mom sounds mean, I’ll cataclysm her for you if you want.”

“It’s okay, I just want her to love me.”

“Well she doesn’t know what she’s missing, you’re my person now. She can’t have you back.”

“I thought people owned cats, not the other way around.”

“Well then you’ve obviously never met a cat before.”

By the early morning Noire’s hair was a lovely peach pink and she’d convinced Chloe to stop straightening her hair everyday.

Monday morning was going to be a test for Chloe, she hadn’t left her hair curly for school since she was six, and she was nervous. However that became the least of her worries when Marinette came in, on time for once, and complemented her hair.

Marinette, who’s signature pigtails were now peach pink.

Chloe felt her world cracking around her, despair swallowing her whole world as she realized how good of a person Marinette was. She had been so terrible to her, but she still saved her, even when Red Bug hadn’t, still tried to help her be better. She almost didn’t realize the new voice invading her head.

Marinette watched in horror from her seat as an akuma fluttered through the window and merged with the frame of Chloe’s sunglasses. She fired off a text to Red Bug and stared in awe as Chloe began to shake before ripping her sunglasses from her head and breaking them in her hands, a black butterfly disappearing out the window.

@persephonebutkore @weird-pale-blonde-person @be-happy-every-day-please @crazylittlemunchkin @caffeinetheory @thethirdwheelfriend @sassydepression

[seaweedbrain-wisegirl-andasatyr]

What a Live-Action Tartarus would look like: or, the complexities of Cosmic Horror in Middle Grade Fiction

I've always been really interested in film- it's my dream to work in this field in the future. So of course with news of an adaptation of this series so close on the horizon, of course I had to think about how, if for some absurd reason, I was personally hired to direct/design an episode, how some of my favorite scenes in this series would they look in live action form.

Some context: This is after Percy and Annabeth's fall in Tartarus. I think the scenery of this place is very interesting, yet extremely complicated to replicate in live action form. Tartarus, at least Rick's version of Tartarus, is horrifying when you think too hard about it, especially in a middle grade fiction series where characters can't even say the word "dam" properly, and monsters dissolve in a dust of sand. I think Tartarus is very similar to Lovecraftian horror. It's like, the idea that something is so terrifying that a human mind can’t even perceive it. You can't accept it because it's just too horrifying. You can’t even describe it because there are no words for it or things to compare it to in our world.

I made some personal rules for myself. Firstly, I think obvert violence thrown in your face is overrated. Any PJO or HoO series would be rated PG, at most, PG-13. Using these guidelines, I tried to construct a version of Tartarus that isn't fueled on gore or blood, but more this dark, deep nothingness.You know how, in many YA movies/tv shows, especially those trying too hard to be "edgy", we always make fun of how dimly lit the scenes are? Well, these scenes in Tartarus should, for once, actually be like that- so dark it almost makes our(as an audience) eyes hurt. Everything around our main characters are dark and hazy. Fog swims around them.

But we don't see much of this environment, no matter how dark it is. Everything is filmed so up close, the camera sticking so close to the characters it's uncomfortable. We are stuck with Percy and Annabeth in this huge, intangebly huge space. Two small ants in this great, unescapable landscape. Have y'all watched Stranger Things? you know that strangely filmed darkness we see when Eleven goes into the upside down? Tartarus should be filmed very similar to that. Everything except for Annabeth and Percy should be engulfed in black, pure darkness all around, when the two first enter this place. It's only when Annabeth and Percy stay too long, finally perceive this landscape for what it is, the body of Tarturas himself, that we as an audience sees this too. It's not abrupt or sudden. It's a gradual, uncomfortable recognization. The music that has always been in the background gets a little louder, pounding a little too similar to the beat of a human heart. We hear wet, sloshing, horrible sounds every time Percy puts his foot down. Dark liquid and goop drips from all around, and the camera stays just a little bit longer on these elements. The darkness slowly lifts, just a bit.

The Arai curses fight scene is, for me personally, the scariest scene in everything Rick wrote. It's utterly horrifying to think too long about. Again, I don't think it needs to be overtly graphic or visual.When you really think about it, there is so much death and killing in every one of the PJO and HoO books. But this sort of murder is made child-friendly in every way- monsters resolve into dust only to be reborn, death is written off in a few paragraphs, kids get shoot, cut, burned, maned, and we just ignore it. This scene really brings us to the reality that these monsters are still beings, about the sheer numbers of monsters just Percy and Annabeth themselves have brought to death. In a live-action adaption, this realization and horror should be replicated.

(more under read more ↓↓↓↓↓↓) 

At first, we think this is just a normal fight. Percy and Annabeth have went through plenty of those already- this is HoH, by now the audience has watched 12 year old Percy fight a god, 15 year old Percy become almost invincible- a little run-in with some winged monsters is just another Tuesday. The music increases, but it's still just regular, action-movie fight scene music (behind it is a heavy dropping beat. Again, just like a heartbeat. Is it Percy's heartbeat? Is it Tartarus's heartbeat? we can't tell). But as soon as Percy takes that first swing, we know something is wrong. think this scene would be interesting if the camera switches jarringly from Annabeth's pespective to Percy's. When Annabeth strikes down the arai that curses her with blindness, we are suddenly plunged into darkness too. Sudden, startling darkness. It is quiet, too. too quiet. We are engulfed in pure nothingness. It's so sudden and holds out for so long that the audience must think something is wrong. They get uncomfortable, squirming in their seats. Is their tv broken? Did they accidentally click mute? We see dim flashes of light, waving like somebody stumbling around in the dark, with a dim flashlight,but they are too gone so suddenly.

The camera swings, and now we see this scene from Percy's perspective, but everything is all wrong. The music is not this dramatic, action music we are use to, but instead, while the beat is the same as before, we are only left with this uncomfortable, startling heartbeat. It goes: dun, dun, dun. Percy is in pain: you know when you're in so much pain everything is fuzzy at the edges and you don't know if what you're percieving is real or just a halluciation? This scene is that feeling times a thousand. The techincal term is called a dolly zoom, but more casually a "Vertigo shot" the camera pulls back sudden at the same time it zooms in. It is often used by Hitchcock, espeically in the movie Jaws. You can google it, but what we get is this effect where the subject (Percy, here) not quite moving, but the background shifting around him so quickly it almost gives you motion sickness. The camera then spins jarringly around him, again, so quickly it's dizzying. we don't get to see too much. There are so many of these creatures, coming from all sides. It's too much. Behind this still pumping heartbeat, there is RINGING. God, so much ringing, in your ear. Because of all this action happening on screen, again it takes the audience a moment to even perceive this sound. But when they perceive it, they can't unheard it. it's so loud, it comes from everywhere, it's getting higher in pitch, it's uncomfortable, you're about to throw up, yet just like Percy you're pinned to the spot, unsure what to do, as everything goes out of your control.

Olf. That was a long one. But for a little TL;DR, undershowing is often scarier. There is a quote, I'm not too sure where it first came from since it sounds much too smart for me to think up myself, but to paraphrase, it goes something like: "The scariest thing in the world is what our imaginations can conjure up." Here's a simpler one for you:  "The most frightening monsters are the ones that exist in our minds." I've had the personally experience of laying awake too many nights, stuck in a mind loop, scaring myself half to death with my own thoughts. Let me repeat this again: A story, even a horror one, doesn't need excessive blood, guts and sexy stuff thrown at it to make it dark and horrifying. A lot of this post was inspired by talking with a lot of fellow PJO fans, you know who you are :), while also being influenced by this great video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8OTO7Rqln9Q. It talks about the complexities of writing comic horror. I highly recommend watching it. Also, for a few examples of this kind of horror done well, I recommend Birdbox, and also, strangely the ending fight of Spiderman Far From Home. I won't spoil it, but it was a very well directed scene that really made me feel jarred and uncomfortable as I watched it. I've also heard The Thing is good at this, but I really do scare myself too much, and can't watch truly scary horror movies without freaking myself out. Anyway, if you've made it this far, I hope you all have a nice day/ night and comment if you want me to write out any other scenes from PJO or any Rick books. Film, whether that's in screenwriting/cinematography/set/costume design, or, most of all directing, is both my dream and plan, so this is good practice.

[nanawritesstuff]

of peace and devotion (nsfw)| December 28th, MadaSakuWeekend 2019

@madasakuweek​ thank you for organising and motivating us all to write!! I know I’ve been lazy, and this weekend truly stirred the madasaku pot and had me cooking!

prompts, December 28th: yandere au, possessive, "you belong to me" Fandom: Naruto

Pairing: MadaSaku 

Rating: 18+/Explicit 

Word Count: 6947

Summary: Soulmates don’t mean much to Sakura, who’s never fallen in love. After she catches her boyfriend cheating, she wonders if she’s really meant for love. What will she do then, when it quite literally stumbles through her door? | sequel to of war and peace

Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content, mild language, OOC behaviour, modern au, hints of very soft yandere behaviour...if you squint, cliche, Sakura deserves a soft Madara!! I'm just cold and lonely leave me to my soft things!!

a/n: that was the most cliched summary I’ve written in my life, this is what happens when you watch too many kdramas

In Sakura's world, at this very moment in time–the term soulmates holds very little meaning.

As she steps through the doors to the elevator, grocery bag in hand, her mind recalls the unpleasant events of the previous week. The week itself had started out like every other one; early shifts, her usual patients, nothing too unusual apart from a few bumps here and there that she had no trouble dealing with. And now, on this chilly Tuesday, she gets to be home on Christmas Eve. 

Alone. 

This was the one unexpected bump in her plans. Something she hadn't even thought of, so she couldn't have planned for it–to catch her boyfriend of six months in the break room with his mouth glued to the new nurse's neck. She had stood there, watching them go at it for a whole minute before Ami had spotted her and shrieked. It was only the dawning horror in her eyes as she heard Sasori stammer out his pitifully weak excuses that told Sakura the girl hadn't known about the handsome redheaded doctor's girlfriend: her, Haruno Sakura.

Something Sasori must have been only too happy to take advantage of, she's sure.

That is why Sakura had accepted her tearful apologies with a stiff smile and continued on with her day. Ino, as soon as she found out, dragged her to the cafe, attempting to coax out the tears and curses with cold doughnuts–a reaction that just wouldn't come. That particular bit was reserved for her evening shower. Sakura was sad, yes and quite disappointed with how things turned out. Their relationship, while far from perfect, had been important to her. She had been trying to meet his expectations since before they even started dating but Sasori's nitpicking never ended; his complaints about her working too much had been increasing by the day. He also thought they weren't having enough sex. 

'I guess he went fishing,' she thinks with only a slightly bitter sigh. They were never going to last, and she should have accepted it sooner. But it had been comfortable. It had been safe. And now it's over. All her life, she’s felt as if something’s been missing. As if she’s forgotten something, as if she’s been waiting for something to come back to her.

She realizes she's been standing in front of her door for more than a few minutes, and the sound of a shuffle reaches her ears, drawing her eyes towards it. Eyes the deepest shade of dark ink, brows furrowed in concern and a slender mouth curled into a gentle smile. 

"You've been standing there for about five minutes," he says in lieu of a greeting. She blinks rapidly, shaking off the melancholic energy and smiling back at her neighbour. 

"Itachi-san! I see you've got the evening off." She eyes his sleek jacket, sniffing as the subtle notes of his familiar cologne reach her. The plastic container in his hands looks out of place in the impeccable image he makes. "Off to see Izumi-san?"

"Ah. Our families are finally having dinner together," he divulges with a nervous little smile before holding the box out towards her. "And these are for you. I received the batch yesterday." 

"Gingerbread cookies?" she guesses, her eyes lighting up at once as if she's been handed the one ring to rule them all. "Thank you. Your uncle is an angel."

"Just make sure you actually eat something before opening those bottles," he says sternly, with a pointed look at the wine bottles in her grocery bag. Sakura can't help but laugh nervously and shift the bag out of view in a futile attempt at hiding the contents from view. “And please don’t call him my uncle.” 

"But he is your uncle, isn’t he? Also, don't tell Sasuke? You know he'll nag. And send Naruto." 

"Alright. Only because I know you need space. Just take care and text one of us if you need anything. I'll be crashing at my parents'." He gives her a supportive pat on the back before continuing on, and Sakura adores him for trying. Itachi has been worried about her since she told him about The Break-Up, and he's also the only one who understood her when she said she felt more relief than sorrow. 

"Will do. Good luck, I hope you have a wonderful evening," Sakura calls out after him before unlocking her door. Stepping into the darkened entrance, she fumbles for the light switch as she slips out of her shoes, wrestling with her puffy. Her apartment is completely silent, and it bothers her less than she thought it would. With a silent apology to her worrywart neighbour, she starts looking for the wine opener. 

She does break into the box of cookies first. One of the small traditions she looks forward to every Christmas since she was twelve. The first time she tried these was in 6th grade when Sasuke brought some to class. One bite and she begged her grumpy friend for some every single year. His uncle bakes them for the entire family and ever since he found out how crazy she is about them, he makes sure to send some for her too. 

Two glasses in, she's pleasantly buzzed and curled up in her soft blanket, her laptop open on her lap. The first Harry Potter movie plays on the screen, and it reminds her of Sasori and how he hates the entire series. If he had been here, he would have insisted on watching something she has very little interest in herself. It's alarming how she's finding more pros to ending things with him by the hour, but than can only be a good thing now that he's out of her personal life.

The forty text messages from him are going to stay unread. 

Just as she's contemplating getting another snack before she starts the second movie, the doorbell rings, and at first, she thinks she's imagined it. It's 12:04 on the clock, and if Ino had been planning to drop in at midnight, she would have texted first. It rings again, and Sakura starts to feel uneasy. There's a series of heavy, hurried knocks on the door. 

'Please, please don't be Sasori-'

"Oi, Itachi! It's freezing out here, open the fucking door!" 

And there's the magic word. Itachi doesn't give his address out to people he doesn't trust, and with how familiar this stranger seems to be with him–it's probably not a serial killer. A peek through the peephole shows unruly ebony strands, and with a deep breath, she opens the door just a crack. There is little point in the cautiousness as the stranger stumbles through the door, trembling violently as he nearly runs her over.

"Took you long enough! I really need to take a-" The man pauses as he finally stands up straight, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, and the girl staring at him in concern. "Uh-you're not Itachi."

"Definitely not," she confirms dryly, crossing her arms over her chest, just tipsy enough to not feel self-conscious about her fuzzy pyjamas and an oversized sweatshirt. She has no idea who he is but Sakura has spent enough time with the Uchiha siblings and their relatives to know one of their clansmen when she sees him. "I'm his neighbour."

"Right, definitely prettier than him. Sorry. Fuck. Oh-sorry about that too," he mutters, a slight flush spreading over the high point of his cheeks. His sheepish tone contrasts greatly with his roguish look. Wild, dark hair that falls to his back. A black leather jacket that does little to hide his well-built form, and unusually deep-set eyes that stay strangely focused on her even as he squirms with discomfort. Her heart races, making her wonder if it's the alcohol or his cologne that's hitting her so hard. "I'm...just gonna go." 

"Itachi's not home," she blurts out. "So, um."

"Oh," he sighs. His shoulders slump and she can't help but sympathize. "My bad. I should've checked." 

"Yeah. Well, if you need to, you know." She points towards the hallway leading to the bathroom, and he blinks in slight confusion before he gets it. 

"Are you sure?" he waits for her nod before he sighs once more, this time with relief, and begins to tug his boots off. "Shit, thanks. I'm really sorry to intrude, I just really need to-"

"Not a problem. It's right down the hallway, first door on the left!" she cuts in with a slight laugh, closing the front door as he hurries off. Just as she thinks to text Itachi, she realises she doesn’t have a name. 

She probably shouldn’t trust a stranger this much, but she reasons that it’s Itachi she trusts, so it should be fine to flop back on the couch and resume her drinking. 

Light footsteps indicate the not-a-complete stranger’s return, and Sakura turns to study him over the back of the couch. He seems calmer now, looking around her apartment curiously before he turns to smile at her. 

“Thanks again. I probably would’ve-if you hadn’t-yeah. Thanks,” he flushes slightly at the sight of her trying and failing to hide a grin before he looks over her head at the coffee table. “Wait-are those Izuna’s cookies?” 

“Itachi’s uncle? Yeah,” she affirms with a dreamy smile, reaching for another treat. He makes a weird face at her words. 

“Yeah. His uncle.” She cocks a brow at his wince. “Right, I’m-his brother. Madara.” 

Sakura can’t quite describe the jolt she feels at his name, and tries to ignore it as she takes the hand he holds out. His palm is warm and dwarfs her own, curling around it gently. Something in her shakes and she wonders if she’s always been so nervous around good-looking men she didn’t grow up with. 

The name is a familiar one though, and she's sure it was Shisui who mentioned it. It explains how young he looks–Madara and Izuna are cousins to Itachi and Sasuke's father, born to a father who married quite late, at least according to the older generation's standards. It had the whole clan in quite a tizzy, according to Shisui. She's also sure she isn't supposed to be privy to clan gossip so she's going to keep her mouth shut.

“I’m Sakura.” 

He smiles at that, his eyes softening in the dim light of her living room. “Of course it is.” 

Her cheeks feel strangely warm and she feels like a fool, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. 'But,' the voice in her head that sounds a little like Ino's soothes her. 'Look at him. He's beautiful.'

"So, that makes you the other uncle." 

"Ugh," he groans before doing an abrupt turn and smirking wickedly. "So that makes you the girl Sasuke wrote that poem for when he was eight?"

"Why do you know about that?" It's more demand than a question, but Sakura really doesn't bring up that long-buried memory unless it's for the specific aim of tormenting Sasuke.

"Who do you think helped him write it?" he taunts, snickering at her startled expression. 

"And to think I'd been so impressed with the big words." Sakura shakes her head with an air of exaggerated disappointment. 

"Well, I'm glad to see I got most of it right," he shrugs, the tips of his ears reddening tellingly. "If it’s any consolation, I'm sure he knows them now...I think."

Her responding laugh is cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing again, and they both look at each other as if expecting the other to have expected it. Madara shrugs and she moves to the front door, standing up on the tips of her toes to look through the peephole. Really, what's with her home attracting unexpected guests at–

She whirls around in a panic. 

“Everything okay?” he asks quietly as she rushes back, looking like she’s going to throw up. 

“Um, yeah. No. I don’t know. It’s my ex.” 

“An ex you want to see...?” he trails off.

“Absolutely not,” she mutters, pressing the heels of her palm to her eyes. She can feel a headache coming on with the new arrival and honestly, it is so very like Sasori to drop in without asking, expecting her to be okay with him ruining her night. Madara watches her freak out for a few seconds before nodding resolutely. 

“Okay. Leave it to me.” Sakura makes a grab for his arm as he moves towards the door, trying to tug him in the opposite direction.

“What are you doing?” she hisses.

“Well, I owe you one. And I can’t just leave you to deal with an ex you clearly don’t want to see–especially at this time of the night,” he explains easily, trying to tug his arm from her grip. He tries to uncurl her fingers from where they’re digging into his bicep, and she nearly jumps when their hands touch once more. It's only now that she realizes how close they are, and that she's nearly hanging off his arm in an attempt to stop him from opening the door. "Hey, it's okay. I'll take care of it."

He looks back to wink at her before bending over to slide his boots on, and Sakura has to nearly tear her eyes away from the ridiculously appealing sight. He reaches the door and unlocks it deftly, and she's thankful for him looking away, because that was nearly devastating enough to make her forget about why he’s answering her door. 

Then she hears the one voice she absolutely did not want to hear again, at least until she goes back to work tomorrow.

“Saku-you’re not Sakura,” she hears Sasori say, and she can imagine his disgruntled expression with perfect ease.

“Definitely not,” Madara says in an echo of her own words, and she can’t help the subtle smile that stretches across her mouth. “Can I help you?”

“Who are you?” 

“None of your business.” 

“It is if you’re at my girlfriend’s house at this time of the night.” 

At that Sakura steps up next to Madara, crossing her arms in annoyance and trying not to blush when Madara slides his arm around her. He keeps his hand on the curve of her waist, his touch gentle and loose, but mostly reassuring. It also serves to annoy Sasori greatly, who looks like he can't quite believe what he's seeing. 

“Ex-girlfriend. What do you want?” she snaps. She's sure he didn't leave anything at her place.

“Sakura, who is this?” 

“Like he said, it’s none of your business.” She shivers a little and Madara tugs her closer, moving his hand to rub it over her arm in quick, light movements. She's a little amazed at how warm he is and quite upset that she has to stand in the cold because Sasori can't speak quickly enough.

"Um, well, I was just at a party at Hidan's." Who happens to live nearby. "And I was just...wondering if I could crash here. I thought we could talk." 

For a long moment, Sakura can't quite bring herself to say anything. Not because she's considering saying yes–but because the nerve of this man has, not for the first time, left her speechless. 

"Sasori, we-"

"I know, I know," he grumbles. He then shrugs and grins in a way she had once thought was charming, leaning in slightly. "Your place was just closer than mine-"

"And no longer accessible," Madara cuts in. "Goodnight." He tries to move them back so he can close the door, but Sasori interrupts the motion with a hand on the door. 

"I'll take the couch!" Sasori pushes back against the door. "Sakura, babe, we've-"

"Alright," Madara steps out the door instead, forcing Sasori to take a few steps back. "Why don't have a little talk?" He turns to a confused looking Sakura, gesturing for her to go inside. "I'll be right in, sweetheart. Don't worry." He doesn't wait for her to reply, closing the door before she can say anything. Sakura stands with her ear pressed to the wood for over a minute, but doesn't hear a thing. She goes back to the couch, trying to figure out if this was really okay, but Madara comes back in before she can come to an actual conclusion. 

"Well, he's a prick."

"I realize that now," she says, looking him over for any signs of damage. "Sorry, did he give you any trouble?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle. And you don't need to thank me either," he adds before she can even begin to come up with a way to express her gratitude. She also realizes that they're both alone once again, and despite how nice he seems, Madara is still a stranger. He looks a bit awkward, looking as if he doesn't know what to do with himself, or his hands which clench and unclench before he shoves them into the pockets of his jacket.

"Um, I should probably wait a few minutes before leaving...did Itachi say what time he'd be back?" 

"He said he's going to stay at his parents' tonight," Sakura tells him, wincing at his dismayed expression. "He hasn't given you a spare key?" 

"Shisui 'borrowed' it." 

"I'm so sorry." She thinks it's a little funny, but works to keep her face sympathetic; Shisui would be extremely amused by the current events.

"That's alright. I think I've intruded enough, so I should probably go."  

"Where do you live?" she asks, forehead wrinkled up at the thought of him having to make his way home in this weather. Sasori lives about ten minutes away–which is why she hadn’t been worried about him, she tells her guilty conscious. 

"...Senju apartments." 

"Fancy. Also on the other side of town," Sakura states flatly. "Did you drive here?"

"Ah."

"In a car?"

"...Bike."

"Right. Look," she begins, unable to actually believe she's doing this. "Just crash here tonight. I'll let Itachi know."

He looks taken aback at her suggestion, and shifts uncomfortably. "I wouldn't want to-"

"It's alright. I'm not comfortable with sending you off into the night," she reasons. "Plus, Itachi and Sasuke are practically family. That makes you...distant family. Sort of. Just-you're welcome to stay if you're comfortable with it."

Madara, who had begun to flush, looks extremely amused by the time she finishes. "Distant family."

"I said, sort of!" 

"Hah. Well," he rubs at the back of his head hesitantly. "I guess. You're really okay with it?"

"Really okay with it. One hundred per cent." She waits for him to take his shoes off before herding him towards the couch. "You sleepy?"

"Not really," he admits sheepishly, taking a seat, sitting a little too properly for this time of the night. 

"Great. You like Harry Potter?"

"Yeah."

"Wine?" 

"Yes," he laughs, accepting the clean glass she brings him.  

"Even better. It’s been ages since I had a sleepover. I'll bring more snacks."

The mildly awkward atmosphere dissolves quickly as they begin watching the movie, and Sakura's pleased to see her new companion loosen up and put his feet up on the coffee table. In an unexpected turn of events, she's found a new companion who's up for binge-watching the entire series, which is a little too ambitious for someone who has to work the next day. They open a new bottle as they express their mutual disappointment at the wasted potential of Tom Riddle, discuss their own Hogwarts house placements and the first time they read the books–before starting the third movie. 

Sakura groans as the light hits her face, turning it to bury her head further into her pillow. 

Her pillow, which seems unusually warm and smells like cedarwood. It's only when it shifts under her that her eyes fly open, and in her haste to spring back she tumbles off the bed. 

"Ow-" She rubs her backside in slight disgruntlement, glancing up at Madara only to see him yawning widely as he stretches like a contented cat; he smiles softly as he notices her staring. She can't quite get her brain to process what she's seeing–tan skin stretching over long, firm planes of muscle. His wild hair spills over her pillows and she's hit with a memory of nuzzling it, of knowing what it smells like. 

"Morning," he mumbles groggily, looking like he's ready to doze off again. 

'Ah, fuck.' 

"Morning," she replies in a tone a touch too shrill, jumping up when he just blinks at her. "We...uh..."

At her panicked expression, he seems to step out the doors of slumber completely, his cheeks reddening as he realizes she's struggling with their current state of undress. "Yeah. Uh, sorry?

"D-don't apologize," she says, trying to reassure him with a weak smile. "So! Breakfast?" 

"Sakura." He sits up, the sheets pooling at his waist and she looks away before she sees more than she can handle. The plain black sweatshirt that was snug on him falls to her thighs when she stands up, and she sees the way his eyes fall to the bare expanse of her legs before he forces them back to her face. "I-I'll take care of that. You okay with scrambled eggs? Tea? Coffee?"

"Um-yeah. Here I'll just..." She looks around the room, spotting his pants by the door. She can't help the way she tugs at the hem of his sweatshirt as she bends her knees, grabbing the jeans. "Here. And–coffee. What can I do to help?"

"You need to be at work by ten, right? You can go get ready, we've got time." It's 8:30 on the clock, but how does he know what time she needs to be at the hospital? Her baffled look must tip him off because he shakes his head in mock seriousness as he washes his hands. "You don't remember that conversation, huh?"

"I'm sure it'll come to me," she sighs. "Alright I'll...go shower." She misses his distracted nod in her haste to retreat to the bathroom, his eyes struggling to focus as she leaves him to his thoughts.

It all does, eventually, come back to her while she's in the shower. She’s grateful for the privacy because she’s convinced Madara would think her a lunatic if he saw her smiling so hard.

(flashback, nsfw content ahead)

"Madara?" she asks, lifting her head off his shoulder so she could look at him. They sit side by side, watching the credits scroll past as they contemplate moving. Sakura’s cuddled into his side, unable to muster the will to move away from his warmth.  

"Hm?"

"Have we met before?" The question has been on her mind since she first saw him earlier. He seems so familiar, but she’s unsure if it’s just because of his features, which do remind her of Itachi.

Her question is met with a slow blink as they both sit up a little straighter. "Could have. At birthday parties, maybe?" 

She purses her lips at the thought, trying to recall any interactions that might have taken place in the past. Madara watches her for a moment, as she chews on her bottom lip, before tapping her chin to interrupt the rough treatment of her mouth. She’s struck by the urge to flick her tongue against the pad of his thumb, and the thought has her squirming in embarrassment. He looks completely serious, while she’s over here thirsting. 

"Would you believe me if I said...I feel like I've been looking for you?" he asks hesitantly, flushing deeply when she looks amused. "Ugh, that sounds way cornier than it was intended to. I'm serious!" 

She sobers up at his firm tone, studying his features in the dim light of the lamp. She smooths his bangs away from his eyes, feeling slightly overwhelmed when he takes the hand tucking his hair behind his ear in his own, lacing his fingers with hers. 

"...I think I would," she whispers, mirroring his own tiny smile. "Then, would you believe me if I said I feel like I've been waiting for you?" She's only half-teasing. She feels at home, sitting next to him, arguing with him over fictional characters and concepts, watching him tap his feet to background music, eating cookies they're both shamelessly obsessed with. 

Her heart feels warm and full when he kisses the back of her hand.

"I think I would," he says, his smiling turning embarrassed and shy and so soft that she can't help but lean in and press her lips to it, her heart pounding madly when he melts into it, into her. He groans low when she climbs into his lap, tilting his head to deepen the meeting of their mouths. 

Desire drips into a pool at the bottom of her spine, where his hands splays and glides up to rest at the nape of her neck, tangling in messy, rosy strands. They kiss, and they kiss until her lips feel numb and her mind is muted for the first time in what feels like ages. 

The first grind of her hips against his feels electric and the helpless way he bucks his hips up is something she wants to see repeated. He clutches her to him, peppering hot kisses down the slender slope of her neck and she knows what she wants. "Be-bedroom."

He stills, tilting his head back until the tip of his nose brushes hers. His eyes are reminiscent of hot pools of obsidian, and she thinks she would be okay with drowning in them. "Are you sure?" 

"I want this." His mouth perks up even as he presses it to her jaw, winding her legs around his waist as he rises from the sofa with her holding on. Long fingers dig into the plump flesh of her rear, keeping her close and whimpering. 

"Wait. Are you sure?" 

His responding chuckle is edged with roughness, but not a straight enough answer. Once again, he manages to steal her breath before it can form words, sliding her lower against his body until she can feel him pressing into her, hard and straining. 

"Oh. Okay," she gasps, pushing back into it until he stumbles with a curse, pressing her back into her bedroom door as he kisses her deeply, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth.

"Keep that up and we'll never get to the bed," he groans, grinding into her urgently as she nibbles on the shell of his ear.

"That's fine, just-fuck." She loses her train of thought when his hands squeeze her ass warningly. 

"I'm not fucking you against a door," he says firmly, cutting her off with a quick kiss when she tries to protest. "Not the first time." 

And so he fumbles with the door handle as his teeth dig into her skin, stumbling in blindly. He tosses her on the bed, reaching for the collar of his sweatshirt and sliding it off swiftly. Her mouth waters at this unveiling of his chiselled form, torn between reaching out to run her greedy fingers over it and reaching for her own clothes. He makes the decision for her by sliding his fingers underneath the hem of her shirt, tugging it up and over her head. Warmth flushes down from her cheeks to her chest when she realizes she had forgone a bra earlier, leaving the upper half of her body exposed to his burning gaze. 

The moment his chest presses into hers, warm desire spreads down to the tips of her toes. It sinks into her bones as he kisses her temple, her cheeks, her lips. He carves a fervent path down her neck, teeth and tongue leaving hints of their efforts behind in blooming marks. The first curl of his tongue around a taut nipple has her gasping loudly, her fingers tangling in his hair as he splits his attention between her breasts. 

His journey around her body continues with kisses down the soft planes of her abdomen until he reaches her waistline. Her heart pounds madly as she lifts her hips, allowing him to tug her pyjamas down her legs, followed by her underwear. It leaves her squirming beneath his gaze until he bends over her to press his lips to hers. 

"You're so beautiful, darling," he groans, his hands gliding down her waist and back up. "Can I taste you?" He waits for her slow nod, smiling as he climbs back down, spreading her legs until he's found himself a spot between them. Sakura, who waits breathlessly for that first contact, nearly yelps when she feels his teeth sink into the tender flesh of her inner thigh instead. He soothes the spot with his tongue, and just as she settles down with the comforting motion she feels a languid lick along her slick sex that steals any capacity for thought still present in her head. 

Lifting up on her elbows proves to be disastrous for her heart: he locks eyes with her as he licks fervidly into her, his eyes crinkling and lips twisting wickedly. 

Sakura thinks she might have invited the devil into her bed. 

He doesn't let her move until she's dripping with her desire, pushed to the brink of madness and digging her heels into his shoulders. He's unfazed by her pleading, coaxing and tonguing but never letting her tip over. 

"Madara, Mad-fuck, please, please," she whimpers, one hand clenched around her sheets and the other smacking into the headboard. 

"You need to tell me what you want, babygirl," he laughs, drawing slow, torturous circles around her clit. 

"Fuck me, fuck me, please." She's practically begging but she needs this. She thinks she might actually wither away if he doesn't let her come. She feels him move, blinking her tears away so she can watch him slide his pants off and reach for his wallet. She's never felt more focused as she watches him tug the boxer-briefs down, freeing his straining erection and leaving her swallowing with one motion. 

Sitting up, she reaches for him as he tears the foil square open carefully, but he stops her with a hand curling around her wrist. He brings her hand up to this mouth, kissing the back of it and urging her back down. "Later." 

Any arguments she might have had are ripped away when she feels him at her entrance, rubbing the tip of his head against her slickness. When he pushes through her slit, tearing a moan from the depths of her throat, he kisses the corner of her mouth softly. She's convinced no one has ever felt this good, and no one ever will.

He's watching her, she realizes belatedly. She reaches up to cup his cheek, smiling faintly as he kisses her palm quickly, as he waits for her to adjust around him. 

"Is this okay?" he asks, dropping his forehead to hers, his muscles straining as he keeps himself from moving. She pulls him close, leaving open-mouthed kisses over his tense shoulders. 

"It's perfect." She pushes up, her walls squeezing tight and a startled groan escapes him before he pulls back and snaps his hips into hers–over and over again, aimed to tear her apart and make his mark in the very depths of her until she's shattering to pieces around him and trembling in his arms. He whispers softly, incoherently as he thrusts frantically, and she kisses him through his unravelling. 

She curls into a ball, after, nearly vibrating her contentment when she feels his fingers in her hair, rubbing at her scalp. Madara proves himself to be a cuddler when he moulds himself to her back, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. "Okay, I have a confession." 

She turns around in his arms, raising a brow at his conflicted expression. 

"I...have seen you before." 

"Oh?" she lifts up onto an elbow, watching him struggle with his words. She's filled with curiosity because she's certain she'd never seen Madara before today. He’s not someone she would forget.  

"Yeah. It was at your graduation party a few years back. The one you all had at Fugaku’s place," he tells her, his eyes unfocused as he thinks back to the time. "We didn't actually meet, but that was... I thought you were beautiful even then."

It’s strange to hear him address the older man so casually when he’s closer in age to her than Fugaku, but then they are cousins. 

"Oh." She rests her head in her palm. "Let me guess–and you've been smitten ever since?" She shouldn't tease when he's being so serious, but she's come to really enjoy his blushing responses–a reaction she doesn't get this time. Instead, he meets her eyes steadily, if a bit solemnly. 

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Madara!" She laughs, pinching his cheek, prompting him to smile as well. 

“You don’t believe me.” He sighs, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"Mhm. I'm glad you got the wrong door," she whispers, feeling him smile against her skin. 

"Me too." She sighs and presses her face to his chest, snuggling closer when he winds his arms around her. They’re quiet for a while, and just before she slips into sleep, he speaks up.

"Sakura?" 

"Hm?

"Meeting you like this...being so close to you," he shifts slightly, pressing his lips to her hair. "Right now, I almost feel like...you belong to me." His admission is said so lowly that she nearly misses it. "And I belong to you. Is that strange?"

She smiles drowsily, tilting her head back to kiss him, soft and slow. "No, I think it's lovely." 

"I think you're lovely." She can’t keep her eyes open, drifting into the dark with warmth all around her. “And...I don’t think I want to let you go.”

“...Then don’t.” 

For the first time in a long time, she's smiling as she falls asleep. 

Sakura's still smiling as she steps out of the shower. Wiping her hand over the fogged up mirror, she squints at her reflection. She looks bright, despite a terrible headache, and she feels warm–on the inside and out; her skins nearly burns when she spots the marks over her collarbone and thighs.

Waking up to soft greetings, offers of breakfast and a very pleasant ache between her thighs–it's something new, but it's nice. Madara is nice. 

'And I'm fucked. Literally and figuratively' 

But is she? She may have started him by kissing him, but he more than reciprocated. She's never felt more loved, and that includes actual relationships. Then there were the mind-melting things he said. A bit intense, but they were both more than a little dazed in the aftermath.

She’s a little worried about starting something this soon after ending things with Sasori, but– and she may be speaking too soon, but she never felt this way with Sasori. The redhead had started their relationship, dictated most of it, and she had been okay with it, accepting that she’s not the sort to take charge when it comes to this stuff. 

But with Madara? She feels the sparks of excitement. She wants. So many things. So badly. She should, however, take it slow. A little too late, but she should still try. The man might be more than a little alarmed if he finds out just how into him she already is. 

Her stomach growls loudly as she follows the smell of frying bacon to the kitchen. And there he is, the man in question, arranging food on two plates, her coffee ready on the side. His hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, his pants tight around his waist–and backside–and Sakura nearly swoons at the sight of him.

“Are you real?” she asks, completely serious. 

“Real enough to have burnt the toast a little,” he answers with a sheepish grin. She hands him his sweatshirt apologetically, but he's unfazed as he pulls it on easily. 

She wonders if this is all very normal for him, and the thought stings a little.  

“I like it burnt.” She shrugs and pauses as she reaches the counter. She turns around to see him watching her; with a quick prayer to whoever’s listening and a hand on his shoulder, she rises up on the tips of her toes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.” 

His fingers curl around her wrist before she can step out of his space, his eyes searching her face before he pulls her close. She should be alarmed by how natural it feels to have his arms around her and his lips coaxing her mouth open. In the light of the morning, he kisses her softly; once more, she’s filled with a yearning that makes her ache. 

In what’s quickly turning into an irritating pattern, her phone rings. A quick glance at the screen assuages her annoyance, but she still has to take a deep breath before answering. 

“Morning, Itachi. Happy Christmas!” 

“Happy Christmas. I just saw your text. Is Madara still there?” 

“Uh, yeah, he is.” 

“Alright. I’m nearly on our floor. See you in a minute.” 

“Wait-“

But he’s hung up already, and she turns to see Madara sipping at what looks like green tea, failing to hide his disappointment.

“I heard.” 

“Yeah,” she sighs, moving towards the entrance, then doubling back and pulling Madara into a quick, hard kiss that leaves him slack-jawed. “Sorry.” 

“Please don’t be,” he murmurs hoarsely, making grabby hands at her as she skips away. Beaming, she opens the door to Itachi’s suspicious eyes and boxes of what she’s sure are his mother’s cooking. 

“Yes, this is for you,” Itachi says before she can ask, moving past her to peer into her apartment. “Ah. There you are.” 

“Morning.” 

“Good morning,” Itachi looks from his uncle to Sakura, as if expecting more. “I’m going to go ahead get it out of the way–did you guys...?” 

“Yes.” 

“N-What!” Sakura squeaks, glaring at Madara when she spots the grin he tries to hide behind his cup. 

“Right. Okay. Well, I’m gonna go get some more sleep. Sakura, have a nice day at work. Madara, let's go. Bring the plate, I’ll return it later.” Itachi doesn’t seem to be asking, and Madara, to her surprise, does as the other man says. They stare at each other for a few seconds, before Itachi raises a brow and turns to leave. A tiny smirk curls along his mouth, and she knows she can expect a call from Shisui within the hour.

The second he’s out Madara’s arms around her and his lips are on hers.

“Have dinner with me,” he asks as soon as he pulls away, his eyes wide with hope. 

“Tonight?” she says, her answer clear when she kisses him again. Madara grins down at her, pulling her in for a hug that leaves her gasping for breath as she laughs.

“I’ll pick you up.”

Bonus: 

“He made you breakfast?” Shisui asks over the phone, for the third time. 

“Yes, Shisui. Honestly, it’s not like he gave me a manicure! Why are you so surprised?” Sakura glances around to ensure there aren't any eavesdroppers as she exits the elevator in the hospital. Ino has the evening shift, so she didn't get a chance to talk to her. She's not sure what she would even say. Her entire day had been a struggle with focus, but she had managed to keep the Madara-related thoughts at bay until the end of her shift.

And then she called the one person who could give her some insight.

“Because! Madara does not make people breakfast. In the rare occasions that he does spend time with them, he exits those occasions as quickly as humanly possible.”

“So he’s...” 

“Not a dick! Not exactly. He’s just had a hard time getting emotionally involved with partners. You’re sure it was him? Not Izuna?” 

“Yes, Shisui, of course, I’m sure!” 

“Okay, okay. Hm. I think...he might like you?” 

“Yeah?” she can't help but smile as she opens the door to her car, flinging her bag inside. 

“Yeah. Weird.” 

“Why is it weird?” 

“You’re going to be Itachi and Sasuke’s aunt-“ 

“Uchiha Shisui! Don’t even put that crap in my head.” It's way too early to even go there.

“Fine, I won’t. But what will you do about the crap in his head?” 

“I’m sure there’s nothing like that! At least, I won’t know until I talk to him. Which won’t be possible until dinner tonight. I also need his number. Which is why I called you.” 

“Ah, right. You were so preoccupied with his mouth that you forgot to even ask for his number?”

Sakura makes a silent vow to punch him the next time she sees him.

 “...I’ll text it to you. Are we telling Itachi you're planning on asking his uncle out?” 

“...not yet.” She's not sure how her friend would react. Itachi has always been a supportive presence in her life, but he didn't actually say anything this morning.  

“It's not like he'll be surprised!” 

“Probably. But let me talk to Madara first!” She gets inside and closes the door, leaning back and closing her eyes tiredly. 

“Fine, fine. If he’s an ass to you, let me know. I’ll...tell Izuna.” 

“I’m hurt. You won’t even kick his ass yourself?” she teases. 

“Not when I know I won’t escape with my limbs unbroken. Your new flame is a scary dude, you know.” 

“Please. Are you forgetting I’ve met the guy? He’s one of the nicest men I’ve ever met.”

“...Madara...nicest...Is-is this what they call a Christmas Miracle?” 

[orenstern]

I’d like to admit that I’ve never in my life read the Diary of Anne Frank. I’ve stood outside her house before, almost 14 years ago, and could feel something of her echoes, but never had before or since seen her words or witnessed her mind.

Up until a week ago, that is, when I chanced upon a copy of her diary. I picked it up the very moment I saw it, an instant reaction and so quick I forgot to realize I’d always been innately afraid to read her work, her letters to self. Because it somehow always seemed to me like, of all the work available by now-dead writers, her diary entries would feel the most like ghost stories, like real life talking to a ghost. It’s always scared me, the notion of talking to this particular ghost. No other ghost ever proposed to raise in me the slightest feather of a concern let alone fear.

But she always had.

And I can’t even remember having seen a portrait of her until last week. As hard as that might be to believe.

Where she was concerned, it has been like living in a house where all of the mirrors had blankets covering them. And believe you me, I’ve been in many houses where real life people were still living there and it was just precisely that, blankets over the mirrors, and the inhabitants were just looking at me without a hint of shame, sorrow or remorse in their eyes. Without any hint of knowledge of the display they had erected. If it fact it was them who had erected it. Just, this is the way it is here looks in their eyes.

The fucking things you see over a life. The understated non-plussed near-miss, oh boy did it hit though I am yet unstruck, horror you sometimes see. And how often it doesn’t even faze you. You just step over it like you would any old mound of dirt, not at all an active grave, except the low key and surpressed knowledge reminding you that all the earth is an active 5 billion year old Grave and Tomb and Monument and Pyre all wrapped into one, and all the universe a 20 billion year old same thing.

So I picked up the book. And I gazed at the front cover for a good long while. At her portrait. At Anne. I looked at her portrait for the first time, and I transported my mind back to her house, and I imagined she and I were standing there together, side by side. Outside. Looking at her own house in silence, together. And we both walked away, together, headed for a fast train to Paris, by way of a stroll along the Prisengracht, and short interlude at the Van Gogh museum. No other manifestations than that. I did not even imagine our bodies or our faces. I just remembered having done that before, peering out from the windows of my own eyes, with a companion by my side, and imagined this time, Anne was there with me doing the same.

And then after these thoughts, I opened the book. But I turned immediately to her very final entry. And I read only this Tuesday, August 1st, 1944 entry.

I’m sure I am not the only one who has read her writings and recognized themself in her words. But for certain, what she had written seemed and felt like something I’d written at least a thousand times. Her precise sentiments, and word choices, her very style. Parts of her style is my style. I must have picked that up either from writers who were familiar with her writings or just plucked it out of the wind somehow or some other way. But still that was not the eerie part.

The eerie part was the last two paragraphs. Which I copied down by hand into one of my own journals, with a blunt non-sharpened 3 inch pencil with no eraser no less, was all I had at the time. It was eerie because for at least a decade but more and more lately like the curvings of a quadratic formula, I’ve been hearing the phrase “Set Intentions” like you might hear during guided meditation or whenever someone wants to Exalt the Secret of Manifestation to you.

And I wasn’t at all going to share any of this with anyone. I had no plans to say any of this outloud to write anything on it or engage it any further or even ever again. I wrote the passage in my journal and I’d figured I was fully intending to never ever look back at that passage, or talk about it, or allow myself to recall it, and otherwise resolved to keep the blankets over this mirror forever.

But then I was scrolling this evening and just saw someone had shared a picture of Anne. And that too was a first for me to witness. Now I saw her face twice in a week, at the bookends of the week, both on Wednesdays at roughly about the same time of day. Happy to call that coincidence. Very happy to call it that.

But, I had also been just on a smoke break from my own writings, a letter I was writing to a loved one and the tenor of the letter of where I had left off when I stopped for my smoke break had just moved onto omens.

Oh boy, right?

Well now, still happy to be coincidentally maybe now just only synchronistically having this experience. But given it all, I’d resolved to share.

And by share, I’m not sure I can bring this all into any firm sense of things that could make it any less eerie. Though I will try. And if I don’t fully strike the right note in this attempt, I will know it, you won’t have to tell me, but I will publish the attempt anyway as an earmark of this encounter, and double back on it maybe whenever it is that I have found the right note or chord to strike or strum.

I’m thinking of two things, one I was going to save for my letter when I moved past omens. And one I was going to tell a friend of mine after watching a movie he recommended that I still have not told him. So I will choose neither and tell you both of them in this writing.

Most importantly, this is not at all about victim blaming, please have the courage to see past that, as Anne apparently might say that, at least, one of your two voices, if you only had two, would have such ability. And this, even if that means this courageous voice disappears after only 15 minutes.

First, I can remember back to a time when I am not more than a few months older than my son is now, maybe six months older. I am lying in my little boy bed, in my little boy bedroom in the house I grew up in, a little cape style enhanced cottage. It is night. The walls are blue. The headboard is all white and soft and plush to the touch, and riveted by silken buttons, smooth to the touch and shiny to the eye, though woven round by very fine white thread.

I am laying on top of the covers. This is colorful Snoopy and the Peanuts bedding. It’s not exactly yet bed time. But it must still be before the Vernal Equinox because the sun has been down for a good while and its not yet past my little boy bedtime. And the room is lit golden by a single 40 maybe 60 but really probably 40 watt incandescent bulb. It’s gold in there, it’s almost orange that low gold glow. And I’m laying at angle on the bed. And I’m pointed feet first at the east corner of the bedroom, which is also precisely lined up with Cardinal East. And I shit you not, but on this evening, a few weeks before my actual birthday and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was on my original due date, I was thinking to myself, “I must be dreaming in this life. I am going to remember this moment forever. When I get older. And I believe I am going to wake up someday from the distant future back here in this moment, back here in the age, back here just the way I am now.”

I’ve not tampered with this memory at all since then. I’ve remembered it precisely and often ever since. I’ve referred back to it thousands of times. In a sense, I in fact have never left that room or that night. I built it into every single night since. Like one of Tom Riddle’s horcruxes. And this before I had ever heard Row Row Row Your Boat. And this before I had enough speaking skills to say these thoughts outloud even if I wanted to but enough language understanding to think them and remember.

So that’s the first thought.

The second thought, it’s about that movie my friend suggested I watch over the summer. It was a horror movie, a new one. You may have watched it yourself. Called Ghosts of War.

My feedback to him the day after I watched it was pretty simple. A. I enjoyed it. B. The sniper I think is my favorite. C. It reminds me I have another horror movie That I do not mention to him by name then, but I only say that it is in the genre of horror that is not shriekingly scary, or rather does not rely on shriekingly scary moments. Because it does contain a couple of those potentially frightful jolts. But that is not it’s best foot forward. This type of horror is not the exciting amusement park kind. This type of horror is the kind that enters your bloodstream and stays with you and haunts you over a long period of time, long afterwards. The kind of horror you might find yourself waking up from sleep even a year or more later and not feeling right and having witnessed. D. I might get back to him someday with more commentary. Oh and E. I really enjoyed seeing Billy Zane. Particularly as the dichotomy of American Doctor and SS Colonel.

But wouldn’t you know shortly after I finished writing down that passage from Anne Frank’s final entry, pledging to not look at it ever again, I found myself in another room talking to a person about that actual movie that ghost of war reminded me of that I didn’t tell my friend what that movie was. To this new person I did say its name. It is paranormal activity. The first one. I said that movie is the first time I had witnessed a genuine horror film, That has the capability of genuinely haunting me for a long long period of time, in my adult years. And it doesn’t contain hardly any,if at all, shriek moments.

The horror of that movie is it’s power to slowly and steadily and surely wrap itself around your heart with fear and anxiety, and with full command, Sustain you in that state while flexing and relaxing it’s own valves, to show you who’s boss and who is in command.

Furthermore I told this person, that such a film as this paranormal activity is is not a film to watch when you are in a heightened state of consciousness. You’ve got to be half asleep at the wheel half dead inside to properly survive that film. Because in the final moment, and I admitted this to that person, when you see the demon at last, he jumps straight into your eyes. Straight into you. That movie is perhaps the ultimate act of transgression, that I’d ever seen to that date. And I admitted to this person that it took me a good long while of concerted and methodical effort, to rid myself of that motherfucking demon. Such is the exquisite accomplishment of that particular horror movie. I spared my friend this story, because I’m pretty sure he would’ve shit his pants if I told it to him in person. I think I’m only about 30% joking about that.

But tomorrow being that some stories stay with you longer than others. Some stories you actually have to exorcise from your mind. it’s very good training. Especially if you happen to frequently find yourself in other peoples houses and those houses have all the mirrors draped over by blankets. And those other people walk about aimlessly as though they have no idea how odd that appears to be. if you know what I’m saying. And if you can believe what I’m saying is actually true.

But no I don’t think I’ll ever tell my friend about the paranormal activity story. What I will tell him is another thought I had about ghosts of war. That I think on some level in someway we are all ghosts of every war. Wars that we’ve seen and wars that we haven’t seen, either depicted in books or movies or for trade for real on the news both of foreign lands and domestic. And even wars in our own mind, common place words with our neighbors or friends or family or loved ones. I think in someway we just are ghosts of it. Carrying the crosses of it.

And I remember a story I wrote or a poem maybe it was about a universal snake and a universal monkey. The universal snake head swallowed the universal monkey. Seemingly defeated him in battle. Seemingly killed him. Seemingly was digesting him. But unseeming to the universal snake, the universal monkey to this day will not die. And for all eternity the universal snake has had indigestion on account of the universal monkey’s eternal will not to be extinguished. They say it ain’t over til it’s over. They say don’t stop believing. I say that’s probably very good advice and we should all listen to it. The Monkey is listening to it right now, and has been forever. That monkey won’t quit. That monkey is in a pickle but he’s got a slim to none chance and yet he won’t quit.

How this works back to ghosts to war and how we’re ghosts of war with everyone, and how this works back to Anne Frank. It’s up to you what you wanna believe in, I believe in the fact that God won’t ever let us really kill each other. We might see it happen with our own eyes. Right before us. But I believe that even as it happens it also instantly unhappens.

We have the ability to look backwards in time and forecast forwards in time but we only have the ability to live in one moment of time at a time and that we called the present. We have no idea what actually happens in previous moments of time once we’ve moved past them. Except how they exist in our mind. But for all we know in a moment that someone apparently kills another, whether it’s a person to a person or an animal to an animal. How do we know it doesn’t on happen once we’ve left that moment? Natural law has a place in this world. So natural law gets its way in this world. But there are such things as the overlapping thesis of all the different laws. And divine law is a thing in that overlapping thesis. Just as well as natural law is. So it is totally possible that once we make a mess of things, the Custodian comes along to fix it.

It’s possible along the same probabilities or maybe even slightly better than Lloyd Christmas’ chances of getting the red head which he eventually did.

To another person who overheard me talking to that first person last week about paranormal activity, the next day she came to me with concerns. I listened to these concerns. And my response was what you do is up to you. Including whether or not you trust yourself or not. If I were in your shoes I would try to trust myself. Even as everyone around me might seem intent on leading me to betray my own trust. if I were in your shoes, I would choose to believe that no one actually has the power to do that. No one actually has the will to want to see you fail, to fail yourself. Because that would be them wishing them to fail themselves. And while they might get away with that in one moment in the next that moment is wiped clean. If I were in your shoes I’d be telling that to myself every moment I had these concerns you are telling me about.

I further said, and I stop talking about if I were in her shoes. I further said what you think is happening is happening. What you understand about what is happening is only ever coming into focus more and more. You may not have all the Time in the world, but you do always have the luxury of patience. There’s no rush when it comes to the process of understanding. Something tells me we’ll repeat the lesson infinitely if necessary. something also tells me that won’t actually be necessary. The lesson will come clear eventually. Have faith in that and likely all of your fears and concerns will be abolished. The probability of it being otherwise, however great it seems, as Pascal very effectively demonstrated, infinitely pales to the seemingly tiny probability, the Boson particle infinitesimally small and impossible to fathom yet there it is nonetheless almost something you can now actually reach out and grab but even still something you can see if only by way of prediction probability, of it not being otherwise.

So that in other words no sword actually ever really falls upon the neck but he’s only ever caught by the Hand.

I’ve been waiting to wake up to this reality ever since my two-year-old self woke up to that reality and said I will be waking up here someday again.

But I did tell that second person, be careful the stories you tell yourself. They could be like that movie demon that enters your mind and poisons your body, like that story I told last night. The mind can make almost anything real. That’s a quote from a movie also, but it comes from somewhere. Didn’t it? So possibly probably in all likelihood whatever story you tell yourself whatever imaginary though you have as an objective: if somewhere in this universe. Somehow manifest itself. Somehow find a way to be born and become true. Often a lot faster and more hellishly than you thought possible.

The mind is it’s own place. It can make heaven out of hell and hell a heaven. I don’t need to read the whole diary of Anne Frank, to know beyond what her final entry says. That she was equally gifted at doing both. And that, my friends, is not victim blaming. That is just what it is.

And so behold the final two paragraphs of her final passage:

As I’ve told you, what I say is not what I feel, which is why I have a reputation for being boy-crazy as well as a flirt, a smart aleck and a reader of romances. The happy-go-lucky Anne laughs, gives a flippant reply, shrugs her shoulders and pretends she doesn’t give a darn. The quiet Anne reacts in just the opposite way. If I’m being completely honest, I’ll have to admit that it does matter to me, that I’m trying very hard to change myself, but that I I’m always up against a more powerful enemy. A voice within me is sobbing, “You see, that’s what’s become of you. You’re surrounded by negative opinions, dismayed looks and mocking faces, people, who dislike you, and all because you don’t listen to the advice of your own better half.”

Believe me, I’d like to listen, but it doesn’t work, because if I’m quiet and serious, everyone thinks I’m putting on a new act and I have to save myself with a joke, and then I’m not even talking about my own family, who assume I must be sick, stuff me with aspirins and sedatives, feel my neck and forehead to see if I have a temperature, ask about my bowel movements and berate me for being in a bad mood, until I just can’t keep it up anymore, because when everybody starts hovering over me, I get cross, then sad, and finally end up turning my heart inside g out, the bad part on the outside and the good part on the inside, and keep trying to find a way to become what I’d like to be and what I could be if… if only there were no other people in the world.

Yours, Anne M. Frank