#exhaust and extraction fans

[olessan]

I love the fact that I can work as hard as I can manage with a broken tooth and a dying tooth (one on each side, I've been chewing on the cavity for a year) and I still cannot save even $10 towards getting dental treatment (2 impacted wisdom teeth, + tooth broken off under the gum, + bad cavity) because I barely make enough to cover my food and board and the insane energy bill

[frannyzooey]

One Bed

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

A/N: Just shameless "there is only one bed" filth for the amazing beauty who is @jollyrancher87. Thank you for sending me your ask, my lovely - I hope you like it! ❤️

--

“Goddamn it.”

He sighs, his fingers curled around the straps of his backpack as he shifts his weight to one foot and you step around him to see what he is looking at. 

Oh. 

“I mean,” you start carefully, “At least there’s one?”

You both look at the set of beds in front of you: one perfectly fine, if not a bit worn and dusty, and the other one covered in a pool of water from a crack in the ceiling above. It’s been dripping on it awhile, long enough for silt and plaster to form a sort of sludge on the top of the comforter and you only imagine how thick the mold is underneath. 

“Just take it,” he says, shrugging his pack off and you frown, shaking your head. 

“You’re the one with the bad back, you take it. I’ll make do on the floor.”

Impatience and exhaustion flares bright in his reply, his expression one of frustration. “I’m not gonna let you sleep on the fuckin’ floor while I get the bed. Just take it. I’ll be fine.”

He places his pack on the floor, kneeling down to join it. Resting his head on the rough, dirty canvas and folding his tight arms across his chest, he looks so comically uncomfortable that you fight the urge to laugh. 

“Jesus, Joel, get up.” You tap the toe of your boot against the heel of his and he looks up at you with a frown. “Look, it’s not huge or anything, but we should both be able to fit. Get up here.”

His eyes narrow, and you roll your eyes, turning away from him. You feel his gaze on you as you set your pack down and toe your boots off, placing them both at the end of the bed. Pulling back the covers, you lay down and tug them up and over you, laying still. 

“You coming?”

There is a beat, and then you hear another deep sigh escape him from the floor. 

“Fine.”

–

Practically asleep before his head hit the pillow, he wakes in the middle of the night. Not the sort of sudden jolt that he’s used to, but rather a slow, hazy pull from the depths that he’s often not afforded. He’s been sleeping deeply, and what wakes him is that he’s hot – too hot, uncomfortably hot. He moves to push away the covers when he touches something else instead - you.

You’ve wound around each other in your sleep: your face buried in the crook of his neck, your arms curled against the width of his chest, his leg tucked in between your own with his arm slung protectively over the curve of your side. He can tell you’re still asleep from your slow, steady breaths and he tries to carefully extract himself, but for every inch he moves back, you unconsciously press closer. 

He tries to rouse you instead, his hand gently shaking your shoulder. 

“Hey,” he whispers softly, in the dark. “Hey. Wake up.”

Expecting you to wake with a start, he tries not to think about how the only reason you’re probably so deeply asleep is his close proximity. How he himself slept just as deeply for the same reason. 

He shakes you again. “Hey.”

Your eyes still closed, a small frown pulls between your brows. You tilt your face up, still half asleep and when your mouth brushes his, he freezes. He doesn’t move, abandoning the attempt to wake you and he thinks you’ve fallen back asleep when your arm unfurls from his chest, reaching up to cup his cheek. He lets you touch it for a moment, his eyes taking in your face in the dark. 

Your mouth is so close to his he can feel warm puffs of your breath skimming over his lips, your face so close that he can see the fan of your thick lashes and your nose brushes against his in a sleepy nuzzle, seeking out his warmth. Your hand slides up into his hair, fingers threading into the thick strands. 

He should pull back and stop this, but he doesn’t. 

“Joel,” you whisper slowly, your mouth full and soft with sleep.

His eyes drop to it for a moment and it looks so plush and inviting that he can’t help himself.

When his mouth meets yours in a chaste press, you kiss him back with an unconscious purse of your lips, opening them just enough to fit his lower lip neatly between your own. He breathes you in, letting them rest together in a full, lush fit and then you’re giving him another one; a firmer, more conscious pressure. Another one yet, his hand cradling the soft curve of your cheek to keep you in place. 

You fit yourself closer to him, your thighs tightening around his own and your nails drag over his scalp, his fingers pressing into the hinge of your jaw in a silent request to open yourself wider for him. You taste sweeter than he thought you would, your sleep-thick mouth warm and inviting and hungry and when he shifts to lean over you, you tug him on top of you instead. 

You might have been sleeping before, but he knows you’re fully awake now even if you won’t open your eyes. Your movements are intentional, the width of his body heavy and solid between your legs, comforting in its weight and your head tips back into the pillow, pulling away from the kiss for some air. He doesn’t seem to need any, his mouth molding around the curve of your jaw before sliding down the length of your neck and he gives the sweet skin there open mouthed kisses, a slight suck to them. His teeth catch, and you quietly moan. 

Bringing his mouth back to yours, his beard brushes against your skin, your tongue chasing his as you deepen the kiss and when he lets out a low groan into your mouth, you swallow it down, savoring it. 

He sounds just like he does in your dreams, just like the way this feels. Slick and needy between your legs, you roll your hips up to meet his in a wordless invitation and he presses his down into you, making room for himself. Soon you’re grinding against each other in desperation: your achingly empty core seeking out the solid heft that you can feel pressed against you, his own need evident. 

“Joel, I –,” you whisper into his mouth in between kisses, a pleading creeping into the word and he nods, knowing what you need. 

His hand reaches down and fumbles with his belt, another groan pouring into your mouth when he feels the heat of you against the back of his hand and then he’s working on the button of your jeans, trying to work it open. You try to help, but it’s not fast enough for him and with your thumbs still hooked under the waistband to slide them down, he shoves his hand underneath everything to find your slick seam, filling you swiftly with two thick fingers. 

“Fuck,” you whine, abandoning your plan and arching your hips into his hand. He curls his fingers and begins a grinding stroke, the digits a snug fit in their slick slide.

“Goddamn,” he groans, muscle memory making him reach for a spot inside. He finds it, rubbing the pads of his fingers against it and is rewarded with your breathless cry, and a tight clench. “You’re so fuckin’ wet for me. So wet. Gonna feel so good around my cock. Gonna make me come, with this sweet little pussy.” 

His fingers work, work, work underneath your jeans and you can’t even answer him with how good it feels. You let your thighs drop open wider, your hands reaching down to splay over the curve of his ass and you meet every one of his strokes with your hips, forcing his fingers deeper. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, his mouth parted as he watches you take. 

“I want a taste,” he breathes, pushing his fingers in as deep as they can go, down to the base of his bruised knuckles. “I want –” he kisses you greedily, panting into your mouth. “I want to taste it, but I –”

You want him to taste it too - Christ, you do – but you need him to fuck you right now more than you need air to breathe, so you wrap your hand around his wrist with a tug and he slips it out from your pants, your hands already working on shoving your jeans down. He understands, his weight abruptly leaving you to sit up and back on his heels and when he helps you strip them off along with your underwear, his body bows immediately to taste, but you stop him, pulling him back up to cover you. 

He reaches between you to pull himself out, aching and thick and stiff in the calloused palm of his hand and since that is the sensation that he is used to, he groans loudly when he finds the dip of your entrance and fills you with a smooth, slick stroke. 

You hastily shove the loose band of this jeans down further, needing to feel every inch of skin he’ll afford you and when his hips are a neat, flush fit against your own just like his mouth was earlier, you rock up to encourage him to move. 

“You okay?” he asks, knowing just how much he is to take and you nod, your teeth biting into your plush lower lip. 

“Yea, just – just move.” You raise your head off the pillow to kiss him, and when he dips his own to reach your mouth, he slides even deeper, his body relaxing on top of yours. The action steals the breath from your lungs, a soft sound catching in the back of your throat and he pulls his hips back just enough to feel the friction of you before sliding home again. Again, again. 

Your thighs hitch higher around his waist, your hands slipping under his thick flannel, splaying over his muscles flexing under your hold. His hand curls around the crown of your head, keeping you in place as he feels you shift up the mattress underneath him with every thrust and between the skill of his mouth and his hips, you can’t think of anything but him. 

You wish you could feel him wholly: feel his firm, bare body against yours, feel the sparse hair that covers his thighs and trails low over his belly, feel sweat collect where your body is joined as he moves above you - but you’ll take what you can get, in this room in the middle of nowhere, in this bed you were forced to share. 

“I knew you would feel this good,” he says lowly, his eyes closing with a frown. “I knew it.”

He’s been thinking about it for ages, waking up hard night after night, finding relief in his hand when he gets a moment alone and now that he has you, he can’t stop himself from going harder, deeper. The damp heat of your mouth rests just under his jaw, your gasps reaching his ears like the sweetest sound he’s ever heard and it makes him swell even more inside you; a bright flare of heat gathering at the base of his spine.  

You hook your ankles higher on his back, your hands bracing themselves on the mattress to help you force the angle just right and his hips are a rhythmic pound against the inside of your thighs, his jaw clenching with effort. He switches into a grind the wetter you get, his hand coming up to cup your chin and force your mouth to meet his, and your fingers dig into the meat of his forearm, holding on. 

Black skates around the edges of your vision, his scent and his sounds and his weight and strokes and thickness consuming you, and you just like in the shadowed blur of your dreams, you can’t say anything. Instead your body matches his need: your fingers gripping him in their desperate hold, your heels digging into the back of his thighs to push him deeper, your mouth memorizing his taste. 

He was never a man of words to begin with, but they have all left him now, and he chases the flutter he feels around him, stoking it until you’re all but gasping underneath him in your breathless warning. He wants to hear you say it just like you do in his dreams and as if you can read his mind, you do. 

“Joel,” you cry out, your lips brushing against his. “I’m – you feel too good, I –”

His hand drifts down to hold your hip, and he picks up his pace. 

Your fingers twist in his flannel, hanging on as he tips you right over the edge and the frozen, taut lock of your body underneath him makes him spill his own release; some inside, some along the curve of your ass when he tries to pull out. He twitches against you, his cock a wet smear along your skin and even though you can feel him try to immediately pull back, you hang on tight to him, forcing him to stay close. 

He’s breathing heavily and so are you, your eyes locked on each other. 

He doesn’t know what to say. He shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have encouraged it, shouldn’t have taken advantage of your sleep muddled need and just when he’s about to open his mouth, you beat him to speaking. 

A smile curls at the edge of your lips and his eyes drop to watch; he can never look away from your mouth. 

“Thank god for one bed.”

[ambiguouspuzuma]

The single most important piece of writing advice I would give to a lot of amateur writers is to write less beautifully - or at least to write beautifully less.

I rarely find a piece of writing I can't read because it's too simple, or too concise and to-the-point - not memorable, perhaps, but also not a headache on a page. On the other hand, I see loads of pieces which are effectively unreadable because they're far too rich to swallow, and badly in need of watering down a bit.

The absolute worst culprit is the dialogue tags and stage directions. I'm a big fan of letting people write in their own style, but I would love it if a lot of writers could please cool it with letting me know every time a character blinks or licks their lips. I don't need to know that, especially if it happens every time they speak.

So many dialogue excerpts look like this:

"So this is how we talk?" he queried quietly, his eyebrows furrowed into knots. "Apparently," she replied with a puzzled grin, bouncing on the balls of her feet with restless energy. "Isn't that... exhausting?" he questioned, a lop-sided smile snaking its way across his lips. "The bouncing?" she asked shyly, her eyelids fluttering in shame. "No, of course not," he told her, his lean arms reached out to pull her closer. He buried his face into the mess of her hair, taking a deep breath of her perfume. "I just feel a little nauseated by all of these actions." "I don't know what you mean," she giggled, brushing the hair back out of her eyes as her cheeks flushed red. "Don't worry," he sighed, rolling his eyes up towards the ceiling.

I'm assuming this is a convention that comes from somewhere, given its ubiquity - perhaps somewhere in the world of fanfiction, where there will be short, intimate pieces entirely focused on the ways in which characters interact with each other. But to me, in an original work, it's so exhausting that I can't make it down the rest of the page.

Dialogue may be the worst, or most obvious offender, but the same principle extends pretty much everywhere else. Each line doesn't have to be some great quote you can hang on your wall, and it's hard to read a whole story written like that.

There's been some recent backlash on here against modern films where every line of dialogue is a quip, at the expense of building an authentic conversation, but that's how a lot of people start out writing - thinking that each sentence should be made as flowery as possible, when too many flowers in the same pot will crowd each other out.

You need to leave some gaps to let the sunlight in, and illuminate the beauty of the occasional flourish you do include. Think of it like vanilla extract, to make a reference that was topical when I started writing this post: you need to add a little for flavour, without which the writing will be too dull, but tip the bottle and I will actually be sick. Write beautifully less. Learn to embrace the prosaic.

[just-antithings]

To all the people yelling about people "not writing enough f/f or even just women in general": Trying to write female canon characters is exhausting af. There's often so much baked in misogyny that one has to try to either write around or avoid or worse: actively choose to keep. And that means doing emotional labor of plunging yourself into that, for free, for people who will scream at you that you did it wrong anyways. Most slash fans are women, or people otherwise affected by misogyny. Women who don't want to try to wrangle a character out of a mess of misogynistic tropes. Especially when they're almost certainly going to be yelled at about how they're doing it wrong. (If they get feedback at all). People demanding more people write female characters and femslash (for free) are demanding some pretty damn intense emotional labor from, most often, other women. Of wading into the characters and trying to navigate the misogyny baked into a lot of them. Try to extract Kairi Kingdom Hearts from the misogyny baked into her character: actually really think about it. And then think about what parts you need to keep in order for the story you're writing to still work. Or think about what parts you need to remove and how that will affect what you're writing. Say you're writing a canon-compliant Kindgom Hearts fic. If you remove the misogyny to the best of your ability: will that change things in a way that means your fic is no longer canon compliant? Do you expect someone to think about that and do it for you? For free? When they are writing for fun in their spare time and could instead grab Saix or Sora and NOT have to dive into misogyny?

And even when people DO take the time to perform the emotional labor and time and energy to wade through the misogyny baked into some of these characters? Chances are they'll see a much lower viewer turnout. Readers don't want to risk tripping over bad writing or misogynistic tropes, either. And if they do get a turnout... chances are it's going to be someone telling them they Did it Wrong. When people give one-note female characters actual nuance, readers throw fits. If they don't write pure soft and tender uwu f/f people (especially antis) throw fits. Write a villain AU? People lose their shit. Write a toxic relationship between women? People lose their shit. Explore a dynamic that is anything beside perfect sweet innocent sexless uwu and you're likely to get eaten alive for being "fetishistic". And frankly, even the perfect sweet innocent sexless uwu is likely to get you accused of some shit.

If you want more femslash or just female characters to be explored more in general, you guys have GOT to start being real fucking normal about people who DO write it, and also writing more of it all yourselves. You have to start letting people do badly at it. You have to start letting people be fucked up about it. You have to start actually helping others write sex between two women. You have to start being normal about female characters, yourselves.

And you gotta accept that if you're not willing to do the work yourself, you can't get upset that no one else is willing to, either.

👆👆👆👆

[skzstoryvault]

Relax! Take it easy <3 (Hyunjin, a bit spicy)

F! Reader x boyfriend Hyunjin

very short read

one-shot

Hyunjin is sick and exhausted and needs a bit of persuasion to allow himself some time to recover

Hyunjin is also super cute and very whipped for his girl

This story contains some lazy, sleepy sex

This is in no way meant as a commentary on the real persons depicted here. They all deserve the world.

Please be kind.

Please do not report this post. If it's not your thing, just scroll away.

If you're underage, please scroll on, there is nothing for you here.

If you enjoy this story and are reading along, I would love to hear your comments in the replies, reblogs or DMs - however you feel most comfortable.

Hyunjin has been having a bad luck streak lately. First, his voice began to fail him, then his joints and muscles started acting up. He’s had his wisdom teeth extracted and went to a fan event right after and now? Now he has a bad shoulder that hurts with every movement he makes. It comes and goes, the pain, and his doctors don’t know what the cause is or how to treat it just yet.

“Jinnie, you are exhausted, that’s why it feels like you are falling apart. You need to take it easy for a bit. Get a few days of back-to-back rest and good sleep so your body can have the chance to recover...” You tell him, watching him sit curled up miserably at the top of your bed and putting his favorite blanket of yours around his shoulders. “I can’t, Stay will mind.” 

“I’m a Stay too and I say I want you happy and recharged, and if I had a choice, I’d rather not see you for a while than see you crumble on stage or dance with tears of pain in your eyes.” “You just say that because you love me.” “Yes! As would anyone who knows you. Jinnie, please. Please rest.” “But Channie-hyung will be upset, and so will Scheduling.” “I’ll make the calls, okay?” “We don’t have anything for Friday and Saturday, maybe I can rest then?”

“I will still call, so they don’t see the free slots and book you anyway.” “Thank you.” Hyunjin says, looking wretched and small from his blanket cocoon. “You know I love you? You care so much, and look after me so well.” “I love you too, Jinnie. A lot-lot, you know?” You give back, leaning in to smooth the hair from his forehead and kiss the clammy skin. On the phone, Chan is, of course, understanding and concerned. The people in Scheduling are a bit more neurotic about the news, but even they are aware that Hyunjin is no good to them in his current state. 

When you return to your boyfriend’s side, he is napping with his nose buried into the blanket you gave him. You approach to tuck him in more securely, and he sleepily reaches for you. 

“Don’t go, please.” His voice comes out as a creaky, pitiful whisper. 

You relent immediately and lie down next to him. He sleepily rearranges himself around you and spreads the blanket over both of you. Not a minute passes before he takes his nose out of the blanket and buries it in the skin at the side of your neck, moving it up and down and side to side, managing to tickle you. “Hey now, rest first. We can horse around later.” You gently chide, running a hand through his hair and scritching his scalp to help him relax. He huffs into your shoulder in protest, but behaves. It’s evening when you wake up, having fallen asleep next to Hyunjin as well. The first thing you become aware of is how hard he is under the thigh you have flung over him. The second is that he’s at least partially awake and covertly rubbing himself against your thigh, holding it in place with one of his hands. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh almost desperately, like he’s afraid you will turn to smoke and escape him if he loosens his hold the slightest bit.

He has so much on his plate, your baby. He is trying to please so many people and he neglects himself so much. So him wanting to get off even while still mostly asleep, and wanting to use you to help, softens you to the extreme.

“Baby? Are you with me? How are you feeling?” You ask, lifting your head so you can start peppering sloppy kisses to his lips and around, moving on to nibble on his jaw and neck. 

“Sleepy… and hard.” He says, pouting. “Wanna hit.” “So why don’t you? I’m right here. You can just… “ “Mhhh yes, yes. Thank you.” He whispers. “‘m lazy.” 

“Shhh, I know. Let me.” You make quick work of his and your underwear, lying back down half on top of him and nuzzling the warm skin of his neck before seeking his lips for a kiss. Your hair falls between you like a curtain, sheltering you from the rest of the world and you blindly, but with sure moves, take him inside you, hissing at the way his cock spreading you open feels. It never gets old - that first breach, the shock to your senses. This time it’s accompanied by a scarily intense spasm of your womb, and that’s undiluted arousal and anticipation on your part as you take all of him in. “Awh, fuck. So deep.” Hyunjin’s voice rings strained. “So… tight. It’s always like the first time with you.” 

Another spasm deep inside you, stronger this time, makes you scrunch your features  - it’s the same part of you that’s trying to kill you once a month, letting you know you’re aroused off your tits and giving you a spasm of pleasure so intense it nearly swings into pain, making your features contort from how intense it feels. This has nothing to do with how big Hyunjin is inside you or how harsh his thrusts are. It’s just a deeply human, almost petty satisfaction at feeling how good he’s making you feel and that he and not someone else is giving you this much pleasure. 

“What was that? Did… did I hurt you? Angle change?” He asks, immediately concerned for you although just seconds ago he was lost to his own enjoyment, eyes closed and head pushed back into the pillow. 

“No, no, keep going, it’s just… sometimes some other organs join in my feeling good.”

Hyunjin gasps and indulges your request. You push yourself up with your hands on his t-shirt covered chest, sighing at the change of angle adding yet another layer of sensation. But you don’t sit up straddling him all the way, needing the closeness to get the friction against your clit. “Oh fuck… hell, no!” Hyunjin panics, looking at you apologetically. “I’m- I’m g-g-go… aghhh, fuck-” His losing his composure to how good it feels to be inside you, fucking you, also throws you over the edge. You lean back down, wanting to kiss his moans and unhinged whines into yourself, feeling like a succubus thriving off the stolen pleasure of your willing victim. 

All through his high, he keeps his eyes on you, watching you in this absolutely rapt way, reaching up and touching your lips in awe, caressing your cheek, then tracing the gentle contours of your boobs through the fabric of your shirt. 

“How are you real? How are you mine?” He whispers, his voice still hoarse and betraying how gone he is. “And you let me come inside you… I feel like I’m desecrating a temple every time.” 

You smile, liking how awed his little ramblings get when his mind is completely switched off. 

“I’m not complaining. But if it makes you feel better, you can think you’re an ancient Greek. They used to bring erm... seeds as offerings for their goddess of the harvest.” “I want to give you something you can actually use!” Hyunjin says, smiling like the best inspiration ever just struck him. “Soon as I feel better and get up from here… I’ll make you a nice kimchi with no fish guts… and the fattest kimbap roll you’ve ever seen, with the yummiest filling. Maybe even some hotteok too, if I manage. Mhmmmmm. You will have the happiest belly in all of Seoul.” You laugh softly. He’s slipping into a restful sleep, and even now, all he’s thinking of is how he can please you more. “Oh you’re on, mister. Don’t think I won’t hold you to that… but for now, just focus on feeling better.” 

[magics-neptunes-things]

Jealousy or caring?

Hi guys :)

After the results of the survey, this is the story you have choosen. I may write the others too though.

Summary : This one talk about jalousy and everything who can come out of it, whether it’s little cute reconciliations or a little more complicated repercussions.

TW : Jealousy, discomfort with her feelings, a little angst.

Enjoy!

______________________________________________________________

Looking at your sleepy girlfriend, you gently raise your hand to caress her face. Your gesture is gentle and delicate, afraid to wake her up. Alexia’s moments of rest are so rare these days that you do everything you can to make them as restful as possible.

You loved everything about her, even her jealousy. Or, as she prefers to call it, her caring. As the days, weeks, months and even years went, you realize that Alexia's jealousy caring has different colors.

********

Losing has never been easy for anyone. But you must admitted that on your side, you are perhaps less accustomed than some of your fellow teammates. You’ve been playing at FC Barcelona for a few years now and the few times you’ve lost have traumatized you. Perhaps because it often happened in the finals, you must admit that disappointment is always up to the hopes and efforts that have been made to get there.

Your national team is a little less successful than your club though. You are of Norwegian origin and even though you qualified for the last World Cup, you are having a little trouble earning points for the next Cup. After another loss, you find yourself in the last place in the ranking and the bitterness that reigned in the locker room after your defeat is still well anchored in you.

You're actually lying on your bed of the hotel room that you share with Ingrid Engen, your bestie, who also plays in Barcelona. You’ve both been staring at the ceiling without saying a word, unable to sketch the slightest gesture. You are lying in a V-shape on the same bed, the legs of the brunette on yours. You’re playing the game in your head again and again and the things you could have done otherwise to allow your team to win. And you know that it’s the same kind of things that also turn in Ingrid’s head.

You only get out of your lethargy when you feels your mobile phone vibrate in the pocket of your jogging, making you jump. You startle Ingrid at the same time and she throws you a glare while you roll your eyes, wriggling on the bed to extract your phone. Looking at the screen, you smile when you see that it's your girlfriend. You pick up and wait patiently for the few seconds necessary for the Facetime call to connect.

The black screen gives way to Alexia’s face and your heart tightens when you remember that she's thousands miles away from you. Even if Ingrid is your best friend, you’d rather be lying in the same bed as Alexia.

"Holà Bebita" makes you affectionately the latina and you smile tenderly.

"Hi."

"How are you feeling?"

You pout and shrug. Always lying on your back on your bed and your blond hair in halo around your head, you are not sure of the effect, but never mind. You don’t answer with words, but that’s enough for Alexia to understand what you mean. She can’t stand to lose, too.

"For what it’s worth, you played very well."

"Not good enough apparently"

You grumble, but you’ve seen a few comments from frustrated fans who feel like you should have found situations to get the ball in the net a second time. Your equalizer wasn't enough to save your team and a few minutes before the end of the match the opposing team scored the goal of the victory.

Alexia frowns when you say that and you already know the words she will say. They are always the same when a teammate takes the team’s defeat on her back. However, this doesn't seem to apply to her, she's the first to declare herself guilty during a defeat.

"Hey I forbid you to say that. If you hadn’t done your best, you wouldn’t be that exhausted. How’s Ingrid?"

Preferring not to answer and focusing on her question, you turn your head towards your best friend. She's Alexia's friend too after all. The brunette imitates you a few seconds later and your lack of common energy ends up amusing yourself. So it's with a slight smile that you bring your attention to the screen and Alexia.

"She's laying down on my bed and didn’t even have the courage to get fully dressed after her shower."

"Perdóna me?"

You hoped to tease Alexia’s jealousy, but it's finally Mapi’s face that appears on the screen, her eyebrows frowning. You are surprised to see her, Alexia didn't inform you that she was in her company, but not entirely astonished. If Ingrid is your best friend, Mapi is definitely Alexia’s. This allows the four of you to have great moments together, even if Alexia and you are less likely to party than the other two.

"Y/N why is my girlfriend not answering her phone and naked on your bed?!"

"Holà Maria" you laugh.

"Mapi give me my phone back!" your hear Alexia in the background and some noise make you realize that she's really trying to take it back.

This chaos makes you smile and ends up shaking Ingrid from her lethargy. She rolls on her stomach to also watch the screen of your phone. Even if for the moment you have a breathtaking view of the ceiling of Alexia’s living room, then some fingers, then a black background and finally Alexia’s face again, with Mapi pouting in the background.

"Hi darling" Ingrid smiles when she sees her girlfriend. "My phone battery was discharged, I call you as soon as it comes back on."

You laugh when you see Mapi's face but Ingrid slaps you on the head and you frown.

"Hey" you whined, rubbing your head with your hand, as Ingrid gets up from bed to check her phone.

It actually had to come back on since you lost time to look at the ceiling and when she unplugs it from the cable, you look at your screen again. When the brunette informs you that she will call Mapi, you decide to plug in your headphones so you can focus on the conversation you have with Alexia. And besides, your roommate is doing the same. Rolling on your side, face on the wall, you look at your perfect lady.

"I miss you so much"

The confession you make to the blonde isn’t surprising, even if you are not physically demonstrative in public, you are very often together. Alexia actually has more things to do outside of trainings than you do, but you have at least all your evening together.

"I miss you too" Alexia replies before hesitating to continue "… but Ingrid was really not naked, huh?"

********

Alexia's jealousy, excuse-me, caring, wasn't always cute and nice actually. At the beginning of your relationship, you decided not to tell the fans. Partly because you didn’t want to deal with the reactions it would cause, but also because you wanted to be sure it would be a serious relationship. To be perfectly honest, you already knew on your side that this was the case but you didn't want to put too much pressure on Alexia, believing that she already had enough things to manage like this.

Her insecurities have always surprised you, even if she never really talked about it. She never accused you of anything and you know perfectly well that she never searched in your phone either for example. But the fear that sometimes colors her eyes when she sees you talking to another girl surprised you so much the first time that you told yourself that you were imagining things. Spoiler, you weren't.

You also remember perfectly well the time when you were looking for an enveloppe with pictures of your childhood in your apartment, making a mess in your living room. "I’m sure Anna put it in there" you mumbled, head down in a drawer.

"Who is Anna?"

The question was thrown as lightly as if Alexia had asked you the weather for the next day. But when you turned around, her face seemed too smooth and the fact that she looked away very suspicious. Again, there were no accusations in her behavior or tone of voice.

"My cousin? Who came last week?"

"Oh."

And with that, Alexia had moved on to another subject after a few seconds. You felt her relief and you saw how her whole body suddenly relaxed. It was always like that with the blonde. She has never been in the habit of talking about her emotions and even if she shows you that she loves you and cares about you, she is not the type of person to make you long love declarations. But you love her this way.

********

Because of all this, the first time her jealousy really took over her, you were taken by surprise.

It was during a casual match with a team in the middle of the ranking. You were easily winning and the match took place in a rather good general atmosphere, the visitors being rather respectful of the game.

This didn't prevent a bad tackle from an opposing player on you, more clumsy than voluntary, throwing you to the ground with a stabbing pain in the tibia. This pain made you stay a few seconds on the floor during which you resumed your breathing. The player in question quickly leaned over you to apologize, making sure nothing serious happened to you. You didn’t even calculate her hand on your shoulder, but you willingly accepted the helping hand that Alexia held out to help you up, taking you away from the other girl.

"I'm ok" you simply reassured her, taking her suspicious look as an interest on her part for your leg.

Well, you still think she was worried about that too. But, head in your game, you went back to your position and you didn’t think about this incident again.

When the referee whistled the famous three shots, you stayed on the pitch for several minutes to chat with your teammates and go sign some jerseys and take some pictures. After examining your tibia, you saw that a bruise has starting to form and the medical team asked you not to wait too much before going to put at least a little ice on it.

So you apologized to the fans and walked into the hallway leading to the locker room. It was at this moment that the player of the opposing team came after you, calling you by your first name. Surprised, you turned around and smiled at her when she made sure once again that you were okay.

You showed her your tibia to reassure her and with that you started to discuss a bit about the game. She ended up asking for a jersey swap and after a few seconds of hesitation, you agreed. It was at this very moment that Alexia made her appearance and the timing could probably not be worse.

Even if you had nothing to reproach yourself, she nevertheless found herself facing the image of her girlfriend only dressed in her shorts and a sports bra, facing another girl wearing her jersey. All of this with a few laughs that reflected on the walls of the corridor and the hand of the opponent placed on your arm to thank you.

The moment you met her gaze, you knew the situation was going to be complicated. Alexia were frozen a few feet from you, but you perfectly saw her jaw contract and the muscles of her hands tense.

You naturally ran after her when she turned around and it took you the whole way to the locker room for her to at least agree to look at you. And you had to take her face in your two hands since saying her name repeatedly, asking her to listen to you seemed to have no effect.

"Ale, Baby, look at me"

You had to put yourself on tiptoes to have your eyes at her level and finally really have her attention. The way she pushed your hands back into that corridor and walk with a quick step while shaking her head and not even looking at you gave you the impression that she was only there physically.

You never raised your voice, feeling that it would only make things worse. And you were right. Alexia’s eyes cut off your breathing and for once it wasn’t in the right way. The anger she had felt a few moments ago seemed to have deserted her mood, replaced by distress and insecurity.

You were alone in the locker room but you knew there were risks that it would not last. And Alexia would never want to be seen in this state of emotions by anyone. So, ignoring your bruise, you informed her you were taking her home. You left her no choice and she didn't protest, which may seem surprising coming from Alexia, but you were relieved to see that she was not trying to run away from you anymore.

The ride was quiet and it was a relief when you arrived in the safety of your apartment. That said, you didn’t really know what to do with your girlfriend, suddenly turned into a mute wall, looking at nothing. So you made the decision to sit her on your couch and kneel in front of her, between her legs. The fact that you are both still in football outfits added to the strangeness of the scene.

"Ale?"

Her gaze rests on you and the emotions that were previously there was added the fact that she seems lost. You put your hands on her lap and you look at her for a long time, not really knowing what to say. But you end up choosing what you think is most important.

"I know what you saw and that it may have seemed inappropriate, but I swear there was nothing. She just apologized and asked me to swap our jerseys"

You feel her gaze scan you and you let her do it, leaving her the time she needs. She finally nods, but you’d like her to talk to you, explain what’s going on in her head. Except she seems incapable of it for the moment.

"Come on, let’s take a shower."

You hope that the hot water will allow Alexia to relax and gather her ideas and you let her enter the shower first. Until she finishes, you unpack your bags and you decide to make her a cup of tea. Even if you are not English, your mom had this habit when someone was not well and you took the same way.

To give her as much privacy as possible, you left some spare clothes and you wait patiently on your sofa for her to come out of the bathroom. Looking at your phone, you realize that your hurry departure surprised some of your teammates and you don’t wait to answer them that everything is fine and that you are together. You can already imagine the kind of gritty scenario that Mapi will put herself in the head.

When your girl had finished, it was your turn and you hurry to go back to her as soon as possible. Despite her silence, you’re afraid you won’t find her when you get out of there. But no, except instead of being on your couch, she’s sitting on the foot of your bed. She plays nervously with her fingers and looks up at you as you slowly enter the room.

"I'm sorry"

You don’t see why she apologizes, but you decide not to ask her a question right now. Instead, you climb in the bed behind her and pull her against you, reversing your bed habits. Usually, it’s you in the role of the little spoon. But this time, she willingly nestles against you and you gently rock her, leaning against the head of the bed.

"Can we talk about it?"

She nods again, but remains silent. Looking for a way to start the conversation, you realize that you feel her heart beating against your skin, testifying to the strength of her emotions.

"Ale, you know I would never do that, right? Cheating in any way. I care too much about you to risk losing you. I only look at you."

Alexia obviously heard you, but you realize she seems to be grappling with words. She never has problems finding the ones that are necessary to motivate her teams or to reassure others, it seems to be another thing to find those to express her emotions. This isn't surprising, once again the number of people to whom she opened must be counted on the fingers of one hand.

"Ok, let me try to help you. How did you feel when you came into this hallway?"

"I wanted to rip her head off."

Well, that was rude but clear. You find yourself trying not to laugh.

"Something else?" you asked, hiding your smile in her hair.

You couldn't do it for long though, since a few seconds later Alexia gets up to sit and face you.

"I know you would never do anything like that, but that doesn’t stop me from fearing losing you. If I told you that I trust you, but I don’t trust others, would you understand the difference?"

You nod and replace a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"I don't care about the others, though"

"I know I'm beeing stupid b..."

You interrupt her by placing a finger on her lips, making her look up at you for the first time since she spoke again.

"Don't. You're not stupid because you feels emotions Alexia. You're an human, not a robot"

"I don't know what to do with all this emotions" she mumble.

"Talking to me can help?"

You try a smile and she gives you a smirk back. That's a beginning right? You take her again against you and she half sit on your lap, her face against your shoulder. The silence is this time more relaxing and you feel Alexia relax in your arms.

"Thanks for getting me out of there before the others saw me like that."

"Always here for you, Love."

********

But Alexia can be possessive too.

As time passed, she learned to deal with her frustrations differently. When a girl has looked at you for too long for her taste at a party for example, it isn't uncommon that you find yourself the next day with scattered hickeys all over your body. Your bond has continued to grow and your understanding to evolve to the point that you can understand each other only in a few seconds, without even having to speak.

This connection has obviously been noticed by almost everyone, but there are only two people who can brag about knowing Alexia perhaps better than you. Alba, her little sister, but especially Eli, her mother. This one is grateful to you for regularly bringing her eldest daughter home, apart from the weekly diner organized at home. At first, you refused to accompany Alexia, preferring to let her spend time alone with her mother and sister. But, when your girlfriend informed you that her mother was about to sulk you permanently, you ended up going every week.

"Here you are at last!" Eli said the first time you went back.

You laughed and gave her a hug before you went to greet Alba. If Alexia quickly dragged you into the family lounge to watch their usual series, Eli eventually commandeered your help in the kitchen. Laying a kiss on Alexia’s head who hums and smile at you, you obviously agreed and found yourself peeling carrots with your mother-in-law.

You expected remonstrance from what you told Alexia, but instead you find yourself facing Eli’s inquisitive gaze.

"You swear to tell me nothing but the truth?"

"Uh… yeah?"

You are intrigued but also a little worried. You don't see what you could have hidden from her, but she has the same effect on you as when you have to pass the security gate of the customs at the airport.

"It’s been weeks since you were seen here. I thought you and Alexia broke up and she didn’t have the courage to tell me."

"Oh… no, everything is fine between us" you assured her by turning your attention to your carrots.

"Really? You’re not pretending to be always together so you don’t worry me?"

"Promised"

You smiled at her and after a few seconds scanning the blue of your eyes, she responded to your smile. Realizing that Alexia has the same way of looking through your eyes amuses you a lot.

"Why would you worry anyway?" you ask, frowning. "Alexia could find someone else in a snap of the fingers."

Eli snorts and you turn your attention to her.

"Maybe she could, but I sincerely doubt that she will find someone as good for her as you are. She hadn’t been with anyone for a long time before you came from your freezing Norway. I was genuinely afraid that she would never find someone good enough for her. I never asked you if you want children or getting married like I know Alexia want to, because I know that the bond you both have will take you where you have to be."

What could you have said to that? Nothing. So you cut those damn carrots, lost in your thoughts. You are obviously convinced that Alexia is made for you, otherwise you would never have been with her for so long. But you never claimed you were made for her in return.

After the carrots, you attacked another kind of vegetables, always in silence. Hearing your mother-in-law talk to you about marriage and children is rather peculiar, you never really touched the subject with Alexia. You obviously noticed the way she behaves with children and it makes your heart melt every time. You know she’ll make a good mom when her turn comes, but you don’t know if she wants to have that with you. You don’t even live together right now, after almost a year of dating. Even if you are more at her home than at yours.

"What have you done to my girlfriend?"

Not seeing you coming back to her, Alexia ended up leaving her couch to come see what’s happening in the kitchen. She knows you well enough to realize that you are lost in your thoughts and not necessarily light things. But by your side, Eli gathers the vegetables in a pan to start cooking them.

"Nothing, we were just talking mija."

The look Alexia gives you is uncertain and you give her a small smile that you hope reassuring. (It’s not). Eli sends you back to the living room and you follow your girlfriend to finish the current episode. At the end, Alba decrees that she has a call to make and Alexia takes you with her to the garden. Her fingers are tangled with yours and you looked up at the sky that darkens when she draws you against her. You let her do it and you find yourself facing her, her hand coming on your cheek. This gesture intrigues you, not that Alexia isn't tender with you, but you wonder what is behind her head.

"Are you ok?"

"I am"

You answer and, taking advantage of your proximity, you kiss her softly on her lips. A few seconds later you pass your arms around her neck to extend the kiss, enjoying of this sweat moment during which you get lost in all of her. But Alexia, determined to know more, finally backs down to plunge her gaze into yours.

"Talking to my mother about things you don’t want to talk to me about now?"

Alexia has arched an eyebrow and looks amused, but you know perfectly well that behind this light air, there is a real concern. You laugh gently though, taking the time to kiss her again before answering her.

"Do you want children?"

"I… What?"

"Living with me? Getting married?"

"Y/N - "

"Maybe get a brother or a sister for Nala?"

"A pomeranian?"

You laugh slightly but shake your head gently. Without releasing your hands around her neck, you back your face a few centimeters to have a better view of her.

"Have you ever thought about a future together, you and me?"

Alexia bites her lip and slightly tilts her head to the side while looking at you. The length of time it takes him to answer you creates a knot in your stomach and you detach this time your hands around her neck. You’re trying to pull back a little more, but Alexia’s arms around your waist are holding you back.

"Don’t take this the wrong way, okay?"

Well that’s a bad start. You only frown for answer and look forward to the rest.

"The first time I saw you, I knew. I knew you would be the one I wanted to live with. I want everything you just described, even though the second dog didn’t come to my mind."

You smirk and arch an eyebrow. As she spoke, you felt your stomach relax and your heart rate drop. But you don’t interrupt her, having learned over time that if you wanted to know more about her deep thoughts, you have to let her talk.

"You were more than patient with me, you knew how to get to know me and understand me better than anyone else. I fell in love with you the very moment you walked into the gym, half hiding behind Ingrid."

The scene is still fresh in your memory and you laugh softly remembering it. You were impressed, more than ever, to be faced with world-class players.

"I know my jealousy is sometimes difficult to deal with, but I really love you more than anything. And I don’t even want to imagine my life without you."

You find yourself without words, for once in the role of the one who is unable to find the right terms to mean what she thinks. You are not used to receiving such statements from your girlfriend, the latina preferring to cover you with attentions and gifts.

So you just pass your arms around her neck and kiss her with everything you have. This kiss is passionate and intense, it makes you completely forget the place where you are currently. Alexia tightened you impossibly close to her and the blonde took the opportunity of a moan from you to slip her tongue between your lips. Both lost in your embrace, you only take a few seconds between each kiss to catch your breath before starting again.

You can’t tell how long you’ve been kissing here, but you’re still grateful that it’s Alba who surprised you rather than your mother-in-law.

"Oh wow, I’m going to have to wash my eyes with bleach" she exclaims as she puts her hands on her eyes. "Diner is ready"

With that, she goes back inside and you laugh slowly before putting your attention back on Alexia. With a smirk, she kiss lightly your neck while whispering "We will resume this conversation later".

********

Over the years, Alexia’s jealousy has continued to punctuate your life. But she always kept a healthy jealousy, never accusing you of anything.

There was for example the time when you went out to a restaurant during your summer vacation. No one seemed to recognize you, allowing Alexia to feel particularly relaxed and comfortable with your physical proximity. You were surprised at the beginning of the stay when she takes your hand in her when you strolled around town or when she joined you on the same deck chair to enjoy a sunbath while cuddling.

The restaurant you booked that night was highly recommended by Ona and Lucy, who had come to the same place some time before. You failed to swallow your gum when you saw Alexia come out of the bathroom after putting on a red dress that showed nothing more than necessary but that made her breathtaking. More than usual.

And she may swear you’re the prettiest of the two, but you don’t believe it for a second. You must restrain yourself so much from letting your eyes slide over her body, in places that only you have the honor of knowing at your fingertips, that you don't realize Alexia’s growing annoyance towards your server.

It's true that he perhaps insists a little too much to know if everything is fine and that he has a strong tendency to talk to only you. It's only when you notice that Alexia’s jaw is a little too tense that you realize that something is wrong. You gently place your hand on hers and caress her skin with your thumb.

"What is it, Bonita?"

"Nothing, don’t worry."

She smiles bravely at you and since she doesn’t want to talk about it, you don’t insist. Instead, you draw her hand to your lips to lay tender kisses. The smile coming back on your girlfriend’s face, you leave this information aside until the end of the meal. After dessert, you forbid Alexia to spend any penny and pay the bill. When the waiter gives you the receipt of your payment, you slip it in your bag without thinking about it for a single second.

After a walk hand in hand, you return to your suite, secretly in a hurry to get rid of your high heels. In truth, you are so in a hurry that you decide to remove them just out of the elevator, highly amusing Alexia.

"Where’s the room card Bebita?" she asks smiling.

"In my bag"

You hand it to her and sigh of relief as you feel your feet breathe again.

"Maybe I will be able to still play football after all" you grumble as Alexia searches your purse for a few seconds, giggling about what you just said.

The sweat sound stop rather abruptly though, making you raise your eyes on her. She was livid. Regaining your seriousness, you take a few steps in her direction and you question her at the same time when she resumes speaking.

"Ale?"

"What is it?"

You frown as you look at the piece of paper she holds in her hand, realizing that this is the receipt you had slip into your purse when leaving the restaurant.

"The restaurant's bill?" you answer, not understanding what was going on.

"No. This."

Despite her calm voice, you see her hand shaking as she approaches the paper from your face. And there you see. The waiter thought it clever to write his phone number in hand, accompanied by a small annotation. "I finish at 0h, call me ;) " Your face drop and you raise your eyes on Alexia again, feeling a wave of panic going through you.

"I'm not... I didn’t see that he wrote that, I never would have taken it! Alexia I swear."

You were scared, really. Alexia had never been as relaxed as she was on this trip and had never behaved the same way with you outside the four walls of your shared apartment. You were terrified that it would make her step back or worse, that she would think that you might be interested in him somehow.

But you soon realize that if she’s angry, it’s clearly not against you. Furiously opening the door of your room thanks to the magnetic card she finally found, Alexia enters like a furious. And you follow her on tiptoe, dropping your shoes next to the door that closes behind you.

"Alexia?"

"Who the hell does he think he is?" Alexia roars, making you wide-eyes. "Wasn’t it visible enough that we were on a date? I’ve practically been drooling over you all night and if your eyes could undress me I wouldn’t be wearing my dress anymore."

Laughing may not be a good idea right now, but your girlfriend’s phrasing still amuses you a lot. You bite your lower lip to avoid to do it and grab her by the arm to prevent it from spinning like a propeller in your room. Drawing her against you, you pass your arms around her waist, unable to access her shoulders. If you got rid of your high heels, this is not the case for Alexia although she is only five centimeters taller than you without it.

"We don't care about him. I’m only yours, Alexia, for as long as you want me."

"Don’t say that kind of thing where you’re gonna get stuck with me for the rest of your life" she grunts against your hair.

"Can’t wait."

[iridescentprose]

Try again - Luca x reader insert [The Bear]

summary; in which you catch the chef smiling at you.

author's note; short but sweet fic about Luca. Just fluff. Please enjoy!

"Worse. Try again."

"Yes, chef."

It was 5:36am.

The numbers of the digital clock above you weren't moving any faster. You had been here for less than an hour and already you were being critiqued on how to properly layer strawberries on top of a crème brûlée custard.

Whatever plans you had of pleasing the chef next to you were slowly diminishing. Your hands shook with self doubt as you pricked at the red fruit, angling it so the mandala spirals could continue. You stepped back, overall pleased with what you had done.

"Better."

It was all you were going to get for now, you knew. But you took his response with pride. After all, you had made significant progress in the past week. Your shoulders relaxed, though your victory was short-lived.

"But."

You lifted a brow. "But?"

He shifted closer to you, his tattooed arm brushing up against yours, making butterflies flutter in your stomach. Your eyes remained downward, concentrated on the different doodles that littered his skin. You wondered what each stroke of ink meant and if they were drawn with intent or if they happened to be the result of a reckless decision.

Or decisions.

"You lack confidence," he said. Even though his eyes were focused on the custard, you could tell he was doing this on purpose—teasing you. The furrowed brow, the slightly scrunched up nose, and the craned neck. What gave away his concentrated act was the corner of his lips, tugged in a meaningful, if not, arrogant fashion.

Despite the heat spreading across your cheeks, you didn't take his criticism to heart. It was true. After all, Carmy set this all up for a reason. You needed the extra practice to hone in on your skill before the upcoming opening. But opening day was weeks away and you already felt too far behind to make a good impression.

"I'm exhausted," You said without thinking. It wasn't the best excuse for your lack of confidence or skill, but it was all you could muster in response. You dropped the miniature metal tongs and braced your hands on the edge of the silver cooking island.

You could hear him chuckle but you didn't bother lifting your gaze to defend yourself. A week of private training wasn't enough to increase your knowledge as quickly as you had hoped. You wanted to be good—better than good. You wanted to be the best version of yourself and you wanted others to experience that through your desserts.

"Good," he said, as you kept your gaze downwards, fixed on his shoes that were inching closer to yours. "For a second I was worried you weren't." He smirked. "Here, try again."

You lifted your head and straightened your posture as he reached across the table for the metal tongs. He handed them to you and you took them into your hand automatically, prying a strawberry that happened to be cut in half, from a small bowl.

Slowly you guided it towards the custard, though it didn't make it's final destination without a little help. In a ghostly fashion, Luca's hand loomed over yours. His rough palm settled over your knuckles — which happened to be stained with flour and vanilla extract.

He did most of the heavy lifting, using a method of confident concentration that you had been trying to master all week. Your hand shook as the strawberry reached its destination, overlaying the endless spiral masterfully.

"Slow and steady wins the race," he mumbled, his breath fanning your cheek. He gently squeezed your fingers prompting the metal tongs let go of the red fruit. "Consistency is key."

The pads of his fingertips brushed over your knuckles as he let go of your shaking hand. Smudges of strawberry paste lingered on your skin as he pulled away.

"Understand?"

You lifted your head, your eyes meeting his. He looked relaxed, if not intrigued by your bravery. A glimmer of a smile came to his lips, though it vanished before you could capture it in your mind. You shook your head free from whatever trance you were under.

"Yes, chef."

With a nod, he swiftly reached for the towel that hung off his shoulder and tossed it to you. You took it, swiping the remnants of sweet ingredients he left on your fingers from his demonstration.

You turned to look over your shoulder, finding him leaning against the metal cabinent, arms crossed and muscles tight.

He met your gaze quickly, almost as if he had been caught watching you. His slight smile diminished, and you couldn't help but shake your head in amusement.

"Again, chef?" You asked.

Testing his reflexes, you tossed the towel and he flinched, but caught it with ease as it hit his chest. A shade of red - the same pigment that stained the towel you had used to wipe your hands - was visible in his cheeks. His lips flickered upwards as he fought the playful smirk flirting with his mouth.

"Yes, chef," he mumbled, tossing the towel over his shoulder and taking his spot next to you. Naturally, his arm brushed up against yours again as he began cutting up more strawberries. "Again."

[rottenpumpkin13]

How do you think the public would react if Hojo’s abuse of Sephiroth was revealed.

Someone leaks confidential details about Sephiroth’s rigorous monthly evaluations on the Silver Elite forums, the invasive procedures include exhaustive checkups that range for days, extractions, blood, hair, and skin sampling, bodily fluid collection, and a history of surgical interventions designed to test his endurance that range from childhood to now.

It reveals the extent that Sephiroth’s body was exploited, and the reaction from fan clubs and the general public is one of absolute disgust and horror.

Sephiroth is Idolized for his strength and bravery, but now knowing that he's continuously subjected to inhumane treatment, the fans are starting to rethink it all.

The outcry even reaches Sephiroth himself. Initially he feels uncomfortable knowing that intimate details of his life were exposed (as if he were ever comfortable). But as he reads the waves of sympathy support, and apologies online, he's overwhelmed. It makes him rethink his life as a whole, drawing attention to the abuse he had normalized throughout his upbringing.

Shinra releases a statement downplaying the leaked information, claiming that these procedures are just "routine" and that Sephiroth consents to all of it. Not only that, but his mental and physical endurance is far above that of an average man. He, himself is not human. He's a SOLDIER, a warrior, a god amongst men.

Sephiroth is coerced forced into a public press conference where he has to affirm that he's fine and had agreed to all procedures. Each lie he tells into the camera is a struggle, but what can he do? Once the public is calmed by Shinra’s narrative, their focus shifts. Now they marvel at Sephiroth’s supposed invincibility unparalleled endurance, making the ethical concerns to fade into the background, buried beneath the new comments flooding in, hailing him as a god.

But he is no god. He's just a broken man, and every word exalting him as something beyond human now hurt just as much as the endless needles and scalpels he has to endure under Hojo's "care."

[rustingcat]

Vigilante

Kara was late.

She hated being late, but the amount of paperwork she had to sign was much larger than she anticipated, and the lack of signal in the classified room in the DEO meant that she couldn't alert Lena on time.

Kara made it to the lab an hour later, more exhausted than she realised.

"Kara! Is everything okay?" Lena asked the moment Kara put her bag down.

"Yes, I'm so sorry for the delay. I had to sign a LOT of papers for the DEO." Lena seemed so engulfed in the work, their work. The last thing she wanted was for Lena to feel like she's forced to take on the load.

"The DEO? Did something happen?" The worry in her voice was clear. Kara put a reassuring smile on her face to take some of it away.

"Yes, yes. I just signed an employment contract, I'm officially no longer a vigilante!" Kara said with a small chuckle.

"Oh, why the change? I remember you weren't a fan of working for the government before, especially with everything that went down with Colonel Hailey." Lena walked closer to her, a concern not completely gone.

"Well, now that my identity is public knowledge, Alex was very adamant in reminding me how open I am for lawsuits. Both private ones and from the government, like they could potentially sue me for stuff they ask me to do! How crazy is that?"

"Did you sign it already? I could go over it to make sure they don't put any peculiar articles or subsections."

"It's ok, Alex is still in touch with Lucy Lane. They went over the contract together several times before presenting it to me. Lucy is really good with this stuff." She reassured her.

"So you're a government official?"

"Yeah, free from any Supergirl related lawsuits, and with some pretty sweet tax benefits. Plus all of the salary they wanted to give me is going to go to different kinds of selected charities of my choosing, so that's awesome."

"I'm glad it all worked out."

"Me too." Kara breathed in relief.

"I have some news, too." Lena said as an excited smile spread on her face.

"Do tell," Kara said, biting her lip as a smile matching Lena started spreading.

"Okay, while you were off signing what was no doubt a mountain of paperwork," Kara nodded, "I found and fixed the problem with the distributor." Lena proclaimed proudly.

"What was the problem?" Kara asked, matching her excitement.

"We switched the materials connecting it to the compressor, but not the ones connected to the bio-terminal!" She explained quickly, her hands moving around in excited blur to match.

"Oh Rao! So it means–"

"We can start testing!"

"Ahh- Lena that's amazing!" Kara crushed into her best friend, giving her the big tight hug she deserves. She absolutely loved hugging Lena, really she took any opportunity she got. Feeling her warp around her tightly as if not wanting to let go, her smell that somehow always smelled amazing and feeling her heartbeat so close to hers. Hugging Lena was amazing, and she really deserved the most amazing hug after that discovery.

"Wait, we don't have their DNA to test it with." Kara noted once they pulled away.

"It's just a test to see if it can even process something like that, It doesn't have to be theirs. We already have exactly what we need." Lena explained.

"What do you mean?" Kara was confused, they didn't collect any DNA ahead of time.

"Samples of two specimens of the same biological sex, not to mention a combination of human and non-human DNA." Lena smiled at her.

"Oh." The room suddenly felt hotter. "Yeah, no… yes I see. Yeah that- that would definitely work." They would be combining their DNA. She and Lena. Their biological data would be combined. Kara felt very normal about this.

"Will you be able to extract some of your blood? If not, we can try saliva." Lena asked and she started to look around for the tubes.

"I think I can," Kara answered, looking at her fingers in an attempt to decide which one would be easier to cut. It's not like she would have to worry about the long term effect of the wound as it would heal once she stepped out into the sun.

Lena was already grabbing a syringe by the time Kara decided to go with her thumb, hoping to make the surface of the wound big enough to extract more blood.

She checked with her tongue to see which of her teeth is the sharpest –her upper left fang, and attempted her first try. It was painful, yet unsuccessful. She braced herself for the unavailable pain and tried again. The metallic taste in her mouth paired with the pounding pain in her finger told her she was successful. She took out her thumb and tried to lift it in a way that no blood would spill out. She held it above the tube Lena handed to her, letting the small drops fill it as much as she could, squeezing a bit despite the pain, until she was satisfied with the amount.

A quick walk to the window, letting the reflected rays of the sunshine upon her finger, fixed the little cut she created. She only wished Lena had similar powers. The syringe made her cut relatively small, but a cut was still a cut in Kara’s book. Lena was pressing a small piece of cotton to her arm, holding it tightly as she worked.

Kara walked closer to her. She was healed at this point and just as familiar with the machine as Lena, it was her turn to put on some work. She took Lenas wounded arm and gave it a small kiss to make it better. Lena's cheeks were immediately coloured with a light share of pink.

"All better now." Kara smiled at her. "Do you mind if I take it from here? You can keep pressing on the arm."

Lena simply nodded.

Inserting their blood samples carefully, Kara directed the machine to start the process. It was odd, she thought to herself, seeing all of the biological specification options for the combined data of her and Lena's DNA. Afraid to make a mistake, she slowly pressed on each button, choosing to unspecify everything before starting the process.

Kara looked at Lena with an exciting smile, biting down both her upper and bottom lips in the anticipation.

"And now we wait." Lena smiled back.

They watched in silence as the machine processed their data, searching for any errors or possible problems. They went through the math and the coding multiple times, they were at the very least confident in their work. The test was not to see a baby going through a full term, that process would take a few months even in their very advanced machine. Not to mention that due to the possibility of success, they knew that their first test subject should be for people who would be willing parents. So the test itself was only to see if the machine can prepare their given data to what could later become an embryo and then a healthy fetus should they choose to continue.

The process bar got closer to the end. No errors yet.

Lena was still pressing on her wound as she followed the process bar closely with her eyes. Kara wasn't sure if it was worry, tension or excitement on her face. Probably a combination of the three. She couldn't say she was faring any better, chewing in her bottom lip with similar emotions.

The bar got closer to the end. 97%, 98%, 99%, 100%.

Kara instinctively inhaled quickly. Holding her breath until the bar disappeared completely, replaced by a 'process complete' message on the screen.

"Oh my god!" She heard Lena exhale in relief.

"It worked!" Kara turned to face her, mouth wide open in shock and excitement.

"It did!" Lena confirmed in amazement.

They were hugging again before Kara fully realised she was doing it. Jumping in excitement in Lena’s arms as the latter laughed in response. When she settled down she noticed how close their faces were to each other, she could feel the heat radiating off of Lena's face warm her own. Suddenly their excited hearts became louder to her ears as she watched Lena wet her own lips. Kara instinctively mimicked the movement. They stayed like that for a moment, before Lena suddenly pulled away. Kara felt a pang of disappointment she could not name.

"I should check on this one project before I leave for today. Could you finish everything here?" Lena hurried to find her back, refusing to meet Kara's eyes.

"Sure," she had no problem wrapping everything herself. "What do you want to do with the PF?" It was the name they decided on for a successful processed DNA combination, a shorthand for Potential Fetus.

"It's not important, you can dispose of it." Lena finished collecting her stuff and exited before Kara could respond.

"Right." She muttered to the empty room. The project she went to check on must've been important.

Kara turned her attention back to the machine. She was familiar with the options, she designed the UI herself after all, yet they gave her pause. The button to proceed to the next stage had somehow become the most fascinating thing in the world. Flash images of small hands, a wild patch of dark hair and big striking green eyes passed through her mind in quick succession. She only noticed she clicked the button once a warning message asking her if she was sure she'd like to proceed popped up on the screen. Small panic went through her body as she realised what she almost did, Rao she almost greenlighted the creation of a baby for her and Lena.

She quickly pressed no, and moved on to check the other options. She had no need to restart the process to respect the bio-data for the PF, nor make changes to the DNA. She stared at the button to terminate the PF and all data related to it, but couldn't bring herself to do it. The images flashed her mind again. She wasn't sure what it was but she couldn't bring herself to do it, she couldn't press the button.

A message from Lena asking if she wanted a ride home made her notice the time. She sent her a quick message saying she would be right there, and turned back to the machine. Kara made a quick decision to store the data for later use, just in case they wanted to reexamine it, of course. Plus it was their first success, it could also be a reminder of their progress.

Kara finished turning off whatever unnecessary parts to keep the power consumption at a minimum, went over everything twice and spared a moment to stare at the container, before she left.

The images followed her to her dream that night, along with a familiar dimpled smile by her side.

Read in order in AO3

[miserymerci]

Fluffy February Day 11: Quest - The Monkey King and The Monkey

Fandom: Lego Monkie Kid

Characters: Sun Wukong, Nezha, Jade Emperor, MK

(Lots of mentions of MK but actually pops up near the end, Sunburst Duo, Harbinger of Chaos MK, Alternate universe)

Word count: 4971

Summary: (TW: mentions of execution of a child) Takes place after the Samadhi Fire was separated from Red Son. In an alternate universe, Sun Wukong is summoned by the Jade Emperor, who gives him one final task: Wukong is to kill the Harbinger of Chaos before he can lay waste to Heaven— and the rest of the universe. But this has to be a mistake. The Harbinger of Chaos is just a little kid. Wukong’s next decision would be a lot easier if he didn’t want the Harbinger dead, too. (Inspired by The Horse and the Infant animatic)

Wispy indigo reached across the sky; rich, deep, and stunningly royal amongst the full galaxy beyond it. The stars glittered and winked, as if the world’s problems were only a fleeting thing to them. The night slept along. It would have been difficult for it not to, Wukong realized, since the sky in itself seemed to be a lullaby.

He could call it a painting. It had that look after all; like it had been touched up to perfection; like the splattered stars randomly lined up right where they were supposed to be. But Wukong didn’t consider himself an artist. So, then, would it really matter if he thought the night was beautiful or not?

What a strange thing to think. He should be rewarding himself with a good night’s sleep. Instead, here he was mulling over creation. Ridiculous. 

“Wukong, I know I’ve already said this, but thank you,” came a familiar voice.

Wukong snorted to himself and turned to smile at his ex-sworn brother.

“I don’t mind the thanks– this’ll be the only time I get to see this side of you, so I’m enjoying it the best I can– but you were just about ready to go for my throat a few hours ago,” he said.

The Demon Bull King’s sincerity wavered at the tease, but he had always been an honorable opponent. He shook his head to keep the annoyance at bay and titled his broad nose up at the stars.

“This was important to me. Meeting Lady Iron Fan felt like my new beginning– if you’re going to make that face, look at me when you do it. I know you’re a hopeless romantic, simian. Hmph. As I was saying… meeting Lady Iron Fan felt like my new beginning. And now I’m here with it laying in my palms, and I don’t want to hang on too tight or cradle it too carelessly,” said the Demon Bull King. “I want to be tactical with every step I take. The possibility of losing Red Son to the Samadhi Fire… it was… not an ideal thought. I had worried you weren’t taking it as seriously as I was.”

The Mystic Mountain did have a view Wukong could appreciate (when they weren’t in the middle of sealing an inextinguishable fire). But the colorfulness of it all quickly became sorrowfully bland. Wukong frowned at the twisted feeling and eyed the Demon Bull King. He had turned away to somewhere Wukong couldn’t see.

Wukong imagined it would have been where Lady Iron Fan, their son, and the others had spread out their own camps. With the journey too far and the extraction of the Fire too exhausting, it had been a practical decision to stay the night. Even Nezha had stayed; not by any other compelling force other than being a good sport to those who couldn’t simply bounce off to heaven.

The Demon Bull King’s eyes glinted with the surrounding stars. The look on his face was soft, like an old dog born on the streets. 

Wukong remembered distant times where the young Demon Bull King had been eager to crush bones on the battlefield; where he had dreamed of only power and control; when family had been something the Demon Bull King had laughed at. 

He turned away.

“Look at you, being a sap. It’s an… interesting look on you.”

“It’s hardly something I want you getting used to,” the Demon Bull King snapped. “In the morning, we will part ways and carry on with our existences. I have respect for you tonight. But what I do tomorrow and the days after will be separate from your shenanigans.”

Wukong could say a few different things to that. ‘When did things change?’, for one. ‘I can’t understand how you feel’, for another.

“Well said.” he settled on. He picked at a furry knot that had formed on his wrist and then groaned. “It’s not like I’d find any joy being in your inner circle. You’d drive me crazy with your incompetence to boil pasta.”

The Demon Bull King huffed and then grumbled.

“Sorry, what was that?” nudged Wukong.

“It was one time!” 

Wukong’s fur bristled at the tone, but grinned knowingly. This was familiar territory. He was very good at dancing this dance. 

“You boiled it twice as long as we told you to.”

“We put in double the pasta! It should have been double the time!”

“It doesn’t work that way! If you put the pasta into boiling water at the same time–”

“No! That doesn’t make sense. If you cook a thick slice of meat and a thin slice of meat, the thicker slice is going to need more time–”

“–because the heat is spread out! It’s not touching the outside and the inside at the same time.”

The Demon Bull King snorted, glanced back at his family with clenched fists, and then shook them in Wukong’s general direction.

“It is,” he said.

“Okay, it is but the pasta is like a million thin slices of meat so–”

“–it equals one thick slice of meat.”

“It’s admirable that you’re willing to die on this hill even though you’re wrong,” said Wukong smilingly. 

“You irk me with your breathing.”

The Demon Bull King had obviously chewed more than he could swallow. He didn’t enjoy lengthy conversation to begin with, and had only prepared himself to say thank you and promptly scatter. The more Wukong went off-script, the more frustrated the Demon Bull King would become. 

That was one thing that hadn’t changed about him. Wukong hid a fond smile at the thought.

He coiled and uncoiled his tail, sighed quietly, and then said, “I think I’m getting a little tired,” even though he wasn’t.

“Me too,” agreed the Demon Bull King, even though he wasn’t. 

And that was it for the night– maybe even the rest of Wukong’s life. There would likely be no other times like this; a group of these warriors united under the stars; because the “battle” had already ended, and the rest of their lives readily laid in wait. Could he return to Flower Fruit Mountain and get fat off fruit for the rest of his life? It was what he had wanted, before. But the times had changed, and the desires had changed, and the people had changed… 

But he was alone before he could find the words.

‘And that was just it, was it?’ he thought, watching the Demon Bull King return to Lady Iron Fan’s side with certainty. Things were moving before he was ready. He couldn’t pick up the pieces and place them back like pawns. “Forever” was much too long of a time for him to protect.

The last thought twisted in his belly. It squirmed, hissed, and Wukong suddenly felt sick with anger.

“…The sun, the sun,” Wukong murmured through his clenched teeth. He took a peek at the lazing moon and lashed his tail. “You bring us colorful light. You beautify the lovely flower of our soul.” 

Wukong had believed it to be a lousy lullaby when his Master had taught him it. Tripitaka hummed it to himself first, caught the attention of a curious monkey, and sneakily recited the tune to his hyperactive pupil. Now, Wukong glanced at his sleeping form next to Ao Lie and passed quietly.

“Today we grow under the sunlight,” he mumbled, raising his hands and finding his cloud had obediently appeared at his side. Something twinkled on its surface. Maybe stars, maybe just a trick in the moonlight. He blinked the illusion away and settled into the cloud’s weightless surface.

“Tomorrow we will create a colorful world.”

The sky continued to spin.

“Wukong.”

Wukong’s eyes flung open. He shot frantically to his knees, felt the cloud disperse below him, and in the space between him and solid ground, his tail lashed out and sprung him back to his feet.

Nezha’s serious expression didn’t budge. 

“Come on,” said Wukong, “I still got it.”

“Not if you’re letting anyone sneak up on you like that in your sleep,” replied Nezha, helpfully. He gestured his spear behind Wukong, urging him to look.

Ao Lie smiled a cat-like smile behind him and waved. He looked a little pale and might have been sweating more than usual, but nothing to call for concern. Beside him, Sha Wujing sipped what was probably tea from his chipped little cup. Wukong nodded politely at them. 

On the other side of the site, the Demon Bull family had already left– no goodbyes were exchanged, only an air of respect– and Wukong’s twisting belly threatened to rear its ugly head again. The morning was still pink and yellow, young and new. It didn’t surprise Wukong that two warriors had woken up bright and early for the trek ahead.

“What’s wrong?” asked Wukong. 

Nezha glanced back at the two pilgrims, then lifted his brows. “Private business, meant to be discussed privately.”

Wukong sniffled, but Nezha’s facade left little wiggle room; the poor prince’s fingers tapped anxiously against the shaft of his spear, hidden to the untrained eye, obvious to the Great Sage. Something was brewing behind the scenes. If it had anything to do with Nezha, then it had something to do with Heaven. 

“Go ahead,” said Lie, snapping Wukong out of his thoughts. He smiled at him brightly. “We’re only waiting for the Master… err– Sannnzanggg– to wake up. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I left without saying goodbye, but it was a pleasure seeing you again, Wukong.”

“And Bajie,” added Wujing. The fins along his jaw fluttered as he took another long drink of his hot tea. “He hasn’t woken up yet.” 

Lie huffed humorously, probably thinking over the previous day. He blinked at the snoring pig and then said, “yes, well, but it’s not like he did anything but stare the entire ritual.”

Nezha narrowed his eyes expectantly at Wukong and clenched his weapon. 

“Right, then,” said Wukong, “tell the Master my goodbyes for me. ”

Briskly, Nezha turned and began to stride away from the group.

“Wow! Impatient today, huh?” called Wukong. He picked up into a jog to catch up and slipped in front of Nezha, beginning to walk backwards. “I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of the pilgrims, but I think you woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Missing your holy, phoenix down-stuffed mattress in Heaven? How’re your joints? Stiff?” 

Nezha wrinkled his nose (likely in warning) before finally stopping just underneath a jutted-out slab of stone; a defect in the site’s structure, perfect for a top-secret discussion.

Wukong tilted his head. 

Usually, Nezha was straight to the point. He knew his duties and he knew how to do them, but something had shifted in the air– and Wukong’s worry shifted with it. 

“Something must really be wrong if you look so… dejected. Cheer up, Nezha! It’s not like the world is ending,” he said. 

“The universe is ending.”

“Hhhphhh… rough night?”

Nezha finally ripped his gaze from the stone behind Wukong and glared.

“Yes, actually. Can you stop being a fool for a moment? As you can probably tell, there’s a lot to say about this, and I’m trying to… find the right words.”

“Right,” said Wukong, “then let me help you out. I have a hunch that Heaven needs help from their old buddy the Monkey King to hunt a scary monster threatening to tear down the heavens. How’s that sound?” 

“It’s more than that,” insisted Nezha coldly. He hung his head, sighed, and then steeled himself. “You’re infuriating, Sun Wukong. The only reason I’m before you right now is by orders from the Emperor. I respect you for your friendship with the Great Monk, but I advise you not to test your luck.”

The dawn shimmered against Nezha’s spear as it rocked back and forth from his fidgeting. Just beyond its point, Lie hovered over Sanzang just as he had when the Great Monk was still under their protection. Old habits die hard. Wukong understood the rigid behavior of Nezha when faced with duty and pride.

“I thought I had already served the sentence Heaven gave me.”

“This isn’t a sentence. You are an ally of Heaven,” Wukong made a face at that, and Nezha continued sterner, “and that means that the Jade Emperor may summon you as he pleases. What he may do if you do not answer his call remains to be unseen.”

Now that Wukong thought about it, maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to reminisce over retired warriors. A threat to the universe simply meant another round for the Great Sage. He wouldn’t have to return to Flower Fruit Mountain just yet.

Wukong leaned back on the stone, twirled his trusty tail, then smiled.

“Fine. I’ll take the bite.”

The perfect, crisp air filled Wukong’s lungs and lingered like smoke.

“We have the enemy contained deep in the palace,” one of the guards was saying, probably someone of high-importance, but not high enough to matter, “where the Emperor will be waiting for you.”

“Seems like extra effort to bring me in if you’ve already got the guy,” said Wukong. He sniffled, caught wind of unripe peaches, and rubbed at his nose. 

Heaven never changed much. The scents were the same, the lights were the same, and even the tiniest of pests couldn’t wiggle their way through security. If anything, the number of guards out in the garden seemed to have doubled the last time he was here. 

Wukong smirked and titled his head up.

“While we have the source of the problem, the universe’s destruction has already been set into motion. The Emperor believes that our captive is our only way of discovering how to place everything back the way it was.”

The marble steps of the palace tapped under Wukong’s feet. His eyes peeked down to catch sight of any blemishes on the floor; smudges, cracks, anything out of place really; and only found his reflection.

Really? Were the floors that shiny? What overkill.

“If I’m not supposed to be finding this universe-destroying demon, then what am I supposed to be doing?”

His escort hesitated. He looked up at the heavens for assistance, fixed his helmet, and then continued with a brisk shrug, “uh, not my department. Sorry, sir. Please just follow me.”

Wukong rolled his eyes.

Heaven had plenty of secrets, but only few could really keep their mouths shut about it. Maybe he should have been more on-guard about the whole thing. This could have been a trap to imprison him, or an ambush behind the Emperor’s back. But that didn’t make sense. Nezha might be a strike to the shin, but Wukong didn’t think him to be deceitful.

The air went chilly the further down they went. Something like fog began to build, dewy on Wukong’s fur and itchy between his chest and armor. Marbled flooring twisted to stone; first neatly placed in a silly little flowered pattern, then turning chipped and askew. 

He stepped over a particularly deep hole between two old stones. For a moment, he wondered if the flash of scuttling legs in the crevice were real or just his imagination– but then the smell of mold and dust washed over him.

“What a cruel place to keep your prisoners,” said Wukong, quietly. He blinked at the rows of torches and let the raspberry hues guide his eyes. 

The guard hummed. Maybe he was still flustered about his close-fumble earlier, because he wasn’t making eye contact anymore. 

They passed through the hall. The cells enclosed them from both sides.

“Only the worst of the worst are here,” said the guard. “The ones who have tried to bring down the Jade Emperor directly receive very long sentences. Not all of them live to see the end of it.”

Wukong eyed what looked like splintered bones between some bars. Then, he smiled.

“Ran out of mountains to use?” he asked.

The guard nervously cleared his throat.

Very little signs of life remained in this deep, forgotten prison. The spiders here would die from empty webs. The bones of past sentences were picked clean and likely crumbly to the touch. Only one other being lurked the cells, far against the corner, just before they reached the arch at the end of the hall.

A demon with bright, orange eyes grinned at him in the darkness.

Wukong slowed. He looked over long fangs and slithering hair. With a blink, he quickly caught up to his escort.

“Go in,” said the guard before Wukong could ask about the strange demon, gesturing to the entryway. He shifted his feet. He looked a little like a board; maybe a penguin; antsy and tense in the newest shift in the air. With a deep breath, he announced into the doorway, “Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven!” 

Something rumbled. Fog blew out like a breath and swayed Wukong and the guard.

Wukong frowned, gave the guard a parting glance, and entered.

Wukong enjoyed biting more than he could chew. Not only was it a fun challenge, but the risk kept his muscles used, his mind spry, and his heart young. It was like eating peppers for the spice and suffering the kick afterwards. Wukong could risk it, because Wukong always survived, and death could never claim him.

Despite that, Wukong wouldn’t say he was “getting old”. It was honestly more of being “forever young”. The Great Sage couldn’t just retire. Retiring was for old people and fighting dogs– but he supposed that if he said that, it would mean that the Jade Emperor would have to retire. And soon.

Wukong looked over the blue-purple ombre cuts that were splitting at the seams against an undefeatable entity and instinctively stepped back.

“What happened to you?” he blurted, and then promptly nipped that disrespect in the bud. “Uhhh– errr– hi.”

The cuts– Wukong noticed stars shimmering in them, almost like a galaxy– warbled and sang like a winding clock.

“Hello, Monkey,” replied the Emperor. He said it almost like he was spitting it out, but Wukong tried not to take it personally. There could have been a number of reasons right now why he was being snippy. 

The great force neared from the opposite side of the room. The fog, chilly to the bone, twisted in the space between.

“Hi,” said Wukong again. He blinked and cleared his throat. “So, what’s the problem?” 

“You are here because Heaven needs your personal experience to help get rid of our prisoner.”

“Get rid of?” echoed Wukong.

“It can’t be killed,” said the Emperor, and Wukong’s eyes gleamed, “not in the normal sense. Yet it is too destructive to be imprisoned. Our only choice is to have it eradicated. As an ‘immortal’ yourself, you would know a thing or two about finding the loopholes in such matters.”

Wukong cocked his head and considered that. Killing an immortal? Just about everyone in Heaven was immortal. He had tried once, failed, and paid the price for it. And then he went on an entire quest to learn how to not kill people. 

But this prisoner– this immortal– was immortal in a way that even Heaven couldn’t decipher it, much like how they couldn’t decipher Wukong’s layers of immortality. Except this immortal was… worse? Worse enough, at least, to not risk even the five-hundred-years-under-a-mountain punishment. 

“What have they done?” he asked.

“Their existence is what threatens the universe.”

‘That doesn’t make any sense. Can you stop beating around the bush and tell me what’s really the problem?’ Wukong wanted to say, but the Emperor was brief for a reason, answering only what Wukong asked, and leaving the unknown unknown. Wukong needed to be clever if he wanted the full story.

“Like a harbinger?” 

The Emperor tilted his chin up and said, “what an interesting choice of words. Yes, I like that. It’s a harbinger.”

“What of?”

“Chaos, I presume.”

“You don’t know?”

“I know better than you will.”

“Who sent it?”

“The Goddess Nüwa.”

That startled Wukong’s train of thought. He cringed, shook his head, and settled his hands on his hips.

“The Goddess of creation? She made humanity and now she wants to destroy it?”

“You fail to understand me, Monkey. My problem is not with Nüwa, it’s with her rebellious children. Will you lend me your aid or not?”

This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. The last thing Wukong wanted to be was a pawn for something he didn’t understand. The Master had urged him to think before he got too cocky in combat, and boy was Wukong thinking now– thinking about how much he was likely missing from this narrative. 

‘The sun, the sun’, Wukong thought.

A deep grumble started in the Emperor’s throat, almost debating with itself. Wukong perked up, interested, but tried not to show it.

“I do hope you know,” said the Emperor, “that the Harbinger threatens all life– all existence– including yours.”  

“…I doubt it,” said Wukong. He blinked– because his reply had blurted out of his mouth without much thought– before adding, “What I mean is that I can survive without food, without water, without air, and no blade can ever fatally puncture me. I can’t die; no name in The Book to change that.”

The Emperor quirked a large brow, then asked, “Do you think you’re exempt from the ‘entire universe’?” 

Oh.

Well, maybe not, since Wukong lived in this universe. But he’s always been exempt before. The thought of something Wukong had never even met ending not only everyone else’s existence, but his as well? Come on.

…right?

Granted, he shouldn’t make it all about himself. His mind wandered to the other pilgrims, who didn’t have the mercy of a long life that Wukong (thought) he had. Then, he thought of his old brothers, and found that that had only been a drop of poison for his growing doubts.

This could have been a trick. The Emperor may have just wanted to use him. Something cold traveled up Wukong’s arm– likely the cool fog catching up to him– and his mind turned to the only thing he could think straight on.

Nothing could kill Sun Wukong.

The Staff chimed and twinkled. It extended from his ear and dropped familiarly into his hand. 

“Where is it?” he asked.

The Jade Emperor’s face didn’t twitch. Part of Wukong had expected a look of triumph, or a twitch in his resolve, but that didn’t happen. The Emperor took two or three long strides (or floated, Wukong couldn’t tell), lifted his cape, and swooped it where he stood. In its fluttering wake, a cradle of leaves and moss popped out from the drab colors of this forgotten room.

Wukong, immediately, wanted to drop his weapon.

“No,” he spat, suddenly very angry, “No! Do you think this is a joke?”

“If you think I’m trying to play tricks, then I can advise you to close your eyes, count to ten, and look again.”

“You’re…,” Wukong started. He bared his teeth, taking in the Emperor’s challenging gaze before forcing his attention down toward the Harbinger. 

The little monkey in the cradle looked up. It had been sleeping innocently, and it fluttered its eyelashes at the sudden light. Now, it was blinking those honey eyes at him. 

“Hi,” it said in a tiny voice, fit for such a tiny thing.

The end of Wukong’s staff clinked against the stone floor. 

“What is going on here?” he said, ignoring the child. He could feel his fur prickling with anger at the stale scent of Flower Fruit Mountain coming from it, weak and caked with something earthy and milky, but there.

“Do not forget what I’ve told you. The Harbinger being a stone monkey shouldn’t influence the facts; it’s dangerous, Monkey, and it’ll only grow to be our enemy if you allow your feelings to complicate.”

“A stone monkey!” cried Wukong, “my stone monkey, even! Born on Mount Huaguo! You’ve stolen it!”

“A Harbinger of Chaos!” shot back the Emperor, and Wukong willed himself to stay quiet. The little monkey shivered at the whipping fog. It reached up to Wukong with little hands, but he was quick to dodge them. “I urge you to think straight, Sun Wukong. Your similarities to it may have been the reason I chose you to meet me here, but the similarities end with your ability to change. You had opportunities, Monkey, but this one is doomed from the start. There is no changing what it will become. If you cannot see that, then you are as foolish as you were underneath that mountain.”

That cold, twisting anger curdled in Wukong’s belly. He ached to give the Emperor a piece of his mind. ‘Find someone else to do this’ he wanted to say, ‘how dare you shove the duty onto me’. But a voice, little but powerful, was chanting; ‘this thing will kill you. It could kill you. You need to kill it first’.

Wukong’s mouth went dry.

The little monkey cooed. Wukong, on instinct, tilted his head at it, and found that it was staring intensely at Wukong’s tail. He flicked it nervously. The little monkey giggled at the way it twisted. 

“Mnkey,” it squealed, proudly, “mnkey!”

Wukong could feel the Emperor’s gaze on him. He was in the spotlight now, not the Harbinger, and whatever steps he took had to be perfect. What he wanted and what the Emperor wanted were quickly becoming blurred lines. Did the staff stay or go? Did he swing now or later?

“You want me to kill it?” he asked, stupidly, just to make sure.

“Yes.”

“I…” Wukong quickly tried to pull anything from his head, “I don’t know how, but if I could just have time to figure it out…”

The Emperor’s wounds warbled. Wukong watched one split further, cautiously, and he feared for a moment that he would just have to start lashing at the little thing. How cruel it would be if he had to force himself to stay here until it perished.

But then, the Emperor said, “Make haste, then. We can’t afford to waste the precious time that remains. Take the thing. Bring it wherever you’d like; the middle of nowhere, under the sea, to your mountain; find a way to get rid of it. I will have a member of my court check in on you daily.”

Daily? Eugh. How was Wukong supposed to relax when all he could look forward to was one check after another? They might as well be trapped down here for all of eternity. 

“Right,” said Wukong, looking at the monkey, “yeah, rodger that.”

The monkey– Wukong didn’t want to call the monkey ‘it’ anymore– must’ve liked something that came out of his mouth. They smiled at him with itty bitty teeth, and Wukong felt cold at the way his heart melted.

“Right,” he repeated. He sent a fleeting glance at the Emperor before removing his cape.

The air here was chilly. The monkey’s fur was raised by the goosebumps forming on their skin, so he wrapped the poor thing with his cape and brought them up to his chest. 

Something like a “thank you” mumbled from the monkey’s mouth. They tried to grasp onto Wukong’s fur, but the swaddle was too constricting, and his chest plate blocked any further attempt.

“I expect to see you soon, Monkey,” said the Emperor.

Wukong only nodded. He didn’t want to be in this foggy room anymore.

The Harbinger likely didn’t understand the conversation that had just happened. They looked too young to formulate too many words, much less distinguish between more than a couple– but sensing the tone was probably different. They were blinking at him as if spooked. Maybe they were clever enough to realize that they might have not been completely safe after all.

When Wukong left the room, the first thing he heard was a soft exhale. 

He turned and glared at the prisoner. 

“What?” he snapped, and the little monkey tensed. They cooed, as if trying to calm him down, and he pointedly ignored them.

“Nothing,” insisted the snake demon. But his voice was bubbly– giggly, almost– and he smiled toothily at Wukong. “You’re just an interesting character, Great Sage, just as I expected you to be.”

Wukong frowned. He couldn’t entertain this demon. He, too, had been a prisoner of Heaven once, but this one would likely go mad before he was freed of his misery. Wukong had gotten lucky. Wukong didn’t feel entirely lucky.

“Are you one of Nüwa’s children?” 

The demon tilted his head. There was a hint of surprise that flashed across his eyes, but it may have been more amused than anything else. He tested the weight of the shackles around his wrists. They clinked, scraped against scales, and then settled.

“Aren’t we all?” he replied. 

The Harbinger giggled. They must have thought his striking, glowing eyes were interesting. The snake demon smirked at them in return, lifting his fingers to wave them at the little thing.

Wukong, suddenly remembering that this whole story was lost to him, felt horribly like a pawn. He readjusted the child in his arms and briskly headed toward the stairs.

What would Wukong do? Was he to head back to Flower Fruit Mountain? That might be the best course of action– to regather himself from this unexpected event. Then again, he had no idea if the Harbinger had powers; like laser eyes, or fireballs. Maybe keeping them in a collapsable mountain wasn’t very smart.

“You bring us colorful light. You beautify the lovely flower of our soul,” he murmured to himself. The Harbinger pressed their head against the cool chest plate to listen. Wukong’s chest tightened. “Today we grow under the sunlight, tomorrow we will create a colorful world.”

[avatar-anna]

Grief Fic, Part 2

this is a continuation of the fic i posted a few weeks ago where reader helps harry with his grief. you can read the first part here!

tw: themes/mentions of abuse/domestic violence.

as always, i try to be as sensitive as possible, and i never want to offend anyone or make them uncomfortable. there's nothing in this fic that's overly explicit, but there are mentions and allusions to dv.

Harry looked down at his phone and wondered if he was crazy for thinking it was strange that Y/n hadn't so much as emailed him in weeks.

Perhaps he was crazy. Perhaps he was putting too much thought into a situation that didn't actually exist. Perhaps he was reading a little too much into the fact that Y/n's new boyfriend was a raging asshole who was slowly but surely isolating her from all her friends and family.

Perhaps he wasn't crazy.

It wasn't like it was unusual for Y/n not to talk to Harry consistently. Both of them were plenty busy. He was a full time dad and simultaneously juggled a pretty successful music career—if he did say so himself—and she was the head nurse in the Labor and Delivery wing of a huge hospital. They went days without talking. It happened.

But this silence felt different.

It started with Y/n declining invitations. Sometimes Harry would invite her to a show if he was performing in town, or out for drinks when he needed a break from helping Harper with schoolwork and dance classes and Girl Scout troop meetings. Harry had plenty of friends he could go to and hang out with, but Y/n understood him in a way no one else did. She was Harper's godmother, had been his late wife's best friend. There were just some things that Harry felt comfortable talking to and confiding in with Y/n that he didn't with anyone else.

So when she started declining invitations to go out and stopped dropping by the house, Harry felt her absence. When she stopped coming over to see Harper, he'd became annoyed. And when she arrived late to their monthly family dinner looking like she hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in weeks, he became worried.

"I've been picking up extra shifts at the hospital," she'd said, trying to wave off her fatigue. But Harry knew better. He'd known Y/n long enough to tell the difference between exhaustion from work and...whatever she was now.

And now she wasn't speaking to him at all. Harry called, texted, left messages at the hospital, and she didn't respond to a anything. As days went by, Harry couldn't shake the sinking feeling in his stomach that something was seriously wrong with his friend.

His last effort was going to see her in person. Harry had managed to find out from one of Y/n's coworkers that she was off today, so he drove to her house, only when he knocked on the door, his friend wasn't the one who answered.

"What do you want?"

Harry had had the pleasure of meeting Y/n's boyfriend once, and for him, once was enough. He wasn't overtly rude—though now Harry would say otherwise—he just didn't really acknowledge his or Harper's presence the whole afternoon they were together. And while Harry realized that not everyone was a fan of kids, he couldn't help but think Y/n's boyfriend's icy demeanor toward his daughter was very telling.

Doing his best to swallow his negative thoughts and feelings, Harry mustered a smile. "I'm here to see Y/n. Is she here?"

"No."

"Okay...Do you know when she'll be back?" Harry asked, getting the feeling that extracting information from the man in front of him was probably going to be similar to pulling teeth.

"That's none of your concern."

Y/n's boyfriend tried to close the door in Harry's face, but Harry was having none of that. Putting his hand on the door, he said, "You know what? I think I'll just wait inside for her. It's pretty urgent."

"Back the fuck up—"

"Excuse me? You back the fuck—"

"Harry? What are you doing here?"

For a moment, relief washed over Harry. Y/n was alive, which Harry seriously started to doubt for a second there. Then, as his eyes did a quick scan of Y/n, some of that dread started to creep back in.

"Are you okay? What happened to you?"

She had fading bruises on one wrist, and harsh red marks on the other. Hand prints, Harry realized as he narrowed his eyes. He looked over at Y/n's boyfriend furiously. "What the fuck did you do to her?"

"None of your fucking business, popstar. Now get the fuck off my property."

Civility had flown out the window. Harry wasn't about to let this prick get in his face or treat Y/n like that. He didn't care who saw or if he was about to come to blows with this guy. All Harry knew was that the bastard had hurt his best friend, and Harry couldn't let him get away with that. "Get out of my face, of I swear I'll—"

"You'll what? What? What are you gonna—"

"Enough! Harry, please. I'm fine. Now's really not a good time. Please, just—please go."

Y/n had frantically put herself between Harry and her boyfriend, and now that they were so close, he could see just how dark the rings around her eyes were, just how hollow her cheeks had become. The shirt she was wearing was too loose on her. What the hell was going on here?

"Harry, please. Go."

Y/n sounded scared as she pleaded with him, and that told him everything he needed to know. "Promise you'll call me," he said, taking her hand in his. "Promise, Y/n."

Nodding quickly, she squeezed his hand feebly. "I promise."

Harry went reluctantly, nearly stormed over to her boyfriend and beat the shit out of him when he saw the smug smile on the bastard's face. But he swallowed his anger and frustration, not wanting Y/n to get caught in the crossfire.

When he got home, Harry was a nervous wreck. He was distracted as he made dinner and cleaned up around the house. Part of him was glad Harper was spending the weekend with Soph's parents so she wouldn't see him like this, but he could've used their nighttime routine to take his mind off things.

He waited. And waited. Nearly stayed up all night in the hopes that she would call him. He must've fallen asleep at some point, though, as he woke up with a start on his couch. When he turned his phone on, there was nothing from Y/n.

*.*

"You were there for me, Y/n. What makes you think I wouldn't do the same for you."

"I don't want your help—I don't need your help, so just—just let it go, Harry!"

"He's trying to isolate you, Y/n," Harry said gently. "He's creating a wall between you and everyone who loves you and knows you and wants what's best for you. Can't you see that?"

Harry looked at Y/n sadly, which only seemed to piss her off even more than she already was. She'd been defensive, tried to convince him that she didn't need his pity or his help. This wasn't the same scenario, she insisted. She wasn't a danger to herself the way he had been two years ago. She was fine. Why couldn't he just leave her alone?

It was all spilling out of her, yet it only made it more clear to Harry that she needed him.

"That's not what's happening. He's my boyfriend. Why wouldn't we spend time alone together?"

"Harper misses you," he said, going for a different angle. "She keeps asking when she'll get to see you, and I can't give her a straight answer. We're your family, Y/n, and he won't let you see us."

"That's not—That's not fair," Y/n said, not wanting to believe the truth, which was that Harry might be right.

"What's going on out here?"

"You're right. It isn't. It isn't fair that you call me crying three times a week because your boyfriend is out and you can't reach him. It isn't fair that he expects you to cook and clean for him when he's a grown man and you have a full time job. It isn't fair that he belittles you and—" Harry paused, the emotion he felt catching in his voice as he thought about the state of her wrists the last time he saw her.

He hadn't seen Y/n in weeks, but a few days after he went to her house, she called Harry absolutely beside herself at the situation she was in. He talked to her for hours, calming her down and reassuring her that he was there and so was his home if she needed somewhere to get away. And for the first time, Harry was convinced that Y/n was seeing reason.

Until days passed and she never left him, which led to a weeks-long cycle of her calling him crying, him comforting her over the phone while she convinced him she was done, and somehow never ended up leaving him. Harry finally couldn't take it any longer and drove to her place again. Seeing her slowly whither away, seeing her less and less physically because her boyfriend wouldn't let her hang out with him or Harper, it killed him. "It isn't fair that he's turned you into this—this shell of the person you once were. It's not right, Y/n—"

Harry didn't miss the way Y/n jumped at the sound of his voice, or the way she subconsciously curled in on herself. It was like she wilted every time he walked into a room, or tried to be as small as possible so he wouldn't notice her. How could she not realize it?

"Nothing, baby. Go back inside," Y/n, her hand shaking as she rested it on his arm.

"Is he giving you trouble? I thought I told you I didn't like you hanging out with him. What's he doing here?" he said, sending a withering glare Harry's way.

Harry stared right back, unwilling to let the piece of shit unnerve him. He had half a mind to say something when Y/n spoke up first.

"He was just going, I promise," she said, turning her eyes on Harry pleadingly.

Harry wanted to say something so badly. He wanted to shake his best friend by the shoulders and make her see reason. This man she called a boyfriend wasn't a man at all, but a monster, and he hated how much Y/n had changed because of him.

But Y/n still couldn't see what he saw, and starting a fight when he knew she would side with her boyfriend wouldn't do any good. It would probably just isolate her even more than she already was, which said something. It had been hard for Harry to tell when he was on the road, but now that he was back for a few months, his stomach was constantly in knots.

It made him miss his wife sometimes. Harry knew that Sophia would know exactly what to say to Y/n, to Harry. She would've been the voice of reason in all of this mess; she would've stopped this mess before it even started. And Harry couldn't help but feel partly to blame for not being around for Y/n when it was so clear she needed someone to look out for her. She'd always been so good at helping others, but it was as if she gave all her kindness and compassion to her patients and friends and family and saved none of it for herself.

"Go, Harry. Please."

Harry could see it, then. The terror. The fear that something might escalate if he stayed, which meant that at least on some level, Y/n knew that her boyfriend was bad news. So why put up with him?

He didn't want to go, but he didn't see any alternatives. Promising himself that he'd call first thing tomorrow morning, Harry nodded and backed down the walkway that led to Y/n's home.

*.*

It was a few weeks later when Harry spoke to Y/n again. He texted her constantly, and sometimes he would get a response. Then all of a sudden, nothing. It was like she'd gone radio silent again. Harry never liked involving Harper in all this, but just once he had her try to call Y/n, but there was still no answer, which was when he really started to worry. Y/n might have cut him off, but he never thought she would do the same to his daughter.

So now he was driving to the hospital. As far as he knew, Y/n was still working in L&D, and even if she wasn't working today, he hoped to get some answers from her coworkers.

"Hey, Harry!"

Harry mustered a small smile for Miranda, Y/n's friend at work. He saw her often when he and Harper visited Y/n at the hospital, and she would always give Harper sweets from behind the counter. "My secret stash," Miranda would say with a wink. Harry never really considered the Labor and Delivery wing of a hospital somewhere where his daughter enjoyed spending her time, but they went often enough that he was pretty sure she liked it more than going to the park.

"Miranda. Hey. Is Y/n in today?"

The cheery look on Miranda's face faltered, which told Harry everything he needed to know. "She, um, she called out today. Said it was the flu."

"Do we really believe that?" Harry said.

Miranda's expression looked strained. "I—I don't know, Harry. I don't like to talk about it."

"I know, I'm sorry," he said. It was awkward to talk about Y/n when she wasn't here. Miranda was just a work friend, but Harry could tell that she knew more about Y/n's situation than she let on. But even so, it would be uncomfortable to talk about. "I'm—I'm just worried, that's all. "

"I know you are, Harry. I, um, I can spare a few minutes in just a bit if you want to wait over there," she said, nodding her head toward the waiting room where families and future fathers were anxiously awaiting good news.

Desperate, Harry nodded and found a seat in the waiting room. The minute he sat down, his leg bounced anxiously while his fingers toyed with his bottom lip. He just couldn't help but feel like something bad was going to happen. His stomach twisted itself into knots to the point where he had to bend over and wait for the stress to pass, but every time one of his texts or calls went unanswered, it just got worse.

"Is this your first?"

Startled, Harry looked to his left to find a man about his age sitting two seats away from him. He also looked nervous, but in an excited sort of way. Harry's brows furrowed for a moment before remembering where he was sitting. "Oh, um no. My friend works here. I'm just waiting for her."

Seeing this man did distract Harry in a way. He remembered his own experience as an expectant father. Sophia had gone into labor a few weeks early, and Harry was on the other side of town buying some last minute things for the baby when he got the call. He'd missed nearly all of it, but Y/n had been there. She'd always been there for his family .

"Oh, sorry," the man said, and Harry noticed his fidgeting hands and nervous looks toward the entrance of the delivery room. "My girlfriend wanted me to wait out here. She claimed I shouldn't have to see her in such a compromised position. I disagreed, but she insisted."

Harry smiled, some of the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "It's..." He didn't even know how to describe it, but he wouldn't have exchanged sharing that experience with Soph for the world. Eventually, he said, "Good on you for respecting her wishes."

"Thanks. I mean, we weren't exactly dating when she got pregnant and we haven't known each other all that long, so it makes sense, but I love her, you know? I want to be there for her."

"I know the feeling."

For a moment, Harry thought of his wife. When she got sick, Harry had been there for her for every doctor's visit, every scan, every appointment, every symptom. He never let Soph feel like she was facing her illness alone. Because he loved her, and he promised to take care of her and be there for her when they got married.

Then, flashes of Y/n appeared in Harry's mind. He thought about how important she was to him, to Harper. She was there to pick up the pieces that Soph had left when she died. When no one else knew how to reach him, she did, and he never imagined there would be a way to repay her kindness. And now that there was, he couldn't just let her keep fading the way he had been two years ago. The situations weren't the same, but it was dire enough to keep him up most nights as he waited for the call to take her away from her awful excuse of a boyfriend.

Before the man could say anything else, a nurse appeared in front of him with a large smile on her face. Harry was left to stew in his anxiety-riddled mind once again. He tried not to look at his phone too much, but he still checked every few minutes, even though his ringer was on high and he wouldn't have missed a single text. He wanted to call until she picked up, but he also worried that her boyfriend would see and get suspicious or delete his number, so he settled on waiting for Y/n to do the right thing.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Miranda appeared at his side. She nodded at Harry to follow her, and he hastily stood up while they left L&D behind.

"You know, we deal with psycho ex boyfriends, husbands, what have you, all the time who try to force their way into the Delivery Room," she said as she walked, shaking her head sadly. "And she—she doesn't take shit from any of them, doesn't even flinch, and yet—"

Miranda's voice hitched as it trailed off, but Harry knew what she meant. Y/n was strong, didn't take shit from anyone. When he was lost in the darkest moments of his life, she was there to give him the tough love he needed to survive. She pushed him around, held him up in the shower, practically forced him to get better. And still—

"I don't know what to do."

Y/n had seemed to know exactly what Harry needed without him having to tell her, without him even knowing what he needed. What kind of friend was he if he couldn't do the same?

Miranda gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze. "You just have to be there for her when she realizes who he is."

"I can't wait that long! He's a monster—"

"You have to, or you'll just push her further away from you," Miranda said. "I know it's hard, believe me, we've fought about it at work, but she's not listening to reason right now. Saying the wrong thing will isolate her even more."

"I would never abandon her," Harry insisted.

"I know, and deep down she knows that too," Miranda said gently. "But if you push her the wrong way, she might think she's burned a bridge with you and not reach out when she's ready."

Harry understood what Miranda was getting at, he really did. He was currently walking on a tightrope, and one wrong move, one wrong comment could send him careening to the ground and Y/n would be left standing alone. He just wished he knew what to say to make her see what he did.

Harry shook his head. "I can't wait for him to do something to seriously hurt her. I would never forgive myself if—"

Harry didn't even want to finish that sentence, but luckily he was saved by his phone's ringer. Relief filled his gut for a moment, then dissipated when he saw it was an unknown number. Still, taking a chance, he answered.

"Hi, is this Harry Styles?"

Not a question he received often, but the person on the other line sounded official, so he said, "Yes, this is he."

"This is Lisa from the ER at Dayton Health Medical Center. We have you listed here as Y/n L/n's emergency contact."

"Yes, that's me. Is everything okay? Is Y/n hurt? What happened—"

"Everything is just fine, Mr. Styles. Y/n just took a tumble down some stairs and is in need of a lift home. Are you able to come get her, or is there someone else I can call?"

"No!" Harry said, perhaps a little too intensely. Quieting his voice, he said, "No, I can—I can be there in twenty minutes."

"Great. Be sure to bring your parking ticket. We validate at the front desk."

Harry all but scrambled to his car, sending a hasty text to his mum asking her to pick Harper from school. He told the woman on the phone that he would be there in twenty minutes, but damn it if he didn't make it in fifteen.

*.*

"Your wife is just behind this curtain, Mr. Styles."

Harry didn't even have time to correct the nurse, to register the ache in his chest at the word "wife." All he cared about was making sure Y/n was okay. He did, however, take a moment to steady his breathing before pushing back the curtain, praying for calm thoughts as he set his eyes on his friend.

Truth be told, Harry didn't know where to look first.

On the phone, he was told Y/n had fallen down the stairs and that she was fine, but she definitely didn't look it. Her cheek was bruised a greenish-yellow, and bled across the bridge of her nose. A cut marred her bottom lip, making one side look puffy and beyond painful. Her right arm was in a sling too, and each injury that Harry spotted filled him with more and more anger.

"What are you doing here?"

Y/n's voice was slightly distorted by her swollen lip, but he could tell she wasn't exactly happy to see him.

"I'm your emergency contact," Harry said simply, trying not to linger on any of her injuries for too long. He figured Y/n went to a different hospital to avoid being seen by anyone she knew, but she obviously forgot about him being her emergency contact. "What are you doing here?"

"I fell."

He'd hoped Y/n would give up the charade, but he wasn't surprised that she hadn't, either. "I heard. How did that happen?"

That question seemed to splinter the damn surrounding Y/n's heart. With a shaking hand, she covered her face and began to cry.

Harry was surprised by the tears, expecting his friend to deflect and lie the way she had been the last couple months. But with the first tremble of her shoulders, he was there, sliding into the cot beside her. He was gentle as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and brought her to his chest. He didn't like how frail Y/n felt, or how she flinched at first before settling against him.

"I don't know how this happened," she sobbed. "I never—I love him, and he—How can I love someone who did this to me?"

Not having the answer, Harry just continued to hold her, letting her get out everything she needed to. She didn't say much after that, and while he was desperate to know how she'd sustained so many injuries, he stayed quiet.

He expected to feel angry at Y/n's boyfriend, or perhaps angrier. But all he felt as she cried in his arms was despair, and perhaps a small seed of relief that she finally seemed to understand the danger she was in. And maybe guilt too, that he couldn't protect her the way she needed him to.

Harry kept it all to himself, rubbing his thumb across her shoulder and squeezing her gently. "You're gonna be okay."

"I don't know what I'm gonna do."

It was all he could think of to say. He didn't know how to answer her question, and he knew she wouldn't be okay for a while, but she would be. Harry would make sure of it.

"I'm sorry," Y/n said quietly. "You've been trying to get me to see the truth for weeks, for months, and I didn't listen. I didn't—"

"Hey, none of that."

Harry continued to hold Y/n and stroked her hair gently until her breathing evened out and she was fast asleep. Relief washed over him like a bucket of ice water down his back. He could physically feel some of the tension leave his shoulders. Now that Y/n was asleep, Harry allowed himself to really feel everything he put a lid on since the curtains were pulled back on her section of the Emergency Room. He was scared, anxious, mad, but mostly just relieved she was safe. His heart was hammering in his chest, but the familiar smell of her shampoo eased his mind, and the way she curled into his side while she slept helped him feel like he was keeping her safe.

"I'm so happy you're safe," he whispered into the crowd of Y/n's head. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you too."

*.*

A few weeks later, and Y/n and Harry were lounging on the couch together after dinner. Harper was asleep in her room after Y/n read her a bedtime story. His daughter had been ecstatic when Harry told her Y/n would be staying with them for a while, and even though she was recovering from her injuries, she still played dress up and tea time and built forts and made cookies and basically anything Harper wanted to do. Y/n was quieter and more subdued than usual, but her smile continued to grow as each day went by. It was just a little, just not by bit, but it was progress.

Now they were both lounging after dinner—one that Y/n insisted she make for Harry and Harper. They were talking about the album he was slowly but steadily working on. Well, Harry was talking, Y/n was listening quietly with one hand holding the stem of her wine glass.

When a lull in the conversation settled them in comfortable silence, Harry found himself looking at Y/n. He hated seeing her beautiful face so marred, and not just physically. The usual playful glint in her eye was gone, and she didn't smile as much anymore, and when she did, it didn't reach her eyes. He missed seeing her smile, seeing the light fill her eyes when she laughed at one of his lame jokes.

But in the last few days, Y/n's bruises started to heal, she was getting her sling off at the end of the week, and she didn't flinch when he helped her change her bandages or at casual touches from him. Things weren't totally back to normal, seeing as she still didn't feel comfortable staying alone at her place, but Harry was confident that they would be.

Harry blinked, his face flushing when he realized he'd been caught staring. Shaking his head, he looked at Y/n funny. "You'll stay with me obviously. I'll send someone to get you some extra clothes and stuff and you can stay with me and Harper while we work on getting your locks changed. Or longer. Whatever you need."

He sounded so matter of fact, so sure. It made Y/n want to cry. "I meant, like, far into the future," she said, running a tired hand through her hair. "I've always been able to trust my judgement, but now? I'll never look at a guy the same again."

"Rude," Harry joked. A desperate attempt to lighten the mood, but you appreciated it.

"You don't count. You're..."

"I'm...What?"

Hers. Y/n couldn't bring herself to say it, though, even if it was true. Sophia was Harry's great love, the mother of his child. Y/n would never even consider him as someone to date, which was a shame because he was quite possibly the perfect man in every other respect.

"My friend. I think you've held my hair back one too many times as I puked my guts up."

Harry nodded and laughed, but he didn't say anything after that. He looked contemplative, as if a million thoughts were swirling around in his head. Y/n was curious to know what he was thinking so hard about, but wasn't at the same time. Maybe some of their thoughts were best left unsaid.

"Well, I have an early shift tomorrow. I should probably get to bed," Y/n said eventually, standing up from her spot on Harry's sofa.

Harry nodded and mumbled something about having to take Harper to school early too, and she couldn't help but feel like there was this tension between them. Maybe not tension, but something. Something was off-kilter between them, and she couldn't put her finger on it.

As she went up the stairs to the guest bedroom, the same one she stayed in for as long as she'd been Harry's friend, he called her name. She turned to find him at the base of the stairs looking up at her with a fond little smile on his face.

"I meant what I said earlier. Stay as long as you need to. You'll always have a home here."

The words filled Y/n with warmth, making her feel safer and more settled than she had in months. In that moment, there was so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't even begin to vocalize, but even with the distance between them, she could read the look in Harry's eyes and knew she didn't have to say a thing.

[lostsyren]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆eternal: chapter 4 ‘secrets’

⛐ find full story on ao3 here

❦ extract:

They’d been driving for a couple hours, the digital clock in the car reading 1:54 AM. Rafe watched the rosary beads sway as they sped over potholes, gently rattling in the noiseless interior.

“You called him The Wolf– how did he get that name?” Rafe asked. They’d been silent ever since leaving Mexico City. Sofia sighed, keeping her eye on the road.

“I’ve only heard rumours…bad ones.”

She didn’t elaborate. Rafe glanced over at her side profile. Her jaw was tense, her knuckles gripping the steering wheel.

“Like what?” He pried.

Sofia shook her head. Rafe left it at that, not wanting to annoy her any further. The car radio hummed on with a song he didn’t know, melancholically moaning as they whipped past lofty cable towers and peeling billboards.

Rafe chanced a glance at her. Sofia’s eyes were droopy, her eyelids fluttering every couple seconds or so. He recalled how she was in her pyjamas before she’d changed– she must’ve been exhausted.

“Sofia,” he said quietly, “I think we’ve got far enough away for now.”

She didn’t say anything.

Rafe sniffed, squeezing his knee out of awkwardness, “we’re gonna stop at the next motel we pass, alright?”

“I’m fine. Are you ok?” She asked pointedly.

“You’re practically falling asleep at the wheel.” He snapped back.

“No I’m not.”

“Yeah– you are.”

“I said I was fine, ok? We have 20 hours of driving ahead of us, let’s not waste time.”

“You can’t drive if your eyes are closed.”

Sofia scoffed, “Be quiet Rafe.”

“Really? So we’re just gonna sit in silence for the next 20 hours?”

“Ideally.” Her lips thinned, her eyes still stuck on the road.

“See– your steering is gone to shit.”

Sofia laughed mirthlessly, “my steering is fine.”

“Pull over and let me drive.” He instructed. He didn’t even know why he was egging her on, arguing for the sake of arguing.

“I’m not gonna pull over.” Her tone became colder.

“Then fix your steering.” He realised they were just bickering in circles now, mindlessly, like children. But he didn’t care.

Sofia swivelled her head around to meet his eyes. “It’s my car.”

Rafe reached over to the wheel, causing Sofia to push him back, her palm flat on his abdomen.

“Ow,” he hissed, clutching at his bandaged injury.

“Can you let me drive please.” She muttered.

“Fuck, you gonna elbow me in my bullet wound again if I don’t?”

She rolled her eyes, “it was a scratch, calm down.”

Rafe looked back out on the road, spotting a neon red sign flicker in the distance.

“Look, I think that’s a motel. We should stop.” He said pointing across the windscreen.

“I’m good to drive Rafe.”

“Just stop the fucking car Sofia, we need a break.”

She cast him a glacial glower, her fingers squeezing on the leathered wheel, “whatever.”

They approached the sign, the blazing light fixtures reading ‘DOWNTOWN MOTEL- VACANTE’.

Sofia pulled up into the scantily occupied car park, yanking the keys out of the ignition as the car jerked to a stop. She got out without looking at Rafe once.

He was left in the dark, watching her from the rearview mirror as opened the back door and swiped her bag.

“You coming or not?” She said, before shutting the door, with more force than what was necessary.

Rafe poked his tongue through his cheek, scoffing, before he followed her to the motel’s entrance.

The lighting inside was just as gloomy as it was outside, a linear fixture illuminating the cluttered counter with a sickly yellow glow. An ancient, croaking fan spluttered away in the corner, causing the papers to shuffle about in the trays and the receptionist was too busy cleaning her glasses to notice Rafe and Sofia approach the desk.

Rafe dragged himself inside, scuffing the matted carpet with his shoes, patterned in swirling colours of muted blues and greens that probably looked more vibrant in its early days, but now were more brown than anything. Sofia took the lead, tapping her fingers restlessly against the dusty counter.

“Disculpe,” she said, trying to get the old lady’s attention.

The receptionist jumped up, clearly startled, breaking into a smile when she saw Sofia.

“Perdón cariño, en que puedo ayudarte?” She said, her eyes scanning them up and down. Sofia suddenly grabbed his arm, becoming effervescent and clingy, beginning to converse with the lady in Spanish. Rafe’s eyes darted to Sofia in an instant, mouth opening in confusion. What was she doing? Her hand rested on his bicep, her body tickling his. If he wasn’t completely and utterly perplexed at the situation, Rafe felt like he could’ve combusted at this sudden inundation of intimacy.

“Tu eres una linda pareja.” Said the lady, to which Sofia gushed into a smile that Rafe could tell was fabricated.

“Muchas gracias,” Sofia enthused, bringing her other hand to trail up and down Rafe’s chest, her fingernails scraping down his sensitive skin inciting a flutter of butterflies that travelled down into his stomach.

Rafe quickly lost track of what her and the receptionist were saying, his thoughts preoccupied with the way Sofia’s soft frame pressed against his own rigid one. He willed himself to not loose focus, her arm tightened against his own not helping at all. This was taking longer than he expected, Sofia and the lady going back and forth for what seemed like ages.

“Gracias,” Sofia finally said, accepting the key after sliding her some cash for the room. She headed off towards the shadowy staircase at the back of the reception lobby– the elevator had a dingy ‘No Funciona’ sign taped to it. Sofia was still cuddling Rafe as if she wasn’t just arguing with him in the car. It was only when they got away from the reception did she drop his arm, making some space between the two.

“What was that about?” Rafe asked, when they were far enough away from the lady. Sofia led him down the narrow, dimly lit corridor, the green glass sconces drenching the walls in a creepy absinthe hue.

“Don’t worry about it.” She muttered, stopping in front of room 113, the key mutedly jangling in her hands.

Sofia opened the door with a small squeak of the rusty hinges, to a middling sized room, a bed at the centre.

“One bed huh? You suddenly ok with me enough to sleep together?”

“Asking for separate rooms would’ve looked too suspicious.” She said, cryptically entering the space, Rafe following behind her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The furniture was dated, as was the decor– faded orange wallpaper, pine wood tables, floral bed sheets. The lampshade cast a honey coloured light across it all, making it seem almost cozy.

“People here only use motels for one thing.” Sofia placed her bag on the worn armchair in the corner.

“What thing?”

She sighed, “let’s just say that the receptionist thought we made a cute couple.”

Rafe’s eyebrows quirked upwards, quickly getting what she was insinuating. “Oh.”

That’s why she was acting all weird. Rafe couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

Her movements stilled. “Sorry. I should’ve said something before I pounced on you like that.”

Rafe stood awkwardly at the centre of the room, watching Sofia as she looked up at him, almost shyly.

“Don’t worry…I didn’t mind it.” He said with a heaviness he didn’t intend. The atmosphere of the shabby space changed, becoming loaded with unsaid words and a familiar tension.

“I’m gonna get some sleep then.” She said finally, with a deep sigh.

Rafe nodded. “Imma take a shower. Get all the dried blood off me,” he chuckled darkly. If he wasn’t wearing a black shirt, then it would’ve been a real problem. He was sure the receptionist wouldn’t have appreciated the 6-foot something, blood soaked touron who just waltzed in.

He entered the bathroom, giving Sofia one final look. She was too busy rooting through her bag to notice. Rafe let in a deep, unsteady breath, an unexplainable sadness stirring in him. He switched on the bathroom light, the generator whirring to life dousing the yellow tiles in a weak illumination, as he shut the door behind him, letting his body sag against the wall.

He reached into his back pocket, slipping out the little plastic bag he had with fiddly fingers.

A couple grams remained.

He drew up a swift line of cocaine on the bathroom counter, swooping down to inhale it just as quickly. Rafe threw his head back with a muffled groan. He’d been waiting for a moment he could slip away, jitters rattling through his bones in the car. He’d desperately withheld himself, the urge to just make a line on the dashboard right in front of Sofia becoming soul consuming. That’s the main reason he’d pestered her to stop the car. The guilt hit him along with the high.

Rafe peeled off his filthy shirt and stepped into the too-small bathtub, with its short shower head that forced him to bend his body if he wanted to get clean. Rafe twisted the valve, hot water hitting his grimy skin.

Closing his eyes, wincing slightly as the water soaked through his bandages, Rafe tried to ignore how shitty he felt, the knowledge that Sofia was outside, waiting for him acting like a soothing balm to his anxieties. The coke helped too.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[kitorin]

to you, my lover.

in which, shinonome akito surprises his favourite writer.

contents. shinonome akito x gn!reader, just fluff really, <- might've ruined it with an attempt of crack, unproofread and messy bc i can't think properly anymore a/n. this was supposed to be my birthday fic, i didn't finish it in time and was considering deleting but nah not today

You're tired. Really tired.

It's not a complaint, being permitted to stay out late to celebrate your birthday, now returning on a long yet peaceful and empty train ride. With the occasional rattling, it was silent, with the exception of your tired breathing and the rustle of your clothes every time you shuffled around a bit.

And your boyfriend.

Arms crossed and back leaned against his seat, his eyes remain shut, resting a bit after such a long day. Fatigue pays a visit to you as well, a yawn claws out of your throat, earning an immediate reaction from Akito.

Arm snaking behind your head, he pulls you in by the shoulder, making sure you rest comfortably against his. You snuggle against him, the scent of his cologne makes you crave more of him and his touch. The jacket that was once resting on his lap is thrown over you, and carefully he adjusts it, without moving his shoulder.

"Tired?"

You nod, resting your eyes a bit.

"If you're able to stay awake, I want to give you my gift."

"Excuse me?" As if you weren't ever exhausted in the first place you sit up, staring at him with confusion. "Akito, you bought me pretty much every book on my 'to be read'. Not to mention the promise rings too." Your glance at the silver wrapping around your finger, amber and saffron imbedded into it. "I told you so many times I didn't need anything, let alone something that would've costed so much."

Akito shrugs casually. "There's no such thing as 'too much' when it comes to you."

"And there's a thing called being financially irresponsible..."

"I'm managing my money carefully, I swear." He pledges with breathless laughter. "I assure you it wasn't expensive, I promise. I'm going to give you the world when I go professional, anyways." He fishes for something out of his bag, something small and wrapped with colourful paper.

"This feels like a book." You comment instantly, it's easy to identify when you've received so many for your birthday.

Akito shrugs again in response. "Check it, then."

You oblige to his words, unwrapping the package in a manner that didn't make a mess on the train. Your guess was correct, it is a book. Only this time with an unrecognisable title and author— it didn't have either. It was white, with nothing else.

"Who's the author?"

Another shrug, and you decide not to bother asking anymore questions. You turn to the first page.

Table of contents. This time you recognise the titles.

Because they belong to none other than you.

"You printed it out all of this?" You've re-read your writing constantly, whether it be proof-reading or trying to figure out how to elevate your prose. But when it's in your hands in the form of a book instead of the words you type up on your laptop, it feels surreal, maybe even a bit wrong. It's everything you've sent and shown him, whether it be fan fiction, attempts at poetry, extracts of screenplays, or snippets from future novels you plan on publishing.

"'Course I did. You love books, I love you and your writing." Akito says it all the time, always being the first person to read your works, sending a plethora of text messages about his thoughts on them.

You inspect the contents of the book, and as he said it's all your work. But, pale highlighter adorns the pages, black ink decorating in between lines, hearts and even more words committed to paper.

The imagery here is gorgeous here. I love these words especially ->

Although I can't and don't, I feel like I can relate to this character, the way you express their internal thoughts and actions makes me feel like I've become them

Why is he so adorable?? The dialogue is so sweetly comforting.

I think this one's my favourite. It was super cute. Short and simple but enough to make me smile all day.

You turn to another story, this one with a darker premise.

SHE DESERVES BETTER !!

This hurts so much ╥﹏╥ Internal monologue is a 11/10 (as always)

Uh oh...

PLEASE HAVE MERCY

SCREW YOU SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE A HAPPY ENDING

This one's my new favourite. Thanks for making me cry

(my tear stains) Small arrows point towards (formerly) wet patches on the page, the evidence left there shocks you.

"You actually cried? And annotated your tears?" Not once, but multiple times, on each work that connoted anything sad.

"Love, your writing, just like you, makes me feel a lot. It's not often I cry, you know." He leans in to kiss you on the cheek. "Hope my annotations did it some justice."

Each comment makes you smile irresistibly, whether it was a serious paragraph breaking down and analysing specific moments or 'someone cooked here.' being scrawled. No details were missed by him, ones that you assumed were too subtle and therefore unnecessary because no one in your comments noticed them.

"You noticed all of this? None of my friends or readers did."

"Of course I did. I've read everything over and over again and love you too much to miss any of those details."

"And every note at the end is synonymous for 'new favourite'." It's not a complaint, it's quite adorable really, watching him struggle to make up his mind. "You even compiled your favourite quotes at the end? You think my stuff is quoteworthy?"

"How could I not? Heck, I don't think an anthology is enough. I need it tattooed somewhere on me." A gasp severs his words. "I know exactly what I'm going to do on my eighteenth birthday."

"Don't. Think about it." But the prospect of him loving your prose enough to permanently etch it into your skin makes you smile. "But seriously. This is beautiful, thank you." You're not sure why it feels so different, despite Akito always texting you these sorts of comments. Perhaps it was it's physical manifestation that had evoked so much emotion.

"I remember, when I first opened up to you."

And so do you. It was certainly awkward, with a plentiful amount of tears and uncertainty. But in the end you found yourself comprehending Akito and his character more, which was worth any sort of unpleasantries.

"You ended up analysing every song I covered or wrote. And you still do. I kept those notebooks with me, and read them whenever I felt worried. It's you. You're the reason why I can listen to recordings of myself without wanting to hide. Took me a while, but without you I wouldn't've achieved it."

You peer up at him, as he gazes at the train's roof, reminiscing those memories. You had contemplated for so long, wondering whether that act would've truly done anything, whilst worrying about embarrassing yourself. Now, being able to admire the peaceful expression he wore, you can easily say you have no regrets.

"I wanted to do the same for you. I didn't like how you weren't able to see the perfection your writing held." Akito's hand reaches for yours. "I know what it's like. To hate your own art because of what other people say and growing fearful of another's opinion, or how subjectivity doesn't seem to be in your favor. It's suffocating, that's why you mean the whole world to me for freeing me of that insecurity." He bites his lip, a method he relies on to quell any strong emotion.

He's spot on. The words of others are equally as capable of hurting as they are uplifting. It's common advice to not heed any mind to others, but when it comes to writing it always felt necessary to you. No matter how well you wrote to satisfy yourself, it didn't mean anything if no one else liked it; it meant no sales, meaning no money, which only meant that writing was an invalid career for the future unless it pleased others.

Even if it weren't a professional pursuit, it doesn't feel like something one can establish its value, at least, not without the validation of others.

"You were the lens I needed to see the beauty in myself. And I want to be the one you need."

You smile, planting a kiss on his lips. "Think you already are."

Akito sighs with a grin, "Then, I can die happy now."

A playful, gentle, slap hits his shoulder. "Quit being so overdramatic."

"What? Would've been a waste if the best author in the entirety of human history didn't get to see how amazing them and their writing were."

"Now you're just hyperbolising everything."

He pokes you in the cheek. "I see you smiling."

"Because of how ridiculous you are." You thank the train for being empty tonight, otherwise you wouldn't have the freedom of quarreling. "You're an idiot. Sometimes."

"And I still think having one of your quotes tattooed onto me would be a good idea."

Akito's persistent, even when it came to things that appeared to be mere jokes. "That's so random—? No you're not getting any of my writing tattooed onto you."

"Fine, but left pec or right pec?"

"Oh my god." Though you scold him, the rest dissolves into breathless laughter, as he pulls you in for a hug.

He scatters kisses all over your face, as you savour the warmth of his body. "Happy birthday, love."

taglist (send ask to be added) : @yuzurins, @pokkomi, @chigirizzz

© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate

[mamani-bento]

five (satoru gojo)

satoru gojo x reader, 1.3k, reader is wearing a saree

established relationship, fluff + humour

gojo would be soooo good at helping you out of your saree. source? trust me.

mamani-bento's masterlist!

"how many did you say there were?"

"four, i think. wait, no. there's one at the bottom of the pallu as well. five."

gojo sits on the edge of bed, surveying your saree-clad body. his eyes move top to bottom, gaze catching on all the places you remember putting pins in. "what about the one fixing the saree to your blouse?"

"oh, shit. yeah, there's one there."

you stand a few feet in front of him, sparkling midnight-blue chiffon wrapped around your frame. if it hadn't been such an exhausting day, full of socialising and preening, you would have been out of the saree ages ago. but you don't think you could take it off gently enough, what with all the pins holding it up. hence, the extra pair of hands.

"do you want to just get started and deal with the pins when we get to them?"

gojo hums thoughtfully at your question. you hope he says yes. you really hope he says yes, but there's no rushing him. this is a project, and every project must have its due diligence.

finally, making you let out an internal sigh of relief, he rises from his seated position. "yeah, okay. let's do that."

placing two hands on your shoulders, slender fingers brushing against the skin that your blouse exposes, he turns you so you're facing the full-length mirror on the wall. you both look at each other through the reflection. the heat of his front warms the goosebumps that had risen on your fairly exposed upper back. his own suit has been discarded on the bed, leaving him only in his light-blue shirt and slacks.

his blindfold was swapped out in favour of a pair of sunglasses, and he looks at you over the top of them now, bright blue eyes ridiculously complementing the colour you're draped in. pushing the sleeves of his shirt up to his forearms, he kneels behind you so he can access the bottom of your pallu, one end of the saree.

his white hair flashes from behind your frame as he carefully lifts the fabric, gently unlatching the tiny, golden safety pin and holding it out to you on the side. you accept it in your hand, fiddling with the clasp as he rises back up. the free end of the saree is open now, gorgeous border fanning out.

"there are two here," he says, slipping a long finger between your blouse and your skin at your shoulder. he tilts the pin forward as much as he can so you can awkwardly crane your neck to look. "does it matter which one i take off first?"

"uh. one fixes the pleats of the saree and the other fixes the saree to the blouse. maybe open the pleats first?" there's an affection in your voice that you're sure wasn't there a few minutes ago. there's something about his concentrated frown as he carefully, reverently handles the garment, handles you.

he nods, maneuvering the slippery chiffon and taking out the pin above. immediately, fabric tumbles down your shoulder in a rush, covers the length of your arm, flows down until it's nearly brushing your knees.

gojo steps back in alarm at the sudden deluge of sheer fabric, and pauses when he sees your reflection in the mirror. "whoah."

you nod in agreement, marvelling at the easy elegance that the piece of cloth offers in this form, all regality and decadently deep blue. the material is one of your favourites, not stiff like pure silk but delicately flowing and moulding to the shape of your body. the way it sits now – pallu open and saree cascading down your shoulder – makes you look royal.

“how come you don’t wear sarees more often?” gojo asks, momentarily foregoing his pin-extraction mission in favour of wrapping his arms around your waist, one snaking under the open material on your left to meet the other winding along the bare skin of your midriff. his breath puffs over your short hair, already growing past your ears and desperately in need of a trim.

the unimpressed look you level at him through the mirror is in direct contrast to the way you lean back into his chest and place your palms over his hands. “you want me to spend half an hour draping a saree before leaving for my next mission?”

a low chuckle reverberates against your back as gojo dips to place an affectionate kiss against your cheek. “point taken,” he mumbles, regrettably pulling away.

the next pin to come off is the other one at your shoulder, the one holding up the fabric on the upper half of your body. a lone index finger spiders under the fabric of your blouse until it reaches the fastening and unclasps it. in another avalanche of blue, the material tumbles off the top of your body, leaving you in your blouse waist-up. the intricately woven, silver top has a curved v-neck, colour matching the stones lining the length of the saree body.

“nice,” gojo says with a wink at your reflection, fingers reaching out to quickly pinch at the side of your waist with no real heat. you scoff at the audacity, but before you can retaliate, he’s swooping to kneel on the floor behind you again, trying to find the next pin in the fabric.

you decide to keep the revenge for after he finishes helping you out, and throw him a bone so you can get there quicker. “it’s in the front.”

dutifully, he shuffles to round your body. his palms pat you down, fingers smoothing over the fabric from your hips to your feet as he tries to feel out the other pin.

“i think this needs to be untucked first,” you observe. you pull out the folded segments of your falling pleats neatly tucked into your front. before you can address the pin there, gojo’s hands reach out still yours.

“my job,” he says when you raise an eyebrow at him, flashing a cheeky grin.

your smile at the top of his head is sickeningly fond, and you can’t stop yourself from reaching out to run your fingers through his hair. he hums as your nails briefly scratch his scalp, but doesn’t say anything. only holds up the pin he’s retrieved so you can add it to the growing pile on the bed behind you.

it’s easy to see where the next pin is, the last catch holding the saree up. you’re standing in the middle of a shimmering pool of dark blue, and gojo tentatively shifts so he doesn’t end up kneeling on any of the stones. he has to bend a little for this one, sitting on his ankles so he can easily adjust the material to open the fastening.

immediately, the weight drops from your body, settling in a shimmering pile at your feet.

gojo rises smoothly, giving the sides of your covered thighs a quick pat in completion, palms skimming your hips above the material of the navy blue under-skirt. he moves his touch upwards, grazing the sides of your torso, front of your shoulders, toying with the tie at the back of your blouse.

“this too?” he asks, bending his neck to look at you over the tops of his sunglasses.

you nod. his forearms are a solid weight by the side of your neck, his fingers brushing against your skin as he tugs at the fancy end of the bow.

instantly, you breathe a little easier, letting out a whoosh at the subtle give around your lungs.

“thanks,” you say, huddling closer to his frame so you can wrap your arms around his waist. unsuspecting of any ulterior motive, gojo lets his own wind around your shoulders, humming in acknowledgement.

and that’s when you pinch him back.

[afrenchwriter]

WIP Wednesday - The Man of the Desert (a Good Omens Human AU)

Hello dear readers! It's been a while since I joined WIP Wednesday, struggling with exhaustion and too many WIPs to count... but I have a good feeling about this one! The story is loosely based on The English Patient, with a happier ending (for those who have read the book or seen the film). Feel free to share your thoughts with me! <3

(Shoutout to my friend and no. 1 fan, @sabotage-on-mercury, without whom this WIP would probably still be buried in the sand!)

Title: The Man of the Desert

Summary: Cairo, 1936. Aziraphale Fell, RAF pilot, is sent to Egypt with his wife to work for the Royal Geographical Society. There, he meets the famous explorer Anthony Crowley - and his life will be changed forever…

Extract (from ch. 2):

[...] “Ah, here he is at last! We’ve been waiting for you, old chap.” “Sorry,” a low voice rumbled behind me. “You shouldn’t have.” As soon as I turned around, I blinked. The man approaching us was the most handsome man I had ever seen. He looked tall in his dark suit, and everything about his angular face was strikingly beautiful: from his short, fiery red hair to his piercing green eyes, from his aquiline nose to his high cheekbones. He gave us all a charming smile, then offered me his hand. “Anthony Crowley.” I took it, and repressed a shiver when I felt rough skin against mine. Those hands, I knew, had climbed mountains, and drew maps, and held guns.  “It is very nice to meet you, Mr. Crowley. I am-” “Oh, I know who you are,” the man interrupted me, still smiling. “You’re Aziraphale Fell, and this is your charming wife, Alma Fell.” He let go of my hand to place a kiss on Alma’s, which made her laugh lightly - and I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “We have heard a lot about you, too,” I said politely, to distract myself. Mr. Crowley turned his attention back to me, his green eyes sparkling mischievously. “Not all good, I hope.” I forced myself to return his gaze. “Always quite extraordinary, I can assure you.” “I would love to hear those stories told by yourself, Mr. Crowley,” Alma cut in, glancing between us. Mr. Crowley let out a bright laugh before offering her his arm. “Then, I shall oblige, Mrs. Fell.” I watched them walk away, an odd pressure I had never felt before slowly building in my chest. A few seconds later, Mr. Crowley glanced over his shoulder and smiled at me. “Well, don’t you wanna hear the stories too, Mr. Fell?” “I certainly do,” I quickly replied, hiding my confusion behind cheerfulness, before following my wife, our group of friends, and this fascinating new acquaintance.  If I had known, perhaps I would have stayed behind. [...]

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

weekend prompt: millinda and unintentionally ominous looming

Millinda is growing in my brain from 'haha how would these two interact' into 'oh Miller is her pet piece of wet bread.' I'm going to end up writing Blue Team makes Miller a real Spartan eventually, I just know it. Thanks for the prompt! (It got away from me)

-

Miller was finding that working with Blue Team, while incredibly stressful, was also incredibly rewarding. He felt like he was behind the camera of a nature documentary, watching in real time as the S-IIs wordlessly and flawlessly took down their prey. There was some chatter on TEAMCOM, but it was mostly from him doing overwatch.

Again, they adapted to the drills and scenarios immediately, including him and listening to what he had to say. His intel mattered. He mattered. There was no mistaking himself as part of Blue Team, but they had him at their disposal and made use of him. He helped before shit hit the fan and he wasn't playing catch up. Even if he left each session with Blue Team exhausted. Wire tight tension and the utmost focus for a prolonged period of time left his head hurting. Miller was being pushed to the limit and he liked it. Training with the best was like opening a door he never knew was closed to him. Troop movements and team cohesion and every other significant detail flashing across his screens let him direct them and grow.

That's how he found himself socializing with them beyond the desk job. Spartan Town was only so big. Blue Team was full of natural leaders, and their reputation preceded them by a country mile. That's why Miller was flabbergasted when Linda 058 singled him out.

"You want me as your handler?" He tries not to stammer.

The height difference between them was negligible but the confidence coming off Blue-4, Linda 058, was overwhelming. Jared could find some steel in his spine when it mattered, but not in the face of her many goggled helmet or piercing green eyes. It wasn't that she saw him and found him lacking - he got that from others - she pinned him in place with a look and left him feeling exposed. Like she could go for the kill in an instant.

She nods. "One sortie. Low risk. Training exercise."

Miller's dumbfounded. This is the chance of a lifetime, but the what-ifs are already shutting down his higher thought processes with anxiety.

"A solo op with me as overwatch? What about your team?" He grasps for some kind of stability to add to the conversation.

"Don't need a babysitter." She says resolutely.

"Wait, is this for me?"

"Training exercise." She says again, with a curt nod.

"Yes, I guess." Miller agrees and Linda nods again, barely a lift of her chin in acknowledgement and then she leaves abruptly.

And that's how Miller gets to see Linda 058 patrol the edges of Banished space. The factions were a mess and who better to recon than the Lone Wolf herself. It was easy to sneak an Owl down to drop off a single Spartan. Local flora masking her presence as soon as her boots hit the ground.

The mission goes well, for once. Miller is both by the book and trusting his gut. He doesn't chatter incessantly out of nerves, something he prides himself on after the fact. Instead he finds himself copying Linda's silent focus while keeping an eye on the bigger picture she cannot see. It's a weird feeling. One he can't label until it hits him.

Trust.

Snipers don't go out in the field alone, unless they are exceptional. Linda let him see what that felt like.

He makes calls and marks points of interest, and even a few dropships. She trusts him to watch her back. In return, he has to trust her to make the right call. She goes closer to enemy fortifications than he'd ever want his S-IV Fireteams to go without proper intel.

"Blue-4, you're getting too close for quick extraction."

She flashes green once over comms. A moment passes and she flashes acknowledgement twice.

Enemy Detected.

Linda becomes a shadow in the underbrush and Miller goes into overdrive. He doesn't flood her HUD with markers, but notes her approach, the flight vectors the Banished Phantoms are following, and the warping on the helmet cam.

Cloaking.

Miller squeezes every bit of intel out of the situation without impacting Blue-4's focus or giving away her position. He finds himself breathing in time with her. Slow and even, her vitals present onscreen barely show an uptick while he finds his own heart racing. She has her job and he has his. He does it and he waits.

The warping goes away, moving along the ridge line overlooking the Banished outpost.

Linda slinks back into the vegetation and towards evac. Neither of them let down their guard until lift-off.

Miller congratulates her, more out of habit than necessity and thanks her for the opportunity. It feels like brown-nosing, but the "thanks" she flashes back makes it worth it.

The mission was a success, and Miller relaxes - his second mistake. The first was agreeing to the mission in the first place. His third is having a publicly posted schedule on S-Deck with his fireteams' schedules. His fourth was discussing the mission and how to improve within earshot of Linda, not that he noticed her there.

Blue Team was no help. Kelly smiled at him when he approached them about Linda's newfound habit of popping up near him, randomly, at all hours. Miller had gained a second shadow, one that loomed over him and took his dessert when he wasn't looking.

"Working on your situational awareness." She had said.

He had yet to scream on comms, but it was a near thing when he noticed her in the vents of the Op Center. At this rate, Roland was going to get jealous over someone else competing for "who can give Miller a headache fastest?"

Miller just wanted his dessert and peace of mind back.