#feels like someone else (misty) wrote it which man my feels????

[hariboz]

“forget? you?” — shb x gen!reader

a little something i wrote to get back into my writing flow!

ex!hanbin has been plaguing my mind for a while now. the type to make the heart wrenching decision to break up with you to follow his dreams in hopes of finding what he wanted in the spotlight, ready to sacrifice the comfort of your embrace to chase what he has been dreaming of for years.

“thank you for always being by my side, but i don’t know if i can be happy if i don’t try one last time. i don’t want to break your heart, angel, but will you let me go?”

and you did. of course you did, how could you not? you could always see the sparkle in his eyes when he showed you a new choreography he made, the longing in his gaze when watching others dance on the same stages he could only dream of being on. you knew he was happy with you, you knew he loved you. he was happy, loved and comfortable, yet unfulfilled. because while you would give him every single star in the night sky if you could, no amount of your love would sustain his desire to become the shiniest star of them all himself.

so you let him go, gave him your blessing and told him to better make it to the top so your love was not given up in vain.

you had never seen hanbin cry so much before.

“i promise, angel. i’ll carry you with me in my heart.”

and truth be told, ex!hanbin held his promise. he made it. a leader, a highly sought after visual, a mc, a vocalist.

he’s not your binnie anymore. he’s not the one waking up an hour before your alarm to make you breakfast anymore. he’s not picking you up from work with that sweet smile and a smoothie in his hand. he doesn’t try to teach you his choreos anymore. he doesn’t giggle at you while fixing your hair anymore.

on days where it’s especially hard you catch yourself wishing you had refused, had kept him close to you. had begged him to stay back, to not sacrifice all the serene happiness you shared; but then you snap back to reality, the realisation that these selfish thoughts keep crawling their way up making you feel guilty.

it’s a sick twist of fate, you think, when you happen to walk past a wall of support ads for him plastered along your way. you don’t know whether to laugh or cry; whether you should be elated he is receiving an amount of love you could never have given him or whether you should be hurt and bitter that all this meant more to him than you seemingly ever did.

it’s not fair to compare like that, you know that, but it’s not like he’s there to defend himself. he’s never there anymore.

in your inner frenzy, the internal fight between wanting to support the man you still love oh so deeply and the selfish wish to have kept him for yourself, you bump into someone, misty eyes barely focused enough to notice the person in front of you.

you look up briefly to apologise, wanting nothing more than to get away from this overstimulating throwback to your better times, only to realise that the devil — angel — himself is standing right there.

right there, in front of you. sung hanbin. your binnie.

you know it’s him immediately despite the mask he’s wearing. the all too familiar sparkle in his eyes and his pretty lashes that you know all too well blinking back at you in shock, his eyes desperately darting over your face in an attempt to drink in every little change and detail.

you’re just about to speak when he turns at the sound of his name, which is when you finally realise the crowd standing not too far away, observing him like hawks and pointing their phones at him.

right. he’s idol binnie now.

so you bow politely and leave, trying your best to manoeuvre through the crowd. your heart is beating in your ears, your thoughts all jumbled and confused. you haven’t seen him in so long. not in person, anyways, and now you’re running away? what else could you have done?

it’s like you’re on autopilot, not even noticing you’ve made your way back home until you’re stood in front of your apartment. it’s then when you’re about to unlock your door, planning to crawl into bed and never come back out, that your phone vibrates.

first once, then twice.

“i don’t know if you want to talk to me anymore, but i was happy to see you today. even if it was really short.”

“i miss you.”

“you didn’t forget?”

“forget? you?”

“i could never. i love you.”

”did you ever think about dating an idol?”

ex!hanbin who, i think, would give it all up to follow his dream only to realise every single version of his future had you in it. and now he’s here, trying to win you back, hoping it’s not too late. because ex!hanbin is not only a romantic, but also in love. deeply, unabashedly in love.

[danisbrainrot]

yellowjackets as taylor swift albums (I'm bored). this became deeper than I meant for it to go OMG. whoops, anyways, enjoy:

1. tai: reputation. oh my god this girl is soooo in love with van, and at the end of the day, that's what reputation is. a love album. yeah it's got a little revenge in it, but overall, it's about being in love with someone who was there for you at your most vulnerable. and who's always been there for tai, adult AND teen timeline? VAN!

2. van: 1989! it's nostalgic, fun, iconic but still has the emotional rawness that flows throughout all of taylor's albums. everyone thinks 1989 is just heaps of fun, but it has this emotional intensity to it that once you look closer to it, you realise how much of a masterpiece it is. also, it just gives me van vibes tbh.

3. jackie: lover. she's so insecure about being in a relationship with who she thinks is the love of her life (shauna) in case she fucks it up (spoiler alert, she does). taylor also wrote this album as a last hurrah, to prove she had more stories to tell, and I think that ties in nicely to jackie's character. her insecurity forces her to try and prove herself to shauna, and show her best friend how much she loves her.

4. shauna: she's a red girlie. taylor's most emotionally raw album (besides ttpd) and she just gives the vibes. this is taylor's first heartbreak album (like how jackie's death was shauna's first heartbreak), and it's so intense that it takes a few listens to understand, but once you do, you realise it's an album about a girl with big heart learning how to recover from the devastation of losing someone she loves deeply.

5. lottie: folklore!! I love my little baby. this album was written in isolation, and you can definitely hear it in some of taylor's lyrics, and I just feel like that's lottie's character. the isolated girl who's held up to a higher standard than everyone else.

6. nat: ttpd. okay, i was tossing up between giving this to nat or travis, but then I remembered the adult timeline and went with nat. when I first heard this album, it reminded me of her purposeless speech. it's also an album where taylor was going through a manic phase, and if that isn't nat, I don't know what is. she's just lost the love of her life, and then she's kidnapped by lottie's cult and promised so many wonderful things, that she believes it—only for it to end in tragedy.

7. misty: she gives off such speak now vibes. she has so much she wants to prove, and she's reeling from being in love with a man much older than her.

8. travis: evermore. he's such a tragic little guy, that the album suits him. I really just think of happiness, marjorie and right where you left me because he's stuck in the past. he literally kills himself (accidentally I know, I know) because he's so trapped in the wilderness despite being free from it. this album has always given me: depressed sad, compared to its sister albume: folklore, which gives me angry sad. and while he's definitely more angry then lottie, he's got this deep sadness in him that echoes evermore.

9. mari: midnights. okay I don't know how to explain it better than this is how I interpret mari. she's the first to throw herself into believing lottie because she's scared and when I think of midnights, I think of how scared taylor was at losing her relationship and joe that she ignores her feelings. and mari ignores her feelings because if she really thinks about it, I don't think she'd be able to handle herself, i.e. being trapped in the woods, eating jackie.

10. javi: taylor swift (debut). just the innocence and naïvety of the album. it's her first album, she wrote and released at 15/16 so there's a lot of childish beliefs and hopes, which I think javi has—but there's still an underlying feeling of heartbreak. he tries to be a kid, but is still traumatised.

11. laura lee: fearless!! this is purely based on the album title. I mean, learning to fly a plane just to save her friends? this album is probably my least favourite, so you're not going to get a lot of analysis, but the few times I've listened to it, I understand it's about having faith things will work out (this might be wrong, but that's what I'm choosing to believe about it). and her faith makes her believe she can do anything, including save her friends. omg I love her so much <333

[heichou-dancho]

FFVII Rebirth thoughts (Spoilers for everything)

I reemerge having finished Rebirth after four weeks and 92 hours in-game playtime. That’s an incredibly short but also massive amount of playtime for me, Yakuza 0 took me a year with pauses. I’m still reeling after finishing chapter 13, and since all my FF buddies from the old days are long gone, I’ll just vent here. I enjoy reading the reactions and thoughts of other players, so maybe someone else does too?

This post is full of spoilers and Shinra fangirling, but it’s about the whole game:

Shinra:

First, somebody on the team that wrote material for the Turks and Rufus must be some Shinra fandom veteran grown up with 20 years of fanon. Just Elena as a whole, Rude getting her that ice cream, Rufus in the Gold Saucer harassing fighting Cloud for fun, Dark Star not only obeying Rufus but also Tseng. Rufus complaining that Tseng is being overprotective… (faints) So much crack and shippy moments, I was grinning like an idiot.

(Is crack fic even a thing anymore? It feels like they’ve gotten rarer)

I expected maybe three or four scenes with the Turks, maybe less for Rufus. AND THEN SQUARE SHOVED THEM IN WHEREVER THEY COULD WITHOUT DERAILING THE PLOT. Elena was given so much room to breathe. Same for Rufus. Those little moments with Darkstar. I’m over the moon.

Okay, Rufus, so your father got stabbed, and the first thing you did after that was recording some motion-capturing and dialogue for a Turk recruitment hologram-video-thingy in an abandoned facility? It makes zero sense, but it’s my favourite protorelic mission and I’ll happily add it to my headcanon as a sign that Rufus gave Tseng his okay to recruit more Turks.

(The real answer would probably be automatically generated AI shenanigans, but that’s not very exciting.)

Viceroy Saruf. Just … Rufus, you’re such a cheeky idiot and I love you. Is there any faction in this world you’re not manipulating from the background? I can’t shake the feeling that being the man in the shadows suits you more than actually openly running the company.

Tseng and Reeve were great, I would love more little moments like that, where the Shinra folks just interact outside of action scenes and dramatic moments. The talk Tseng had with Reno and Rufus in Remake after the Sector 7 collapse hit the same note for me. I want more Reeve in part 3.

The scene between Tseng and Aerith at the temple made my eyes misty, but I wish it had been longer. Tseng keeping it short and abruptly leaving to "make a report" was perfect, and I know Cloud being so cold and cutting Aerith off fits his behaviour, but something about the timing just felt off.

I was surprised that Heidegger would take a bullet for Rufus. For President Shinra, absolutely, but Rufus? Hmm… This makes great fanfic material. I’ve read a fanfic before that tried to reimagine the Shinra executives (even Palmer) as more realistic people, and I found it to be really interesting, but then I’m a weirdo with plot bunnies in my head that involve a younger President Shinra, his wife, Veld, Vincent and the older Shinra execs.

I’ve never been a fan of Hojo but his R re-imagining is one of the few that doesn’t work at all for me. OG Hojo was far more unsettling. R!Hojo is just your typical mad scientist, I just can’t care about him, which is a shame, because him taunting Aerith in Remake with how he dissected Ifalna hit me hard.

I still haven’t quite grasped why Rufus is so obsessed with the Promised Land. It probably all comes down to wanting to be more successful than his father, right? I’m probably forgetting or mixing up details from Remake, Rebirth or the OG here, but I assumed that Rufus would outright dismiss it as a fairy tale.

Apparently there is a Midgar DLC for Power Wash Simulator. Square Enix, where is Hitman: Tseng and a version of Yakuza where I can play the Turks dealing with dumb crap doing missions in Midgar? Give us Shinra fans something, I'm still waiting for the EC version of Before Crisis. And I don't even like gacha mobile games. >:(

General game thoughts:

The open world is fantastic, I want to live in Gongaga or Kalm. So pretty. People online seem to hate the Gongaga map, but the soundtrack and the jungle theme made it work for me. I found the gliding parts in Cosmo Canyon far harder to navigate.

Shinra Manor is terrible with Vincent being it’s only redeeming part. The actual mansion looked great (the portrait of President Shinra was a nice touch) but the upper levels being inaccessible and turning it into another lab dungeon was boring. Same for the box throwing mini-game.

Dio the archaeologist turned body-builder is great, but Shinra knowing about the keystone and just not bothering to use it when President Shinra was looking for the Promised Land is a weird plot hole. It would have been a lot easier than trying to convince Aerith to come to them. There were some other little details like that, that bothered me but it’s a blur now.

Remake Barett made me into a Barret fan, Rebirth Nanaki into a Nanaki fan. The writers are genius when it comes to rewriting these characters from the OG. I’m not really bothered by Cid not being grumpy and swearing all the time. Him reminiscing about Ifalna was cute. Vincent using his old Turk skills (and having some lingering loyalty to the job?) was cool. Really looking forward to seeing how they’ll handle Lucrecia, the one character in FFVII I'm so conflicted about.

I’m still confused about Aerith’s death scene, especially the cuts where she’s lying in her own blood and then isn’t. I understand that she’s dead in her current reality, but is the scene without blood (and Aerith "waking up" in Cloud’s arms) Cloud’s hallucination or just a different reality? I’m also utterly confused by how many Aeriths we’re dealing with. The Aerith and Cloud we’re playing with and the sleeping Aerith (and Cloud) from the dimension where Zack lives are one and the same? It’s tying my brain into knots, and not in a good way. That’s why I usually can’t stand stories involving elaborate time travel loops or parallel universes.

(Man, why doesn't Tumblr allow spaces between paragraphs? I hope your eyes aren't bleeding)

I first played the OG as a young teen. Cloud’s mind being fractured and hallucinating was a neat bit of storytelling back then that I hadn’t encountered in video games before. Twenty years later, I’ve dealt with loved ones who are ill but refuse help, and known plenty of people who have some form of psychosis or schizophrenia. Whilst I would never seriously compare Cloud’s problems with rl mental illnesses, I found the scenes where he sees Sephiroth and no one else, or is completely out of it hard to stomach. Interacting with somebody who has hallucinations (even "harmless" ones) or paranoid thoughts is unsettling at best, nightmarish at worst. The group trying to passively bear it and keep things together rings very true (especially Tifa) but I’m surprised that even Barett or Yuffie aren’t trying to confront Cloud about his behaviour at least once.

(I tried to format in html, but it somehow looked worse. I'm old. This is how Vincent must feel like every day.)

Dyne, Myrna and Tseng talking to Aerith at the temple had me tearing up, and I lost it at Aerith’s "date" with Cloud in Ch. 14. Hoo boy, I know Aerith stalling off the inevitable just for a little time, was the game having a very direct conversation with the player about what’s going to come, death and how we deal with it. But to me personally, it was more about how one gets caught up in trauma and repeat it over and over in your head, mulling about the point of where things went wrong and what you could have done to prevent it. I know it doesn’t fit, but that’s what my weird brain made out of it. Also Dyne’s and Aerith’s (at the temple) speeches about how they deal (or didn’t) with grief and trauma hit me hard.

Damn you, silly anime action game, you really shouldn’t affect me this deeply, but then a lot of fiction hits me harder than it used to.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Actually yeah you’re real for that getting into messy drama fr just isn’t worth the effort especially with crazy people who will spin it out of proportions….struggle is real ugh but yeah slow ghosting is the move LMAO

SHSHSHS not me forgetting too even though your pfp is right in my face im sorry shinah….but no I was actually tweaking like wdym we got PANDA mf PANDAS BACKSTORY and not Inumaki??? Don’t get me wrong I love panda but you’re telling me a cursed doll has more lore moments than Inumaki goodbye (at least he’s alive)

SHSHSHSHS the way she’s been dubbed fanon Shidou now is so funny but you saying that just to annoy her at first is so funny but AGREE he definitely looks a lot more deranged in the anime too (which works because I mean he is) there’s definitely some earlier panels where he looks ok (I think some moments when he’s first with junpei too!)

NO FR it’s not the same because indigo league he was immature but funny as hell like him misty and Brock just roasting the hell out of each other and doing random shit but alola is like….catered to elementary students reboot happy friendship wahoo idk it’s not as entertaining but lowk a rewatch may be in order…..

WJDHSKSJ you pulled out that “1 question part abcdefghijklmnop” format but that’s so real because people on wp can fr find anything to shit on but about point c I think it’s really funny because they WOULD complain about that but I bet readers complaining to like “MF KARASU THAT GIBLE WAS MINEEEEE” LMAOAOA anyways

AHAAHAHAHAH THAGS ACTUALLY SO FUNNY that mutual really spreading the word im crying honestly your long fics could actually be stand alone media soooo

WAITTTTT save that thought for that one vague Karasu req you have…I’m crying otoya giving him a fan meet ticket thinking it was a scam too that’s so otoya coded but KARASU fanboying so hard that reader doesn’t even realize he’s a hotshot too and she looks up match clips and sees a completely diff persona on field LMAOOO if you don’t find anything else I vote this idea for that req

SHSHS NEXT TIME TRUST it’s ok the pink Nagi is very easy on the eyes LOL

- Karasu anon

i’m so drama averse i also hate hurting people’s feelings (though i’m the first to make a sassy comment it’s either lighthearted/in good fun or to someone who genuinely deserves it) so my default is just running away HAHAHA luckily we ended up going to different universities so it was pretty easy to transition out of friendship

shinah is like a back burner man…he’ll always be there for me when i need him but he’s not forefront in my mind yk?? and yeah gege gave a surprising amount of depth to panda given what he is SDFHSLKD meanwhile inumaki was left with nothing 😭 i wish he had given inumaki an alternative way of talking that wasn’t ingredients like sign language or smth!! although i can see how drawing sign language might be difficult but like what’s stopping him from carrying around a whiteboard and a marker?? that would maintain the silliness while also allowing for more serious moments (kind of like his reaction to tullia’s death in pi — not a single “salmon” was dropped because it would completely ruin the vibe of the scene, but he still couldn’t talk so i made him write on a piece of paper which i ended up really liking as it still posed challenges for him in communication [such as y/n refusing to read what he wrote at first] without taking away his agency completely)

LMAOOO fanon shidou is just so perfect as a description for her it’s hilarious SDLHJFSLDJK but yeah i was specifically talking about season one of the anime (i only picked up the manga in between s1 and s2) in the fight against itadori and nanami right after junpei dies he has some very pretty scenes i can’t even lie HAHA but he also has a LOT of deranged/hideous ones so for the most part megumi and yuta stayed as my boys

yeahhh that’s what i was thinking like indigo league is just all of them being deranged (not just the main trio but gary, prof oak, team rocket…all of them were insane) even his pokémon had sm more personality (the de-sassification of pikachu is tragic) whereas alola just gives me sanitized vibes plus the colors are too bright and i think the art style is too round?? the earlier seasons had a completely diff art style that was just typical of the time instead of being purposefully childish yk…XY REWATCH AFTER BLLK S2 DARE I SAY???

HELP questions like that always have me crash out because like that’s not accurate branding??? fr though people on wattpad will find something to complain about TRUST and omg no that’s so real reader’s still pissed about karasu taking gible (although to be fair i feel like his rebuttal would be that she already has hydreigon [pseudo-legendary dragon] and nidoking [ground type] so she doesn’t really NEED a garchomp which is true so she doesn’t have a huge problem with it…OTOYA on the other hand never gets over it)

imagine a movie on hollyhock or like a really high budget tv series i think it would be so good…and pursuit ofc HAHAHA even peregrine could work as a movie not to mention pomegranate ink (deserved to be jjk canon) further self glaze here but yeah i always wish they could be animated or filmed or something i think it would be so cool to see that

OTOYA BUYING THE TICKET it’s so him too he’s like maliciously giggling to himself because he’s about to play an epic #prank on karasu and then it turns out that he accidentally bought a real ticket?? PLS karasu is so shy and such a fan that reader’s like “no way this dude can be famous” and then she looks him up and the first result is just a “tabito karasu cussing out his teammates for 10 minutes straight” youtube compilation of him swearing at shidou and zantetsu (the second result is a “tabito karasu rizzing up his opponents for 7 minutes straight” youtube compilation of him calling chigiri “princess” and talking about hiori’s left leg)

I DO LOVE THE PINK NAGI i think it’s so aesthetic hehe especially the header (i also love the pinned post but he looks so pretty in my header hehe) the pink also goes really well w the yona pfp so all in all i’m happy with it atm…i am a frequent theme changer though as you know so who’s to say what’ll be next?? sae theme

[ymart26]

Patiently waiting for the day we get to kick his teeth in <3

[dragonblobz]

I'm on my bullshit again. No lemons. Just Shinigami goodness. Wrote this to In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth 3 by Coheed and Cambria.

Ryuk has been around for such a long time. Ever since she had found that notebook sitting on that tree stump years ago. Cover soft looking and beaded with dew. It had looked as if it had been there some time. And, although the pages looked weathered and yellow, there was no mold or outward damage.

Surprising given its location in the middle of the woods. She’d only even seen it because she’d stopped and knelt to retie her shoe. Just an alien black square looking sharp and unreal sitting on that stump just off the jogging trail.

She can remember how the thing had felt when she’d picked it up. Soft in texture. Like careworn leather.

The words “Death Note" emblazoned on the cover had made her feel a little unsettled. Eerie out here in the predawn misty quiet.

A silent voice inside her mind had whispered that maybe she should put it right back down on that stump and keep running. As far and as fast as she could.

Another voice, vapid and cunning, had laughed at the absurdity of such a book, with such a title, being left out here in the middle of nowhere.

She hadn’t left it there. Without opening it, she’d tucked it under her arm and continued on her morning run.

She performed all the menial tasks of her daily life, forgetting all about that Death Note leaving dew marks on her dining room table.

Breakfast was bland. Work was tedious. No different than any other day. Even when she’d reentered her home and plopped her work bag next to the thing, her eyes really didn’t focus on it.

It was the tall bony Shinigami standing in her kitchen that finally arrested her fuzzy mind from the blandness of living.

He hadn’t even been looking at her. Instead, the spinous processes of his vertebrae pressed onto the dark material upon his long back as he leaned over her counter. Observing a bowl of fruit as if it were a still life masterpiece.

She hadn’t moved. Was utterly frozen. Just watching this creature as it looked at her food.

“What’s all this junk? Taking up room that could be used for perfectly good apples.” It’s voice, low and yet raspy, grated on her eardrums as it lifted a hand and poked a claw into the ripe flesh of an orange. The movement causing several pieces of fruit to fall out of the over filled bowl entirely.

With a deft movement, the creature caught the only apple which had exited the bowl. Rubbed it with the pad of it’s thumb as it finally lifted it’s face to look at her.

It’s face………

Cadaverous. Eyes beady and large and yellow. Nose squashed. Like a mummy who’d decided to affix it’s hair for a punk rock concert. It was even sporting a dangling silver earring on one of it’s little ears.

At her gawping expression, it had smiled. Wide thin dark mouth sporting a row of razor teeth appearing aged and yellow.

“No screaming, eh? Hiya, Y/N.”

She hadn’t bothered to question how this thing knew her name.

“Um…….. hi?” Her own voice sounded dry and distant in her ears. “And you are?”

It bit into that apple, it’s eyes closing. As if savoring the fruit. A stray drop of the juice dribbled down onto it’s chin.

It said a word. But muffled thru a mouthful of apple, it nearly sounded like a retch.

“Ex….Excuse me? I didn’t…… I didn’t quite understand that.”

“Not a good listener tho. Ah well. Nobody is perfect.” It’s long tongue snaked out to swipe at that bead of juice as the creature had studied her.

Raising it’s free hand, it extended a long bony finger. She noticed now the rings glinting on his hands.

“I. Am. Ryuk.” He said it very slowly. As if she might have been a child who might not understand. But there wasn’t a trace of sarcasm or ill temper in it’s behavior.

“So….. Ryuk…… why…… um…. What……. What do you want?”

At this, it’s smile had widened.

“I’m just here Y/N. YOU are the one that picked up the Death Note.”

Imagery of that notebook popped up in her head.

“I….. I did……”

“Yes. You did. And I’ll be with you until you die now. Or I do.” It was leering now. “Whichever comes first.”

“I see….” She didn’t really see. Turned from him and went into the dining room to pick up that notebook. Opening it. Reading the first thing written on the inside of the cover out loud.

“The human whose name is written in this note shall die.”

It had been frightening in retrospect. Not those words. Not that Death Note. Not even the monster standing in the doorway happily crunching it’s way thru a second apple and watching her.

What had been utterly terrifying was that she had not blanched. Had not set this note down and backed away. Had not told that creature to take it and go.

Instead, she’d stood there. Continuing to read. A name and face already coming to mind.

A face belonging to a monster who’d put that apple eating shark mouthed monster to utter shame. The man who’d killed someone she had loved.

Without looking away from the Death Note, she’d reached over and started rummaging thru her work bag. Fingers shaking and fumbling at keys and change.

“Never can find what you’re looking for if your bag is too full, Y/N.” Ryuk looked vastly amused. “You’re not even going to question the validity of the Note? That’s what you humans usually do.”

She hadn’t answered. Simply gasped as her fingers had clutched onto a great fistful of bullshit in her bag. Lifting the whole mess out to drop carelessly on the table. Chapstick and a tampon scattering across the surface.

And there, rolling and coming to rest against an old broken key chain, had been a blue ink pen.

She’d looked up at Ryuk. Eyes wide, almost manic.

“Any person?”

He smiled again. Repeated her words.

“Any living person.”

There had been no eloquence. No artfulness nor ritualistic care taken in that first death. She had scratched the name onto the paper. And a way to die. Almost stabbing it in. Breathing coming out in ragged desperate gasping.

After the deed had been done, the pen clattered to the floor as she’d wept. Fingers numb.

It hadn’t occurred to her that there would be no way to instantly verify this death. Not until that moment. And so, with a frustrated cry, she’d slapped the Death Note onto the table and fled into her bedroom. Right over to the dark corner to collapse, wrap her arms around her knees, stuff her face into her knees, and cry as a child. Ryuk following her, tilting his head quizzically at this suffering.

“Why are you crying? You couldn’t have liked that human if you wanted them to die.”

“Please…… please go.”

But he didn’t. Simply had sank down. Knobby knees on either side of his ghastly face as he sat across from her.

“I told you. I’m here till you die, Y/N.” There was no camaraderie or sympathy in his voice. It had been matter of fact. “But this surely will get boring very soon, won’t it?”

“When will I know if he died?”

Ryuk smiled again. Leering.

“My my. Impatient aren’t you. Actually that’s a quality I like about you humans. As for your question, I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.” His eyes glint as his smile turns wicked. “You could always write a name belonging to someone closer. If you’re seeking validation, of course.”

“There isn’t anyone else I wanna kill.”

“Then this is going to get very boring very quickly, Y/N.”

She hadn’t had to wait long. Two days later, she’d received correspondence that her presence would no longer be required at a hearing. The defendant was dead.

A quick Google search verified that the person had died just as she’d written.

Setting the phone down, fingers numb, she'd simply looked up at her Shinigami.

She knew that’s what he was now. She’d been peppering him with questions about himself and his kind. And about the Death Note. He hadn’t answered many of them. At least, not until she’d given him an angelic grin and revealed a bag of bright green apples.

“Your apples can be green???” He'd looked absolutely delighted. And had been far more forthcoming.

“He’s dead. He’s really……. Gone…….”

Ryuk merely grunted in visceral enjoyment as he popped the core of that Granny Smith into his maw.

Without warning, she’d reached forward, patting at another errant drop of juice on his chin with a Kleenex she’d just snatched from the box. The action was mainly impulsive. And she’d laughed.

“You’re so messy.”

The Shinigami had frozen. Utterly motionless. He didn’t breathe himself. Statue still. Simply looking at her.

The years passed by like this. The shock and relief provided by this first killing soon giving way to an almost comfortable routine. She didn’t go on a wholesale slaughter. And often targeted those who hurt children. The pain of such cases resonating with the events of her own life.

And there were so. Many. Apples. Loads of them. Ryuk loved all kinds. Although he did seem preferential to Honey Crisp. She never once could get him to try another fruit. And she DID try. Not even a damn orange.

“It’s yummy. Ya know, for somebody that says he gets bored easily, you sure are picky.” She waggled the bright fruit.

“I’ve watched you peel one of those things. What sort of food makes you work so hard? Now THIS……” He'd held up his half eaten apple. “THIS is the pinnacle of crisp and juicy. Now leave that orange wherever you found it, if you please.”

Time was littered with conversations as simple as these, intermingled with serious discussions in which he was as non informative as ever.

It was one of these more serious conversations which followed an observation on her part.

She’d noticed changes in him. Very slight. But she was simply around him so much that she could see them. His movements had become slower. More careful. His speech slowed as well. As if he might be thinking more carefully. Or even forgetting things. She never once pointed this out.

Not until, one day, after clearing 6 entire apples, he’d actually groaned as he’d flopped upon her couch. Long booted feet hanging over one of the arms.

She plops next to him. Poking at one of the skulls on his belt. He’d long since stopped being surprised by her impulsive touches and nearness. Her humanness. Simply tolerating it.

“Are you hurting, Ryuk?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Oh. No reason.”

“I’m dying, Y/N.”

For once, it is she who freezes.

“I thought Shinigami lived a long time.”

“We do. My time is simply running out.” He’s just watching her.

“You’d said….. you’d said that you guys get more years by taking ours.”

“We do.”

She stops toying with that skull entirely. Turns her body so that she’s facing him directly.

“Is it time, then?” She’s oddly unafraid.

“Time for what?”

“For you to….. ya know…… write my name in YOUR Death Note?”

At this, he chuckles.

“I’m not going to write your name.”

She looks confused.

“But….. why not?”

Now he’s actually laughing.

“Do you WANT me to write your name in my Death Note?”

She chews on her bottom lip. Reaching out to pat his chest. Once again, he doesn’t react.

“I don’t want you to die.”

He laughs again. But there is no more true mirth in the sound.

“Why?”

She counters.

“Why won’t you write my name?”

“I am not entirely sure, Y/N.” The slight confusion in his voice gives credence to this answer.

“Well. I am sure.” She’s staring intently at him. “Everything ends, Ryuk. Nobody ever stays. Nothing is constant. I’ve never had a single person ever remain in my life. Except….. except you.”

He sighs. Patiently repeating himself.

“I will be with you until you die.”

“I don’t care if it’s because you have to be here. You’re still HERE……. Will it be soon?”

That same, toothy leer.

“You know I won’t tell you your lifespan, Y/N.”

“I don’t mean me.”

He just looks at her. She’s never seen his face so expressionless. Then repeats yet again.

“I will be with you until you die. Or until I do.”

“I will write my own name then. Will that do it?”

“Stop being foolish. Be a dear and get me another apple won’t you?”

“Yeah….. I will. But I’m not done.”

“I’m sure you’re not.” He chuckles.

It is as if this conversation opens a chasm in this inevitable process. Everything about Ryuk is changing. And so quickly.

Already emaciated and pale, even his dark lips turn papery and light grey. His hair grays too. Yellow eyes growing filmy where they had been so keen before. As if, when the aging process actually begins in a Shinigami, it is accelerated.

It is barely 2 weeks after this conversation that he gives a defeated grunt, sprawled on her bed as she’s on her laptop.

“I can’t get up.” He barks out a laugh. As if this is genuinely funny to him.

She closes her laptop and rises from her chair. Turning and walking over to the bed to flop next to him. Staring at the ceiling just as he is.

“You want another apple?”

“Thank you, Y/N. But I do not.”

“That close, huh.”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Will the Death Note still work? When you’re gone I mean.”

“Yes.”

Her voice is oddly cold.

“Do death gods go to hell? I cant go to heaven or hell. What about you?”

He doesn’t answer for several minutes. She doesn’t speak either. Finally…

“I suppose we will end up in the same place, Y/N.”

“I'm glad.” She turns her face to look at him. “I’ll need something before you go.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“The Shinigami eyes.”

At this, Ryuk turns his face as well. And they just stare at each other.

“Clever greedy impatient girl.” The insult is almost affectionate. “Are you truly that afraid to die alone?”

“Nobody should die alone. And this way, neither of us will half to. Half my lifespan for the Shinigami eyes. We’ll die at the same time.” She looks back up at the ceiling. He does too.

When he feels her fingers intertwining with his, as always, he doesn’t react.

“I never actually made that offer to you. Merely spoke of it.”

“I don’t care. I want the Shinigami eyes.”

He turns his face to her.

“Who am I to turn down such a lucrative deal?”

She sees his hand coming towards her face. Closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, the picture of her and some old friends on the wall is noticeably different. One face, the face of the friend who’d committed suicide years before, is clear and unblemished. The other faces each have a name and numbers above them.

And when she looks back at Ryuk, she sees that his hair is once again jet black. Eyes just as clear and sharp as she remembers. He leers at her. Squeezes her hand as she’s squeezing his.

“I’ll take that apple as well. If the offer is still there.”

She grins.

“You got a new lease on life and you STILL won’t try an orange?”

He scoffs.

[spurious-result]

💜 and ✏️ for the writing asks? :)

Thanks for the ask! :)

💜- top 3 favorite lines

Well! I'm going to cheat a tiny bit here, because most of my "lines" are actually more than one sentence, strictly speaking. But I've tried to keep them really brief. There's also no possible way I can pick three that are my absolute favorites(!), but here are three random little snippets that I quite like.

These are all from Everything That Rises:

It occurs to him an absurd, dissociative moment of clarity that they're going to end up fucking on the peeling linoleum floor beside the roach traps, on top of the moldy grout, and he shoves at Snake's chest with all the strength he can muster. Which isn't much, given the circumstances.

*****

"Designated driver?" he says, as if it's a question. Lamely. "You know. In case you... need one."

Snake doesn't bother to pretend he wasn't expecting this, or something like it - just watches him with tired, bloodshot eyes and hands shoved into his pockets, standing far enough back from the car that he can look inside without bending down. In the misty air between them, it begins to drizzle.

*****

Initiative is a tricky, slippery thing. He is accustomed to being a passive recipient - of affection, and other things. Someone that things happen to. Not someone who does.

✏️- favorite part about writing

Like most writers, probably, I'd say that I like the feeling of having finished something (and being *proud* of it), more than the actual process itself. There is a lot of staring at open Word documents, and trying on a dozen different ways of wording something, and panicking a bit because I need a SCENE here and I can't quite picture how I want it to go. 🤣

But. I started writing fanfic in the first place out of a desire to create the things I wanted to read - like, I want this thing to exist, and it doesn't... SO. And I have all the usual anxieties about whether I'm doing it well enough (whatever that might mean??), and whether people will like it or not, and all the other stuff that comes with putting something so personal out there for the world to critique.

But, man. When I finish something and feel like, YES. That's it. That's what I wanted to say. All the angst is worth it, for that feeling.

I also LOVE, LOVE, LOVE to hear from anyone who reads my stuff and enjoys it. It's such an incredibly rewarding thing, to know that someone else read something I wrote and had *feelings* about it - whether it's a quick "hey, I liked this!" or a long, rambling essay in the comment section. I treasure every single word. ❤

[mego42]

fav lines tag

RULES: share your favorite sentence/paragraph from each one of your fics and tag 6 other fic writers to do it too :)

tagged by the talented brilliant incredible @foxmagpie (💖)

tagging: @pynkhues @hypermania @bethsuglywigs @riosnecktattoo @missmaxime @sothischickshe @joeyjoeylee

some ground rules: I’m only doing brio fic bc at some point when I wasn’t paying attention I wrote a metric fuckton of it and we’re already gonna be here all day bc my other ground rule is I’m allowed to interpret the concept of a line however i want. i’m also gonna tell you why i picked them bc no one can stop me. cool? cool. good talk. 

your monster looks like mine

okay so my first choice for fav would be the entire ~conversation around whether or not beth had a choice when she set rio up bc oooof I just love how that came out so! much! BUT if I’m limiting myself to something closer to a line, I’m going with this one. i love what it establishes for rio’s emotional state when it comes to beth, i love how it captures their push/pull constant one upping battle, I love the rhythm of the flow of it and the grandiose verbiage (i was having a frankly unreasonable amount of fun with natural phenomena imagery throughout the whole fic and this captures a bit of it). idk I just think it’s neat.

The words rip through him, a bright, blazing comet trail whipped across his sky, illuminatin’ his landscape, impossible to ignore.

Elizabeth’s spread out on the bed below him, golden hair tumblin’ around her face, mouth red and swollen, lookin’ up at him like she’s got him. Like she’s figured some shit out. Like she fuckin’ did something by putting that together.

Like Rio doesn’t fuckin’ know. Like that doesn’t fuckin’ haunt him, torment him, mock him every time she pulls some of her bullshit and he’s left picking up the pieces, knowin’ damn well what the right answer is but also knowin’ he’s always gonna be wrong when it comes to her.

--

a song inside the halls of the dark

another one where I’d pick a whole scene if I could BUT if  the whole opening flashback isn’t on the table (idk I love it for 14,000 reasons including how it sets up the bookend structure for the chapter, how it sets up a bunch of the final payoffs, the tone of it, idk everything about it came out exactly how I wanted it to and I really love how it tees up the ending), then I’m going with this bit from the final brio scene. it ties back in a whole bunch of threads that have been woven in and out all the way back to the first chapter and closes them out in a way that also feels (to me) like a beginning which I love bc the whole theme of the chapter is it’s a beginning, not the end.

What does it mean then, that he’s slept so soundly beside her?

The playhouse glows softly. She wonders how many more times she can get away with sanding it before it weakens past the point of supporting the kids’ weight and the whole thing collapses.

Behind it, she can see the long shadow it casts reaching for the boxwoods bordering the yard. The lines of the structure frame windows of bright moonlight on the grass, eerily reminiscent of the windows that loomed large in the nightmares Beth abruptly realizes she hasn’t had in weeks. Not since that last night at Rio’s loft. And that’d been the last one since...his car. Canada. The night all of this started.

Beth blinks. What does it mean that she’s slept so soundly beside him?

A-live, alive, alive, I—

Her breath catches.

—

pills’n’potions

I don’t have any grand reasoning for why I picked this bit from the 4th (i think?) ~ch as my fav, I just really like writing annie and rio interacting and I especially love writing them with annie like, intellectually aware that she should probably be afraid of him but also spiritually incapable of not being herself and rio being wildly annoyed by it

"What?" He asks, giving the t an edge sharp enough to cut.

There's a pause. "What like you didn't hear me, or what like what do I want?"

[...]

"Hello?"

Now the sister sounds like she's getting annoyed, and Rio's really gotta do somethin' about the two of them runnin' 'round actin' like he's someone they can get away with not takin' seriously. Like he's some sort of pet. Defanged. Declawed. Fuckin' neutered.

"Get to the point."

"I mean, I kind of did in the message."

—

trade my heart for honey

the only thing sexier than rio being good at pool is beth being a fucking shark and rio being out of control turned on by it.

Dropping all pretense at being less than she is, Beth grabs the cue ball, positioning it slightly to the left of center where the felt is slightly more worn. Even without the tell, she's seen Rio put it there enough times to know it's the table's sweet spot. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rio shift his weight before she tunes him out entirely, drawing the stick back and letting it fly.

It's as close to a perfect break as she's probably ever managed. The cue ball connects dead on, scattering the rest far and wide. The one and the six drop neatly into pockets, the four and five coming to a stop right on the edge of the left side and far left corner, nearly closing off that whole side of the table.

Every stripe remains in play.

"Solids," she says, not letting herself dwell on the way Rio's mouth hangs slightly open, his eyes glazed over.

—

swaying evergreens

the whole theme of this fic is the terrifying intimacy and vulnerability of sharing your most precious moments and memories with someone you care about and I like how this touches on that along with sort of nutshelling the double edged sword of grief-tinted memory which is another major theme

There's somethin' extra about these unguarded moments. That Elizabeth trusts Rio enough to drop her guard completely and give him this completely unvarnished look at her. It's been over a year since he's been back in her bed, since the first time he'd slept here, but there's still somethin' tentative about it. Like there's a part of him that's never going to be all the way over the first time he'd been here, that can't fully believe how far they've come, that this isn't going to crumble, melt, drain away.

Truthfully, Rio doesn't mind it, that faint edge. He's well acquainted with the different flavors of loss, and the threat of it's a counterpoint that keeps him sharp. Lets him know this is real but not somethin' he'll take for granted.

—

swear on a silver knife

there were a couple of sexy tension bits that made for strong contenders but ultimately this won bc I’m obsessed with how this reference to 306 came out.

“I told you. I got my own debts to pay.” He bit off the words like it cost him something to repeat them.

Beth shivered, abruptly right back at that picnic table, cheeks wet and staring at him, searching for any hint of the man she’d—she’d—anyone besides the cold, unfeeling stranger sitting beside her, blood so fresh on his hands she could nearly smell it underneath the scent of the cold, misty night rain falling around them, blurring her eyes, beading in her hair and on his eyelashes.

—

listening through the air shaft

this was a really hard one to narrow down but I ultimately went with this but bc I love it for a culminating look at how beth and rio’s relationship has evolved throughout the fic and also bc a version of this scene was the first thing I wrote for the whole fic so it was fun to finally get there with everything in place behind it. I also just love it as a reference for the dichotomy of both beth and rio and also how complicated that is makes being around them for everyone else

They aren't even doing anything, just quietly working side by side, but there's a synchronicity to their movements, a quiet peace that makes Dean feel more like an intruder than anything else that's happened today, and he hates it.

It’s so far from the guy that’d broken into his home, beaten him up. Who’d looked at him with those terrifying, blank, shark eyes before casually shooting him in the chest like it was nothing right where they’re about to sit down and share a meal.

A guy, Dean suddenly realizes, he hasn’t seen any hint of in a long, long time. It’s not that he doesn’t think that part of him isn’t there, it’s just...it’s weird, is all, how completely he puts it away.

It reminds Dean of Beth, actually, now that he’s thinking about it.

God. They look so...so domestic. Sweet. Disarming in a way that completely undermines everything Dean thought he'd known about the guy and their whole...thing.  

He just—he doesn't get it, what Beth sees in him.

—

now use both hands

idk I just like this bit let me live

"What are you—what service?"

He makes himself take the route through the showroom that brings him right past her, leaning in and softly brushing a lock of hair out of her face for the first time in longer than he can remember.

Her eyes flutter shut, and he feels absolutely nothing.

"Helping sad, lonely housewives get off once their husbands are done with them."

Her eyes snap open, and he makes himself look at her long enough to watch the hit land and the hurt bloom.

He's empty, untouchable, she's nothing to him.

Rio doesn't look back.

—

I'd give her a HA! And a HI-YA!

you can take my made up backstory for rio and mick from me when you pry it from my cold dead hands.

Mick had been there the first time Rio'd had to get his hands all the way dirty and had kept an eye on him when he'd gotten blackout drunk after, and Rio'd done the same for him. Every bloody, grimy step Rio'd climbed, Mick had been right there with him, watching his back all the way to the top.

The point is Rio's Mick's brother in every way that counts.

Mick'd seen him twisted up over business and twisted up over personal shit, but he's never seen him let both get twisted up like he had since that fuckin' weasel Boomer'd got his ass handed to him and Rio'd gotten curious about it.

—

as the world turns, the blunt burns

I pull this every time I have to pick a fav and I can’t even really explain it aside from I think I’m really, really funny and that’s enough

Beth suddenly sobers as much as she can when she feels like she's simultaneously floating away and sinking into the Earth and wipes her eyes. "Are you gonna get in trouble?"

"You're in the house, ain't you?" He's answering Beth but looking at Rio.

"Mick," Beth frantically tugs at his pant leg because apparently, he doesn't have all of the information. "We're in the yard."

"Yeah, Mick," Rio says, glaring. "You're in the yard."

Mick shrugs, and Beth realizes he isn't scared of Rio at all. That's a neat trick. How does he do that? Maybe he can teach her.

—

smoke, fire, it’s all going up

there are realistically many other better lines in this fic but this one never fails to make me laugh so it remains my fav.

"You- you-" She sputters at him, flailing around a little. "You were the one that started mailing me pieces of a dead body."

"You blocked my number." Rio snarls, which is not what he'd meant to say, and he hates that she trips him up.

"That is not a proportionate response!"

—

got a kiss (with your name on it)

it was this or the text exchange at the beginning of the fic bc I strongly believe established relationship brio would continually roast each other for their past dumbassery but the elizabeth kink won out

"Come here," Rio's voice is thick but insistent in a way that brings every cell of Beth's body to attention. She hooks her thumb over her bottom teeth and drags her lower lip a little, a gesture full of who me mock innocence, waiting for him to say-

"Elizabeth." There it is.

There's an endless amount of things that Beth finds ferociously, irresistibly sexy about Rio, but when he says her full name in that commanding tone? Even if she's pissed the fuck off and has no intention of doing what he wants, it gives her goosebumps.

—

say it’s all in my head (i remember what you said)

I will be real with y’all, I forget I wrote this fic a lot of the time hahahaha but! that means every time I’m reminded I go back and am like oh yeah! I like this! anyway there isn’t like, one specific but I really love most as much as I really like the tentative breathless nervousness and then also overwhelming so muchness and I like how this but captures both of those

For a single, breathless moment, she stands in the middle of the room, alone and terrified.

Then Rio wets his lips and comes towards her, moving with that languid grace she's never been able to look away from even before she had any idea why that could be.

All of the fear collapses like a dying star, sending a supernova of relief and molten heat zinging through her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her head swims, and every cell in her body feels like it's leaning towards him- like she's made of magnets on a molecular level and he's the lodestone.

He gently pushes her bangs off of her forehead, slowly running his fingertip down the side of her face, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He tilts his head towards hers and stops, going no further than halfway, leaving it up to her to close the distance.

She lets her eyes fall shut as she leans into him and tentatively touches her mouth to his for the first time.

—

the world is on fire (and no one can save me) / what a wicked game you played (to make me feel this way)

two for one!!! idk if either of these is my number one favorite line from either fic individually but I really like how they both play together. I like writing beth and rio pov and having them mirror each other’s narration both in thought and structure a lot bc I like thinking of them as two versions of the same

Beth checks her phone, nothing from Rhea, and sends a quick I'm here, text me when you're close, and I'll grab a table before wetting a paper towel and wiping away the last of her smeared mascara. With precise, brisk movements, she snaps open her bag and fishes out her compact, her lipstick, and her mascara; lining them up click, click, click on the tiny shelf below the mirror.

She can live with this; she has to live like this; she will live like this.

She flips open the compact and methodically dabs away the flush and pallor and shadows that are not grief, are not loss, are not anything other than shock and horror that she'd gone so far, that she'd lost control, that she'd killed a man (that man).

and

So what the fuck had he been doin' with Elizabeth fuckin' Boland, giving her chance after chance to cross the line? What the fuck was the point of a line if it might as well not be there at all? All because he liked her big blue eyes and the way she worked a tight sweater? Nah, that ain't him. That can't be him. That's the kind of shit that'll get you killed, and he's got three spent bullets in his pocket and a scar next to his heart if he ever needs the reminder again. 

He shifts in the driver's seat, reaching into his pocket and fishing the bullets out. Lining them up on the dashboard with a definitive click, click, click. He looks past them to the brightly lit valet station. He's been parked in the back of the lot for ten minutes now, waiting for Rhea to give him the go sign. He ain't hiding, doesn't need to, Elizabeth ain't lookin' for him, he just wants to make sure he sees her before she sees him. Get a good look first, so he can size up the situation.

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Joey Donner

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- It was a little known fact that nearly every girl in your school wanted to date or at least screw Joey Donner. You were no exception but at least you could tell he was a total ass and didn’t actually try to get with him.

- You acted uninterested, convinced yourself at times that you were uninterested yet deep down you knew you secretly were attracted to him even if it was just the surface you were attracted to.

- But you’re disinterest is what drew Joeys attention to you in the first place. As everyone else swooned you completely ignored him and talked to “losers” instead, hiding away from attention and for the most part wearing clothes which left nearly everything to the imagination. Though to be fair, you woke up at five in the morning and stayed in school till two; frankly you just weren’t in the mood for heels.

- He wasn’t entirely compelled just by that. No, his real interest towards you started when a friend of yours decided to give you a makeover and plead with you to try it out for a week just to see what would happen. Since you were equally curious you gave it a try, even though you knew it was going to be a hassle.

- Thats why early one morning you arrived at school dressed in a v-neck top, a tight skirt, heels, hair perfectly done and more makeup than usual. To say he was enticed would be an understatement.

- “Had you always been so hot?” Was a common question among your peers but most didn’t even realize it was you until halfway through the day. Even Cameron and Michael; your friends, were having trouble not staring at your cleavage. Boys were swarming you to say the least.

- It was kind of fucked up to have the same people who made fun of you throughout middle school and high school now open doors and pull out chairs for you.

- You and Joey were lab partners so to an extent you were forced to interact for at least a good ten minutes a day. A lot of girls were jealous of you for this exact reason but you didn’t pay them any mind.

- It was when you were sat at your desk pulling on gloves to cut open frogs that Joey actually got his first look at you, well, the new you. He genuinely thought you were transferred and a new girl was sitting in your place. Sure he thought you were good looking before but every girl looks a bit better with makeup and some tight clothes, at least to guys like him.

- He slowly sat down next to you, eyes trained on your face and body as he went. You paid him no mind as you wrote down your notes and got to work. He sat there staring at you for a few moments before shaking his head and getting a hold of himself. He couldn’t actually get with a “loser” like you; it would ruin his reputation.

- He was bewildered when he found himself actually starting to like you. You, the girl who was a nobody, the girl that half the school didn’t know existed and the girl that, regardless of all that, still didn’t like him. You were weirdly endearing for it; hot even. He actually had to work to gain your attention.

- Joey doesn’t really know how to go after girls that he doesn’t have leverage on. Like if a girl likes him it’s easy to score with her but what does he do if they seem to hate his guts?

- He tried flirting, complimenting you and being sweet before he asked you out for the first time. You rejected him, quite brutally might he add and so he had to take a different plan of action. His second plan was to annoy the hell out of you, getting you riled up so that you’d give him the attention he wanted from you, even if it was given to him with a glare.

- After an especially rough week with him borderline bullying you he made the mistake of asking you out again. That’s how you and him got into an insult match in an empty hallway of the school after classes ended.

- A moment of stillness came over the two of you after a particularly heated exchange of words. When all of a sudden his hands were cupping your cheeks and your lips were smashing together.

- It was rough, passionate, heated. You didn’t exactly know why it was happening but to hell if you weren’t enjoying it. So long story short you ended up making out with the cocky most popular guy in the school who only moments before you were calling a pompous ass.

- When you came to your senses you realized he had you pinned against the wall and was thoroughly enjoying himself. The two of you pulled apart to catch your breath and were silent for a while, still close in proximity. Both of you leaned in and shared a much tamer kiss before he spoke.

“I’m an asshole, I get it, but that was great and you can’t deny it, alright? There’s something between us and you know it so why don’t we see how this plays out. Let me take you out and make everyone in this town jealous that I have you.”

- Well maybe it was worth a shot, right? You pulled him into another kiss which he smiled into like a giddy fool even if he wouldn’t ever admit it.

- So that’s how you became the hottest couple in school and started living out the dreams of all your classmates.

- He has a major soft spot for you.

- He’s really cuddly when you’re alone. He’s like a totally different person.

- Lots of gifts and dates people your age shouldn’t be able to afford.

- Being backstage at his modeling and commercial jobs.

- He’s jealous as hell, he hates boys looking at you but at the same time loves it because he’s a smug asshole. It makes him proud that people want what only he has.

- He’s lowkey possessive.

- You have to wear his jacket in classes you don’t have with him.

- Hickeys and constant pda.

- When he’s bored he tends to write his name on your skin. At some point he’ll get you a necklace with his name on it and a ring for himself that has yours engraved on it. He probably wouldn’t even tell you about his ring, you’d just notice it for yourself one day and get a little misty eyed.

- He’ll randomly grab a part of your body and start drawing on it. He reserves dicks for other people though.

- Once you’re in his car he’s eating your face. His lips are on yours and they aren’t letting up until they get their fill.

- He likes to grab your face and pull you into kisses.

- His arm is constantly wrapped around your shoulders or waist.

- You’re on his lap like 90% of the time.

- Even though he’s got a big ego, he actually gets pretty flustered when you compliment him on things other than his looks. He doesn’t know how to react at first but he tries his best to play it off and act cool.

- Someway, somehow, you’re incorporated into his workouts whether it be you sitting on his back or underneath him during pushups or you being used as a bench press. It makes things more entertaining for him and lets him show off.

- I feel like his household was the kind where money substituted actual relationships so this boy is probably hella attention starved. The first time you showed him innocent affection he was kinda confused.

“What are you doing?”

“Loving you.”

“...alright.”

- He’s an asshole but it’s somehow endearing?

- Anyone who comes close to bothering you is getting his ass kicked either by him or someone he’s paid to do so.

- He’s a pretty demanding person, he wants your attention, affection, anything you can give him. You’re basically inseparable.

- Hugs from behind with his head resting on your shoulder.

- He’s a sexual guy and proud of it so undoubtedly sex will be a part of your relationship.

- It gets him all hot and bothered when you wear his clothes.

- Him “accidentally” touching your boobs and butt. Just blatant groping yet he’ll probably apologize like it was a mistake.

- Wearing one of his rings, most likely on a chain around your neck.

- Flowers and cute but ‘macho’ notes.

- Fighting usually ends up being his fault because he’s a cocky bastard and won’t ever admit he’s wrong. It also doesn’t help that he thinks he can do whatever he wants.

- You tend to give him the cold shoulder. It annoys the everloving fuck out of him because he’s only just now gotten used to and started to rely on your affection. When you’re not giving it to him there’s a lot of tension and stress in his life. People in school suffer since he takes out all his annoyance on them.

- After a little while he’ll man up and apologize, holding out his arms for a hug once he’s finished. He both smugly smile and melts like butter when you wrap your arms around him.

- If you massage his scalp he’ll turn to putty in your hands.

- Skincare with him. Masks, creams, etc; he probably pampers himself more than you do.

- Likes laying his head in your lap and having you read to him.

- Your teachers love you since you tame him in the classes you share with each other.

- Getting him to stop picking on people.

- Helping him with schoolwork. He’s not dumb he just lacks the motivation and focus to actually go through with and finish his assignments.

- He tries his best to calm down with his drinking and partying because he knows you hate when he’s drunk.

- He likes randomly picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

- Pestering you is a game he’s good at and one he enjoys.

- His parents probably like you fine enough but your parents probably don’t like him. Not many parents would unless perhaps you just show your mother a picture of him.

- He’s definitely attempted to bribe your teachers into putting you guys in the same classes, teams, and lab groups.

- When he’s alone and actually tries to do well he can be pretty good at drawing.

- If you mention that you like a certain kind of shirt on him he’ll magically own like a dozen more over night.

- He really likes when you gush over and compliment him. It gives him the confidence that he really didn’t need but greatly appreciates. Or maybe it’s just a boost to his already inflated ego.

- Whenever you’re cold all you have to do is snuggle into him, he’s like a human heater and is all smiles when you randomly bury yourself into his chest.

- No one is allowed to interrupt the two of you at lunch without a proper reason unless they want to be made a fool of in front of everybody.

- He has a hard time saying he loves you because he wants to keep up his tough guy reputation but his heart swells everytime you say it. Deep down you know he does.

- You’re the power couple of the school.

[stainedglassfish]

ok guys i am once again posting this story i wrote but this time with a fancy tumblr thing check it out under the cut (reblogs greatly appreciated)

At the very end of the universe there was a town. Not a large town, just an average sized town. Don’t ask how it got there, nobody knows and it’s possible there is no answer. It floated gently on the endless cosmos, drifting towards infinity and destruction. A gigantic wall surrounded it, 30 feet tall. Nobody had ever been over the wall. Nobody had ever tried. 

Life went on. Everyone knew they were very close to their own demise, but nobody really minded it. Life was rather bleak when you were with the same 300 people your whole life and had no concept of exploration or curiosity. Everyone went about their business and society made no progressions. 

Now, one day something very odd happened. In a dusty alleyway a man appeared in a bluish flash of light. He stumbled slightly and leaned against a wall, gasping for air. He was a time traveller, from way back in a distant age. In fact, he hadn’t meant to come here. He had technically died, but all his tamperings with the space-time continuum had brought him here instead. Brushing himself off, he wandered out into the main street. Everything froze. People around him stopped halfway through words, mid-step, and all eyes turned to him. The only one who remained oblivious was a woman who seemed to be mopping the grass. The newcomer strolled down the street with a slight swagger. He had no idea where he was or the importance of it. At length one of the villagers ran off, returning with two others. One was the mayor of the town. She was short and businesslike, and she appeared struck dumb upon seeing the man (whose name was Fread. He hated his name, as it reminded him of bread, which he despised), in sharp contrast to the man next to her. He was rather long and gangly, and his eyes had a misty, sad quality to them, as if he was only half in this world. He was the town scholar, the only one there who still had any passion towards knowledge.

“Who- what-?” The mayor found her voice and stepped closer to Fread, peering up at him.

“My name is Fread. Where the hell am I?” He was utterly perplexed by this reaction to him, as nobody had even seen him appear.

“You mean… you mean you don’t know this place?”

“I think maybe we should go elsewhere…” Fread had a few things to explain. He was silently led away to a building in the far west. 

The room was startlingly empty, and out the window Fread could see the wall. He still couldn’t see over it though. He had haphazardly explained his predicament to the mayor, who had since scurried off looking dazed. Fread was left alone with the scholar. Outside life was returning to normal. The people had already brushed aside what had happened and had gone back to sluggishly working on things that did not matter. Turning to the scholar, Fread tried to think of something to say.

“So uhh….. What do you do?” Fread had never been much of a conversationalist, but he wanted to know more about this place and about the man standing before him. He saw within him something he couldn’t quite place, a sort of twisted despair.

“I am the scholar here. Everyone else has rather… abandoned the arts and literature. They do not seek knowledge or enrichment,” replied the scholar. He seemed to be avoiding getting any closer to Fread.

“Why?”

“Everyone’s lost hope. Nobody knows when all this is going to end, nobody sees any point in improving.”

“Oh,” Fread wasn’t sure what to make of this. This was the fate of humanity? To give up when growth and development was such a crucial part of society? “By the way, what’s your name?”

“Peter.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Fread. With an A,” He added with distaste. He was beginning to realize that he didn’t know how to get back to his own time, “Uhh, Peter, I don’t know exactly how to say this but…. I’m not sure how to get back.”

“Back?”

“Back to my home. To my--” He paused, tears suddenly springing to his eyes, “Y’know, there’s not a lot back there for me.”

“I am sorry. If you would like, you could stay with me, in my house,” Peter’s voice took on a quality of near excitement, but he still looked mournful as ever.

“I think I’d like that,” but Fread was crying, and though he looked forward to getting to know Peter more, he wished it didn’t have to be at the end of the universe. Hesitantly, Peter approached him, and Fread fell into his arms, trying to focus less on his predicament and more on the sensation of Peter’s hands rubbing his back gently, on the sound of his heart beating lightly in his chest. Eventually they broke apart, and Fread was feeling significantly better. 

They dined together that night. The house was filled with books on shelves, in towering stacks, scattered about. At a desk, papers and art supplies littered the surface. Peter made incredible soup and bread, and Fread found that he hardly missed his life back home. Peter explained the wall to him, and Fread was extremely curious.

“So nobody knows what’s over it?”

“No, nobody. It has never been crossed as far as I am aware.”

“But who put it there? Why?”

“I do not know. We assume it is there for a reason, and nobody here is brave enough to cross it.”

“I’d do it.”

“You would?”

“I don’t have much to lose, anyway. And you never know, maybe there’s a whole world out there.”

“But how would you get over it?”

“I saw that water tower near the wall. I could climb that, and then take a rope down,” Fread was getting excited. This was an adventure, and it was true, he didn’t have much to lose. Except Peter, and that’s what got him.

“Could you…. Do you think you could come with me?” He asked Peter, who looked down at his soup thoughtfully.

“I do not think so. The people here need someone to hold them together, to keep anything alive. You would have to go alone.”

“Oh,” Fread said sadly. He was still going to do it though. He was filled with a burning need to find out what was behind the wall, and he could tell Peter was too.

The next day he spent with Peter. He was risking a lot, and though he felt it was important, he was not ready to go after just one day. Peter never seemed to run out of things to talk about, and he told Fread about plants and animals and space and literature and though Fread didn’t really understand it, he liked listening to Peter talk. 

After a while, Peter fell silent, and they both ruminated on their time together and what was ahead. Fread had his head on Peter’s shoulder, curled against him and nearly falling asleep.

“Peter?” Fread asked quietly, unsure what exactly he wanted to say.

“Yes?”

“I’m scared.”

“Of what, exactly?”

“I don’t know. I just have, like, a bad feeling. That there’ll be nothing over there, or- or that it’s dangerous or I won’t be able to get back, or-” he trailed off. Peter, putting aside the book he had been reading, pulled Fread into his arms and held him tightly, humming a tune Fread didn’t recognize. Eventually Fread fell asleep, and Peter stayed there, not wanting to disturb him. He smelled nice, anyway. After about an hour he picked Fread up and carried him to bed, and they slept that night cuddled together.

In the morning Peter made eggs and toast for breakfast. Neither of them had much to say, but they were never more than five feet from each other. Fread enjoyed the food, but he couldn’t eat much as his trepidation grew. Peter read a few poems to him from a large leather-bound book, but in the end grew silent and just hummed to himself, running his fingers through Fread’s hair.

At last the time came. A crowd gathered around the water tower as Fread prepared to climb up and over. He had a rope slung over his shoulder, and he was trembling slightly with nerves and excitement. Peter stood at the front of the crowd, his brows knitted slightly. Fread was resolute, and though his emotions ran high, he did not cry and he felt no need to. After steeling himself for a moment, he prepared to begin the climb. As he was about to begin, Peter rushed forward, grabbing him by the arm and wheeling him around. Almost under his breath, Peter spoke to him, sounding slightly choked.

“If you… if you don’t come back from this, I want you to know that you are the best thing to have come here in all my time. You’ve… you’ve given me new hope and new motivation and I- I love you,” And Peter kissed him, gently, but lingering just long enough for Fread to know the feeling behind it. But it was over too soon, and Fread had to turn away to climb, murmuring a goodbye that did not feel like enough. He could taste Peter’s tears on his lips.

And when he reached the top, and looked back, he could not find Peter in the crowd. He could not have, as Peter had returned to his home, unable to watch as Fread disappeared over the edge. Fread tied his rope to a rung of the tower, and began his descent. Reaching the bottom, he rubbed his eyes, confused. Before him was an endless expanse of nothing. Not a single sound, no color or rocks or sand. Fread couldn’t decide if it was black or white or some color that he couldn’t even comprehend. As he stared into it, trying to make sense of it, he saw something on the horizon (or what he supposed was the horizon, there wasn’t exactly a sky or land.) It was getting bigger and bigger, and Fread felt his heart leap to his throat as he watched it. It was a sort of swirling mass, at once misty and sharp. It advanced upon him, and Fread found that he could not move. He watched as it advanced, and when it reached him he knew no more. He was swept up and torn apart, and the mass crushed the wall as if it were made of paper, devouring it and shortly after, the town. Nothing remained, no color or light or earth or buildings, no consciousness or thoughts or emotion. And the mass, having finally won out against the town at the end of the universe, expanded until it was everything, and then nothing was at the end of the universe.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Come Home (ao3)

Jason Todd gets a message from Bruce. He's surprised to see it. Then, he's surprised by the message itself. Hearing Bruce's final message stirs something inside of him, urging him towards a place he's avoided ever since his and Bruce's falling out. So he gathers his things, and then... waits.

He can't leave yet. Jason doesn't know why. Bruce gave him a mission, just like old times. Except it's not, because he... Jason can't move. Can't even stand.

That's how Kyle finds him.

New York City, NY - 3:42 a.m.

           Jason heard the flick of a switch before he saw Kyle’s shadow in the doorway. He tensed in his seat but made no move of leaving. Not an inch since he finished packing, duffel lying at his feet. Waiting for Jason to drag it out the window he came through.

           It’ll wait a bit longer.

           “Jason,” Kyle asked, shuffling closer. He turns the light on in this room now, shadows retreating. Like a warm blanket being pulled away, leaving him defenseless. “Jason,” he repeats, peering down at him. Hair ruffled from sleep, wiping at drool with his wrist. “You finished with patrol?”

           He answers with a small hum, knuckles shifting against his lips.

           “Rough night?” Kyle yawns. “Why’re you still out here?”

           The words catch in his throat, scraping it hard enough he bleeds. Though the copper taste might be from how he bites his tongue. Afraid that if he eased his grip, it all might spout forth like a broken pipe, leaving a horrible stain. Once those thoughts are given form, there won’t be any avoiding them.

           Kyle crouched down when he wasn’t looking, dragging his thumb across Jason’s cheek scar. “Jay,” he whispers, “what is it? Why do you have your bag out?” Blinking, Jason notices his lover is more alert now. Staring at him with unnaturally green eyes, piercing like they were constructs from his ring.

           The usual finger is naked. Ring absent, as it should be. There’s no need for rings or guns, masks or helmets, here in their apartment. Together, they can exist as themselves. In this small, shared space, they are Kyle Rayner and Jason Todd. Green Lantern and Red Hood can have every inch of the world – the whole universe, even – save the apartment they call home.

           But the helmet still rests on his lap. Reflects the light from the overhead lamp, milky lenses staring up at him.

           “Kyle,” he chokes on the other man’s name. Then, nothing. His shoulders shudder, vision grows hazy. His lover’s face blurs, but it’s the only thing he can focus on. Closer, rapidly, until the darkness returns. He nuzzles at Kyle’s neck, arms slipped over his shoulders. Warmth treads the surface of his skin but cannot dive deeper. Iced out by the pervasive chill that spread since he answered his phone.

           “Jason,” Kyle says, “hey… I’m here… let it out, Jay…”

           The muttered encouragement breaks what little remained of his defenses. His tears flow free, unburdened, transporting him years into the past. As a kid, his sadness went unnoticed. Swallowed up by the hustle and bustle of Gotham, too busy for another misty-eyed, dirty kid on the street. Over time he learned how to hide that part of him, wound scabbed so heavily he might never cry again. But then someone saw him. Offered his shoulder like Kyle does now, soaking up Jason’s tears. Riding the wave alongside him.

           How Jason wishes he were that young again. When it was simple. Where all that happened between them was a far, twinkling dot in the sky named ‘yet to be’. So he can cry with him one last time.

           Kyle, for once, isn’t enough.

           “Hey,” he starts, as Jason’s sobs lessen, “d’you want to talk about it now?”

           He doesn’t. Might never be able to. And if Jason told him that, Kyle would understand. Kiss along his scar; suggest a nightcap even though he knows Jason will shoot the idea down. Only offering it as a poor attempt at changing the conversation.

           That’s why he loves him. That’s why Kyle deserves to know.

           Talking is hard. Luckily, someone can speak on his behalf. Jason pulls his phone out, blindly punching in the passcode. Then he hands it over, video already playing.

           Kyle watches Bruce. Jason watches Kyle.

           The video is white noise at this point, Jason having lost count of how much he hit the rewind button. Listening to Bruce’s voice like sitting on the other side of a window while a severe thunderstorm rages; safe from the pounding rain and deadly lightning. As it plays, and Kyle’s expressions mirror the same marks Jason believes he hit during his first few views, some of the rain slips through an open crack. A shiver races down his spine.

           Bruce stops talking. Kyle drops Jason’s phone, collapsing onto his knees, crushing Jason’s duffel. Face blank while he processes what Jason can’t quite wrap his head around yet. “Batman… Bruce Wayne is dead?”

           “Yeah…” Having someone else admit it made it easier. It breezes past his lips, “Bruce is dead.” A beat passes, Jason lifts his helmet. “Gotham’s gonna be hell, with Batman gone… defenseless.”

           Kyle’s hand hovers over his knee for a second, and then lands. Squeezes it until Jason breaks from the contest with the empty gaze of his helmet so he can look at a warmer, more loving one. “You’re going back then. To Gotham.”

           “You heard the video,” Jason shrugs, “Kinda have to.”

           “Jay…” Kyle huffs, rubbing tiny circles into Jason’s knee. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

           “I know.”

           “And yet you’re still going.” There’s no judgement weighing down Kyle’s statement, only concern. It’s a luxury that Jason revels in. “Do you want to go? Go back… there?”

           Oddly enough, Jason does. “He sent me a video,” he starts, shifting. Holds his helmet with one hand while the other crawls over Kyle’s. “After everything that went down, he… he sent me a video. I can’t begin to explain why …” Kyle flips his hand, fingers curling around Jason’s wrist. “But he did. Sometimes, in those really bad moments… I figured he wrote me off completely. Kicked out of the nest for… well, y’know. But this I… I can’t help feeling, by sending this, he was saying sorry. For it getting this bad. For not being there when I needed him. Not being around anymore to make it better. If I didn’t go back… let’s just say I’d regret it.” He sniffs, chuckling, “Besides, I’d be a hypocrite if I let the old man die and not leave at least fifty slugs in their corpse after harping on and on about Bruce letting the Joker live.”

           “Jay,” Kyle warns, fighting a smile. Losing with every twitch of his lips. “Fifty is a bit much, isn’t it?”

           “Forty-nine, then?”

           “You’re not funny.”

           “Yes, I am,” Jason says, scraping at Kyle’s wrist with blunt nails, “you love my jokes.”

           Kyle rolls his eyes. “I love you. Your sense of humor is one of the many crosses I bear for doing so.”

           “Yeah, well…” The levity flees as the weight of the situation reasserts itself, both their mouths thinning into serious lines. Jason tugs himself free of Kyle’s hold, clutching at his helmet with both hands again. “I have to go.”

           “For how long?” he asks.

           Jason frowns, “I… I’m not sure.”

           Nodding, Kyle stands. Towers over Jason, bangs hanging over his face. He pushes them out of the way, brushing them behind his ear. “You don’t have to leave right away, do you?”

           He thinks about it. Not for long. “I… guess I can wait until morning.”

           “…Thank you.”

           Jason follows Kyle, dropping Red Hood’s helmet on the duffel. Sheds his layers in a trail towards their room, falling into bed beside his lover. Kyle wraps his arms around him, kissing him. Maps out well-worn paths on more scars scattered over his body. He accepts the laved attention, soaking it up. Memorizes each caress for the lonely nights to come.

           There’s a whispered prayer mixed in with Kyle’s reverence. “Please Jay,” he says, “Come home to me.”

           Jason could say it a million times in a million different ways, none of which would make a believable promise. Instead he kisses Kyle. Kisses him until exhaustion overpowers them both, Jason falling asleep in Kyle’s arms.

           When Kyle awakes next, however, there’ll be no one there. No Jason, no bag on the living room floor, and no blood red helmet. By then, he’ll be on his way to Gotham and away from home.

           Coming back only when he’s ready to.

[thenovelartist]

In My Arms Again

Oh look, yet ANOTHER fandom I’ve written for.

I have stayed away producing content for either of the Ikemen games I play, but I couldn’t help it when @chocolate-parfait wrote this positively precious childhood friends headcanon for Ikemen Sengoku that I have been dying over for weeks.

So, I have caved and written out Ieyasu’s headcanon with my own little twist since he is my second favorite character in the game.

(Note: normally, I use “MC”, but I used my OC’s name “Kisa” this time.)

...

A four-year-old shouldn’t have to be nursing his wounds alone.

But such was Ieyasu’s reality.

As the son of his clan’s leader, his job was to be sent as a hostage in order to keep in the good graces of the much more powerful Imagawa clan. But they knew they were more powerful, and that made them cruel. Cruel enough to take out their rage on a four-year-old for even the slightest of offences.

Cruel enough to leave him crying alone in his room.

Weak. Nuisance. Rat. He’d only been here a matter of a couple weeks but those were the only words he heard.

“I wanna go home,” he’d whispered under his breath more than once. “I wanna go home.”

“Are you okay?”

Ieyasu jumped at the sudden voice, turning to see a girl sitting there with a worried look on her face. He scrambled away, turning his back to her and hiding in the corner. “Leave me alone!” he cried.

That day, she complied.

But not the next. Or the one after that. Or the one after that.

Eventually, she offered him a bite of the treat the palace chef had given her, and though hesitant, he took it. He thanked her, knowing he got pounded for being an ungrateful brat if he didn’t, and she flashed him a big smile.

It took a full year for him to show her a smile back.

It was small, and he was still scared, but she was nice enough for him to be okay with smiling. And she seemed really happy to see it.

The first few years of his childhood as a hostage wasn’t much more than that: be left to his own devices to wander around the castle, get beaten if he was underfoot or near anyone remotely angry, and seeing Kisa. If he was lucky, she showed him her toys or books. It was her who had taught him how to read. His captors hadn’t taken any care to teach anything yet, though he’d once heard one of the vassals complaining that they would have to teach the little brat swordsmanship soon, in accordance to the agreement set with his parents.

He’d learned later that that vassal had been Kisa’s father.

He didn’t care, per se. It did make him very nervous for something bad to happen to him or Kisa, but he didn’t care that she was the daughter of one of the men who constantly beat him. She was not like the others. She was the only person he could trust.

Then came the inevitable: the day Kisa’s father discovered their secret meetings.

Ieyasu had to pretend the broken ribs didn’t hurt with every breath he took as he hid away in his room, the threat running over and over through his head. “Stay away from her, you rat.”

He didn’t want to, but he didn’t have a choice. For Kisa’s sake, he needed to keep his distance.

But she just kept coming back. Ieyasu tried his best to lie to her face, yelling about how much he hated her and wanted her to leave him alone. As much as it killed him, he had to drive her away. He didn’t want her to go; he wanted her to stay. He wanted one of those hugs she liked giving him. He wanted to hug her back. But he knew he couldn’t have those ever again.

However, the day came when she snuck into his room with a bruise around her eye. And Ieyasu snapped. His anger got the better of him as he demanded to know who had hurt her, and when she admitted it had been her father, he swore that one day, he would make her father pay for what he did to her.

Despite all the yelling, despite him having grabbed her hard and pinned her against the wall in his fury, she just smiled. “I knew you still cared about me.”

Something in Ieyasu changed that day. That was the day he gave up trying to chase her away. It was also the day he began having a hard time looking at her without his chest getting tight.

It was a feeling that never went away; that tightness in his chest persisted around her. He found himself thinking more and more often of just how cute she was. And he began loathing when she wasn’t around. She was the only bright spot in his life. No matter how badly beaten he was that day, no matter if his swordsmanship “training” was manageable or just miserable, one glimpse at her could make the pain of his bruises on his body and soul fade away for a moment.

However, he sometimes wondered if that pain was transferred to her. Because oh how she fussed over his bruises.

“They don’t hurt.”

“How can they not hurt?! Look at them!”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re bleeding all over your floor. You are not fine!”

“You don’t need to fuss over me, you know.”

“Well, someone has to. And apparently, that someone is me, so you can deal with it.”

Ieyasu swore they had that conversation often, but shockingly, no matter how many times they got into that argument, he never got tired of it. Because someone cared. Someone cared about him enough to get mad when he was hurt.

He could tolerate those fights for that reason.

It was thanks to her that he began learning medicine. She had seen him injured so many times that she’d taken up reading any book she could on how to help treat him. And then he’d always read them next so he could learn how to treat himself before she got all riled up over it.

And that was life up until he was seventeen and he was finally released to go back home.

No one cared to send him off, and he didn’t care if they did. The Imagawa clan in general had taught him one thing: he was still hopelessly weak. He’d been trampled over and over and over again, leaving him feeling nothing but bitterness and hatred towards them, and self-loathing for his own ineptitude. He had to get stronger. He had to. He wouldn’t let them trample anyone else like they’d trampled him. And he swore he’d never let himself get trampled by anyone again.

“Were you really going to leave without saying good bye?”

Ieyasu turned towards Kisa’s voice, unsure if he was happy or disappointed to see her standing there. She was the only one person he’d originally been okay with seeing him off. The one person he’d originally wanted to see him off. Despite being the daughter of one of the strongest and most important vassals of the Imagawa clan, he would never do her the disservice of associating her with the clan he hated. To him, her family name held no meaning. She’d been the only one to care for him in the thirteen hellish years he’d survived here, and she would be the only thing he missed.

But that’s why he wanted to leave without her noticing. He knew that if he saw her now, she’d crack his resolve. He’d made up his mind that he’d become a man without weakness. But she reminded him that even if he shed all others, there would always be one weakness his heart could never let go.

“I thought I said good bye last night,” he said, recalling their evening. She’d snuck out to see him, as she always did. She had cried both saying she was happy for him but that she’d miss him dearly.

And he never could stand the sight of her tears.

So, just as he’d learned over the years, all he did then was open his arms, inviting her to sit in his lap so he could hold and soothe her. And she had come, like a trained dog. He’d had to wipe her tears away and rub her back to get her to settle, things that settled him, too. Having had her there, snuggled against him… his heart had swelled with emotion he never dared put a name to. He loved being sweet with her. Loved it to a fault. If he had his way, that would never change.

But life was cruel and never worked out the way he wanted it to. The fact she had been in his life for as long as she had, an angel in the middle of hell, was blessing enough.

“I still want to see you off,” Kisa said. “And give you a couple things before you left.”

He quirked a brow as she extended a folded cloth to him. “I stole these from the kitchen. Sweet buns.” She then extended a jar to him. “And this is healing salve for your bruises.”

Surprised, he took the offered gifts, unsure just how to respond to them.

“And lastly.” She pulled a large package she had been holding under her arm to give to him. “This is for you.”

He took a moment to pack the first two gifts in his saddle bags before taking the last, large package from her. “What is it?”

“Open it.”

He unwrapped the fabric to reveal an outfit. A kimono, overcoat, and scarf, all in sunshine yellow. A color as warm as her smile.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

As much as he tried, he couldn’t keep back a grin from his own face. She was too cute, too precious for her own good. “Yes.”

Instantly, her smile brightened. “I would have given it to you last night, but I had to finish up sewing it this morning. I’m just glad I finished it before you left. I would have been kicking myself forever if you’d left before I had the chance to give it to you.”

He couldn’t have that. Not her. Anyone else, he couldn’t have cared less, but he wanted to protect her from everything, even regret. “Thank you.” Those words left his mouth far too rarely, and she deserved to hear it more. The least he could do was grant them to her now.

Her smile grew impossibly wider. “You’re welcome.”

To show his appreciation, he dared to put on the scarf before packing away the other two items. It clearly pleased her, which always made him happy. He tried to never think too hard as to why that was.

Her smile soon faded, though. “Ieyasu.”

“Hm?”

“Will… will I ever see you again? Or… is this good bye forever?”

Oh, damn it. Don’t make that face. This was another reason he didn’t want her to see him off. Because he knew she’d get all misty-eyed and he’d be screwed.

He approached her, taking out a handkerchief to give to her. “Don’t cry,” he muttered.

She took it and dabbed her eyes. “I’m trying not to. I told myself last night to expect to never see you again. You’d never want to come back here, so why would I see you if I knew you’d stay as far away from here as you could? I told myself that, but I just… couldn’t help but ask in case… in case there was any hope that I’d see you again.”

Tears were running down her cheeks freely by now. And that little bit of water was enough to shatter his resolve to abandon her completely. He’d resolved to let her go. To leave this place and leave memories of her behind. But he couldn’t now.

He took her in his arms and slowly stroked her back, and she shoved her face into his chest, causing his heart to pound rapidly. “I… don’t know,” he said.

She sniffled. “Is that really the best answer you can give me? Because it’s okay if it is, but…”

He sighed, giving her a squeeze. She clung to him, sniffing hard, clearly in an attempt stop her tears that were already soaking through his kimono.

It’d be irresponsible of him to promise he’d return for her. To say he’d come take her away from this place. Because if he did come back, it would be with the intent to destroy this clan. She had to know that. She had to. And what would she think of him then? If he cut down her family, her father, and then approached her demanding to run away with him.

No, he… he was deluding himself if he thought she’d still take him so easily then.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future,” he said. “So, I won’t bother making any promises I can’t keep.”

“Fair enough,” she relented, though that didn’t mean she let him go for a while.

And when she did, she wiped her tears one last time before handing him back the handkerchief. “Sorry. It’s a little wet.”

He looked down at it, a little embroidered symbol on the bottom corner. His name. “Keep it,” he said.

“But… I made this for you.”

“You made several of those for me,” he said, stepping away before he got any more ideas to stay and never let her go. “You can keep one in return for the outfit.”

Returning a gift she made you. That’s just insulting. But he couldn’t think of anything he else he could possibly give her in return as a thanks for everything she’d ever done for him.

She gave him a lopsided smile before clinging to the handkerchief. Stop being so cute, dammit! “Okay,” she whispered. “Maybe then you’ll come back for it one day?”

He swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”

She nodded. “Fair enough. Just know I’ll always hold out hope you will.”

“You might be disappointed,” he warned, getting on his horse to further distance himself from her before he gave into the desire to take her in his arms again or, even worse, throw her on the horse and kidnap her.

“I’ll take my chances.”

She was so stubborn, but that was one of the things he liked about her. “Good bye, Kisa.”

She smiled, but it was sad. That wasn’t the last smile he wanted to see from her, but he supposed that couldn’t be helped. “Good bye, Ieyasu. Safe travels.”

And with that, he turned his horse around and rode off, leaving behind the one thing he’d ever deemed important in his life.

…

Though he’d always sworn his revenge, he didn’t know when or even if he’d see it through. But now, far sooner than he’d believed, he marched through the hallways he’d once been imprisoned in. Lord Nobunaga, the leader of an ever-more powerful army that Ieyasu found beneficial to ally himself with, was marching by his side as they inspected the palace they’d only recently laid full siege to. They just had to ensure that the man they’d placed in power here was doing his job correctly.

As Ieyasu marched down the halls, he couldn’t help but recount his past. Of all the times he marched fearfully in these halls. And how now, though he knew he still wasn’t strong enough, he was finally strong enough to hold his head high as he traversed this unfortunately all-too-familiar territory.

His heart was hard as he strode along the hallways with Nobunaga. However, as he glanced out over the center gardens, he had to do a double take.

Because there, observing the flowers with a sad expression, was a face he never would have been able to forget.

“Ieyasu.”

Realizing he’d stopped walking and now had Nobunaga glancing impatiently back at him, Ieyasu hurried to catch up to his lord. “Sorry,” was all he said.

Nobunaga rose a brow, then looked out over the gardens, eyes landing on Kisa. He smirked. “Far be it from you to get caught up with a beautiful woman.”

Ieyasu grunted dismissively, hoping the heat of his face didn’t translate to a blush that could be seen.

Nobunaga quickly dropped the teasing in favor of marching onwards, and Ieyasu followed suit. Though, he’d be lying if he said his eyes weren’t drawn to Kisa for as long as she was in eyesight.

And maybe he just imagined it, but he swore she looked up just as he disappeared around a corner.

…

After the meeting, Ieyasu couldn’t stand it much longer. His heart had been a mess since the moment he’d seen her, and no matter what he told himself, the desperate need to see Kisa again wasn’t going away.

And he didn’t realize just how much that desperation showed on his face until he caught Nobunaga giving him an odd look again.

“Sorry,” Ieyasu quickly said, catching up to his lord who, he realized belatedly, was several paces ahead.

“You’re distracted. Why?”

“Nothing of importance.”

Nobunaga quirked a brow at Ieyasu, proving he didn’t believe it for a moment.

And Ieyasu knew it would be better just to come clean. “That girl… I knew her growing up.”

“And?” Nobunaga pressed. “That’s reason to be surprised to see her?”

“She was kind,” Ieyasu answered, wanting to give as little as possible. “That’s all.”

Slowly, Nobunaga grinned in amusement. “I will depart shortly, with or without you. Do whatever you need to do.”

To say Ieyasu was shocked was an understatement, but he also knew this chance his lord gave him was not one to be taken for granted. “Thank you.”

And with that, the two men parted ways.

Knowing she wasn’t in the gardens, he decided to check any place he thought Kisa could realistically be. Starting with her room.

He’d only been there once but knew the way by heart. That was the place he as a child swore would stay clear from to avoid a beating. But now, it was the best place to start.

And luck was on his side.

When he arrived, the first thing he saw was a handkerchief attached with string to the door. Normally, it would mean nothing to Ieyasu, except that his name was embroidered to the bottom corner. If that wasn’t an invitation for him, he didn’t know what else it could have been.

“Kisa?” he called out, and near instantly, the door flew open, revealing the face of the woman his heart never could let go.

In a flash, they found themselves in each other’s arms. Ieyasu clung to her as though she’d disappear any second, and he refused to let that happen.

“I knew it,” she whispered, voice warbly with tears. Her hands clenched his overcoat tighter, the one she’d made him all those years ago. “I knew you’d come back.”

Ieyasu didn’t have any words he could say and simply settled for squeezing her even tighter while a grin slowly grew on his face.

After a long while, they let each other go, but didn’t stray far. Ieyasu was loath to take his hands away from her completely. Though he did reach up to swipe her tears from her cheeks. “I’m glad to see you again,” he eventually said.

Her smile brightened, rivaling the sun. “I am, too. What are you doing here?”

“I made an alliance with the man who now owns this domain. We were here to observe how it was functioning.”

She simply nodded, her grin turning strained.

His smile faded. An apology sat on his lips, but he just couldn’t get the words to roll of his tongue. He wasn’t sorry for destroying the clan that had treated him so badly. He wasn’t sorry for taking over their domain. But, he was sorry that he had inadvertently hurt Kisa in the process.

In the end, he couldn’t get an apology off. Other words came tumbling out instead. “Has it been difficult for you here? Since…”

Her smile disappeared completely, and though Ieyasu felt that pain in his heart, there wasn’t anything he could do but let it sting him. “Yes and no,” she said. “No, your takeover hasn’t disrupted the lives of the townfolk or anyone here any more than to be expected.”

“I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t sure who was more surprised by those words: her or him.

However, she was the first to react, giving him an understanding grin, one soft yet pained. “You don’t need to apologize,” she assured. “I understand why you did what you did. And it would be unfair of me to get angry at you for it.”

Those words meant to soothe only pained him more. How could she be so understanding? To the point she didn’t hate him. To the point she could look at him with a smile still.

His cheeks felt warm, and he couldn’t resist the urge to pull her close and hug her again.

He didn’t deserve to so much as be on speaking terms with this woman. Yet he also had a burning desire to never let her go again.

“Have you been all right?” he eventually asked. “Since the siege?”

She sighed, and when she shook her head into his chest, his gut twisted uncomfortably. “My father arranged a marriage for me.”

Ieyasu’s jaw fell to the ground as he felt an ugly tightness searing in his chest. “What?”

She nodded, unable to meet his gaze. “He didn’t want me to be a maiden as we were taken over by a new power because he refused to have me be available to… well, be available for your lord to take, so he arranged a marriage for me. The man is on a trip for business now, though he said he would have been back by now and that as soon as he returns, we’ll be wed.”

Ugly, bitter feelings burned in Ieyasu’s gut. Like hell he was going to just let some man take her away when it was already clear as day that she was unhappy with the thought of marrying this man. So, even though he knew he was being impulsive and irrational, he really didn’t give a damn. “Get your things.”

Confusion flashed across her face. “What?”

“Don’t you want to come with me?” Ieyasu said. “Or do I have to kidnap you?”

Surprise quickly replaced the confusion. “You… you want to take me away?”

“You don’t want that?”

“No, I do.”

“Then go get your things. I’m leaving now, and you’re coming with me.”

Honestly, Ieyasu couldn’t stop those word from pouring out of his mouth, surprising even him. But he also can’t say he regretted them. He couldn’t leave her. He just couldn’t. Not again. She was too cute and precious and sweet and good for him to just walk away and leave her.

With a little coaxing, Kisa did eventually go into her room and pull out a bag to start packing her things in. Halfway through, she slowed. “Ieyasu.”

“Hmm?”

“I… I don’t mind, but are you taking me as a hostage? Or…”

“No.”

“Then…” She turned around to face him. “Just to escape this arranged marriage?”

She looked him in the eyes, and Ieyasu’s heart softened to the point he couldn’t deny the reason to either himself or to her. “I’ll marry you,” he said. “When we get back to Azuchi.”

Those words hung in the air, but as the began sinking in, Ieyasu began to truly imagine a future with her. One where they could spend time with each other freely without sneaking around. Yes, they wouldn’t spend every day together, but those days would be the exceptions when he had work as opposed to the permanent reality. The thought of being married to her, sharing a room and futon, building a family, spending the rest of his life with her at his side…

Yes. He could say he wanted all of that and found himself more than willing to fight for it.

Especially when she gave him a smile like that, her big, doe eyes a little misty but still gleaming brightly. “Really? You mean that?”

His heart was breaking slowly, and he was sure he wasn’t going to recover from this. “I do,” he said. “I know I’m not the strongest man you could find, and I’m busy often working for my lord. And I travel frequently between my domain and Azuchi, so I’d have to drag you with me. But I can provide well for you and keep you safe to the best of my ability.”

She giggled, and his gut tightened. He hadn’t realized how desperately he needed to hear that sound from her until now. “You certainly have a way with words. That was a very persuasive proposal,” she sarcastically said, smile still on her face.

He felt his cheeks heat up, quickly turning away with a grunt.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her walking over to him. That’s when he felt her hands on his cheeks, causing them to heat up even more as she turned his face back towards her. “Ieyasu,” she said, voice sweet and soft. “I never saw you as anything but very strong.”

His heart was racing by now, and words failed him completely. He couldn’t move his head, but he also couldn’t meet her eyes, glancing away.

“And if you really do mean it,” she said. “There’s nothing more I’d love than to become your wife.”

It wasn’t fair. Here he was proposing, yet he was also the one flustered beyond belief. She was there, being her sweet, precious, adorable self, willingly admitting she would love to become his wife, and yet, he found it nearly impossible to do anything more than stand there like an idiot.

Eventually, he pulled himself together enough to wrap her up in his embrace, cuddling her close to his chest while his heart pounded and his head spun. “I love you.”

His face was undoubtedly red now, and so he held her tighter so that she wouldn’t see how embarrassed he was to admit that. Yet, at those words, she clung to him tighter. “I love you, too, Ieyasu.”

And those words, in the end, were the words that made him absolutely adamant that he would never let her go again.

[sevi007]

GUYS I’M SCREAMING. I just finished “Bridge to the Turnabout” and I’m FLASHED, people, I’m still jittery with adrenaline the likes I would not expect from a damn courtroom-simulator, but from a literal action game! WHAT A GOOD CASE and what a great game, tying all those old and new cases and even past-games cases together in this big bang of an ending.

I’m not able to put everything into a coherent text right now, so I took some notes during the game, quick summarizations of big events, to make sure I wrote my thoughts down. Right now, I’m too busy fluttering around the room because I’m still so excited, so have these notes, instead:

  * I honestly kind of expected to meet Dahlia again. This whole game built up on her, did it not? Her trials against Mia. Her connection to Phoenix. Her poisoning of Armando – or Godot, as he goes by now. This entire game introduced her, built up her story, and made it very clear that this is not the last we have seen of her. I just did not expect HOW they reintroduced her. That she would already be dead, and simply summoned back into this world. While that is of course a possibility in this universe, it still took me by surprise! And also, who summoned her in the last trial – Maya!

What a great twist! I almost jumped off my chair yelling!

(Also, please, lady – just stay as dead as a literally dead person can. Don’t EVER come back)  

  * Morgan had Pearl summon someone to kill Maya? What the… listen. How dare you. How freaking… in the last trial with Morgan, I could somewhat excuse her actions as “wanting her daughter to succeed”. But this time? She wanted a 9 year old, her OWN DAUGHTER, to carry out a murderous plot. Indirectly, she would have allowed – wanted – Pearl’s hand painted with the blood of her own beloved cousin. I don’t care if the summoned Dahlia would have been the driving force behind it; Pearl would have lived on with the knowledge that she did the summoning, and her own two hands had down the killing. This woman cared more about power than her sweet, kindhearted daughter, and she DARED risk Pearl’s mental and emotional health for some shitty position of power??? Lemme at her! I’m gonna scratch out her eyes!

(Also, sign Pearl up for adoption. I know a whole cast of characters who would jump into action at the opportunity. Heck I would jump too!) 

  * I don’t know what to say about Godot, not really. He’s a very, very complicated character. On one hand, he tried to protect Maya. I’m sure he did – that was part of the reason why he stabbed Elise / Misty while she was channeling Dhalia. That was why Maya tried to protect him, in the end. But good intentions or not, his main motivation? Revenge and hatred. If he only had GOOD intentions, then he would have told someone what was going to happen. He would have warned them. He did not. He even says so himself (I wrote the first part of this rant before he said so, so, yeah, sorry for basically just saying what we all already know XD)

But that does not mean he’s an inherently bad person. I would say, he was at his core, a good person, and pieces of that person still exist. But waking up from that coma, he had not only lost his eyesight, his girlfriend – he had also lost that core of himself, didn’t he? Part of Armando was really dead, dead through poison as much as through regret and hatred. He wasn’t just blind to colors, he was also blind to what really mattered.

In the end, he’s likely one of the, if not the, most tragic characters of AA. I cannot say he’s entirely good – I cannot say he’s bad. He’s a very complex and interesting case. One which I like a lot, flaws or not!

(Also I wished he could meet – a channeled – Mia one last time. So they can properly say goodbye, this time)

  * I would like to be able to say I’m reeling over the fact that Iris was the girl who was in a “relationship” with Phoenix the whole time but – in the end, I’m not. It makes too much sense, the moment she says it. How Phoenix never once suspected Dahlia of being anything else than being sweet and kind – obviously because he only ever met Iris for a longer period of time. What Iris wanted to tell him ever since meeting him again in the present. How she got flustered and blushed and looked at him all the time. No, I’m not surprised, in the end. I’m just awed by how well this entire story was set up, and happy that in the end, Phoenix was right – the girl he knew back then would never have hurt anybody. It was Iris, after all, all along.  

 What a great, great game. What great trilogy, in fact! Damn, that was fun and exciting. Whew! If anybody has not noticed it yet, I’m utterly in love with this series now, and there’s no way I’m not going to play the entire rest of it. (Already planned everything out and got the games!) It’s just so good! =D And I’m happy to be – somewhat – part of such a nice fandom! Hope y’all will have me!

 In the end, some other, smaller things of note that I really liked, in no particular order, under the cut:

 * Mia appearing next to Phoenix, only for Godot to see, literally broke my heart.

 * Maya titling herself “director of Wright and Partner” instead of a Fey-Medium hurt as much as it made me smile. Wright and his office where all she felt she still HAD in that moment, wasn’t it?

 * Franziska staying on an icy mountain all night to help figure out how to get Maya out of that damn locked room

 * Edgeworth flying across the ocean, posing as a defense attorney and that all to help his friends - -mainly Phoenix – out. His only condition for helping Iris being “tell Phoenix the entire truth, so he can get over everything in his past”. He even called Phoenix “partner”. Look at how far we’ve come! “Unnecessary feelings”, who is that?! Never even heard of them! XD

 * Once again, Gumshoe dropping everything to come and help in any capacity he could, the utter sweetheart.

 * Godot having his own friggin’ theme as his ringtone. I want to punch him like Mia punched Grossberg. Damn you, you dork! XD

 * Larry asked if there is space for him in the group hug so there was a group hug with Maya, Edgeworth, and Franziska. I would give a whole damn lot to see a picture of that! Gimme! XD (Also, Maya staring Franziska down hahaha!)

 * Nick yelling “Objection” while everyone anticipates it was a nice way to top the whole thing off was a great way to end this trilogy! (Also please tell me you’re not really going to make him take part in that hellish training? Please? Has this man not suffered enough already!)

[bananaofswifts]

Your guide to the singer-songwriter’s surprise follow-up to Folklore.

By

CARL WILSON

When everything’s clicking for Taylor Swift, the risk is that she’s going to push it too far and overtax the public appetite. On “Mirrorball” from Folklore, she sings, with admirable self-knowledge, “I’ve never been a natural/ All I do is try, try, try.” So when I woke up yesterday to the news that at midnight she was going to repeat the trick she pulled off with Folklore in July—surprise-releasing an album of moody pop-folk songs remote-recorded in quarantine with Aaron Dessner of the National as well as her longtime producer Jack Antonoff—I was apprehensive. Would she trip back into the pattern of overexposure and backlash that happened between 1989 and Reputation?

Listening to the new Evermore, though, that doesn’t feel like such a threat. A better parallel might be to the “Side B” albums that Carly Rae Jepsen put out after both Emotion and Dedicated, springing simply out of the artist’s and her fans’ mutual enthusiasm. Or, closer to Swift’s own impulses here, publishing an author’s book of short stories soon after a successful novel. Lockdown has been a huge challenge for musicians in general, but it liberated Swift from the near-perpetual touring and publicity grind she’s been on since she was a teen, and from her sense of obligation to turn out music that revs up stadium crowds and radio programmers. Swift has always seemed most herself as the precociously talented songwriter; the pop-star side is where her try-hard, A-student awkwardness surfaces most. Quarantine came as a stretch of time to focus mainly on her maturing craft (she turns 31 on Sunday), to workshop and to woodshed. When Evermore was announced, she said that she and her collaborators—clearly mostly Dessner, who co-writes and/or co-produces all but one of these 15 songs—simply didn’t want to stop writing after Folklore.

This record further emphasizes her leap away from autobiography into songs that are either pure fictions or else lyrically symbolic in ways that don’t act as romans à clef. On Folklore, that came with the thrill of a breakthrough. Here, she fine-tunes the approach, with the result that Evermore feels like an anthology, with less of an integrated emotional throughline. But that it doesn’t feel as significant as Folklore is also its virtue. Lowered stakes offer permission to play around, to joke, to give fewer fucks—and this album definitely has the best swearing in Swift’s entire oeuvre.

Because it’s nearly all Dessner overseeing production and arrangements, there isn’t the stylistic variety that Antonoff’s greater presence brought to Folklore. However, Swift and Dessner seem to have realized that the maximalist-minimalism that dominated Folklore, with layers upon layers of restrained instrumental lines for the sake of atmosphere, was too much of a good thing. There are more breaks in the ambience on Evermore, the way there was with Folklore’s “Betty,” the countryish song that was among many listener’s favorites. But there are still moments that hazard misty lugubriousness, and perhaps with reduced reward.

Overall, people who loved Folklore will at least like Evermore too, and the minority of Swift appreciators who disapproved may even warm up to more of the sounds here. I considered doing a track-by-track comparison between the two albums, but that seemed a smidgen pathological. Instead, here is a blatantly premature Day 1 rundown of the new songs as I hear them.

A pleasant yet forgettable starting place, “Willow” has mild “tropical house” accents that recall Ed Sheeran songs of yesteryear, as well as the prolix mixed metaphors Swift can be prone to when she’s not telling a linear story. But not too severely. I like the invitation to a prospective lover to “wreck my plans.” I’m less sure why “I come back stronger than a ’90s trend” belongs in this particular song, though it’s witty. “Willow” is more fun as a video (a direct sequel to Folklore’s “Cardigan” video) than as a lead track, but I’m not mad at it here either.

Written with “William Bowery”—the pseudonym of Swift’s boyfriend Joe Alwyn, as she’s recently confirmed—this is the first of the full story songs on Evermore, in this case a woman describing having walked away from her partner on the night he planned to propose. The music is a little floaty and non-propulsive, but the tale is well painted, with Swift’s protagonist willingly taking the blame for her beau’s heartbreak and shrugging off the fury of his family and friends—“she would have made such a lovely bride/ too bad she’s fucked in the head.” Swift sticks to her most habitual vocal cadences, but not much here goes to waste. Except, that is, for the title phrase, which doesn’t feel like it adds anything substantial. (Unless the protagonist was drunk?) I do love the little throwaway piano filigree Dessner plays as a tag on the end.

This is the sole track Antonoff co-wrote and produced, and it’s where a subdued take on the spirit of 1989-style pop resurges with necessary energy. Swift is singing about having a crush on someone who’s too attractive, too in-demand, and relishing the fantasy but also enjoying passing it up. It includes some prime Swiftian details, like, “With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from your door,” or, “At dinner parties I call you out on your contrarian shit.” The line about this thirst trap’s “hair falling into place like dominos” I find much harder to picture.

This is where I really snapped to attention. After a few earlier attempts, Swift has finally written her great Christmas song, one to stand alongside “New Year’s Day” in her holiday canon. And it’s especially a great one for 2020, full of things none of us ought to do this year—go home to visit our parents, hook up with an ex, spend the weekend in their bedroom and their truck, then break their hearts again when we leave. But it’s done with sincere yuletide affection to “the only soul who can tell which smiles I’m faking,” and “the warmest bed I’ve ever known.” All the better, we get to revisit these characters later on the album.

On first listen, I found this one of the draggiest Dressner compositions on the record. Swift locates a specific emotional state recognizably and poignantly in this song about a woman trapped (or, she wonders, maybe not trapped?) in a relationship with an emotionally withholding, unappreciative man. But the static keyboard chord patterns and the wandering melody that might be meant to evoke a sense of disappointment and numbness risk yielding numbing and disappointing music. Still, it’s growing on me.

Featuring two members of Haim—and featuring a character named after one of them, Este—“No Body, No Crime” is a straight-up contemporary country song, specifically a twist on and tribute to the wronged-woman vengeance songs that were so popular more than a decade ago, and even more specifically “Before He Cheats,” the 2006 smash by Carrie Underwood, of which it’s a near musical clone, just downshifted a few gears. Swift’s intricate variation on the model is that the singer of the song isn’t wreaking revenge on her own husband, but on her best friend’s husband, and framing the husband’s mistress for the murder. It’s delicious, except that Swift commits the capital offence of underusing the Haim sisters purely as background singers, aside from one spoken interjection from Danielle.

This one has some of the same issues as “Tolerate It,” in that it lags too much for too long, but I did find more to focus on musically here. Lyrically and vocally, it gets the mixed emotions of a relatively amicable divorce awfully damned right, if I may speak from painfully direct experience.

This is the song sung from the POV of the small-town lover that the ambitious L.A. actress from “Tis the Damn Season”—Dorothea, it turns out—has left behind in, it turns out, Tupelo. Probably some years past that Xmas tryst, when the old flame finally has made it. “A tiny screen’s the only place I see you now,” he sings, but adds that she’s welcome back anytime: “If you’re ever tired of being known/ For who you know/ You know that you’ll always know me.” It’s produced and arranged with a welcome lack of fuss. Swift hauls out her old high-school-romance-songs vocal tone to reminisce about “skipping the prom/ just to piss off your mom,” very much in the vein of Folklore’s teen-love-triangle trilogy.

A duet with Dessner’s baritone-voiced bandmate in the National, Matt Berninger, “Coney Island” suffers from the most convoluted lyrics on Evermore (which, I wonder unkindly, might be what brought Berninger to mind?). The refrain “I’m on a beach on Coney Island, wondering where did my baby go” is a terrific tribute to classic pop, but then Swift rhymes it with “the bright lights, the merry go,” as if that’s a serviceable shorthand for merry-go-round, and says “sorry for not making you my centerfold,” as if that’s somehow a desirable relationship outcome. The comparison of the bygone affair to “the mall before the internet/ It was the one place to be” is clever but not exactly moving, and Berninger’s lines are worse. Dessner’s droning arrangement does not come to the rescue.

This song is also overrun with metaphors but mostly in an enticing, thematically fitting way, full of good Swiftian dark-fairytale grist. It’s fun to puzzle out gradually the secret that all the images are concealing—an engaged woman being drawn into a clandestine affair. And there are several very good “goddamns.”

The lyrical conceit here is great, about two gold-digging con artists whose lives of scamming are undone by their falling in love. It reminded me of the 1931 pre-Code rom-com Blonde Crazy, in which James Cagney and Joan Blondell act out a very similar storyline. And I mostly like the song, but I can’t help thinking it would come alive more if the music sounded anything like what these self-declared “cowboys” and “villains” might sing. It’s massively melancholy for the story, and Swift needs a far more winningly roguish duet partner than the snoozy Marcus Mumford. It does draw a charge from a couple of fine guitar solos, which I think are played by Justin Vernon (aka Bon Iver, who will return shortly).

The drum machine comes as a refreshing novelty at this point. And while this song is mostly standard Taylor Swift torrents of romantic-conflict wordplay (full of golden gates and pedestals and dropping her swords and breaking her high heel, etc.), the pleasure comes in hearing her look back at all that and shrugging, “Long story short, it was a bad ti-i-ime,” “long story short, it was the wrong guy-uy-uy,” and finally, “long story short, I survived.” She passes along some counsel I’m sure she wishes she’d had back in the days of Reputation: “I wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things/ Your nemeses will defeat themselves.” It’s a fairly slight song but an earned valedictory address.

Swift fan lore has it that she always sequences the real emotional bombshell as Track 5, but here it is at 13, her lucky number. It’s sung to her grandmother, Marjorie Finlay, who died when Swift was in her early teens, and it manages to be utterly personal—down to the sample of Marjorie singing opera on the outro—and simultaneously utterly evocative to anyone who’s been through such grief. The bridge, full of vivid memories and fierce regrets, is the clincher.

This electroacoustic kiss-off song, loaded up with at least a fistful of gecs if not a full 100 by Dessner and co-producers BJ Burton and James McAlister, seems to be, lyrically, one of Swift’s somewhat tedious public airings of some music-industry grudge (on which, in case you don’t get it, she does not want “closure”), but, sonically, it’s a real ear-cleaner at this point on Evermore. Why she seems to shift into a quasi-British accent for fragments of it is anyone’s guess. But I’m tickled by the line, “I’m fine with my spite and my tears and my beers and my candles.”

I’m torn about the vague imagery and vague music of the first few verses of the album’s final, title track. But when Vernon, in full multitracked upper-register Bon Iver mode, kicks in for the duet in the middle, there’s a jolt of urgency that lands the redemptive ending—whether it’s about a crisis in love or the collective crisis of the pandemic or perhaps a bit of both—and satisfyingly rounds off the album.

[clumsyclifford]

my gift is my song (and this one’s for you)

part 2 of the your song series which is once again dedicated to loml @calumcest helen i hope....this gives u some modicum of joy :’) i wrote it literally at like 1am so if it sucks that would be why 

part 1 on tumblr // part 1 on ao3 // ao3 link for this part

-

There are certain invariable facts: London is the capital of England, E flat is the most beautiful key to play in, and Michael is in love with Calum Hood.

-

There are certain invariable facts: London is the capital of England, E flat is the most beautiful key to play in, and Michael is in love with Calum Hood.

He hadn’t meant to be. In fact, he’d tried not to be, because it can be difficult, being in love with your closest (and only) work partner, and it’s bad enough that they’re fucking. This thing he and Calum have is unnamed, and as such unaddressed. They sleep in the same bed most nights, and kiss a lot, and have passionate sex that leaves both of them breathless, but they’re not, like, dating — they're not in love. They can’t be. At this stage in their career, one scandal like that and they’re out of the game forever.

So it’s not like Michael has been seeing Calum casually for a few weeks and is starting to feel something more. It’s more like Michael had watched Calum chew on his lower lip as he worked on lyrics over breakfast one morning, and it had hit him full force.

Michael’s in love with Calum. That’s just one more thing he has to repress and never think about. It’s not like he’s wanting for much, anyway; the realization hasn’t put much of a damper on his life, because Calum’s right there, always, just within arm’s reach, so willing and easy and pliant that Michael thinks it’s too good to be true. Calum is too good to be true, and he’s too gorgeous to be Michael’s, but here they are anyway.

(He’s not Michael’s, not really, Michael has to remind himself regularly. At any point Calum could decide to go get a girlfriend or fuck someone else, and Michael would have to be okay with it.

Calum doesn’t seem like he plans to do that anytime soon, though.)

Michael wakes up and decides today is going to be a no-pants day, because it’s his own fucking house and he can do what he likes. His mum will fuss, probably, but Michael’s also an adult, so her words don’t hold much weight anymore. 

He treads heavily as he takes the stairs, and when he enters the kitchen Calum is already awake, along with the rest of his family. “Morning,” he greets them all. Calum doesn’t acknowledge him; there’s a pen in his hand and he looks close to being done with something, so Michael doesn’t bitch at him for it.

“Get dressed, Mikey,” his mum says.

“Michael,” Michael corrects her, forcefully. Calum’s the only one who calls him Mikey, and that’s only because he’s too much of a little bitch to listen when Michael tells him not to. He ties his bathrobe anyway, as a compromise.

“I’m not having you moping around here all day,” his mum says, which is funny. What’ll she do? Kick him out?

“We’re songwriting,” Michael tells her. He jerks his chin at Calum for emphasis. Calum glances up at Michael’s mum, then at Michael, as if only just realizing there’s a conversation going on above his head.

Michael skids his eyes over the pages Calum’s scribbling on, but he’s a moment too late to read them; Calum picks them up, staring at them as if they’ve unlocked the secret to the universe, and Michael doesn’t hear anything anyone else says after that. Calum looks the way he looks when he’s got a winner, and Michael wants it.

Sure enough, moments later Calum hands the pages off to Michael, wordlessly. Michael takes them and scans the lyrics: it’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside. I’m not one of those who can easily hide.

His heart rate picks up, and he’s not sure why. These words are personal, and sincere, and they feel like —

They feel like how Michael feels, about Calum.

He looks back at Calum, and wants to ask a million things, but his mum’s in here, still fucking talking, so he just says, meekly, “There’s egg on this,” and then immediately leaves the kitchen. He can hear this song, already. God, he can hear it so clearly that Calum might have plagiarized it. Except he can’t have, because Michael would surely remember hearing a song this — well — 

Adoring, Michael’s subconscious provides. 

He sits at the piano and sets the lyrics on the music stand, and when he puts his fingers to the keys (Calum calmly saying, “I better go take a shave, I think,” in the background), the melody appears unbidden. It’s like it’s been sitting under his fingertips for years, just waiting for the right words, and now they’re here, and Michael’s heart is too big for his chest, and his lungs too small, and he plays every note and tentatively sings.

“It’s a little bit funny,” he starts, “this feeling inside. I’m not one of those who can easily hide.” He pauses, takes a breath. “Don’t have much money, but, boy, if I did…I’d buy a big house where we both could live.” 

He can feel these lyrics in his bones. He wants to sing them to Calum, to look in Calum’s eyes and say this is what I’ve felt for you since the day we met in that cafe and sang “Streets of Laredo” too loud to be appropriate, since I kissed you on the roof and you kissed me back, since I’ve fucking known you.

But these aren’t even his words. They’re Calum’s. These aren’t his own thoughts, or feelings.

Something moves in his periphery. “If I was a sculptor,” he continues, and then chuckles a bit at the next line, “but then again…no.” He glances to the side, and Calum’s standing at the doorway, mesmerized. Michael smiles and looks back at the lyrics. “Or a man who makes potions in a traveling show. I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do.” He turns his head, slows down a bit, and meets Calum’s eyes. “My gift is my song, and this one’s for you.” For you, he thinks, with his whole heart and soul, and Calum looks spellbound by the music and a little bit scared and a little bit desperate, but there’s no mistaking the amount of love in his gaze as he watches Michael. Even Michael can see it, and he feels it all the way into his fingertips.

He looks back at the words just as Calum cracks a smile, so sudden that the room lights up with it. “So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do; you see I’ve forgotten, if they’re green or they’re blue,” and oh, oh. Sometimes Calum tries to write from Michael’s perspective, but not this one. Calum’s eyes are deep and brown, and Michael’s the one with the blue-green eyes that change colors whenever they fucking feel it, apparently.

“Anyway, the thing is…what I really mean,” Michael goes on, and hides a smile as he sings it. It’s just like Calum to write lyrics like this, so stream-of-consciousness, to say things like anyway and then again, no and try to double back and explain himself. This isn’t just a song; this is a letter, a message, and Michael feels every feeling ever about being the one receiving it.

He reads the next line and almost stutters over it; as it is, he has to tense his jaw so he doesn’t cry. “Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen,” he sings, softly, because this isn’t a line for the world to hear, this is his, his and Calum’s. 

He thinks Calum is still standing in the doorway, but he’s too nervous to look over now, afraid that one glance will make him too misty-eyed to read the words, or make his palms too sweaty to play. He’s overwhelmed with love, and he’s not done with the song just yet.

“And you can tell everybody, this is your song,” Michael goes on, and fuck it — he turns his head again, and Calum is still there, wide-eyed and staring, like he can’t quite believe something. “It may be quite simple, but now that it’s done, I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words…” He nearly chokes on the next part. “How wonderful life is, while you’re in the world,” he manages, gentle.

He doesn’t deserve these words, but he knows they’re his. And when he looks again at Calum, thoughtlessly playing a final chord, he knows that Calum knows that he knows they’re for him.

He glances around himself when he finishes. He mum and gran are both sat in the room; Michael feels exposed, and he needs to be alone with Calum, like, yesterday.

Calum blinks at him, doe-eyed, then steals out of the room, and Michael swallows thickly and follows after him, footfalls muted by the carpet.

He closes their door behind him. Calum’s standing in the middle of the room like he’s not quite sure what to do with himself.

“You wrote that?” Michael says. Okay, stupid question. He amends, “For me.”

It’s supposed to be a question, but comes out like a statement. Calum nods.

“Did you mean it?”

Calum stares at him. “How could I not mean it, Mikey?”

“Fuck,” Michael says. “That’s, like. A love song.”

“Yeah.”

“A real, proper love song, not some cheesy poppy Daniel you’re a star shit.”

“Yeah,” Calum says, nervous but steady.

“For me,” Michael says again. He’s not sure he can believe it.

“Yeah,” Calum says a third time. “Is that okay?”

“Yes, it’s fucking okay,” Michael says, a little out of breath. “More than okay. But I thought we were — like. I don’t know. Not…that.” He sees Calum flinch, and hurriedly adds, “But I don’t care. I want to be that.”

“You do?” Calum says.

“Fuck, are you kidding me, Cal? I love you. I — I love you more than anyone’s ever loved. I didn’t think I was capable of love until I met you. You make me feel like I’m something more, like I’m something worthwhile, like I’m artwork, when in reality you’re the artwork, and I’m just the lucky bastard who —”

Calum cuts him off with a searing kiss, and Michael startles and then sinks into it. The kiss spreads to every part of him, more than it ever has; he can feel it in his palms and the arches of his feet and his stomach and his chest. He wraps his arms around Calum’s waist and pulls him in, crowding as close as he can. He’s kissed Calum too many times to count, but this one says everything he wasn’t allowed to say before. I love you. I mean it. I love you. I mean it. I love you. I mean it.

Calum pants against Michael’s lips when they break apart, and Michael feels dizzy. “Mine are the sweetest eyes you’ve ever seen?” he can’t help asking. “Really?”

“Fuck off,” Calum grumbles.

“No, it’s cute.” Michael kisses Calum again. “Very romantic. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I haven’t anymore,” Calum says. “It’s yours now. Your Song, you see?”

Michael shakes his head. “Cal, it’s our song,” he says quietly.

“The name of the song is Your Song, you idiot,” Calum says.

Michael shoves his shoulder for ruining the moment, but Calum grabs his sleeve as he stumbles back, and they both collapse onto the bed.

(They don’t leave the bed for a while.)

(Michael could die right now and he’d die a happy man.)

[milkygcf]

lights down low;

//credits to @swugasweet​ for the gif//

Pairing | jjk x myg

Genre | angst, a lot of it, fluff at the end because i’m not that cruel, hyyh inspired because i want that yoonkook happy ending

Warnings | mentions/implied suicide, lots of fire, yoongi curses like once

Word Count | 2,087 

Summary |  ❝ after the fire, they find themselves beside the sea, waltzing under the light of the moon.❞

or

❝ au where yoonkook are dancing beside the sea to lights down low because they finally got their happy ending.❞

Author’s Note | i wrote this whole thing in a day ... granted it’s not that long, i’ve never typed something so fast in my life lol. if any of you would like, you can also find this fic on ao3, which is attached to this link. i hope you enjoy reading this piece! 

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

Fire.

The blaze of an inferno that alights in that damned motel room. And in the very middle of it - a tuft of pink hair. Jungkook knows him - he’s been familiar with him for long now. Fire dances around him, diligently stepping from one side to another, slowly closing in on a man whose fat tears trickle down his distorted face. 

That’s all Jungkook sees when he drifts off into slumber. 

The arduous screams and cries of the very same man he’d met in detention back in school. The very same man whose nimble fingers pranced along the monotonous keys of a brown piano that sent Jungkook into a reverie. 

Ever since that very day, the same day glass shattered and voices rose, nothing has been dandy. 

Jungkook wakes up with wet cheeks each night, his body profoundly aching for the hold of none other than Min Yoongi - his very first love. 

His only leftover of him was the piece of cloth embracing the youth’s trembling shoulders - an old flannel, one Yoongi was quite fond of. It’s all he was able to retrieve from the ferocious wildfire that swallowed the soft tuft of pink locks.

Jungkook could hear the tender notes of a piano playing in the distance, slowly being drowned out by the bustling of the city that leaves him feeling hurtful. It’s the same tune Yoongi taught him at the music shop, on the brown piano comfortably set in the middle. 

The floorboards beneath his feet are cold. They send shivers coursing through his spine and Jungkook whimpers. No longer does he feel that alleviating warmth spread through him at the brush of his first love’s lips against his skin - the only warmth that spread through him was the one caused by the fire. It made him anxious. 

With dread clawing at his legs, a frown etching upon his lips, he visits the rooftop one last time. 

The same rooftop where he counted the stars with Yoongi, the one in which they’d shown each other the authenticity of love. 

The building’s eerily silent. It mocks him for his solitude, leaves him dreading quietly with himself. Jungkook’s skin tingles.

His body takes him up to the barren rooftop, where his eyes meet the dazzling lights of the city before him. It used to be so comforting, akin to the warm embrace his mother used to give him before he strolled off to school. 

He missed those times, where jovial smiles were the only thing decorating his features. It’s silly, how things can change so quickly, too quickly, leaving you to wander in hopes of finding your path. 

Whereas other souls find their lane, Jungkook’s perished. It no longer stood clearly before him, no longer brought him the most beautiful moments in life. 

Instead, it brought him to this very rooftop, where he lets himself reminisce what’s left in his consciousness.   

It’s quite chilly outside - the thin articles of clothing don’t do him justice at all. But Jungkook doesn’t mind, he’s grown used to the cold wrapping itself around his being, down to his very bones. 

A smile braces his lips. 

It’s beautiful - it’s utterly magnificent, how thrilling the world truly is. He wishes that one day, he’ll be able to experience it all, every nook and cranny of it. 

He wishes that he could do that with Yoongi. 

But alas, every beautiful moment in life comes to an end, leaving its victims fruitless. 

His gaze catches the stars then. They shine rather splendidly on this particular night. They offer Jungkook the comfort he craves, the hand he wishes to hold when he’s overcome by those horrendous nightmares that visit him each night.

His feet pad closer to the edge. 

He could see more of the city now, all the energy it emits from the citizens that don’t seem to know how to pause, how to just live in the moment and cherish that around it before it withers away like dead leaves. 

Jungkook wonders if there’s someone that’s lonely out there, just like him. 

If there’s someone whose heart aches incredibly at the loss of a loved one, whose heart can no longer bear the feeling of solitude. He can only wish them the best. 

Right now, at this very moment, it’s him and the starry night.

The starry night and him. 

He edges closer to the rim of the rooftop, lets himself plummet down onto the roughness of the building as a sigh escapes his chapped lips. His mind is cloudy - it's overcome by static. 

That is, until he sees him.

Yoongi, in all his glory, reaching his hand out for Jungkook to take. He hesitates - he doesn't know if he's real or not. It must be a figment of his imagination. But he looks so real, so authentic. The way his brows furrow and his lips quirk in an insincere reassuring smile. 

Although, it makes him think.

Anyone who falls in love with the likes of Yoongi, is an absolute fool. The man was indeed one of a kind, with that impeccable smile of his and those feline eyes. Ah - Yoongi was not a man of words, nor was he one to display his emotions so easily. However, his eyes told Jungkook everything he needed to know. 

Those eyes - they held heaps upon heaps of ciphers within them. They were misty, barely definable, but Jungkook accelerated through. He basked in those secrets, and held them close to his heart.

He was a fool. 

“Yoongi…”

Said man was beyond furious. Jungkook had to go around babbling things he knew were a sensitive topic for Yoongi. Albeit the youth having bright intentions, he wouldn’t hear it. His knuckles turn white at the deathly grip he has around his lighter.   

“Just go. Piss off.” 

Yoongi refused to hear anything else. He was flat out drunk, his breath reeking of alcohol, making Jungkook grimace. His fingers played with the lighter he always brought around with him. The brunet had reprimanded him countless times not to play with such things, but Yoongi was quite hard headed. 

Jungkook hoped this would just be another childish squabble, one that they would easily see through once Yoongi regains his senses.

But that was the very last night Jungkook saw Yoongi. 

There it is - the ache in his heart at the very memory of that dreadful night. Yoongi had gotten himself piss drunk, and Jungkook knew he shouldn’t have, but his tongue was too heavy not to say a word. 

Yoongi had always been hard headed.

However, despite being hard headed, Yoongi was an angel. Beyond his austere exterior, he was a man with many passions, a man whose love for the world goes deeper than the word itself. Jungkook remembers the countless times they’d spent together by the sea, hand in hand, looking at each other as if they were more than just flesh and blood. 

They’d whisper affectionate words, sit by the shore and tell the tides a tale of two. And as the moon shone down on them, they’d bask in each other’s touch.  

Jungkook hoists himself off his seat, stumbling just the slightest bit. The wind seemed to pick up its energy then, and he takes the moment to breathe it all in. His arms spread out. 

Maybe in his next life, he’ll be happy. 

“Jungkook, wake up.” 

--

He’s immediately jostled out of his sleep by the body lying comfortably beside him, concern written all over his face by the youth’s crys. His eyes are wide, akin to those of a deer caught in headlights. Sweat rolls off Jungkook’s forehead. 

Yoongi shushes him softly, fingers carding through his tousled locks. It tended to calm the brunet down a lot. “It’s alright,” he mumbles, voice sultry yet gentle. “I’m right here. Everything’s alright.” He cradles the latter, his arms wrapping securely around his trembling shoulders.

It’s the reassurance Jungkook needed - the warmth emitting from Yoongi’s body, the skinship, the way he spoke with such gentleness it eased his tense muscles and bubbling anxiety. 

“Yoongi…” Jungkook whispers, voice breaking. 

“I’m here.”

He was. 

There’s no more yelling, no more cursing because certain words shouldn’t have been said. No, they were finally at peace. Jungkook’s nightmares were just that - nightmares. Nothing more than a figment of all his fears combined into one atrocious dream.

Everything was okay now. 

Jungkook buries himself into Yoongi, his arms snaking around the man almost as if he’d wither away and leave nothing behind. He lets his tears stain the fabric of Yoongi’s shirt, painting it in all his sorrows in return of solace. 

Yoongi can only let him, his heart aching at the way Jungkook sobs loudly into his shoulder.  

Perhaps a walk by the sea would calm his nerves down, bring a jovial smile to Jungkook’s lips. He’d always ramble on and on about how utterly fascinating the sea is, never once growing old and recording tales for future generations. 

It was one of the many things he adored about him. 

Once Jungkook pulls himself away, Yoongi takes the opportunity to wipe his tears. A chuckle leaves his lips at how frail the kid was. He desperately wishes that Jungkook will always find happiness whenever a frown seems to find his face. 

“I love you, I love you so much, please don’t leave me, please don’t,” Jungkook’s words are all a jumble - it makes Yoongi laugh as he places a tender kiss atop of the latter’s head. “Promise I won’t kid. You can count on my words.” 

He continues to trail kisses all around his face, leaving no spot unkissed. It’s until he reaches his lips, and he brings Jungkook closer until there’s no space left between their bodies. Yoongi kisses him like it’s his last day on earth, letting every emotion seep into it to make up for all the times he’s done Jungkook wrong. 

Yoongi had always been unaware of what love feels like, what it looks like, but he understands it through Jungkook, through his little habits and the way his eyes sparkle whenever he puts his pearly whites on show. 

He doesn’t deserve Jungkook - he knows he doesn’t. 

The kid was something beyond divine - with a heart made out of pure gold, the pretty moles on his face that are the wonders of the world. With the way his eyes glistened delightedly as this cruel world. 

“What do you say we take a stroll down the beach? Heard it’s really pretty tonight.” 

Yoongi really did know the way to Jungkook’s heart. 

That night, they visited the swaying of the sea. It’s peaceful, the only thing that could be heard being their feet buried into the sand and the gentle dancing of the waves as it kisses the shore. It calms Jungkook’s erratic heart. 

“This is where we had our first date,” Yoongi comments, carding a hand through his raven locks. “You nerded out about the Marvel universe. Granted I didn’t understand a single fucking thing you were saying, but you were cute.”

His words spread red across Jungkook’s cheeks. He giggles quietly to himself, reminiscing the moment clearly. Yoongi’s incessant whining about not being fond of water was the highlight of that day. 

It’s funny how they always find themselves going to the sea, leaving every remnant of them to rock alongside the waves. 

Jungkook lets his arms snake around the elder’s neck as he lets out a satisfied sigh. His cheeks are no longer stained with tears - he no longer fears what his nightmares depict. Jungkook feels at peace. 

Yoongi takes the opportunity to throw a song on, shoving his phone down beside them as he sets his arms upon Jungkook’s waist. The latter was a big sap - something Yoongi adored greatly, even if he thought it was icky. He loved occasions like these, basking in the feeling of being in love. 

As the tune of the song slowly reverberates in the air, Jungkook hums along, melting in Yoongi’s touch around him. 

They’re slow dancing, the moonlight shining onto them wonderfully, stripping them bare for this one night. Normally, it’s them against the world - them against all the wicked things that enslaves them. But on this particular night, there are no villainous hardships to strike tears. They swim in each other’s divinities. 

There are no more fires to wreak havoc, leaving them in isolation. 

And in this very moment, as they silently waltz under the moonlight, hearts beating as one, Jungkook lets a smile brace his lips. 

He feels content.