#here we see a half-decent attempt at a bird

[alatismeni-theitsa]

https://www.lifo.gr/stiles/optiki-gonia/kaos-einai-i-shesi-mas-me-ti-mythologia

Can they stop with modern labels? Every time they try to say that ancient Greece was a queer paradise where it was far from this.

It was criticised in society unless the man was powerful and rich. Like it was a tiny minority and they create this narrative of ancient Greece have over 50% being queer or something.

It's time for our xenoi friends and followers to learn another Greek term. Xenolatreia. It means "worship of anything foreign (mainly from the western countries)", which is a widespread phenomenon among Greeks for the past 2 centuries. It's the following sentiment: "Anything that comes out of western countries is good and it should be praised because we here in Greece are a bunch of illiterate monkeys who live on trees, and cannot see the Deeper Message our Superior Westerners show."

Lifo has had some decent articles over the years but this one reeks of xenolatreia. Lifo supports that the Greeks hate the series because it has queer people in it. so it goes on a campaign to show that Greek mythology had queer people. Which, sure, I don't disagree, but it misses the point. While some Greeks surely have been offended just by the existence of queerness, Lifo misses the REAL reason why Greeks in large felt their mythology was butchered by KAOS. They even wrote it in the article themselves:

"Zeus is a paranoid authoritarian dictator in mid-life crisis who fears losing his power and murders his aides to vent. Hera is a promiscuous goddess who repeatedly betrays Zeus and has mutilated mute priestesses for protection. Dionysos is a spoiled and immature zoomer who, apart from pranks, indulges in orgies with all genders. Poseidon a sadistic god of the sea, who tortures the crew on his ship for fun. Prometheus is gay and killed his lover so he could overthrow Zeus. Orpheus is a famous pop singer and Eurydice does not love him. Theseus is black and gay. The Erinyes are tough-as-nails mechs that look like they stepped out of 'Sons of Anarchy'. The Fates resemble a three-member jury in a talent show. The Trojans are a terrorist group that acts against the gods. Crete is more reminiscent of California than the Mediterranean."

Queer and diverse identities in general are nothing bad. The way KAOS mixed everything into a salad is the real bad thing, and the showrunners hide behind the queer representation when they are met with any other kind of criticism. It's the same tactic Lifo follows here. Only extremely stupid people would have an issue if Ganymees and Zeus were a couple in the show when it was also a part of our mythology. The problem about KAOS for the larger population is not the queerness.

Lifo continues:

The idea we have of Greek myths is, at best, a jumble of bits and pieces created by the Greek school: Zeus has sexual relations with mortals, Hera is jealous, Dionysus engages in revelry, Persephone for some reason resides in Hades , a bird eats the flesh of Prometheus, Aphrodite is the most beautiful and Athena the wisest of the bunch, Artemis hunts, Apollo plays the lyre: a very general and vague idea, much more chaotic than the mixing of myths which "Kaos" attempts.

What a shitty argument. Did you pay any attention in school, I wonder?? Do you know that we know our myths also outside the Greek school and that the Greek school teaches based on the ancient sources, and we often read the ancient text itself?? Also, no, the situation here is not more absurd than what KAOS does. The mythology is what it is. KAOS takes an already established thing and makes a turd out of playdoh.

Instead, we demand that a series aiming for commercial appeal follow our preferred script line and stay true to what? In our own obsessions, revisions, angulations and Christian puritanisms?

To our freaking culture, dear Lifo. To the myths we wrote and passed down for two and a half millennia, dear Lifo. They are fairly widespread and they are very difficult to get wrong.

[latibvles]

fix the unfixable.

a bit late but for the next prompt “injured” i was, ahem, enabled into some POW Camp angst by somebody *cough* @thoughpoppiesblow *cough* so here’s that: post-Münster featuring June, Viv, & Lena through Lena’s eyes. No one said i had to go in order of occurrence for these so we are skipping around because it’s fun. General warning for the mistreatment of POWs & discussion of character death, although we don’t get especially detailed about it! Better safe than sorry.

—

“This is bullshit.”

“June.”

“What?! S’not like they can understand me. This is all fucking bullshit.”

Lena’s mouth feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton: not just because of the lack of solace she can provide, but also because the last spot where they had water was the transit camp. Then they’d been subjected to more of a train, more walking — screamed at when they falter in a language Lena vows to never, ever learn.

And Viv was taking it like a champ the whole time — indifferent in the face of their screaming, chin jut out in silent defiance and refusing help from either her or June up and until she stumbled getting off the train and June had pretty much tossed her body over her own, screaming ‘She fell! She fucking fell!’ in the face of red-faced screaming guards and barking, feral dogs.

Lena stood there, feeling stupid and helpless in all the ways that actually mattered.

They pointed guns in their faces and for a moment Lena thought she would be doing the rest of this journey alone. 

Now they’re half-carrying her, because it doesn’t take a genius to know that whatever’s up with Viv’s ankle isn’t going to be pretty if they ever get the chance to look at it — and the tumble off the platform certainly didn’t help. Viv’s head is both bloody and bowed in unshakable concentration as she tries to keep the weight off it.

Okay, so June’s right, this is bullshit. It’s cold, they’re all bruised and battered and cut to hell, Lena’s fairly certain they’re the only ones that made it out of their fort alive, and the one person she’s known to stand tall no matter the circumstances can’t even use both legs right now. Sudden movements mean getting shot though, so as much as she wants to scream — she doesn’t. She just tightens her grip on Viv, and prays to whatever God might be listening that she and June can make a half-decent pair of human crutches.

Lena hates it; she hates that there’s nothing she can do to fix this.

That’s her job, isn’t it? Fixing things — the electrical problems in their plane, engine troubles, keeping them in the air so the pilot could get them home. Well they were on the ground, now, birds with clipped wings and boulders tied to their ankles. Any attempt to escape would be pointless. And even if they tried, it wasn’t like they’d make it very far, tired and hungry like this, behind enemy lines. What would more likely occur would be they’d get recaptured by some German farmer and be tossed right back into this POW carousel.

The last person who’d tried to run had been shot, his body tossed carelessly onto the train car, and all Lena could think was that leaving his body on the side of the road would’ve been kinder. That’s probably why they chose to toss it onboard.

Lena was never the superstitious type. She didn’t bring any good luck charms on a mission or say any prayers. She complied with the crew’s tradition of smacking the top of the doorframe where they hung Viv’s old PT shirt, the Pallas Athena acting as a flag and a “good luck charm” according to Inez. She’d never believed that either.

But it had to be some type of karmic thing. You go up while your two anchors have to sit the mission out, in a fort that isn’t yours ‘cause yours is too banged up to see the sky right now. Maybe it was God striking their plane down, or guiding the rocket that took out one of their engines.

She couldn’t fix the unfixable — she wasn’t Josie or Willie. Lena could only ever fix the things she could see, and there was no solution here beyond a bullet to the head, maybe.

Viv winces as she stumbles in her attempt to keep off her bad foot, a sharp and quiet sound, and Lena’s jaw clenches.

“Could always get on my back, Captain.” She murmurs.

“M’fine.” On the opposing side, June scoffs.

“You hit your head or something? She’s too heavy.” Lena’s brows furrow, and her lips tug into a frown.

“I could try.”

“They’d shoot you first for sudden movements.”

“And if they do?”

“Don’t you start playing fucking hero too,” June hisses, but there’s a crack to her voice that nearly kills Lena. Birds with clipped wings, or wounded dogs? Some bodies never make it out of the plane and the ones that do don’t always hit the ground.

And they knew that, distantly, and personally, but now they knew that fact intimately.

“Guys, really, it’s fine. Just a slip.” Viv’s voice is still scratchy and hoarse from days without use — solitary confinement will do that to a person. Lena feels guilt settling in her own aching, tired bones, and looking across to June, the sentiment seems to be shared.

“Sorry Cap,” Lena sighs out quietly, and June mumbles a similar, garbled apology. But that's not even the half of it. She wants to splutter a million apologies for a million different things — I'm sorry we had to bail, and I'm sorry I can't carry you, and I'm arguing in your ear, and you'd probably want anyone but me with you right now, and—

Viv shakes her head, and although she smiles, it barely reaches her eyes.

“S’like being back in the air,” she insists. “When you all start arguing about something stupid over the comms…” She trails off, and the silence between the three of them is so loud in that moment that it almost pushes Lena to tears. They're wounded in every way a person could be, and for Lena, that fact alone is humiliating. “That’s a no-go on the piggyback ride though. Save your strength.”

Ahead of them, one of the officers shouts what Lena can only assume is something akin to Shut up, Bomber Bitch all encompassed in one word in German.

Lena cranes her head up to try and see over a few of the heads and get a gauge of where they’re walking to. If it’s another train or car, she might just lose her mind.

Metal wire, wood posts, fences miles high and towers looming over them and touching the slate gray sky. Before Lena can even try to make out what the signs say, the gates are being pushed open, and the rattling is only overpowered by a long, low siren that sends a chill up her back and has Viv lifting her head once more — just barely.

That’s when the shouting starts all at once — loud and low, names and what Lena assumes are nicknames being hurled at them and the group they’re walking with. She can barely make sense of the numbers and names being shouted at her. Johns and Joes and Smiths. She doesn’t recognize any voices sticking out amongst the din, even if she can pick out a few of the sentences.

“Shit, more broads?”

“They don’t got their own camp?”

“Hey blondie, what group you ladies with?!”

Lena looks at June, who’s jaw looks so clenched her teeth might crack, and she wonders if the trembling comes from her own legs trying not to give out or if it’s from the effort not to say something that’ll get them in more trouble the moment they make it down this endless corridor. She contorts her own arm, just for a moment, to pat at June’s where they’re looped around Viv.

“Lena!” For a moment, she’s convinced she’s hearing things. Certainly not her, there’s gotta be another— “Red! Cuh-mahn O’Flannigan, over here!”

She’d recognize that accent anywhere, and even if she didn’t, there was only one group of guys who’d had the misfortune of giving her an itemized list of god awful “nicknames.” Her head whips this way and that until she finds them — and it takes everything in her not to let out a strangled cry of relief at the sight of Crank right by the fence. Harrie Morgan’s practically climbing on top of him, wild-eyed and hollering so nonsensically Lena can hardly understand her.

“Lena! Juney! Holy shit— that you Cap?”

Between them, Viv lets out a noise that sounds like something between a laugh and a sob.

“Though ya got lost! Inez, c’mere!” Lena waves her free arm dismissively, a promise of we’ll come to you posed on her tongue — but that’s not exactly what comes out as Viv begins to feel heavier and heavier on their shoulders.

“Gonna need some extra hands! We got precious cargo over here!”

[justwearthegoddamncardigan]

Hello:)

so I was looking thru ur pinned post and saw that u wrote for Harry Potter and was wondering if you would do a fic for George Weasley? ( fem reader pls) but basically, I was just kind of thinking of an introverted Gryffindor who loves books and George meets them and they both (very obvious to others) have a crush on each other? Maybe George just asks them for book recs even tho he had no interest in reading before just so he can find a way to talk to the reader? I know you have a lot of fics in the making so take ur time please<3

A HP REQUEST?? This is amazing I'm so excited to be branching out from maze runner again, and I absolutely love this request it's super cute ❤❤. Ty for being so kind and sweet as well :)

Umm :D So I wrote the above ^^^ response as soon as the request came in and now... IT'S BEEN TWO MONTHS IM SO SORRY ANON!! Hope you're still out there to read 😭

It's a love story

George Weasley x fem!reader

I am not British *thumbs up in australian* so prepare either for out-of-place non-british dialogue or cringe attempts to fit into the universe. idk which one it's gonna be so I guess we'll find out

3.1k words

Warnings: language (swearing)

You turn the corner and register a flash of red hair before colliding hard with a body.

"Shit!"

You groan as you sit up, staring around to see your books have been knocked out of your arms and onto the floor.

"Fuck, sorry, listen I've gotta-"

"Weasley!"

You turn in surprise as Filch marches down the corridor, fist raised with an expression of rage on his face.

"Shit," you whisper.

"Yeah," says the person who knocked you over, who you've now found is none other than George Weasley. Of course, the guy you've kinda sorta maybe liked for years is only talking to you after literally bowling you over.

"Here." He points his wand and charms all your books into little palm-sized rectangles, before gathering them up and stuffing them in his pockets. "We've gotta go."

"Where?" you stare around the empty corridor, unable to find a decent hiding spot.

"Follow me." George leads you over to a dusty-looking tapestry and ducks behind it.

"What the-"

"Come on!" he reaches out and grabs your hand, tugging you in.

You stumble through the gap between the tapestry and the wall, practically falling into George's chest.

"Sorry," you mutter, and you're glad it's dark because you can feel your face blushing like crazy.

"I know you're 'round 'ere, Weasley," you hear Filch snarl from outside.

You hear him muttering to himself as his footsteps eventually recede, and you let out a breath. "He's gone."

You turn to push through the tapestry to get out, only to be met with a thin slab of solid stone. "What-"

George winces. "Yeah, once you get in here it closes for about half an hour."

"Half an hour?" you repeat incredulously.

You can barely see his nod in the dark. "I mean, one of them closes for two hours once you get in, so half isn't too bad."

There's beat of silence, before, "Lumos."

The tip of George's wand lights up, illuminating the small space. "Oh, it's you," he says, seemingly on instinct the moment the light appears.

"Pardon?"

He seems to catch himself, shaking his head. "Nevermind, just- Here, sit down."

You sit down on the floor with your legs crossed, heart skipping a beat as your knee brushes against his in the cramped space.

"We're in the same Transfiguration class, aren't we?" asks George.

"Yeah." You're pleasantly surprised by that. You tend to be pretty quiet in class, mostly keeping to yourself.

"You're always the first person to get a new transfiguration successfully. Bird to glass on the first try, right?"

"I- yes," you say, warming at the recognition of the hard work you've always put into Transfiguration.

He nods. "Took me the whole lesson to get that one right. Hey, I never caught your name in class?"

"It's L/n," you say. "Y/n L/n."

"Good to meet ya, Y/n," he grins. "I'm George."

"I know," you can't help but say, smiling slightly.

"Oh, your books." George empties his pockets of your miniaturised books. "Engorgio." He waves his wand over them, changing them back to their normal size.

"Thanks," you say, pulling them towards you and stacking them up.

"You read a lot?"

You smile to yourself, picturing the dozens of books you go through in a term. "Just a bit."

"Sure," says George, eyeing the four novels sitting in front of you now.

Before long, you reach out and push against the tapestry, finding it to be cloth again instead of stone.

"Time to go?" George stands and pushes through, and you follow him into the corridor.

"Finally," you say, stretching before grabbing your books.

"Sorry about earlier," says George with a sheepish smile. "And for trapping you for half an hour."

You shake your head. "It's okay."

He grins at you. "Alright then, see you 'round, Y/n."

You stand still, rooted to the ground as he leaves, waving behind him, and something in you clicks. Oh shit.

⭒----⭒

Any thoughts about George a put aside for the night when you settle down with your book.

The common room late at night is your happy place. Most people are sleeping in the dorms, save for a couple 6th years finishing their assignments.

You tune out their little whisperings as you sit beside the crackling fire, and you can just pretend you're alone in the common room, getting lost in your book.

Before long, you're actually alone, with the remaining people all retreating to their dorms - except for one that you haven't noticed.

George is sitting across the room, barely paying attention to the essay he's meant to be editing. Every so often, he glances up at you without you noticing.

After years of sharing the same Transfig class, something about you has piqued George's interest, though he's always tried to mark it down as pure curiosity.

He can't believe it's taken literally knocking you to the ground to get your attention, and he doesn't understand how he hadn't properly met you before earlier that day. But now, he can't seem to resist the strange pull you have on him.

Get yourself together, you've only met once, idiot. George frowns as he silently berates himself, but he can't help but watch as you repeatedly flick away a strand of hair that keeps falling into your eyes.

Fuck it. Go talk to her.

George stands abruptly, nearly knocking over a goblet in the process.

You, the oblivious centre of all his thoughts for the past few hours, are still just sitting beside the fire, reading your book.

"Hey."

You jerk slightly in surprise, grabbing your book as it starts sliding out of your lap.

"Um, hi. What's up?" you manage to say coolly.

George blanks. He hadn't exactly come in with a plan. He glances down at the assignment he'd been working on; good enough. "Did you finish that work Flitwick gave us?"

"I haven't yet," you say slowly, slightly confused as to why he's here. "I've just gotta write a conclusion and edit the rest."

"I haven't got a clue how to write the damn conclusion," says George, flopping down beside you and complaining about the rigid essay structure.

You realise as he's talking that it's strangely intimate. Earlier, you'd been sitting on the floor with your back leaning on a couch and your knees up, braced against the coffee table.

Now, you're both wedged between said couch and table, and despite the generous space between the two of you, you feel oddly close to him.

"Can I read yours?" he asks, pointing to where your assignment has been sitting since you gave up and decided to just read your book.

"Sure," you say, sliding it to him.

He leans against the couch as he skims your work, fingers tapping absent-mindedly.

"God you write like a professor, Y/n," comments George. "...the fuck are all these words- incandescence?"

"I... read a little," you say with a little smile, cheeks warming at the way your name sounds in his mouth.

He glances up at you. "This is brilliant. So you've just got the conclusion to do?"

You nod, taking back the assignment as he pushes it to you.

You end up staying up way longer than you'd intended, talking to George as the conversation topic quickly strays away from any Charms essays.

By the time you go to your dorms, you haven't even finished your conclusion.

⭒----⭒

"Mate, you're not nearly as subtle as you think you are," says Fred, elbowing his brother.

George elbows him right back. "What're you on about?"

"The staring," says Fred, grin teasing. "It's getting embarrassing. If whatever little crush you've now got starts affecting my reputation, we're gonna have to have a chat about this twin thing."

George rolls his eyes. "Git."

"So..." Fred drags out the word. "Who is it then?"

He jerks his chin towards the group of girls on the other side of the Gryffindor breakfast table, where George had been conspicuously staring at you all morning.

"The one on the left - Y/L/N, she's in our Transfig class."

"Oh!" says Fred, eyes lighting up in understanding. "Oh she's great, I did a project with her once. Quiet type, bookish. Fun, though. Pretty, too," he adds, raising an eyebrow at George.

"Shut it," retorts George. "What should I do then?"

"I don't fuckin' know Georgie, just go talk to her. Ask for book recommendations or something."

"That's... actually a decent idea."

" 'course it is," says Fred. "Anything to get you guys together as fast as possible so I don't have to deal with your lovesick horsecrap."

⭒----⭒

A Quidditch game has just finished (Gryffindor victory, of course), and you're avoiding the inevitable party in the common room. You can enjoy parties on a good day, but you're just not feeling it right now.

So you're in the library, wandering around as you wait for dinner.

"Y/n!" You turn to see George doing a weird half-run toward you, not wanting to be yelled at for running in the library.

"Oh, George. Hey."

"I figured you'd be in here," he says.

"You figured...?"

"Well," he raises an eyebrow at you. "Since you read a little."

You huff out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "So why were you looking for me?"

You try to listen as he speaks, but you're immediately distracted by just about everything about him.

His cheeks are flushed red, probably cause he just transitioned from the cold outside to the heated library, and his hair is windswept and slightly wet from melted snowflakes.

He's gotten rid of his Quidditch gear, but it's strange to see him in just the casual clothes students usually wear in the dorms and common room again.

And he's still speaking. Pay attention, Y/n.

"Anyways, I just wanted to find you, cause you know, hobbies... and literature, are really... important. And the Christmas holidays are coming up. So I just wanted to ask if you had any recommendations."

You frown slightly as you remember it's only the start of November, and he barrels on, almost seeming nervous.

"For books, I mean. To read, over the holidays. I don't, uh- come in here very often, so I don't know what's good. You seemed like a good person to ask." He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck as he speaks, giving you a hopeful smile.

"I am," you say with a smirk. You straighten up confidently, banishing any nervousness because books; books you can do.

"Great," says George. "What've you got for me, Y/L/N?"

"Well what kind of books do you like?"

His grin falters. "Um-"

"Fiction, non-fiction, stories, biographies?"

"...stories?"

"Sure." You navigate to another aisle, moving into the more fiction-y section. "Action, ooh- historical, adventure, romance?" You lift an eyebrow at the last one.

"I-" He clears his throat, and you smile slightly to yourself. "Action is good, I think," he says uncertainly.

You scan the shelf currently at your eye level, before picking out a book. "I love this one," you tell him. "Pretty fast paced, which might be good for you. Also, dragons."

"Dragons," he repeats. "Great."

"How many books are you looking for?" you ask.

"Just one, I think. I wanna... get into reading, before the holidays start."

"Sure," you say, holding the book out to him.

It's like sun breaking through, when he smiles in return. "Do you think we could meet up?" he begins. "To talk about the book once I've read it?"

"Yeah, I'd like that," you smile. "And you have to tell me what you like, so I can recommend you the next one."

"Excellent."

⭒----⭒

Ever since giving George that first book you've started seeing him almost every day.

The two of you can be found huddled together in the little nooks around the library, or behind the greenhouses, or down by the lake, talking about books and school and everything in between.

But soon the holidays arrive, and you're saying goodbye to him and the rest of your friends.

Your parents are being forced to travel a lot over Christmas for work, so the first month of the holiday flies by in a whirlwind of tea in the morning with the few remaining students in Hogwarts, long peaceful walks on the grounds, and lots and lots of reading.

You've devoured a row of books in the library by the time Christmas has passed, and you've planned to go through another row, when George materialises in the common room one day, two weeks after Christmas.

"George?" you exclaim, spotting him in the common room.

He turns as he hears your voice, and his face splits into a wide grin. Without hesitation, he runs up to you and pulls you into a hug, lifting you just slightly above the floor.

Your heart swells as his laughter rings in the air, and suddenly everything is complete.

"I missed you so much," you tell him, almost surprised at your own admission. Truth is, Hogwarts is beautiful during Christmas, but it's a little lonely with everyone else having gone home.

George's responding smile is worth the wait though, and he tosses an arm around your shoulder as he leads you out of the common room.

"C'mon, it's a Hogsmeade day. No time to waste!"

⭒----⭒

The two of you settle down at a table in the Three Broomsticks, grabbing Butterbeers as you go.

"Alright then, Weasley. Did you get through the holiday book I got you?"

He smiles. "I did. And you know what I was thinking when I read it?"

"What?"

"Y/n would hate Chaolie, and she'd love Alosia."

You blink in surprise. "I- yeah, those are my exact thoughts on the book."

George smirks. "See? I know you."

"I mean yeah, I loved every chapter Alosia was in; she's my favourite. Typical, I know, everyone likes the side characters, but god, Allo would've been so much better as a main character than fucking Chaolie. G.T.L. is brilliant- we know that, she fits insane arcs and storylines into a single book, but please,-"

George listens, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth, as you continue rambling animatedly about the book, your hands gesturing enthusiastically as you speak.

"And the cover: gorgeous. You know stories like this can have the silliest cover art if they're not done well, and the choice to go almost muggle-style with a non-moving cover is perfect."

You brush a stray piece of hair away from your face, oblivious to the way George tracks the movement, desperately wanting to reach out and tuck it behind your ear for you.

The bell on the door chimes and you look over George's shoulder to see a bunch of familiar redheads walking in.

"Ah, Y/n," says Fred, floating towards your table. "Lovely to finally see you again after having to hear so much about you over Christmas."

You giggle as George thumps his brother with his book, face turning almost as red as his hair. "Stupid- git."

"This is the Y/n?" says Ron, another one of George's brothers.

His sister joins in too. "Ah, so you're the reason we had to come back early."

"Early?" you repeat, confused.

"Enough," snaps George. "Piss off, all of you," he says, fruitlessly shoving his siblings away from your table.

He groans. "Come on Y/n, we're leaving." He tugs on your hand, and you snort as his family's antics as you down the last sip of Butterbeer and hop off your seat.

"Until we meet again, Y/n." Fred salutes you as you exit, and you laugh as you wave to the rest of the Weasleys.

"Sorry about them," says George, slightly pink in the cheeks.

"Don't worry," you laugh. "It's fine. But what did Ginny mean when- hey!"

You're cut off as George yanks off his scarf and starts wrapping it around your neck and face. "...It's cold out," he explains weakly as you give him a look.

You pin him down with your gaze, and he sighs. "Fine."

He grabs your hand and leads you away from the Three Broomsticks, brushing snow off a park bench before sitting down.

Every memory he's had with you, every moment he's spent falling for you, flashes through his head.

The shy smile you had in your first few days of meeting, which he could only describe as cute, the mischievous glint in your eye when you'd almost recommended him a romance book, your laugh that he's memorised the sound of... damn it, he better not fuck this up.

You sit down beside him, giving him a concerned look.

"Okay, here it is," he says abruptly. "I like you."

You blink, caught off guard.

"You're so- you're bright," he says. "There's this light in you, and it's so fucking bright, and people don't see it. I don't get that. But whatever, they don't matter. I just mean, I've been pretty much blinded by you since we met... well, since I knocked you over running from Filch. I- god, fuck this metaphor. The point is, every time I'm not with you, I'm just wishing that I was. Cause I like you, and I wish- I'd hoped, that maybe you like me back?"

You're still silent, your brain trying to catch up with what your ears are hearing.

But George takes the silence differently. "It- it's okay if you don't. You know, I don't want to pressure you, at all. It's completely-"

"George." You take his hand. "I like you too, so damn much. I was just... I've never done this before. I didn't know if I should ask you out, or confess, or anything."

George lets out an incredulous breath. "Oh. Well then."

He rests his forehead against yours. "Y/n, will you do me the great honour of becoming my girlfriend."

You're smiling so much it almost hurts. "I'd love to," you whisper.

⭒----⭒

It's only on your first date, that you realise; "You know, we've practically be dating this whole time."

"What do you mean?" asks George, digging into his icecream.

"Meeting up, just the two of us. We've been doing it for ages, except we thought it was just book meetings."

The spoon stills halfway to George's mouth. "...fuck."

You snort, "We're both idiots, aren't we."

"Could've saved me so much grief if I'd known we were already dating. It was well shit, overthinking everything over the holidays."

"You mean when you missed me so much you convinced your whole family to come back to school early?"

"Sod off," he replies, nudging your foot and grinning. "You thought it was cute, anyway."

"I did."

There's a beat, before; "Kissing," you say, pointing your spoon at him. "We weren't totally dating, cause we didn't kiss."

"Right," agrees George, nodding. "Speaking of..."

You let out a laugh, setting your icecream down on the table, and then you let him pull you in.

Alosia, Chaolie, and GTL are just silly little details cause I can't help myself. Thank you for tolerating my self-indulgent easter eggs.

Thank you for reading, everyone! Hope you enjoyed my first fic in the HP universe <3

[bumblebeerror]

thank you for your advice, bumble.

unfortunately, i don't think my life is going to be improving anytime soon. my life just got a whole lot worse.

i had a very terrible argument/fight with my mom (the only person i still talk to) on sunday, it escalated horribly and we haven't spoken or seen each other since.

this morning, she sent me a text saying that she will no longer be communicating with me at all, which means she's essentially going no-contact with me.

given that she was the only human being i interacted with, and she just said she's done with me forever, this means i don't have anybody left. on top on having no friends, i have also lost my family now. i have nobody but myself. i'm all alone now.

i know you don't want to hear this, but i don't have anybody else to tell.

anyways, i'll try the app out i guess. as for the whole seeing i therapist and getting on medication thing, even if i wanted to, i couldn't because i can't afford it. but i guess i will search for other healthy coping mechanisms.

i'd just really like to be a person who doesn't need any coping mechanisms to be happy and healthy. a person who can just exist in their natural state and be happy. one day i hope to be that, but i have doubts, considering i keep hitting new lows, day after day.

Buddy I’m gonna be so real rn and it’s not an attempt to make you feel worse - there is no human on this earth who doesn’t have some form of coping mechanism. Even neurotypical folks have coping mechanisms, they just happen to be taught along with most schooling and half-decent upbringings, so they don’t have to seek out new ones. They’re all built-in.

I can absolutely say without any doubt that every neurodivergent person I have ever met has the wish that they didn’t need to learn new coping methods in order to be happy. I don’t blame you one iota for wanting that - its the main objective of mental health and disability advocates that neurodivergent folks be accommodated for so that we aren’t all stuck in this struggle to find coping methods at all times.

I’m sorry you fought with your mom. Having that last bit of outside interaction shut down is a massive blow, I’m not surprised it’s made you feel real low. Is it possible at all for you to reach out to other family, even more distant ones? Even if it’s very surface level, it might help just to know you have people outside your home who you can talk to about little things. Not that I mind at all reading your messages - I was actually looking forward to your response now that we’re more chatting :D

If you want to try Finch, I’ll happily add you to my friends list on it, here’s my link: Tap the link to add me as a friend, or add my friend code W3G8G5RZAK if you’ve already started. I do hope it helps - there’s loads of mental health content on it, including a bunch of mental health “first aid” stuff, guided breathing exercises, journaling stuff, meditations, all that. App’s free, the membership just unlocks extra decorative items and more in-depth mental health activities. There’s a bunch of pre-made journeys with goals in them, if you’re already pretty good at day to day needs - groups of tasks that help you reach out to others or remember to enjoy your day in little pieces. Pressing the little cards icon will show you all that stuff.

[ If you’re worried about me knowing anything abt you, I can only see the name you enter and the name of your baby bird, as well as your bird’s house if you don’t turn it off. I can’t see anything else you do. ]

[bijouxcarys]

𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧' 𝐆𝐮𝐲 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍

Masterlist

“𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚 𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐩 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤,” 𝐈 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐚 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐭.

“It’s not, it’s good! You don’t have to eat it.”

“Yeah, but it’ll be near the chips, and that’s not democratically friendly,” I pouted.

“There’s a reason you failed in politics, Maria,” she shook her head, heading to get her ketchup.

This was the downside of being broke—we had to share chips for lunch. I’d pay one day, she would pay the next.

The chips that day were exceptionally crispy, and I remember because everything seemed to be going my way. The lecture was decent, meaning Professor Ross didn’t drone on about his favourite thinkers for an entire hour and a half. We also got the full scoop from Cameron about how things were going with Marcy. Apparently, they were going more than fine, which brought immense joy to Emma. She was quite the little matchmaker when she wasn’t desperate for a shag.

I had managed to push aside most of the Roger and Patty drama and gradually came to the realisation that Brian and Freddie were absolutely right about his inclinations. He just couldn’t help it. Besides, I saw how happy he made Emma, and that was all that mattered to me. If she didn’t know, she couldn’t get hurt.

As if on cue, guess who plonked down across the table from me? Yes, you guessed correctly. Roger, the blonde drummer, flashed me a grin before shifting his gaze to eye Emma from across the cafeteria.

“For someone who’s just dropped out of uni, you sure do spend a lot of time here,” I remarked, popping a chip into my mouth and feigning interest in my notebook.

“Well, when you have a bird, you have to be there with her when you can. It’s called loyalty, Maria,” Roger replied, his eyes still fixated on Emma. I couldn’t help but scoff under my breath—it wasn’t intentional, I swear. Roger looked slightly confused and mildly offended at my reaction. But before he could question me, Emma sat down between us, holding a small pot of ketchup in her hand.

“Hiya!” Emma squealed, falling into Roger’s arms. He responded by wrapping his arm around her, and before we knew it, they were caught up in a passionate kiss—way to intimate for the middle of the cafeteria. Feeling slightly awkward, I focused my attention on the notes in front of me.

“Honestly, darlings, get a room. The whole world doesn’t need to be subjected to… this,” Freddie remarked, gesturing to the scene ahead before joining the table across from me. He flashed me a knowing smile, clearly understanding my discomfort. “Hello, darling, how’s your day going?”

With a stifled giggle, I glanced at Emma and Roger. “Yeah, I’m great.” I emphasised the word ‘great’ and then turned my attention back to Freddie. “How about you, Fred?”

“I’ve spent the morning designing and coming up with ideas that nobody else has even been able to muster up. How do you think I am?” he replied with a playful tone.

“Oh!” I squealed in slight excitement, sliding over to sit right next to me. “Let me see!”

“Calm down, darling, I’m not the next Givenchy… yet.” Freddie chuckled, sliding his folder over in front of me.

Grinning, I eagerly flipped open the folder, allowing my eyes to soak up the masterpieces that were fragments of Freddie Mercury’s mind. My gaze stopped on an outfit he had sketched up, but Freddie swiftly tried to turn the page over. I caught his wrist, preventing him from hiding it.

“Why don’t you want me to look at that?” I asked, both of us trying to stop each other from doing what the other wanted. I held onto his wrist, attempting to keep it away from the folder as I leaned closer to get a better view.

“Maria, it’s just a silly idea—”

“Oh, shut up! When has any idea you’ve ever had been a bad one, Farrokh?” I retorted.

“Call me that again, and I’ll tell Brian about the sexy dreams you have about him.”

“Fuck—just let me look at the drawing, Fred!”

“Fine!”

He finally gave in, pulling away from the folder and allowing me to have a good look.

“Fred… this is so cool.” I brought the folder up closer to my face, inspecting the details. It wasn’t as polished as his other sketches that I had seen here and there throughout my time of knowing him, but it was clear enough to notice the unconventional sleeves that resembled a mix of a poncho and bird feathers. It was flamboyant, bold, and undeniably Freddie.

“It was just an idea I had when I finished everything… I thought it would make a great costume for onstage,” Freddie explained, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“You thought right. It’s so cool. Don’t throw that away or anything. Keep it,” I said, beaming warmly at Freddie. It was rare to see him so hesitant about one of his ideas; he was usually calm and confident in his thoughts.

“Why, thank you, darling.” He flashed a toothy grin at me, slowly closing the folder, the smile still lingering on his face.

“Rog, you should thank Maria,” Emma chimed in, her lips now free from Roger’s. He seemed slightly lost for a moment for a moment but managed to tear his gaze away from Emma.

“Oh yeah, thanks,” he mumbled, turning back to Emma. However, she scooted away from him, folding her arms.

“Um, without Maria, you wouldn’t be getting a chance to record jack shit. So be nice and say thank you to her before I slap you round the face.”

“I quite like the sound of tha—”

“Roger Meadows Taylor, don’t push me.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Roger pouted, making Emma roll her eyes. He then fully spun in his seat to face me and Freddie. “Thank you, Maria. It honestly means a lot.” It was the first genuine smile he had ever directed at me, filled with gratitude.

“You’re welcome,” I replied, attempting to sound polite but unintentionally mocking his Southern mannerisms. This earned me a raised eyebrow from Roger.

“I still don’t know how we’re going to pay for a fucking session in Trident, but you know…” Roger mumbled, his attention returning to Emma.

“Oh, we have a very simple solution for that, Blondie,” Freddie interjected, winking at me as I slid back to my original spot in front of my notes.

“Hm, what’s that?”

“Sell your car, lovie,” Freddie slapped Roger on the back.

I bit both of my lips in anticipation, my eyes darting over to Roger.

“Okay,” Roger replied nonchalantly.

Freddie’s jaw dropped, leaning closer to the drummer. “Excuse me?”

“I said okay…” Roger glanced over his shoulder. “Did I stutter?”

I looked at Freddie, shock evident in my widened eyes. “Roger, we’re asking you to sell your car.”

“And I said okay,” Roger reiterated, his eyebrows scrunched up as he looked at me this time.

I turned to Emma, expecting her to be taken aback by Roger’s agreement to give up his seemingly most prized possession—apart from her. However, she appeared completely unphased.

“I feel like I’m in an episode of the fucking Twilight Zone. What’s happening right now?” I exclaimed, glancing over at Freddie for some semblance of understanding.

“Who’s in an episode of the Twilight Zone?” a familiar voice chimed in from behind me. I instantly recognised Brian’s voice. His hand gently brushed against my shoulder as he took a seat beside me, placing his tray on the table next to my notes. I couldn’t help but glance at his lunch—a simple combination of cheese and lettuce sandwiched between two thick slices of brown bread.

“Roger has agreed to sell his car,” Freddie announced, leaning forward on the table.

Brian chuckled under his breath, taking a sip from his water bottle. “Looks like you’ve finally pulled your dick out of the exhaust pipe and decided to focus on what actually matters, hm?”

I widened my eyes in surprise at Brian’s response, turning my head to look at him. The other three seemed equally taken aback by his words. Brian quickly stole a glance at me, setting his bottle back on the table. My gaze followed the bottle’s descent, hitting the table with a soft thud.

“Does that mean it’s about time you take your dick out from between the star dust pages of your astronomy porn?” Roger fired back, tightening his grip around Emma.

“Ladies, please,” Freddie interjected, raising his teacup to his lips. “Let’s not kill each other before we even get the chance to do anything with my talents.” He winked at me, lightening the tense atmosphere.

“Yes, because we are the vehicle for your talents to ride on, right Fred?” Roger retorted, raising an eyebrow.

Brian sighed, picking up his sandwich as Roger and Freddie continued their bickering, sounding like an old married couple.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered to Brian, turning on the bench to face him directly.

Brian turned his head, resting on his hand as if trying to shield himself from the commotion happening across the table. I watched as he chewed on his sandwich, his jaw moving up and down. He placed it back o the tray and shook his head.

“I’m just… stressed,” he admitted, pressing his lips together tightly. “That’s all. You don’t need to worry.” He extended his free hand, placing it gently on top of mine, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of my hand.

I knew he could sense that my worry wouldn’t easily dissipate. I didn’t need to say anything for him to understand.

“Seriously, Maria. I’m fine. Same thing as this morning, it’s just… a lot right now,” he spoke softly, his voice barely audible over the chaos caused by Roger and Freddie. While I knew offering the same generic words of comfort wouldn’t make much of a difference in this chaotic environment, I simply nodded my head and smiled in response.

“You got much else left to do today?” I spoke softly, my gaze fixed on our intertwined hands.

“A lecture. And I have to attend it, before you try and convince me otherwise.” Brian flashed a mischievous grin, his pointed teeth peeking through.

I rolled my eyes playfully, nudging him with my arm. “Excuse me, I have a lecture too.” I pretended to look offended, pulling my hand away from his. He pouted and leaned closer, wrapping his arms around my waist. For a moment, I thought he was going to give me a comforting hug, but to my surprise, his fingers found their way to my sides, tickling me relentlessly.

Now, those who know me are well aware that I absolutely despise being tickled. It has always been that way. So, when Brian’s fingers dug into my most ticklish spots, a burst of uncontrollable laughter escaped my lips. Brian didn’t let up; he continued to tickle me, enjoying my adorable torture.

“Brian! Stop!” I gasped between fits of laughter, attempting to free myself from his relentless grip.

I glanced over at Freddie, hoping to catch his attention and signal for help, but he was too engrossed in his argument with Roger to notice my distress just inches away.

“You might want to watch that attitude, Blondie. I heard John Reid is in town,” Freddie told Roger as Brian’s fingers still danced over my sides.

What? John Reid?

“And if he sees us in Trident arguing like a pair of ladies, we’ll get nowhere,” Freddie continued, an amused glint in his eyes.

Fuck.

“Brian, stop!” I yelled, nearly attracting the attention of everyone in the cafeteria. I managed to wriggle out of his grasp, smacking my hand on the table in front of me to emphasise my plea. Finally, Freddie’s gaze tore away from his dispute with Roger, fixing upon me.

“Did you say John fucking Reid?!” I blurted out, unable to contain my excitement and surprise.

“Yes, darling, I did,” Freddie replied, a tinge of confusion in his voice. “You know of him?”

“Know of him? She’s been up his arse since September,” Emma chimed in, rolling her eyes. However, her casual remark failed to convey the depth of my admiration for John Reid. Realising this, she elaborated, “She’s been studying him for her second-year project, and she absolutely adores the man.”

Embarrassment flushed through my cheeks as their attention focused on me. I cast my eyes downward, my notes in front of me adorned with an array of facts and timelines about John Reid’s illustrious career.

“But I thought you didn’t particularly enjoy the subject. Yet, you seem so invested in it,” Roger interjected, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yes, the course may not be exactly my favourite thing in the world, but John Reid is so fascinating. Besides, I love the industry, and—”

“Maria, my love, you don’t have to explain yourself,” Brian said, shooting a disapproving look at Roger. “Roger just needs to argue with someone 24/7.” He tore his gaze away from Roger and focused on me. “I think it’s wonderful that you’re so passionate about your work, especially if it aligns with what you’re supposed to be doing for your work experience…” He leaned in, his tone slightly threatening in a playful way. Why did I find that so enticing? Why did I enjoy his towering presence over me? Fuck…

I couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath, a smirk dancing on my lips. In that moment, I completely forgot that Roger, Freddie, and Emma were sitting just inches away from us. I was completely lost in Brian’s eyes.

My gaze dropped to his lips as he smiled softly, leaning closer and planting a teasingly gentle kiss on my lips before pulling away and redirecting his attention to the others.

I’m almost certain that Brian knew exactly what he was doing when he shifted his focus away from me—I was a mess. It always embarrassed me how easily Brian’s charm and good looks could leave me flustered. I was just so… inexperienced.

The remaining minutes of lunch slipped away, and throughout it all, Brian continued to play with my fingers, offering me comfort and a sense of being cherished—simple gestures like holding hands could send me into a whirlwind of gratitude for the affection I received. A feeling of closeness was the key to my heart.

He even gave me butterflies when he casually removed his ring from my index finger and slipped it onto his pinkie, the cool metal leaving a lingering sensation on my skin.

When it was time for Emma and me to head to our lecture, I stood behind Brian, wrapping my arms tightly around him in a lingering hug, as if I would never see him again. His fluffy hair tickled my face as he leaned into my embrace.

“I guess there’s no need for me to come over later now that you’ve reclaimed what’s yours,” I murmured, a playful hint in my voice. I heard Brian chuckle softly, tilting his head to the side and looking up at me.

“Don’t you want to spend time with your boyfriend?” He raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that I loved it when he playfully referred to himself as my boyfriend, no matter how juvenile it sounded. But deep down, I could sense that he took my teasing to heart in the sweetest way possible—bless him.

“Bri, I’m just messing. I’m still going to come over. If you still want me to, that is…” I playfully said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Of course, I want you to, silly. I’ve been looking forward to it all day,” he replied, giving me those irresistible puppy dog eyes that made my heart melt even more.

I couldn’t help but giggle and shake my head, leaning in closer to him. “You’re just too cute.” I pressed my lips against his in a longer, more lingering kiss before finally pulling away. As I turned to leave, I couldn’t help but notice the mischievous smirks on the faces of the other three—they were eagerly waiting for the moment Brian and I would finally get together and become that couple we always talked about.

“Come on, Emma. You’ll see Roger later,” I sighed, nudging her gently as they seemed completely absorbed in each other yet again. She gave Roger an affectionate hug before leaving with me.

“Isn’t Roger just the sweetest?” Emma chirped as we turned the corner, out of sight from the bustling cafeteria.

I couldn’t bring myself to lie, but I couldn’t reveal the truth either. All I could do was giggle and shake my head, a mix of conflicting emotions swirling within me. Little did she know that when I shook my head, it was because I genuinely didn’t know how to answer.

I felt a twinge of guilt. A nagging sense that I should set things right. But everything felt so great in that moment, and I didn’t want to spoil it. Sometimes, you get caught up in the whirlwind of emotions, and decisions are made without thinking of the consequences.

Things just happen, I thought to myself, hoping that everything would somehow work out for the best.

“I always thought that Roger would be the less educated one,” I murmured to Brian. He smirked, glancing over at the doorway to the living room where Freddie and Roger were engrossed in a game of Scrabble. Normally, Brian would join them, but since he had me as his company, he chose to be the true gentleman he was and stay by my side.

“They’re always at each other’s throats over that game. It’s a rare occasion when only one of us is the reigning champion. I tend to come up with some very long words,” he grinned, turning to put the kettle on the stove. “They’re just lucky I’m not playing.”

“I used to play Scrabble with my brother when we were younger,” I began, watching as Brian expertly prepared my coffee and his tea. “It was a bit challenging, to be honest.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “It’s not that difficult of a game, Maria.”

“It was only difficult because my dog ate the O’s and the Y’s,” I laughed. “The number of times I got scolded for using the world ‘count’ without the O…”

Brian laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“I don’t… We had to put her down. She had some nasty wounds from the neighbour’s dog when he attacked her,” I shrugged. The truth was, I didn’t recall much from that time. I was sixteen then, and by that point, I didn’t pay much attention to what was happening around me. Things had just started to go downhill, and I wasn’t accustomed to such a drastic change.

Leaning against the counter, Brian looked thoughtful, and the kettle started to rattle slightly. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that… That’s the thing about pets. They don’t live forever,” he frowned.

“I guess they don’t. But at least you still have pictures and memories,” I replied.

Brian smiled softly, his gaze fixed on me. “You’re so optimistic… sometimes.”

I chuckled, playfully nudging his arm. “I’m probably one of the most pessimistic people you’ll ever meet. You’re the optimist out of the two of us! You work so hard all the time and still manage to be nice to everyone around you. That’s talent.”

“Talent!” I heard a voice from the living room. “Damn it, I didn’t mean to say it out loud!”

I turned my head to find Roger banging his head on his hands, while Freddie wore a smug expression, clearly having spelled out the word ‘talent’ on the Scrabble board.

When I looked back at Brian, he was pouring the boiling water into the mugs. “Do you want to go upstairs? It might be quieter,” he suggested softly, picking up both mugs. I nodded in agreement, reaching out for the coffee mug, but Brian playfully pulled it away from my grasp. “I’ve got it,” he insisted, gesturing for me to walk ahead of me.

“I am perfectly capable of carrying a mug of coffee myself,” I protested, making my way through the living room where Freddie and Roger served as a comical obstacle course.

“Yes, but I don’t want you to spill it and burn yourself,” Brian stated matter-of-factly. I huffed, trudging into the hallway.

“I’m not a child,” I sulked, stepping aside to let Brian go upstairs first.

“Care to explain that look on your face then?” he smirked at me, shimmying past me and making his way up the stairs. I glanced over at Roger and Freddie, who were snickering to themselves, probably amused by the playful banger between Brian and me.

Brian’s room was a comfortable blend of normality—neither too extravagant nor too minimalistic. Poster adorned the walls featuring icons like The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Little Richard, Jimi Hendrix, Conway Twitty. Books lay scattered around, their pages undoubtedly filled with astrophysics and other subjects beyond my intellectual reach.

I found myself standing awkwardly in the middle of Brian’s room, my hands fidgeting nervously. He placed the two mugs on the desk in the corner, turning around to meet my gaze. He folded his arms and looked away, the air thick with unease. The distant sound of Roger and Freddie’s bickering downstairs was the only noise breaking the silence.

“Um… Do you want me to close the door?” I managed to say, my mouth suddenly dry.

“Yeah… Yeah, that’d be good,” he replied with an awkward smile, observing me as I made my way to his bedroom door. Gently, I closed it, shutting out the noise from downstairs as it faded into the background.

When I turned around, Brian had settled on his bed, casually leaning back on his hands. He smiled at me, assuring me it was alright to join him. So, I gingerly sat down, letting myself sink into the comfort of the mattress. Brian handed me my coffee, which had cooled down enough to drink. As I took a sip, I noticed him shaking his head out of the corner of my eye.

I glanced at him, scrunching my eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know how you can drink that all the time. I’ve never seen you drink anything other than pure black coffee,” he said, leaning back against the headrest.

“It’s nice, and it keeps me awake and alert,” I defended myself, smiling as I took another sip.

“You’re right. I must be a pretty boring person to be around if you need caffeine to stay awake,” he replied with a hint of self-deprecation.

I furrowed my brows, looking directly at the curly-haired guitarist sitting just a metre away from me. “Shut up, Brian, you’re not boring. Not to me, anyway.”

“I’m not?” He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side.

“No,” I laughed, shuffling closer to him. “And who cares what other people think about you? All that matters is that you have strong people around you who remind you that you’re not boring and that you’re an incredible person. And if they’re not doing that, then they can just fuck off,” I shrugged, getting up to place the now half-full mug back on Brian’s desk.

He didn’t directly respond to what I had just said. Instead, he blushed, his cheeks practically glowing with embarrassment, a reaction I had become accustomed to whenever someone complimented him. As I walked back to the bed, I contemplated whether to sit closer to him. But I didn’t have to contemplate for long, as his long arms wrapped around me, pulling me down into the bed right next to him.

“You’re lucky I didn’t have that mug in my hand,” I chuckled, shuffling onto my back to get comfortable, my arm brushing against Brian’s.

We lay on our backs, gazing up at the plain, boring, white ceiling. In those moments, time seemed to slow down, and I allowed myself to sink into deep thoughts about my life. Despite the lack of money and a stable income, I realised how incredibly fortunate I was. I had remarkable people surrounding me, and I felt safe and secure. It was a feeling I had never experienced back home. And above all, Brian cared for me. I knew that without a doubt. He would do anything to make me happy, and he never failed to remind me of that.

The radio filled the almost silent room with a soft static noise as Brian turned it on. The background noise provided a sense of comfort. His hand sought mine, intertwining our fingers. “Maria?” he hummed, his voice gentle.

I squeezed his hand, giving him my full attention. “Yeah?”

“It’s entirely fine if you don’t want to talk about it, but… Why do you… do that to yourself?” Brian stumbled over his words, his thumb caressing my skin. I understood what he was referring to, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to open about it, to be so vulnerable.

But then I thought about the preciousness of the moment, the rare opportunity to be truly alone with Brian. I took a deep breath and turned my head to face him, taking in the beautiful contours of his profile.

“I wasn’t very happy growing up,” I began, my voice carrying the weight of my past. “It all started with my dad. We never had the kind of relationship I longed for. He was absent most of the time, and we never saw eye to eye on anything. We were complete opposites. My mum was the one working while my dad stayed home. So, I didn’t get to spend much time with her either. I don’t blame her, though. She had to provide for the family because my dad was too lazy to do anything.” A faint chuckle escaped Brian’s lips as he listened intently. “But eventually, my dad did manage to invest in some properties in Leeds, and now he owns most of the farmlands.” I shrugged.

“School was supposed to be my escape, but it wasn’t much better. I was constantly bullied for my weight, and the fact that I liked different things to everyone else. I felt completely alone as a child, and I couldn’t understand why it was happening, or why I couldn’t seem to form friendships with anyone. I had no one to be angry at,” I trailed off, my gaze returning to the ceiling.

“And so, I turned that anger inward… And I took it out on myself,” I whispered, feeling tears welling up in my eyes. “Things didn’t improve much after that. I was, like, fourteen, I think. It’s only gotten worse since then. I hardly have a relationship with my parents now. They want me to be a successful, fashionable businesswoman, but… I don’t want to do something just because someone else expects it of me.” I glanced at Brian, who was staring blankly at the ceiling.

“I’m rambling, right?” I whispered.

“No. Not at all,” he whispered back. “I was the one who asked, and I was genuinely curious. You’re a strong and brave woman,” he said, turning onto his side to face me, his upper body sightly leaning over mine. “And I adore that about you.”

A blush crept up my cheeks, a mix of vulnerability and power surging through me in his presence. This man had an incredible effect on me, and he wasn’t even aware of it.

I let out a contented sigh, my gaze fixed on his captivating hazel eyes. The world around us faded away as we shared an intimate connection, my heart pulsating with a profound sense of tranquillity. It was truly a beautiful moment.

However, the enchantment was momentarily shattered when the opening notes of a different song, “Let’s Spend the Night Together” by The Rolling Stones, began to play through the radio speakers. The softness in our eyes transformed into amusement, and we both erupted into laughter at the perfect timing. I cackled, trying to catch my breath as Brian buried his head in the pillow beside me, his body wriggling with laughter.

“You absolutely did that on purpose,” I managed to gasp out, clutching my stomach.

“How? I’m all the way over here!” Brian protested, his voice slightly muffled by the pillow. He lifted his head and rested it next to mine, his warm breath brushing against my cheek.

After a few seconds of the song playing, Brian pressed his lips to my ear and began to sing in a deep, melodramatic voice, clearly aiming to be funny.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout what’s on your mind…”

I giggled, the sensation of his breath tickling my ear and his hair gently grazing my skin.

“I’m in no hurry, I can take my time…” he continued, deepening his voice even more, his intent to bring humour into the moment. But unexpectedly, my stomach flipped as he hit an uncharacteristically low bass note. My laughter subsided, and I swallowed hard.

“Brian…” I attempted to dismiss it as a joke. “You’re lying on my hair…” I whined, rolling onto my side, my back turned to Brian’s chest. If he couldn’t see that every little thing that he did affected me, then I would pretend that it didn’t.

However, my wish for the awkwardness to dissipate went unanswered as I felt Brian’s chest press against my back, his arm reaching over to find my hand next to my face. His fingertips lightly stroked the back of my hand, tracing a path down my arm. The sensation was comforting, sending countless sparks cascading down my spine.

Before I could fully grasp the situation, his lips returned to my ear. This time, he sang in his usual soothing tone, devoid of any humorous intentions.

“I’m going red, and my tongue’s getting tied…”

I remained perfectly still as he planted feather-light kisses on my ear, his head nestled close to mine, enveloping me in his embrace. I sighed with contentment as Brian began to sway us gently back and forth.

“Can I ask you something, love?” he murmured.

“You can ask me anything,” I breathed out.

“You’ve… never done anything before, have you?” he speculated.

“Wow, straight to the point…” I joked. “If you’re trying to ask me if I’m a virgin, then… y-yeah, I am.” I admitted, an embarrassed flush rushing to my cheeks, my tone treating back to the shyness I had when I first met the boys.

Instead of responding, Brian leaned down and pressed a sweet and innocent kiss to my cheek, his lips lingering against my skin. “I wish I could truly show you how much you mean to me.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, stealing a glance at him. “I thought you already do that?”

He chuckled, sending shivers down my spine. “I do… But I want to show you in a way that will make you feel good and… loved.”

Oh, I knew exactly where he was heading, that charming space boy.

“Oh?” I managed to stutter out, feeling his lips trail down my cheek and to my jaw.

“We don’t have to do anything, love. I’m perfectly content with just cuddling,” Brian reassured me, looking up into my eyes.

“I want to, Brian… I really do. I’m just a bit scared,” I whispered, studying his face intently. “I don’t want it to hurt…” I started. “A-and… I don’t want you to be put off by me once you see… everything.” I turned my eyes away sheepishly.

His gaze softened, and he gently guided me onto my back, his form now fully hovering over me. “Maria Brennan, I think you are a breathtakingly beautiful person, inside and out. And all I want is to share the overwhelming feelings I have every time I see you enter a room, hear you laugh, or listen to your voice,” he whispered, his lips grazing over my nose. “As for it hurting… I can’t promise you it won’t. But I can promise that it won’t all the time. I’m here with you. And if you can’t handle it, and you need me to stop, I will. I won’t let anything hurt you, my darling.”

With those words, he dipped down and captured my lips in a passionate kiss, igniting sparks that danced all over my body. I lifted my hand and entwined my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to me to let him know I did want this and that I was willing to try. He deepened the kiss in response, allowing his tongue to explore my mouth.

Brian continued to kiss me as I adjusted to this new level of intimacy, his tongue exploring new sensations that drove me wild. His hand journeyed from my cheek to my shoulder, his fingertips tracing patterns on my skin. Goosebumps erupted across my body as his hand purposefully grazed over my chest. I closed my eyes as Brian’s kisses trailed down from my lips to my neck, savouring the gentleness of his touch. He sighed against my skin, seemingly relishing the closeness between us. I bit down on my lower lip when I felt his teeth graze the sensitive flesh of my neck, his suction growing progressively stronger. A shaky breath escaped me as he did this, the sensation unlike anything I had ever experienced. I almost felt a tinge of embarrassment at how much I enjoyed the feeling of him marking me as his own, even though he had barely done anything, yet I could already be a quivering mess beneath him. So, I restrained myself, biting down on my lips to regain composure. However, Brian must have noticed because he pulled back from my neck, his voice a soft whisper against my skin.

“If something feels good, don’t hesitate to let me know,” he whispered, a smile evident in his voice, before shifting his head to the other side of my neck, repeating the same tantalising motions.

He lifted his head completely, gazing down at the marks he had left on my skin, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. Slowly, he leaned back, rising up and sitting on his feet. His eyes roamed over my figure, sprawled before him. Locking his gaze with mine, he placed his hands on my knees, parting them to settle himself between them. It felt strange yet exhilarating to have someone so close, his groin pressing against my most sensitive area.

Moistening my dry lips, I peered up at Brian, his eyes now filled with a burning desire. He pulled me up, so I was sitting, my legs still wrapped around him. His hands slid down to the collar of my denim jacket, holding onto it.

“Can I…?” he began, seeking my approval. I nodded, allowing him to push the jacket off my shoulders, letting it drop to the floor beside the bed.

“Brian?” I glanced down at his attire, admiring how snug his shirt fit him. “My mum is… very domineering and… protective. What should I tell her if she asks what I’ve been doing?” I naïvely asked.

A smile graced his lips as his calloused fingers came up to cradle my face. I leaned into his touch.

“You’re twenty-two years old, Maria. Your mother has no right to know what you’ve been doing,” he said, smirking slightly as he leaned closer. “Or who you’ve been doing.” The playful remark lightened the mood, causing me to giggle. “Just forget about her, my love.”

And with that, his lips were once again on mine. And I did just as he said – I let thoughts of my mum slip from my mind as Brian’s hands moved lower, fumbling with the buttons on my flares. I arched my hips upward, making it easier for him to remove the fabric, which joined my jacket on the floor. The absence of my trouser allowed my shirt to hang loosely, now untucked. His eyes never wavered from mine as he reached down and unbuttoned his own trousers. He discarded his shirt, revealing his upper body; the slimness of his frame, clothed or not, remained captivating—his partially exposed ribcage hinted at his fitness. Brian gently guided me back, laying me down. His hands descended to my hips, pulling me toward him before he lowered himself on top of me, our groins meeting in perfect alignment.

I bit down on my lip, the rush of heat spreading across my cheeks. Brian leaned in, his lips meeting mine in a passionate and longing kiss, wasting no time in igniting the passion between us. A soft groan escaped his lips, merging with mine, as I instinctively bucked my hips into his. The realisation that he, too, was affected comforted me—I could let out those sounds too. My hands travelled down his back, feeling the warmth of his bare skin for the first time. I smiled into the kiss, releasing a shaky breath when Brian’s hand slid down my leg, lifting it and holding it in place. Taking this as a cue, he pressed his body against mine, grinding gently at first to ensure my comfort. But when I emitted a small moan, he continued with a heightened sensuality. His own breathing faltered as he broke the kiss, emitting another groan. Halting his movements, he peppered kisses along my chin instead of my lips. His lips ventured lower, using his nimble fingers to unbutton my shirt and reveal my bra. Licking his lips, his gaze traced over my exposed form, before he began placing soft kisses along my chest, leaving marks that only I, and now he, would see.

“You alright?” Brian finally spoke after a prolonged silence, his lips now gliding down my stomach. I was a bit puzzled about his intentions, but seeing the comfort in his eyes reassured me. I nodded, meeting his gaze, which had a soothing effect on me.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay? I don’t want to pressure you into anything you’re not ready for,” he added, accompanied by a gentle smile. I took a deep breath, diverting my gaze to the ceiling as Brian continued moving lower down my body, instantly evoking memories of a recent dream. This was like that dream, unfolding in real-time. It was happening, and it felt remarkably real.

Brian laid on his stomach, the mattress beneath us, showing his tenderness and placing gentle kisses on my thighs. His arm wrapped around my hips, keeping me settled. With his free hand, he traced the fabric of my underwear, bringing his face closer to my heated centre. As his touch made contact, my hips instinctively bucked upwards again, the fabric growing damp with each passing second. I watched his eyes flicker upward, gauging my response to this newfound intimacy. He wanted me to enjoy myself, never feeling obligated to engage in this with him.

“Can I take them off?” Brian whispered, his breath sending shivers across my soft skin. I looked up at him, my reaction evident. I nodded, my eyes closing. I could sense my nervousness, but he called me gently, capturing my attention. I opened my eyes and lowered my head to meet his gaze.

“Use your words, please,” he said. “Maria, darling.”

“Sorry… Yeah, take them off,” I nervously laughed, my cheeks flushing deeper with colour. Brian smiled at me, flashing a look in his eyes that reassured me of my safety. As my hips lifted, he effortlessly removed my underwear, casually dropping them beside the bed. His eyes hungrily feasted on the sight before him. This was the first time he saw me in my most vulnerable state, and I felt no reservations.

My heart raced as I took in the sight of Brian, the intensity of his gaze making my mouth go dry, leaving me speechless. I could sense my breathing becoming irregular, my body reacting to the desire flowing between us. Brian moved closer, rising onto his knees and crawling towards me, his eyes locked with mine. The emotions flickering in his gaze made it difficult to decipher what he truly felt.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, settling beside me and propping himself up on his elbow, his gaze fixed on my exposed body. I expected to stumble over my words, or offer a hesitant response, but something within me shifted.

“Please… Just touch me, Brian,” I whimpered, my eyebrows furrowing with longing. A mixture of vulnerability and desire surged through me, and my plea seemed to ignite a hunger within him. I watched as his eyebrows lifted, a smile forming on his lips, capturing the electricity in the air.

A shiver coursed through my body as the cool air kissed the delicate space between my legs, a stark contrast to the intense heat and wetness that consumed me. Brian’s gaze bore into my soul, his finger gliding along the slickness, eliciting an involuntary buck of my hips. I watched as his bit his lip, his eyes fixed on the glistening evidence of my arousal.

“You’re so wet…” he murmured, his finger delving between my folds and teasingly grazing over my throbbing clit, which yearned for more. A strangled moan escaped my lips as he circled his finger over the sensitive bud. His eyes locked with mine, his lips close to my ear, his finger quickening its movements, occasionally dipping lower to gather more of my essence.

“Does that feel good, angel?” he whispered against my ear, his words sending waves of pleasure through me. I parted my lips, intending to respond, but all that emerged was another prolonged moan as he added a second finger, doubling the intensity of pleasure. My eyelids fluttered shut, surrendering to the exquisite sensations washing over me.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled, his lips trailing along my jawline. “I’m going to put one inside, okay?”

I smiled inwardly, touched by his consideration and attentiveness. As his middle finger descended toward my entrance, he paused, maintaining a gentle pressure. At first, it was a mere sensation of fullness, but swiftly it transformed into a stinging pain as he pushed his finger past my resistance, reaching up to the first knuckle. I clamped down on my lower lip, biting down to stifle any sign of discomfort, not wanting to worry Brian. Yet, it seemed as though he sensed my struggle, as he pressed closer, his lips tenderly kissing my cheek and any reachable spot. Meanwhile, his thumb resumed its seductive dance over my clit, mingling pleasure with the temporary ache.

He remained still for a moment, maintaining that position. The initial pain gradually subsided, intermittently returning as he moved his finger, but the soft whispers and tender touches made it bearable. The room was filled with the sounds of his breath mingling with the raw friction of his finger and my wetness colliding. As promised, the pain transformed into an exquisite pleasure—a fucking sweet pleasure, to put it bluntly.

Before long, my own strained moans erupted from my lips, my head sinking into the plushness of Brian’s pillows. By now, he had inserted his finger almost completely, and I became a cacophony of moans, a tumultuous blend of discomfort and pleasure. It was the knowledge that Brian was the first person I ever let touch me in this way that intensified the experience, amplifying the pleasure to new heights.

“Wow,” he breathed out, his voice thick with desire. “You’re so fucking tight.” He chuckled, burying his face in the crook of my neck, a wicked smile gracing his lips.

An airy laugh escaped me, my heart rate momentarily skyrocketing. “S-sorry… I’m not used… Fuck… people saying stuff like that to me.”

He lifted his head, aligning it with mine, his forehead pressing against mine. “It’s okay,” he began, his gaze fixed on my lips. “I’m not used to saying stuff like that to such beautiful women.” Before I could respond, his lips crashed onto mine, delivering a feverish kiss. A moan and a whimper escaped me simultaneously as he slipped another finger inside, stretching me further. Brian pressed his lips harder against mine, muffling my loud cries and diverting my attention. My back arched as he quickened the pace of digits, a fiery ball of pleasure building within the depths of my stomach.

He finally pulled away, resuming the position with his forehead against mine. “I need to make you cum before… we move on,” he smirked, biting his lip as he observed me.

I would have found his remark incredibly dominant and laughed it off under different circumstances. However, I was consumed by the growing tingles pulsating in my abdomen. My vision blurred as a surge of something overwhelming approached. Now, I’m not foolish—I knew what an orgasm was. But the only times I had experienced it were when I pleasured myself, and even then, it was a rarity, occurring no more than three times in total. Yet this was different. This orgasm was building from within, Brian’s fingers reaching places my own could never reach.

“B-Brian…” I whimpered, gazing into his eyes. My breath became rapid as he continued his ministrations inside me.

“It’s okay, love. I’ve got you,” he assured me, plunging me into oblivion. And with that, my hips thrust into his hand, an intense wave of pleasure washing over my entire being, causing goosebumps to erupt all over my skin. To control my involuntary spasms, Brian pressed his forehead harder against mine, keeping my head anchored. He let out a strained breath as he endeavoured to sustain his movements until I rode out the exhilarating high. My hand instinctively gripped his arm, his muscles contracting forcefully as he matched the rhythm of his actions.

After the initial shock subsided, I gently pushed Brian’s arm away, my breathing gradually returning to a more steady rhythm. I closed my eyes, feeling a slight clenching in my lower muscles as he withdrew his fingers, leaving me with an inexplicable longing. Opening my eyes, I glanced over at Brian, observing as he sensually sucked off the remnants of our passion from his fingers.

My attention was quickly captured when he raised an eyebrow at me in a seductive manner. Perhaps it was his way of calming my nerves after witnessing him begin to wriggle out of his trousers, a tent forming in his underwear. My breath caught in my throat, still recovering from the erratic pattern it had taken before.

“You look completely worn out, love,” he laughed, clearly amused by my exhausted state. “That was just a preview.” He winked, a blush still lingering on his own cheeks.

“Well, I am exhausted!” I exclaimed, wiping my forehead. “I’ve never done that before, so…” I sat up slightly, keeping my gaze fixed on him as he slipped out of his underwear. My stomach tightened with anticipation as I caught sight of what he had concealed from me, springing up and brushing against his stomach.

“As much as I enjoy your admiration, I’d prefer it if you helped me with this,” Brian said shyly, pushing himself back against the headboard. It seemed he had become caught up in his arousal, momentarily forgetting my limited experience. “Oh!” He blushed deeply. “I’m sorry, love… Um… Have you ever…?” he trailed off.

“Um…” I murmured, swallowing hard. “No, I haven’t.” I laughed awkwardly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and positioning myself in front of Brian. “I mean, I obviously know what it is and more or less how to do it, but I’ve just never had a chance to do it before.”

Brian grinned, taking my hand and caressing the back of it. “It’s okay, Maria. I can always guide you.”

“Okay.”

For the next fifteen minutes, Brian became my mentor, teaching me the nuances of what he enjoyed and how to prolong the pleasure during oral sex. Needless to say, I found great pleasure in wrapping my lips around his substantial length, savouring the taste of his salty skin.

So there I was, kneeling over Brian’s lap, my mouth filled with him. Brian brought his hand up to my face, sweeping my hair over my shoulder to better see my expression as I took him into my mouth. I looked up at him, batting my eyelashes a little, eliciting a groan from him as he collected the hair in his fist.

“God, yeah, just like that,” he grunted, gazing down at me with his mouth slightly agape. I relished in the praise he bestowed upon me, feeling electric sensations travel down to my core, which was now reawakening with desire, clenching eagerly in anticipation.

A muffled moan escaped my lips as I swirled my tongue around the tip of his cock, my hand tightly gripping the base. The taste of his pre-cum lingered on my tongue, salty and arousing.

Suddenly, I was pulled away from his throbbing member and drawn up to his face. He pressed his lips forcefully against mine, immediately invading my mouth with his tongue. I clutched onto his hair with one hand and grasped his shaft with the other, revelling in the sensations that consumed me.

“Lay down,” he mumbled, his command prompting me to comply. I shifted to his side and lay on my back, anticipation building within me.

“I’ve held this in for so long, Maria,” he confessed, rising onto his knees in front of me and gripping my hips, pulling me closer as my legs bent to accommodate him. I could feel his hardness pressing against my wetness, driving me to the brink of delirium. “To show you how much you mean to me. And how beautiful you are.” His voice lowered to a whisper as he reached over to the beside table, retrieving a drawer positioned just below it. He opened it and extracted a condom.

“And were you expecting this to happen, Mr. Astrophysicist?” I asked playfully, a hint of amusement in my voice.

“No… But you can never been too prepared. There’s always a chance of bringing back an otherworldly Goddess, even if it’s a rarity,” he remarked before resuming his dominant stance. With expert precision, he rolled the condom onto his shaft and returned to his position between my legs. One of his hands ventured downward, holding himself and rubbing his tip against my sensitive area, eliciting a restrained moan from deep within me.

“Please tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispered, receiving a nod of reassurance from me. That was all he needed as he slowly pushed himself inside me, stopping when just the tip was nestled within. I hissed through my teeth, holding my breath in response to the pain inflicted by his generous size.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he uttered in a low voice, nuzzling against me. He understood that there was little he could do to alleviate the pain until he was fully inside, but he could provide comfort as I embarked on the rollercoaster ride of my first time. Planting soothing kisses along my neck, he gradually eased himself deeper, stretching me so exquisitely that my grip on Brian’s skin left marked imprints from the intensity.

Relief washed over me when he was finally fully sheathed inside me. I took a moment to adjust to the sensation as best as I could, and Brian tried to grant me as much time as possible. Yet, his impatience grew, and the need to move became undeniable—for both of us.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I need to move,” he uttered with a mix of humour and an airy moan as he withdrew completely before plunging back into me. “I know it hurts, but the more I move, the less painful it’ll be.” He smiled down at me, placing a tender kiss on my nose, his actions laced with love and concern. “But please… Make sure you tell me if it gets too much.”

Brian’s gentleness towards me contrasted with the palpable desperation that had built up within him. It took an annoyingly long time for me to adjust, allowing him to truly let loose. I knew I would be sore the next day, but that was a small price to pay for the pleasure unfolding before me.

“Shit, Brian,” I exclaimed, torn from my distractions as pain seamlessly transformed into pure ecstasy. Brian’s smile, filled with pride, revealed his teeth as his thrusts transitioned from delicate and careful to ambitiously fervent. The sensation of his long, powerful member pumping in and out of me threatened to send my heart into overdrive, but I felt more alive than ever as his own moans harmonised with mine.

“Wow, you feel fucking amazing,” Brian grunted, supporting himself on his hands placed next to my head. “You’re so tight. I’m so proud of you for taking me so well, love.” He bit his lip, moaning louder. His gaze shifted, drinking in the sight of my body as I whimpered beneath him, my head falling back. Brian secured a hold on my legs, pushing them up slightly. Reaching for a pillow, he slid it under my hips, granting him deeper access. The new position brought him a sense of relief, and I eagerly embraced the heightened sensations that accompanied it.

Rather than simply thrusting into me, his hips snapped with a new intensity, striking a previously unexplored spot within me. The pleasure surged to another level entirely. The raw sounds of our flesh colliding, mingling with the symphony of moans and whimpers escaping our lips, filled the room, becoming the sole audible soundtrack. I silently prayed that Roger and Freddie were preoccupied elsewhere and wouldn’t burst through the door.

“Bri…” I whined once more, my desires vaguely articulated. Did I crave more contact? Brian’s response came in the form of a deep groan as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against mine, locking his gaze with mine.

“What do you want, baby? Tell me,” he entreated, his voice filled with a mix of tenderness and need.

“I… I don’t know,” I stammered, my breath growing irregular. “Fuck, I don’t know, Bri!” My back arched, an instinctive plea for more. I needed more of him.

“You want me to go faster?” he inquired, his voice growing higher in pitch. “Hm? Or do you want me to remind you how gorgeous you look while taking me so well? What is it, Maria?” His sweet voice rendered his explicit words easy to embrace, but it was the praise—the praise that made me writhe in ecstatic bliss.

And Brian, oh, he noticed.

“Ah, that’s it, huh?” he chuckled, planting a sweet kiss on my lips. “You enjoy it when I tell you that you’re the most perfect creature to have ever graced this Earth?” Thrust after thrust, his breathy compliments enveloped me, driving me to the edge of pleasure’s precipice.

I nodded, a whimper of confirmation escaping my lips. Brian’s thrusts quickened with each word that spilled from his intoxicating mouth, his desire to fill me evident in his every movement.

“I’ve wanted to fill you up since our first kiss, you little tease,” he playfully remarked, his pace accelerating. “And right now, all I want is to make you come undone and feel incredible. You deserve it so much… Do you think you can cum for me one more time, angel?”

My legs trembled under the relentless stimulation, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I surrendered to the impending release.

“Just one more time,” he insisted, lowering his head and burying it in my neck. His thrusts now possessed an animalistic fervour. “Fuck, yes… Shit, Maria, I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”

“Brian…” I mumbled, my breathing escalating rapidly. “Holy shit, Bri, please don’t stop…” I transformed into a moaning mess, the fiery sensation reigniting in my core, sending electric waves between my thighs.

He held me close as I soared to my second peak of the evening, my muscles spasming uncontrollably while Brian continued to drive into me. He sustained his rhythm to help me ride out the waves of pleasure, but his own purpose was abruptly halted as his body convulsed above me.

A wild groan escaped his lips as he sank his teeth into the flesh of my neck, freezing his thrust deep inside me. His grip on my hip tightened to the point of leaving bruises that would bloom on my skin the following day.

We lay there in a state of blissful exhaustion, our hearts thumping against each other’s ribcages.

I heard Brian chuckle softly, lifting his head to gaze down at me. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He smiled tenderly, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I peered up at him, stray curls clinging to his damp forehead, his skin glistening with the sheen of exertion.

I could only shake my head slowly, raising my hand to caress his face as he leaned into my touch.

“Although I do think I’ll be a bit sore tomorrow,” I remarked, taking a deep breath. He rolled his eyes playfully before leaning in to kiss me with tender affection.

“Either way… I’ll be here to take care of you…” He whispered. “I’m glad we just did that. I’ve been boiling up inside for far too long, my love.”

I bit my lip, flickering my eyes up at the man I gave my innocence to, before sighing, “Me too.”

[bluebell-blendings]

starlight caught on a bird’s wing

[mottlemoth]

Was there a time where you were bad at writing, or have you always had a natural talent?

I'm 26, I used to write but haven't for a long time, and it's safe to say I'm not the best. I can piece together small scenes that I enjoy, but my ability to write a decent plot and a full story is pretty much non existent.

If there was ever a time in your life where you weren't good at writing, how did you still still force yourself to finish the damn thing in order to get better?

This might be an unusual opinion, secret person, but I honestly don't believe there's such a thing as bad writing. And I don’t know if there’s really any need to concern yourself with ‘getting better’ at your craft.

Over the course of my life, I’ve abandoned probably dozens of bestselling books by award-winning authors, usually at around chapter three. Sometimes I’m just not feeling any kind of connection to the characters. Sometimes the plot seems too evasive and too consciously clever, or the prose (which the front cover calls “lavish” and “sumptuous”) just feels puffed up and confusing to me. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to evade the question, “Did you read that book I told you about? Isn’t it good?” The words “it’s so well-written” are starting to feel like a red flag to me.

On the flipside, there are books which I absolutely love but get shredded to pieces on Goodreads. Half of my favourite fanfiction pieces have a tenth of the kudos I think they should. Sometimes I’ll pick something up in a Kindle sale because I’m bored and it’s only a quid, then devour the whole thing in one night. I’m left broken and haunted when it’s over. I feel physical, gut-wrenching guilt that I paid a mere pound for what seems to me a masterpiece - then I check it out on Goodreads, and sure enough, there are the one-star reviews. “A yawn fest, poorly written, DNF at chapter three.”

I guess what I’m saying is this: there’s no such thing as objective quality. 

And more importantly, this: whatever kind of writing is attempting to enter the world through you, someone out there is desperate to read it. It’s not necessarily your job to make it better. It’s your job to let it through.

I get the feeling you’re punishing yourself a bit right now, saying you can only piece small scenes together. But listen: I love stories where small scenes are pieced together. Genuinely, my one true love on AO3 is fics that are tagged “just vibes” or “vignettes” or “no hurt only comfort”. I tend to write very plotty, angsty stories which go on forever, but when I’m reading, I want someone to show me my OTP in a bubblebath for a few hundred words. Sometimes I get asks from other writers wanting to know how it is I write angst and high drama - they’ve tried it themselves but lost interest, and they worry that it indicates some lack of skill on their part. But it doesn’t at all. The key part is this: lost interest. It’s not that you’re bad at this part of writing, or that part of writing, or by extension bad at writing itself. You’re just a different kind of writer. Your heart is interested in different things. It’s like seeing a beautiful bird berate itself because it can’t really swim.

Sometimes I see writers mad at themselves because they used to write one way and now they write another. I’ve seen my friends lament “crappy little poems” which deserve to be in a magazine, just because they’re not writing the sort of dense political novel they studied at university. It breaks my heart. Life’s short, secret person, and you are so unique. Express what you’ve got, warts and all, however it comes. Somebody out there will adore it.

(And on the subject, half the things people hold up as examples of “poor writing”, or those Tumblr lists of “ways to improve your craft”... give me a break. I never intended to become some kind of paladin for adverbs, but here we are. Adverbs are discussed by some writing guides as if it’s better just to shoot yourself in the face than use one. When the hell did this get decided? It drives me up the wall. Go pick up any book by the best-selling novelist of all time, open literally any page and you’ll find an imperial fuckton of adverbs. “Hmm, yes, well, Agatha Christie’s prose was often subpar,” modern critics drone. Yeah? Then why is the whole world still in love with her work? Because Agatha Christie didn’t worry about ‘improving her craft’. She understood that she was her craft. She just sat at the typewriter and let it come through - and if ‘he stated loudly’ was what came through, then that’s what she put down.)

To answer your final question, secret person - how to force oneself to finish something - I’m going to float the suggestion that you step back entirely, put your hands up, and have an honest and compassionate conversation with yourself. Why are you struggling with this project? Is it because you don’t actually like this kind of story, and you’re desperate to write something that you do like? Or do you love this project so much that you’ve become a little nervous in these later stages, wanting to do it justice? (The answer to that is, don’t worry about making it good. Just let yourself make it how you want it. If you’re enjoying the story, someone else will, too.) If you can’t quite tell at the moment, that’s fine. Put the whole thing aside for a month and let the answer come to you. And remember, you’re not obliged to finish every project that you start. Sometimes you’ll finish things (i.e., they have brought you sufficient creative satisfaction) before the final chapter rolls around.

To summarise, don’t let yourself get tangled up in talk of good writing, or bad writing. Just give the world your writing. One reader’s DNF-at-chapter-three is another reader’s absolute all-time favourite. There’s literally no way to please all of us, so focus on pleasing yourself.

[tangent101]

The case about the video is interesting. The case about it is due to the fact most of the movies mentioned in the Flash Drive are real movies, rather than made up content. But there is one item that strongly hints at being Kate's video: The Party Buster - Unholy Obscenities. Now, I've done Google Searches on this. It doesn't exist. Every attempt I've made has come up with Warren's Flash Drive.

This is one of those game contents that was not deleted outright when it was not expanded upon - for instance, LiS was supposed to take place near the end of October with Kate drugged two weeks prior at a previous party, rather than the Vortex Club holding two parties within one week of each other. (Proof of this can be found in that Chloe's truck repair bill is set a week and a half in the future.)

Now on to existing content: Warren's photography editing skills. Here we have the photo of Max and Warren with rough editing to put them in the same picture (you can see where the two images are merged together from separate pictures):

Below is the Nightmare Sequence showing the original photo (ignore the cutouts, I'm talking the photo itself which is part of the basis of Max being unnerved by Warren's actions):

Also, the "case against Warren" has existed for close to a decade. Here is one list of items (about half of which I roll my eyes at, the similarities of Warren and Nathan is graphic limitations of the old game, not them being secretly related or the like). One thing not mentioned at that link is the fact if you look out the window on Day 2, you see Warren popping out from around a corner and back again, over and over and over, trying to catch a glimpse of Max walking up to the window. This is one of those "you miss it if you don't look" moments, similar to seeing Kate walking on the dorm roof if you look out the window before Zachary bursts into the classroom near the end of Chapter 2.

Look, I understand. Warren is a geek, he's not unattractive, and geek guys kind of saw him as a kindred soul. But not all geeks are decent people. Warren has some... regretful behaviors. You want a more decent nerd to call your own, I suggest Ryan "I love bird calls" Lucan who is a fun and a bit awkward romantic interest for Alex Chen. Seriously, I'm not into the whole beard thing but Ryan's kind of cute. And he's a far better nerd and geek than Warren, to the point he happily dresses up as various monsters for Steph's little Community LARPing Event for Alex and Ethan. (Ryan's a good boy.)

I hate this, I don’t care who OK’d their voices to be used- I hate it

Ashly Burch and numerous VAs in the industry are striking because of this, I wouldn’t even call this fan work this is just soulless and lazy

Please Life is Strange fandom say no to AI!

You want more fanart? Commission

You want more fan voice work? Commission

You want more fanfics? Commission

You don’t wanna pay then learn how to draw/write/voice act yourself! Stop stealing other people’s work!

[junghelioseok]

clandestine. | 04

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 6.5k [4/6]

notes: we finally have a set chapter count! did this fic really need to be 6 chapters? absolutely not, but here we are! i’m hoping to have this fella finished up in the next month or so, but we’ll see how that goes given my track record. happy new year, everyone!

warnings: a little underedited bc i’m lazy, shower sex!!! mild? exhibitionist tendencies??? reader is dumb and jungkook is slutty, but what else is new 🤷🏻‍♀️

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 

“I swear to god, I am going to amputate your arm with a rusty hacksaw if you elbow me one more time.”

Undeterred, your brother prods you again, pouting at you from his spot in the driver’s seat. “I just want another chip, Noona. Don’t be so mean.”

“Are you a baby bird?” you ask in disbelief, gaping at the way he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue. “Seriously, I’m not feeding you. Get your own chips if you want them so badly.”

“But I’ve gotta keep both hands on the wheel,” he replies cheekily. “Ten and two positions, at all times.”

You frown. “Didn’t they change it to nine and three?” Nonetheless, you reluctantly reach into the bag in your lap, pulling out a potato chip and delivering it to his waiting mouth. “Next one’s going straight into your nose,” you warn as he happily crunches down on the snack.

Jimin simply offers you a beatific grin in between chews. “Love you too.”

“Nope, I changed my mind. Next one’s going up your ass.”

Your brother has long since grown used to your threats. “Kinky,” he chuckles as he merges smoothly into the next lane over. The song on the radio shifts into something more upbeat, and Jungkook is quick to start humming along under his breath from his spot in the seat behind you. Within minutes, it’s morphed into a singalong, and the offkey warbling of all seven passengers—no matter how dissonant—is a perfect soundtrack for the remainder of the drive.

The beach, when you arrive, is awash with tourists and locals alike, all clamoring to lay claim to a prime stretch of sand and a decent parking space. Jimin manages to snag a spot just as someone else is pulling out, and the rest of you are quick to disembark and scope out the beach for somewhere to set up camp. Plopping your bag down onto the sand, you rifle through it until you find your sunscreen, mentally patting yourself on the back for buying the spray instead of the cream.

“Can I borrow that when you’re done, Noona?” Taehyung asks, watching you wrench off the cap.

You nod, squinting against the sunlight. “Sure. As long as you help me get my entire back.”

“Deal.”

Flashing him a grateful smile, you shimmy out of your shorts and begin applying sunscreen to your arms and legs. Taehyung peels off his t-shirt, and you spray him down too, making sure to coat his entire back before he takes the bottle and does the same to you.

“I might have gone a little overboard,” he admits once he’s done, capping the bottle and tossing it back into your bag. Warm hands settle onto your exposed shoulder blades, deft fingertips rubbing the excess product into your skin. “There, that should do it. All better.”

“Thanks, Tae.” You turn around and reach out, wiping at a stray fleck of the white lotion on his bicep. “You’ve got a little bit here too, hang on—“

“Mind if I borrow this?”

You turn at the sound of Jungkook’s voice. The dark-haired young man is standing there with your sunscreen in hand, his gaze zeroed in on the way your fingertips linger on Taehyung’s bare skin. Awkwardly, you pull away and nod, hoping that neither of them can hear your heart pounding erratically against your ribcage.

“Yeah. Sure. It’s all yours.”

Jungkook grabs his white t-shirt by the collar, tugging it up and over his head in one smooth motion, and you swallow at the way his taut abdomen flexes as he tosses it aside. “You’ll help me get my back too, won’t you, Noona?”

You nod, moving before he can even finish his sentence. Your feet carry you across the sandy ground on autopilot, and Jungkook exhales audibly as your palms smooth along the golden expanse of his muscular back, dipping down to the waistband of his black swim trunks. Ever since his visit to your bedroom last night, you’ve been itching to touch him—to feel every last inch of him. It’s impossible with your watchful brother and group of nosy friends hovering around though, so you settle for this—rubbing sunscreen into his warm skin while he sprays down his arms and legs.

“Thanks, princess,” he murmurs once you’re done, soft enough so that only you can hear and raising gooseflesh on the back of your neck. “Maybe next time, you’ll let me repay the favor.”

Then Yugyeom is calling his name, and Jungkook sprints down to the shoreline to join his friend in the crashing surf, his face creasing with laughter. Each time he emerges from the waves, droplets cling to his skin like glistening diamonds in the sunlight. It’s impossible to look away from the sight, and your tongue darts out to moisten your lips as you watch water drip off his hair and down his nape, pooling in his collarbones before he shakes his head like a dog and sends it spraying in all directions.

All that sunscreen is going to waste, a tiny voice in your head points out, but it’s hard to worry about that when you’re too busy following the path of the water streaming down past his dusky nipples to the ridges of his abdomen. And it’s almost as if he feels your gaze on him, because he’s suddenly staring right back at you, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips.

“Come on, Noona,” he calls, raking a hand through his drenched hair. “The water’s fine. Don’t make me drag you in.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you call back, immediately regretting it when something equal parts mischievous and dangerous flashes across his face. There’s a glint in his eye that wasn’t there before, and you back away nervously as he emerges from the waves and saunters toward you. “Jungkook—”

“Yes?” he asks, his voice dropping down into a low purr. “What is it, princess?”

You edge around the towel that you’ve laid out in the sand, as if such a flimsy barrier could stop him in any way. “Just—just don’t dunk me under,” you plead.

Jungkook looks genuinely offended by that. “I would never,” he says, laying a hand over his heart and grabbing yours with his free one. “Now come on—let’s get you wet.”

You groan at the innuendo and try to tug free from his grip, but Jungkook only tightens his grasp, cackling the whole way down to the water.

///

The sun is just beginning to set, streaking the blue sky through with wispy strands of orange and gold, when Jimin raises his hand and declares it dinner time. For the past two hours, you’ve all been engrossed in a very tight three-on-three volleyball match with Jimin serving as referee, and upon hearing your brother’s declaration, Minho looks about ready to chuck the ball into the ocean.

“Dude, are you fucking serious? We’re literally two points from winning!” He gestures wildly at an invisible scoreboard only he can see. “No way we’re stopping here. I refuse on principle.”

“Yeah, I wanna see who the real winner is, too,” Jungkook drawls from the other end of the court, where he’s flanked on either side by Taehyung and Yugyeom. “I mean, we’ve been leading for most of the tournament, so…”

Minho scowls. “And we’re about to win the whole damn thing. Just you wait, Jeon.”

Behind him, you and Taemin exchange helpless glances. It isn’t the first time you’ve seen Jungkook and Minho squabble over the years, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. Both possess a razor sharp competitive streak and a certain pigheadedness that only emerges when it comes to athletic endeavors, and luckily, your brother knows this just as well as you do. Heaving a sigh, Jimin wearily gestures for them to continue, resuming his post at the end of the net. “Fine, fine,” he mutters. “Next point wins.”

On the other side of the net, Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “I’m good with that if you are.”

“Oh, I’m good,” Minho retorts. “It’s our serve. You ready?”

Jungkook smirks. “Bring it on.”

Minho cracks his knuckles and tosses the ball over to you for the serve. “All right then, let’s fucking do this.”

You sigh. Taking a deep breath, you heft up the ball, testing its weight before hitting it smoothly over the net. Yugyeom jumps up to intercept, batting it back over to your side, and Minho attempts to spike it back and into the sand. Unfortunately, Jungkook is too quick, and dives down to bump it back over to you. The back and forth continues like this for a while—you see Jimin boredly scrolling on his phone out of the corner of your eye—and you’re strongly considering calling it quits when Jungkook smashes the ball over the net and into the ground right at Minho’s feet.

“And that’s game,” he declares proudly, raking his sweaty hair off his forehead with a triumphant grin.

“Are you finally done?” Jimin asks, rolling his eyes and pocketing his phone. “Thank god. Can we eat now?”

Jungkook claps him on the back in affirmation, ignoring Minho’s loud, adamant protests that your team still technically won. Together, you head back to where your towels and bags sit in the sand, grabbing bottles of chilled water out of the cooler and fishing for snacks. Jimin pulls a package of hot dogs out while Taehyung rips open a bag of chips, and you follow their lead and grab the hamburger patties and buns. “Huh, I swear I bought ketchup,” you mumble to yourself as you rummage through the half-melted ice in the cooler. “Is it not in here?”

“I have it.” Jungkook materializes at your side, proffering the little red bottle. He’s pulled his white t-shirt back on, the material a stark contrast to his tanned skin, and you silently rise to your feet to take it when a sudden wave of lightheadedness rushes over you and sends the world spinning.

“Whoa,” you gasp, swaying on your feet. “Oh, god.”

Jungkook frowns and drops the ketchup bottle, steadying you until most of your weight is leaned against him. “Noona? Are you okay?”

You swallow, hard, and try to shake the unexpected bout of dizziness away. “I don’t know. Got dizzy, all of a sudden. I think I might have stood up too fast?”

Gently, Jungkook presses the back of his hand against your forehead. “You feel pretty warm,” he murmurs. “Have you had enough water today?”

“I thought I drank plenty, but maybe not,” you admit, and he nods decisively and gestures for you to follow him.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s grab some water and go somewhere quiet so you can rest. Minho isn’t going to shut up about that match anytime soon, and it’s cooler down by the water.”

You laugh weakly. “We did technically win, you know. We had one more point than you guys.”

“God, not you too,” Jungkook sighs, casting you a playful look over his shoulder as he digs two bottles of water out from the cooler. He uncaps one and hands it over before taking a swig out of his, and you take a grateful sip, relishing in the cool liquid that trickles down your throat.

Nearby, your brother and the rest of the boys have commandeered one of several firepits scattered around the edges of the beach. They’re piling up pieces of driftwood and some of the long, tall sea grass that Taehyung has found, and Jungkook waves at them as he slowly guides you toward the ocean with a hand on your back. “We’re gonna go find some more wood!” he calls, and Jimin raises a hand in acknowledgment before turning back to the firepit.

Water laps gently at your toes as you and Jungkook walk along the shore, washing away all traces of your footprints. The sun dips below the horizon at last, illuminating the sky in one last burst of red and orange and gold that slowly fades into deep purples and blues as night falls. The temperature dips as the moon ascends to her lofty throne, accompanied by a smattering of starry pinpricks. Most of the beachgoers have packed up and left by this point, and here, with nothing but Jungkook’s quiet, familiar presence and the lapping waves, you feel more at peace than you have in a long time.

“You know, I’m really glad I came this weekend,” you say softly, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between the two of you. Your gaze drops down to your toes, fixing your attention on a pearly white seashell that’s sticking out from the wet sand. “I think you were right—I really did need a break from everything.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t quite catch that,” Jungkook says, swirling his pinky in his ear. “Could you say it again? Something about me being right?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

Jungkook casts a quick look over his shoulder, and when you follow the trajectory of his gaze, you notice just how far you’ve gotten from the firepit where the others are sitting. Darkness has settled over the beach, the sand painted a wan silver from the light of the moon, and you flinch when Jungkook’s hand finds its way around yours.

“Jungkook—” you begin, but trail off when he twines your fingers together and gives your hand a squeeze.

“They can’t see us, Noona,” he murmurs. “Relax.”

Easier said than done, you want to say. Nevertheless, you suck in a deep breath and take another sip from your water bottle, trying to ignore the way Jungkook swings your interlocked hands between you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Shouldn’t—shouldn’t we be trying to find more driftwood?” you ask after several long seconds have dragged by. “We need way more if we’re gonna keep the fire going.”

Jungkook hums softly and veers inland, until the sand beneath your feet is dry and starts sticking to your wet toes. You come across a few scattered pieces of wood, dried out by the sun, and tuck them beneath your arm. Likewise, Jungkook gathers a few pieces of his own, hefting them up before reaching out to take your hand once more. His fingers slot all too comfortably into the spaces between yours, and your heart stutters a few times in your chest before plunking down into your churning stomach.

Nighttime has well and truly settled over the beach by the time you and Jungkook start picking your way back over to rejoin the group around the firepit. You pull your hand out of Jungkook’s well before you reach the ring of orange light that the flames cast across the sand, your arm now swinging free at your side and your fingers cold from the loss of his warmth. Silently, you hasten your pace and plop down onto the towel that Jimin has spread out, stretching out your legs toward the fire and wiggling your toes.

“Where have you guys been?” Jimin asks curiously. “You just kinda wandered off.”

“Getting more driftwood,” you reply, gesturing at the small pile you’ve dropped at the edge of the towel. “We told you that’s where we were going.”

Jimin frowns for a few seconds before the memory resurfaces. “Oh, right. I forgot.”

Jungkook snorts and takes a seat beside you, dropping his stack of driftwood on top of yours. “Dumbass.”

“You’re a dumbass,” Jimin retorts.

“You’re both dumbasses,” you sigh.

The fire crackles merrily, sending orange sparks up into the velvety black sky. There’s a grill situated over the flames, loaded with hamburger patties and hot dogs, and you watch as Jimin tears open a bag of hot dog buns and begins to place them around the edges.

“Hey, can you throw me the hamburger buns?” he asks you. “I wanna try toasting them.”

“You’re gonna burn them,” you tell him flatly. Nonetheless, you locate the second bag and toss it over, watching as he makes more room on the grill.

Dinner is a loud, chaotic affair, filled with laughter and conversation and plenty of booze to go around. Jimin has procured a flask of whiskey from somewhere in his clothing—an impressive feat in and of itself, considering he’s only wearing swim trunks and a thin blue t-shirt. You wave him off when he offers you a sip, and he shrugs and throws back a generous swallow himself. Then he offers it to Jungkook, who shakes his head and raises his water bottle. “Designated driver,” he says. “I’m sticking to water tonight.”

Curiously, you glance over at him. “You don’t have to do that. I wasn’t planning on drinking, so I can drive us back.”

“With the way you were looking earlier?” Jungkook fixes you with a look of pure disbelief. “Not a chance. Besides, we’re going back to the real world tomorrow, and the last thing I need is to be hungover. I have to get us back home in one piece, not to mention the entire menu I still have to memorize for work.”

You hum. Jungkook has mentioned his new job a few times—a summer stint working as a server at a new restaurant opened by a family friend named Seokjin. “Right, I remember you saying that. You start on Monday, don’t you?”

“Dinner shift,” Jungkook confirms. “I stole a whole bunch of pens from Junghyun’s room the other day in preparation. Jin said I’d probably end up losing two-thirds of them by the end of the week.”

“That sounds about right,” you tell him with a laugh. “Some guy stole my favorite pen last summer when I was working at that diner on Main. Lesson learned, forever.”

Jungkook laughs. “Yeah, I bet.”

You grin. “But, hey, seriously. If you need me to quiz you on that menu, I’ve got time to spare.”

“Honestly, I might take you up on that offer. I have flash cards, and everything.” He uncaps his water bottle and takes a long sip, his throat bobbing with each swallow, before glancing back over at you. “What about you? You ready for your internship?”

You sigh and offer him a helpless little shrug. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready, to be honest. I don’t think I’m going to stop stressing about it until I get through my first day. The entire thing still doesn’t feel real.”

“I get that,” Jungkook hums. “Well, I can imagine it, at least. I won’t pretend to know exactly what you’re going through, since I’ve never had an adult job, but—“ He shrugs a shoulder halfheartedly. “I can kind of relate, I guess.”

“All jobs suck a little bit,” you tell him, and Jungkook lets out a derisive huff of agreement.

“I’ll drink to that,” he says, and the two of you tap your water bottles together before rejoining the conversation with the rest of your friends.

///

The drive back to the lake house is shorter than you remember it being—though that might be because you spend most of it watching Jungkook drive. He steers with one hand slung carelessly over the wheel, his expression relaxed as he sings along to whatever pop hit plays on the radio. Unloading the car is a team effort, though you hear no shortage of complaints from Jimin as he heaves the cooler over the threshold of the house before collapsing atop it in a pile of limp limbs.

“Thanks for leaving me to carry this thing by myself,” he snarks, not even bothering to raise his head. “Really appreciate it.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Taehyung scoffs, tossing a game console at him. “Have a beer and pick something to play. We’re waiting on you.”

You watch as your brother immediately hops up and darts over to join the rest of the boys lounging in the living room, fighting back the sudden wave of exhaustion that washes over you. “I think I’m going to head to bed,” you tell them, hiding a yawn behind your hand. “Goodnight, guys.”

A chorus of goodnights and see you in the mornings rings out in response, and you wave before heading down the hall to your room and into the adjoining bathroom. Your hair is crusty from being submerged in the salty water of the ocean, and a shower to rejuvenate your dehydrated skin is just what you need. Turning on the tap, you wait until it’s flowing warm before stripping out of your clothes and tossing them onto your bed to deal with later. Then you step into the shower and tilt your head back, letting the water stream down your face and soak into your hair.

You’re midway through squeezing a generous dollop of shampoo into your palm when there’s a soft knock on the door. “Noona?” Jungkook’s voice filters through the sound of rushing water, low and lilting like a song. “You left kinda fast. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

You cap the shampoo bottle and replace it on the shelf, peering out from behind the shower curtain. “I’m fine,” you call, hesitating before you steel your nerves and continue. “You can come in, if you want. I don’t like yelling through the door.”

Slowly, the bathroom door eases open, revealing Jungkook standing in his and Jimin’s shared bedroom. His brown eyes are wide as he takes in the sight before him, and you have no doubt that he’s thinking about just what the palm tree patterned curtain is hiding from his view. Your lip finds its way between your teeth when you notice him shuffle his feet awkwardly for a moment before stepping a little closer to where you’re standing beneath the spray, his mouth opening to speak.

“Join me?”

The invitation slips past your lips, unbidden, but you have no intention of taking it back. Not when Jungkook’s gaze darkens to obsidian at those two simple words, his mouth snapping shut and his hands already reaching for the hem of his white t-shirt. Not when he strips it off in one smooth motion to reveal all the dips and ridges of his abdomen, his skin golden even under the harsh fluorescent bathroom lights. And certainly not when he pulls aside the shower curtain and joins you beneath the spray, his dark eyes appreciatively raking up and down your bare figure.

“Hey,” he says, his voice a low purr.

“Hi,” you respond, reaching out and trailing a fingertip down his chest.

And then you’re dropping down to your knees, your tongue darting out to tease at the tip of his already rising cock. One hand finds its way to his balls while the other traces the line of his pelvic bone, and you smirk when you feel him let out a shuddery breath.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Someone’s eager.”

You wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, humming, and Jungkook’s fingers fly into your dampened hair. “Oh, fuck. You’re really trying to kill me, huh, princess?” he asks, and you respond by taking a little more of him into your mouth, laving at the vein running along the underside of his length before hollowing your cheeks. Jungkook throws his head back, a deep groan escaping his parted lips, and you preen under his encouragement as he urges you to take him deeper.

You’ve just begun to settle into a rhythm—figuring out exactly how much pressure he likes and what makes his hips buck—when he suddenly pushes you away. “Jung—” you begin, only to have him silence you with a searing kiss, grabbing you around the waist and hauling you to your feet.

“Wanna fuck you properly,” he rasps. His hand finds its way between your legs, experimental fingers sliding through the wetness that’s gathered there, and your cheeks heat up when he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean. “Just let me go grab a condom,” he whispers urgently. “Don’t move a muscle, okay? I’ll be righ—”

You silence him with a hard kiss. “Don’t,” you mumble. “I’m clean. Are you?”

Jungkook nods slowly, his eyes wide. “Does that mean… I mean, are you…?”

“I’m on the pill,” you murmur. “Fuck me raw, Jungkook.”

A sharp gasp escapes you when Jungkook cages you against the cool tiled wall of the shower, the slick surface dampened by the spray from the showerhead. He grabs ahold of your thigh and hoists it up to wrap around his waist, and you’ve never been more thankful for the ugly fish patterned shower mat that your mom insisted on putting down to prevent slipping. Jungkook nestles into the newly created space between your legs, his cock hot and slick against your center, and you keen when he grinds against you in a slow, deliberate motion.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, his breath hot against your cheek. “Feel how hard you get me, Noona?”

“God, Jungkook,” you breathe back. “Just fuck me already, will you?”

His answering chuckle sends a shiver from your toes to your crown. “So needy,” he murmurs, his hand sliding from your thigh to your hip. His mouth seeks out yours as he positions the head of his cock at your entrance, meeting little resistance as he slowly begins pushing inside. Your walls part willingly for him and your lips do too—his questing tongue slipping inside when you moan and beginning his seemingly endless task of mapping out every corner of your mouth.

“God, I forgot how big you are,” you breathe when he bottoms out—the entirety of his hot, heavy length sheathed within your walls. Your head falls back against the tile as he rolls his hips experimentally, a moan that sounds vaguely like Jungkook’s name escaping your lips. Your arms come up to brace on his shoulders as he picks up his pace, but he intercepts one of your hands and twines your fingers together, settling them onto the wall just to the left of your head. His other hand returns to your thigh to keep you stable and spread out for his increasingly harsh thrusts, and you whimper helplessly in his ironclad grip.

“That’s it,” he whispers, groaning when you clench around him. “God, you’re so fucking tight, princess.”

“Fuck me open, then,” you moan back, squeezing his hand and meeting his next thrust with one of your own. Jungkook’s breathing stutters, and you laugh breathlessly at the way his mouth falls open at the spike of pleasure. Emboldened, you grind against him, the spray from the shower easing the movement. “Jungkook, please.”

He chuckles hoarsely. “Careful what you wish for,” he purrs against the shell of your ear, punctuating the warning with a harsh roll of his hips that sends all remaining thought flying out of your head. In this moment, there’s only Jungkook—his dark hair dampened and dripping, the spray from the showerhead slicking his chest and pooling in his clavicle before trailing down each ridge and dip of his honeyed skin. His lips find yours again, and you sigh into the kiss as he begins to fuck you in earnest.

“Hey, Jungkook! You in there?”

Your eyes fly open at the new voice, your body tensing when there are several loud bangs on the door. Jungkook freezes mid-thrust with an expression that can only be described as a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, his throat bobbing nervously as he fights to find a response. You can practically see the gears whirring in his brain, and shove uselessly at his chest in an attempt to escape his steely embrace.

“That’s Jimin,” you hiss urgently, turning his face toward yours and prodding his cheek until his gaze refocuses. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

“Dude.” Jimin’s voice is laced with irritation. “I wanna brush my teeth! What the hell are you doing in there?”

Jungkook hesitates, glancing between you and the closed bathroom door. Then he inhales deeply, pressing a light kiss to your furrowed forehead before pulling the shower curtain closed, ensuring there are no gaps. “I got you,” he murmurs softly, his brown eyes boring into yours. “Don’t worry, okay?”

Your eyes flutter shut at the gentle pressure of his lips against your skin, but they fly open again when Jungkook breaks away and yells for Jimin to come in. Warm palms slide soothingly down your sides, but that doesn’t stop you from tensing up when the bathroom door creaks open, your brother’s soft footsteps approaching the flimsy palm tree patterned curtain.

“Have you been showering this whole time? Jeez. Leave some hot water for the rest of us, will you?”

Jungkook chuckles. Ever so slowly, he pushes forward until he’s fully seated inside you again, and you do your best to level a glare at him even as pleasure flares at the base of your spine. “There’s plenty to go around,” he says. “Relax.”

You get the distinct feeling that he’s not just addressing Jimin anymore. Jungkook pulls back until only the top of his cock remains nestled in your folds, and you open your mouth to berate him but all that comes out is a low moan when he sinks back inside you in one swift push.

On the other side of the curtain, you hear the faucet turn on. “Man, I can’t believe we leave tomorrow,” Jimin says over the sound of running water. “The weekend flew by.”

“Mmm,” Jungkook hums, brushing a thumb across your clit. The pace he’s set is slow and deep, and is made all the more sensual by the steam that’s steadily building up in the small room. You try once more to push him away—to quell the growing ache between your legs—but it’s all in vain as he chuckles softly into the crook of your neck, his bare shoulders quaking. “I got you, princess,” he murmurs, his voice a wicked little whisper that’s immediately lost in the spray of water. “Just let me take care of you, yeah?”

You don’t have a chance to answer. Jimin starts speaking again, this time accompanied by the sound of toothbrush bristles scrubbing against his teeth. “I’m starting up at the studio as soon as we get back—isn’t that crazy? I mean, I’ve never taught anyone how to dance before. Not really. Not for real.”

Jungkook snaps his hips up so sharply that you nearly mewl in surprise, forced to bite down into his meaty shoulder to muffle the noises that threaten to escape from your throat. “You’re a great tutor, man,” he says, his voice steady even as he resumes his slow, lazy thrusts, his cock dragging along your fluttering walls. “You’ve been helping people with math for, what, two years? What makes you think it’ll be any different with dancing?”

Jimin spits into the sink and sighs. “I don’t know. It’s scarier because there’ll be more people, I guess. Tutoring is one on one, y’know? And at the studio, I’ll have a full class of people watching me. Every single move I make, they’ll be looking at. That’s fucking terrifying to think about.”

Slowly, Jungkook’s hips still, his cock buried to the hilt in your cunt. Your heartbeat drums in your ears, backed by the relentless spray from the showerhead, and Jungkook leans down to plant a wet kiss on your cheek, his hair dripping.

“You’re a great dancer, Jimin,” he says once he’s pulled back and straightened back up to his full height. “Best one I know. You’re also one of the smartest people I know, but right now, you’re being really fucking dumb.”

There’s a clatter that sounds like a plastic toothbrush being dropped into the sink, and Jimin lets out an affronted squeak. “Hey!”

Jungkook just chuckles, his shoulders quaking. “It’s true,” he says easily. “Seriously, man. You don’t have a thing to worry about. You’re gonna kick ass out there, and your class is gonna be awesome. You’re already, what, almost maxed out on the number of registrants? You’re already killing it.”

Your brother lets out an unintelligible grumble on the other side of the shower curtain, but you can still hear the smile in his voice no matter how hard he tries to mask it. “All right, you fucking sap,” Jimin says at last, his soft footsteps padding toward the door. “Hurry up and get out of there, yeah? You’re really gonna use up all the hot water.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and you immediately smack Jungkook in the middle of his stupidly toned chest. “Oh my god!” you hiss. “Are you kidding me right now, Jeon? We could’ve been caught!”

“But we weren’t,” Jungkook replies easily, shaking his dampened hair out of his face and fixing you with an indolent little smirk. “So why don’t you be a good girl and cum for me now?”

///

The next morning brings with it a whirlwind of frenzied packing, and you mentally congratulate yourself for preemptively gathering all of your belongings together last night. Minho is wandering every last inch of the house with a piece of half-eaten toast dangling from his mouth, and you can hear Taehyung in the distance asking if anyone’s seen his strawberry body wash. Jungkook is seated on the floor near the front door, his brows furrowed and his lower lip jutting out in a pout as he fights to close the zipper of his suitcase.

“Got it!” he exclaims after a few seconds, triumphant. “Where’s your stuff, Noona? I’m gonna load the car.”

You begin to stand up from your spot on the couch. “It’s in my room, let me go get—”

Jungkook is on his feet and halfway down the hall before you can even finish your sentence. He returns a moment later with your luggage in tow, shooting you a grin and a wink as he passes by. “I got you, princess,” he murmurs. “Remember?”

Of course you do. You remember like it was yesterday—because, well, it was yesterday and you haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. You remember the moment you shared at the beach and the way his hand felt so right wrapped around your own. You remember the way you’d dropped to your knees for him so readily in the shower last night. And you definitely remember the way he’d fucked you afterward—slow and deep in the best possible way, even with your brother’s untimely interruption.

After what feels like an eternity, both cars are finally packed and ready to go. You bid goodbye to the boys who are riding with Jimin, promising to stay in touch, before climbing into the passenger seat of Jungkook’s beat-up sedan. Jungkook himself is already lounging behind the wheel, his sunglasses perched low on his nose as he fiddles with his phone. He looks up at your entrance and flashes you a smile, tapping his screen a few more times before holding it up so you can see.

“I changed your contact photo,” he says. “Like it?”

You peer at his phone, and something in your chest clenches when you see the photo he’s selected. You’re on the beach beside the volleyball net, illuminated by the setting sun. The sky is streaked through with pink and orange behind you, but through some editing magic, Jungkook has made it so that you are glowing even brighter in the foreground—with laughter etched across your face and the wind in your hair. It’s a beautiful photograph, and you tell him so, unable to contain the dangerously warm affection blossoming in your chest.

“I love it,” you say. “I usually don’t like having my photo taken, but wow. You have a talent for this.”

Jungkook’s smile grows. “I have a pretty muse,” he replies, and your cheeks warm.

The door to the backseat opens with a bang, and you nearly jump out of your skin at the sudden sound. “Yo,” Yugyeom says, plopping down and buckling his seatbelt. “We ready to roll?”

Jungkook scowls and puts his phone back into his pocket. “Careful with the door, man. I need this thing to last through the summer.”

Yugyeom puts his hands up in apology, and Jungkook turns back to face the front, starting the ignition with a flick of his wrist. The engine sputters to life, and Jungkook waits for Jimin to pull out first before following after him, tailing the van out of the driveway and onto the winding road that will take you back into the city.

“Music?” you ask, gesturing at the stereo.

“Go for it,” Jungkook replies. “You want my phone so you can put on the roadtrip mix?”

“Sure.”

With the help of the upbeat music and Jungkook’s tendency to drive just a touch over the speed limit, you make it to the winding roads of Yugyeom’s neighborhood in what must be record time. “You missed the turn,” Yugyeom says lazily from where he’s sprawled across the entire backseat. “Turn left here—we can circle around and approach from the other side.”

Two more turns and a descent down a steep hill later, Jungkook manages to successfully drop Yugyeom off at his house. The drive across town takes no time at all, and before long, you’re cruising into your neighborhood, coasting past Jungkook’s driveway and straight into yours.

“Looks like we beat Jimin back,” you remark, looking at the empty spot where the van usually sits.

Jungkook hums. “Makes sense. He has more people to drop off.”

“Mm. Yeah.”

The sudden awkwardness that falls doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Clearing your throat, you reach for your purse, grabbing it from where it’s fallen to the ground near your feet. “I guess I’ll see you around then,” you begin, turning to open the door.

A strong hand wraps around your wrist, forcing you back into your seat. “Is that it?” Jungkook asks, and there’s an edge of something you can’t quite place in his voice. “Are you gonna go back to pretending like there’s nothing between us?”

You shake him free. “There isn’t anything between us,” you whisper. “We’re not on vacation anymore, Jungkook. We’re back home. Back to real life. We can’t do—whatever it is that we’ve been doing.”

“But you’re attracted to me,” Jungkook growls. “You like me. So why do you keep running away?”

A sigh escapes you. “Jungkook, it doesn’t matter if I like you or no—”

He interrupts before you can even finish your sentence. “Yes it does. It’s the only thing that matters.” And then he’s pulling you into his chest, taking advantage of your skewed sense of balance, and crushing his mouth to yours.

This kiss is different from the others you’ve shared so far. It’s hungry and passionate, and yet it’s tinged with something else—something that feels strangely akin to desperation. Jungkook kisses you with urgency, and it’s so raw and unbridled that it steals the very breath from your lungs and leaves you lightheaded.

Jungkook doesn’t say a word when he pulls away. Instead, he reaches down, popping the handle that opens the trunk and stepping out to pull your suitcase from within. Silently, he presses the handle into your hand.

And then he’s turning—climbing back into his car and leaving you with nothing but the memory of his lips and a whirlwind of thoughts in your mind.

[luvnami]

𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 (here) | 𝐖𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 | 𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 | 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 - This is my entry for @jjkmag​ Summer Collab! It’s my first long fic in a while but I had a lot of fun writing this (that isn’t to say I think it’s very good. I hope the plot/finality was pulled off decently ok lol). I hope you enjoy it! I chose the prompt 'coming of age', though there are definitely scenes where the other prompts were present as well. Reblogs, comments, shares and likes are really appreciated!!

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 - @getousuguruwife​ @amjustagirl​ @aliteama​

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 - Amnesia, Memory loss, Blood, Mild gore, Death, Blood loss, Bullying, Mild Racism (only in the first part), Corpses, Food, Manga spoilers, Pre-canon and canon compliant to a certain extent, Nightmares

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - Nanami Kento's life has been... Good, bad, and everything in between. He (and many others) thinks he's mature, independent, the definition of what a proper adult should be like. But really, the only way he's made it this far is because you've been holding his hand the entire time.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 6.4k

The first memory Nanami has of you sits in a blurry haze at the back of his mind.

You’re probably four or five years old at best, squatting by a puddle in the empty kindergarten playground. Nanami wonders what made him waddle over to you that warm afternoon.

His shoes, scribbled with ugly caricatures in marker, carry him to the other side of the puddle. A shadow cast by a plastic slide slices your features neatly in half like a Greek theatre mask. Nanami doesn’t speak a word to you as he stares at your chubby fingers that push a fallen leaf around in the water as the surface ripples silently.

You look up at Nanami. He’s an odd child, excluded by the other kindergarteners because of how quiet and strange he is. Nanami’s blond hair is abnormal to the immature local Japanese children. They knee the back of his legs while calling him names like ‘banana-gaijin!’ and making fun of his fancy leather shoes.

“Do you wanna play with me?”

Nanami wonders if the words you speak to him are from your heart or something constructed from a plan to bully him again.

“My mama taught me how to make boats with leaves. See?” You point to the puddle. “We can race them.”

Nanami carefully selects a leaf off of the playground’s floor. It’s still green, freshly fallen from its branch. You grin toothily, your eyes sparkling.

“That’s a perfect leaf!” you declare.

Nanami thinks he wants to play with you forever.

He follows you around in school like a lost puppy after that, clutching his hands nervously when you stand up to the children who bully him. Nanami wonders if you’ll ever turn your back on him. He arrives earlier than you every morning and hurriedly scrubs at your table with his handkerchief to get rid of nasty words and obscene drawings, heart thumping against his cotton polo. When his mother asks him why his new handkerchief is so dirty, he remains silent and grips the hem of his shirt tightly.

Children are children; Nanami learns. Afraid of abnormalities, they defend their right to innocence and ego with harsh words and various schemes. He learns to ignore the whispers behind his back. What he can’t disregard, though, is when they lash out at you.

They jeer when you trip during P.E. classes and bump into you on purpose when you carry your lunch tray. You pretend that it doesn’t hurt when Nanami holds your hand gently and leads you to the nurse’s office with scraped knees, hiccuping and swiping at your eyes roughly.

He wonders why you don’t take the easy way out and just stop being friends with him. What’s wrong with you? You hold him tightly, a bundle of thorns, in your soft hands and pretend that you’re not bleeding.

“Ken-chan?” you sniffle.

He turns.

“You’re my best friend, right?”

Nanami gulps. He doesn’t question why you cry on graduation day, bidding your final farewell to him with vague promises of meeting in the same elementary school. Something in his chest doesn’t sit right; the kind of feeling when his mother threw out his old stuffed toys after she deemed him too old for them anymore.

He watches you grow smaller and smaller in the rear window of his family car till you’re the size of an ant, his knees digging into the leather seats.

“Sit down, Kento,” his father chides.

Nanami ignores him. He watches you wave your hand in the air as the car turns around the corner and lurches into the seat.

☆*: .｡.

Nanami’s genuinely surprised when he finds out that his assigned seat is right next to you on the first day of elementary school. You’re no different, mouth wide open in an ‘o’ as you stare at him.“Ken-chan!”

You almost yell, and Nanami shushes you as his face heats up. He finds out that your mothers had conspired to put the both of you into the same school. He can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing just yet, but peace settles into his chest the same way the wings of a bird return to its sides after flight when you giggle at his flustered expression.

Through nine years of elementary and junior high school together, Nanami learns that you always arrange the tips of your pencils to face the right side of your pencil box, and you keep the torn bits of movie tickets shoved into your bedside drawer. You find that Nanami has a knack for dry humour — he’s blunt at every moment possible (which caused much distress after he talked back to a teacher that one time) and can usually be bribed for any favour as long as you pay him in food.

What the both of you find oddly shocking, though, is that no one else can see the creatures that swim through walls and perch in dark corners of the school.

They make you sweat whenever they get too close, bulbous eyes and strange bodies twisting in ways that shouldn’t be physically possible. Sometimes they make noises, whispering or coaxing or shrieking or crying in broken sentences.

Nanami learns to treat them as background noise. You, on the other hand, find that a little more complicated. Sometimes you latch onto him when one brushes against your arm, squeaking and swatting at them in an attempt to chase them away.

“They’re so gross!” you’d whine, pressing yourself even closer to Nanami. “Did you see that one in the gym yesterday? It had tentacles!”

In cases like this, the blond clears his throat and ignores you, averting his gaze. He doesn’t admit to anyone, not even himself, that the warmth of your skin through your uniform makes his heart skip a beat. You’ve grown so close to him that you even know that Nanami sleeps with Doraemon pajamas (absolutely, abhorrently embarrassing. He made his mother throw them out the night after you came over for a sleepover). It was inevitable for him to develop feelings.

Nanami shoves his feelings below a lid and sits on top of it, keeping them under lock and key. He’s sure this is just something to do with puppy love or ‘infatuations’ that are underlined in the puberty print-outs the school distributed, alongside scientific diagrams of genitals that the boys in his class giggle at.

Being friends is enough. Or so he thinks, anyway.

☆*: .｡.

It’s a Friday evening when the sky is dark, and street lights flicker in the distance. Nanami munches away on melon bread from a convenience store while you sip on a carton of juice. Your clubs had ended late today, so the sun was down by the time you left school.

“How’s the bread?” you ask, slurping up the last drops of your drink.

Nanami chews and swallows while you dab at your mouth with a yellow cotton handkerchief.

“It’s okay. Not as good as a bakery’s, though. Kinda stale.”

He crumples the plastic packaging in his hand and sticks it into his pocket, planning to dispose of it later. The both of you round the corner to the bus stop, and your feet fall still. A large curse sits in the middle of the road.

Numerous cars are crumpled like drink cans, smoke, and gasoline leaking onto the streets. There’s blood. Too much blood, in fact, that they seem like puddles of rain on the dark tarmac. Your juice box drops from your hand.

The curse turns to you, its teeth split vertically down the centre of what constitutes a face. Multiple eyes run down the length of its engorged body where various hands and feet stick out at random parts.

“Blood… Blood…” it moans in a cryptic voice.

Nanami stands with his feet frozen to the ground, eyes wide in horror. His knuckles turn white as he grips his school bag. Run, run, run! He screams internally, but his limbs don’t listen to him. The curse slides over the road towards him, slipping through the blood easily.

“Give me… Your blood…”

A part of the curse’s body bubbles up into a large hand. It swings itself back before throwing its newly created appendage towards Nanami. RUN RUN RUN! His legs don’t move. He squeezes his eyes shut, awaiting the impact. Except that it doesn’t hit him. Nothing hurts, except the shrill scream that pierces his ears. Nanami’s eyes snap open in horror. 

“Kento!” you yell, dangling upside down as the curse pulls you towards its mouth.

Your school bag lays on the ground below, books scattered as their pages turn red.  

“Run!”

Nanami drops everything as he scrambles towards you, tripping over his own two feet and landing face-first in the blood. His hands and knees sting. He shoves himself and gets up with his teeth clenched. You kick your feet in the air in a poor attempt to escape the curse’s grip but to no avail. Another groan is squeezed out of you as the curse opens its mouth, the foul stench of rotting bodies engulfing you.

“Run, Kento!” you plead.

How can he turn his back on you? Sweat drips down his forehead as Nanami pulls his hand back. The adrenaline that rushes through his blood clears in a split-second moment of raw emotion; anger, disappointment, confusion, sadness. A tingling sort of energy floods his body, and Nanami takes a sharp breath of air. He sees something like a ruler — a line divided equally with ten markings, the seventh one crossed out. His fist connects with it.

The curse lets out a weak moan of pain, shaking you around as it recoils from Nanami’s hit. It’s not much, just a surface injury at most. Nanami’s limbs tremble with exertion. One more time, again and again, until you’re safe-

A thick, gross liquid engulfs Nanami as the curse explodes in front of his very eyes. He coughs, running a slimy hand over his face. It smells like death.

“Woah! You put too much into that again, Satoru.” 

“Shut up!”

Nanami looks up as he hears footsteps move towards him, the quiet splashing of blood beneath shoes.

“Ugh, this place is so gross.”

“You okay there, kiddo?”

Nanami looks up to find a male with his hair pulled back into a bun staring at him. Behind him is a white-haired teenager with sunglasses (strange, hasn’t the sun already gone down?) and an imposing-looking man.

Where are you?

Nanami glances around frantically amidst the dead bodies that lie on the ground. Not you, not you, not- A tiny sliver of hope slips into his heart when he spots your uniform, and he stumbles over.

“Woah! Slow down!”

He calls out your name, slipping and collapsing onto his knees. Your eyes are closed, and a wound on your head oozes blood. A young girl with short hair reaches out to touch you, but Nanami pulls you into his chest, his eyes wide.

“Don’t,” he whispers.

His head spins. Are these good people? How did they just destroy that big monster? He hadn’t even seen them coming. Were they going to hurt you?

“Calm down, man! We’re good guys.”

“No one’s going to trust you when you say that, Satoru.”

The girl stares at Nanami.

“I’ll take care of your injuries. Can you let me see them, please?”

He relaxes. His grip on you loosens, and the girl feels for your pulse, nodding in affirmation.

“Alive.”

Nanami breathes a sigh of relief. At this realisation, his body begins to tremble like a leaf in the wind. He digs his nails into his palms but still they quiver. His heart pounds in his chest and he struggles to take a deep breath, exhaustion overtaking him.

“Hey, you okay?”

His eyes fall shut. 

☆*: .｡.

Nanami finds out over a hot cup of tea that those monsters are called curses, and not everyone can see them.

“Lucky you!” Gojo chimes in.

Lucky? His face wrinkles in despair and Getou laughs so loud at his reaction that he has to step out of the room.

Nanami had sustained minor injuries — nothing beyond a few scrapes and some trauma. You were fine for the most part. After hitting your head on the ground, you remained unconscious for a few more days after Nanami had woken up. You were covered in a few bruises, but otherwise alright. 

Nanami was infinitely thankful for that

Yaga tells him that he has enough aptitude to become a full-fledged sorcerer. The school he teaches at is called Jujutsu High and is located on the outskirts of Tokyo. Since he’s in his final year of junior high, why not give it a thought if he wants to join them? Nanami holds Yaga’s name card numbly.

He looks up at Yaga, only one objective clear in his mind. He doesn’t want to see you hurt any longer.

“Will you teach me how to exorcise curses?” he asks.

Gojo laughs outrightly and Geto snorts. Yaga gives him a confident smile, clapping Nanami on the shoulder (he doesn’t quite like that, but he overlooks it for now).

“You can count on that.”

☆*: .｡.

Nanami’s a little apprehensive about entering Jujutsu High, especially when you decide to enrol as well. Given the ability to see curses, you were adamant about learning to help others with this ability you were gifted with. He relented and sulked for the rest of the day until you gave him a cup of pudding.

The first day Nanami and you enter Jujutsu Tech, you meet a wide-eyed boy named Haibara Yu. He’s overly optimistic and passionate — precisely the kind of person that Nanami tires of interacting with. In fact, the very first thing Haibara says upon meeting the both of you irritates him.

“Woah! Blondie, are you from an emo band or something? Your hair really matches the vibe!” Haibara had gasped.

You struggled to suppress your giggles, biting on your lower lip as you turned to the side. Nanami, on the other hand, didn’t find it quite as funny.

“No, I’m not. Nice to meet you too,” he replied monotonously.

It takes all of the following month for Nanami to get used to Haibara’s eccentricities. He always does his best during training, mingles enthusiastically with the upperclassmen and chows down on at least two bowls of rice during break time. The most annoying part about him is how Haibara seems to get along so well with you.

You laugh too loudly for Nanami’s liking at his jokes, squeeze in between Haibara and him (brushing shoulders with the both of them! Seriously!) when they’re standing together just to listen in on Haibara’s monologuing, and sometimes even end up sparring with him instead of Nanami.

The blond curses that there is an odd number of first years and peers in the mirror after his shower as he wonders what he would look like with a black bowl cut. He even tries to finish more than one serving of ginger pork on one particular day and gets sent to the school nurse for a tummy ache.

Though, the three of you have chemistry that works out when fighting curses. Nanami is the primary damage dealer of the group, while you learn how to provide support with Haibara and create openings for Nanami to attack. So on your first ‘real group mission’ assigned to you by Yaga, you can’t help but set off with overflowing excitement.

It isn’t often that you have the opportunity to step outside of Jujutsu High on your own without supervision. Even on weekends, you’re usually expected to train or study. The sun shines warmly down upon the streets of Asakusa, and tourists and locals alike swarm the city area.

“Hey! We should totally give Sensou-ji Temple a visit later!” Haibara suggests, pumping his fist in the air.

“We’re not here to sightsee,” Nanami sighs.

“That’s what you said the last time we went to Okinawa, and guess what, Nanamin! We didn’t even get to try their sushi!”

“Yeah, and you forgot to bring back souvenirs for me, Ken-chan,” you chime in.

“I told you to stop adding -chan to my name.” 

“Why not? Doesn’t it sound cute?” 

“Mhm!”

Haibara nods furiously. Nanami ignores the both of you with a sigh. He slings a bag containing his sword over his shoulder once more as the crowd barely makes space for you to move through.

“We can’t take too long,” he relents.

The cheers and high-fives that you and Haibara give each other make a vein bulge on Nanami’s temple. He tries not to read too much into the way you immediately begin discussing what places to visit and eat at with Haibara — didn’t you care for his opinion? He shakes his head and increases his pace, leaving the both of you behind.

Nanami ignores the cries of ‘Ken-chan!’ and ‘Nanamin!’ that ring out through the crowd. Whatever. If you want to be with Haibara, then Nanami will gladly get out of the way for you. He drags his feet on the pavement and settles for a cup of iced tea in a nearby cafe gloomily.

What Nanami is doing is… childish. He knows, at the very least, that he should be happy the both of you have met a nice new friend. But he can’t help the jealousy that rises in his chest like smoke in a chimney when he sees you cling onto Haibara the same way you used to do to him.

Was Haibara nicer, more good-looking, stronger, funnier, gentler, better than every single trait in Nanami combined? You no longer ask Nanami how he slept the previous night, instead running over to Haibara and greeting him cheerily. Forget about how you used to come over to Nanami’s house to study after school — you and Haibara disappear to who knows where after training everyday.

He bites down on his straw. The bitter taste of a lemon seed fills his mouth and Nanami spits it out onto a napkin with more force than necessary. He takes a deep breath. He should make things clear to you, then, and let you know how he feels about you. To him, it sounds a little like love.

Nanami’s face flushes with embarrassment. Love is… Love isn’t this. It definitely isn’t getting jealous over your relationships with other people, nor is it forcing you to accept his feelings out of spite. He finishes the last bit of his iced tea, the straw making a gurgling noise as it fails to suck up any more liquid. He leaves his money by the counter and walks back outside, returning his heart back to its safe, clicking the lock shut once more. His shoulders sag as he lets out a pent-up sigh.

Nanami squints at his phone. The golden sunlight makes it difficult to read his messages, but he manages to pick out four missed calls from you and a hundred text messages from Haibara. His blood runs cold when he scrolls to the last text that he received.

Haibara Yu, 4.25p.m.:  curse help 6 cho

It’s currently 4.35p.m. 6-chome is a 15 minutes walk away, five minutes if he sprints fast enough. Nanami hopes that you’re okay, that Haibara has enough sense to call for other back-up or avoid the curse.

Nanami’s feet pound under him as he shoves his way through the crowds, earning distasteful looks and swears. He doesn’t care. Not when you and Haibara are facing a possible grade 2 curse alone, and not when it’s because of Nanami’s irresponsibility and useless emotions that had caused the three of you to be separated.

His breath comes quick and hard and his thighs burn, screaming for relief. He makes a sharp turn and almost crashes into a bicycle.

“Watch where you’re going!” an angry housewife yells, but her words fall on deaf ears.

Just a little more, he begs.

Nanami hears the fighting before he sees it. The sound of metal meeting metal and the roar of the curse sound uncharacteristically comforting to him as he draws his sword, racing to bear a fighting stance.

But he’s too late.

“Yu!” you cry out as Haibara crumples onto the ground.

His eyes meet Nanami’s. His uniform is tattered, face bearing wounds and his right arm is bent at an unnatural shape, almost like a knotted tree branch. You seem relatively unhurt, although your breathing is laboured.

“Kento,” Haibara wheezes.

Nanami’s feet don’t move. His chest heaves, perspiration pouring down his face and drenching his uniform. The grip on his sword slips ever so slightly. The curse stands at the end of a ruined district. You aren’t trained to fight in such close quarters, or reduce the number of casualties to a bare minimum. 

And Nanami hadn’t been here to provide damage to exorcise it.

“Who are you? Another small fry?” the curse scoffs.

It takes the body of a geisha, dressed in luxurious robes that whip about in the air. Consciousness? This isn’t a grade 2 by any means — it’s a special grade curse. The will to fight slips out of Nanami like water from a cup, trickling from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

“Haibara!” Nanami shouts.

The male gives Nanami one last smile from where he is.

“You’ve got it from here,” he whispers, lips barely moving.

The geisha stretches out its hand, a portion of its obi moving along with it. You and Nanami watch in horror as Haibara’s head is neatly decapitated from his body. His blood drips off of the ends of the robes as the curse cackles, his head rolling to a stop as his half-closed eyes stare up at Nanami like a dead fish’s.

“You think you can beat me? Look at your little friend!”

Fury rushes into Nanami like a wave meeting the shore.

“You’ll die here by my hands!” the curse roars.

You take a step back as the geisha prepares to launch another attack, silk sashes drawn back into the sky before they plunge back at you two in an aerial attack. Nanami leaps through the attacks as his body moves faster than he can process it.

You, on the other hand, create a shield out of cursed energy to try and deflect the attacks. At the very least, Haibara deserves a proper burial. There isn’t time for mourning now, and you have to wipe away the tears that pool in your eyes. You try to ignore the way his head rolls closer to your foot and bumps against it gently.

Nanami lets out a yell of anger. His cursed energy swells as he cuts his way through the sashes, movement based on momentum than anything else at this point. His mind is clouded with regret and frustration. Nanami channels his anger into his sword, the ten destined lines appearing before his eyes once more.

The curse lets out a cry of pain as it stumbles back, sashes redrawn as it tries to gauge its wounds. Blood gushes from a slash on its side and Nanami darts forward again — again, again, again, until its dead. His legs, however, are weaker than what he thinks they can bear. Nanami stumbles in his step.

“Ken!” you shout.

The curse grins. It takes little to no time to regenerate, skin overlapping raw flesh as it gets back onto its feet.

“You’re weak,” it taunts. “First your friend, now you. I’ll be sure to savour the last one as well!”

Nanami struggles to get back onto his feet. He gasps, heart ripping a hole through his chest. He’s so exhausted; so worn out, that his arms refuse to raise his sword above chest height. He curses.

You run over to Nanami, grabbing his uniform and dragging him back. The curse starts to chant ominously. Its face turns dark, taking steps that sway its body with thick, lacquered geta. You shove Nanami back as you’re engulfed by its domain, swallowed up by darkness and spit into a tatami room. He barely has time to call your name before you disappear.

“Shit!”

Nanami stumbles back onto his feet, but sinks down onto his knees again. His shoulders quake as he tries to suck in breaths of air, but his throat is too dry. He coughs and adjusts his grip on his sword. Shit, shit, shit. All of his partners tossed themselves at death as if it was an idle thing just to protect him. What was Nanami doing? He would never become a sorcerer like this, never be able to protect you.

He grits his teeth. He’ll never be enough.

Nanami picks up his sword, wrapping his fingers around its hilt one more time. He dashes towards the domain, tasting iron as he hacks and slashes at it. Again, again, and again. His hands turn numb and his cursed energy flickers like a candle’s flame, but there’s one thing Nanami’s insistent on — getting you out of there.

The domain finally collapses as Nanami finally steadies himself on his feet. You roll to the ground, breath shallow. Your uniform is sliced up in different areas and a pool of blood begins to spread where your head meets the floor.

“Ken…?” you whisper.

Nanami smells it — the scent of death. Why did he ever choose to become a sorcerer over an ordinary high school life? He wouldn’t have dragged you into this mess, caused you to be hurt time and time again. Nanami calls out your name tentatively. You don’t respond.

The curse roars with laughter as your eyes fall shut, “Don’t you see how I’m so strong? You’re nothing compared to me-”

Nanami sees red. He launches himself forward, brandishing his sword even if it’s for the last time.

He doesn’t remember what happens afterwards.

Nanami sinks into a pool of blood, head spinning with exertion. Your body lays to his left, Haibara’s head to his right. He collapses to the ground.

☆*: .｡.

When he comes to, Nanami’s eyes struggle to adjust to the white light that floods the room. It smells vaguely like antiseptic. He slowly sits up, body aching with exhaustion with telltale bandages wrapped around most of his exposed limbs.

A drawn curtain separates his bed from the rest of the room, which he assumes to be Jujutsu Tech’s sickbay. He runs a hand over his face and lies back down, letting sleep take him by the hand and lead him a step further from reality.

Nanami wakes up a second time when Shouko returns to the room. He stares at her, blinking once, then twice.

“Nanami?” she asks softly. “Can you hear me?”

He tries to reply, but his throat is parched. He ends up coughing, wrinkling his face as pain spreads through his ribs. Shouko rushes to get him a glass of water and calls the rest (namely Yaga and Gojo) over. Nanami nurses the glass as Yaga takes a seat by his bed.

There are no questions, only condolences and murmured explanations of what had happened. The only thing Nanami picks up is that you’re alive. That’s more than enough for him to relax, nodding dumbly along to Yaga’s words.

The curse had been on the brink of death when Nanami collapsed. However, he had put up enough of a fight for nearby sorcerers to come to his aid and finish it off. There was no doubt about it — it was a special grade curse. Yaga apologises for the miscommunication and loss of Haibara’s life. Nanami doesn’t reply.

No amount of apologies could turn back time and bring Haibara back.

It takes him a few more days before Nanami’s able to hobble around the school, aided by crutches. Gojo pokes fun at how he seems like a grandpa but even his jokes don’t bear the mean edge they usually do. Getou leaves a can of vending machine coffee by his bedside table and Shouko brings him some wildflowers. Nanami leaves the plush cat Yaga had made for him untouched.

Nanami struggles against the nightmares that plague him. In one Haibara cradles his decapitated head in his own arms, asking Nanami why he hadn’t saved his life; in another you die, guts spilling onto the streets with your eyes bulging from your skull. Nanami wakes up in cold sweat. He calms his breathing alone and doesn’t sleep a single wink.

It’s a rainy day when Shouko lets him enter the morgue. Haibara’s body is laid in a shroud of white, his head positioned to appear attached. Had he ever been so pale? Nanami’s fingers grip his crutches, gritting his teeth.

How long his eyelashes had been! A small scar runs down his left temple (“After my sister shoved me in the playground!” Haibara had chirped), and his bangs remain as perfectly cut as they had been when he died. Nanami half expects him to sit up, to grin and laugh at his twisted face.

“Why’re you so stiff, Nanami? It’s just a joke!” 

Justajokejustajokejustajoke.

A chasm opens up in Nanami’s stomach. His crutches clatter to the floor as he races out of the morgue, stumbling when pain shoots up his right leg. He retches dryly and tears pool in his eyes. Shouko silently covers Haibara and closes the door, Nanami’s tears falling alongside the pouring rain.

That night in his dreams, Haibara slices Nanami’s head off. He wakes up with his heart racing and tears slipping down his cheeks.

Nanami visits you the next day. He had been reluctant to do so — what if you blamed him for everything, for Haibara’s death and your injuries? He wouldn’t be able to bear it, to be hated by you. His hand hovers over your dorm doorknob, hesitating. Nanami takes a deep breath as he swallows his anxiety and opens the door.

It’s as if nothing had ever happened.

You sit on your bed, neatly tucked under the covers with a book sitting on your lap. Warm sunshine pours through the open windows and the penguin plush Nanami had won for you at a festival still sits by your desk. You look up when he walks in.

Nanami calls out your name. You stare at him.

“Sorry, but… Who are you?” you ask quietly, a sense of confusion lacing your words.

He stops by the door and Nanami’s heart sinks to his feet.

“I’m Kento. Nanami Kento,” he repeats, words tasting like ash in his mouth.

Checkered curtains flutter in the wind and the pages of your book butterfly open to an unread chapter. You keep your eyes focused on Nanami, eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion.

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” you reply.

☆*: .｡.

A toxic mix of trauma and a severe head injury had caused your amnesia. Nanami lays in bed at night, staring up at the ceiling. If only he hadn’t let his emotions overtake him, if only he had been there a minute earlier, if only if only if only. Regret dulls his sense of taste and emotions. He no longer takes joy in eating anything (even those croissants Getou had bought while out on a mission), nor does he even crack a smile at Gojo’s antics.

Nanami returns to training once he is physically well again. He becomes the only first-year to attend Yaga’s classes, sparring practice conducted with the second years. He goes out on missions alone and learns to provide both defense and offense for himself. Nanami trains, he exercises curses, he returns to school. He repeats this same cycle mindlessly over and over again. 

Time heals, they say. Nanami wonders how much time it must take for him to let go of everything.

Nanami learns to hide his disappointment. His face becomes a strong facade for whatever his weak heart truly feels. The quiet sigh he lets out when no one’s around, the stretching of his neck after yet another fruitless day of training — Nanami decides that he’ll leave the world of sorcery once he’s graduated.

Seasons change and Nanami becomes a second year, then a third year. Getou falls away. The seniors graduate and new freshmen enter the school. Nanami keeps these things in the back of his mind as he raises his sword for a countless time, striking the training doll with ease.

You work with Shouko in the infirmary, occasionally helping out with office work. The school had deemed it better to keep you under their care than to release you outside. Like a rehabilitated animal, Nanami thinks.

You still remember no memories of him. Nanami brings you sweets and souvenirs from his missions, letting you trace your fingers over the fancy packaging with a sparkle in your eye. At this, Nanami swallows back his confession of love once more. He can’t bear to burden you with his feelings.

You form new impressions of him. Nanami turns into the stone-faced and adorable boy who treats you like fine China, always sticking his hands out awkwardly when he tries to give you something. The tips of his ears burn red when he lies — especially when you ask him, “Nanami, did you buy this for me?” and he shakes his head furiously.

You think he’s kind. He comforts you when you cry over lost memories, unable to remember the faces in photographs that had once been so familiar. The first thing Nanami does after returning from a mission is to rush to you. Were you okay? Did you have your meals? One time, he came over without getting his injuries checked and collapsed by your feet. You scolded him after that, tenderly dressing his wounds.

“Nanami!” you said crossly, a pout on your face.

He tries to forget how he had asked you to stop calling him ‘Ken-chan’. He ducks his head, hissing when you douse his skin in antiseptic.

Some things don’t change, though. You still keep your pencil box immaculately neat — the tips of your stationery always pointing to the right side. Though you don’t have any more movie ticket stubs, you carefully clip the pictures of your childhood Nanami had given to you together and keep them under your pillow. 

One day, you munch on a yummy biscuit Nanami brought back for you. He sits on the floor and polishes his sword, peering at it from every angle to make sure it’s evenly oiled.

“Nanami?” 

He hums.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like you’re from an emo boy band? Your hair matches it.” 

Your shy laugh rings out in the room as bile rises in Nanami’s throat. He sheathes his sword and lays it on the ground.  

“Yes, they have.”

He struggles to smile, his gut twisting.

☆*: .｡.

On graduation day, no one else but Nanami receives his certificate with a flower corsage pinned to his chest. The room is empty save for him and Yaga, the chirping of spring birds breaking the silence.

“I’m glad to have been able to teach you, Nanami,” Yaga broods. “You’ve grown a lot.”

Nanami does not reply. He bows deeply and strides out of the main building. All of a sudden, the traditional architecture and nature that surround Jujutsu High seems stifling. His skin crawls with the urge to leave as soon as possible. 

“Nanamin!”

He jumps. Turning around, he finds you grinning happily with a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“Congratulations on your graduation!” you chirp.

Nanami accepts the flowers awkwardly and rests them in the crook of his elbow, his other hand clutching his certificate. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves of nearby trees and a wave of sakura petals descend from their branches like rain.

“Nanamin,” your voice grows softer. “Are you leaving forever?”

He swallows, then nods wordlessly.

“Will I ever see you again?”

“I wanna be with you forever, Ken-chan!” you wailed.

“Forever’s a long time,” Nanami replied.  

He handed you his yellow cotton handkerchief, face wrinkling when you honked your nose into it. Gross. His neck hurt from sticking it out of the car window. He can hear his father tapping a finger onto the wheel impatiently, his mother silent as she stares out the front.

“B-but!” 

Your bottom lip quivered and Nanami let out a sigh.

“Fine, fine. I’ll be with you, okay?”

“Really, Ken-chan? Forever?”

“Yeah, really. Forever.”

You grinned in the waning sunlight as your mother tugged you away.

“I’ll never forget you, Ken-chan!” you shouted.

The car window rolled up and he watched you disappear into the horizon, turning as tiny as an ant.  

Nanami swallows his heart into the pit of his stomach.

“Probably.” 

“That’s not a definitive answer, Nanamin.”

“What do you want me to tell you, then?”

There’s a slight tremble in his voice. The plastic wrapping of the flowers crinkle under his grip and waves of emotions rush over him; the biggest out of all of them regret. He struggles to breathe underwater, keeping his eyes squeezed shut and nose plugged up. A sakura petal lands on his shoulder. He doesn’t bother brushing it away. 

“Say,” you whisper, taking a step to close the distance between Nanami and you.

He gulps as you place a hand upon his chest. He can feel the heat of your skin through his uniform and Nanami’s too dumbstruck to respond.

“Why don’t you give me your second button?”

Your eyes meet his. A smile toys with the corners of his lips and suddenly Nanami blurts out a nervous “Okay.”. His mind flickers back to Haibara momentarily; how you had appeared to like him so much back then. But he chooses to shove those memories into the back of his mind once more as you produce a small pair of scissors and snip the thread.

“You always take care of me, Nanamin. It was natural of me to fall in love with you,” you breathe, cradling the swirl patterned button in your hands.

A gust of cool air slips into his unbuttoned shirt and Nanami’s breath hitches.  

“Do you like me too?”

Your question is innocent. With the way you peer up at him, there’s no way that Nanami can lie. Your glittery eyes were the same ones he had fallen in love with all those years ago. He wonders if he still loves you in the same way as he did then; as faultless and innocent it had been. His heart sits on the tip of his tongue.

“Yeah, I do.”

Your eyes crinkle at the edges as you smile, an evident sigh of relief escaping your lips. You slip the button into your pocket before tugging Nanami even closer towards you. He yelps as your chest presses against his and the tips of his ears turn red.

You plant your lips by the side of his.

[professorspork]

superhell fic prompt: RB+J reunite with Yang

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

Let no one ever doubt that Yang can be a champion whiner when she wants to be.

She was on her best behavior before, listening intently as Weiss caught her up on just how badly the fight with Cinder went, and brainstorming up next steps (get to the Tree; send up a flare with Ember Celica because if there were Grimm they needed to worry about, they would have run into some by now; wait). Only there wasn’t much to talk about after that that wasn’t wildly depressing, and they’d fallen into an uneasy silence-- Yang watching Weiss hunch tighter and tighter in on herself with every step.

So she’d filled the quiet: complaining about how they’d be there by now if only she still had Bumblebee; bitching about how unfair it is that they can’t seem to get their Semblances to work; grumbling over how she has no idea how long they’ve been walking because the light never seems to change here. And Weiss snaps back, of course, but Yang can tell the annoyance is feigned-- the more irritated Weiss’s answers are, the more relaxed her body language becomes. Normalcy’s thin on the ground, here; Yang will provide it anywhere she can.

Except-- 

-- except also something on the ground here, it seems-- 

-- is Gambol Shroud.

“Oh,” Yang breathes, in a tone of voice she’s not entirely sure she’s ever produced before. Weiss runs ahead and drops to her knees, but hesitates when she goes to scoop up the weapon-- her hand hovering over it, shaking.

“I-- sorry. It’s not my-- you should--”

“You should give it back to her,” Yang says, keeping her distance and a soft smile on her face.

Weiss looks up at her with wide eyes. “But you--” 

“--didn’t have to see her fall. You did. And you-- you did really good, Weiss. You should give it back to her.” It seems a small concession to make, in the grand scheme of things. She’s going to have plenty of Blake, and soon. She knows it-- she’s sure of that down to her bones, now. So what is there to be possessive of? She waits until Weiss nods, and slips the katana through one of her scabbard loops. It’s not exactly meant to be carried that way, but whatever. It looks pretty badass. “C’mon,” she says, helping Weiss to her feet. “We’re close. I can feel it.”

Weiss roasts her mercilessly when it’s a good age and a half of walking before they even hit the tree’s roots (“Oh, are we close, Yang? Can you feel it?”), but they don’t come across any other surprises. When the roots start to twist and rise above them, Yang clambers up to a decent plateau and sets off two charges-- shooting them high into the air and watching them explode like fireworks. Yang smirks, tucking her arms behind her head as she prepares to settle in and wait--

-- and promptly slips and falls out of the tree when a trio of familiar voices happily cry “Yang?!” only seconds after the flare’s report.

(It’s not her fault, okay? She wasn’t expecting them to be this close, or together; wasn’t expecting Jaune to be down here at all; it’s whatever--)

By the time she’s picked herself up and dusted herself off, Ruby, Jaune and Blake have come into view, just across the clearing. 

“Ruby!” Weiss cries, sprinting towards them, and that’s-- she’s Yang’s sister, she should get dibs on first hug, what gives, only then Weiss actually throws a thumbs up behind her as she runs and that’s just-- that’s just rude, honestly, as if--

“Yang,” Blake says, close enough to touch, and when did that happen?

“Blake, I--”

She has no idea how that sentence was supposed to end. Luckily, Blake relieves her of the burden, busying her mouth and bringing her thoughts to a grinding halt by pulling her into a swift, determined kiss. Yang’s struck so dumb by the shock of it that for a moment she forgets to kiss back-- hands hanging limply at her sides as she tries to process the intent pressure of Blake’s lips against hers; the swell of body heat where they’re pressed together, chest to chest; the tender way Blake cradles her jaw, all fingertips, the way you touch something precious and fragile. Every muscle in Yang’s body relaxes in an instant-- at last, finally, thank you-- and a needy, wanting noise tears itself from her throat, entirely without her volition.

It’s possible she goes a bit overboard when she finally gets control of her limbs again, wrapping her arms around Blake’s sides and dipping her into the kind of kiss she’s only seen on the covers of Blake’s novels, but it’s hard to care about how it looks-- not when Blake’s laughing into her mouth, and Ruby’s wolf-whistling (Yang releases her hold on Blake for that, briefly, only because she has to prioritize flipping Ruby the bird) and has she mentioned that she’s kissing Blake Belladonna? 

She’s kissing Blake Belladonna.

She might never stop kissing Blake Belladonna.

Or, okay, maybe she will; her back kind of hurts holding this weird position so long. But when she pulls Blake back to standing, she suddenly registers wetness on her own cheeks, and she wouldn’t be surprised she’s crying only she’s-- she’s really pretty sure she’s not, so that means--

“Don’t cry,” she whispers, reaching up to brush the tears from Blake’s lashes. “If you cry I’m gonna cry, and--”

“I love you,” Blake breathes, and the words lay Yang out faster than any punch, knocking the wind right out of her lungs. The look on Blake’s face is beatific-- elated and adoring and thrilled. Like she’s proud of herself for being brave enough to say it; like she wasn’t sure she was going to know how. Only then the tears well up again; her voice hitches as she stutters: “I promised; I couldn’t get to you in time, you can’t-- I’ll follow you anywhere, I promised, I swear it, but you have to let me, I thought I lost you--”

This time it’s Yang’s turn to quiet Blake with a kiss, and she lets herself savor it. She clocks every sensation, every touch, every sigh, every brush of their lips. This isn’t about utility, or merely silencing Blake’s fears. It’s reassurance, and devotion, and a promise all its own: we’re okay. We can have this, now.

When she pulls back, she takes a deep breath, determined to find words that will mean as much as Blake’s just did, to make it clear just how much she feels--

-- only it’s a little hard to concentrate over how loudly Weiss is crying, a few yards away where Ruby and Jaune have her sandwiched between them.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to-- I just-- you did promise, all of you, you said you’d never leave my side and I was-- I was alone, I was the only one left, and I--”

Yang takes Blake’s hand, gratified when she gets an understanding squeeze and a nod in return-- to be continued. Whatever confessions of love Yang’s got scratching at the walls of her insides, they can wait a little longer; right now, they need to be with their team.

Together, they join the group huddle, saying nothing as collectively they abandon any attempts at soothing words and instead finally let themselves fall apart. Ruby all but crawls into Yang’s lap, and a thread of tension deep within Yang finally, finally relaxes, knowing that her sister is safe. Jaune cries loudest and hardest of all, and Yang buries a hand in his hair, wishing she could make it better. She knows what it feels like, to stab down and feel the life leave someone’s body, but that was-- she’d hated Adam. To have to do it to an ally, a friend, to have that responsibility on you, for someone you love--

--kill me, and I can make sure the power goes to you--

-- she shakes off the stubborn image of Raven’s scarlet eyes filling her vision and focuses on the people in her arms.

“Not to be super morbid, but maybe...” She pauses and chews on her words, wanting to make sure she says what she means to. “We might be a little past promises, now. All of us. I don’t know where we go from here, and the choices are only going to get harder. But-- we’ve always found our way back to each other before. Even here, and-- and I don’t even really know where here is. So maybe we can just... trust that. See where it takes us.”

She doesn’t realize she’s closed her eyes in a wince, unsure of how she’ll be received, until she cautiously squints them open again and sees half her universe staring back at her with nothing but love.

“I think that sounds good,” Blake says, 

but her eyes say so much more. 

[twosides--samecoin]

I can't find my old Piper Rant so here's an update.

From the "I went to journalism school/have worked in trad media/can speak to this" perspective, Piper is written as though there isn't any school or major publication on the east coast of the United States known for journalism that Bethesda could have called to get an idea of what a journalist is. There's.. y'know, there's several of both, Todd!

Piper, for me, comes across as someone's idea of a journalist, which fits my assumption that what she lacks is research about what a journalist is. It's someone who likes to write, right? No, actually:

Journalism is news and holding those in power accountable on behalf of the public. Journalists are trained how to interpret daily events so that the public can understand what is going on, in an accessible fashion; they are also trained in choosing what is ethical to write about - what is newsworthy, what is not, and what is ethically irresponsible to disseminate to the public vs what the public needs to know.

Journalism is not cultural criticism and it is not writing a Medium blog about opinions on current events. It is not tabloid gossip. We do not write essay, we do not write arguments/support them with points like in school. Journalism is not activism (although telling the truth for the public to read can be activism, depending on political context, we'll get to that).

Most journalists working at normal-ass papers get the embellishing/adding their opinions trained out of them in school, and any half-decent editor is going to reign in a junior writer from doing that in a news beat unless they specifically have an opinion column, which you don't stumble into without paying your dues.

Journalism suffers from a public misunderstanding of the purpose of the job, and, in my books? Piper is that misunderstanding in a character. What does Piper's writing look like, then, to someone with my background? Well.. she definitely commits some of the above sins. That said: I'm not quite done, it gets worse!

She is meant to work a research-heavy job with a lot of danger attached to it: being a journalist in what should be an Orwellian world. We know from real-world history (see: any dictatorship/fascist state of the past 100+ years) and 1984 that one of the first freedoms we lose under a strict, controlling government is freedom of the press/ability to dissent. Piper is written with none of the secrecy or seriousness needed for the world she lives in, and her character dilutes the tone the world should have as a result.

If there is bird surveillance, people being kidnapped and fear surrounding synths, plus she is a working journalist, the "better, more realistic" approach for her character in my humble opinion is her affect should have reflected how dangerous things were. She should have been working under a pseudonym and in secret. Instead, she is uncomfortably visible. Consider how the Railroad has to work in F4, then consider what happened to groups like the White Rose in WW2, consider what happened to any underground resistance and the consequences they had and consider Piper should probably not have a publicly accessible newsstand with a civic address. In the real world she would be endangering her sister and the people she is attempting to help. Fallout 4 taken seriously would mean she would be persona non grata to more than just McDonough: she'd be killed and she'd be an example of how not to share news in her world.

tl;dr the problem is bethesda didn't research and as someone who's worked the profession it's disappointing. There's a better piper and I am writing her in my fic LMAO :D

I am normal person who is normal about video games. I swear. Its just Piper. No other writing makes me this belligerent. She has the potential to be so fucking interest, to carry such a rich and thoughtful narrative on the duties of journalism and the fallacies we fall into when we think of ourselves as immune to propaganda, but no. Piper is worried about Nat. That's her story. She's never wrong. She never sees a better way. You can never tell her that truth is a neutral concept. You can never challenge her on her beliefs.

It is infuriating.

[queenxxxsupreme]

A Conversation In The Night (Arthur Morgan drabble)

A/N: There really isn’t a plot to this. Just some idle chat with Mr. Morgan at Shady Belle. 

Warnings:  none

Word Count: 1.3k

***

You jolted awake, eyes snapping open. Your lungs sucked in a sharp breath as you gripped the pillow beneath your head so tightly that your knuckles hurt. 

You sat up quickly and looked around, dazed and still half asleep. For a few moments, you forgot that you were in your shared tent with Karen and Sadie. You found both of them laying on their bed roll, peacefully sleeping. 

You continued to look around. You wanted to make sure that they were the only ones in your tent, that there were no unwanted guests, no O’Driscolls hiding anywhere. You knew it was foolish to think they’d be there, that they’d somehow find your camp. However, your mind was still replaying the nightmare, still showing you the gruesome details you’d seen just moments ago. 

Since the nights at Shady Belle were chilly, the sides of the tent were rolled down. This caused shadows to be made on the canvas from the moon. The shadows were no doubt creepy, but you could tell they were from the trees. 

Your heart was still racing in your chest and beating wildly in your ears. You took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. 

A stick cracked somewhere outside and there was rustling. Your eyes flew over in the direction of the noise and you saw a shadow move quickly across the bottom of the canvas. Had you not been so panicked and still frantic from the nightmare, you would’ve been able to tell that it was something small like a raccoon or a fox. But your mind was screaming at you that it was the O’Driscolls. 

You tried to calm yourself down, telling yourself that Lenny and Charles were on watch right now and they wouldn’t let anyone into camp, but nothing was working. 

Your breathing had become so labored that you thought for sure you’d wake the girls up. So you carefully but quickly moved out of the tent. 

The night air was bitter and chilly, and it was sprinkling just a little, which did help to wake you up a little more and pull you from your panicked mind. 

You stood there just outside of your tent for a few moments, taking even breaths and counting each one out. 

You were able to calm your breathing down to where you felt you’d be able to go back into the tent without waking the girls up, but you knew you’d not be able to go back to sleep. But the rain began to come down harder so lingering outside of the tent or even sitting at the table outside of the tent wasn’t an option. 

You let out a soft sigh and decided to go into the house. You’d at least be able to sit in one of the downstairs rooms until morning. 

***

Someone gently shook your shoulder, pulling you from your light sleep. You rubbed your eyes and lifted your head. 

“What?”

“What are you doin’ in here, Miss Y/N?”

Your eyes opened at the sound of Arthur’s voice. You sat up quickly, realizing you had fallen asleep in a chair inside the house. You looked around, finding one of Mary-Beth’s books she left in the house in your lap. You fell asleep reading it not too long ago. 

“I-I woke up.” You looked over to Arthur, who stood next to you. “I was having a, um, a dream. I didn’t want to wake the girls up anymore. I didn’t mean to fall asleep again.”

Arthur nodded his head as he moved to sit in a chair to your right. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Morgan.” You began to stand up but he stopped you.

“You don’t have to leave, Miss Y/L/N. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t gonna fall out of your chair.”

“I don’t want to be a bother.” 

“Ain’t a bother to me.” Arthur assured you. 

You returned to your seat, smoothing out the material of your skirt before picking up the book. 

“What was the dream about?” He pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips. He offered you a cigarette from the carton. You took one with a small thank you. 

As he lit his cigarette, he brought the match up to the end of yours, lighting your cigarette for you. 

You watched him for a few moments. It wasn’t often that the outlaw didn’t wear the hat that covered his eyes and did a good job at shielding his features, so you took the opportunity to get a good look at his eyes. 

They were a shade of deep blue you had only witnessed a few times before, the same shade of blue as lakes far away from Saint Denis, the ones unpolluted by people. 

His cheeks and the bridge of his nose were freckled from the sun. There were a few white scars that stood out on his skin. You silently wondered where they came from, how he’d gotten them. 

Dirty blond hair was swept back out of his eyes, but a few pieces fell across his forehead. 

You dropped your eyes down to the book in your hands, not wanting to make him uncomfortable by staring too much. 

“Oh just…. A bit of this and that.” You answered with a dismissive shrug of your shoulders. “It’d probably be easier to tell you what I don’t dream about than what I do.”

A little smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He nodded understandingly. 

“How long have you been with us, miss?”

“Three months, I suppose. Though I haven’t kept perfect track of the days.”

He nodded once more. 

“You have dreams often?” 

You placed your book on the table and looked up at him. You had never really spoken with him besides a passing greeting here or there. You didn’t care to share personal information with most of the members of camp, nor did you care to have any sort of real conversation with any of the men. They all seemed to have one thing on their minds. But Arthur had never approached you with the proposition of sexual acts. If anything, he had gone out of his way to stay away from you. You were thankful for this. Men were best kept at a distance. 

“Most nights.” You took a drag of the cigarette. “They never get bad enough unless I sleep decently.”

“Is that why you’re always up at night?” Arthur tilted his head to the side a bit, curious. “I’ve seen you wander around camp at night. You hang out a lot by the dock.”

“The water is pretty.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Lots of pretty things are dangerous, Mr. Morgan.”

He nodded, blowing smoke from his nose. 

“I reckon so.”

A comfortable silence fell between you both. 

“Where are you from, Mr. Morgan?”

Arthur leaned back in his chair.

“I can hardly remember sometimes, if I’m honest.” He flicked the ashes of his cigarette. “My folks come from out west.”

You nodded gently. 

“What about you, Miss Y/L/N?”

“I grew up on a little farm a few hours north of here. As far as I know, my folks still live there.”

“As far as you know?”

You took a long drag of the cigarette and looked across the room at the bottom of the staircase. 

“I haven’t seen them in years. Doubt they’d wanna see me after this long. We didn’t part ways on such good terms.”

“Sorry to hear that.” 

Both of you became quiet as the floorboards upstairs creaked. 

“Well, I should be goin’.” Arthur stood up. “You should get some sleep, miss.”

“You too, Mr. Morgan.” You nodded, giving him a little smile before you watched him leave through the front door.

Taglist:  @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm @sargeantsea @sokkasdarling @thecollection @mayday1284 @kashasenpai @misskrql @brooke-supernatural16 @lassiee @hocdolliday @micahs-bird 

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[ahkaahshi]

our place [fushiguro megumi x reader]

pairing: fushiguro megumi x gn reader

genre: fluff with sprinkles of moments that might make your heart go :’)

warning(s): n/a

word count: 1.7k

overview: you’re not particularly fond of mornings, but you think you could grow to love them if you spent every one of them with megumi

Through bleary eyes threatening to take shelter behind the comforting darkness of your own eyelids and give in to the fatigue weighing heavily in your body, you watch your feet lazily trudge through dewy grass that wets your shoes. Your palms are warm from the fresh cup of coffee you’re nursing, but your knuckles are slightly numb from the brisk air your clothing’s barely able to fend off. There’s a deafening silence in the air aside from the crunching of grass beneath four sets of feet—two of which are a set of four paws—and you ponder the oxymoron that the absence of sound somehow seems louder.

Your foot catching on the root of a large tree when your eyelids flutter shut for a moment brings you to attention and your boyfriend’s hand to your arm. It’s as if he knew in that moment you would stumble, but you figure the connection isn’t hard to make, given you’re a night owl being taken out of a warm nest for an unexpected flight in the cold, early hours of the morning. Your eyes meet for a moment, a subtle flash of gratitude in yours that he acknowledges with a nod before the two of you continue your trek through the forest.

“Megumi,” you sigh, “how is it I’ve downed half this cup of coffee and still don’t feel a thing yet?”

He shrugs. “Maybe because it’s decaf.”

His words have your jaw slackening and a small scoff of disbelief leaving your throat. The way he looks at you over his shoulder, a twinkle of mischief in his deep blue eyes that reflect what little light there is, shows he’s expecting the reaction you give him. “I trusted you.”

“Then why are you so shocked?” he asks, “I didn’t give you caffeine so you wouldn’t be too energized to nap again before classes start.”

Though you’ve felt too tired to show any emotion since you’d been awakened by the man walking by your side, you can’t help but smile and chuckle in response. “Fine. I’ll let it pass since it’s actually considerate of you—even if it’s in an indirect way. I’ll just make my students read or do something quiet while I wait for the caffeine from the next cup of coffee I make to kick in.”

“I’m sure they’ll love that.”

“I really hope you got me out of bed for a reason other than to frown upon my teaching methods.”

Megumi’s lips curl into a small smile and you swear he seems to glow just a bit amongst the silhouettes of the tall trees surrounding you, their branches heavy with leaves and moisture. His happiness is like a breath of fresh air filling your lungs; so much so that you’re reminded to take another deep one in an attempt at keeping yourself awake. His divine dogs—one a shock of white and the other seemingly its shadow—draw your attention when they approach him with a large branch in their mouths they’ve taken a shining to during your walk, and that he launches off into the forest for them to chase down again.

Something about the moment seems so surreal. Maybe it’s because the times the two of you get to spend together in peace outside of your home seem to be so few and far between, or maybe it’s because you normally scoff at the idea of being up and active before the sun rises. But, whatever it is, it creates an undeniable warmth in your chest that prompts you to push away any thoughts of yearning for the coziness of your bed, and reach out towards your partner instead.

“Try not to trip again, alright?” he murmurs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his joggers while you slot an arm between one of his and his torso, “I actually like this sweater and would prefer not to get coffee on it.”

“But it’s decaf!”

His lips pause in their action of forming a rebuttal presumably about how his sweater would stain, regardless of the presence of caffeine, and he simply shakes his head with a sigh upon realizing you’re joking.

The same silence that had once filled the crisp air returns, only interrupted by paws pounding the damp earth, but it feels more peaceful now. It’s calming, given the normally hectic lives you and your boyfriend lead as special grade sorcerers and teachers, and very much appreciated. Megumi’s pace is a bit slower and more relaxed than usual, as if he wants to stay immersed in the quietude with you and his dogs at his side. But you know he has a destination in mind with the definitive nature of his steps.

At the top of a hill whose grassy slopes had been decorated with worn stone steps that would indicate many a visitor had travelled up them, sits a stone bench you’ve never seen before. And, in front of it, a clearing where the leafy spires part just enough for you to see the small flicker of light burning at the edge of the horizon decorated with the distant buildings of Tokyo’s bustling cityscape. Your eyes remain fixated on the gentle colors the sun’s impending arrival starts painting across the dark canvas the sky provides as Megumi leads you over towards the bench so you can take a seat and bear witness to nature’s awakening.

You find yourself lost in it for what feels to be a long stretch of time until his voice brings your gaze to him instead. “Well, this is where I go.” The eyebrow you raise at his statement provided without any context coaxes him to elaborate, “You know, on those mornings I leave for a bit and come back, and you ask me where I went? This is where I go.” His long fingers card through the furry coats of his dogs where they sit on the grass between you.

Nodding slowly, you take another sip of the drink in your hand. “So, why’d you decide to take me here, considering it’s probably the only place where you can get away from the madness of everything?”

As the sun ascends skyward at what feels to be a faster pace than expected, you notice the most beautiful pools of cerulean form in his eyes more brilliant than you think you’ve ever seen them before. His hand finds yours, and your fingers intertwine. “Because I wanted you to be here with me.” There’s a pause, and his gaze shifts away from the sunrise to meet with yours instead. It’s an action that unwittingly reaffirms your importance given the beauty of the scene ahead. “I wanted it to be us here instead of just me.”

Gently, you squeeze his hand, relishing in the comfort of his touch that always brings a smile to your face. “So, what are you saying? That you think I’m actually gonna change my sleep schedule entirely just for you?” is your teasing reply.

“No,” he sighs, narrowing his eyes at your jest, “but maybe every now and then, we could go to sleep at a decent time so we can come here and watch the sunrise.”

Moving your face closer to his shortens the gap between your lips, but you stop before they can meet to answer, “We can do that.” Oftentimes, you find that Megumi’s straightforward manner of speaking doesn’t always match the true intensity of his emotions, but his kisses never betray how he’s feeling. They’re soft and tender, as if his intentions are to give you a few pecks and nothing more, but he’s always quick to chase your lips when they separate from his, even for a moment.

When your eyes flutter open once more, you watch his flit back and forth between each of yours in miniscule movements before pecking his cheek and resting your head on his shoulder. A long expanse of peaceful quietude follows, save for the chirping of newly awakened birds and the secretive whispers of the breeze through the trees.

“Do you think this could be our place?”

The sound of his deep voice reverberating in his chest sends subtle vibrations through your head, and his words bring small prickles of heat to your cheeks. “You want it to be?” A wet nose brushes against your unoccupied fingertips, guiding your hand onto a fuzzy, black snout that you give an affectionate rub.

Megumi nods and his cheek comes to rest against the crown of your head. “Yeah,” he answers, slinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to him.

“Better make sure none of your nosy students ever find out you’re coming up here, then,” is your warning delivered with a chuckle.

“They’re so desperate to be done with classes for the day that I doubt they’ll want to spend their free time tailing their teacher. Your students are the nosy ones, wanting to follow you on social media, or whatever.”

Each of your laughs permeate the cool air slowly becoming warmer with the sun’s expanding reach—from which you take shelter by burying your face in his neck.

“Megumi?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we just… stay here for a bit?”

You feel his arm move as he checks his phone. “Classes start in an hour.”

“Just a little bit longer?”

A notification appears on his screen, but he turns it off and tucks the device back into his pocket. “Sure,” he murmurs into your hair before pecking your temple.

He says it so nonchalantly, but you know he’s hoping whatever time he’s set in his head to leave doesn’t arrive for an eternity. Because it’s the same hope that settles deeply into your heart as the two of you hold onto one another and watch waves of light slowly wash over the dark sky, doing everything you can to cherish your company rather than agonize over the moment when you’ll have to let go.

In an exhale that tickles your skin, Megumi hums, “I’m glad you came here with me.”

[meraxes-of-new-albion]

first things first: a new episode of Let's Talk All About the Things that Jon Got Wrong! (except my name's not jon it's a bit a youtuber does)

Okay. I mixed up Hibbing and Hinckley in my brain yesterday. That's my bad. Hibbing is proper Range. That said. There's no fucking elk in minnesota. I probably shouldn't be so hung up on this but I'm me and if you don't like me being particular about animals you realllllly shouldn't be here lmao.

Anyway. On to episode 3. which immediately is rankling the elk thing AGAIN. Whitetails don't look like that and I don't think even mule deer get that far east. Besides.... what, no deer blind? no four AM sunrise in the snow? I don't hunt but like what's the fucking point of standing in the middle of absolutely no underbrush like any deer anytime close to hunting season are gonna see you a mile off and you'll never get a shot.

Also. Also. I KNOW people who hunt. Lots of them. You don't go for the headshot. You shoot to pierce lungs and heart. You get the most usable venison and a decent mount that way. Plus it's faster for the deer to go down. Plus if you miss you still get a dead deer.

Not done on the "the deer can and will actively avoid you", my parents live near a park that allows bowhunting and every year the deer would make an exodus into the surrounding suburbs for like the month and a half that you were allowed to hunt. They're not that stupid. They know enough to avoid people.

Look if you're gonna midwest you do at least gotta attempt to do your research here. I hate being flyover country but I hate people glaringly thinking that they already know everything there is to know about minnesota by glancing at a map. "You wouldn't know a redneck if it jumped up and bit you in the ass", as a fanfic I read once said.

Moving on.

child it IS just a deer.

sorry what? deer hides are like. godawful. they shed fur if you look at them too hard. LIVE deer shed fur if you look at them too hard. (i would know. scarlet likes scritches.) that ain't rug leather. that's "gloves and moccasins" leather.

hoping i get at least half a season before something bad happens to will's dogs

lowkey will looks like a former coworker i was crushing on and it's making my brain do things

wowww itunes. does that still matter? or exist, even, i haven't thought about apple software in years

the elk head is still pissing me off

also, like. shrike are reasonably well known birds, i get that. but they don't live in minnesota either. just. point.

it would be cool if the daughter was gonna end up doin the green ribbon thing. i doubt it. but it would be cool.

i do genuinely like wlll. he seems like a nice dude. i wish he didn't get dragged into this

yknow mostly this show is intelligent but sometimes it's so dumb for the sake of melodrama

honesty! trying to remember the name of the black guy actor. i know he's like. famous and all. but all i can pull up is samuel l jackson and he's not that guy

yall didn't fucking case the house before bringin the poor girl home? jesus christ yall are stupid

see. see. THOSE were deer heads. you see how they're AN ORDER OF MAGNITUDE SMALLER. (think the one in the middle was a mule deer though. but people travel for hunting.)

WHERE ARE ALL THESE ELK COMING FROM YOU'RE NOT DRIVING THEM ON THE HOOD OF YOUR CAR ACROSS STATE LINES

idk other states hunting laws but i assume there's a limit on takes every year pretty universally... and as far as i know, the limit in mn is like two

okay it's just hunting that's a stretch

sigh. melodrama. this is why i quit watching bones.

literally the conflating elk with whitetails will make this unwatchable for me. show. we gotta get this figured out.

some of those antlers are big for elk, even. wonder if they used real ones or not.

i swear to god if you just dump this poor girl in virginia you're throwing her to the wolves, alabama was a HUGE culture shift and having to restart your whole entire life is bad enough. also. it's fucking "bloomington". this ain't small town midwest hick nowhere. it's a damned suburb. people aren't paying this much attention.

i cannot emphasize enough like. the mall of america is in bloomington.

sigh.

there's no decent gifs of monty python's GET ON WITH IT but i need you to know that's the emotion i'm feeling

although. i will say. i saw silence of the lambs a couple years ago and i was deeeeeeeply underwhelmed with how "horrifying" hannibal was. he wasn't. like. compelling in any sense to clarice whatsherface in the movie. he just. said bullshit. and she listened because she had the physical backbone of a chocolate eclair. this hannibal is at least a compelling manipulator. i appreciate that.

ope that's the episode guess i'll post

nobody told me hannibal started in minnesota

why did nobody tell me hannibal started in minnesota

i would've watched it earlier if i knew that

............ that is NOT what the ambulances look like in duluth

also i swear i know that particular building. i think it's one of the umd buildings. at least the exterior shot

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Avenger Things - Bucky Barnes x powered (f)reader

Summary: You’re just trying to make it through the day without breaking anything, or anyone.

Warning: language, fluff, bit of nonesense

Masterlist

Practically limping into the Avengers large kitchen you couldn’t believe how sore you were from, well, let’s just say you’re not entirely so sure. What you do know is that it’s the morning after a stealth mission and your more beastly self, if that’s even the correct term, must have done or gotten into something last night that might have knocked you out cold. 

Hence the memory loss.

Honestly you could laugh, it’s like trying to figure out what drunk you was getting themselves into. Problem is, this “drunk you” at the time was 2.4lb of absolute raging adrenaline with an apparent lack of safety awareness and good judgment skills. 

Not a good combination. Also you were a hawk.

So here you are, piecing together the jumbled puzzle of last night while you make an attempt at finding breakfast before the crowds come noisily shuffling into the temporarily quiet hang out room slash luxurious kitchen, of the famous Avengers Facility. Ah, the life of an Avenger who’s fantastical ability allows them to shift into any animal in existence.

Although it’s a blessing, you sometimes suffer the consequences of being an actual avenger, and shit, your left shoulder and rib cage are so sore right now you could scream. Your accelerated healing has already kicked in but alas that does not mean your body will spare you some soreness and bruising.

“Fuck what did I do?” You mutter grumpily while reaching for the fridge door handle, making certain not to pull to hard for fear of ripping the metal right off.

Soon your eyes scan over the multitude of various healthy snacks and equally as healthy leftovers due to Steve’s insistent attitude towards fueling yourselves with the best, to be the best or some cheesy hero shit like that.

Spotting your left over hidden burrito in the back of the fridge sends an excited thrill into your otherwise tired and achy self, you snatch it up quickly, and without thinking pull the metal door off its hinges while quickly trying to close it.

Shit.

Tossing the burrito onto the nearby counter top, you swiftly grasp the large food filled door with both hands as you hold it up with ease. Well this is just a fantastic situation isn’t it? Apparently you’re incapable of having an easy morning like just previously planned. Wait are those footsteps?

“You know, you can just have Tony buy you a mini fridge for your room.” Quips Sam with an amused chuckle as you quickly snap your head over to the startling sound. “I think he could afford it.” 

Your eyes widen in surprise before narrowing in annoyance at his happily smirking face, Bucky and Vision right behind him to your great pissed-off-ness. “Fuck off I didn’t mean to do....this.” But of course it happens to me.

Eyeing you up with a face that practically says “I know but this is hilarious” Sam nods before sitting down on the bar’s stool, Vision coming to your aid as he phases through the counter to take the fridge door out of your hands.

“Thanks Vis.” You mutter with an appreciative nod.

Setting down the door onto the floor, Vision turns to greet you, “No problem Y/N, it appears you needed the help, I’ll just um....go inform Tony of this....fridge.” He says before turning to leave out the way he came. Guess he’s not one for awkward situations.

Watching him go you suddenly glare down at the two whispering Avengers seated in front of you on the other side of the counter, “Thanks for helping assholes.” You growl unenthusiastically, reaching into the fridge to pick up a water bottle.

“Oh doll, we would have helped you.” Assures Bucky with a kind smile as you force yourself to keep a stoic face. “Vision seemed to handle it pretty well on his own.”

“Yeah well now this fucking fridge is broken and I still feel sore.” You complain with a sneer as Bucky and Sam share a chuckle.

“What?” Laughs Sam, “Don’t tell me you both?....and after the mission too?” He implies with raised brows as you send him the most done-with-your-shit face you can muster.

Sensing your growing irritation, Bucky speaks up, “No, no....definitely not that..it was the mission.”

“Oh shit you’re right.” Realizes Sam as you roll your eyes at him, let’s just say that last mission was a rough ending one. Also you can’t remember much after shifting into a hawk, seeing some bright lights and then...

“Yes.” You grumble, “and I’ve come to the thrilling conclusion that I must have gotten hit by a car......so that’s fun.” You mutter with as much enthusiasm as a stick, causing both Bucky and Sam to begin laughing again. What the hell is so funny?

Listening to them lose it inevitably causes you to start chuckling which in turn causes your ribs to shoot with a hot flaring pain. Holding your injured side you use your other hand to pound against the marble table, “Stop laughing this shit hurts and neither of you dumbfucks are helping.” You grumble half-heartedly.

“Alright.” Says Bucky standing up, “Come on doll let’s get outta here and get a heating pad on that tire mark under your shirt.” He adds sarcastically with another laugh.

Letting out a quick snort you shake your head at his handsome face, “Okay smartass I’ll let that one slide.”

He smirks at your good humored reaction and admittedly adorable messy hair, “I’m thinking we get cozy, watch that weird pirate movie you like with the Sparrow guy, and then see where it takes us.” Suggests Bucky with a lazy smile as he stretches his arm causing his shirt to rise up and reveal a bit of toned tummy.

Sam whines, “What? We have sparring at three this afternoon and you’re gonna leave me hanging for Miss. Grouchy-pants over here?” Points out Sam to Bucky as you cross your hands over your chest while raising a brow.

“Yup.” Quips Bucky with a shrug.

Sam blinks, “Unbelievable.”

“I like Y/N more.”

“You suck and I need a new sparring partner now.”

“Just ask Steve or Nat.” You suggest, not caring much for Sam’s problems at the moment.

“No they’re hard-core and mean.”

“Spar with Clint then.” Adds Bucky.

“No he cheap shots.”

“And I got hit by a car last night we all got problems.” You sass, gaining their distracted attentions once again. “Try and steal Bucky from me and I will make sure you remember what getting a wet towel slapped across your ass feels like.”

“Very specific and greatly noted Y/N. He’s all yours.” Says Sam while raising his hands defensively, “By the way you look rather stunning today did I mention that yet?”

“Don’t press your luck bird boy I’m not known to be very forgiving.”

“Clearly.” Jabs Sam under his breath while you take a swig of water, though you’re increased hearing enables you to catch that loud and clear.

After twisting the cap back on you immediately chuck it at his head, conveniently nailing him right in the temple causing him to yelp in surprise. “Jesus!” He shouts before falling off of the stool and onto the wooden floor below.

“Nope just me.” You deadpan with a satisfied smirk, walking over to Bucky while Sam gathers his bearings.

Bucky immediately throws an arm around you, making sure not to squeeze you too tight in the process. Leaning into his warm side, Sam throws you a half annoyed glare, showing how much he’d like to retaliate but also knowing he’s outnumbered in more ways then one.

“As much as I’d like to see you two beat each other’s ass right now.” Suddenly announces Steve, “We have a mission report in five.”

“What?” You sigh in annoyance, “Really? Right now? Can’t this shit wait?”

Steve sends you an apologetic smile, understanding you’re still in pain and thus very grouchy, “It’ll be quick. The team just needs to go over some credentials about the mission yesterday. Then you can go about your day off.”

Holding Bucky close, you pull him in a little closer, eyeing up Steve defensively, “Bucky too.”

Steve gives you an unsure look, “Well uh...”

“That wasn’t a question Rogers.” You growl, causing Steve to take a cautious step back as Sam lets out a chuckle.

“Yeah Cap I wouldn’t.”

“Right.” Nods Steve, “Yeah, you two are off the rest of the day after the meeting. Uh, see you guys then.” Waves the man with a plan himself, smartly deciding not to linger for much longer or face another steely glare from you.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.” You mutter, parting from Bucky to lead the way down the hall to the usual meeting room.

——

After nudging Bucky to go on ahead to claim your unofficial official meeting chairs, you swung by your room to put on a sweatshirt and now are finally, though begrudgingly, making your merry way down the hall and into the expensive meeting room. 

Hood up, you trudge into the brightly lit area, practically squinting as the sunshine hits you like a blinding wall through the obnoxiously giant glass windows. “Nice of you to join us Y/N. Get lost on your way here?” Quips Clint as the whole entirety of the Avenger’s turn their heads to face you. 

“No, I just didn’t want to come.” You deadpan with a humored glare, earning a couple snickers from your friends. 

“Yeah that’s fair.” He shrugs.

Plopping yourself down in the facility’s decently comfortable swivel chair, you slouch tiredly, leaning your body against the arm rest to keep your bruised side from bothering you more then it already does.

Bucky is already in the seat to your left, Sam opting to snatch the one across from you two, while Vision and Wanda have claimed the seats to Sam’s right. Natasha and Steve sitting at the two chairs at the far end to your left, while Clint stands. 

“So...” Begins Clint, the apparent leader of todays meeting, “Yesterday’s mission in Quebec was a challenging one, I won’t lie to you. We took a hit, some more then others.” Nods Clint in your direction.

“You’re fucking hilarious.” You mutter, rolling your eyes in annoyance as Sam and Bucky hold in their laughter, while the others ignore the obvious implication, keeping it professional and in your good graces. 

“Thank you Y/N I know. Anyways, I think our team training days have improved our performance and been worthwhile. Now, as usual, Steve and Nat...great leadership skills. Vision, Wanda, the whatever the shit you guys are able to do, amazing...keep it up.” Clint glances back down at his notes while you yawn, “Sam and Bucky, nice recovery at the end, things where getting heated and you both really pulled through.”

“Hell yeah.” Smirks Sam as he leans over to fist bump Bucky from across the table.

Practically lowering yourself deeper into your seat, you mentally prepare yourself for whatever smartass comment you’re about to get from Clint. He looks down at his notes then moves to pick up a thin metal remote that connects to the blank screen behind him. 

“Uhh lets see here,” He mumbles while clicking some buttons that inevitably turn the screen on, “Okay good it works.” Swiveling around on his heal, Clint points the remote directly at you, “Y/N.” He says with a mischievous grin.

“Clint.” You point back in confusion, side eyeing Wanda nervously.

“Let’s talk...” Stretching out his arm, he clicks the remote to reveal a PowerPoint, “about safety awareness.”

Okay fuck you.

Chuckling tensely you shake your head, “I’d rather not.”

“Which is precisely why we...meaning you all,” Motions Clint to all of you with both his hands in two circles, “need to be educated on safety in the field.” A second later he flicks the lights off with a swift click of the remote, Okay great.....slide number one, do you have a buddy?”

As Clint keeps droning on and on for the next five minutes you suddenly decide to scoot over to rest your chin against Bucky’s right shoulder that's leaning against the table. He immediately smiles, turning his head away from an obliviously jabbering Clint, “Buck I’m going to commit a crime in the next two minutes if I don’t get the fuck out of here.” You whisper, squeezing his shoulder for emphasis.

Biting his lip to refrain from laughing, he reaches to take one of your hands with his, “And what crime will I have to admit in the police report?” He quietly muses.

“Murder.”

Kissing the pack of your hand to help you try and relax for the moment, he smirks, “Y/N it’s going to be difficult to break you out of jail.”

“Not if I don’t get caught.” You quip smartly while resting your head against his shoulder, “I’ve been contemplating taking out Clint since 2012 but then Natasha always stops me.”

“What’s stopping you now?” Challenges Bucky with the tiniest snort of amusement.

“Natasha.” You mutter, “Also I’m god-mother to one of his kids so I’m morally not allowed to kill him.....but I’ve never been more tempted then today.” 

“Shh.” Whispers Bucky with an amused smile as you roll your eyes, wanting nothing more then to leave this boring meeting. Fine, but if it was just me and Clint I would pummel his ass into the wall without a second thought, you think to yourself.

A moment later Wanda lets out a random snort of laughter that causes the team to look over at her in confusion while Clint is in the middle of explaining why it’s important to (make sure the enemy is knocked the fuck out before walking away). She quickly covers her mouth in embarrassment as Clint abruptly ends the PowerPoint, clicking back the lights on as he sighs in disappointment.

“Come on Wanda I was almost done.” He whines, setting a hand on his hip as she bites her lip to keep a straight face. Parting from Bucky, you move to lean yourself against the table top and listen to Clink complain. She looks down then glances over at you while Clint fumbles to turn the screen off. 

Oh, shit did she hear me say that?

“Sorry.” Mutters Wanda as you quickly realize you’re the reason she started to laugh, resulting in the abrupt ending of Clint’s 30 minute presentation. 

Giving her a quick wink, you quickly stand, causing your friends to look over at you, “Alright, good work team, we’re the best huh,” You add sarcastically before looking directly at Clint, “also Clint fantastic work at being the most interesting 87 year old, I’m thoroughly impressed you even know what a PowerPoint is. Kudos to you, I’m out.”

Before anyone can stop you, you’re already at the door, “Y/N you can’t just leave we’re only taking a break. And I already know how to use a PowerPoint.”

“Yeah and you also know how to put someone to sleep even without an arrow.” You sass while the others start to get up as well. 

“What? Guys, come on.” Complains Clint as Bucky almost trips shuffling quickly to the door.

“Babe I’m with you wait up.”

——

“So you really did get smacked by a truck. Who would’ve thought.” Mumbles Bucky humorously as the two of you lay sprawled out on your shared bed, a heating pad on your side as Bucky’s head lays on the corner of your right hip. His hands absentmindedly holding your right hand to his chest while your other one presses the heating pad to your ribs.

You lazily stare up at the ceiling while he studies your face, “I guess it makes sense since I can’t remember anything after that. I didn’t even see the damn hunk of moving metal coming either, so stupid.”

“No.” He assures softly, “We all fuck up and miss things sometimes. It happens to everyone.”

Smiling you simply roll your eyes, “Bucky you’re adorable but I, who was a hawk at the time....to be real here, got bitch slapped by a truck.”

“I’ve been thrown off a car a couple times actually.” He confirms with a shrug, “But yeah, you’re way tougher then me.” He finally chuckles.

“I’m tougher then everyone.”

Bucky smiles proudly, “Fuck yeah you are.”