#hes so used to seeing me at home i think its just unfathomable to him that my occupation is anything besides His Older Cousin

[todayisafridaynight]

everyday i constantly think of masato's wheelchair and if that's his only one/main one no wonder he's so pissed at everyone

[lanshappycorner]

I was doing some remote work today and when I finished I went out into the living room and started talking to my baby cousin (age 8) and I mentioned I was helping one of my students a sec ago and he was like "STUDENTS? LIKE...UR...TEACHER ?"

And I was like yeah sure and he just looked at me with these big eyes and in the most shocked voice he was like "what are you....?" does he think teachers are a different breed or something

[bitterrfruit]

Simon forgets how strong he is

18+ MDNI - cw: bruising - ~700 words

just some Simon Riley NSFW brainrot ♥︎ - part 2-ish, and part 3-ish here!!

Simon forgets how to be gentle.

When he's at war, fighting and shooting and killing day and night, all he knows is hardness. Brutality. Ruthlessness. His hands and heart grow calloused and rough in his months away from you. Using his unfathomable strength to survive is what he grows used to, it becomes second nature.

But it's your softness he remembers, to keep himself sane. It's all he thinks about. Dreams of.

The way the flesh of your hips, your ass, your breasts, your belly, pillows so deliciously between his fingers when he squeezes his handful - so warm, so supple. The way your vanilla-balmed lips graze his scarred skin so tenderly, however undeserved your sweetness is.

And when he finally returns home, after months of missing, craving you - when you stand in the door, honey thighs bare by virtue of the black panties you wore just to torture him, soft tummy peeking out from under your crop-top - he just can't restrain himself.

You greet him with your sugary smile, stretching up on your toes to curl your loving arms around his neck - your gentle voice, music; "Si, ah! I'm so glad you're okay…"

The moment your velvet skin touches his, his shackles crumble. Like a beast starved, he clutches you. Mammoth arms curl around you, constricting, gripping you eagerly like you might be a dream; liable to turn to a memory, to smoke.

His avaricious embrace lifts your feet from the ground, though he doesn't mean to - he burrows his nose and mouth into the crook of your neck, lets the curls of your hair smother him and fill his chest with the faint scent of your fruity shampoo. Fights every urge to take a bite, like you're a ripe nectarine.

Growls into your skin, through his jaw; "I fuckin' missed you, love. Christ, you have no idea how much I missed you."

"I missed you too, baby…" you coo into his ear, even your breathing is tender - he can't take it.

So he ferries you immediately to the sitting room, scoops you up like you weigh nothing, lets you coil your buttery thighs around his waist as he sits you on his lap on the sofa.

His wide hands take their greedy handfuls of your body - of your waist, of your hips, of your thighs, of your ass. Finally indulging the impulses he had dreamed about for so long - the very image he had fucked his fist to more times than he could count while parted from you.

With his teeth on your shoulder, tongue laving your warm skin; "So fuckin' soft," he grumbles deeply, and urges, "pretty thing. So soft. Fuck, I missed you."

His cock is hasty to grow boulder-solid under his trousers, and he chastises himself - but you answer with a cloying giggle, grinding your mound against its rigidity as if to torment him.

"Mm, you did miss me," you tease, little brat.

Then in an instant, all he can think about is the softness of your syrupy pussy, the gumminess of the inside of your cunt as its walls caress and milk his cock like it was built just to fit him.

You make him fucking ravenous, so voraciously eager to have you that he doesn't even notice his hands turn to vices around your flesh - fingers burrowing so deeply into the cheek of your ass that he might break through the skin.

"Ah!" You yelp, "Ow - Simon - you're hurting me-"

Your squeak of pain is enough to immediately shatter him - so he rapidly lifts you off of him, protecting you from his impulse. Stands you on your feet so that you're no longer victim to his inability to control himself.

"Shit, I'm sorry-" he grunts under his breath, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, it's-" Your brows curl in worry, turning to look at where he had clawed you - and he sees the purple bruises where his hand had wrenched the flesh of your ass, the red lines where his fingernails had nearly punctured you. "Oh," you breathe at the sight, "…wow."

Drowning in visceral shame, he can barely bring himself to touch you again. But your soft hand caresses his hair, running through the sandy tresses - you, somehow, the one to comfort him.

"It's okay, baby, I know you didn't mean to," you purr fondly, and he leans forward to shamefully press as soft a kiss as he can into the bruise he gave you. Fucking monster.

"I'm sorry," he croaks into your skin, hoping his guilt will reverse his barbarity. "I just missed you."

"I know," you croon, turning to plant a loving kiss into his hair. "It's okay."

You guide him to lean back, mounting his lap again, letting your pelvis grind against the erection you were quick to reawaken.

His hands barely ghosting over your skin, he restrains himself, touches you carefully.

You whisper, into his stubbled cheek; "I'll show you how to be gentle again."

[talesfromthenorsesmouth]

It was 7.30pm, on 6 July 1972...

“Starman” is David Bowie’s Christmas carol. It offers a promise of deliverance, that the human race has been redeemed by greater powers, with a chorus built for a crowd to sing it... 'Starman' entry on Pushing Ahead of the Dame

Handwritten Starman lyrics

“Starman” seems like a revision of “Space Oddity”—“Space Oddity” had placed a frail human figure against the unfathomable expanse of space and cast him loose to drift into the unknown. It was submission to the void, the human race reaching its limits. In “Starman” the unknown is domesticated: the alien comes to visit us, in our homes, whispering through our radios, speaking softly, promising release. The stoicism of “Planet earth is blue/and there’s nothing I can do” is replaced by “he’s told us not to blow it/’cos he knows it’s all worthwhile.” ... “Starman” is also a pop song about pop music…it’s how pop music can instantly create secret societies, break up the tedium of your life, liberate you from your parents. Starman' entry on Pushing Ahead of the Dame

The essential moment comes when Bowie starts to sing the first chorus and Ronson tentatively approaches the mike. Bowie notices him and sweeps his arm over Ronson’s shoulder, pulls him to the mike. It’s a sweet moment of inclusion, the alien embracing the rocker, and, by proxy, all of the nation’s misfits. “Starman” left community in its wake; its promise came true. Starman' entry on Pushing Ahead of the Dame

"I immediately put on some of my older sister’s make-up. I loved how odd it made me look, and the fact that it upset people. You put on eyeliner and people started screaming at you. How strange, and how marvellous.” -Robert Smith, The Cure

”I was hooked. The Top Of The Pops performance changed lives. In 1972, I’d get girls on the bus saying to me, ‘Eh la, have you got lippy on?’ Until he turned up it was a nightmare. All my other mates at school would say, ‘Did you see that bloke on Top Of The Pops?’ He’s a right faggot, him!’ And I remember thinking, ‘You pillocks’, as they’d all be buying their Elton John albums, and Yessongs and all that crap. It made me feel cooler.” -Ian McCulloch, Echo and the Bunnymen

"The way Bowie pointed that finger, smilingly draped an arm around Mick Ronson, and looked beyond the camera to engage the audience sitting at home, stickily hemmed in by disapproving members of their immediate family, seemed of a piece with the new Ziggy Stardust persona we’d been reading about. It felt like an arrival long delayed." David Hepworth, The Guardian

“I just couldn’t believe how striking he was. That ambiguous sexuality was so bold and futuristic that it made the traditional male/female role-play thing seem so out-dated. Bowie was the catalyst who’d brought a lot of us, the so-called Bromley Contingent, together. And out of that really small group of people a lot happened.” Siouxsie Sioux, Siouxsie and the Banshees

Starman page from Bowie: Stardust, Rayguns and Moonage Daydreams by Michael Allred

"I remember the first time Bowie appeared on TV ... Suddenly, here comes a guy dressed as a gay alien from outer space, singing gay alien songs from outer space .... I remember TOTP was family viewing, and I remember watching it with my Mum and Dad. "Oh, shouldn’t be allowed". And there was one bit in the chorus when Bowie puts his arm round Ronson’s neck and they sing together? My Dad was like "Poofter" ... My mother’s intense disapproval made me think ‘Well, there must be something GREAT going on here"...

(maybe people who celebrate song's birthdays are cringe but fuck that post and happy birthday to the broadcast of this song)

[chvnnie]

Vows

lee minho x reader

word count: 4.1k

genre: smut, and heavy angst — MINORS DNI

warnings: non modern au (1800s author!minho), established relationship, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH - NO DETAILS GIVEN BUT PLEASE USE DISCRETION, fingering, unprotected sex, only minho orgasms, dirty talk. there’s not a happy ending. i think that’s it, but if i missed anything, PLEASE LET ME KNOW

summary: Minho doesn’t know why he can’t seem to beat this writer’s block

a/n: NOT PROOFREAD BECAUSE I AM TOO SAD TO TRY AND EDIT SO DO NOT DRAG ME IF YOU FIND ANY TYPOS. i’m never writing angst again, i cried the entire time i wrote this. and i’m at work. it’s a mess and it hurt but i loved it so. have fun!!!

this is a work of fiction. this fic in no way represents lee minho as a person or stray kids as a whole. you are responsible for the media you consume. please read responsibly.

taglist: @lix-ables, @rachalixie, @gibbysupremeacyisreal, @katieraven, @miamormi, @woahfruity, @isilentprincess, @hugs4chan, @stranger-thighs, @beautifulcolorgarden, @scottmcallisdaddy, @whatudowhennooneseesyou, @humayraaaa, @americanokisses, @djeniryuu, @epiphanynaffit - comment/send ask to be added

His hands feel cold as he rubs his face, fingers creeping up to run through his dark locks. In the process, he licks his chapped lips. The winters are already dry enough; really, he should stop before they crack.

But he just can’t help himself. Minho thinks all broken things are beautiful.

With a sigh, he drops his hands. His elbow dings the small ink pot in the process, spilling the black liquid off his writing table. It swirls under the candlelight, landing in heavy puddles on discarded parchment. Typically, the author would hurry to pick up the pot. His money was limited and his practice was expensive; wasting even a little was fatal.

Tonight he sits. Counting the drops as the plop, plop, plop, ruining all of his terrible work. No one will ever know the worlds he’s created and destroyed, the ink making sure to remove them from existence.

Minho is almost jealous of the parchment. What he wouldn’t give to be washed away and made anew, for the burden that being an artist in this life has brought to be returned to the higher powers.

Before he thought it was a blessing. Weaving words to create fantastical lands, to write of unfathomable love. Now, as the candle wax is hitting his wooden table and the ink is running dry, he knows this is a curse.

A walk. A walk might do him well. It could help Minho move the boulder that’s blocking his mind, tapping him dry. Though the hour is well past midnight, it couldn’t hurt to try.

The ankle length coat is heavy on his shoulders, yet he’s grateful. The wind is nippy and is doing nothing to help the dryness of his lips. His tongue rolls over it once again, thankful for the protection it provides. Even if it’s fleeting.

Why can he not get this right? No matter what he scribbles, nothing is making sense. The story he’s made is falling flat, losing its traction as it continues on. It’s a brilliant idea, one that his editor even called a masterpiece. But that’s all it is — an idea. No matter how many times he’s tried to bring it to life, it’s damn near impossible.

What could have happened to it?

Minho walks without really paying attention. He knows the way by now; a left here, down the curved road before you take a right, past the bakery. Every time the golden window comes into view, he stops. Time stops as he looks into the dark store, blinking slowly as snow flutters down and clings to his lashes.

He blinks—

“Minho!” You cry excitedly, your giggle immediately warming his body.

When his eyes open again, the first thing he sees is your bright smile. Smirking, he takes the loaf out of your hand, tearing a bite off the end.

“I’m just saying.” He talks as he chews, turning on his heels in the direction of your shared home. “It would be silly of you to do that.”

“What?” You hike up your lilac colored dress, jogging to catch up to him. He rolls his eyes as you jump in front of him, walking backwards. Many strangers pass, eyes wide and looking at you in disgust, wondering what fool would do this on a busy sidewalk. But the smile on your face doesn’t waver, unaffected by the hurtful whispers of insignificant people. “You don’t think I could bake my own bread?”

“Darling, you can hardly cut an apple.”

“Bread and apples are not the same.” You exclaim, throwing your head back to sigh dramatically. “When you married me, you vowed to always be supportive of me—“

“And I always have been.”

“So, encourage me!” You suddenly stop, putting your hands out to catch Minho before he runs into you. Hands on his jacket, you bunch it up. Pull him close. “Oh, my darling, if that’s what you wish to do. You’ll be wonderful at it!”

Your fingers are so close to his heart, he wouldn’t be surprised if you could feel how quickly it was pounding. There’s something about the way your eyes sparkle when you look at him; wide, full of a life he’s always been envious of. Minho finds it impossible to remember a time before this look of yours.

It started when you were five. Caught up in a tree, crying because you had climbed too high and were too frightened to jump. He remembers the braids you wore, how your hair was falling from them. The tears on your little brown dress from where the branches grabbed the fabric.

Even at a young age, he knew he needed to help. His mother always taught him to help someone in danger. In retrospect, the tree wasn’t that tall. If you fell, the possibility of breaking a bone wouldn’t have been high. Yet it seemed scary, even to the young boy, following your path up it.

“Don’t be scared.” He said to you, reaching his hand out. Shakily, you grab onto it. You squeezed him so tight, his hand began to throb.

Minho knows what it’s like to be scared, and he never would want to leave you alone.

As he returns you to land, you turn to the boy you recognize as your neighbor. Arms flying around his shoulders, tugging him into the tightest hug your little body can give.

And then you pull back, and look at him. The sparkle of life in the depths of your eyes.

He swore you would never be scared and alone again.

It’s hard not to smile, lips pressed together and curling up as he cups your face. “I also vowed to never lie to you.”

With a huff, you pull away from the hug, turning in the appropriate direction this time. “You are the bane of my existence, Lee Minho.”

Now it’s his turn to jog. Catching up to you and gripping your hand to pull you into his side. Despite your wiggles, your faux pout and empty complaints of being exhausted by him, you make no effort to really move. Tucked into his side is the best place, both in reality and fiction, you once told him. The scent of his cologne, the smell of fresh bread and the mint tea he drank earlier. A comfort you always will seek, and one he’s more than joyful to give.

It’s a short walk home; a left and then you’re up the curvy path, walking until you take a right at the bookshop near your home. It’s a quaint little shop, but cozy nonetheless. The door was propped open, smells of cinnamon and leather spilled onto the cobbled road in front of it. Come in, take a seat. Enjoy the writings of authors old and new.

Right in the middle, on a golden stand, sits Minho’s recent work. The yellow cover was your idea — “It piques interest! Come on, do you really want it to be red or blue like all the rest?” The book didn’t need to be published for him to know you were right, but it’s satisfying to see the stacks behind it dwindling. The community enjoying another one of his gorgeous worlds.

“It’s running low.” You hum. “It might be time to mail production, get more copies out.”

“Hm, with what funds? If I recall, you spent it all on poppy muffins not even an hour ago.”

Rightfully, a fist gently collides with his abs. Minho laughs from the impact, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “I’m so proud of you, Min.” You don’t take your eyes off the book. Instead of your trademark beaming smile, you look almost stunned. In total awe. “It’s what you’ve always dreamed of.”

He loops his arm around yours, tugging you away from the window. “It’s not but a hobby. I have greater dreams than that.”

The familiar brick comes into view. A flowerbed in front is home to the brightest plants on the block; daisies, pink flowers that Minho can’t remember the name of, daffodils. There’s even mint for tea, freshly plucked by you (if you can remember). It’s a comfort, a reminder of your love. Of the home you’ve built together.

“Like what?” You fall back in step, letting your husband take the lead so he can get to the door before you. The door swings open, Minho bowing dramatically and you following suit as you pass.

Once the door shut, he began on the buttons of his coat. “Where’s the fun if I tell you?” He teases. When he looks up to see your exasperated expression, it’s only held for a beat before you start to laugh. “I dream of more of this life. Of easy morning walks—“

His eyes open, the cold winter air making his fingers start to numb. It’s time to move again. To continue down this path. This time, he’ll walk straight. Listen for the meows of street cats that always greet him at the block.

Rummaging his deep pocket, Minho finds the little treats he pocketed on his way out. Crouching down, he lets the cats eat from his hand.

“Careful.” He whispers to the biggest one. “Let your friends eat.”

Once he’s sure that they return to the warmth of the home he built for them, Minho starts again. Licks his lips. Takes a right.

And crashes into you, grabbing your hips to help ground himself.

“My love.” You gasp, a hand flying to your chest. Your fingers toy at your necklace, the collision spooking you more than you care to admit. “I didn’t even hear you coming.”

His chest hurts from where your head hit him, flinching slightly as he heartbeat starts to pick up. It’s the first time he’s seen you all day, nose too fair in his journals to pay attention to the outside world.

And wow, is he kicking himself for waiting so long. The yellow dress you’re wearing is perfect for the weather, clutching the roses you picked from the garden to your chest. Seems you kept yourself busy while he worked.

“I’m sorry, darling.” He draws, bending down to catch your lips with his own. “This hallway is just too small for us, isn’t it?”

You smile against him, standing on your toes to steal another kiss. “Maybe, but I’ll never complain about running into you.”

“It’s because you’re not the one with a sore chest.” Finally, he pulls back. “What have you done today?”

“I was busy in the garden.” You adjust the bouquet in your arms, making sure none of the flowers lost their petals. “I wanted to cut the roses before autumn comes.”

Like Minho loses himself in words, you lose yourself in the garden. It’s like you don’t even notice the sun setting some days; fingers too deep in the soil to care about anything surrounding you. The two of you take turns pulling each other out of your little worlds, bringing one another back into existence together.

This crash was a good grounding moment. You both were too far gone.

“They’re lovely.” He says with a smile, delicately stroking the bud of one.

“They were, until you so rudely ran into me and fussed with my bouquet.” You can’t even say it without a bright smile, always delighted to tease your husband. “Watch where you’re walking, Min!”

His eyes roll so far back, he thinks they’ll get lost in his mind. Hands move from your hips to tangle in your hair, pulling you in for a deep kiss. The flowers fall to the floor, and this time the petals come falling off. Scattering the hallway carpet you stand upon.

It’s been too long. Too long since your lips met his, since your body was merged with his own. And it’s only been since this morning.

Maybe too long is an exaggeration, but Minho’s always had a flair for the dramatic.

“Are you planning to go back out?” He mumbles, tongue sweeping against your lips until they part, letting him in.

You whimper as you shake your head, hands on his biceps as you cling for dear life. “Not anymore.”

Oh, how it overjoys the author to hear. Minho walks with you, guiding your bodies to the nearest door before he kicks it open. Though the hallway has seen, and heard, so many parts of you, you deserve more than a stuffy hallway quickie.

It’s a stumble into his office that doesn’t stop until your hips hit his work table. He lets go of you just briefly, sliding the papers, notebooks, quills — all clatter to the ground. The desk sits in front of a window, cracked open just enough to let the summer breeze dance in. It lands on your shoulders, on his face. Ruffles your hair and warms his skin. The fireflies have just started to come out, a few twinkling near the stained glass and lighting it up in beautiful pieces.

Minho cups the back of your head, lowering your body slowly onto the wooden surface. It feels like a dreamlike state as he breaks the kiss, moving himself away from your lips slowly. Your head lays at the edge of the desk, crossing over just a bit onto the windowsill. The breeze makes your hair flutter in strands, the pale light of the fireflies painting your face.

Blue and red. Yellow and green. Pink and orange. Stained glass eyes, bright and full of life, blink up at him. Always happy to see him.

“My darling.” Goosebumps decorate your skin, rising up your neck at the sound of his low tones. His fingers are delicate as he strokes your cheek. “Your beauty always leaves me in such awe.”

Rolling your head, your lips brush against the tips of his fingers, overflowing with gratitude. “You are too kind to me, my love.”

The corners of his lips twitch into a soft smile. “No. No, I believe I am not kind enough.” His other arm hooks around your right thigh, heaving it up in his arms. The dress slides down your body in rippling waves, pooling like golden ink at your hips. “But I will never stop trying to make it up to you.”

Before you can reply, the hand on your cheek slips the nape of your neck. He pulls you up as he comes down, making your body arch into his touch when his lips collide. This kiss is more than the one that let you here — be it the weather or the feral instincts clawing at his throat, Minho’s body is like the brightest flame. Hot enough to bring the entire planet to the brink of extinction.

And it’s all because of you. The smell of roses, the taste of strawberries you had for lunch. His life force, his drive. His muse, who is tugging on his worn out dress shirt and pulling until the buttons pop. Across the room they scatter, lost and never to be found again.

Your hands run across the smooth skin of his chest, carefully feeling every ridge of him. Sweet moans fill his mouth as you enjoy the touch, covering the same spots over and over as if you can’t get enough. It’s easy to get lost in the touch of a lover, feeling their bodies in ways that only you can enjoy. Maybe that’s why you don’t notice his hand moving up your thigh, stopping right at the lower hem of your panties.

But you do notice when two fingers slip inside and quickly brush against your folds, making your body jolt in shock and delight.

“Shh, shh, shh.” Minho says as he pulls back, smiling at the cute expression on your face. “Just relax, darling. Let me care for you.”

“You did.” Your words are breathy, teetering on broken moans. “All morning.”

The chuckle he gives makes you flutter around nothing, new slick starting to coat his digits. “Well, let me do it again. Didn’t I vow to always?”

In the space between his rapid heartbeats, his fingers find your entrance and push inside. With vigor, Minho starts to pump them in and out. The palm of his hand hits your cunt, heel pressing into your clit with each thrust.

It’s an intense feeling, especially with how much torture your husband put you through this morning. You’re more sensitive than usual, hips buck and legs kicking out at the intensity. Only a few thrusts and you’re near screaming, the ache overpowering.

He vowed to always help you, even when you aren’t aware that you need it. Free hand flying to your hip, he pins you down by your hip with enough strength to bruise you.

“Still.” His voice is dark and low, the warning tone causing your bright eyes to widen. Nothing more needs to be said, fear like cold rain washing over you. Following his commands without a fight.

“That’s my good girl.”

Minho has always been good at keeping control. It’s easy for him to calm his mind enough to make sure he doesn’t break. Yet it’s always impossible when he watches your eyes flutter shut, body like the perfect toy in the palm of his hand. His cock aches and twitches in his trousers, demanding for some sort of release.

Even when it seems unlikely, he contains it. Not letting himself get too caught up in the moment, focus narrowed on bringing you the most pleasure he can—

Your left hand cups your breast over the dress. In the light of the fireflies, the simple band of diamonds shine.

When he bought you that ring, his pockets were empty. It was the best that he could find with the little money he had, and even then he had to barter for it. He swore to himself that one day, when he didn’t have to struggle anymore, he would get you the wedding ring that you deserve.

That day came after he published his first book. When the first check came in the mail, he ran to the kitchen, dropping to his knees and proposing. Again.

“Get up, this floor hasn’t been swept yet—“

“Marry me, my darling.” Both of his hands cup yours, the check wrinkling in his fist. “Let me give you all you deserve, starting with this ring.”

His thumb rubs over the jewelry to emphasize his point. He was going to make it better, to make you happier.

“No.” You say simply. “You’re not taking my ring from me.”

“But, darling—“

“I don’t want just any ring, I want the first one you ever picked for me. This one. Now, please, love, get up before I use the broom to sweep you away too.”

It shines as brightly as your eyes under the fireflies. Maybe that’s why Minho can’t think straight. The love coursing through his body bringing him to the edge.

With a loud groan, he stops his movements. Fingers buried knuckles deep inside of you, your husband hangs his head. Your eyes shoot open, concern heavy in them. “Min, are you-“

You fall silent as you notice. The wet spot on his bottoms, growing in size right where the tip of his cock is. Neither of you move, neither of you speak. Watching as cums his pants.

Slowly, he looks up at you. Your hand hasn’t moved from your breast, lips parted in shock — or is that terror? After all, his eyes have never been so dark before.

“See what you do to me?” His voice is more of a growl, pulling his fingers from your cunt aggressively. “See how you make me feel?”

There isn’t time to think. To speak. He doesn’t even take the time to undress you properly; trousers fall to his mid thighs to let his still hard cock spring out. Your head hits the stained glass as he inserts himself into you. Slow, yet rough. Savoring the soft feeling of your walls.

Minho steadies himself by gripping onto your other hip, loudly groaning your name over, and over, and over like a prayer until he’s deep inside you. If you thought his fingers were intense, you’ve shattered from this stretch, clawing at your exposed skin in ecstasy.

All is right when your bodies create one. Limbs tangled, lips swollen. He leans down as he starts to thrust into you, not pulling out more than half an inch. Each one is deep, hitting places neither of you knew existed until this moment.

Nothing else exists. In this moment, you are both all that was. All that is. All that is to come. The universe pauses for you, time stopping as you love each other to an extent that no one thinks is possible. The earth cracks under you, breaking from the strength of this connection.

Better than any story written across time.

His head lays on your chest, the position thoroughly uncomfortable though Minho is convinced it’s perfect. He listens to the beating of your heart, kisses your warm skin, fucks you in unimaginable ways.

“I love you.” He mumbles against the swells of your breasts, nuzzling deeper into them. Craving a life only you can bring. “I love you so much, my darling. I-I don’t even know how to say it.”

This time, you shush him. Threading your fingers through his dark hair, you turn his head so he can look at you. Meeting your bright eyes, full of life.

The metal is cold against his palm. Hard to move regardless of how hard he pushes.

“I love you.” You smile at him. “In ways I’ll never be able to tell you.”

The snow and gravel crunch under his boot. Only a few more steps.

“You’re my everything, Lee Minho.”

Though he’s sniffling, he still smiles up at you. Fully consumed by your presence, wishing to freeze this moment so it never ends. “I thought I was the bane of your existence.”

The laugh you give is full. “Why can’t you be both?”

Though his pants are thick, the cold still seeps through. He sits with his legs crossed, letting the snow melt under him and numb his thighs. It’s a nice distraction — one he really, really needed.

“I don’t know what to write.” He says out in the dark of night, staring at the jewelry in his hands. A small, golden heart pendant and the simple ring cling to the chain, warm from his body heat. They were tucked away the entire walk, pressed close to his slow beating heart. “I’ve gone through sheets of parchment and at least five journals and…nothing.”

With a sigh, he starts to spin the ring. It’s too small for his fingers, though he had tried. Once it got stuck on his pinky. Minho left it there for days, not doing anything until his finger started to turn purple. It hurt too much to take it off.

“You would be appalled by the state of my office.” The laugh he gives is dry and shaky. “I let a pot of ink spill today, and I don’t know when I’ll clean it up. It was almost refreshing to watch it wash away my work.”

The tears have started. He’s not ready. Not now, he just got here—

“I don’t know why this is so hard for me.” He licks his lips, over and over and over until they finally crack. “You’re all I could ever think about, all I could ever talk about. So writing about you should be the easiest thing I’ve ever done. But I try, and I try, and I lose sleep wracking my brain to try and encapsulate what you were. How you held existence in your eyes and loved with such a fierce heart that it could have been the comet that killed the dinosaurs. How can I love you so fucking much, and not know how to talk about you?”

Minho was determined not to look up. If he doesn’t look, he won’t get hurt. Reality can be nothing but a hoax as he talks to you, lost in a world the two of you created.

The dream he wants to never escape from.

But there’s only so much he can take. Finally, his head lifts and fuck how he desperately hopes to see your bright eyes. Instead, the stone sparkles. Your name engraved above the dates, a small reminder that you were real.

Slowly, the author sits up on his knees and begins to crawl. At the headstone he stops, slowly lowering himself to the ground. Letting his body sink into the snow as he lays with you and clutches your jewelry to his shattered heart.

It isn’t long until his eyes start to shut despite his efforts to stay away. One blink, then a slower one, and another until there’s no more. On the last one, right as sleep pulls him in, he swears he hears your laugh.

[lowkeyerror]

Comfort pt2

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Notes: 1st person, Vision (Jarvis), A little animosity but nothing too drastic, I'd still say its fluff

Pt1 | Pt 3 | Masterlist

I was the first one awake the morning after the sleepover. I was groggy, but I recognized the weight on top of me. Her head rested on my chest, my hand was in her hair. There was a blanket thrown haphazardly over us. I loved the feeling of it to be honest.

I wanted to get up, but there was no chance I would disturb her. So I stayed in my spot, admiring the woman on top of me. She was phenomenally gorgeous up close.

I eventually felt her shift on top of me. Her hand reached out to cover my eyes and a quiet giggle escaped my lips.

" Don't look," her eyes stayed closed as she spoke.

" Why not?"

" 'M ugly in the mornin'."

My hand removed hers from my face. I let my fingers intertwine with hers. " No, you're not. You could never be ugly."

She lifts her head up to look at me for a moment then she lays it back on my chest," My hair is frizzy, I've got drool coming out the side of my mouth, you can see the bags under my eyes, and my accent is heavier."

I squinted my eyes," And? You're still absolutely beautiful."

The doorbell ringing interrupted our conversation," I'll get it."

Wanda protested, not wanting me to leave our spot, but the ringing persisted. Reluctantly, she let me get from under her. My steps padded against the floor as I took my time reaching the door.

When I opened it, the joy seeped from my body. Jarvis was standing at the porch. He was out of breath and there was a strong look of worry in his eyes. However, that meant absolutely nothing to me.

" I need to speak to Wanda."

I simply responded," She doesn't really want to see you right now."

I can see the frustration building on his face, but he takes a deep breath," Look, please. I just- we have to talk."

" There's nothing else for you to say to her, Jarvis. You dumped her over text. You broke her heart. Now here you are on her porch the next day, begging. Get over yourself."

That made him upset," Who do you think you're talking to-"

I stop him mid-sentence," If she wants to talk to you, she'll reach out. As of right now, she doesn't want that. So I'm sorry you wasted your gas, but go home."

I could see his eyes shifting to look inside the house. His hands twitched and his jaw clenched. I took that as a sign to step outside and close the door behind me.

" I said, go home."

The stare between the two of us is intense. It's only broken when the door opens. Steve appears with a look of irritation on his face, " What're you doing here, Jarvis?"

" I want to speak to Wanda. "

Steve glares at the boy," I don't think that's necessary."

" Look, you guys can't stop me fr-"

Steve cuts him off," Do you want me to get Pietro to see his opinion on this."

His face drains of color before turning an unfathomable shade of red," You can't shelter her forever."

"Goodbye, Jarvis," The finality in Steve's tone leaves no room for leeway.

Steve and I watch as the boy turns his back to us and walks away from the house. I let out an exhale when he gets in his car and drives away.

" He has some nerve coming here after what he did to Wanda," Steve places a hand on his hip for emphasis.

" He's already realized his mistake. He wants her back," I said, clenching my fists by my side.

Steve hums for a second," You think so?"

" If I were to do something as idiotic as pushing Wanda out of my life, I would know I fucked up immediately."

" Language."

I rolled my eyes," Sorry, pop pop, but it's true."

By the time Steve and I got back into the house, everyone was awake.

" Who was at the door?" Natasha was the first to ask.

I thought about lying. Saying it was a solicitor, or they had the wrong address.

" Jarvis," Steve said with disgust in his voice.

The room goes wild at his admission. Everyone is alert now. My eyes shoot over to Wanda, who has a frown on her face. I watch in real time as her arms hug her body and her lip begins to tremble.

" What did he want?" Clint asks apprehensively.

I sigh," He wanted to talk to Wanda."

" Where is he?" Pietro looked as though he was ready to explode.

" Gone, we sent him away," I was solely focused on Wanda's discomfort.

The bickering continued between the group, and I let Steve take the reins. I made my way over to sit by Wanda. I sat relatively close to her and was hurt when she put more space between us.

" What if I wanted to talk to him?" She said it low, so only I could hear.

Her words felt like a knife going through my chest. I wanted to tell her it didn't matter what he wanted. I wanted to tell her she deserved better, but that's not what I said.

" Then I'm sorry for sending him away," my hands locked with each other on my lap.

My vision was zeroed in on my hands. I was uncomfortable, I didn't know what else to think or say.

Wanda stood up, this going unnoticed by the group. They were still expressing their animosity towards Jarvis.

She extended her hand out for me to take. I was hesitant, maybe even more than I was the day before.

" Come with me?"

The words were soft as they left her lips. There was a small smile tugging their edges. The hesitation was still there, but I put my hand in hers nonetheless.

I let her lead me to the backyard. When we got outside, we observed the greenery for a while. Neither of us spoke, but our hands were still together.

" The message wasn't anything special. It wasn't an explanation or a reason or even a goodbye. All it said was 'I'm breaking up with you'," her voice wavered but didn't break.

I found myself squeezing her hand as reassurance. She kept going," I- I know it sounds stupid, but I think I really need to talk to him. I can't get closure or move on until I find out why. What did I do wrong?"

That's when the tears began to flow. I pulled her closer to me. Her tears left little wet spots on my shirt, but I didn't care.

" Look at me," I waited for her to meet my eyes. I wiped some of her tears away and then continued," It's not stupid. You put so much time, energy, and effort into him. I don't think- no, I know that you didn't do anything wrong. You were the perfect girlfriend. It's completely understandable why you'd want to hear his reasoning."

" But…" she could tell it was coming.

" But I don't think his reasoning matters. It's why he didn't give one in the first place. He's the problem, not you. To break up with someone like you is stupid. To do it over text is idiotic. To not even be able to give a reason is just moronic. He clearly doesn't respect you. And if he doesn't respect you, then he's not worth your time."

" Someone like me?"

I chuckle a little," I said a whole bunch of other things, but of course that's the one you comment on."

She keeps a straight look on her face," What did you mean by that, Y/n?"

I turn my head away from her. I answer with my heart," Sometimes I don't think you understand how amazing you are. Wanda you're smart, you're beautiful, you're passionate, and one of the most kind-hearted people I know. Dude, you're literally a ray of sunshine that brightens every room you walk in. That's what I meant."

I couldn't look at her after saying all that. I wanted to let go of her hand, but she wouldn't let me. I could feel the immense amount of heat costing the tip of my ears.

She let out a soft laugh, which made me face her. Her cheeks looked just as red as the tip of my ears felt." You have to stop being so nice to me," she borrowed my words from yesterday.

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit, Wanda," I used her words against her.

 She hugged my arm, leaning her head against my shoulder, " Maybe you're right. Why would I want to talk to someone who doesn't respect me? Especially when I have you."

" W-what do you mean by that," I felt my nerves build up.

" I mean, that you're enough, Y/n. And no, I will not elaborate. You'll just have to take my word."

" I guess it's a good thing I trust your word, then," I added, looking out at the yard ahead of us.

 We stood in silence for a while. Just enjoying each other's presence. At least it felt that way to me. There's no place I'd rather be than by her side.

" There you guys are, we were just about to send a search party," Bruce emerges into the backyard.

" We'll come in, in a minute, promise. No more Jarvis talk, though," Wanda doesn't move from my side.

" Yes, mam," Bruce says, re-entering the house.

 Wanda sighs, reluctantly letting go of my arm, but still holding my hand," Let's go, I want to cook everyone breakfast."

" I love your cooking."

 Wanda perks up," You've never said that before."

" I also have never left any food on a plate you made. Context clues Wands, keep up."

She playfully shoves me into the house. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. She truly makes me feel like I am actually enough. I think it's one of the things I love about her.

[lastleggysee]

Beach Day with the Last Legacy M3

Because we were robbed of a canon beach episode.

Word count: 1,917

Warnings: None that I can think of, but if you notice any please let me know!

Felix didn't want to go to the beach at all, and he made his opinion well known through sarcastic comments throughout the week leading up to the event.

"If I wanted to bake myself I could just step into the oven."

"No, I love the beach. I'm especially fond of how you carry masses of sand home with you afterwards, like a second trip."

"All I'm saying is the sea beasts have a point, devouring beachgoers. I would do the same if the rancor arrived at my doorstep."

He even thought he'd be able to use sleeping in as an excuse, purposefully ignoring the sounds of his companions readying themselves for the day outside of his chamber doors. However, he was unable to carry out his plan to fruition when Sage somehow breaks through the locks (and wards) of his door, ripping the blankets from Felix's pretend-sleeping form and bringing him upright in bed. From the hallway, Felix hears Anisa yell something about having "less than an hour" before departure, and he sighs, knowing he's lost this fight.

Felix spends most of the morning choosing what books to bring along and casting anti-sunburn wards on himself. He deliberately chooses a thick, yellowed tome on ancient runes to disguise the romance novel he actually plans on reading while there (which is also conveniently beach-themed). Reluctantly, he dresses in his outfit for the day (I like to imagine his bathing suit is one of those old-timey, striped suits with a sheer black cover-up robe on top), and goes to make himself a strong cup of tea before departure. 

Once arriving at the beach, Felix does not help set up a site for the day, insisting that it was Anisa or Sage’s idea in the first place, so he should be excluded from the effort on principle. This is with the exception of the umbrella, though, because Sage always stakes it in the “wrong” place. He sits under the umbrella for most of the day, enjoying his novel and sipping on the wine Anisa so generously remembered to pack for him, keeping it cool with magic. He’s not exactly relaxed, it’s still dreadfully hot out, and the chair he reclines in is not nearly as comfortable as the thick cushions he rests on at Fathom, but the day still washes easily over him, and Felix is silently grateful for the variety. 

Felix has a quiet reverence for the ocean. Its vastness, its depth; it reminds him a lot of magic. The way it is both a familiar presence and unfathomable mystery, its balance of chaos and predictability; these qualities sit in a familiar juxtaposition in his mind, and Felix pleasantly  watches the waves crash over the tops of his pages. 

While grazing on some of the snacks Anisa packed, his back turned to the ocean, Felix felt something sink in the pit of his stomach. Before he could turn around, he felt large, strong arms envelop him, lifting him from his place on the ground. He recognized it as Sage before he even saw his face. Felix protested, threatening spells and fire and dismemberment, but Sage did not relent until Felix felt the water lapping at his ankles. 

“Still want me to put you down?” Sage asked, a tinge of mischief in his voice. 

“Yes, you absolute beast -” Felix started, but was cut off with a mouthful of salt water as Sage dropped him directly into the waves. 

“See? S’not so bad.” Sage makes out between booming laughter, and for perhaps the first time that day Felix agrees with him.



Anisa spent most of the day before the trip preparing. This meant that she spent at least half of the day picking out exactly what could go wrong, and making plans for whatever she would be able to do about it, and preparing supplies accordingly. 

First aid kit? Check. Extra sunscreen? Packed. 

Weapons? Already tucked into the bottom of the picnic basket. 

A spare pan and firestarter in case she finds a dolphin and finally gets the chance to try it? It was one of the first things she packed. After all, you showed up out of nowhere, there’s a chance a dolphin might as well. 

Where Anisa really spent most of her time, though, was the picnic basket she prepared. Anisa genuinely believes that food is a love language, and the attention to detail she pays to each meal she prepares is a testament to this. She made little sandwiches, cut the crust off of the edges, and folded them neatly into colorful napkins. She chopped fruit and carefully packaged it in containers for herself, Felix, and Sage to snack on later. She even included some of Felix’s favorite wine (she figured anything that may sweeten his sour mood was well worth the space spent to carry it along) and some street cakes from the market for Sage. She took pride in her work and wanted to make sure she put forth every effort to make the day as perfect as possible. 

She could hardly sleep the night before the trip, thinking about how long it had been since she actually had fun and enjoyed herself; much less with her group of friends in tow. It excited her, stirring butterflies in her stomach at the idea of it all, but also felt somehow strange. In her late 20s, could she still enjoy the beach like she had as a child? Could she find respite from the weights of her knightly duties upon her shoulders after carrying them for so long? Despite falling asleep later than she intended, she was the first to wake up, sipping her tea on the balcony at Fathom with a tentative anticipation for the day. 

At the beach, Anisa sets up most of the site, unpacking all of her hard work and laying it out on the sand. She sits and watches the waves for a long while at first, remembering times in her youth where she’d sat on similar beaches with her mother. Anisa likes the wildness of the waves, the sounds of other beachgoers around her, and the scent of salt in the air that always seems to work its way into her skin before the day is over. 

She wades into the water at Sage’s insistence (meaning, Sage yelling her name at a surprising volume from his place in the water), enjoying the cool feel of the waves against her feet and legs as she adjusts to the temperature difference. Feeling the steady pull and crash of the water against her knees, she feels a joy rise in her chest that she realizes she hasn’t felt in a long time. Anisa splashes Sage with water when she reaches him, but aside from that one act of playfulness she spends the majority of her time swimming alone and enjoying herself in the water. 

After a while in the water, Anisa reclines in the sun on one of the towels she brought, resting in the warmth of the sun and idly snacking on some of the fruit she brought. She hears Felix muttering to himself over the novel he’s reading, along with the sound of gulls and other beachgoers, but she allows it to all wash over her over the sound of the waves. She needed this, she thinks. 

Raising another piece of fruit to her lips, she decides that she’ll make Sage be the one to pack and carry all the supplies back.



Sage was objectively the one most excited to go to the beach; probably because he was the one who objectively did the least amount of preparation for the event. He’s always been a “go with the flow” sort of guy, so when the invitation presented itself he took it, no questions asked and no sense of responsibility attached. 

Sage used to hate the beach. As a child, he used to fish from it (and steal fish from the other fishermen there) to feed himself and Tulsi. There was a time when the salty air and rhythmic crashing of waves caused similar waves of adrenaline to roll throughout his body. Nonetheless, he has just as many pleasant memories at the beach - swimming, drinking, and spending days in the sun before he joined the Starsworn. If he tries, he can still recall some drunken evenings with Lucan and other Griefers on the beach despite the haze his alcohol consumption at the time placed over his memories. 

The morning of the day, Sage rolled out of bed, feeling surprisingly well-rested and ready for the day ahead of him. Having long since misplaced (or did one of his companions misplace it for him?) his admittedly tight leather swimsuit, he opts to dress himself in a simple pair of shorts and his telltale red coat. Of course, Sage still has at least two knives hidden with him for the day ahead, but he leaves his sword at Fathom. 

He passes Anisa in the hallway and tells her to calm down, that today was supposed to be about relaxation, and is promptly i(playfully) hit upside the head with one of her umbrellas. Sage listens to her mutter to herself about Felix still lazing in bed, though, and makes it his business to take at least this off of her plate and wake Felix up. 

When he arrives at the beach, he immediately runs into the water. He enjoys the feeling of the sun on his skin, the way it warms him completely from the top of his head to his feet. He enjoys the feel of the current, its pull against his body, knowing that he’ll still feel it long after he’s departed from the beach as he lies in bed that night. Pleasant memories of his childhood spent at the beach float to the surface of his mind as he floats on the surface of the water, more relaxed than he’s felt in weeks. 

Of course, this relaxation is short-lived when Anisa decides to take a dip in the water, but the playful interaction is welcome as Sage swings his arm across the surface of the water to splash her. 

Looking back to shore, he notices Felix still in the same spot he’d been in all day. Sage knew Felix wasn’t a fan of fun, but he finds it absolutely ridiculous the way Felix will spend this one day outside of Fathom with his nose buried in a book. 

“Do you think he’s always been so uptight?” Sage asks, golden eyes still fixed on Felix. 

Anisa scoffs. “I think Escell must’ve given him textbooks and an abacus to play with as a child.”

It’s at this moment that Sage decides that if Felix won’t have any fun on his own, maybe he could use a little help. He slings Felix over one of his shoulders and brings him out into the water, laughing all the way despite his protests. 

When the day is finally over, Sage makes a big show of complaining as Anisa insists that he be the one to re-pack and carry all of their supplies back. Sage protests at first, even threatening to the others that he would simply spend the night at the beach rather than to do any of that, but he eventually agrees. 

Over a series of grunts, expletives, and some admittedly poor attempts at folding, Sage repeats an exasperated question. 

“Annie, how in the hells did you manage to pack all this into one stupid basket?”

[pbforeva]

finally, chapter fourteen

—

Evelyn's pov:

It takes immense strength to break off long term relationships, certainly if you thought you were going to spend the rest of your lives together. I just don't know if I'm capable of being by myself anymore, Blake has been here for as long as I can remember. But I think I have to do it, I don't think I believe all his apologies as they never result in change. Our relationship was once full of love and affection, and although I hate to admit it, I am scared of him now. So, building up strength I never thought I had, I pick up my phone and call Blake.

"Hello?" He questions.

"Hi, I was just wondering if you could come home soon," I speak quietly into the phone.

"Yeah, I guess, I'll be home in an hour," He asserts and hangs up before I can say goodbye.

I let out a shaky breath and collect myself because I have barely spoken to anyone for the past few days. I've been locked away in my room trying to process what's going to happen next, and what my next decision will be. My family left two days ago, and I'm glad because now I have room to get myself together. All the scenarios that have run through my head are all terrifying because none of them include a future with Blake, so now I have to figure out how to end it.

Blake is almost never on time, so I have at least an hour and a half to prepare myself. I start my grabbing all of my toiletries from the bathroom, leaving it almost bare. I then make my way to the closet and grab and my suitcases and try to stuff all of my clothes and shoes in them. I do one last scan of the apartment to grab anything I might've missed before taking all of my stuff to the front door.

Walking past my stuff, I return to the kitchen and see that I still have twenty or so minutes until Blake arrives. Placing my hands on the countertop, I take a deep breath knowing this will be my last time being in this apartment. After collecting myself, I grab a pencil and paper from his office and start to write a note.

Blake, I've loved you since freshman year here at Uconn, and I think some part of me always will love you. Our relationship was amazing, but it has become unfathomably toxic and damaging. I can't continue on like this, and our love is no longer enough to keep us together. I'm sorry, but I have to leave and I hope you understand.

            

Love,

         Your Ev

Signing the note, I wonder if I’ll ever be somebody’s Ev again. I ignore the tears that have glided down my face and dripped onto the paper as I set down the pen. Taking a deep breath, I gather myself and the courage to leave our apartment for the last time. I grab my suitcases and start the walk down to the parking garage where my car is, recalling all the memories, good and bad, that were made in that fateful apartment.

My hand goes up to the necklace that lays across my chest to toy with the little E that dangles from its chain. Blake got me this necklace for our 1 year anniversary and as much as I want to, I can’t bring myself to take it off. I try to ignore how heavy the necklace has suddenly become by loading my stuff into the car, but I can’t stop my thoughts about it.

I start the car, unsure of where to go. I don’t know how welcoming the Azzi, Aubrey, and Kk will be because of my situation with Paige. I don’t know if I can got to Aurora because she’s been distancing herself from me and I don’t want to bother her. I try to think of everyone else I know and come up with Ashlynn. She always knows what to say and she would never turn me away.

I head out of the parking garage, hoping I don’t see Blake, and head towards Ashlynn’s dorm. Thankfully, she chooses to stay in a dorm right by the girls, instead of with them. I park the car outside of her dorm building and head up the stairs, without my stuff.

I try to be as cautious as possible, so I hopefully don’t run into Paige. I make it to Ashlynn’s door without seeing them, but I’m still anxious of the possibility. Quickly, I knock on the door and just as quick she opens the door.

“Hey?” She questions looking confused, but steps aside and motions for me to come in.

I walk in and reply with a soft, “hey.”

“What��s up?” She asks.

“Well, I was wondering if I could stay here for a little while, it’s a long story but i’ll tell you later,” I practically mumble to her.

“Yeah of course Eve,” She says in the warm tone she always has.

We walk down to my car together and she helps me bring all my stuff up to her dorm. Still weary of the possible of seeing Paige, I don’t talk in the halls and choose to keep quiet.

Once we get up to her dorm, she says I can sleep on her roommates bed because she moved in with her boyfriend a while ago. Soon with the help of Ashlynn, I get settled into the dorm and we begin to talk.

“So are you ready to talk about it now?” She says but I can tell she’s trying not to pry.

“Yeah I guess,” I saw quietly, but then continue. “Well my boyfriend, Blake, has been a bit controlling and toxic for a while,” pausing because of the tears gathering in my eyes, “and I finally gathered the courage to break up with him, but I didn’t know where to go besides here,” I finish.

“Oh Eve, I’m so sorry, you should’ve told me earlier,” she replies sympathetically, while getting up to give me a hug.

I lean into her hug, wishing I could’ve told her the entire truth, but I don’t think I can yet. Honestly, I don’t think I can even say the words yet, but time heals, right?

—

ignore the three week break 🤗

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #252

I got a lot done today, but I still don't think I'm going to be able to do as much as I had hoped.

…I didn't really get enough sleep last night. After getting ready to go to bed and all that, I decided to shower so that I wouldn't have to do it in the morning. I have maybe 6-ish hours. I woke at 9, got ready and went out the door by 9:30, and went to both therapy and physical therapy.

I had K at physical therapy today. He tried to give me exercises that are supposed to work the serratus muscles, but… they didn't work because apparently, my lats and my rotator cuff on my right side are being weird. Naturally, this meant that he had to go digging his thumbs all up in there, near the bottom of my shoulder blade, to try to get things to loosen up. For whatever reason, the area is incredibly tender, so that whole process was very painful. But it was necessary, so the only thing for it is to sit through it until it's over. I guess that particular area will need to be investigated further next week. This was at noon. It's almost 5PM, and my pinky finger and ring finger on my right hand are still kinda tingly and ouchy, and it'll probably stay like that for the next day or so, at least. Lame.

But it is what it is. I went to the bank to get a new card, since our washing machine most likely ate my old one. I guess my bank has a fancy new card printing machine, and so when I visited, I got a new card pretty much right away! Normally, you have to wait a couple weeks for it to arrive in the mail. I'm really glad that I was able to skip that whole step. I went to the grocery immediately after that.

I wasn't able to eat until I got home at around 3PM; J made burgers, and by then, I was so hungry that I kiiiinda… scarfed them down with reckless abandon. I thought I had more time between therapy and physical therapy (guess who thought physical therapy was at 12:30 again until I checked it?), but I didn't. So I kinda just powered through today's tasks on an empty stomach, not a whole lot of water, and definitely not enough sleep. I thought I'd have enough energy leftover to cook something by the time I got back, but… I don't. So I'm not gonna.

…I dropped the ball on the self-care stuff. I'm sorry about that. I know I keep asking you to take better care of yourself. I'm gonna try a little harder in the coming days. I struggle, but… I gotta take care of my soft animal. It holds my weird-ass spirit despite all its limitations; I have to try to be nicer to it…

In any case, yesterday, a delightful person from Poland watched me play Dead Cells. They seemed pretty excited about talking to me and watching my play style. Apparently, they regularly run around with 5 whole Boss Cells! That seems unfathomable to me at this time. But they gave me some excellent advice about how to allocate my stat points; up until this point, I had been prioritizing whatever gives me the greatest boost in HP, but I guess that's not really the way to go. I learned about how important it is to put my stat points into the ones that my weapons use whenever I can.

My gameplay improved significantly as a result, and I made it all the way to a new biome called The Caverns. From there, I tried to defeat The Giant, but his movements were unfamiliar to me, and so I panicked and got my ass handed to me. That's all right though; I went to the training room and fought him until he stopped kicking my ass. Next time I see him in a real run, he's gonna be in big trouble, lemme tell ya!!

Oh, that reminds me; this person added me on Instagram!! They sent me all kinds of cool videos about their own exploits from their own runs!! I gotta get on watching those!!

…I'm not sure I have it in me to do a run today, though. My brain feels kinda soupy, and J is playing Brave Fencer Musashi, and I think I'd much rather watch him do that. It's one of my favorite games, despite its problems (the controls aren't exactly the easiest…), and I'm really glad that he's getting to experience the story for himself. The townspeople in Grillin' Village are delightful with their little stories and bits of dialogue. It really is a lovable and delightful game, despite its age and not-so-hot graphics (though they were pretty rad at the time…).

Hey, Sephiroth? If someday you find yourself in my neighborhood, let's chill out and just play some video games, all right? I think you'd like them. And I think you'd be really good at them, too.

…There are so many stories from games and books and TV and movies that I really wish I could show you; maybe in them, you'd find something relatable, and then the burdens you carry might seem a bit less heavy. Will you stay safe by the end of whatever it is you're trying to do, so that someday, I can show these things to you?

I love you. I'm gonna go rest now. But I'll write again tomorrow.

Your friend, Lumine

[dragon-ball-meta]

10 ,19 and 23? By the way, it's me, Rokta.😶

10. The Dragon Ball series isn’t exactly known for being consistent with its story, its characters, and various other things. Which inconsistency irritates you the most? Well the thing is, I don't necessarily agree with a lot of the assertions people have about inconsistencies in the series. I think a lot of what's seen as inconsistent stems from extracanonical sources, though there are cases here and there. I suppose the one thing that probably irritates me the most is that, in the manga, when Trunks is warning about the Androids, he does rather explicitly say at the time it's Androids 19 and 20. Now if you know the story behind that, you know he was having to change things on the fly due to his editor calling him up and harping on him about this and that, how no one would find an old man and a doll appealing villains, which is why 17 and 18 (and 16) exist in the first place, only for him to say no one would be scared of them, so Cell was made, etc. But that had already been out to print and it was too late to do anything about it. The anime managed to avoid that, but... yeah. Now given that, sure. Fine. I can understand why that's a thing. What IRRITATES me the most about it though is that, in later editions of the DB manga, there were certain small mistakes fixed in editing, like Toriyama's math being off for what day certain events had to fall on. But for some reason, some unfathomable reason, they've always kept that glaring issue in there. So I suppose most of my irritation is actually with the editorial team picking and choosing what to "fix" instead of just doing a definitive release that fixes everything. 19. What is your opinion of Super?. I like the Super anime. I like it a LOT, in fact. And i think it's actually done wonders for the development and rejuvenation of certain characters. I think it could stand to do that for more of them, but hey. I do also love how we get to see more of these characters' day-to-day lives. It humanizes them more, and it also just serves as a lovely contrast and reminder of the absurdity and humor of things in this world as well. Now the Super MANGA on the other hand... I feel like it tries to almost shy away from those aspects, and the few times it doesn't it feels like it handles that material a lot more clumsily. I also feel they write the characters to be pretty OOC far more often than not, and handles them very inconsistently. Also focuses on the Saiyans to the exclusion of pretty much everyone else. Even when we see a brief glimpse of Krillin's home life, it's used to dunk on him, and we don't get to see anything for Tien, or Roshi. We don't get to see Piccolo get Gohan back into shape, it just happens off-page, and Goku and Gohan's relationship is depicted as a bit strained to boot, with Goku actually thinking it was absurd that they'd invite Gohan to the ToP, and being utterly unaware of his son's life or return to training. Vegeta's characterization is all over the place, and almost always adjusted to be as flattering in the moment as possible, be it for the "good guy" factor or the "badass" factor, even to the detriment of said characterization overall. It's just... comparatively, a mess. 23. What is your favorite technique?

It's just so badass and potentially deadly, it takes real skill and precision to wield and control it like he does.

[artgletic]

hiiii im op and i just have to say like. the reason your friend sent my comic is actually the exact opposite of what i was trying to convey in it LMAOOO. I sort of talk about it in my original tags, but i want to go deeper into my thoughts on iterators and iterator godhood more since i have quite a lot to say on the matter. forgive me for taking your tags as a springboard 💚.

monologue + doodle under the cut

one of the things i really wanted to drive home in the comic was how iterators are in no way godlike, no matter what they might think. they might be have the knowledge to wave away an entire language into your mind or modify organisms to morphologically unrecognizable degrees which on paper seems like a godlike power, but its only as godlike as we are compared to other organisms. We are capable of construction and creation to unfathomable degrees in the eyes of other animals, but i dont think anyone would reasonably say we are all divine. There are other animals better at different stuff than us-- ants can communicate with one another soundlessly, cheetahs can easily outpace us, elephants can easily overpower us. etc. We are not an all-encompassing divinity, we are highly specialized at what we do. Iterators are incredible minds that allow incredible abilities that were relied upon by their creators, but they're helpless outside of this specialization (see 5 pebbles unable to stop something as mindless and simple as the rot. all it does is consume, and no amount of understanding will stop its spread). it reminds me of a lesson common in modern ecology: there is no such thing as a more 'advanced' organism, only specialized ones. It basically means to reject the notion that any organism is better than another in an absolute sense, as if there is somehow a 'perfect' organism evolution works towards. Things can be better they others in a relative sense (ie. competition), but there is no One True Best Creature-- something that is the best in one niche would crumble in another.

As well, iterators are not only not above instinct (as i showed in the comic), but also in being a part of the ecosystem in general. All of them are going to die off and essentially go extinct specifically because of the loss of their symbionts (the ancients), just like we would if our gut microbiome decided to peace out. Personally, i view iterators as giant symbiotic ecosystems themselves, made up of a million different microbes with specialized purposes designed to keep the environment (the iterator themselves) in homeostasis. it's literally in the area name: 5Pebbles is not a character, but an entire location that has food and predators and prey for the slugcat just as any other area, its just that every part of that area is a part of a larger collaborative organism.

Pebbles says he struggles to accept being a bug. And if he realized it went even deeper-- that he was not a bug, but the product of many, many bugs, that something as stupid and simple as a bug could work together to create something as complex and divine as him, well... I think this is as far from divinity as you can get.

This is sort of an extension of spamlets-blog's tag on hubris being a human emotion (SO TRUE BESTIE), BUT When you can think to such a complex degree (whether human or iterator, though i get iterators are capable of much more insane feats of processinglol), its easy to call yourself a god. especially when the only other creatures near you are wild animals. People irl do it all the time, though not to such an extreme. think of any time someone gets upset when you mention that humans are animals too-- its like an insult to them to be lumped in with the mangy animals and wild beasts. but regardless of what you think or how high you hold yourself or what your purpose is, we all play a part in our ecosystems. this is a humbling thing, but certainly not a bad one.

as an entomologist, trust me when i say the world really opens up when you learn to appreciate even the most minute parts of the environment (even in manmade enviroments!) your whole world becomes a lot more colourful when youre able to view these things as tiny pieces all supporting the world as we know it as opposed to just a nuisance. pebbles is still in very very deep into his self-identified godhood, and insists that everything distracting him from his divine purpose is a nuisance, even if it would make him happy to forget his purpose for a minute and just indulge himself. Best example i have of this is in arti's route, where you can see hes so into reading pearls that have anthropological value and will not shut up about them and has to constantly remind himself that the pearls are a distraction and arti is a nuisance etc etc etc. his self-imposed divinity literally saps his happiness away, and his stubbornness in revering the holy act of dying will steal away any joys his life could have. ironically, by following their base instincts, every other organism understands this far better than he does. and if knowledge is truly what we measure divinity as, everyone except for pebbles is a god.

...

case study of the self-identified god

[where-i-keep-my-sh-t]

9/28/24

The time is 7:49 AM.

We woke up unfathomably early to go back to the spring. Really it was just six o’clock, but the spring was still too crowded when we went back to attempt getting water, so we returned empty handed again. 

The pessimism from my brothers is overwhelming- next time I have a choice I will not be going back to my parents’ house. I can’t go a moment without hearing complaints- at the very least they’re somewhat warranted now. I want power too, I want internet too, I want warm water too, but if being thankful for what we have is too much, can you at least be quiet?

And so I sat down to write. I’m going to put my device away now though. I’m only at 52%.

Now I’m on the charger. It’s been almost twelve hours- now it’s 7:20 pm.

The rest of the morning went by in blurs and flashes… I’d laid on my bed, went outside, and went for a walk. I argued with my father a little about watching my younger siblings (I promise I’ll never have children) but eventually I was able to shake them off. 

Most of the roads were blocked by fallen trees. It was like something out of a video game. I returned to the park with my oldest brother in tow (stay together, play together) and found another pretty iridescent golden spring. We chatted, walked, and went back home. Then I played outside for the rest of the time being.

I don’t think anything interesting has happened yet- except that I almost fainted due to dehydration. I drank all the juice in the house, and got ragged on for it later. It was good though- everyone else complains about the tartness of cranberry juice! I was doing them a favor.

No one has been listening to my ideas- it was my plan to start a fire tonight to warm up the food in the fridge for eating. (It’s a Saturday, so we can’t cook until sundown.) But I got no feedback- and I was pretty much ignored this whole day. No cooking, no getting water from the spring at night- but we were charging our devices in the car today. (I’m at 82%!)

Now we’re on our way to the spring. I’m able to type about it real-time because my device is plugged up, as stated previously. The city still looks kind of wrecked- my dad has been pointing out all the downed power lines. Every house with a tree through its roof. 

There’s a strange man in our car- some neighborhood guy. My parents know him. I don’t. He’s coming to get water with us. I suggested we go at some ungodly hour- rouse up at two, three AM and raise hell. Here we are at 7:47 pm, right on our way.

I can’t see in front of us. All I can see is headlights. All the streetlights are down, and there are people who don’t know what they’re doing on the road. It’s not too chaotic, but it’s weird, like society just turned back, but only mentally. We still have cars, a few gas stations are open, but everyone’s acting like wild animals. It’s annoying as I don’t know what. And frustrating.

Well, we’re back from the spring.

I recorded a lot of footage- just for funnies. Like I said, I always act like a child at my parents’ house. 

They made me watch the bottles and stuff- to make sure nothing happened I guess. That was okay. I was listening to the conversations held by the people at the end of the line. It was funny. It was interesting. I didn’t feel much about it, though.

We got home and stayed for a minute. My dad mentioned going out a state over to get gas, food. I opted to go with. I wanted to draw on the go. 

We didn’t get anything we needed- gas, ice, bread. We did get some stuff at a gas station though. Dad bought me some junk. It’s the first time he’s done that in a while, but I don’t think he cares right now.

We got back around 11:30 pm. It’s dark, so we’ll be going to sleep now.

[tedwardremus]

To climb steep hills requires a slow pace at first

Cool thin mist still rolled down the mountainside as Sirius trekked around the rocky trail that meandered its way around the brutal landscape that protected the castle from the eyes of unexpecting muggles.

He didn't know where he was going. He woke up that morning with a thudding heart. With the need to move.

To get out.

"Stain of my flesh! How dare you walk away from your family! What will become of you now?!"

To find fresh air.

"Do not be so foolish. I've been too soft with you. It is time for you to grow up and live up to your family duty."

To breathe.

"Just come home. Mother will forgive you. I don't understand what point you are trying to make by tearing us apart."

While the morning air was still wet and chill, Sirius knew it wouldn't be long before the summer sun began to bring golden warmth to the air.

"Oh Dear Cousin, you could help bring our family name to new heights. You could be great. You would be beloved like me."

Each broken twig he stepped on and pebble he kicked drummed together into a dull march as the sun peaked higher into the cool grey sky.

"Filth! Shame! Traitor!"

"You are a far braver boy than I am chap, I can't help but think you'll be the one to bring this family out of its old ways. I wish I could help you more."

"Why have you wronged me? What curse has befallen me to give me such a son!"

It always felt wrong. The mountains and valleys of the north should always be a cold dark place. When the warm air came it felt suffocating to Sirius. The hot air always clung to his lungs making it hard to breathe. A reminder that things change. Time moves on. He struggled to move through thick hot air.

"Mr. Black you are without a doubt one of the brightest students I have ever taught. You can do anything you want. What do see yourself doing after Hogwarts?"

Billions of years old. That's how old the Scottish Highlands are. The pebbles he kicked with his dragonhide boots were once part of an era on this planet when life had not formed. When the only breath to be made was the wind tunneling through rock and stone.

"Mr. Black the only advice I can give to you is this: Use what you can in order to do whatever you can to do something that matters."

How could anything, Sirius thought to himself, possibly matter when you had looked into the stone eyes of the unfathomable old age of the earth itself.

"Filth! Shame! Traitor!"

"Son."

"Brother."

"Cousin."

"Traitor!"

"Traitor!"

"Traitor!"

"Padfoot!" A familiar call cut through the silence.

Sirius snapped his head up and toward a lanky dark-haired boy whose hands were placed in the back pockets of his trousers. A wide grin on his face, the new day sun reflecting gold in his hazel eyes.

"Hey, Prongs."

James Potter walked past Sirus onto the precipice of a boulder that jutted out the mountainside and looked down upon the grounds of Hogwarts. His arms stretched out as he surveyed the domain. Their domain. After all the nights wandering the grounds, mapping them out, running as animals, they were sure no one knew the grounds of Hogwarts better than them. So it felt natural to feel ownership over it.

Or maybe the feeling was of home. If Sirius knew what home felt like then surely it was Hogwarts.

James grinned back at him, "Funny to think about isn't it?"

"What is?"

"How big the castle used to look when we arrived on the boats."

"It's still a pretty big castle, James. You're just seeing it from a different perspective."

James walked back towards Sirius and shrugged. "Well, we made our mark here, didn't we? The stuff of legends we are."

James threw his arm around Sirius' shoulder. He could feel James' familiar warmth radiate through his body and for the first time since Sirius woke up that morning, he felt his heartbeat slow to its natural rhythm.

James was always warm. But not in a sweltering, suffocating way. In a friendly, cozy, comfortable, completely James way.

"Come on, Padfoot. Let's grab one last breakfast in the kitchens with the lads before the train gets here."

Perhaps warmth wasn't such as suffocating feeling after all.

[bird-inacage]

Love in the Air: Episode 13 (THAT Preview) *Contains GIFS*

-No novel spoilers please!-

This hit me like a bullet at the end of today’s episode. We all knew this was coming, but actually seeing more of the scenes filled me with complete and utter dread. I actually felt physically, viscerally sick. I thought maybe we were going to get this storyline started in Episode 12. The fact they’re leaving this all to the last episode worries me.

This all takes place in Prapai’s condo. There is something so, so awful about this. Seeing the person you love being attacked in your own home is just unfathomable. Gun really is going to be THE WORST, MOST DEGENERATE PIECE OF SHIT.

What we do know for a fact now is yes, the entire Sky Protection Squad will be coming to Sky’s rescue. Prapai, Payu and Rain.

This is going to make the whole situation so much more emotionally charged. Not only are we going to see Prapai lose his damn mind, but we also have Rain in tow. And I really don’t know how he’s going to take this. He doesn’t have an inkling about Sky’s abuse. We know Prapai’s immediate response will be all-encompassing fury, but I have no idea how Rain will react.

Also the fact that Payu is there, watching his boyfriend and best friend potentially lose their utter shit once they see what’s happened to Sky, is going to be A LOT. Payu will absolutely need to be the rock in this situation.

The way that Prapai races into the apartment, means he knows Sky’s in serious trouble. Someone must have tipped them off about Gun. And Prapai, having had enough clues about Sky’s ex, immediately registers that this is really, really bad.

But the worst part was this. THIS. I’m sure this entire episode is just going to put me through the absolute wringer until not a single drop of moisture in me remains. Seeing Sky after what happens to him is going to be what kills us all. However bad I think it’s going to be, its going to be a hundred times worse actually seeing it.

This poor, poor, child. He looks so utterly empty, numb and shell-shocked, which is somehow far, far, worse than seeing him cry. Because it means Gun has completely broken him and he can’t feel anything anymore.

This is why I’m very concerned they’ve left this all to the last episode. I really hope they ensure there’s enough time to address the aftermath, Sky healing especially - because we NEED to see him healthy, or at least on some path to healing by the end of the series. We also need some serious healing for all those involved - Prapai obviously, Rain too probably.

PRAYER CIRCLE FOR ALL PRAPAISKY FANS NEXT WEEK. It’s going to be a real tough one 😭😭😭

[lieshot]

Going on and on and on, he just wouldn't shut up. There was no one ELSE in his head and yet everyone was so insistent. Why? Because it was unfathomable that someone HATED Hawkeye? That a brother hated a brother? Brothers fought all the time, even stood on opposite sides during wars. This was nothing new, nothing ground breaking. It put Barney on EDGE; they were just all full of shit and they were the ones trying to get inside his head. Twist his thoughts until it was what they all wanted. Barney could feel a throbbing in his skull, placing the wrist of one hand against his temple to SOOTHE the ache forming.

What would Barnes know? He wasn't there, he was the one that had beat him over and over again. Years on end. Now it felt like round two but this time with WORDS. Barney wouldn't fall for it, he couldn't let himself have even a moment of SYMPATHY for Clint and what all he might have gone through since they fell off, since his older brother had supposedly 'died'.

❝ You recognize me now though, right? You remember all that shit back then? ❞ His voice came out just slightly strained from the throbbing in his head but Barney managed to steady it after a moment, lowering his hand and meeting the familiar gaze once again. There was that fire in blue eyes again, BURNING like it wanted to consume everything in its path. ❝ You really think Clint gives a shit? Then I want you to go back, and I want you to tell him every time you beat me. Tell him how many times I felt your metal fist or a knife, how much blood I lost over that whole time. Or how about what a mess I looked because of YOU. And if he actually cares, he ain't even going to be able to look you in the face. ❞

Out of all the people his pathetic brother could be with, it was this guy? One of the ones that had made his life a NIGHTMARE? He used to feel his heart drop with dread every time he stood face-to-face with the Winter Soldier. Now? Now that fear was gone but the rage still lingered. Etched into every line on his face, muscles still TENSE as though he prepared for another round.

How full of shit he was. He thought it ended there? Foster home to foster home, Barney had STILL been forced into the role of the protector. And then to the circus, he was in the shadows while the piece of shit that never did anything got the GLORY. It went beyond simple jealousy, it was a BITTERNESS in his chest that could choke him out. ❝ I don't love what I hate. I didn't love my dad. Didn't love the mafia when I was undercover. Didn't love those fucks in the bunker. Don't love Clint. I've felt hatred enough to know it. ❞ It was an old friend, just like nearly dying several times over. A comrade at his side only now, he wasn't FIGHTING it anymore. He had grown tired of being the 'bigger person', even if back then he'd been known to leave someone bruised up. It was a whole different ball game now.

❝ You gonna kill me when I get out of here? ❞ Barney scoffed; he wasn't easy to kill. Not Harold, not the army, not the mafia, not HYDRA, and Bucky had already missed his shot. There wouldn't be a second chance. ❝ Well, can't say I didn't offer a deal. But I want you to know that I'm comin' for everything that makes my brother him. Not gonna kill him until he WISHES he were dead. And I really hope you enjoy seeing him broken down piece by piece before I put an arrow in his SKULL. ❞

Bucky shrugged.  “You can do whatever you want.  I told you, I’m not looking for your forgiveness.  I wouldn’t accept it if you tried.  You can do whatever you want with the grudge you’re bearing.  I deserve it.  I told you that wasn’t a story about pity.  It was a story about numbers.  I didn’t remember you because you were one of hundreds.  I didn’t know who you were.  I didn’t recognize the kid in the photos Clint showed me.  You meant nothing to me then.  Hurting you was how I avoided being hurt and you were just one more nameless, faceless mass of flesh that I had to torture to avoid the same thing happening to me.”  He sighed and shook his head.  “That’s not to say I don’t feel bad NOW.  I do.  I am trying to remember all these people and what I cost them.  I’m trying to figure out ways I can make up for what I did.  It’s hard and if you’ve got a way that doesn’t involve me hurting my partner or breaking you out of here, I’d be open to it.  I want you to do the work, so I know for sure, when I do try and make up for what I did, it’s you and not HYDRA’s rabid dog that I’m helping.  But I also know, there’s no real way I can.”

All he could do was try and put good back into the world now.  It didn’t undo it, but maybe it balanced the overall kama.

Bucky nodded.  “I believe you.  I believe at the time when he said that, you wanted to beat the shit out of him.  I bet you hated his guts for saying that about your ma.  I also don’t doubt he felt bad about it too.  Not just because he said it about his mom, but for saying it about his dad too.  And I know, that deep down there’s the part of you that knows that was a very wounded child speaking out of anger and grief about how fucking cruel and unfair the world had been to him.  I know that deep down you know that hatred didn’t last long because he was the only thing you had left and you spent years protecting him.  And I know that  deep down you know that love and hate can go hand in hand.  Because the opposite of love isn’t hate.  It’s indifference.  This hate and vengeance you feel wouldn’t even be there if you didn’t also love him and feel betrayed by him.”  He snapped the elastic on his wrist again, and then reached back and gathered his hair into a half bun and used the elastic to tie it back.  “You know what, if you do the work, I don’t even think this feeling of betrayal and jealousy you feel will go away.  I definitely don’t think you’ll ever feel fully comfortable around me.  I killed Tony Stark’s parents you know?  And we do get along now, he fixes this up for me if I ask -” he held his hand up and flexed the metal plates.  “Shit, he’ll fly right across the country if I call him to ask him to do it.  But there are days where he’s just a piece of shit to me.  And I get it.  I’ll take it.  That’s his pain and his grudge and I deserve to be called Freezer Burn and have him try and antagonize me.  It could be worse.  So don’t you worry, it’s not going to change who you are. You won’t come out feeling like a little ball of love and light.  But you’ll realize that the drive you have to actually kill the guy, that’s them.  That wasn’t in you until they set me on you.  And it took a lot to beat that into you.  I really did.” 

He laughed and stood up.  “Yeah, I know.  I don’t doubt you can.  But that’ll be the end of you.  You’ll be on a suicide run.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

[harry-writings]

Bothered

- A blurb in which somebody flirts with Y/n for the first time, and Harry lets jealousy get the best of him

This is a little Drive Me Wild extra for all your valentine’s day needs!!! I hope you enjoy :) 

Masterlist

-

“Tequila, please. The best one you’ve got!”

Open bars at work parties are an absolute lifesaver.

Harry and Y/n have been nonstop on their feet since three, wearing their sunday best, talking to all the higher ups and other officials at the firm with as much professionalism as possible. And though it was certainly a nice break from the work setting, it was still a lot for the both of them to keep up with.

It’s nearly eleven now, the party near its end and the exhaustion finally settling in. But Y/n wouldn’t ever dream of passing up unlimited free drinks whenever offered (neither would Harry, but getting her home safe is his biggest priority). Besides, she needed to take the edge off, somehow.

The bartender smiles at her, his eyes looking at her up and down very briefly before making her drink.

She’s humming softly to herself, her fingers tapping against the bar, the palm of her other hand resting on the back of her neck and she looks around the venue, admiring the architecture and the chandeliers that hang from above her.

“How long have you been working for them?” The bartender asks as he slides the shotglass to her, to which Y/n smiles.

“Almost three years! It’s been really good to me so far. I must say, though, it gets a bit stressful and there are a handful of times we end up having to take our work home. But I’ve met some of the best people through the company, so I can’t complain much! Especially when this is the only job I’ve ever considered staying at for so long.”

When the bartender doesn’t answer, yet rather just stares at her with amusement and endearment in his eye, Y/n starts to get nervous.

She considers diverting her attention back to Harry and moving on with her night as if she hadn’t spoken a word at all, but she’s never been the kind of person to walk away from an uncomfortable silence. And most certainly, she has never found it in her will to escape somebody’s pressing and persistent stares.

All of it just makes her so anxious.

So, as an attempt to calm her nerves, Y/n throws her head back as she takes her shot of tequila, her nose scrunching and eyes squinting as it burns down her throat and settles in her chest.

“What about you? How long have you been working as a bartender? I’ve heard it’s a lot of work, remembering all the recipes and stuff. Whenever I went to university, I would go to bars and get drunk by myself and watch how fast all the bartenders made drinks. I found it mesmerising, really. Like an art, almost. A sport, too, I suppose, given how much you all have to think and act quickly yet unmistakably.”

Harry smiles softly to himself, a bittersweet feeling bubbling in his chest as he listens to her get caught up in her rambles.

She doesn’t do that much with him anymore, not in the way she used to. And it isn’t because she’s lost any trust in him, or because she loves him any less — rather, it’s because she trusts and loves him so much more that she doesn’t feel the need to fill any gaps or spaces between them anymore.

He doesn’t make her nervous.

She doesn’t need reassurance with him because she already knows how madly in love they are with one another and how they are undeniably bound to spend the rest of their lives together. The silences they share are comfortable for her, his simple presence enough to make her feel at ease and loved and respected without him having to constantly remind her.

And surely, Y/n still chews his ear off here and there, but he only ever wants more of her.

It’s a disease, his greed and longing for her. She is so enough yet so not enough at the same time, it kills him to think about it, but only in the best way possible.

But the smile and the admiration die down nearly instantly when Harry’s eyes catch the way the bartender looks at Y/n, and the way he straightens himself before her, and the way his bottom lip tucks between his teeth ever so slightly.

Harry crosses his arms at this, watching the way another man is drooling and fonding over his Y/n and not at all trying to hide it. And the sad part is that he can’t even blame him for it — how could he? He had done the very same thing for nearly two years straight.

So he suffers with it in silence.

“My goodness, I do love me a woman who can carry a conversation.”

Harry’s eyes squint over at him, his arms still crossed over his chest, his fingers twisting as he watches him blink flirtatiously at Y/n and the upward twitch of his lip whenever she flips her hair over her shoulder.

She only ever does that when she’s sweating, he knows this because she’s his girlfriend and he knows her more than he’s ever known himself. He also knows that Y/n thinks too lowly of herself to ever consider one’s kindness as flirting.

And though Harry wouldn’t dare to dream of changing anything about her, he does wish, just this once, that she’d see it.

Y/n blushes at his comment, but only because she doesn’t know what to say.

“Can I have another shot, please?” She asks as a form of distraction, but in such a sweet manner the bartender barely seems to notice. “I never get to go out to drink much nowadays, with work and all. So, I’m sorry if I order too much. Large groups of people aren’t really my thing. Not that I hate people, or anything. I guess they just make me nervous.”

And as the bartender pours her shot glass full of tequila, his eyes don’t make the slightest move to leave her. He’s gawking, looking smug as if he could ever stand a chance.

Y/n pretends not to notice.

“Look, I close down the bar in an hour. And since large groups of people aren’t really your thing, why don’t I take you somewhere nice —”

“Oh...”

“— just you and me, so I can have the chance to get to know you more? Maybe in more ways than one, if I’m lucky?”

Oh, fuck no.

Flirting is one thing, but listening as some stranger talks about wanting to have sex with his girlfriend is something entirely different. Especially when she hasn’t done anything other than be nice and considerate towards him.

He’s taking advantage of her kindness.

Harry can’t hold himself back anymore.

“Excuse me?”

And curse his fucking natural lack of emotion because it was supposed to sound threatening and protective, but rather, it must have come off the way any other customer were to grab a bartender’s attention because he looks over at him with a tight and strained smile, clearly laced with annoyance, with not a hint of suspicion.

“Yes, sir, what can I help you with?”

Harry clenches his jaw and nods his head, his gaze falling to the top of the bar as he tries — really, really tries — to keep himself together instead of knocking this poor bloke’s teeth in.

The urge is there, but he could never scare Y/n like that, or sacrifice his job for satisfaction’s sake — he was lucky he didn’t jeopardize it when he landed a solid right hook on his coworker a few months back. But to make such a rude, blunt, disrespectful comment to his girlfriend is too much for him to process.

But it’s not all anger. There’s something else there — something else brewing and swelling inside of him that’s never been there before. He can’t identify it no matter how hard he tries.

“It would help me tremendously, actually, if you were to stop asking to sleep with my girlfriend right in front of me.”

It’s silent for a moment, the air thick with tension as the bartender looks both between Harry and Y/n, Y/n and Harry. He looks weary of it, as if it were so impossible for her to ever be seen with somebody like him.

“You’re with him?” He asks Y/n, as if Harry’s word wasn’t enough and it nearly throws him off the deep end.

Y/n’s eyes blink with confusion and shock as she tries to adjust herself to her surroundings. Everything happened so quickly to her, she feels like she can’t keep up.

Harry senses this — he senses her uncertainty and uneasiness and takes notice in the way her fingers begin to grip at her shot glass a bit tighter. Confrontation and arguments are not Y/n’s strong suit and in the hands of either one, she is defenseless.

“Is my word not enough for you?”

The bartender lifts his hands up in defense, his eyebrows raised as if somehow proving a point he’s clearly been missing. “Can’t blame me for assuming she’s single, you’re sitting next to the prettiest girl on earth and you look like you couldn’t even be bothered.”

Harry’s hands turn to fists, his jaw clenching and eyebrows twitching as he hears him speak all the words he’d rather die than hear spoken again.

How a complete stranger can cut a wound so deep within him is unfathomable, but here he is, bleeding out with all his insecurities and flaws and weaknesses along with it. And it pains him. It hurts and if one more wrong word is spoken, he’ll fall victim to all the darkest parts of himself.

He can’t risk that, not around Y/n.

“I would highly suggest you stop talking now —”

“You aren’t even interested in her! I gave her more attention in the last ten minutes than you’ve given her all night!”

“Hey.” Y/n cuts in with pouted lips, her face fallen as her voice quivers at the argument brewing in front of her. “That’s not true. He — he’s been beside me all night. I thought it was — I thought it was obvious.”

“Doesn’t matter anymore. We’re going home.”

Harry’s tone is unlike anything she’s ever heard. It’s stern, harsh, laced with impatience as he stands from his barstool and scrambles to gather her belongings.

And Y/n’s at a loss, just standing against the bar helplessly, looking at Harry with tearful eyes and shaking lips. He has never been this angry at her before and she doesn’t know how to fix it. Talking was what got them into this mess, she’s sure talking won’t get themselves out of it.

But it doesn’t hurt to try.

“Wait, H. I’m sorry, I —”

“That’s enough, now. We’re making our last rounds and then we’re going straight home.”

That was the first time he’s ever interrupted her.

-

It isn’t until Harry starts the car that Y/n breaks the silence.

“H, I didn’t know he was going to ask me out on a date.” She speaks with a voice small and shoulders slumped as she tries desperately to fix all the trust she has broken. “I was just trying to be nice and —”

“Not now, Y/n, please.”

She realizes the severity of the situation when he doesn’t call her a pet name.

Her eyes fill with tears, fully aware that even when he was most upset with her, he never interrupted her while talking or avoided her gaze like it was the last thing he ever wanted to see. He’s doing both right now and to say that it hurt her is an understatement.

He’s sick of hearing me speak. He’s angry at me for talking too much to everybody and not noticing the consequences. He’s tired of listening to me make excuses for myself when I’m never going to change. He doesn’t want this anymore.

Her mind can’t help but to think such things, and though deep down in her heart she knows he’d never feel that way towards her, words of her past can’t help but torment her in the heat of this moment. Because this is so different than how it usually is with him, and it all started with her.

Harry can feel how much of a toll his words took on her, but he doesn’t know what to say. He is feeling so many things, and processing so much, he feels like he’s lost himself. All sense of everything else had left him the second the bartender spoke the words he always feared to hear.

You’re sitting next to the prettiest girl on earth and you look like you couldn’t even be bothered.

He knows it isn’t true, and he also knows she knows it isn’t true, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

To know other people see it that way devastates him. He doesn’t date Y/n to look uninterested in her, or bored of her, or tired to be with her — he dates Y/n because he wants to show her off, desires to make her and everybody else see how in love with her he is, to make it known she never has to walk this world alone.

To know he has failed to do that simply by being himself is a lot for him to take in.

He sighs, ripping off his glasses so his other hand can rub at his burning eyes before settling the both of them back on the steering wheel, his gaze still set on the windshield.

“I’m sorry for not letting you finish talking, twice now. It wasn’t right and I know what that does to you. And I’m not angry or upset with you, either. I’m just — I’m just not in the mood right now, alright? I need some time to think.”

Y/n nods, fearing that whatever words she chooses to speak will only make it worse.

Neither of them talk the rest of the way home, but that doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t reach his hand over to her thigh to squeeze at it three times, as if to tell her he loves her.

-

It isn’t until they make it into their bedroom that Harry starts to let it all out.

He’s pacing, his hands fidgeting with his clothes and running through his hair, his eyes wild but still refusing to look at her, muttering curses under his breath but nothing directly towards her just yet.

Y/n’s standing by the dresser, taking off her remaining jewelry and allowing him his time to dwell on his feelings. He needs this. She knows she’s the only person that he’ll ever show this kind of emotion to — he couldn't even show it to himself — so she listens, smiles sympathetically at him here and there, refusing to leave his side until this is all figured out.

He huffs before letting out a sickened laugh.

“Who the hell does he think he is? Telling me I’m not interested in you. I can’t be walking around kissing and hovering and touching all over you at a work party, I respect you too much. But he wouldn’t know a damn thing about that, would he?”

He throws his suit jacket down on the bed, only allowing himself one beat of a moment to shake his head before his hands start to fidget again, pacing around the foot of the bed to try and understand his primary emotion.

He feels a million and ten different emotions scrambling within him at once, he can’t make sense of them. Whether he’s angry, or sad, or hurt, or insecure, or humiliated… he doesn’t know. It all feels the same yet all feels so different. He is utterly lost in all of them.

“Then proceeds to have the nerve to say he’s given you more attention than I have. What the fuck does that even mean? All he does is serve you two drinks and speak one sentence. I give you all my time, all my company, all my attention, and somehow he thinks he’s better for you than me?”

And it hits her.

No wonder he’s been acting so different towards her and so quiet despite him not blaming her for what happened — he’s jealous, which is the exact reason he doesn’t have an understanding with it.

She’s his first girlfriend, and until now, there had never been any reason for him to feel this way.

But as sick and twisted as it sounds, Y/n’s heart warms at the thought of it. Because never once has someone ever had a problem with letting her go. Her loss never affected anybody around her, and so nobody had ever feared it.

To know that out of all people, it’s him who does, means everything to her.

She hums at him, an all too knowing smile on her face as she makes her way to her frantic lover, who stills when he notices her closeness.

Her hands rest at his chest, rubbing at it over his dress shirt, just the way he likes. It reminds him of the night of their first date — when she gave into her cravings and put her hands nearly everywhere they could touch — and so she always goes back to that very first moment.

It never fails him.

“It’s okay, lovebug.” Y/n smiles softly at him, her voice even more soft and tender than usual as she tries to get him to relax.

Her hands slither down the hem of his trousers, her fingers resting just above the swell of his bum and pulling him in closer to her. And he wraps his arms around her shoulders, a heavy sigh leaving his lips before bringing his chest toward her cheek for it to nest in.

“Don’t let somebody get the best of you. Especially when they don’t know anything about you or me or our relationship. We know what we are and what we have, it doesn’t matter what he thinks is better for me. I have what’s best. Forever.”

He sighs, the weight of the night lifting from him slightly, but not enough.

He rests his chin on the top of her head, his eyes on the verge of being soaked with tears. Because though he knows her words to be true, he just can’t seem to shake what’s rattling in his bones and picking at his skin.

He wants it all to be okay, and it almost is, just not fully. And it’s killing him from the inside out.

“It’s a new feeling for me.” Harry confesses sadly, trying to think of the right words to say to explain what’s burning in his chest. “It hurts me to feel it. I’m so comfortable and confident in you and yet somehow I can’t — I can’t stop thinking about you and that fucking bartender and him touching you and making you laugh and —”

“You’re jealous.”

She pulls away from him slightly, her eyes looking up at him softly and sympathetically. He gives into her gaze for only a beat longer before looking away from her again, unable to take it.

It all makes sense — the unfamiliar feelings, the scrambling of emotions, the sensitivity to the words that had been spoken about him. His relationship had been threatened for the first time since it started, how could he not be?

“Of course I’m jealous. Which is absolutely horrible because you look so pretty yet it hurts too much to look at you.”

She chuckles, a playful smirk on her face as she reaches her hands up to his cheeks. And she turns his head to the side, forcing his eyes to look into hers as she rubs her thumb along his cheekbones.

Even like this, he is the most perfect man she’s ever seen. She has loved this person longer than she has loved anything else, how he could ever feel jealous of anybody is absolutely beyond her. He is all she will ever need, and everything she will ever want.

He is the only person that has ever deserved her.

“Baby, you have nothing to be jealous of. I don’t think, since the moment I’ve laid eyes on you, I’ve ever bothered to look for anybody else.” His breath faults, then, his heart dropping as if it were falling in love all over again.

And just like that, the hurt is gone.

“I’m yours, H. I have always been yours.”

He wants her to keep going, so instead of answering, he taps the back of her thigh twice. He’s never done so outside of sex, but he needs her all over him, holding him, hanging onto him. He needs it now more than ever.

She giggles, understanding exactly what he wants before jumping up until her legs are wrapped around his waist and her arms are looped around his neck. He catches her instantly, snuggling his face into the crook of her neck and kissing at the exposed skin.

She loves how much her words have an affect on him.

“I love you so much. I always will. No matter how many sleazy men ask me to sleep with them.”

He whines, lifting his head from her shoulder before looking at her with sad eyes and pouted lips at the subtle reminder that somebody else thought of her that way. Only he has, only he can, it doesn’t matter the circumstance.

She’s his.

She smiles down at him with a small blush on her cheeks, her arms unwrapping from his neck so her hands can grip his face again.

“I sleep with you. Every night. In more ways than one.” She kisses at his lips. “Cause I’m lucky.”

And for the first time tonight, he smiles. And as if that wasn’t enough for her, he laughs too — quietly, breathlessly — his hands rubbing all along her lower back and her thighs.

“Hmm... I am lucky, aren’t I?” Harry hums in bliss, his eyes looking at her fondly as she hangs on his neck in their home and it doesn’t get better than this. She had a man practically drooling on her lap and yet she’s here, with him, loving him, choosing him, just like she always has. “I do have the prettiest girl in the world. And the sweetest. And the strongest.”

“Too bad you couldn’t be bothered.” She teases, a smirk on her lips before her tongue pokes out to run quickly against his closed lips.

He lets out an almost sinister laugh, rumbling so deep in his chest she somehow manages to feel it in her legs.

“Why don’t I show you how bothered I am?”