#i want to die to the sound of my wind chimes

[honeybelljar]

GOD SENT THE STORM.

: ̗̀➛ One storm opened the door, and nothing inside her life, or soul, has been quiet since.

A/n: Reader has a son, F!reader, single mother reader, breeding, spit/drool, mating press (rahh), dark imagery, pathetic!remmick, not beta read, I write because it’s fun, not because I’m smart :3

“Fuck! Get in the house now!” A shout erupts from you suddenly, ringing out through the green-tinted sky.

Wind whips against the creaking house, sending your handmade wind chime clattering against the siding. The air is heavy with finality. Trees bend. Birds silent. Your son’s expression slips into childlike terror at the command, and he sprints towards the porch. Red dirt swirls behind him. A storm is coming; it rumbles in the distance, barely contained.

“Go on in, wash up, and close all the windows.” You instruct. Your dress twirls around you as the wind picks up in sharp bursts. Storms out here in the plains were dangerous.

“Okay, mama!” Your son shouts, his tiny fists curled in determination. As if this were a game, a tired smile brushes your lips as he scampers away. The sound of his tiny feet puttering against the wood floor warms you. A small comfort in the midst of chaos.

The house groans beneath the gusts, swaying like an old man in the wind. It was the dead of summer, and storms like this often dragged twisters behind them. That sunk your soul. You’d have to be a fool to think this house could withstand a twister. It could barely stand tall during the worst weather, and you shook your head. Those thoughts served no purpose now; you’d do what you could.

That meant grabbing every old blanket and nailing them over the windows, towels rolled up under doors that sat just a bit too high, and preparing lanterns. Your son tailed behind you, helping when he could. The last thing was to turn on the wooden radio you kept; static pierced the silence, slowly but surely, the weather reports came rolling in.

“Reports of large thunderstorm off the East, locals confirm it could be the storm of the season…”

“What does that mean, Mama?” Your son tilted his head, round eyes peering up at you.

“Means a big storm is on its way, probably in the next few hours…” You murmured, eyes still glued to the radio. The house was washed in flickering orange light with the candle you both had lit. He shifted on his knees, hands clutching his stuffed rabbit.

“Are we gonna die?” His voice so small and soft. You turn to him, hands cupping his chubby cheeks. The last thing you wanted to do, was frighten him.

“No, my love, not at all, we are safe, including Mr. Carrots.” You tease and rub the rabbit's head lovingly. He giggles and playfully ushers your hand away. It was times like these that you needed to realize your son was still so small. He didn’t understand the haste or dangers of the world yet.

Wind licked up against the house again, growing stronger and stronger. One advantage of living so far from town was that you had an open view for miles. If a twister were to come, you’d need to be able to spot it.

“Grab Mr. Carrots, we are gonna keep watch on the porch.” You stood and lifted him up with ease, limited visibility was a death sentence in these situations.

“Just like the fire watch!” He cheers and bolts towards the door, and you nod and unlock it. The screen door flies wildly, and you drag one of the chairs to secure it down.

“Look at the sky, mama!” He points, and your neck cranes up. Ugly clouds twisted like snakes above, and it looked as if it was dusk. No hint of the sun peaking out. Unnerving rumbling shakes the ground ever so slightly. Powerful. Destructive. Terrifying.

“Stay under the porch.” You command. He shuffles back and plops down. His attention was now fixated on discussing the storm with his toy. The sky beckons, and your boots shuffle down the steps. Unable to tear your eyes from the strange cloud formation. It’s hypnotic and ethereal. One would think God himself had come to strike you down.

In that moment, you feel something shift. Quick and subtle. As if the horizon has eyes. Your gaze snaps towards the dirt pasture, searching. Dust hides almost all visibility. Another step forward. There’s no fencing on the border of your land; it’s open and vast. Another step. Something is wrong. The storm brews in the background, but this is different. That’s when your eyes lock onto a stumbling form, the form of a person. Something deep in your gut shifts, like the wind had turned in his direction before you ever saw him.

A step back. Even from here, you can tell he’s injured; his body buckles with each step, knees knocking together as he staggers like something half-dead. You shoot a glance back towards your son on the porch, and he is still engrossed in his rabbit.

“I’ll be right back love, stay there!” You announced. You didn’t want this stranger to get too close to the house, more so your son. Brow furrowed you stride forward,

“Hello? Sorry, Sir, but this is private property!” You shout over the wind, but he doesn’t slow. His movements almost look animalistic as he attempts to shield himself from something.

“Hello?” You try again. He is getting closer, close enough to see the tattered shirt and bloodstained pants. You balk, stunned. His bloodied face now in view, his eye swollen shut. He smells burnt, charred marks blooming on his skin. The scent makes your stomach slosh.

“Oh my god! Are you alright?” You gasp, hands hovering over your mouth. Never had you seen such carnage on a person. The stranger is no more than a few feet away before he collapses. His breathing sounds like it hurts, each rasp puffs the dirt smushed against his face.

“Shit, shit, shit!” You hiss, another glance back, your son stands by the porch stairs, puzzled. You groan and bend down to haul this man against you. The stench on him makes you gag; his deadweight arms rest against your neck. The storm is building in strength, and fat raindrops start their rapid descent. You’re soaked through your dress once you reach the door, your son bouncing on his heels at the stranger. It’s not often you have someone new around after all.

“Go get the first aid kit.” You nod to him and he darts off. Grunting, you push him off you and onto the sofa. He lands with a pained groan, and you wince. Perhaps you could be a bit more gentle.

“I got it, Mama!” You shush him and crack open the metal box. Gauze and aloe would be all you could offer at the moment; pain medicine was expensive.

“You gotta stay quiet, love, the man is hurtin’.” You rip off a chunk of gauze with your teeth, setting to work on his arms and upper body. Your son nods in understanding, carefully watching as you lift the stranger up.

Another groan. He doesn’t seem conscious, which does make this next part easier. You soak a rag in alcohol and press it to the gash on his face. He jerks, fists curling tight, teeth flashing in a silent snarl.

“I’m sorry…” You murmur, as painful as this was, infection would be much more brutal. Patching him is methodical, and you fall into the easy hum of moving and shifting him. Before long, he looks alive once more, so you leave him to rest and start dinner. The storm has morphed into a heavy downpour and howling winds, and your son shifts closer to your legs.

“Don’t worry, love.” You pat his head, but even you can’t hide the nervous glances towards the windows. Night twisters were something out of a nightmare; you prayed to whoever would listen to spare your home.

Tonight was stew, comforting and warm. A stark contrast to the flood beginning at your doorstep. About two hours had passed since the man lay on your sofa, and he had yet to move. Paranoia had you checking his pulse every twenty minutes to make sure he was even still breathing. You decided on rousing him up for dinner, who knows how long it had been since he ate?

Your son sits at the table, hands clasped in grace, before he practically attacks the stew. You shook your head and headed into the living room. The stew’s steam curls into your face as you carry a bowl toward the stranger, who still hasn’t stirred. He looked so peaceful, handsome too, without all that gore on him.

“Sir?” You whispered. Shaking him might hurt him further, you frowned. Not even a twitch in his face, you checked his pulse once more. Very much alive.

“Sir, wake up. Please.” You nearly pleaded. At last, he stirred, groaning as he threw a bandaged arm over his face. Relief bled into your limbs, your shoulders sagging with a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. His lips moved faintly, but no sound came. For a moment, you weren’t sure if he even knew where he was.

“Oh thank God, thought we might’ve lost ya,” you breathe, stepping back as he adjusts to the stiffness in his limbs.

With a grunt of exertion, the man slowly sits upright. Silence settles between you like a weight. He blinks hard, eyes scanning the room in jerky motions, head on a swivel. You shift on your feet, nerves buzzing. You’d be confused too, waking up bandaged in a stranger’s living room.

“You collapsed on my property. Your skin was… sizzling.”

Why does your voice sound so thin? You feel like you’ve been caught doing something wrong. Finally, his eyes land on you, really land on you. Like he’s just now realizing you’re there.

“W-why?” He rasps. Voice as rough as dried gravel.

“Why?” you echo, taken aback.

“I couldn’t leave you out there. You’d have died,” you say simply. It comes out matter-of-fact, though your hands are still clenched at your sides. The lack of empathy was rampant in this world, still, his confusion surprised you.

He doesn’t respond, just presses his cracked lips into a hard line, gaze dragging slowly over you. Not like a man taking you in, but like someone still deciding if you’re real.

“That aside,” you say, voice steadier now, “I made you dinner. To get your strength back and all.”

You push the bowl toward him. He doesn’t take it. He just stares.

“You’re not scared of me,” he says, more a statement than a question.

You hesitate.

“Should I be?”

“I don’t know…” he breathes, eyes unfocused, as if the answer could be hiding somewhere inside him.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words die on your tongue.

“Mama! Did he wake up yet?”

The elated squeal cuts through the air like a crack of thunder. The man’s eyes go wide; his head snaps toward the kitchen with almost inhuman speed. Your son bursts into the room, eyes alight when he spots the man. He bounds across the floor and wraps himself around your thigh, peeking out with a sudden shyness that warms your chest.

“Yes, love,” you hum, smoothing a hand over his hair, “but he’s still quite tired.”

The man blanches. His already pale skin turns ashen.

“Y-you have a child?” he asks, voice tight.

You frown at the question, but your son answers before you can.

“Yes! And I’m five!” he beams, holding up five fingers and waving them proudly at the man.

The man nods stiffly, his gaze flickering between you and the boy. Instinctively, you curl a protective arm around your son. The man notices. His jaw flexes, and then, slowly, he gives you a subtle nod.

“It’s twister weather out there,” you say evenly, your eyes watching his every twitch. “You can leave once the storm dies down.”

Another nod. Then finally, he looks down at the cooling bowl in his lap.

“Thank you for this, ma’am,” he murmurs.

His voice is gruff, unsteady, like he’s afraid one wrong move might shatter the fragile peace between you. His voice is gruff, unsteady—like one wrong move might shatter the fragile peace between you. You break your trance to usher your son upstairs.

“Go on and wash up. And don’t sit in the bath too long, there’s lightning,” you warn softly.

He giggles and bounds up the stairs, little feet thudding against the wood.

The moment he’s gone, it’s as if the light’s been sucked from the room entirely. Tension stretches thin between you. You shift your weight and finally speak.

“What’s your name?” Arms crossed, you lift a brow. Expecting something.

“Remmick, ma’am,” he drawls.

His voice rasps low, the syllables curling around your ears. You nod to yourself, tasting the name.

“Remmick,” you echo. You swear he stiffens just slightly at the sound of it in your mouth.

“Well, you can just keep callin’ me ma’am, since you’re so polite,” you tease, attempting to lift the heaviness with a touch of humor.

But he gives you nothing. Just stares. Blank, unreadable. You deflate a little. Maybe he’s not the humorous type.

“Is he yours?”

—“Who?” You tilt your head, eyes searching his face.

“The boy.”

As if he can’t quite understand the concept. A short airy laugh escapes you and you nod.

“Yes, he’s mine, through and through.” Amusement obvious in your response. A strange question from a strange man. It was almost as if children were foreign to him.

“And, his father…?” The question is softer now, less sure. Your gaze instantly hardens and your jaw clenches ever so slightly.

“Gone, good riddance.” You mutter quietly. Your son’s father was nothing more than some crime-obsessed lackey. Screwing over anyone and anything to get ahead. He was the reason you had to live so frugally, since it was just you providing now. Remmick watched a thousand emotions dance across your face as memories resurfaced.

“Shame, my apologies for that, honest.” His face is so open all of a sudden, raw sympathy practically painted on it. It’s jarring considering he’d been so unsure of himself moments ago.

“No need for that. We’re fine on our own,” you reply, voice firm. Not unkind, but clipped. You don’t accept pity. Not anymore. He nods briefly before leaning down to lift the shaking spoon to his lips. You take it upon yourself to head towards the kitchen.

“Place your bowl in the sink once you’re done, Remmick.” Your mouth cradles his name once again, and you don’t turn around to see his reaction.

You finish with the last dish as Remmick shuffles into the kitchen. His footfalls sound so strange against your floor. He sheepishly brings it to the counter beside you, unsure of where exactly to set it. Suds cover your arms, and you grab it from his shaking hands.

“You’ll sleep downstairs tonight, alright?” You eye him, and he only nods. You knew you wouldn’t be sleeping much anyway, not with an unknown man in the house. Once you finish up, as if on cue, your son sprints downstairs to greet you both.

Remmick practically jumps out of his skin at the sound, and you snort. Quite scared for such a built man, with that notion your eyes slide over to his defined chest. He look sturdy, hands rough with use, he was definitely capable.

“You feelin’ better sir?” The boy drawls, grin as wide as can be. Remmick nods down at him.

“Much, thanks to you mama…” His reply sends a brief liquid heat through your veins. You cough out a hoarse laugh.

“Was nothing…” You wave him off and reach around to undo your apron. The boy jumps forward, ever so eager.

“So, do you like rabbits? This is Mr. Carrots, and he is-“ You raise a hand, halting his excitement.

“Now, love, it’s well past your bedtime, you best be going upstairs now, I’ll come tuck you in.” You hum, voice now like honey. The boy nods and steps towards Remmick, his small arm reaching out to hand him his prized Mr. Carrots.

“Since you’re new in the house, you can sleep with Mr. Carrots tonight.” He smiles up at Remmick as if the man hung the stars. A pang shoots through you; the lack of a father really does leave a wound, perhaps a wound your son didn’t even understand yet. You shift, eyeing Remmick.

“Ah, well then, I’ll be sure to take good care of him.” He nods to the boy, those large hands gently gripping the stuffed rabbit.

“Goodnight, sir!” With that, he’s gone like the wind, off to his bedroom. An awkward laugh leaves you. Remmick still stares down at the soft toy in his hands. He cradles it as if it’s the most precious thing on Earth.

“He’s just very excited to see a new face.” You say softly, heart still aching. He nods in agreement and finally looks up to you. The rabbit stays in his grip like something holy. You wonder if anyone’s ever handed him anything so soft before.

“Well, I’m gonna go tuck him in, I’ll be back down to make the sofa comfortable for you.” It’s slightly awkward, so much unsaid. With that, you rush upstairs desperate for air. Air that is suffocating with unruffled tension.

By the time you enter his room, he’s fast asleep. Soft snores contrast with the rumbling thunder outside, and you smile. With a kiss on his tiny head, you softly shut the door and leave him to dream. Which leaves you with Remmick, and why does that make your chest hurt? Once you descend the stairs, you find him staring at one of the photos framed on the wall. You inhale, it’s a photo of your ex-husband and both of you, a family.

“You looked so happy.” He murmurs. You almost turn away it fight against it, some wounds never heal right.

“Yeah, he likes me to keep that photo up, waiting for the day his daddy shows back up.” The words feel bitter and heavy. Remmick finally turns back to you, the flicker of candle light dancing across his form.

“You’re a good woman.” It’s a statement, firm and unrelenting and it makes your breath hitch. Never had you ever heard that from another mouth.

“I-“ A crack of thunder interrupts you. He shifts closer, and suddenly you take notice that his various burns are nearly gone. You blink.

“Y-your skin-“

“Is the boy asleep?” His voice is tight, almost sharp. You nod dumbly, unable to voice everything flooding through your mind right now.

“When’s the last time you had someone care for you, the way you do for others?” Your mouth is instantly gravel dry. The change in his demeanor gives you yet another case of whiplash. He steps forward. You step back.

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me.” Your resolve is shaky, voice cracking where it shouldn’t.

“Yeah?” He taunts. Another step forward. He moves like a man, but something about it isn’t right. Too smooth. Too quiet. Like something remembering how to be human. An imitation of what once was.

“Remmick…” You don’t know why, but a whimper escapes your lips, a primal instinct overcoming you as he towers above. When did he get so close?

He hums at the sound of his name, eyes fluttering shut, as if savoring it. His breath is ragged. Loud. He leans in, and the wall behind you seals your escape. You’re trapped. Caged by his presence. Then he scents you. It’s vile, how your thighs clench. A betrayal. It’s almost as if he can smell the heat blooming there, knows what your body is doing without permission. A drop hits your cheek.

You freeze.

Slowly, you tilt your face upward. A thick string of drool dangles from the corner of his mouth. It glistens in the flickering light. You choke on a gasp. The whites of his eyes are nearly swallowed completely, and before you can truly peer into them, he’s on you.

His clawed hand twists in your hair, gripping your head back. A pained gasp leaves your lips, stretching your neck and exposing it. It's too much; it has you trembling. It's not human how he dips down, brushing his nose against the soft hollow of your skin. He heaves next to your ear, tingling bursts along your raised flesh.

"Remmick- please..." A plea for what, you aren't sure. Mercy. He chokes out a moan at the sound, completely hollow. Monstrous. You can't deny the fear that trembles from within you. There is so much more to this quiet man, so much bubbling beneath the surface, it's maddening.

"I-" A wet gargle rips from his throat, torn between monster and man. “I don’t just want to fuck you, I want to consume you. Mind, body, soul. I want your moans, your blood, your breath. All of it inside me.”

Heart thundering against your ribs, you say nothing. Rendered speechless. A clawed finger taps against the curve of your cheek, almost the beat of an unheard song. Your mind flashes to your son sleeping peacefully upstairs. You pray to God he doesn't wander downstairs.

“Say you’ll let me in,” he murmurs, voice shredded by desire. “Your cunt already has.”

You attempt to shake your head, anything to deny the burning truth slipping off his forked tongue. But he knew better; he could feel how you clenched around nothing, fluttering open for him.

“Perverse little thing.” He taunts, you flinch and try to twist away, but it only tightens. The tips of his claws make small punctures in your pressed cheeks.

Something must have possessed you, because before you realize you're nodding. Giving in to the sickness invading your mind, and Remmick couldn't be prouder.

❈────────•✦•────────❈

It all happened so fast, one moment you were standing, then suddenly you were locked into the meanest mating press of your life. Legs flailing uselessly over his bent arms, his hand pressed tightly against your mouth. Anything to silence the raw whines humming in your throat.

"Yes-" Remmick repeats it like a mantra, just barely audible over the squelch of your cunt. Calloused hands gripping your thighs like a vice, as if he couldn't get any deeper.

Oh, he was absolutely ruined, his jaw slack as he stared down at you half-lidded. You sweat, slick back sliding on the wood flooring with each powerful thrust.

"F-fuck-" He breathes shakily.

Push after push. You're nearly choking on your release, mouth still clasped behind his palm. But he never slowed, only faltered slightly with each clench. You wanted to scream, wanted to sob, it was too much. Your brain felt melted, as if it was going to leak out of your ears. He kept you quiet, though; only the sound of rolling thunder filled the house. You hadn't even realized he had moved you deeper into the house, further away from the upstairs.

Your walls flutter, the end creeping up through your toes. Something in him twitches, he gasps- he whines. Desperation was hot on his lolling tongue. He drives into you, chasing that release. He's ravenous, starved for the feeling of touch. Without warning, you arch. Lifting off the floor and into his clothed chest. Ecstasy curling through every vein and you cunt floods, his jagged thrusts growing sloppy. His tip is digging at your cervix as you convulse.

"Tell me no." He spits out, his teeth looking sharper than before. Tears stream down your cheeks, covering his hand in salty wetness. You shake your head, still unable to make a sound. He grunts, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Hah—fuck, tell me no, p-please…” he whimpers, stuttering mid-thrust, his control crumbling as he teeters on the edge. You clench your thighs, nodding dumbly. A strike of lightning illuminates the house, and almost as if on cue, he bursts within you. Warmth floods throughout your lower stomach; it's intoxicating. It's rough as he attempts to mindlessly fuck you through it. A thick rope of drool slips past his lips, trailing toward yours. You part them instinctively, letting it coat your tongue, shameful and sacred all at once.

Something outside crashes and you assume the storm has finally come. It takes a miracle for you to keep your eyes open, your head lolling side to side against the floor in exhaustion. Heaviness settles into your bones. You feel him retract himself from you, before leaning down to nudge at your face. Why can’t you stay awake? It’s almost as if he’d sucked the life from you.

“I won’t ruin what you have…” he whispers.

You catch the words, faint and far away, but they slip through your fingers as your mind begins to unravel. A pause settles, and suddenly you feel cold. Empty. The air has snapped back into whatever familiarity you are used to. You succumb to the blackness clouding your mind.

❈────────•✦•────────❈

Dawn is peeking past the nailed up blankets when you wake up, you shoot up like a bullet, still naked as the day you were born. You’re on the sofa, bare, sore, and hollow.

Memories wash over you and you jerk around looking for Remmick.

Remmick.

The house is still, just as it is every morning. Your soul tells you he’s gone. There’s no reason to search. It’s too much to early for your son to be awake, you pull yourself from the sofa to get properly dressed. Your limbs heavy as lead.

Why do you feel so sad?

It wasn’t like you knew that man, he was a stranger. At the same time, he made you feel so wanted it hurt. A small reprieve from the demand of your life, and it was addicting. It had been so long since a man had come and swept you up, bending you to his will.

He fucked like he loved you, and you knew to keep a small part of it tucked in your heart. You soak in the aching echo he left behind, letting it lull you as you slip on a loose nightdress. It flutters at your ankles, ghostly, like the emptiness humming in your chest.

As you step onto the porch, the boards creak beneath your bare feet, damp with the kiss of last night’s storm. The wind has softened, though it still carries the faint scent of scorched wood. Strange. A fire after a storm like this? You shake it off and turn to head back inside, but something catches your eye. Resting on one of the chairs, tucked neatly against the corner, Is Mr. Carrots. The stuffed rabbit your son had given him, the toy he had held like it was something holy. Dry and untouched by rain. You frown and pick it up with apprehension, why did he leave it outside? Your gaze turns towards the empty horizon, something tugging at your gut.

Was this a promise he’d be back? But before you a dwell on the thought, the soft pitter patter of small feet echo through the living room.

“Mama?” A sleepy voice calls out, you turn back and bring the soft toy inside.

“Good morning, my love.” You smile warmly, bringing your lips to the top of his head. The boy rubs his eyes, looking around.

“Where’d he go?” He asks, and you give a tight smile.

“He had to go back home, sweetie.” You say gently, his face falls and he huffs. It hurts you to see him disappointed, so you bend down and lift his chin with your finger.

“Hey, why don’t we go into town tomorrow, I’ll get you any candy you want.” Your words playful in an attempt to lighten his mood. He gasps, attention instantly diverted.

“Yes! Thank you, Mama!” He cheers. Standing back up, you clap your hands, almost as if to dispel the lingering heaviness.

“Now,” you say with a playful firmness, ruffling his hair, “let’s get started on breakfast.”

He squeals in delight, already dashing toward the kitchen, bare feet thumping against the floor. It’s almost as if everything is normal. But deep in your chest, something stirs, like a shadow refusing to be burned away by the sun. Even as you serve pancakes, finish cleaning up the yard, and tackle the laundry, your chest stirs. Unsettled by the longing in your chest, you feel dazed. As if some part of you had been touched from within, claimed and hollow, waiting for someone that may never return.

Night comes upon your house like a damp blanket. It drizzles from the sky wetting the Earth ad you hung laundry. To which you scowl at from the kitchen window. You’d just have to it again tomorrow morning. Dinner had already been served, porridge tonight. You turned on the radio, soft music fills the house, anything to overshadow the ringing silence. Your son had gone up to play in his room, deeming that Mr. Carrots felt lonely without his other toys. So that left you, sitting in a chair, looking lost in your own home.

A sudden knock jolts you upright.

Three slow, deliberate raps against the door.

You freeze. The music continues to hum softly behind you, but it sounds distant now — warped, like it’s underwater. You know, you know it’s him just from the heaviness of his knock. Your hands curl against the fabric of your dress, damp from dishwater and nerves alike. Slowly, you rise from your seat. Another knock — quicker this time, edged with impatience. You step towards the door, each step weighed with dread and yearning. He’s back. Just before your fingers grace the knob, you hear it. That voice. Low. Throaty. Possessive.

“…Open the door angel.”

It sends shock waves through your core, your hand still latched onto the knob, unmoving. The sound tears through you, a shockwave that leaves your breath shallow. Your hand stays frozen on the handle, trembling. He wasn’t entirely human, you knew that much. Yet, his voice calls to you like a siren.

Pressing the knob, you open the door abruptly. There he is. Tall. Brooding. Whole. Not a single mark on him. He looks…untouched by the world, untouched by the night he left you in pieces. You make no move from the door, no space for him to slip in.

He smiles down at you, head tilted, something sly dancing in his eyes. “I’m home,” he breathes, like a joke wrapped in velvet.

And just like that, the heat blooms behind your eyes. Anger flares sharp and electric across your face. You scowl, lips tight, every muscle screaming not to let him see how much you missed him. But you know better, how he can practically taste your emotions.

“Home?” You echo. Voice hollow and tense. “You think you can just run off, tear me open, and then waltz back here like some stray mutt scratchin’ at the door?”

That lands.

He falters.

The confidence in his stance stumbles, like he didn’t anticipate this part. You let out a bitter, humorless laugh. You’re not finished. Not even close.

“I took you in. I stitched you back together. And don’t even get me started on how you look perfectly healed now. Not a damn scar on you.”You’re breathless by the end, rage and heartbreak boiling too close to the surface. It shakes you.

He says nothing at first. Just stands there, the rain beginning to dot his shoulders, soaking into the collar of his shirt. He looks smaller somehow, not physically, but emotionally stripped. His mouth opens once, then closes again, like words have abandoned him.

“I didn’t want to…” He swallows. “Leave.” As if speaking pained him, his voice cracks on the end. Your hands shift to your hips, you watch him struggle for air.

“I didn’t know what I’d do if I stayed.” Low and hoarse. Your anger wobbles, his words striking a chord inside you. He laughs once, a dry, broken sound.

“But somehow I found myself back at your doorstep.” His gaze drags upward, meeting yours, and for a split second, something monstrous flashes behind his eyes, not rage, but desperation.

“And as selfish as it is, I want to come inside.” He breathes.

Everything he has, is laid before you. Your hand slips off the door knob, hands limp by your side. Your resolve had crumbled like paper within his grasp, his words tightening around like a vice. He takes a single step forward. The rain has slicked his hair to his forehead, but he pays it no mind. The tips of his boots toe the threshold of the door.

“I’m not good.” He says, voice wet. “You know that, you’ve seen it.” He leans forward, pressing closer.

“You’ve undone me, wakened something inside me that’s been quiet for life times.” His lip trembles, then stills. “Let me come in. I won’t ask for forgiveness. I just… I want to belong somewhere again. Even if it’s only for tonight.”

What more could you say? His words tasted like honey on your tongue, you were both parched for something. Desperate for partnership, connection, and touch. Opening the door felt right, his heavy boots echoing in the warmth of your home. It all felt right. You didn’t know what he was, you didn’t ask. He was gentle with you, easy in the presence of your son.

Never pushing too much. He would vanish here and there, and the first time had been for three days. Once he dragged himself back home, you sobbed angrily, hitting your fists into his solid chest. Slowly but surely it became a thing of habit, he’d leave, return with gifts, and a few splatters of blood on his clothes.

Tonight was one of those nights, he had left before the sun peeked over the horizon. However, it was late into the darkness now, the bed felt emptier. He should’ve been home by now. Tossing and turning, you couldn’t relax. Outside, the rain tapers to a soft drizzle and you can’t take it anymore. You throw your legs over the side of the bed and quietly creep past your son’s bedroom. Making sure to avoid the stairs that creak the loudest.

Padding through the house, you find him sitting at the kitchen table. Shirtless. Elbows braced against his knees. Blood stains the tips of his fingers, and his eyes are distant, glowing faintly in the dim light. Another thing you don’t ask about. He doesn’t look up as he speaks. Empty and hushed.

“I tried not to be what I am tonight.” A shaky breath. “But something out there was hunting. Something worse than me. And I had to meet it.”He finally glances at you, a smear of red along his jaw.

“It won’t come near this house again.”

You believe him. Silently grabbing a wash rag and cleaning him up, no questions asked.

This, whatever this was, protected you. Cared unconditionally for both you and your son, there’s nothing more you could ask for.

-

Fic playlist:

[hpttoni]

prologue:The unexpected hearth

Dedication

For those who were told they could never be more than what they were forged to be. For the warriors who dared to rest, the leaders who learned to love, and the broken men who became whole again through small hands and softer mornings.

This arc is for the hearth that flickers behind the armor. For Madara — not the legend, not the ghost, but the father, the husband, the man who stayed.

And for every reader who believes that even the fiercest flames can find peace when held gently enough.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ ENJOY ♥

The streets of the village were dusted in gold. Morning light filtered through branches of the tall willows that lined the main road, where vendors had begun unpacking their stalls—fruit, herbs, paper charms, sweet dumplings still warm from the steam.

Madara Uchiha walked down that road with a basket in one hand and a sleepy toddler on his hip.

He ignored the looks. He always did.

At first, the villagers had stared because they were afraid. Uchiha Madara—once whispered as a monster, warlord, demon in a man’s skin—was living among them now. Not as a ghost in the mountains. Not as a tyrant demanding obedience. He lived in a modest home on the village’s edge with a garden, a patient wife, and two children who adored him.

Now, the looks were of something else. Curiosity. Confusion. And, for some, admiration.

Because Uchiha Madara—the man everyone swore would die by his own hatred—was... thriving. Gentle. Devoted.

“Papa,” the toddler murmured sleepily, head resting on his broad shoulder. “Can I have the dumpling with the honey again?”

“You already had two yesterday,” he replied, smoothing her hair back. “One more and your mother will make me sleep in the garden.”

“She likes you too much for that,” she mumbled, cheek smushed against him.

Madara chuckled. A low, rare sound. But his daughter, like his wife, could always get that out of him.

He stopped at the dumpling stand. The old vendor didn’t flinch like he used to. In fact, he smiled now—tight, polite, but it was progress.

“For the little one?” the vendor asked, already reaching for the honey glaze.

Madara nodded. “And one red bean for my wife.”

“She likes the seasonal kind?” the vendor asked, wrapping them neatly.

“She likes whatever I bring her,” Madara replied with a hint of pride. He accepted the parcel and handed over coins.

A few years ago, no one could’ve imagined this scene. Least of all him.

Flashback — Five Years Ago

The village was still healing after the wars. Hashirama’s dream was finally realized, but the trust between clans was fragile. Madara, bitter and disillusioned, had retreated to the outskirts of the Hidden Leaf. He didn’t want peace, not really. He didn’t believe in it.

Until he met her.

A civilian woman—strong-willed, with laughter that broke tension like glass shattering. She had no chakra to speak of, no bloodline, no interest in politics or power. She was kind, but never naive. Sharp, but never cruel.

She saw through him. Not through his Sharingan, not through battle stories. Through the weariness he wore like armor. She spoke to him like he was just a man. Not Uchiha. Not traitor. Just... Madara.

He was suspicious at first. Why wasn’t she afraid? Why did she talk to him like that?

One evening, while he was helping repair a broken irrigation canal, she brought him tea.

“I don’t need your pity,” he grunted.

“Good,” she said. “Because this is jasmine. I’m not wasting it on someone who can’t appreciate it.”

He scowled. But he drank it.

Over time, she brought more tea. Then books. Then idle conversations that turned into long, thoughtful silences. Madara found himself smiling—genuine, unguarded—more than he had in years.

Then, one morning, he realized something terrifying.

He wanted to stay.

With her.

Present Day — The Village

Madara arrived home to the small house with warm wood beams and vines curling along the trellis. A breeze rustled the wind chimes. His eldest son was sitting cross-legged in the garden, carefully sketching something in a worn notebook.

“Takes after his mother,” Madara murmured.

He stepped inside. The smell of sweet miso and herbs greeted him. His wife stood at the stove, hair tied back, humming. When she turned and saw them, her eyes softened.

“Good morning, grumpy bear,” she teased, kissing her daughter’s forehead, then Madara’s cheek. “Did he behave?”

“She’s already negotiating for dumplings before breakfast,” Madara said, handing over the parcel.

“A criminal mastermind,” she said dryly, giving their daughter a mock-serious glare.

“I learned from the best,” the child said, grinning at her father.

Madara raised a brow. “Flattery won’t save you.”

“But dumplings will,” his wife said, slipping one into the child’s mouth with a wink.

Madara pretended to sigh, but his heart was light.

Midday

They sat on the engawa—wooden porch—watching the clouds drift. His wife leaned against his shoulder, her fingers idly stroking the callouses of his palm.

“You know, people still don’t believe it,” she murmured.

“Believe what?”

“That you—Madara Uchiha—are out here folding laundry and chopping vegetables with a toddler on your back.”

“Let them disbelieve,” he muttered.

She laughed. “I think it’s cute.”

“I am not cute.”

“You are when you’re holding baby chicks for our daughter’s class trip.”

Madara glared at her, but it had no heat. “I was protecting them from those gremlin children.”

“They’re five.”

“Exactly. Vicious age.”

She laughed again, and he let himself fall into the sound. How had this become his life? So domestic, so soft, so... alive.

Later That Day — Village Center

Madara didn’t go to the village often, but today he volunteered to help at the academy festival. Something about sparring demonstrations and a tug-of-war competition.

When he arrived, other parents looked at him with varying degrees of awkwardness. But the children—oh, the children adored him.

He was tall, intimidating, and could lift four of them at once. The boys all wanted to spar with him. The girls were obsessed with his long hair and his patient way of explaining stances.

During the tug-of-war, Madara took his place behind a team of squealing ten-year-olds, pretending to strain while the rope barely budged.

“You’re going easy on them,” one parent whispered.

“Of course,” Madara said. “This is a battle of wills, not strength.”

The kids won. They erupted into cheers. Madara was mobbed like a hero returning from war.

His wife watched from the sidelines, arms crossed and smiling fondly. “You love it,” she said when he finally made his way over.

“I tolerate it.”

She slipped her hand into his. “Thank you for coming.”

He squeezed her hand. “You and the kids are my clan now. Where you go, I follow.”

Evening — At Home

The children were asleep. Madara sat by the low table, sipping tea. His wife curled up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Do you miss it?” she asked softly.

“The wars?”

“No. The power. The command. The... fear people used to have when they said your name.”

Madara was silent for a long moment.

“I used to think power was the only way to protect my clan. That fear was the only way to gain respect. But now…” He looked at her hand in his. “Now I think... being needed is more powerful than being feared. And I am needed here. Wanted here.”

She looked up at him. “You’re loved here.”

That silenced him. That word always did.

Because it still scared him sometimes. That someone could love the darkest parts of him without flinching. That children clung to his cloak like he wasn’t once a man soaked in blood. That peace hadn’t broken him—it had healed him.

She leaned up and kissed him.

“Happy?” she whispered.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

“I never thought I’d live long enough to be,” he murmured. “But yes. I am.”

Midnight — In the Garden

Madara often wandered the garden at night when sleep evaded him. Tonight, fireflies blinked between the rows of plum trees. He paused by the pond, watching the koi stir.

He heard soft footsteps and turned to see his son.

“Can’t sleep?” Madara asked.

The boy shook his head. “I keep thinking about that painting I’m doing. I can’t get the sky right.”

Madara crouched beside him, gazing at the stars above.

“You don’t have to get it perfect,” he said. “Just honest.”

The boy tilted his head. “You sound like mom.”

“She’s wise. I learn from her.”

A pause. Then, “Will you stay here forever?”

Madara looked at his son, his quiet eyes, his calm demeanor, so much like his own—before the world had hardened him.

“Yes,” he said. “I will stay as long as you need me. Longer, if I can.”

His son nodded, leaning against him for a rare moment of vulnerability.

And Madara, once feared for his ruthlessness, held his son with infinite gentleness.

sunrise-

The village awoke slowly. The smell of cooking rice drifted through the streets. Chickens clucked. Wind chimes rang. Another peaceful day.

Madara stood at the gate of his home, hair loose, arms crossed, watching his family emerge behind him.

His daughter skipped past him into the yard. His son followed, notebook in hand. And his wife—his anchor—came to stand beside him.

He looked at all of it—the garden, the village, the lives blooming where once there had been only war.

And he smiled.

Not the cold smirk of a warrior. Not the arrogant sneer of a clan head.

A real smile. Warm. Content. At peace.

The kind of smile no one ever thought Uchiha Madara was capable of.

End.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ THE END ♥

Im still working on this series but I have the first couple of chapters written so I'm going to post those later or tomorrow.I hope you enjoyed this preview of what the story is going to be like.

[crazymadpassionatelove]

Austin's It Girl

18+ for sexual situations mentioned

Want to refresh yourself with the beginnings of the Cool Girl saga? Click here!

Lots of love and thanks to my favorite ladies for their screams of love and support! @ab4eva @therealslimshakespeare @stylespresleyhearted

***

"Are you going to be the new It girl?"

“.... I'm going to be Mrs. Butler”

As the news of the engagement spreads like wildfire, Austin's rep is suddenly inundated with requests. Magazines, everyone from People to Elle, and TV stations want in on it too - Extra, E! News, even that fluffy third hour of the Today Show. There are podcasts run by former reality show contestants, even Martha Stewart herself is said to be interested….in meeting with you? 

All this fuss makes you absolutely double over in laughter, snorting into a ceramic bowl filled to the brim with a Greek salad, the olive oil having come from a small farm and shop in Ojai, California. You and Austin had visited the day prior, the married older couple slyly stopped all others from entering and let you meander around their property, paps and onlookers unable to catch a glimpse for once. Maybe that's why Austin has decided that was the perfect time to hike down your high waisted denim Levi's and bend you over stacked wooden crates filled with peaches.

He was in gray sweats, he hadn't anticipated a farm sort of outing when you originally took off on a drive to wherever you could end up that morning. “Gimmie a little love before we get back in the car, huh baby?” Of course you oblige, is it wrong that you secretly want to be caught honestly? Suddenly your ears perked up at the sound of something ripping. Goodbye robins egg blue lace panties, one of your favorite pairs from Agent Provocateur. “Sorry doll, I just can't have anything keeping me from you. We'll get you a new pair ok?” You moaned in satisfaction, thrusting back until your hips were riddled with half-moon shaped nail marks and you were snarling, chasing your release. The sounds of skin slapping could be heard as the wind chimes blew in the wind amidst a gentle breeze. “Be a good girl” he huffed as he had throbbed within you over and over, teetering on the edge with his nose pressed against the nape of your neck. 

You knew what that meant, he wouldn't cum until you came a third time. Some silly rule he had come up with after yet another all night passion-filled fuck fest. So you had arched like a pretty little kitten, covered your own mouth, came and shook but continued to thrust back, hard and soaked, to help him get there. He swore when he came and you couldn't help but wanna kiss him, no man sounded sexier swearing than Austin. Still gasping, he had been aware that the need to be discreet and get out of there without being caught was imperative. Still, you had fallen forward on your shaking, post orgasm blissed out legs and toppled over the aforementioned crates of peaches. Austin was wide eyed, embarrassed but laughing. With your torn panties shoved in your pocket, your cheeks flamed red when Austin tried to explain away just exactly what had happened to the lovely, you later learned, longtime married couple's fruit as you paid. “When we got engaged I was fairly weak in the knees too,” the wife had winked at you. So you left there with the olive oil and a stained glass peach, of all things, to hang in the kitchen.

You had actually just hung it when Austin's rep had popped by to deliver the news. Everyone wanted to talk to you. Nylon had declared “the hottest person to look at lately is no longer Austin Butler – it's his fiancè.”

“Well, well, well…my baby is the star now,” Austin had cooed, coming into the room wearing those fuck me style cotton shorts of his and a white v neck. It takes some coaxing from him, but you agree. One interview, help the chaos die down. You frankly would rather do cart wheels across broken glass, but the things done for love. 

Absolutely dead set on preserving Austin's privacy, explaining to his team that your hardworking, diligent, dedicated man should not have to put on a public show for the press in his own home, you tell them that arrangements must be made for said interview to take place elsewhere. Vanity Magazine is the one you end up choosing. “You're gonna look hot as hell” on the cover Austin declared the night prior to your first ever solo interview, limbs so tightly wound and entwined you can't even sneeze without disturbing him. His fingers traced tiny hearts on your arms. “This is a one-time deal, don't get used to it,” you hushed him. “I'm only your private cover girl and you know how I prefer to be photographed.” He pecked your lips once, then twice as he yawned. Before drifting off he pulled down your panties, at least he didn't rip this pair. “Case I wake up and need ya..” he rasped as he drifted off. 

The morning of the interview Austin finds you sitting cross-legged on the floor of your closet, wearing a Swiss-dotted semi-sheer white bra and matching panties. You're alternating between eating strawberry yogurt and nibbling on those caramel sea salt cookies you baked last night to bring to the interviewer. “Do you think that seems like a bribe?” you eye him as he settles down next to you, eyes still fuzzy with sleep. You're flipping through the magazine you'll soon grace the cover on, your outfit for the day hanging above you on one of the racks in the oak-paneled dressing room. He makes that gesture with his hands that always causes you to melt “C’mere…” and you tumble into his lap, curling up and letting his artwork-like sculpted fingers comb through your slightly damp hair. His voice is thick and that drawl that always seems to linger despite his agent's exasperation appears. “You're such a good girl doing this…I know ya’d rather not…I'm real proud of you…proud that everyone is gonna get to know and see my pretty girl now”. That's all it takes to calm your nerves really, the want and need to make him proud of you. You slip into your black boat neck dress that hits just above the knee. On each hip is a gold button that seems to tuck you in just right. One of the extras had worn it in the Elvis movie. You offhandedly mentioned how cute you thought it was, and then suddenly the next morning it had appeared in your closet. With there being a slight California chill in the air, he watches as you rummage through the racks. A blazer? Dress things down with a jean jacket? Finally you see one of his white dress shirts hanging from an event a few days prior. “Mind if I borrow that? Take a little piece of you with me?” You bat your eyelashes knowing there isn't a chance he'll say no. “Are you gonna let me shower with you? That shirt won't be the only thing of mine you take with you..” 

97 minutes later and still leaking cum, you stride into the rental home in Beverly Hills where the journalist is waiting to meet you. Being around media isn't exactly new, you've shyly clung to Austin's arm on red carpets and answered a question or two in a high-pitched squeak. This is the first time you've ever had to deal with the media alone though. A pretty young journalist, blonde and clicking her acrylics on her iPhone awaits you in one of those ridiculous-looking modern chairs in the living room. The house had been staged with furniture just for this occasion and to fight off your nerves, you scan the open floor plan living room and kitchen imagining how you would have decorated the space instead. Jillian Zane looks like the sort of girl you'd asked if she had a spare hair elastic in a barre class. She smiles and compliments your dress, but she has a job to do. You hand over the cookies you made and you can tell that throws Ms. Zane for a loop. After some awkward laughs about your failure to find parking and her flat tire that morning, she gets down to business. “Here she is, everyone's new favorite It girl!” Jillian pulls out a pen and a leather bound notebook and you find that slightly endearing. You wave a hand dismissively and roll your eyes good naturedly. “Are you going to be the new It girl?” Jillian follows up. “I'm going to be Mrs. Butler…” you murmur and hold up the stunning stone for her to get a good look at your man's good taste in jewelry. You spend the next two hours peeling back the curtain just a tad, for nothing else than to make Austin proud. —

She shows up early, dressed like a doll, and with homemade cookies in hand. She is, A, Austin Butler’s new fiance and everyone's favorite celebrity fixation. Except – that's not how she sees it. She doesn't consider herself a celebrity and seems to have no desire to be one either. What does she want to do? Be his wife, and yes that is a complete sentence. East Coast A encountered Austin on the job, when she worked for New York’s famed Vibrant Vintage as their archives buyer. She sold Austin a pair of black motorcycle boots and then won his heart in return. Was she looking for love? “Oh I had spent my whole life looking for Austin – I found him not a moment too soon” her giggle alone now explains Austin Butler's near constant smile in recent months. She's no longer a working girl, spending her days with the couple's dogs, hand picking items for their new home together, and fussing after the Oscar winner to make sure he takes some vitamin C before all that travel he's done lately for his upcoming projects.

“Isn't he so dreamy?” she suddenly blurts out when I get her take on some new pictures of Austin and co-star Callum on set.  When her lack of social media is brought up she shakes her head while grinning. There's no need for that. So is she aware of all the buzz she's getting? “It's so silly, he's the star!” A says so matter of factly….. -

              What did you last Google?

The weather in New York 

          What's your favorite scent?

  (Laughs) Austin….

What is the one thing in life you can't live without?

It's probably not polite to say that out loud (smirks)

             New York or L.A. ?

  Palm Springs

  

              Favorite color?

Sea glass green

  If you could only wear four designers for the rest of your life, who would they be?   

Oh gosh, now this is a hard hitting question! (laughs) Um, I guess I'd have to say: Vivienne Westwood, Dior, Nasty Gal, and Alice + Olivia

   If you were to move tomorrow, where would you go?

Maybe Ireland or Scotland 

Something on your bucket list?

Privacy 

One of your bad habits?

I drink a McDonald's Coke almost every day

A feature you admire most in a man?

(Smirks) Big hands

If you were to die and come back as an animal what would you choose?

Easy, a sparrow. Did you know, they mate for life and no matter how far one roams from the other, they always find their way back?

How often do you lie?

Who says everything I'm telling you now isn't a lie?

Do you believe in aliens?

Absolutely 

What’s the most recent gift Austin has given you?

When he was in England, he bought me a tiara that once belonged to one of the royal families.

What were you listening to on the drive over here?

The Daisy Jones and The Six soundtrack 

One thing about Austin that drives you crazy?

Everything he does drives me absolutely wild in the best way. But I will say, he hogs the blankets. 

If you opened a coffee shop, what would you call it?

Golden Boy's Place

Now that Austin has played Elvis, do you think there is anyone else he should play?

President Kennedy (laughs)

Lastly, any wedding plan details you care to spill? 

I can't share much, but Austin has his tux. It's going to be over the span of a couple of days actually, not just one night so that should be fun. If you'd like to go off the record though, I'll show you some pictures of my dress (grins).

*Edited to add at the time of print that our contributing editor, Jillian Zane, was privy to pictures of A’s bridal ensemble. All that to say, this may just be the wedding of the year*

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

Tag list

@ab4eva

@therealslimshakespeare

@stylespresleyhearted

@msamarican

[saintvainglorious]

Fics I Enjoyed in January - DC Comics Fic Rec List Part 2

I am still neck-deep in DC fandom this month and the fics have been so so good. Unlike last time, I am too tired to write mini summaries/reviews, so I'm going to feature my favorite quote from each fic instead.

My first DC Comics fic rec list is here!

Floor Plans by @oh-mother-of-darkness (Teen & Up, 1k, 2016) “I really didn’t want to die,” he finished. “I was kind of hoping if I laid here long enough, I would remember what that felt like.”

Losing two brothers in six months takes an emotional toll.

almost right by @bitimdrake (Teen & Up, 3k, 2020) He desperately wishes that he didn’t know what Dick’s cheekbone feels like under a gauntleted fist.

Bruce sucks in a breath, hand raising to fix the cowl. Dick flinches back.

but more with love by @danishsweethearts (Teen & Up, 3k, 2022) Dick wakes up one morning, groggy from a dream that he thinks might’ve been about the circus and also about his favourite car and also about how lonely he is, and realizes that he can’t remember what his mother’s voice sounds like anymore.

O Robin, Robin, wherefore art thou Robin?

The Mechanics of a Hug by @sohotthateveryonedied (General Audiences, 4k, 2017) “You know… that crushing sense of depression? Like,” Dick chews his lip. “It’s. A physical weight. Makes it hard to breathe?” “Yeah,” Tim says, soft. He smiles, wryly. “I sort of hoped you didn’t, though.”

“So,” Tim ventures. “It's… what, a cuddle pollen?” Bruce just shrugs. “Something like that.”

No Pain, All Gain by @sohotthateveryonedied (General Audiences, 1k, 2020) Tim’s eyes go even wider. “You stole my organs?” “Technically,” Jason chimes in, “the doctors stole your organs. We just gave them permission.”

Bruce checks Tim’s IV. “Are you in any pain? Do you need more morphine?” Tim’s pupils are so wide that only the faintest ring of blue can be seen. He watches Bruce the way a five-year-old watches cartoons. “I’m all good, B-dog. All Gucci, like we cool teens say." His words are slurred almost beyond recognition, but Tim doesn’t seem to notice or care. "I could fight Superman right now.”

The Wind Sits in the Shoulder of Your Sail by @birdchildsnest (Teen & Up, 7k, 2020) “Oh my god. Bruce. I can’t even tell if you’re serious. When everybody finally eats the rich—they’re going to eat you first.”

At least, back then, Tim had barely been a teenager. He could almost forgive his own volatility. And he’d been smart enough (scared enough?) not to tell Jack that he didn’t need him. What was his excuse now? Bruce was his dad (at least, in the legal sense), but (surprise, surprise) it turned out that Tim wasn’t any better at being a son. Or Tim and Bruce still have some things to sort through after the adoption.

I Left My Conscience On Your Front Doorstep by @dustorange (Teen & Up, 21k, 2022) He doesn’t want to be loved if being loved is like this.

"I think I'm leaving," Dick whispers. "I think I'm not coming back."

bad boys bad boys (whatcha gonna do) ♫ by @drakefeathers (Teen & Up, 20k, 2014) "They live their lives thinking they can charge through the city with the right to hurt and kill and destroy as many lives as they want. And they do it all without a shred of remorse." “But—” Damian begins, brow furrowed in confusion. “Isn’t that like you?”

a Jason and Damian as Batman and Robin AU!! featuring a bunch of graffiti, a rival dynamic duo, and Cat Jason (a cat named Jason).

The Biggest Mistake by @oh-mother-of-darkness (General Audiences, 1k, 2016) “I could ground him anyway, if it would make you feel better.” “He only said it because I called him ‘a garbage can so ineffective it actually became garbage.’”

"You know what really needs to be addressed? Bruce's truly terrible treatment of Damian." -Me, on a daily basis

been a number and a name by @wynterstars (Teen & Up, 35k, 2023) “Turns out if you just say ‘spacetime’ until people’s eyes glaze over they don’t really question anything you say. Also, somehow nobody expects me to be able to actually do enough math to explain it.”

On a field trip, Robin has a close encounter with the newest super in Metropolis, only to discover the hard way that Superboy secretly works for Lex Luthor. They agree to work together on a plan to free Superboy from Luthor’s hold, but Robin isn’t sure how far he can trust him—and his developing feelings only make things more complicated.

clean it like you mean it by @wynterstars (Teen & Up, 70k, 2024) "Wait, ugh, you're not my dead dad, right? If I'm getting a dying vision of my dead dad I want a do-over because he suuuuucked."

When Gotham's crooks have to scrub down their lairs, who do they call? Jason Todd, Gotham's first and only underworld crime scene cleaning specialist. He's spent his life dodging the Bat, but after a chance encounter he saves Robin's life. Tim Drake finds himself drawn to the conflicted rogue, and soon Jason becomes Robin's street informant. But they can only stay on opposite sides of the law for so long before something breaks.

3:16 by @wufflesvetinari (Teen & Up, 70k (WIP), 2023) “Try to decouple one thing from the other. I’m proud of you, but ice cream isn’t my grand statement about whether you’ve been good or bad today. Good things are good. Happiness is precious. Sometimes you just want caramel chocolate chip.”

The knife pushes thin along Dick’s carotid artery, cupping the indent between neck and jawline—forcing him to angle his chin. The metal is warm, pulled with execution speed from under Damian’s pillow. “Okay,” Dick says quietly, tracking the intricacies of his own heartbeat—counting the space between breaths. “Guess I did need a shave.” (With faltering steps, Dick and Damian become Batman and Robin.)

wolf-king of rome by @mysterycitrus (Not Rated, 25k, 2024) “You go after Joker, but you don’t kill him, because it’s not about the Joker dying, it’s about Bruce breaking his code for you. It’s about Bruce loving you enough to change himself for the worse. It’s about your idea of grieving.”

Jason doesn’t fear Dick Grayson. Fear itself has changed shape for him, since his return from the Pit - it tastes of dirt in his mouth, of drowning, of fire and blood and laughter, more than a tangible face. Still, he’d be stupid not to be cautious. Dick liked playing on an uneven field, and would do anything to keep him off balance, so he just had to stay focused. That’s the nature of the armistice, both waiting for the other to make a move. It’s like balancing on the head of a pin.

Declensions by @dustorange (Teen & Up, 13k, 2018) “Do not tell them your name. Do as I did to survive. I lied. I have always lied. Make one up. Do not let them have you. Say your name is…is…is…Richard Grayson. Or something. They are going to steal you; do not give them anything to steal.”

“My father,” Dick says, “worked the rope. It cut him. His hands were never clean.”

Passiontide by @bigdvmnhero (Teen & Up, 5k, 2025) Despite its faults, the day had tried to be good. He felt young, like someone's son.

On the 96th day Bruce didn't call, Dick remembered their old game. Three things he knew: 1) In three months, it would be Dick's death anniversary; 2) Bruce was still missing his check-ins; 3) Here Dick was, persisting. Imagine the things I'd survive, Dick thought distantly, if I loved Bruce less. Or: Agent 37 and his various crises of faith, on Day 277 at Spyral, Day 150, and Day -0.

the time you won your town the race by @silverwhittlingknife (Teen & Up, 4k (WIP), 2022) Tim. Tim is Dick’s. Death sharpens, clarifies these things. Who will receive the body, decide on the funeral, receive condolences, make all the decisions that matter. No one has questioned it, not even Tim’s friends. There’s a terrible clarity about death. If Dick said, let’s burn everything he owned, Alfred would do it.

He doesn’t know exactly what Tim would say. But he knows what Tim would do. Tim dies. Dick doesn’t take death for an answer. A Red Robin 12 AU.

door, opening by @cowboysorceror (Mature, 70k (WIP), 2024) Dick, with the keys to every locked door Jason has ever tried to open, tucked inside the cradle of his skull; all of that, snuffed out like a candle.

It’s barely audible, but he knows what he heard. A short, four-note whistle, chirping down – E, C#, then jumping up to A, F#, a little trill on the finish. He waits a moment, head turned slightly towards the dim shapes of storage containers between him and the ramp, eyes straining against the blackness. Long, stretching seconds. There it is again. His gloved hand, prickling with cold, closes into a fist. It’s a wood thrush. A small North American songbird that doesn’t sing at night, doesn’t live in the city. He knows what it means. It means hold, steady, not yet. It means wait for me, I’m behind you.

[koyagifs]

𝓶𝔂 𝔀𝓪𝔂

pairing: pirate!yunho x fairy!reader au: pirate au | genre: fluff?? word count: 3.6k synopsis: yunho had begged his captain for a vacation - who knew he would be coming back with a fairy companion. warning(s): cursing, yunho being the biggest goof ball, a/n: yuna - wooyoungs gf | sumin - seonghwa gf | Luna - yeosang gf

" hyung, can we just - take a mini vacation? I think im going to be seasick. " yunho whined.

Hongjoong chuckled, looking up at Wooyoung who was in the crow's nest. " wooyoung, any land near by?!" He called out

Wooyoung shielded his eyes from the sun with one hand, squinting at the horizon as the wind tousled his hair. "Land?!" he shouted back, his voice carrying easily over the creaking ship and the sound of the waves. "Not unless you count the cloud that kinda looks like a mountain!"

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, a grin tugging at his lips. "I meant actual land, Wooyoung, not your imagination!"

"Then no!" Wooyoung called down, leaning casually against the railing of the crow's nest. "Just water, water, and... oh, look, more water!"

Yunho groaned loudly, dramatically throwing his arms in the air. "I knew it. We’re doomed. This is how I die. Adrift forever with no escape!"

Mingi snickered, giving Yunho a shove. "If you’re dying, do it quietly. Some of us are trying to enjoy this."

Yuna, Luna, and Sumin burst into laughter at Yunho's dramatic display, their giggles blending with the sound of the waves.

"Yunho, you're such a baby," Yuna teased, leaning on the ship's railing as she tried to catch her breath. "It’s not even that bad!"

"Yeah," Luna chimed in, grinning mischievously. "You’re acting like we’re in the middle of a hurricane or something."

Sumin smirked, crossing her arms. "You’re lucky you’ve got us here to witness your 'bravery.' This is definitely a story to tell later."

Yunho groaned, flopping dramatically onto the deck and covering his face with his arm. "You’re all so heartless. I’m suffering, and instead of helping, you’re laughing!"

"We are helping," Yuna countered, nudging him with her foot. "We’re keeping your spirits up with laughter."

"By mocking me," Yunho shot back, sitting up with a pout.

"Exactly," Luna replied with a wink. "What are friends for?"

From above, Wooyoung joined in with a laugh of his own. "You should see the view from up here, Yunho! Everyone looks way cooler than you do right now."

Hongjoong smirked, shaking his head at the antics. "Well, at least the crew morale is high."

Yunho turned to Hongjoong with wide, incredulous eyes. "My morale is not high!" he protested, throwing his hands up. "I’m suffering here, and everyone thinks it’s a comedy show!"

Hongjoong stifled a laugh, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, Yunho. What would boost your morale, huh? Want me to make the ocean disappear?"

"Yes!" Yunho exclaimed, pointing dramatically. "Get rid of it! Or at least find some land so I can stop feeling like my insides are doing cartwheels!"

Yuna leaned against Luna, laughing so hard she could barely stand. "You’re so dramatic, Yunho. I love it."

Luna snickered, patting Yunho’s shoulder. "If morale really matters, maybe we should give him a hug or something."

Sumin grinned. "Or a bucket."

Wooyoung’s voice chimed in from the crow’s nest, unhelpfully cheerful. "Hey, Yunho! If you throw up, aim for the port side! I’m working on my aim too!"

"Wooyoung!" Yunho cried, flailing his arms in exasperation. "You’re not helping!"

Hongjoong chuckled, clapping Yunho on the back. "Hang in there, sailor. We’ll find land soon enough. Until then, you’ve got the best crew in the world to keep you entertained."

"Entertained?!" Yunho groaned. "This is my villain origin story!"

~

The rowboat hit the shore with a gentle scrape of wood against sand, and before anyone could even gather their things, Yunho was already up and over the edge, landing on the beach with an exaggerated gasp of relief.

"Land!" he cried dramatically, throwing his arms wide. "Sweet, solid, unmoving land! I’ll never take you for granted again!"

Yuna doubled over with laughter as she climbed out of the boat, nearly losing her balance. "You look like you just got rescued from a deserted island."

Wooyoung hopped off the boat with a dramatic flourish, throwing an arm over Yunho’s shoulder. "Our brave, fearless leader!" he teased, ruffling Yunho’s hair. "How’d you survive such peril?"

"I hate all of you," Yunho muttered, though his grin betrayed him as he pushed Wooyoung off.

Hongjoong, carrying their gear, chuckled as he joined them on the sand. "Alright, enough teasing. We’ve got a lot to do before sunset. Yunho, since you’re so energized from touching land first, you can help set up the camp."

Yunho groaned but didn’t argue, trudging ahead as the rest of the group followed, laughter still echoing behind them.

Yunho paused mid-step as he entered the dense woods, the laughter of the group fading behind him. The air felt different here—cooler, heavier, as if the trees were holding their breath. He glanced around, the shadows playing tricks on his tired mind.

A flicker of light caught his eye, delicate and fleeting, like tiny sparkles dancing between the trees. He blinked hard, rubbing his eyes. "Probably just fatigue," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Or sunlight reflecting off something."

But the feeling didn’t leave him. The sense of being watched lingered, prickling at the back of his neck. He turned his head slowly, scanning the woods. Nothing. Just trees, thick and tall, their branches stretching toward the sky.

“Yunho!” Wooyoung’s voice called from the beach, startling him.

He jumped slightly, letting out a nervous chuckle at his reaction. "Get it together," he whispered under his breath, forcing his legs to move again.

Still, as he walked deeper into the forest to gather firewood, he couldn’t shake the feeling. And those sparkles—if they were even real—stayed in the corner of his vision, just out of reach.

Yn stifled her giggles as she hovered above the forest floor, watching Yunho mutter to himself while awkwardly balancing an armful of firewood. Just as her toes were about to brush the ground, a sharp tug yanked her back into the air.

She spun around to find Vidia glaring at her, arms crossed and wings fluttering in agitation.

"Yn, what are you thinking?" Vidia hissed, her tone sharp and disapproving.

Yn shrugged innocently, her wings giving a soft flutter. "I was just watching him. He’s funny when he’s clueless."

"Funny or not, you’re not supposed to be seen!" Vidia snapped, her voice low but firm. "Do you want to break every rule in the book? What happens if he notices you?"

Yn pouted, crossing her arms. "He won’t. He’s too busy complaining about the firewood and pretending he’s not scared of the forest."

"That’s not the point!" Vidia shot back, her wings buzzing with frustration. "If he even catches a glimpse, it could ruin everything! Do you want to be responsible for that?"

Yn sighed, her gaze drifting back toward Yunho, who was now squinting suspiciously at something in the trees. She ducked instinctively, her sparkles dimming.

"Fine," she mumbled. "I’ll stay out of sight. But you have to admit—he’s kind of adorable when he’s scared."

Vidia groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "You’re impossible. Just stay hidden, Yn. Please."

With a reluctant nod, Yn floated higher into the canopy, her eyes lingering on Yunho one last time before she disappeared into the trees.

~

Yn flew with delight, her wings shimmering in the soft sunlight as she followed the group toward the nearby waterfall. The sound of their chatter drifted up to her, a pleasant melody of laughter and conversation that made her heart feel light.

Hongjoong led the group confidently, his machete slicing through the overgrowth with ease. With each swing, the dense leaves parted to reveal more of the forest's lush greenery. The sound of rushing water grew louder, a tantalizing promise just ahead.

“Almost there,” Hongjoong said over his shoulder, his tone steady but tinged with excitement.

The group followed closely, their chatter fading into anticipation. As Hongjoong cleared the last leafy barrier, he stopped abruptly, his eyes widening. “Here we are,” he breathed.

The others stumbled to a halt behind him, and a collective gasp escaped them as they took in the view. Before them was a breathtaking waterfall, its crystalline waters cascading down jagged rocks into a clear, sparkling pool below. The air was cool and refreshing, mist from the falls lightly dusting their faces.

“Whoa,” Wooyoung muttered, stepping forward in awe.

“It’s beautiful,” Seonghwa said softly, his gaze fixed on the waterfall as if it were a painting brought to life.

" well boys, here's to that vacation!" Hongjoong cheered. Mingi and Yeosang didn’t need any more encouragement; they bolted toward the water, discarding their boots as they went. Jongho shook his head, muttering something about how reckless they were, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his own eagerness.

Yn’s wings hummed softly, the gentle sound blending with the rush of the waterfall as she glided closer. Her eyes wandered, taking in the lively scene, but inevitably, they settled on Yunho. He sat on a smooth rock near the edge of the water, his long legs stretched out as he leaned back on his hands. The sunlight caught in his hair, making it shine like burnished gold.

Beside him, Sumin and Yuna were deep in conversation, Yuna animatedly recounting tales of her life beneath the waves. Her hands moved expressively, mimicking the flow of currents and the playful dance of sea creatures. Sumin listened intently, occasionally laughing or gasping in awe, her attention fully captured by Yuna's vivid storytelling.

Yunho, however, seemed only half-engaged. Though he nodded along and smiled faintly at their words, his gaze would occasionally drift away, lost in thought. There was a certain quietness about him, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy of the others.

Yn’s chest tightened as she watched him. There was something magnetic about the way he sat there, so effortlessly a part of the group yet somehow apart from it. The way the sunlight painted him in golden hues made him look almost ethereal, and Yn felt her wings falter for a moment, her rhythm stuttering as her heart raced.

She quickly caught herself, shaking her head and fluttering down to a higher perch in the trees, hidden from view but still close enough to hear their laughter and conversation. Yn bit her lip, trying to focus on anything other than the fluttering in her chest that always seemed to stir whenever her eyes found Yunho.

From her vantage point, she could hear Yuna’s voice rise with enthusiasm as she described a particularly daring escape from a hungry shark. Sumin gasped dramatically, clapping her hands together. Yunho chuckled softly at their antics, and the sound of his laughter sent a warm, almost dizzying feeling through Yn’s whole being.

As Yunho leaned back on the sand, letting the cool grains shift beneath him, something caught his attention. From the corner of his eye, he swore he saw a flicker of light—a glimmer of gold and silver, like sunlight dancing on water.

Frowning slightly, he sat up straighter, his gaze scanning the surrounding area. The laughter and chatter of the group faded into the background as his focus narrowed. His eyes widened in surprise when they settled on a figure hovering near the trees.

A fairy.

For a moment, Yunho thought he must be imagining it. The creature’s delicate wings shimmered with an iridescent glow, reflecting the sunlight in dazzling patterns. Her form was small and graceful, almost otherworldly, and she seemed to be watching them from a distance.

His heart raced, both from the shock of seeing something so impossible and the undeniable curiosity that followed. He blinked, half-expecting the vision to disappear, but she remained there, perched lightly on a branch. The way the sunlight framed her made her look almost like a dream.

Yunho's lips parted, but no words came out. Was this real? Was he losing his mind after days at sea?

"Yunho? You okay?" Sumin's voice pulled him back, but his eyes didn’t leave the fairy.

"I... uh..." he stammered, trying to process what he was seeing. “There’s... someone up there.”

Sumin followed his gaze, squinting into the trees, but her expression quickly turned skeptical. “I don’t see anything. Maybe the sun’s messing with you.”

Yuna, hearing their exchange, glanced up as well, her eyes narrowing in thought before quickly schooling her expression. “You’ve probably just been out here too long, Yunho,” she said with a knowing smile.

But Yunho couldn’t look away. The fairy—she was real. He was certain of it. And for some reason, he felt like she was watching him in particular.

~

Yunho lay on the makeshift bed, the cool night air brushing against his skin as he stared up at the expanse of stars above. The sounds of the waterfall in the distance blended with the soft murmurs of his crewmates settling in for the night. His mind wandered as the constellations twinkled faintly, his eyelids growing heavy.

Just as he was about to drift off, a soft, shimmering glow pierced through his half-closed eyes. Startled, he blinked, and his breath caught in his throat.

You stood above him, your wings softly humming, casting faint sparkles that danced in the air around you. The glow of the moonlight enhanced the iridescence of your wings, making you appear almost otherworldly. A wide smile graced your face, one that was both mischievous and warm, and it sent Yunho’s heart into a frantic rhythm.

His eyes widened, disbelief and awe written across his face as he propped himself up slightly on his elbows. “You’re... you’re real,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the gentle rustling of the trees.

Your smile grew, a light laugh escaping your lips as you tilted your head playfully. "Of course, I’m real. Did you think you were imagining me?"

Yunho blinked, his gaze fixated on you, as if afraid that you might vanish if he so much as looked away. “Honestly?” he murmured, his tone laced with wonder, “I wasn’t sure. Fairies aren’t supposed to be real.”

You chuckled, the sound like the tinkling of tiny bells, and leaned closer, your shimmering wings fluttering behind you. “Well, now you know better, don’t you?”

Yunho chuckled, his laugh low and almost disbelieving as he pushed his hair back, still staring at you. “Holy shit, you’re real…” he muttered, shaking his head as if trying to convince himself this wasn’t some bizarre dream.

You nodded, your smile widening as you hovered a little closer, your wings shimmering faintly in the moonlight. “I am. And I know who you are,” you said softly, tilting your head slightly. “You’re Yunho, correct?”

He blinked at you, his mouth opening and closing like he was searching for the right words. “Yeah, that’s me,” he finally managed, his voice tinged with awe. “Wait... how do you know my name?”

Your laughter was light and melodic, filling the quiet night air. “I’ve heard your friends say it plenty of times,” you explained, a hint of playfulness in your tone. “Plus... I’ve been watching you for a while.”

“Watching me?” Yunho asked, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “That’s not creepy at all,” he teased, though his grin betrayed his amusement.

You shrugged, unbothered by his comment. “I couldn’t help it,” you admitted, your gaze softening as you studied him. “There’s something about you... something that’s hard to ignore.”

Yunho’s grin faltered slightly as your words sank in, his cheeks tinging with the faintest blush. “Well, I guess I should feel flattered,” he said, his voice quieter now, a touch more sincere.

“You should,” you replied with a giggle, your wings fluttering slightly as you hovered just above him. “Not every pirate catches the attention of a fairy, you know.”

Yunho chuckled softly, bowing his head with a dramatic flair. “It’s an honor then,” he said, his voice warm and teasing, though his sincerity was unmistakable.

You laughed, the sound like soft chimes in the night air. “You’re quite charming, aren’t you?” you teased, tilting your head as you studied him. “Is that how you win over all the mermaids too?”

Yunho smirked, leaning back slightly on his hands. “Oh, definitely,” he said with a playful glint in his eye. “I’m pretty much irresistible.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Careful, pirate. Too much confidence might sink your ship.”

Yunho laughed at that, shaking his head. “Touché, fairy. But seriously... I can’t believe you’re real. This whole time, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me.”

“Maybe it was,” you said lightly, your smile turning mysterious as your wings shimmered faintly in the moonlight.

Yunho smiled back, his exhaustion finally catching up with him despite the strange and magical encounter. “Well, Miss Yn,” he said, his tone teasing yet warm, “I’ve got to catch some good sleep. Vacation ends tomorrow.”

You tilted your head, the glow around you dimming slightly as you fluttered just a little higher. “Ah, the fleeting nature of a pirate’s adventures,” you said with a soft laugh. “I suppose I should let you rest, then.”

Yunho nodded, though there was a flicker of reluctance in his expression. “You’ll still be here tomorrow, right?” he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop himself.

You paused, your smile softening as you looked at him. “Maybe,” you replied, your voice gentle, almost wistful. “If the stars allow it.”

He chuckled quietly, lying back down and folding his arms beneath his head. “Guess I’ll have to leave it to the stars, then,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

As Yunho drifted off, you hovered for a moment longer, watching him with a quiet fondness before vanishing into the night, the soft hum of your wings fading into the stillness.

~ “No.”

“Captain, please! She’s a fairy, for crying out loud!” Yunho begged, dropping to his knees dramatically in front of Hongjoong, his hands clasped together in desperation.

Hongjoong groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as if that might somehow make the situation more manageable. “Yunho, this is ridiculous,” he muttered, clearly torn between his exasperation and disbelief.

“Please, Captain,” Yn said sweetly, her wings fluttering softly as she hovered closer. “I promise I won’t be any trouble.”

Hongjoong let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Trouble is what I seem to be running into lately,” he muttered, casting a pointed glance toward Seonghwa and Wooyoung.

The two culprits, standing a few feet away, immediately looked anywhere but at their captain. Seonghwa crossed his arms and turned to inspect a particularly interesting cloud, while Wooyoung whistled innocently, kicking at an invisible pebble on the deck.

“I just want to help. I’ve been watching your crew, and you all seem... interesting. I thought maybe I could be useful.”

“Useful,” Hongjoong repeated flatly, narrowing his eyes at Yunho. “You brought a fairy onto my ship because you think she might be useful?”

Yunho nodded vigorously, pointing toward Yn. “Exactly! Look at her wings—they practically light up! We could use that for night navigation!”

Yn raised a hand, adding earnestly, “I can also carry messages quickly! And I know this area better than anyone!”

Yunho leaned in, whispering under his breath with a teasing grin, “We have a mermaid, Yn.”

Yn shot him a look, her wings fluttering slightly as she responded with a smirk, “Well, I know the skies better than anyone!”

Hongjoong sighed deeply, glancing over his shoulder at the rest of the crew, who were clearly eavesdropping.

“First the mermaid, now a fairy. What’s next? A dragon?”

“Dragons aren’t real,” Yunho chimed in confidently, still on his knees.

Yn leaned toward him with a mischievous smile. “They actually are.”

“Not helping!” Hongjoong snapped, making Yunho flinch and Yn giggle.

Hongjoong let out another long sigh, his eyes drifting toward Yn. Despite his frustration, he couldn’t deny there was something endearing about the little fairy’s determination—and those puppy eyes weren’t doing him any favors either.

“Fine,” he said at last, his voice heavy with resignation. “But if you so much as sparkle in the wrong direction, I’ll—”

“I’ll behave! I swear!” Yn interrupted, nodding fervently.

Yunho grinned triumphantly as if he’d just won the greatest battle of his life. “You won’t regret this, Captain!”

“I already do,” Hongjoong grumbled, walking off as Seonghwa and Wooyoung tried (and failed) to suppress their laughter behind him. Jongho, who had been standing off to the side, held his hand out towards Mingi. With a grumble, Mingi reluctantly handed over a handful of coins, clearly not thrilled about whatever the bet was. Jongho nodded with a satisfied smirk, slipping the coins into his pocket before glancing over to where Yunho was.

Yn smiled widely at Yunho as he eagerly dragged her towards the girls, her wings fluttering with excitement. She had a mischievous glint in her eye, clearly enjoying the attention, especially knowing how the others would tease Yunho.

As they reached the group, Sumin, Yuna, and Luna immediately looked up, a knowing grin spreading across their faces. They exchanged a glance, clearly ready to have some fun with their friend.

“So, Yunho,” Yuna said, her voice teasing as she raised an eyebrow. “What’s this I hear about a fairy joining the crew?”

Luna giggled softly, leaning toward Yuna. “Seems like someone’s got a new friend, huh?”

Sumin couldn’t help but smirk, crossing her arms as she eyed Yunho. “I bet you didn’t waste any time bringing her along.”

Yunho, now looking slightly flustered, rubbed the back of his neck, his usual confidence momentarily shaken. As he was about to speak up in his defense, Mingi suddenly appeared, dragging Yunho away with a firm grip.

The girls burst into laughter, the sound echoing around them as they watched Yunho attempt to pull himself free, but Mingi was having none of it. Yn smiled as Yunho caught her eyes, and he knew. He knew he had fallen for a fairy he barely knew.

[karasukarei]

Wind Breaker Drama CD vol. 2 - Oedo-style Fuurin Tale (Part 1)

(t/n: I originally translated this is "Oedo-style Fuurin Story", but I think "Tale" sounds more cool)

Translation masterpost here!

Do note that the audio track for this currently isn't publicly available online. This is also longer than the first drama CD, so I might need a bit more time to finish this (and probably a few more parts...)

Note: As with the beach story, I took some liberties with translations this time to make it read more smoothly. As always, if there’s any mistakes, feel free to let me know!

Special thanks to @orewing!

Shorthand because some names are really long:

Sakura – Sakura

Nirei – Nirei

Suo – Suo

Sugishita – Sugi

Kiryuu – Kiryuu

Tsugeura – Tsuge

Hiiragi – Hiiragi

Umemiya – Ume

Scene 0 – 0:06~0:27

Nirei the narrator: It is the Bakumatsu period. In a town in Edo. At the entrance to this town, there’s a noticeboard. It’s a noticeboard erected by the strong. This is the beginning of the story of the samurai who took on the role of protecting this town in Edo. (t/n: For reference, the Bakumatsu is the time period when the Shinsengumi were active. Edo was the old name for Tokyo during the Bakumatsu)

Scene 1 – 0:28~1:49

*insert sound of wind chimes prettily sounding as the wind blows*

Sakura: Is this the town that the Fuurin-gumi is said to be in…? It does seem peaceful. I guess oden will do… (t/n: couldn’t really catch this last phrase) *stomach rumbles sadly* I’m so hungry…

Sakura: *sniffs air like a dog* This smell… Is it from that dango shop?! *swallows hungrily* The yakidango looks really tasty… *counts coins* It’s not enough… *stomach growls sadly*

Umemiya 💙: Hey! You over there! (t/n: OMG IT’S UMEMIYAAAAAAA)

Sakura: *sighs very sadly*

Umemiya: Heeey! The guy with half white hair!

Sakura: Huh? Me? (t/n: he sounds like a lost kitten here lmao)

Umemiya: Yes you! Do you wanna eat dango together? (t/n: I’LL EAT WITH YOU)

Sakura: Huh?

Umemiya: You’re hungry aren’t you? Hehe, your stomach was rumbling so loudly I could hear it from here.

Sakura: *blushing very loudly* Hrnghk-!!! I-It’s none of your business!

Umemiya: What’s with that? It’ll be my treat!

Sakura: *blushing even more loudly* *chokes on his words* There’s no reason to give me a treat out of nowhere!

Umemiya: If you want a reason, there is one. Rather than eating dango alone, it’s much more delicious if you eat it with someone else!

Sakura: What’s with that reason? Just leave me alone-

Umemiya: Huuh? But then-

 *Sakura’s stomach demands not to be left alone*

Umemiya: Nah? (t/n: with the same energy as “gotcha”)

Sakura: Kuuu- *blushes so hard he’s about to catch on fire*

Scene 2 – 1:50~2:55

Sakura: Mmm delicious!!! 

Umemiya: Right?? The dango here is one of my favourites. And Sakura, is it? You said you came from out of town? What did you come to this town for?

Sakura: Since you’re from this town you should at least know their name right? The notorious samurai group Fuurin-gumi. The group is filled with ruffians, but I came here to become the top of the Fuurin-gumi. (t/n: you’re gonna regret saying this Sakura)

Umemiya: Ohhh… You sure do have confidence in your strength.

Sakura: Till now, I’ve been storming dojos across various towns to hone my fist. *eats hungrily* (t/n: He’s referring to dojoyaburi / dojo breaking, when you go pick a fight with another dojo to show who’s superior. The losing dojo often loses both prestige and standing, and its students often leave for the winning school.)

Umemiya: You…

Sakura: *with a mouth full of dango* At any rate, you too-

Umemiya: Isn’t that great?! The top!

Sakura: Eh?

Umemiya: I see, the top, haha! *smacks Sakura very happily on the back* Yes, I see!

Sakura: That hurts! And don’t hit me when I’m eating dango, that’s dangerous. (t/n: people literally die every year from choking on dango)

Umemiya: Hahahaha, my bad my bad. 

Sakura: What a weirdo…

Scene 3 – 2:56~5:16

*insert sound of wind chimes prettily sounding as the wind blows*

Sakura: Yosh. *getting ready to leave*

Umemiya: What. you’re already leaving?

Sakura: Yup, I’ve already eaten the dango. *takes a few steps and walks*

Umemiya: Hm? What is it?

Sakura: *blushing enough to be heard through the speaker* I don’t think we’ll meet again, but… thanks for the food.

Umemiya: Uoh! It was fun eating dango with you too! Till we meet again!

Sakura: *grumbling under his breath as he walks away* I already said we likely won’t meet again, why’d he still say “till we meet again”... And anyway, what kind of person buys dango for a person they don’t even know?! And why am I so mad about it?! (t/n: he sounds like a really grumpy old man here www) *sighs* Someone like him… is probably from a different kind of world from me…

*Sakura walks some more*

Sakura: I heard that the barracks for Fuurin-gumi is supposed to be around here… is it that?

Nirei: E-excuse me, is this the barracks for Fuurin-gumi…?

Sugi: *grunts*

Nirei: It is right, it’s obvious! It’s nicely written here right?

Sugi: *more grunting*

Nirei: U-um, could you perhaps be from Sugishita-san from Tamonshuu’s First Squad?

Sugi: *gasps of suspicion* You, could you be-!?

Nirei: Heeeeeee!!! I’m sorry I swear I’m not a suspicious figure!! I am Nirei, and I’d like to join-

Sugi: Coming to join Fuurin-gumi, you sure have some guts! *draws sword*

Nirei: A-ah, I’m begging you please don’t cut me down!!

Sakura: Oi! Stop it!

Nirei: Eh?

Sugi: Huh?

Sakura: If you can draw your sword at a guy like him, then Fuurin-gumi really is as the rumours say- it’s where all the messed up people gather. Oi, you.

Nirei: Y-Yes!

Sakura: You stand down. I’ll be this guy’s opponent. *gets ready to draw sword*

Sugi: Are you this guy’s friend?

Nirei: You… Why are you saving me?

Sakura: Friend? Save? Don’t get me wrong. I’m just interested in strong people. *draws sword*

Nirei: Wh-what do I do?!

Tsuge: Oiii Sugishita-kun, it’s time to switch shifts! What’re you doing?

Nirei: Uwah! Fuurin-gumi member!

Tsuge: I don’t know what’s going on, but you guys look real macho. (t/n: unfortunately Tsuge speaks with some sort of dialect and I cannot figure out the last part of this sentence. If you know what he’s saying, do feel free to let me know!

[jasmines-library]

Hello?

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WHUMPTOBER DAY NINETEEN: prompt: Blood Trail/abandoned cabin.

Summary: on a lone hunt, you end up injured and seeking emergency help. The only problem is, there’s no one around.

Warnings; blood.

MASTERLIST WHUMPTOBER 2024

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You stumbled through the woods, your hand clutching your side as you tried not to trip on the up turned roots. You clung close to the trees using them as support as you tried to make it to the cabin. It was just ahead of you now. Fractions from touching distance. You just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other and you would make it. You were sure you would make it. You were-

Blood dripped from between your fingers. You had tried to staunch it with you hand, but as your hand began to grow slack; your blood stained the now below you a deep crimson. Keep going. Almost there.

With a heavy shove, you managed to get the door open. The hinges creaked and groaned heavily as you managed to haul the door open before slamming it shut again to keep out the cold.

Practically as soon as you were inside your legs decided to give out. Your knees bucked as you fell to the floor in a heap. Soon to be a pool of your own blood as it continued to ooze from your body. You fumbled for your phone. It was somewhere in your pocket, but your fingers refused to co-operate and it took you a clumsy minute to find it. But once it was out your muscle memory worked to dial that oh so familiar number, just hoping that the person on the other end would pick up. You weren’t sure what the signal was like around here.

Dean answered the phone on the fourth ring. “…..hello?” He mumbled groggily, clearly having just been woken up by your call.

“………Dean…?”

You could hear him straighten up on the other end of the line at the sound of your voice. “Y/n?”

“……yeah.” You coughed.

“What’s going on? Are you alright?” Dean asked. His voice was laced thick with worry.

“…need some help:” you got out.

“Where are you? What happened to the hunt?” Dean was moving, pulling on a shirt before racing to his car. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m in Oklahoma……my location is on…….”

“Okay.” Deans voice was muffled by sound of an engine. “Are you hurt?” He asked again.

You mumbled a yes in response. “More of them than I thought….”

Dean cursed loudly. “I’m not too far out from you, okay? You just stay awake and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay….” You blinked slowly gazing up at the ceiling. A few minutes passed with Dean taking to you on the other end of the line to try and get you to respond to him and stay awake: but then your phone chimed. The battery was going to die. You told Dean this and he cursed once again.

“Shit. No no no. Okay. I need you to give me the directions to where you are, okay? I won’t be able to follow the location on your phone if it’s dead,”

You began to describe it, but very quickly your phone shut off plunging you it into darkness and leaving you all alone with no idea as to if Dean would be able to find you in the middle of the woods.

~

You were startled awake when the door was shoved open and a gale of wind whistled though the room. You shivered. You had been falling asleep without Dean to talk to you. Dean. He hovered over you now, falling to your side.

“De?” You asked, looking up at him as he rummaged for a first aid kit.

“It’s me. It’s me. You’re okay:” he tried to reassure you as he began to try and stop the bleeding.

“…….how’d you find me….?” You asked, confused.

Dean was quiet for a moment. He had followed the trail of blood that you had left in the snow, but he didn’t want to tell you that. “It doesn’t matter, sweetheart. But I’m here now.” He said, beginning to wrap a bandage. Just relax, kid. I got you, you’re gonna be okay.”

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This was SO sucky I’m sorry! But I wrote it in like half an hour so I could get it out to you tonight 😭

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

<- DAY EIGHTEEN DAY TWENTY ->

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Tags:

@hearts4robs @kingshitonly @alicedawitchbish @hell-o-kittys @azure-drag0ness @harleycao @thewhispersofthewaves @batfamsstuff @xxrougefangxx @rosecentury @noisymutantherelol @killxz @rhiodes @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @canthavetoomuchchaos

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[nicothedingus]

spud headcanons because i'm bored

a lot of ya'll liked my wallmark headcanons so here's some spud headcanons <3 there might be some Sarah ones in here too. idk

gentle giant who cares about wildlife. has helped a chick that has fallen out of its nest at least once

lives in the woods near the camp, usually sleeping in a cave or in trees. sometimes visits Sarah and sleeps outside her cabin/on the floor inside

viewed as a cryptid of sorts by people who don't know of the gnarpian attack. there's probably ominous photos of him circulating online at this point

Sarah has set up wind chimes around the camp because 1. Spud likes the sound 2. it helps him remember where the camp is

probably purrs. loudly. if he can make bubble noises i think he can purr and chirp and make other noises okay

learned methods of nonverbal communication so he can still communicate with Sarah when he's overwhelmed :)

tries to socialise but regrets it afterwards

eats out of the trash near the camps mess hall i think. that or he steals the marshmallows. fiend

certified silly straw enjoyer. Sarah has a few because he probably can't drink from cups otherwise. they will have hot chocolate together

has a kandi bracelet with Sarah's name on it. so he doesn't forget it. yeah i know canonically he doesn't remember her very well but i'll always see them as besties still <:)

whenever he gets hurt Sarah gives him cute bandages i think. she covers him in stickers in general

sometimes when he explodes he just. disassembles. he doesn't die his arms just fall off. Sarah has to stitch him them back on afterwards (inspired by this adorable post)

scars. lots of them. has a big vertical one on his torso

went bald after ripping all of his hair out due to the stress of what happened to him, but it's been regrowing well!

wobbles a bit whenever he moves

HOLY SHIT THAT'S A LOT if you guys want more headcanons ummm please do say so my brain is rotting!!!

[heartzforyouxoxo]

WHEN I SAY THAT WE ARE ALL TEEN GIRLS by Olivia Gatwood

what I mean is that when my grandmother

called to ask why I didn’t respond to her letter,

all I heard was, Why didn’t you

text me back? Why don’t you love me?

And how can I talk about my grandmother

without also mentioning that if everyone

is a teen girl, then so are the birds, their soaring

cliques, their squawking throats,

and the sea, of course, the sea,

its moody push and pull, the way we drill

into it, fill it with our trash, take and take

and take from it and still it holds us

each time we walk into it.

What is more teen girl than not being

loved but wanting it so badly

that you accept the smallest crumbs and call

yourself full; what is more teen girl than

my father’s favorite wrench, its eternal loyalty

and willingness to loosen the most stubborn of bolts;

what is more teen girl than my mother’s chewed

nail beds, than the whine of the floorboards in her

house?

What is more teen girl than my dog, Jack,

whose bark is shrill and unnecessary,

who has never once stopped a burglar

or heeled on command but sometimes

when I laugh, his tail wags

so hard it thumps against the wall, sometimes

it sounds like a heartbeat, sometimes I yell at him

for talking too much, for his messy room,

sometimes I put him in pink, striped polos

and I think he feels pretty,

I think he likes to feel pretty,

I think Jack is a teen girl.

and the mountains, oh, the mountains,

what teen girls they are, those colossal show-offs,

and the moon, glittering and distant

and dictating all of our emotions.

My lover’s tender but heavy breath while she sleeps

is a teen girl, how it holds me and keeps

me awake all at once, how I sometimes wish

to silence it, until she turns her body and

the room goes quiet and suddenly I want it back.

Imagine the teen girls gone from our world,

and how quickly we would beg for their return,

how grateful would we be then for their loud

enthusiasm

and ability to make a crop top out of anything.

Even the men who laugh their condescending laughs

when a teen girl faints at the sight of her

favorite pop star, even those men are teen girls,

the way they want so badly to be so big

and important and worshipped by someone.

Pluto, the teen girl, and her rejection

from the popular universe,

and my father, a teen girl, who insists he doesn’t

believe in horoscopes but wants me to tell

him about the best traits of a Scorpio,

I tell him, We are all just teen girls,

and my father, having raised me, recounts the time he

found the box of love notes and condom wrappers I

hid in my closet, all of the bloody sheets, the missing

socks,

the radio blaring over my pitchy sobs,

the time I was certain I would die of heartbreak

and in a moment was in love with a small, new boy,

and of course there are the teen girls,

the real teen girls, huddled on the subway

after school, limbs draped over each other’s shoulders

bones knocking, an awkward wind chime

and all of the commuters, who plug in their

headphones

to mute the giggle, silence the gaggle and squeak,

not knowing where they learned to do this,

to roll their eyes and turn up the music,

not knowing where they learned this palpable rage,

not knowing the teen girls are our most distinguished

professors, who teach us to bury the burst

until we close our bedroom doors,

and then cry with blood in the neck,

foot through the door, face in the pillow,

the teen girls who teach us to scream.

from New American Best Friend

Copyright © 2018 Button Poetry

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

Loyalties chapter 9 (The pink letter)

Loyalties Masterlist

CW: check the main masterlist for warnings

A/N: this is the letter Bambi received in ch.3 and the one she's reading in the next chapter.

My dearest Kitz,

It has been thirty months or more exactly nine hundred and fifteen days since I last saw you face to face. I dream of you and your sweet smile. Your sweet scent haunts me at every waking turn. A lesser man would have crumbled by now, wasted away from the starvation you have inflicted. It is a good thing I am no lesser man.

You wound me when you refuse my existence, on all of your cute little socials you see the pink hearts. I know you see them. I know that you still preen at the sight of a small pink heart. The tattoo that you insisted I not get of your name is finished. It is a shrine upon my chest, it sits right above my heart. Well my dearest Kitz, it is not my heart anymore, since the day I laid eyes on you, my heart became yours. The brand of your name, is encased by a soft pink heart, with a white lace border and under your name a sleeping fawn. The artist had joked and said that I must be possessed. He asked if your pussy was poison as it was rare for an alpha to let himself be marked in any fashion of ownership. 

I broke his nose and he no longer has use of five of his front teeth. 

Even though you are angry with me, pushing me away, I will always defend your honor. The very idea of another male, no matter their designation in life, speaking of you in a foul manner will always enrage me. It is my duty to protect your virtue and dignity.

Mein dearest Kitz, mein Schatz, Liebe meines Lebens, I will be with you soon and have already counted the days until we are together. I want to try again at winning your heart, your love, your adoration, your soul, and if you give it to me your submission. I want you to claim me as I have always belonged to you.

I understand it now. You were scared of being caged, locked away to your fate too soon. I should not have pushed you, screamed at you, forced your hand and made you demand that I be kept away from you. 

I didn't mean to frighten you. That will always be my biggest regret.

I fully intended to let Xavier put a bullet between my eyes that day, if only for the pain of rejection to finally end. In all of your mercies, that I rightfully did not deserve then, you rescinded your kill order. You decided that the love and devotion I hold for you was enough to spare me. You spared me a cowardly death, and that was the right thing to do. You forced me into exile so that I may learn what it is like to be deprived of you. That deprivation served as a lesson for me to learn how to love you and how to appreciate you. I have been without and if I have to go without again and again, until you deem my lesson learned then so be it. 

These last nine hundred and fifteen days have been long and tedious without you. I have missed your wit, your sweet but harsh words that you swear are just teasing, the way your laughter sounds like chimes tinkling on the wind. I have missed your delicate touch, the light scratch of your baby pink nails against my skin, and the sweet kisses that you have gifted me. I have dreamt of kneeling at your feet, allowing you to take your pleasure from me, allowing me to even taste the sweetness that is you. I have dreamt of being allowed back home, between your thighs, in your embrace, in your orbit of life that has always moved too fast.

Do you still think of me on June mornings and nights? Is there a want in your being that calls out for me too? You are but a beacon that draws everything to you and I am selfishly wanting to be the only person you let close enough to feel your warmth. You are everything that is good in life.

Du bist die Liebe meines Lebens. Mein Grund zum Atmen. Wenn wir uns wiedersehen, wenn ich dich in meinen Armen trage, werde ich dich nicht mehr loslassen.

König

Translations in the order they appear

Kitz: a loose translation for fawn. And I mean very loose

Mein dearest Kitz, mein Schatz, Liebe meines Lebens: My dearest kitz, my darling, love of my life

Du bist die Liebe meines Lebens. Mein Grund zum Atmen. Wenn wir uns wiedersehen, wenn ich dich in meinen Armen trage, werde ich dich nicht mehr loslassen.:

You are the love of my life. My reason for breathing. When we meet again, when I hold you in my arms, I will never let you go.

[rosesradio]

omg for the Christmas drabble I was literally just thinking of a future jercy fic where it's Christmas or new year's eve and the boys are just reflecting how Jason never thought he'd get something normal like holidays with loved ones and Percy never thought he'd live long enough to have a husband and holidays in their own home. if you can make a drabble out of that it would make my day

“I wasn’t going to say anything…”

Jason and Percy were resting on the plush couch in their living room, warm from hot chocolate as they watched the fireplace. Jason’s voice was soft—too soft, the kind of tone that suggested he was at his most fragile. The layers of physical and emotional armor had come undone, taken off piece by piece. It meant that he could be free of the weight of it for a moment, though it also meant that anyone or anything could deliver a killing blow.

“What is it, love?” Percy asked. The words—pet names—had sounded foreign and embarrassing in Percy’s mouth for the longest time. Eventually, though, they started to feel normal. He thought them, and they lost the weight.

“I never thought I’d have this,” Jason murmured. “Life in…in New Rome was…spoken of briefly, dangled in front of me like a treat for a dog, but…” his voice hardened, cracked, then softened again. “I knew they wouldn’t let a praetor, a son of Jupiter, go so easily. There would be something else, and something else, and something else, but…now there’s not. I’m with you, and my entire life is in front of me…”

It had been six years, and still Jason spoke as if he expected to be taken from Percy, taken in as some sort of slave to Camp Jupiter. No. Jason had done his time and then some. Percy would die before he let any more harm come to his husband.

“I’m sorry if I’m bumming you out,” Jason mumbled, nuzzling into the crook of Percy’s neck. His fingers traced the soft, fuzzy neck of Percy’s sweater.

“You could never,” Percy replied. He wanted to add ‘you don’t talk about it nearly enough’, though he knew that would really draw attention to it. He had to speak up in these moments when they happened.

“To tell you the truth,” Percy said, hugging Jason close, his grip gentle but firm. “I never thought I’d live to see this…we were always told most demigods didn’t make it to adulthood. I never thought I’d get to get married, get a house, have holidays…but now I have it all and more. All thanks to you. You think that I was some gods-send, that I saved you, but…you don’t know the half of it. You saved me, Jace. And times like this remind me of that more than ever…”

“Perce,” Jason wouldn’t look at him, his voice muffled in Percy’s sweater. Percy was sure his eyes were watering, only because his own were stinging and they tended to bring it out of each other.

“I know, sweetheart,” Percy squeezed Jason’s shoulder comfortably. “You’re thinking, ‘wow, Percy’s so wise and sweet and sexy…the only thing that would make this better is if we had a little one to celebrate the holidays with!’ Am I right?”

Jason’s laughter was like the song of a wind chime. “You’re ridiculous, Percy Jackson…but yeah, I was kind of thinking about that…”

“Maybe this time next year, then,” Percy settled.

Percy held Jason close as he rested his head on his shoulder, and the pair watched the flickering flames in much deserved peace.

[blizzardfluffykpop]

Blizzarding

Summary: It’s never too cold for ice cream, or at least that’s what Chanhee thinks no matter how much Changmin disagrees. And the more he talks about ice cream even with the wind howling, the more enticing it sounds to you. You've waited way too long to not have each other in the way your hearts always did. 

Oneshot

Fluff, Suggestive, Slowish to FAST burn, Best Friends to Lovers au

Word Count: 1,910 (600~ more words then the original 🫣)

Chanhee (New) X Reader X Changmin (Q) (Kyunyu)

Originally based off of: Prompt: 11. “I don’t want to get ice cream, it's freezing out! We’re going to get frostbite!” “I think it’d be fun.” “Yes, I agree, let’s do it.” (Loosely based off of Monster House line “...I don’t wanna go inside a monster and I don’t wanna die.” “I say it’s worth a shot.” “Yes, I agree, let’s do it.”). 

[A/n: When I originally wrote the first version, I desperately wanted to write it as a kyunyu poly au. But because it was requested for Changmin only… I stuck to it. Anyways, as a kyunyu biaser- this is my self-indulgent version of this fic. I hope you enjoy this version as much as the original~ I know I certainly did.]

(Alternative Poly au Version of Blizzards)

------

Chanhee had told you weeks before that Changmin liked you back, hoping you’d make your move. But you’ve never had concrete evidence, and as much as you trusted and liked Chanhee, you weren’t about to ruin your friendship with Changmin on a chance like that. So, that’s how you find yourself today, sitting in Changmin’s room leaning against the wall, playing on your phone when the two of them start bickering. It wasn’t unusual for them to bicker between each other like an old married couple. But you always found it amusing, considering how they were always at ends over the littlest of things. You figure out that they’re arguing about whether or not to get ice cream, and with the wind howling like it is, you can’t help but shiver at the thought. You think you’ll end up agreeing with Changmin that getting ice cream wouldn’t be a good idea right now. Considering the soon-to-be blizzarding conditions. No matter how enticing Chanhee was making your favorite flavors sound... But the more he talks about it the more you grow hungry for it. His pout crushes your heart the more Changmin disagrees. Your heart couldn’t take much more of this. 

Chanhee makes another point about them having hot cocoa at the ice cream place he wants to go to, and Changmin scoffs, “We could have hot chocolate here.” You hum at that point. You definitely could have that here. But ice cream? You know those two didn’t have any of it in their refrigerator. Changmin’s eyes flicker over to you, and he gives you a little smile. That’s when you remember your role. You’re their tiebreaker, and you just made Changmin hopeful. Uh-oh. Chanhee juts his bottom lip out as he looks at him, “But… I thought that would make the ice cream place sound good to you.” You knew if you disagreed with him, he’d go out and get it anyway. That’s just how Chanhee is. And you couldn’t help but want some (f/f) ice cream as well. So, when Changmin huffs, “I don’t want to get ice cream, it’s freezing out!” You chime in, “I think it’d be fun.” He doesn’t miss a beat, “Yes, I agree, let’s do it.” You raise your eyebrow at him and hide your laugh. Maybe Chanhee was right after all… Chanhee gives him a ‘seriously’ look before shrugging, and the three of you get your winter gear on before happily walking to the ice cream parlor. 

You can hear Changmin’s little regrets as he mumbles to himself about going when the snow is high enough that you can make snow cones out of it. You giggle at him, “You didn’t have to go if you didn’t really want ice cream.” And his mitten-covered hands make a little ‘eh’ motion as he shrugs before shoving his hands back into his pockets. You shake your head at him with a smile. You knew he wouldn’t miss the opportunity to be with you two. Because if there was one thing you knew for sure, was that Changmin liked Chanhee like you did, even if they always bickered. But the only question lingering in your mind as you head into the parlor was did Chanhee like you two back? You shake the thought from your mind as you order your favorite ice cream flavor before paying for them separately and heading to the booths to talk.

You sit in the corner beside Chanhee and across from Changmin as you happily eat your ice cream and watch the snowfall from inside. Changmin sighs as he digs his spoon into his cup, “We’re going to be so cold when we walk home.” You both laugh, and Chanhee tells him, “You should have disagreed! (N/n) and I would have gone by ourselves and enjoyed our ice cream.” Changmin rolls his eyes, and you hum, “As long as we walk quickly, it’ll be okay.” Changmin’s eyes look like they’re full of stars as he looks at you before shrugging, “I guess you’re right.” He takes another bite, and Chanhee gives you a pointed look before he mouths, ‘I told you so’. You press your lips together as you try to hold back your smile at the obvious signs of Changmin liking you back. Chanhee cackles at you, pointing his spoon at you, and Changmin’s head snaps up, looking between the two of you, confused. You both shrug, and you can’t help but see Chanhee’s smirk in the corner of your eye as you continue eating your ice cream. 

You scrape at your cup, getting the last bits of ice cream out, when Chanhee says, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to the restroom.” You hum, “Don’t get lost.” And Changmin chimes, “You need a map?” Chanhee scoffs at you two before he leaves, disposing of his empty ice cream cup in the trash as he goes. You turn to Changmin when Chanhee’s out of earshot, “Wasn’t he being so cute!?” He laughs, “Yeah, he was…” You grin before you go back to scraping at your cup. He clears his throat, and you look up at him. “Yeah?” He plays with his collar, “Um, I uh… About earlier. And the uh... immediately agreeing-” His ears are red, and he looks down into his cup as he tries to explain, “I don’t know what got into me and-” You interrupt with a grin, “I like you too.” He blinks at you, “You what?” You drop your spoon in your cup and tell him, “I like you too.” His eyes are wide as he looks at you like you just said all the gold in the world belonged to him. And he asks, “Really? All this time? You liked me as well?” “Yeah.” He breaks out into a grin, “So, you didn’t think it was silly that I went back on my argument?” You reach over and put your hand over his, “No, I thought it was cute. Plus, you agreed with me.” He grins and leans, “What do you say we ditch Chanhee and go out for a late dinner?”

You laugh, and before you can give him an answer, someone clears their throat as they sit down beside you. You look over, and Chanhee goes, “Ditch me? As if. Not in these blizzard-like conditions.” And Changmin scoffs, “So, you do agree it was blizzarding outside!” Chanhee smirks, “Yeah, but I knew if I could get (N/n) to agree, you’d go for it.” You watch Changmin’s face fall. And you give Chanhee a look as it clicks, “You didn’t even pay for our ice cream adventure even though it was your idea!” He shrugs with a smirk, and you roll your eyes and look at Changmin, “What do you say to dinner and a movie?” He grins, “I’d like that. Let’s do it.” You push Chanhee out of the booth as he guffaws at both of you. You both already have your jackets on and are out the door before Chanhee even has his on. 

You bump your hand into Changmin’s as you walk together, and he grins taking your hand into his mitten-covered one, keeping your hand warm. When you hear someone quickly approaching you two, stomping through the snow, and you both giggle at him. Chanhee complains, “I don't even get to be the third wheel like I usually have to?!” You tilt your head, “You do?” He rolls his eyes, “You two are always making goo-goo eyes at each other. It’s a little gross.” You scoff, and Changmin swings your hands happily between you two and sings-songs, “You’re just jealous~” Which causes him to roll his eyes again, “Maybe I am! So, what! At least you two finally confessed to each other.” 

Changmin and you exchange a look of surprise. Did Chanhee like you both back? You whisper to Changmin, “He’s jealous?” And you both are in shock, but you say for Chanhee to hear, “Damn… that means we could have gotten ice cream by ourselves instead today.” Chanhee scoffs at that. “My ice cream idea brought you two together, and here you are, dissing on it!” Changmin shakes his head, “No... We’re dissing on going with you.” Chanhee scoffs as he opens the door, “I’m never talking to you two again.” 

You laugh at their antics as you take off your coats and tell him, “You will.” He scoffs again, “Whatever. Are we at least having hot chocolate together?” You shrug and ask Changmin, “What do you say, baby?” You blush as you realize you already called him baby, and you see his ears turn red. But he quickly recoups, “Yeah, sure, doll.” Chanhee shakes his head, “We’re already starting the pet names… Gross… But deal.” You both smirk and Changmin goes, “Aww, are you jealous, sweetheart?” Chanhee rolls his eyes and if it wasn’t for his cheeks being red from the bitter wind, you were certain he would be now. He scoffs, “Yeah. So what?” You smirk, “You don't have to be jealous, darling.” As you hover next to his cheek about to kiss it, Changmin says, “You know we like you too, right?” Chanhee’s beet red as he looks between you both, “I- You- What?” You kiss his cheek, “You know how you and I always talk about my crush on Minnie?” He nods and you continue, “Minnie and I always talk about our crush on you. I confessed to it first and he quickly told me he felt the same.” 

Chanhee looks between you too, seeking reassurance, “You guys aren’t fucking with me, right now, are you?” Changmin kisses his neck, “Not about this.” And Chanhee stutters, “Oh-oh fuck, okay… I love you guys.” Your smirk doesn't fade as you lay a kiss on his collarbone, “We know.” He gasps, “There's no way you guys figured it out.” Changmin pulls back and says, “You’re right, we wouldn’t have but...” You lay another kiss on his jaw and whisper, “You carelessly said you were jealous of us. Confirming our theories.” 

He lets out a pleased hum before he rolls his eyes and asks, “So, do I get to have dinner and watch a movie with you two too?” You hum as Changmin grabs your hand and you tilt your head at him, “I think it’s only fair. What do you think, baby?” Changmin lays a delicate kiss on your hand, “I think it would only be right to, doll.” Then he pulls you in, hovers over your neck, and hums, “Yeah, I think we’ll need more than a movie after dinner though.” He sucks a mark onto your neck too, over his shoulder, you exchange a devilish look with Chanhee. And when Changmin pulls away, you pin him to the wall in the hallway. And you each suck a mark into either side of his neck. When you both pull away, you see his dark eyes staring at you two. As if he could ruin you both with a snap of his fingers, “You two drive me mad, you know that?” Chanhee and you smirk and nod, “We do.” He rolls his eyes and leads you both into the kitchen, where you work to make hot chocolate on the stove and drink it together to get warm again before anything else ensues. Maybe being the tiebreaker to an old married couple wasn’t so bad after all. Especially if it meant you were included in their marriage.

[dayurno]

could you share more about the maids wip? the "its literally not what you expect" makes me so curious

YEAHG sorry this ask (and so many otherssorry forever) has been sitting in my inbox for a while but really when it comes to maids au i had to have some time to sit down and think about the best way to explain it because its kinda silly and indulgent and out there as a concept...... so i ask you to take mine and ao3 kevjean's hands and open your heart

it's basically what you think it is except it isn't. kevjean are Ghosts and they are also maids. Walk with me here take my hand. they were actual real life indentured servants about a century or so before the canon of maids au begins, riko's personal maids specifically, and they die when the master of the house dies in their early 20s. the mansion they worked at, now a total crime scene, is inherited by two generations of moriyamas before it gets sold off and lightly renovated. something horrible happened in this place - the family and their workers alike all died tragically - and no one in their sane mind would want to buy it, much less live in it. one would have to be extremely rich and extremely clueless to consider this mansion

So a century after the tragedy jeremy buys it. LOL. he isn't Aware of the history of the house and he has just freshly returned from a failed attempt at Finding Himself at 27, so now he has to work for his stepfather and settle back down in his hometown. his first contact with the ghost maids when moving in makes him question his sanity, but they have lived a life of servitude; they don't pose him any threat, and they continue their work of taking care of the mansion. they don't Haunt it, really! they're Maids, and in their minds they work there still, and jeremy is simply the new master of the house they have to abide by. they cook and clean and look after him, which makes perfect sense to them, while jeremy grows more and more certain he lost his mind and is now hallucinating men in frilly dresses working at his house. it's really fun and they're really cute

some ghost maid factoids: they don't speak (at least at first) but they mimic twinkling sounds to communicate, which means they sound more or less like wind chimes and tinker bell. they don't cook well and jean puts salt on jeremy's coffee on purpose. they're married (in their heads). they can't clean the whole mansion by themselves but they try. they think jeremy is handsome but lacks all of the pomp of an actual master of the house. they don't know how technology works. And they love you

[live-the-fangirl-life]

Trust Me, it'll be Fun

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn

“It’s just a spooky clock chiming at the incorrect time while all the lights are off and strange footsteps are creeping up the stairs, in a house that won’t let us leave.”

Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Halloween Collection

Halloween Prompts

2053 words

*****

Whoever had the brilliant idea of sneaking into the decrepit, supposedly haunted house the weekend before Halloween needed some serious help. Aelin. 

Whoever forgot to give out snack instructions that resulted in no one bringing any food or drinks with them needed to get it together. Rowan

Whoever raided the cabinets and found an old bottle of Crème de Menthe and thought it would be a good idea to pass it around needed to find something better to do with their time than cause chaos. Fenrys. 

Whoever complained the entire time that they needed new friends needed to suck it. Lorcan.

And somehow, that was how they ended up separated – Aedion and Lysandra off to the kitchen, Fenrys gods-know-where, and Elide and Lorcan finally joining Aelin and Rowan in the foyer, arguing about leaving or staying. The front door was open and she could see the steps leading down to the path outside.

“Fireheart, c’mon, can we just call it a night?” Rowan sighed, crossing his arms. “We’ve been here for hours now, it's just an old house. There’s nothing spooky about it other than the fact that it's falling apart.”

“Rowan, we said we would spend the night here.” She argued half-heartedly.

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “How are we supposed to stay here all night with no food or water?”

Laughing, Aelin stepped closer and rested her hands on his crossed arms. “You say that like we're stranded on some desert island.”

“At least on an island, we wouldn’t have to hear your cousin and Lysandra making out in the next room.”

“My cousin,” she scoffed, “your friend is only ‘my cousin’ he annoys you.”

The sounds from the next room came again and she winced as Rowan’s brows shot up in vindication.  

“I’m with Rowan,” Elide spoke up, walking toward the couple with her fiancé a step behind her. “Let’s just go.”

“Really?” Aelin spun towards her friend who shrugged. “You too?”

“I didn’t even really want to come.”

“What? Why did you then?” the blonde asked curiously.

“Because you’re my friend,” Elide laughed and bumped her shoulder with Aelin’s. “And I thought you might die otherwise and I needed to see you in your last moments to give you a passable eulogy.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” Aelin smiled, ignoring the sound of Lorcan scoffing. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“I did.” Elide snorted. “And you said trust me, it’ll be fun!”

“Famous last words,” Rowan muttered, rolling his eyes and leaning against the wall next to Lorcan.

“I’m sorry El,” she really did look it. “I get ramped up with Halloween.”

“I know, babes,” her friend patted her arm with a small smile, “I know.”

“Are we leaving or not?” Lorcan cut it, earning a glare form Aelin and an eyeroll for Elide.

“Fine,” Aelin huffed. “But I’m doing this for Elide, not for you Salvaterre.”

“Goody,” he deadpanned.

She went to walk out the door but paused at the top of the stairs. There was something that she couldn’t put her finger on…

“Something’s blocking the porch,” Aelin said.

Elide stared at her. “What do you mean something’s blocking the porch?”

A gust of wind blew the door shut behind her and Aelin whipped around at the sound, backing up until her back hit Rowan’s chest.  

“I mean,” she explained, wrapping her arms around herself and glancing warily around the old house. “I tried to walk down the porch steps and I couldn’t.”

“What? You suddenly forgot how to walk down stairs, Galathynius?” Lorcan laughed and rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall and letting his head hit the wood.

“No, you little shit—” she whirled on him, pointing a finger.

Rowan stepped in between them before they could get any closer to each other. Aelin shook off her boyfriend’s exasperated stare and tried explaining again.

“What I mean is that I tried to leave this house, and something stopped me,” she looked around at her friends and stressed, “like I physically couldn’t get to the bottom of the stairs.”

Elide forced out a weak laugh. “Ha ha, okay, very funny. You got me. Now can we cut it out and leave?” She stepped closer to Lorcan.

Aelin met her gaze and repeated, “I’m not kidding.”

“I may be a wimp when it comes to Halloween, but I’m not an idiot.” The smaller girl huffed. “You’re really playing up the whole haunted house thing, and you know what? Props to you. You did good.” She began a slow clap that brought a smirk to Lorcan’s face. “Now drop it.”

Rowan walked past them straight for the door and pulled on the door handle. The wood creaked against the effort.

“Cut it out, Whitethorn,” Lorcan griped when the door didn’t budge.

“Uh…” Rowan tried again, this time visibly straining as he pulled on the old door. “It’s not me.”

“Fucking hell.” Lorcan gritted out, slotting Elide next to Aelin as he took Rowan’s place and pulled. And pulled. And pulled. He gripped the handle and used his entire body weight, but it didn’t move.

“What the fuck?”

*****

“’Let’s go to a haunted house’ they said, ‘It's Halloween’ they said,” Aelin began pacing around the hall. “’It’ll be fun’, they said.”

“Don’t you dare pretend like you weren’t the one saying those things,” Aedion barked at her. He and Lysandra found their way back to the front hall when they heard their friends’ yelling.

“Oh, shut up,” she waved off her cousin and tried to think.

“Has anyone tried any of the other doors?” Lysandra asked. “Or windows, or whatever?”

“Okay,” Aelin perked up. “Lys and Aedion take the second floor, Rowan and I will search this floor, and Ellie, you and your guard dog take the attic.”

“Oh fuck no!” Elide protested. “You take the creepy attic, Lorcan and I will take the ground floor.”

“Not gonna correct the guard dog thing?” Rowan smirked at his friend. All he got back was a deadpan glare.

“Fine!” Aelin threw her hands up. “You two take this floor; Rowan and I have the attic.”

“Why are we looking in the attic at all?” Rowan asked, crossing his arms. “Even if there is a window, and even if we can get it open, it would still be three stories up and way too dangerous to escape from.”

Everyone stared at him, blinking, while he tried to find someone to see his point. Finally, Aelin huffed, “This is no time for common sense, Ro.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face and grumbled, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Okay!” Elide chirped, looking a little manic. “We each take a floor, look for anything that can help, and we meet back here in twenty minutes, yeah?”

A chorus of yeahs and okays and I’m going to kill you when we get out of here, Galathynius echoed throughout the group.

“And for the love of god,” Rowan pleaded, “somebody fucking find Moonbeam.”

They all split up, taking a different section of the house. Aelin and Rowan took their time walking up the stairs to the attic, each shift in the wood sending nerves rocketing through them. When they got to the top, they shared a look before Aelin pressed her hand to the door and pushed, letting in swing in and immediately outlining the silhouette of a figure staring right at them.

Three different screams echoed in the small hallway, each higher pitched than the last.

“Stop hitting me!” Fenrys shrieked under the barrage of Aelin’s fists. At the sound of his voice, Aelin pulled back, heart racing and chest heaving, finally shining the flashlight they’d grabbed in her friend’s face.

“Fenrys?!” she hissed, “You almost gave me a heart attack! What are you doing up here?”

She could feel Rowan’s erratic heart beating from where her back met his chest, as Fenrys stared at the pair like they were the crazy ones.

“Looking for these,” he lifted his hands and she saw the two bottles he was holding. “I knew a place like this would have more booze hidden around.”

“And you thought they’d be in the attic?” Rowan asked incredulously.

“Obviously,” Fenrys rolled his eyes. “And they were, so,” he shrugged.

“Gods, whatever,” Aelin pushed passed the blond and walked further into the dark and dusty room. A single swinging light bulb illuminated the space as the three of them looked around.

“What are you two doing up here?” Fenrys shot back.

“Looking for a way out,” Rowan didn’t elaborate.

Snorting, Fenrys mimicked, “And you thought you’d find it in the attic?”

Before either of them could reply, a loud chime sounded from the dilapidated grandfather clock that was pushed against a far wall. They whirled around. Aelin ended up in front of both guys, her fists raised while Rowan reached for the closest weapon he could find and Fenrys cradled the bottle of whiskey to his chest.

They had barely had a chance to wonder how a broken clock was chiming when they heard the stairs begin to creak.

“What are you gonna do, Whitethorn?” Fenrys hissed, “Sweep a ghost to death?”

Risking a glance behind her, Aelin saw Rowan clutching a broom between his hands and gripping it like a baseball bat. She elbowed Fenrys and hissed, “A ghost is already dead, dumbass.”

“Hey,” he hissed back. “Don’t call me a dumbass what it was your dumb ass that got all of our dumb asses here in the first place, dumbass.”

“Will you please stop saying dumbass?” Rowan hissed.

Aelin shot a triumphant look at Fenrys. “Yeah, dumbass.”

“For fucks sake…”

The lone lightbulb began flickering, immediately shutting all of them up. They could still hear the stairs creaking, the sound getting closer and closer every second.

“We’re going to die,” Fenrys breathed.

“It’s fine,” Aelin’s voice came out tinny and shaking.

“The fuck you mean it's fine?!”

“It’s fine,” she said again in that same choked squeak. “It’s just a spooky clock chiming at the incorrect time while all the lights are off and strange footsteps are creeping up the stairs, in a house that won’t let us leave.”

She felt both sets of eyes land on her and knew that if she looked at either man they would be looking at her as if she had lost her mind.

“How. Are. You. So. Calm?”

She forced a laugh, but it sounded more like a strained grunt. “Oh, because, none of this is real.”

“Uh,” Rowan’s voice came from her right, “It’s very real.”

“No,” she repeated, clearing her through and drawing in a breath. “You see, if it were real then you would see a Me-shaped hole in that door. But we can’t leave this house, which means I can’t escape, which means that it isn’t real.”

There was a beat of silence before Fenrys said, “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’ve been listening to myself speak for twenty-five years.”

Rowan breathed, “Your denial both impresses and astounds me.”

“Thank you,” she breathed just as quietly. Glancing quickly between them, she asked, “Run?”

“Run.” Rowan nodded.

Another best passed and the three of them raced down the steps, screaming at whoever was coming towards them. They made it to the main floor before realizing they hadn’t run into anyone on their way down.

*****

The twenty-four-hour diner’s fluorescent lights lit up the group of seven friends who were huddled together in a booth, silently replaying the night's events in their heads.

“So,” Elide’s voice cracked, and she cleared her throat before continuing, her soft voice sounding almost obscenely loud in the near-empty diner, “What did we learn tonight?”

Groans echoed around the table.

Aedion spoke up first, “Run if you ever hear Aelin say, ‘Trust me, it’ll be fun.’”

A quiet fuck you followed but was drowned out by Lysandra who added, trailing a finger down the side of her water glass following a drop of condensation as it hit the table. “Crème de Menthe and Absinthe look way too similar. Way. Too. Similar.”

“When a door won’t open it's probably a Push, and not being supernaturally barricaded by ghosts,” Rowan groaned.

“That next time we do this, we better have snacks,” Aelin mumbled, staring a hole into the table.

“Next time?!”

*******

@acourtofsnakes @a-frog-with-a-laptop @astra-ad-mare @autumnbabylon @backtobl4ck @bankerfrog @becarefuloflove @camerooonchiu @captain-swan-is-endgame @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @doubt-less @earthtolinds @elentiyawhitethorn @feyretales @goddess-aelin @highqueenofelfhame @jorjy-jo @julemmaes @leiawritesstories @lemonade-coolattas @llyncooljones @mariamuses @moodymelanist @morganofthewildfire @nerdperson524 @rhysiedarling @rowaelinismyotp @rowaelinrambling @rowanaelinn @shyvioletcat @stardelia @superspiritfestival @sv0430 @swankii-art-teacher @thegreyj @the-lonelybarricade @the-regal-warrior @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading

[karasukarei]

Wind Breaker DVD/BR Vol. 6 bonus content – Boufuurin Vs Shishitoren Maruhi ㊙ Talk and Battle - Part 2

Continuation of the DVD/Bluray vol. 6 bonus! See part 1 here, especially for general translation notes!

Also shamelessly shilling my Wind Breaker Wind Chime Charms! Interest check is open now, do let me know your thoughts 🎐

For the rest of my translations, see this post!

Cast

Sakura (CV: Uchida Yuuma - Yuuma)

Umemiya (CV: Nakamura Yuuichi - NakaYuu)

Choji (CV: Totani Toya Kikunosuke - Toya)

Togame (CV: Umehara Yuuichirou - Umechan)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🍅🥰Umemiya 🥰🍅 vs Choji

T/N: Like Sakura vs Togame, I'm going to skip some parts and summarise some parts, as it's going to be pretty much impossible to match the dialogue and scene one on one without subbing over a video.

Choji's fighting style is very wild (per NakaYuu), and he's a pretty tricky opponent (per Yuuma).

When Toya first read the manga, he didn't really understand Choji's feelings. He thought that Choji was pretty scary, but after finishing the Shishitoren arc, he understood what was really going on. Yuuma and NakaYuu agree that Choji was pretty difficult to understand at first, and he seemed strange or uncanny.

About Umemiya's approach towards fighting: He doesn't go in with any hatred towards his opponent. When NakaYuu was voicing him, he thought about what feelings Umemiya would enter a fight with, and he thought that Umemiya doesn't go into a fight to lighten his mood or feel better about anything. It's not that he wants to fight, he's fighting so he can get the other side to start talking to him. He had to think carefully about how he should speak to Choji in the fight, as the tone shouldn't be along the lines of "I'm gonna kill you". The approach was to have it like he was throwing and catching balls with Choji.

On the ad-libs: The directors said that there was no need to ad-lib any lines that were too strong (i.e. there's no need go super strong and loud grunts, pants, etc.), in NakaYuu's opinion, although Umemiya is strong (and thus doesn't need these grunts and pants), he's the type who would do it anyway, so it was a matter of how far NakaYuu decided to go with it. As the fight had emotions to it, he felt that it was necessary to add in such ad-libs.

Umemiya isn't the type to get into a fight lightly, if he gets into a fight he does it seriously. For example, Suou's way of fighting is not something that Umemiya would do.

The recording for this scene was done with both NakaYuu and Toya present. (t/n: it's not uncommon for recordings to be done without everyone present; sometimes if there's a scheduling conflict, one seiyuu will record their lines first, and everyone else will record it later)

On the sound design: there was very little music at the start of the episode, but as Choji reaches his breaking point the BGM starts to come in.

(At the part where Choji is screaming at Umemiya to shut up over and over again) NakaYuu: Was the recording tough?

Toya: It was tough!

Umechan: He had been giving his all since the test run.

Toya: In the end I think they ended up using the take from the test.

Umechan: (The sound director) Jin-san did say that.

NakaYuu: It wasn't that the actual take was bad, it was that the flow in the test was more suitable.

Yuuma: It happens quite often, when everyone matches each other during the test based on first impressions.

NakaYuu: In the actual recording everything is calculated!

(skipping a bit here)

Yuuma: For this anime, the flow is especially important. It's easier to do it together live.

(At the part where Choji bites Umemiya's neck) NakaYuu: That's a foul. He bit a pretty serious area (i.e. the neck).

Toya: If he had gone a little deeper...

NakaYuu: That was pretty dangerous.

Umechan: He would've reached his jugular.

NakaYuu: He was probably thinking "I'm gonna die".

Yuuma: He probably has a really strong neck.

(At the part when Choji breaks down in tears before Umemiya grabs him to headbutt him) NakaYuu: While I was recording, I realised that although Umemiya says stuff like fighting is a form of conversation, and to use your fists to speak to your opponent, Umemiya is pretty straightforward when he speaks. I thought he'd be the type to get the message across by feels/vibes, but he explains everything thoroughly.

(skipping a bit here)

Yuuma: "Fighting is a form of conversation" was directed at Sakura...

NakaYuu: (speaking as Umemiya) "You don't need to speak. I'm going to do it properly so watch and learn" (t/n: HELP I'M LAUGHING CRYING)

***

In this section, the cast watches the other fights along with comment from the series director, Akai Toshifumi.

Yuuma: Coming up, we unveil behind-the-scenes stuff about Wind Breaker you cannot hear about anywhere else but here, it's Nirei's Maruhi notebook!!!

*everyone cheers*

Yuuma: First up is Sugishita vs Arima in episode 5. "Even though each side lands one punch, you can see the difference in power. He hits the back of his head into concrete, but Arima is alright too." (Quoting director Akai) It's a punch-by-punch battle. No matter how many times you watch it, it finishes in the blink of an eye.

NakaYuu: You can't really catch the highlight of Sugishita's fight. Arima's kinda weak.

*everybody laughs*

Yuuma: For the sake of Sugishita...

NakaYuu: I hope he (Arima) could've tried harder.

Yuuma: Next is also from episode 5, Suou vs Kanuma. "Action director Asaga-san did very well at showing the difference in strength through the action. Asaga-san felt at first that it looked too much like bullying the weak, but he said 'Well, it's fine! There's a real difference in strength!' and he continued working on it with renewed vigour/" (Quoting director Akai)

NakaYuu: There's a difference between people who have only fought before and people who have actually gotten things done.

Yuuma: You can see the difference in experience.

NakaYuu: He's playing with him. He makes no wasted moves.

Yuuma: No matter what you say...

NakaYuu: Poor thing.

(They watch Kanuma get beaten up a bit more.)

NakaYuu: In a sense, I think Suou is kind of pissed off. With this difference in strength he can get Kanuma to give up, but he doesn't do it and plays around with him instead. What a terrible guy!

Yuuma: Suou is definitely....

NakaYuu: I heard that Suou is popular (amongst the fans), let's drop his rank. The reason this guy is so popular is only because has has so many elements! (t/n: i think he's referring to design elements; I inferred this from the rest of this convo) If Umemiya were to wear an eyepatch!

Yuuma: That's because you're the person voicing Umemiya! Please be more tolerant.

NakaYuu: He's also trying his best!

Yuuma: Next up is another fight that includes scenes from the past, Hiiragi vs Sako. "This was also mainly done by Asaga-san. The exchange of punches between both parties was well complemented by the strength and emotions in their voices. I think Sako getting more and more talkative is adorable. Even for me, I'm the kind of person who prefers to follow others, so I understand Sako's feelings. Though it's not part of the fight, Umemiya's line here was really cool and I thought it was a good ending." (t/n: he's referring to this line - "If there's something you want to say, just say it; that's the kind of thing I want to listen to.")

NakaYuu: They've known each other for a long time, so they probably have a lot of things to say.

Coming up next - Sakura vs Togame, Umemiya vs Choji, Comments from Natori???!!!

[familybusiness1979]

Hide And Seek ~ Sam Winchester

Sam X Fem reader

The reader calls Sam for help after she starts having strange dreams, and a man with yellow eyes starts to follow her, Sam going through the same thing is bound and determined to stop it.

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

Sam's pov

It was late the rain came down hard, and the wind blew even harder I tossed and turned in my motel room trying to block out the sound of the thunder, but despite my desperate attempts, it was no use.

At about three o'clock my phone rang, and an unknown number appeared,

"Hello?" "Sam? Sam Winchester?" a woman's voice comes on the other end,

"Who is this?" I asked, "Sam, it's me Y/n."

Y/n I haven't heard from her since the breakup, which was about a year before Jessica. "Y/n hey umm it's been a while," I said still in shock "I know, I'm sorry I'm calling so late but I need your help."

"What's wrong are you in trouble?"

"umm I don't know exactly, I saw you In town and that's why I figured I should call, can we meet up tomorrow?".

"yeah of course, where?" "There's a little dinner called Aunties, it's one North Main Ave."

"yeah I know it, I'll meet you for breakfast?"

"Yeah the would be awesome say 8:00?"

"sounds good."

We hung up, I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night millions of thoughts raced through me what could be so bad for her to pick up and call after all this time and why me?

The next morning Dean and I went to the little café and waited, about fifteen minutes later she walked through the door with a stroller.

She slightly smiled at me but didn't make much eye contact at first. "Hey," I said "Sam." we stood there awkwardly at first until my brother cleared his throat.

"Oh umm, this is my brother Dean." she nodded to him "Please have a seat," I said, I sat down next to my brother so we would both be able to face her while we talked.

"So you're a mom?" it came more like a question than a statement, "Yeah this is William," she said she looked at me as if the name was supposed to mean something.

"well nice to meet you, William." I cooed,

"So why are we here?" Dean piped in,

"Right I umm don't wanna sound crazy I just didn't know who else to go to and I thought this topic may be more your area." she took a deep breath why was she so nervous, she wasn't the kind to beat around the bush.

"so a couple of months ago I started getting these headaches, and then more recently I've started.ro have these dreams."

"What kind of dreams?"

"Well it started with just seeing this figure and then I started watching people die," she said in a whisper

"For instance, the guy in the paper was stabbed to death in an alleyway I saw that happen a week before in my dream to the same guy!"

"I know I sound crazy..."

"No, you don't, it's been happening to me too."

"Have you seen him?" she asked

"The man with the yellow eyes?" I questioned

"Wait you have seen him too!"

"I only see him when I have visions."

"Mines deeper than that, I've seen him in Williams nursery."

"doing what?" Dean asked

"He just stares at him, sometimes when I'm walking home from work late I see him following me as well."

"Dean..." I start and he cuts me off "I know." was all he said we were all silent for what seemed like forever, Dean was the first to speak.

"When was the last time you saw this thing?"

"I see him almost every night, he just keeps repeating 'I have a plan' ."

"Alright here's what we are going to do, I want you to come to our motel room tonight, in the meantime Sam and I will do some digging and see if there's anything we can do to get rid of this thing, once and for all."

"Don't you think Dad would have done it already?" I chimed in "We have to try for both of you." after we finished breakfast y/n took little William home to pack overnight bags for them.

Dean and I went back and spent the rest of the day in the motel room trying to figure out what this thing was, what it wanted, and how we could get rid of it.

_______________________________________________

So I stopped here just because I wanna see if anyone would read it as a series and to hear any thoughts on it!!