#i was trying to get her to combine like eight pictures but she just picked her favorite and did that one AND STILL BOTCHED IT

[girliism]

girldad!art who is currently shopping for halloween costumes.

“are we doing family costumes this year?” art asked you. halloween was in a week and surprisingly spirit halloween still had a few costumes. “no, she said she’s too old for that now. she wants to be a zombie.” you told art, picking up one of the zombie makeup kits. art made a confused face. not many eight year old girls wanna be zombies for halloween. “why a zombie?”

you dropped the making up kit into the shopping basket. “patrick’s been binging the walking dead with the girls when he watches them.” you reveal, having only found out a while ago yourself. “remind me to have a conversation with him about that later.” art mumbled.

—

“can we trick or treat at lily’s house? her neighborhood has better candy.” your daughter spoke, interrupting you trying to do her makeup for the hundredth time. “yes, we can if you stop talking and let me finish this.” you told her and she immediately straighten up and closed her mouth. but because she was an antsy eight year old that only lasted a minute until she was back to squirming in her seat and asking you random questions.

you put the final touches on her zombie makeup before picking up the mirror flipping it towards her. “alright girly, take a look.” you watched as her eyes and her smile grew wider. “mommy, i look so good!” she took the mirror from you to examine her face up closer. “let’s go show daddy.”

—

you and art stood in the kitchen while your daughter hide behind the wall. “both of you cover your eyes and i’ll count to three.” she order the two of you. “but i’ve already seen your outfit.” you said. she stuck her little arm out and pointed a finger at you. “both. eyes. closed.” she demanded with a bossy attitude you liked to pretend she totally didn’t get from you.

after peeking around the corner and seeing that both yours and art’s eyes were closed she walked out to stand in front of you. “ok, open your eyes in three …two…. one.” you and art tore your hands away from your eyes. “look daddy, i’m you but as a zombie!” she beamed.

“you look amazing! oh my god.” art smiled at his daughter who stood dress up in an all white tennis outfit that had little dirt and blood stains and her hand holding a bloody tennis racket. “we used the picture from when you and uncle patrick won the doubles as a reference.” she said. “i can see that.” art moved to pick her up, an action that was getting a little strenuous given how big she was now but he hasn’t throw his back out yet so he supposes it’s still ok. “you found my old hat and everything. and look at this makeup, mommy did very good.” he turned to you giving you a smile. “how did you come up with such a costume?”

your daughter took a deep breath getting ready to explain. “well, first i was just gonna be a plain zombie but there was gonna be hundreds of zombies tonight and i thought that was too boring. so i decided to combine my two favorite things, you and zombies.” she said with a zombieish groan at the end snapping her teeth at art. you laughed at their antics before clapping your hands together. “ok, time for pictures so we can go.” art let her down to the ground and she ran off to get her tennis ball looking trick or treat basket before posing up a storm for you.

—

“whoa, zombie art donaldson. awesome costume kid.” patrick greeted the three of you in front of the zweig house before high-fiving your daughter. tashi and lily soon came out of the house. “who are supposed to be.” you asked lily. “spider gwen from into the spiderverse. see mommy let me put in pink clip ins.” she showed off the curly pink clips that blended in with her hair. “nice.” you gave her a nod of approval.

more pictures were taken of the girls in their costumes standing in front of tashi and patrick’s halloween decorations.

“candy candy candy.” lily and your daughter chanted, their arms hooked together as they skipped ahead of you and tashi. art and patrick hung a little further back. “hey, patrick can i take to you.” patrick hummed. “could you maybe not watch the walking dead with two eight year olds.” art suggested. patrick scoffed. “oh come on. we just got to season three things are getting good i can’t leave the girls hanging. plus i cover their eyes at any inappropriate part so don’t worry.” patrick patted art’s back. art shook his head mumbling an “ok.”

—

the girls circled the block at least three times to get as much candy before heading back to tashi and patrick’s house where they traded back and forth until they crashed on the couch.

art carried his daughter out to the car bidding good night to tashi and patrick. once at home and inside your held your arms out so art could pass your daughter off to you to get her ready for bed but art said that he would do it.

“sorry, we didn’t do family costumes. i know you wanted to.” she sleepily mumbled. she had her teeth brushed and pajamas on, face clean of all the makeup that art gently wiped off. “you don’t need to apologize i’m fine with it. plus your costume was way better anyway.” art pincher her sides lightly. she let out light giggles. “thanks. good night, daddy.”

“good night.” art tucked her in tight and placed one last kiss on her forehead before shutting off her lamp and leaving.”

(happy halloween!!)

[flowersandskeletons526]

"Put Your Gloves Up" - Warriors Concept Album fanfic (part 5/?)

This is turning into a fucking novel. I have a plan for it, I swear. It is going SOMEWHERE. Enjoy! Previous chapter

--------

That was how Rembrandt ended up leading Ajax to her apartment. She’d texted Swan, asking if Cleon’s offer was still open. The answer of course was a resounding yes, and then Swan started texting asking if everything was alright, where she was, if she was hurt, and started calling when Rembrandt didn’t reply. Rembrandt turned her phone off. She knew she was going to get ripped to shreds for something that stupid and the explanation of “I was with Ajax so I was fine” wasn’t going to help, but she didn’t care. She had to focus before she lost the nerve to do this.

She made Ajax wait on the fire escape while she checked to make sure the apartment truly was empty. Ajax made a face as she looked around the living room, kicking at a pile of beer cans. She muttered a curse under her breath as Rembrandt led her to the locked door of her father’s bedroom. Taking a knee to examine the lock, she looked up at Rembrandt after a minute.

“Do you want me to pick it or break it down?” she asked.

“You know how to pick locks?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Uh, okay. Just break the shit down. I don’t want to be here when he comes home.”

“Stand back.”

Rembrandt stood back. Ajax lifted one leg and booted the door in with a single kick, the doorframe around the knob reduced to splinters from the force of it. Rembrandt was more than a little impressed as Ajax stood aside and waved her in.

The room smelled like unwashed clothes, stale vomit, and cigarettes. She almost gagged. The bed was unmade, trash strewn across the floor, the only furniture being the bed and a dresser with cracked drawers and a missing leg. Ajax stood watch by the door while Rembrandt searched, rooting through the dresser in hopes that he’d hidden them somewhere in the back of a drawer. 

The only thing he had in there was a pistol. 

Ajax came up behind her and shut the drawer before she could look at the gun for too long. Her face must have given away the terrifying fact that she had no idea he had it. “Check the closet,” she suggested. 

Rembrandt checked. Tucked away in the corner of the top shelf, she spotted a small safe. Ajax got it down for her, leaning over her shoulder as she knelt with it on the floor. 

“I don’t think I can pick that,” she said, gesturing to the combination lock. “Not without my actual tools.”

“It’s good, I know the code,” Rembrandt said. 

“What is it?”

“My mother’s birthday.” She put in the combination, and the safe flicked open. “He still loves her. He just never liked me.”

Ajax put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She let it stay there. Inside the safe, she found a stack of cash, an old rosary, a polaroid picture of her mother in her wedding dress, and a small white envelope. Within the envelope: all of Rembrandt’s documents. She could have cried right then and there if she had the time, but she didn’t. She left everything else, locked the safe, and put it back in the closet where she’d found it. 

She didn’t have the time to break down, but she had the time to throw her arms around Ajax’s neck, clinging to her for dear life but abruptly letting go before Ajax got the chance to reciprocate. Returning to her bedroom, she grabbed a small duffle bag from the closet and filled it with a pair of boots, her nice art supplies and sketchbooks, and enough clothes to get by before she got the money to buy more. She didn’t want or try to take all her possessions. She just needed to get out of there. 

Ajax carried the duffle bag for her as they made their escape back down to the street. Rembrandt, for once in her life, didn’t feel the need to run, but honestly wasn’t sure if she could with how badly she was shaking. Maybe eight or nine blocks away from her old building, she stopped. She felt Ajax’s hand on her back between her shoulder blades. Wordlessly, the brawler led her into a secluded alley where she pressed her back to the wall and sank to the ground.

Pulling her knees to her chest, she hid her head in her arms and tried uselessly to slow her breathing. She felt Ajax sit beside her, their shoulders brushing. The taller woman nudged her. She uncovered her head just enough to look at her. 

Ajax offered a pack of cigarettes. “Want one?”

The pair smoked in silence as the sun rapidly set over the city. Rembrandt scrubbed at her eyes, trying to stop herself from crying. She thought she did an okay job, at least enough to where Ajax didn’t see. The cold from the asphalt and the brick wall soaked through her clothes but she didn’t care. 

She was out. She was finally fucking out.

“Are Swan and Cleon home yet?” Ajax asked after the sky went dark. 

“Probably,” Rembrandt sighed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s out looking for me after I turned off my phone like that.” 

“Let’s hope she’s not panicking too bad. I really would not like to deal with her trying to kick my ass tonight.” Ajax stood and helped Rembrandt to her feet. “C’mon. I’ll walk you home.”

“Are you sure?”

“I need to talk to Cleon.”

They were both wrong about Swan: she was still at home, not out searching like Rembrandt guessed, and completely, utterly freaking the fuck out. She argued with Cleon and Cochise, both of whom were trying to calm her down, while Fox sat with Cowgirl on the couch embroiled in a similar conversation. Rembrandt caught Cochise saying Ajax’s name and a slew of curses from Swan in response. 

Everyone startled into silence when the door opened. Swan wasted no time pulling Rembrandt close to her and away from Ajax, her arms a protective fortress as Rembrandt buried her face against her chest. Swan tangled her fingers in Rembrandt’s hair, cradling her head, holding her like someone might try to separate them if she loosened her grip. Through Swan’s arms, she watched Ajax cross the room and hand off Rembrandt’s bag to Fox before going to stand with Cleon and Cochise. 

Swan pulled back and took Rembrandt’s face in her hands, tilting her head up. “Are you okay?” she whispered. “What happened? You just asked me if Cleon still had a room for you and then your phone started going to voicemail. I thought you were hurt.”

“I know,” Rembrandt said. “I’m sorry.”

“Rembrandt,” Cochise called. Swan let go of Rembrandt enough for her to face the group, everyone’s eyes trained on her. “Tell them.” 

Rembrandt didn’t know how to explain. Silently, she pulled her collar down to reveal the hand-shaped bruise encircling her throat. There was a chorus of gasps and sharp inhales, hisses through gritted teeth, but no audible words as Rembrandt fixed her shirt to hide the marks again. Swan looked close to crying, but she briefly squeezed her eyes shut to get rid of the tears and plastered on a strong, stoic expression as she hugged Rembrandt again.

Fox got up and put her arms around both of them. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. 

“It’s okay, Fox,” Rembrandt said gently. “I’m okay. I promise.”

Cleon cleared her throat. Swan and Fox let go of Rembrandt and stepped back as Cleon gestured to the kitchen table. “Rembrandt, why don’t you and I talk for a second?” she said. Rembrandt looked back at Swan, who inclined her head in a way that made it clear Rembrandt really did not have a choice in this conversation anymore. “Swan, Ajax, Cochise, stay here. Cowgirl, please take Fox into Swan’s room for now.” 

Fox began to protest, but Cowgirl shushed her and led her out of the common area to the bedroom. Rembrandt sat at the table, Swan posted at her shoulder, Ajax and Cochise standing against the wall behind Cleon as she sat across from Rembrandt. The older woman laid her hand in the middle of the table, palm up, and Rembrandt took it. 

“I know you haven’t wanted me to do anything about your… situation,” Cleon began. “But staying here, you’re under my protection now. Officially. No exceptions. And this-” She pointed sharply at Rembrandt’s neck. “-is unforgivable. There is no ignoring this anymore.”

Rembrandt squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. Swan rubbed her back to comfort her. She met Ajax’s cold stare over Cleon’s shoulder, and the brawler crossed her arms and nodded in a go on gesture. “What do I have to do?”

“You? Nothing, other than give me his address. Building, apartment number, workplace, and schedule. Are there any weapons in the apartment?”

“Y-Yeah. He has a gun.”

“What?” Swan exclaimed. 

“I didn’t know he had it.”

“What kind of gun?” Cochise asked.

Rembrandt looked to Ajax. The brawler said, “A pistol. Looked like a Glock 9mm but I didn’t check.”

Cleon nodded. “Alright. Ajax, could you get me that notepad off the top of the fridge?”

She had Rembrandt write out her address and where her father worked, the bars she knew he frequented, and his general schedule. Rembrandt stayed seated at the table with Cleon while Cowgirl brought Fox back into the kitchen. There was no mention of the previous conversation around Fox; she was still too young to be clued in on exactly what it was Cleon did when talking failed to resolve issues. She gave Rembrandt a long, fierce hug and only let go when Cowgirl insisted it was getting late and she needed to walk her home. 

Cleon brought Ajax and Cochise to the corner and had a harsh, hushed discussion. The pair shared a look and nodded before heading straight for the door.

“Cleon, wait a minute!” Rembrandt said, jumping to her feet. Swan put an arm around her. “You’re not…” She swallowed hard. “You’re not gonna kill him, are you?”

Cleon flashed a soft, reassuring smile. “No, Rembrandt, nothing like that.”

“Can’t learn a lesson if you’re dead,” Ajax growled under her breath. Cochise elbowed her hard in the side to get her to shut up. 

“Cochise, Ajax, go,” Cleon ordered. The two of them nodded respectfully and marched out the door. Keeping her gentle expression, Cleon held Rembrandt by her shoulders, watching her with calm eyes. “That bastard is never going to put his hands on you again. On my life, I’ll make sure of that.”

Rembrandt took a deep breath and nodded. “Thank you.”

“You two should go to bed. The third bedroom is sort of a makeshift office right now but I’ll have it cleared soon. Do you mind sharing a room with Swan until then?” 

“I don’t mind.”

“Do you need anything? Tylenol? An ice pack?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

“Alright. Goodnight.”

“Night, Cleon,” said Swan before leading Rembrandt to the bedroom. 

Rembrandt sat on the edge of the bed as Swan locked the door. The older girl knelt in front of her, taking both her hands and holding tight, her face scrunched up as she tried to keep her composure. 

“I’m sorry, Rem,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I didn’t go with you.”

“It’s okay,” Rembrandt said. “I didn’t even think about breaking in until Ajax suggested it.” Maybe sharing that was a bad idea, because Swan’s eye twitched and her expression darkened as she turned away, gritting her teeth. Rembrandt put a hand under her chin and tilted her face up. She closed her eyes, and Swan leaned in to press their foreheads together. “This isn’t a dream, right? I’m out of there?”

“It’s real. You’re here.” 

Rembrandt smiled. A tiny chuckle bubbled up out of her chest, growing into near-hysterical laughter, her fingers digging into Swan’s shoulders and holding on for dear life as the laughs dissolved into painful, hiccuping sobs. Swan stood and pulled Rembrandt into bed with her. She wrapped her in her arms and cradled her close to her chest, wiping her tears away and whispering gentle reassurances, pressing light kisses on her forehead. Rembrandt let herself cry, fully and unbidden, for the first time in her life. 

She woke up still huddled in Swan’s embrace. Propping herself up on one elbow, she looked down at Swan’s sleeping face, her hair splayed out messily across the pillow. She stirred and slowly opened her eyes when Rembrandt shifted her arm wrapped around her waist. 

“Hey,” she mumbled as Rembrandt brushed a stray lock of hair off her face. “You’re up early.”

Rembrandt glanced out the window at the gray dawn breaking. “I guess. I just woke up.”

“Lay back down. You don’t have to go to school ’til eight.”

“If I lay down, I’m going to fall asleep again.”

“Do you even want to go to school today? Just call in and excuse yourself for being sick.”

“We have to walk Fox.”

“Fox can ditch.”

“No, she can’t. If the truancy officers start getting on her ass, her foster parents are gonna be more strict than they already are.” 

“Fuck, that’s right. Okay.” Swan sat up and stretched, her back audibly popping. “Do you want to borrow any clothes today?”

“No, I grabbed a few outfits yesterday. I’ll take a redbull if you have it, though.”

“You mean the shit I keep in the fridge specifically for you? Sure.”

Rembrandt clung loosely to Swan’s sleeve as she followed her out of the bedroom. She was exhausted from the events of the past forty-eight hours and honestly wished she’d slept a little longer or even taken Swan’s suggestion and excused herself from school entirely. But she couldn’t. Maybe she could get away with missing a day but Fox was still a minor and the foster care system was so monumentally fucked and they couldn’t risk her possibly getting moved again. 

Leaning her head on Swan’s shoulder in the kitchen, she failed to notice the two figures sitting in the living room. Swan, however, did not. She felt Swan tense as she handed her an energy drink. She followed Swan’s eyes to the couch. 

Cochise laid stretched out, flipping through channels on the muted TV. She sported a bruised jaw and bandaged knuckles and held one arm close to her chest like it hurt to move it. There was an ice pack tucked between her elbow and her ribs. She spared a glance at Swan and Rembrandt and waved before returning to her search for a good show. 

Sitting in the armchair with her feet propped on the coffee table was none other than Ajax. She had two black eyes from a busted and possibly broken nose. One knee had a bag of frozen peas resting atop it. Unlike Cochise, she didn’t bandage her knuckles. Instead, she inspected them idly, scabbed and split open, bruises extending halfway down her hands. She flexed her hands as if testing the severity of her wounds. Her fingers twitched as she tried to fully extend them, but if it hurt, she didn’t show it. 

“Cochise, you good?” Swan called. She stressed Cochise’s name to make it clear she was not asking Ajax. 

“Yep,” Cochise replied. “We’re good. Rough night.” 

Rembrandt knew better than to ask further. 

Swan patted Rembrandt’s shoulder. “I’m gonna use the bathroom and get dressed. I’ll be right back.” 

Rembrandt nodded. Once Swan was out of sight, she stepped into the living room, standing behind the couch. Cochise looked up at Rembrandt, then at Ajax, and sat up with a quiet groan. “I think I’ll go outside for a smoke. Ajax, care to join?”

“No thanks,” Ajax said. “Need a light?”

“All good. I’ll be on the stoop if you need me.” 

And with that, Rembrandt and Ajax were left alone. 

Rembrandt sat on the couch closest to Ajax, leaning over the arm and lowering her voice. “Thank you. For everything yesterday.”

“It needed to happen,” Ajax said simply. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay. Just happy to be out of there, really.” 

Ajax hummed. She reached out to touch Rembrandt’s shoulder, testing the waters. When Rembrandt didn’t move away, she hooked a finger in her shirt collar and tugged it down just enough to reveal the bruises. Something dark and cold flashed in her eyes. She gritted her teeth and exhaled sharply through her nose. Rembrandt took her hand and moved it to the arm of the couch but didn’t let go, brushing her thumb over the scrapes on Ajax’s knuckles. They stayed in that moment for just a second before mutually pulling away.

“You’re staying with Swan?” Ajax asked.

“Cleon’s going to clear out her office to make a bedroom.”

She nodded. “She’s a good woman.”

“Yeah. She is.”

Ajax flashed a lopsided grin. Rembrandt’s heart rate skyrocketed, and her face went red as she returned the smile. Brushing her fingertips along Rembrandt’s bicep, Ajax said, “I bet that smile gets you out of a lot of trouble, doesn’t it?”

Rembrandt laughed. “It usually gets me into it.”

Ajax raised her eyebrows. She opened her mouth to say something but the sound of a door opening cut her off. Rembrandt moved to the other end of the couch as Ajax leaned back in the arm chair, expecting Swan to come into the living room, but another door closed and that was all. Rembrandt sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

“You might want to dip before she comes in here and gets pissed,” Ajax chuckled.

“Yeah,” Rembrandt sighed. “I have to get going soon, anyway.”

“I don’t think I’ll be at the gym today. Cochise, either. But are you going to be in tomorrow?”

“I will.” 

“Text me.”

Rembrandt grinned. “I will.”

Maybe it was a red flag that she was hiding these conversations from her best friend, but at the moment, she couldn’t really bring herself to care.

[gubbles-owo]

Contingency Contract is upon us! It's designed to be fully modular, so just pick which risks you feel comfortable with and have a go. Don't get discouraged by how overwhelming it can be at first. It can be quite fun to make the perfect match between the risks you pick and the operators you go with.

aaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAA

babey's first CC clear... It took me a few tries to clear without any risks, albeit with the "no guards or supporters" thing already in mind. Once I finally cleared it, realized I could add on three risks ($$$ guards and supporters, max squad size 10, 1 base health) without changing up my strategy at all.

Later I did a similar run with the class toggle flipped (aka the Gubbles Learn Not to Over-Rely on Manticore Challenge™). This was woefully scuffed. The first attempt was ended prematurely when the battery in my mouse died partway through, and the second had a number of egregious tactical errors. I know how to better pull it off, but I somehow managed to clear it on try 2 so fuck it I'll take it

I was also able to pull off one of the early challenge missions (smth like "ur attack suck" and "edgy slicey boi have more hp" combo). From that I finally learned how powerful the combined slow from Manticore + Suzu really is, it's like. TURBO SLOW. er, um. extra slow. jumbo slow. molasses. paint dry. whatever u get the picture For all of em I had to borrow a friend's Kyato, and ngl I still kinda feel like I cheated? But when presented with the choice of dual-bladed delete cannon or literally not being able to clear the base stage at all... I suppose I'll take the victory supported by friends >w>`

This is the highest amount of contingency bucks I will ever possess, and of course with such a limited sum of funds and an exclusive pool of things with which to purchase with such funds, it's paramount I take the time to really consider all of my options, carefully make an informed and calculated decision on what would best be wor--

or I could immediately just manticore outfit. It's okay she's worth it So @lilyblackdrawside, I know you sent this ask much earlier on in the event, and I intended to attempt it earlier, but for a while I just... didn't feel much up for it? Hard content is hard, babey player is babey, and life always finds a way to intervene. Lack of interest, hyperfocus on N64 development, hyperfocus on beating Perfect Dark for the first time, chronic illness, mental illness, going outside for walks on the precious two (2) days it didn't feel like instant heatdeath outside. Y'know, the usual. But given that this is the last CC-- and also the first CC I was even able to participate in-- I gotta say, I wish I got to it sooner. Generally speaking, challenging content usually ain't my thing unless I'm really interested in taking it on. And in the context of arknights, I've been burned out enough by the difficulty curve of the events and complexity of managing a ton of ops to really seek any of it out. But while even the risk 3 CC was difficult... I had fun! Eliminating certain classes got me to better think of how to get the most of what ops I had available. A stronger boss and squishier ops got me to think more critically about how to keep my ops alive through the onslaught, and to discover a pretty powerful combination of slows to crank the most out of what DPS I could manage. I bet I could've managed to squeeze in a risk 4, even, if I hadn't taken it all on in the last two days of the very last CC. Not recognizing an appreciation or enjoyment of something until it's just about gone... kind of an ongoing theme with my life lately, eh? It was my first real CC, but I'm gonna miss it. Oh also the music. The music straight up kicks ass.

Also someone borrowed my Vulcan a bunch fsr?? I know who took out Manticore that one time, but as for Vulcan's eight excursions up to risk fucking ten, I've no clue who brought her along for that ride. First time Anyone has used my support units, really, so I'm glad they could be useful!! anyway everyone look at my (virtual) (anime) (adopted) daughter, she's so cool and confident and she's grown so much and im lov her

[daisy7beauty]

The bridge — Yunjin x reader (Part 1)

summary: Y/n hasn't lived a happy life, but maybe, an encounter at a bridge might change that

pairings: Huh Yunjin x fem!reader

tags: angst, it gets worse before it gets better, non!idol au

word count: 2,8k

warnings: su!cide, sexual abuse (implied/talked about but never described), abuse in general, violence, part 1 is just suffering (I'm sorry)

——————————

When y/n was young, her mother used to say that the strongest people hide their scars the best. Her mom often talked about suffering, pain, scars, and the inability to heal if you didn't try.

Y/n thought it had to do with the fact that her mother was deeply religious, to the point that she pushed her fate onto everyone near her, mainly y/n. When she thought about it now, she realized how obvious it was that all of that talk stemmed from a much different place but cut her some slack. She was just a child.

Y/n realized her misconception about her mother a few days after her eleventh birthday when she found her in the living room after she returned from school. It was Mother's Day, and she drew a picture of the two of them together at a playground just a few meters away from the apartment block they lived in and used to visit frequently. She wanted to ask her mother if she wanted to go there together and maybe get some ice cream after. Instead, she found her hanging body, face purple and puffed up like an overripe grape. She still can't eat them to this day, reminding her of that awful day.

Y/n found it funny now, the age-old saying that the daughter takes after the mother. Her father used to say it every time he got mad. That she looked like her, that she was just as useless as her, just as pathetic…he knew it cut deep. That y/n despised her mother the most out of every living being on the planet.

She knew it was wrong to hold such a grudge against a person that was long gone, but she couldn't help but feel that what her mother did was selfish.

Y/n knew that she was a bad person. Everyone said so when she confessed to what she felt about her mother, but she didn't care. That woman left her alone with her father, and that was enough. 

That sick fuck, oh god, how she hated him. Every night she dreamed of the day she could finally escape from this hell hole, running out and never looking back.

She had a plan written out in her notebook from when she was thirteen. It had been altered and modified to be as effective as possible, but the main goal remained. Get enough money and leave forever. 

Over the years, y/n had learned how to trick her father so that he would remain clueless about her plan. She knew that if he ever found out about what she'd been planning, it would be her end.

She had convinced him that she was taking extra classes after school to get better grades but, in reality, she started working at a cafe far away from their home. It took her around 30 minutes just to get there, but it was better than having her father find out.

The pay was abysmal, but after working there for almost four years and not spending a single won, she managed to save up to around 75,000,000₩.

The money is safely stored in an old backpack she used to wear in middle school. The good thing about her father not doing any cleaning or cooking is that he will never find where she hid it.

It's not as much as y/n would want, but because her father doesn't allow her to leave the apartment on weekends, she can't pick up the long shifts that would make it easier to gain more money. 

“Y/n! Where's the dinner? It's almost eight!”

Speaking of the devil. The apartment door slammed shut with a loud bang. Y/n could hear his feet dragging on the floor, and combined with the slightly slurred speech, she could tell he was drunk again.

“It's on the stove. I wanted it to still be warm for you. I will plate it soon.”

Y/n responded to him, standing up from the small bed she was resting on. Since her mother died, they have never upgraded the furniture, well, her furniture.

She still had to sleep on the tiny bed with pink butterflies she got for her tenth birthday. She had to deal with her feet dangling over the edge while her father bought a new stone bed for himself every year, insisting that he needed it because of his back problems.

“I don't want it soon, y/n. I want it now. Now get your ass here so I don't have to do something I will regret.”

The girl clenched her fists before entering the kitchen, trying to calm down. It was wide and spacious, littered with the newest equipment, a complete 180° from her room that looked stuck in the past. 

Her father was sitting on a chair in the center of the table. His hands gripping both edges, legs spread out as far as humanly possible. His chin was pointed upwards, eyes forming small slits from where his gaze followed y/n as she moved around. It was as if he was trying to show her who was the boss, who ran this household in any way possible.

“What's this?”

He asked as she started placing the food in front of him. Meat in the middle on the biggest plate, and rice in a bowl on the right. Side dishes belonged on the left and were organized by how much he liked them, kimchi always first, followed by the rest. A glass of chilled beer belonged next to the meat, closest to his hand.

“Bulgogi marinated in a sweet soy, sesame, and garlic sauce with-”

Her father cut her off mid-sentence, an irritated look on his face.

“I know what it is, y/n. I'm not dumb. I'm asking because I had the same meal yesterday. Are you getting lazy? No one will want to marry you if you can't switch it up sometimes.”

He scoffed at her, taking a long swing from his beer and placing it back on the table with unnecessary force.

“No…I just bought a bit more and didn't want to waste it. I can make something else if you want to…”

Y/n answered through gritted teeth, trying not to sound too annoyed as she knew what that would cost her. Her father just waved her off, mumbling under his breath how incompetent she was.

God, how much she just wanted to pick up the empty bottle of beer from the counter and smash it on his head, but that would get her nowhere. She just had to remind herself that this would soon be over.

Her birthday was tomorrow. In just a few hours, she will be eighteen. And then she will finally get out of here, the one-way ticket to Busan already in her bag.

As she got ready for bed that night, slipping on the worn-out pajamas that were too short on her, she checked on the hidden bag one last time, making sure that everything was in its place so that there was no way that anything would go wrong.

As she slid under the covers, the door to her room opened. The small crack let the light from the living room in and cast a dark shadow on the figure of her father. 'Enjoy it as much as you can, father.' Y/n thought, clenching her hands together as he removed the thin blanket from her body. 'Because this is the last time you will touch me like this.'

——————————

To her utter horror, when she returned from school the next day, her father was sitting in the kitchen, her 'secret bag' next to him on the floor, its contents spilling out on the pristinely clean linoleum, almost as if they were dirtying it. He had a glass of whisky in his hand, the cubes of ice in it almost melted and he was waiting, waiting for her.

“F-father-”

Y/n's voice trembled. Her expression betrayed how she felt. Wide eyes, mouth slightly open. The deafening silence was interrupted by her school bag falling on the floor, her fingers dropping it from shock.

“Good evening, my dear daughter…I realize that this is quite a special day for you.”

He paused for a while, looking her straight in the eyes. He was smirking slightly. It was the closest thing to a smile that y/n had ever seen from him.

Even before her mother died, he always had that constant look of disgust and utter disappointment reflected on his face. The only exception from this was when he beat her or came into her room late at night.

That look of pure power and satisfaction as he watched his daughter get forcefully put back into her 'rightful place' that he always described. Beneath him in every way possible.

“Happy birthday, y/n. I know you've been looking forward to this day for a long time. Do you even know how I felt? When I found this 'diary' of yours?”

He slammed the small book onto the table. The loud 'slap' made y/n flinch in place, hands instinctively moving up to shield her face. A habit she developed awfully young. 

“I- When- When did you…”

Y/n couldn't will herself to finish the sentence. Her voice was so quiet that she could barely hear it. It felt like she was naked, stripped bare, and presented in front of her father to observe. His piercing dark eyes that have lost their humanity a long time ago, burrowing deep into her flesh.

She wanted to throw up. Not being able to stomach the way he looked at her. She could feel his superiority oozing out of him as she once again proved that he was two steps ahead of her.

“Almost a year ago. You didn't close your drawer properly. I guess you grew too comfortable, thinking I only entered your room at night and when you were there.”

He paused again, letting his words resonate around the room, taking a sip of his watered-down whiskey.

“You have no idea how hard it was for me to stop myself from beating you to death right that day when you returned from school. But that wouldn't be fair. That would be giving you the easy way out, leaving me in this shit hole alone and without anyone to make it more bearable. Then I wouldn't have someone to take my frustrations on.”

He stopped talking, mumbling something under his breath that y/n couldn't hear. Picking up the glass again, he took a long sip, clearing it of any remaining liquid before throwing it in her direction. It shattered against the door, his aim affected by the alcohol. 

“You think you can just leave me here after everything that you put me through!”

His voice was getting louder by the second as he grabbed the bag and threw it at y/n in anger. For a moment, she had hoped that someone would hear the screaming and call the police, but she knew that even if someone did, it wouldn't change a thing.

Her father was a well-respected priest that always got away by saying that y/n was just a problematic teenager that didn't respect her father enough. Most of the police officers in their area attended his sermons and believed everything he fed them, like pigs. 

The money spilled all over the floor, all of the hard work she put in in the last four years being trampled on by her sick son of a bitch father that couldn't even admit to his own faults.

“I don't think so…I don't think so…”

Her father kept repeating as he removed his belt, wrapping it around his hand. When the first hit came, she couldn't even cry out in pain, her body refusing to make noise, trained by the constant beatings and threats to make everything worse if she kept crying.

At first, she just stayed there, curled up on the floor as she took hit after hit, her skin darkening from the bruises. Her father slipped on some of the spilled banknotes and was now kneeling in front of her. She could see directly into his face, that twisted smirk mocking her.

'No, no, I can't continue living like this. What about my future, my dreams, my-'

Y/n's thought ran at a hundred miles per hour. She couldn't live like this anymore. She was an adult, a human being. Someone worthy of love and affection. Her father couldn't dictate her life anymore!

She gritted her teeth and reached for the bag just a few centimeters away from her reach. Y/n had gone over the contents of that bag a thousand times, so she knew a small switchblade rested in the small pocket on its right side. She had put it there as protection if she couldn't find a safe place to sleep at night and had to spend some time on the street.

Ignoring her father's hits, who had now switched from his belt to his hands, she slid the knife from its confinement, tightly gripping it by its base, the silver blade glinting under the fluorescent lights.

Her fingertips had gone white from the lack of circulation as she held it in her twitching hand. With as much force as she could exert in her uncomfortable position, she stabbed the blade into her father's side, holding it there for a short while, before twisting it.

The man let out a horrifying scream as he rolled away from her. Before he could even realize what was happening, she ripped it from him and buried it back inside, ignoring the pool of blood forming underneath him. She repeated her action several times, her face contorting with pent-up anger. 

As he rolled around the floor in pain, she got up, ignoring the dozens of cuts and bruises on her as she ran out of the door, not even bothering to close it behind her. The only thing she had on her mind was to get away as far as possible. Somewhere he wouldn't be able to reach her.

Her lungs were burning, and her feet were in pain, the switchblade still clenched in her hand, droplets of blood dripping from the tip as she ran. 

Y/n collapsed at the beginning of a bridge connecting two sides of the city, divided by a river, quietly flowing into the night. She was so tired it felt like it was lulling her into sleep, her eyes fluttering to a close every few moments as she fought to stay awake.

Despite the bridge being completely desolate, not even cars driving by, the sun was beginning to set, and she didn't want to be so vulnerable in an unfamiliar place in the dark. Her hand finally released the knife, letting it fall on the pavement, the sound reminding her of a bell.

“Oh my god!”

She heard someone exclaim and quick footsteps approaching her. Y/n didn't have enough energy to respond, so she just looked in the direction she heard the voice from.

She could see a tall figure of a girl running toward her, blonde hair almost glinting in the orange sun, making her look otherworldly. As the girl got closer, y/n could recognize the same school uniform she herself had on.

“Y/n? Is that you? God, what happened?”

The girl's face appeared in front of her, a look of genuine concern staring down at her.

“Yunjin…?”

She wanted to laugh. What were the chances of her school's resident troublemaker finding her beaten half to death in a ditch? How fitting.

Yunjin was known around their school for skipping most of her classes and hating any type of authority. She had flunked her senior year and was older than everyone in their class by a year. Her parents were living in the USA and sent her a fat check every month to live off. As long as she didn't get in trouble with the law, they let her do whatever she wanted.

Y/n remembers being so jealous of her. Of how confident she was, how she always seemed so carefree. And oh, what she would give for her father to live far, far away from her.

“Y/n, come on, stay with me. Don't die on me, please! Oh god, what do I do? Hello, 112. Yes, I need help-”

Yunjin's voice faded into the background as she frantically yelled at the 112 operators, not knowing what to do with her. Y/n let out a small laugh that sounded more like a cough as she looked at the older girl pacing in place, casting her panicked glances every few seconds.

“Yeah, yeah…I can do that, for sure.”

Y/n heard Yunjin say as she approached her again. She heard the EMT responders from afar, their siren and bright blinking lights announcing their presence.

Suddenly, Yunjin's hands slipped from behind her, enveloping her in a strange half-hug. Y/n guessed it was more for comfort than for help. But as they waited there, leaning against each other, y/n noticed just how warm the other girl's hands were, rubbing comfortingly at her back.

-to be continued-

[peculiarpatches]

𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙮 𝙌𝙪𝙞𝙣𝙣 𝙭 𝙁!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧: 𝙅𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙮

       This is my first time writing  a Dom&Sub GXG so please be nice to me. This involves smut. Dominate Harley, submissive reader. Slapping, spanking, dirty talk, oral, fingering. I just watched Birds of Prey and thought of this halfway through, so, lmao. I hope yall like it. And remember, feedback is appreciated so please give a ‘like’ and or reblog. It’d mean the world to me. Also, if you have any suggestions, just message me and I might write them! :) lots of love. xx

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Harley was trying, damn it. Give her some credit, cut her some slack.  Try as she may, the anger and jealousy only continued to bubble up, no matter how hard she tried to swallow it down, it kept rising in the back of her throat, eager to come out and explode everywhere. That and it might be a bit of bile, too.... as gross as that may be, more than likely, yeah, it was a mixture of both. 

Harley had been drinking a lot of liquor as if the clear substance poured in the small glass shots were water rather than vodka. 

 Harley bit on her bottom lip so hard she could taste blood on the tip of her tongue. So, she continues. 

 Continues to drink until she feels every other emotion besides the bitterness feeling she was getting as she watched her best friend, (Y/N) on the dance floor.  (Y/N) and Harley were like two peas in a pod, inseparable those gals were. You'd never see Harley without (Y/N) by her side, the same way with (Y/N). They were attached  to each other like glue. 

Expect of course, right now, they were not. Harley sat, sulking, at one of the back booths of the club, eight empty glasses pushed aside, her hands holding up her face as she pouts and huffs to nobody other than herself.   

"I came here to have fun with her, not her to have fun without me," Harley whined, the pout on her face only growing bigger. Groaning, she facepalms  and shook her head from side to side, feeling frustrated tears starting to build in the corner of her eyes but she blinks them away before they could reveal themselves.  

 Her head snaps forward, so fast she swears she gets whiplash, when she hears (Y/N)'s laughter fill the air. Her laugh always caused goose bumps to bite at her skin and a chill to run up and down her back. Harley shivered as if she were cold but that was far from reality.

 In reality, Harley suddenly felt hot.  It felt as if she was on fire. 

Then she realizes, there's no use in trying to stop these feelings or try to push them away. They were bound to come out sooner or later.  (Y/N) was hers. Nobody else's.  End of story. The two have hooked up before, all of which the two were either really drunk and or had one too many pot brownies, but they have gotten together before.  

And as of right now, Harley was going to show (Y/N) just how better off she is with Harley by her side rather than some six feet muscular guy that (Y/N) was currently grinding up against. Harley growls as she stands up, trying her best not to fall as she exits out of the booth and pushes people out of the way before finding (Y/N).  "C'mon. We're leaving. Now." Harley barked, painted fingernails curling around (Y/N)'s wrist. "Well, hey there, good lookin', might I ask what you're doing, stealing away this beaut from me? If you're jealous, don't fret, love. There's more of me to go around. Sharing is caring, ain't that right, babydoll?" Harley's blood boils at the pet name he gives to (Y/N) and before she realizes it, her fist comes in contact with his face and her leg rises up as she kicks him in the groin.  "I said we're leaving." She spits.    

Taking (Y/N)'s hand, Harley drags her through the whispering crowd, half of the people laughing at how a man that tall and muscular so easily dropped to the floor with one swift movement, both from the hand and leg; others taking their phones out and snapping pictures of the scene.  Harley didn't care if people gave her glares as she walked past. Harley could care less.  She drags (Y/N) towards the back exit door, kicking it down as she then marches down to her apartment complex which wasn't even a foot away from the club. She's practically dragging (Y/N) behind her like a rag doll but she didn't care. All she cared about was showing (Y/N) who she belonged to. Once the door was open, Harley twirls around and bends forward, picking the girl up before walking inside  the small space that she called 'home'. It wasn't much but she loved it, regardless. Harley drops (Y/N) on the couch before crawling up and over her body, pinning her arms above her head.  During this whole 'meltdown' (if that's what you want to call it) (Y/N) remained quiet. As quiet as a church mouse. She didn't dare utter a single word, didn't dare say anything. She was either too drunk or too scared to speak.  "Babygirl," Harley's voice isn't soft and sweet, but sinister and cold. (Y/N)'s breath hitches and she shudders as Harley holds her face with the palm of her hand before backing her with it, earning a small gasp to spill out from (Y/N)'s lips.  

"You are in trouble, do you understand? You and your slutty fuckin' self. Who do you think you are, grinding against another man as if you want a cock when you already have a plastic one at home? Besides, is my tongue and fingers not cutting it out for you anymore, sweetheart?" Harley's  words were laced with malice and held as much venom as an Inland Taipan. 

"Don't you know who you belong to? You're mine. Always was, always will be. It's about time you realize that." Her voice is loud, booming, really, it causes (Y/N)'s ears to ring from how loud her best friend was being but all of it - the anger, the bottled up jealousy and affection exploding out of her - sent a shiver down her spine. It was also making her soaked, dripping with wetness. 

 "F-Fuck..." it's the first thing she's said all day and a bit of Harley is thankful the girl still knows how to speak, that she didn't totally scare her off with showing her dominate side.  "I'm really sorry, Harl-" "No." Harley cuts her off, pressing her fingertips to (Y/N)'s lips, smearing lipstick all over her fingers as she does so.  "You know what to call me." Harley stood up, crawling off of her best friend as she points to the couch. "Lay on your stomach, ass hanging in the air. You're getting a spanking." (Y/N) feels  warm and tingly all over and she's sure it's a combination of both being so turned on and drunk.  Either way, like a good girl, she follows orders. "Mistress..." Her voice is weak, barely above a whisper.  "I really am sorry." Her voice shook, as well as her body; every part of her was trembling and shaking. It wasn't out of fear, fuck no - she shook with nothing but excitement.    Harley shakes her head, rolling her eyes as she watches how horny - how desperate - (Y/N) was.  "Look at you, sprawled all out, legs separated, all for me to taste and to enjoy." Harley runs her hand over (Y/N)'s skirt, lifting the fabric up and touches the outside of her panties, loving the way the lace feels underneath the tips of her fingers. She was always a sucker for lace.  

Harley pulls her panties down, slowly peeling it off of her thighs and down to her ankles. Licking her lips, Harley smiles a seductive grin, her own wetness pooling inbetween her thighs.  (Y/N) was beautiful, without a doubt. 

More and more, each second of each passing day, Harley found herself falling more and more in love with the girl.  She loved everything about the girl. She could list off everything, tell all of it to (Y/N) but that'd take way too long and she felt as if time was running out and all Harley - really - wanted to do was taste (Y/N) on her tongue, in her mouth.  

Harley guides her fingers across (Y/N)'s ass, ghostly brushing along the skin before picking her hand up and slamming it down, earning a loud whimper and yelp to come from (Y/N)'s lips. "Fuck.... more, please, mistress, give me more. I've been so bad, such a naughty little thing, I deserve it. Please."    Harley grinned wickedly, giggling softly as she raises her hand again and lifts it back down. One slap followed another which followed another.  (Y/N) was begging for it and Harley fucking loved every single second of it.   "I know you deserve it because you're a slut, aren't you, princess? You're a filthy, dirty whore." Harley slams her hand onto (Y/N)'s ass again, rougher than the previous ones. 

 (Y/N) whimpers and pushes back up against Harley's hand, nodding eagerly. "Y-yes.... need to be punished. Please, punish me."  (Y/N) sobs, broken little cries falling from her mouth.  "That's just what you want, isn't it, baby?" Harley cooed, taking her hand off of (Y/N)'s bottom before reaching down and gazing her thumb over (Y/N)'s cute little clit.  

 "You want to be punished, don't you? Because you like it, right? Love it when I fuck you with a fake, plastic cock. Love the feeling of my fingers being buried deep inside your cunt. You love all of it - punishment or no punishment - because you're a fucking slut."  (Y/N)'s whines are - somehow - even louder than before and she's nodding rapidly, Harley giggles at the sight because her movements remind her of a bobblehead.  "Please," (Y/N) begged.  "Please, fuck me. Give it to me, nice and rough, just the way I like it. Show me who I belong to, Harley.... mistress, I meant... Mistress, please... I want it. I need it. I want your fingers, your tongue, anything, please." Harley knows by the sound of her voice, (Y/N) has tears in her eyes and she's willing to be fucked just by anything at this point.  "Filthy thing, you are." Harley murmurs, licking her lips before sinking to the floor. "Turn over, baby. Let's see how soaked you are."  Doing as she's told, (Y/N) rolls over and sits up, back against the cushions of the couch as she displays her pussy for Harley.  "Want Mistress to fuck you, huh? Fuck your tight little core until you're sore in the morning and can't walk without a limp? Want me to mark you up so everybody knows you're mine?"  All (Y/N) does is nod, far too flustered for words. "Say it. I want to hear you say it." Harley growled as her fingers shove their way inside (Y/N)'s eager and dripping wet cunt.  Moaning, (Y/N) nods as she throws her head back. "Mark me, Har. Make me your bitch. Fuck me like you hate me, please."   Harley smiles widely as she adds another finger, happily going to do exactly that.     "You're so tight, baby girl.... fucking dripping on my fingers." Harley cooed as she scissors her fingers back and forth, pushing and pulling, twisting and turning.  Before (Y/N) has any time to reply, or even say anything at all,  Harley's mouth is at her heat and (Y/N) groans at the sudden and unexpected gesture.  Harley hums, sending vibrations all over (Y/N)'s body. This causes her hips to jerk upward, moan after moan slipping out of her mouth. 

Harley swirls her tongue back and forth, inside and out, making sure her pussy wasn't going to go untouched. Every part of her womanhood,  she licked and sucked on.  Harley gazed up and a blush washes over her cheeks as she notices (Y/N) had already been looking down at her. 

 She was sparkling, loving the triumph at the mess she was making out of her dear and lovely best friend.  (Y/N) could feel that white and hot tension building in the pit of her stomach. Her entire body was broken out with goose bumps and she was shaking, trembling like a leaf. 

Her moans grew louder in volume, more high pitched, her nails dug into the cushion of the couch and as she closes her eyes, she's quick to reopen them due to the fact Harley had stopped what she was doing.  "Hey, I was enjoying myself-" "This is a punishment, remember, doll? Now, be a good girl and eat my pussy out. You were born to be my good pussy eater, weren't you? So, get to work. Get to pleasing me; your Mistress."  (Y/N) grunts, loving the foul language she spoke as she gets off the couch and falls to her knees, quick to put her mouth to good use.  Above her, Harley hummed in delight, slowly rocking her hips back and forth against (Y/N)'s warm and wet mouth. "There ya go... there's my good girl." Harley purred, lids fluttering close as she enjoys the way (Y/N)'s tongue feels against her clit.  

 Harley hadn't known how worked up she was until a few seconds pass and just as quickly as they started, she's spilling all her fluids and juices onto (Y/N)'s face, coating her skin with her cum.  "Fuck... 'm sorry about that, princess...... You just had me so worked up. Really, I've been thinkin about you all day. And I saw you with that guy and I just.... I got a little jealous, y'know?"  "No reason to be," (Y/N) replied, licking off the remains of Harley's orgasm off of her lips. "I was just havin' some fun. Besides, like you said, I'm yours. Always will be, always have been. Now, enough of this mushy chick flick moment, are you going to pound me and wreck me or not?"  Harley laughs and nods, taking (Y/N) up off of her feet and kisses her, not minding the taste of herself on her best friend - well, girlfriend's - lips.   "Let's go then, shall we?"  (Y/N) giggles loudly as Harley, as she had done before, lifts her up and carries her off to the bedroom.   "We're together now though, right?" "Yes, of course, dumbass."  "Just needed that confirmed."  "Of course, baby, I love you. I’m sorry I had such a hard time admitting that until today... Now, open that mouth up and let me choke you with this fake cock before I dick you down with it."

[madaboutmunson]

Everlong - Part 2 - Next To You (Let Me Call You Sweetheart Part 2)

Warnings: References to violence, murder, injury, imprisonment. Fluff, intimacy, failed relationships, This Au's Steve Harrington's entire brood of kids, 50+ Steve Harrington, Vampire Eddie, weird dreams.

Summary: Having successfully proved they no longer need to be under 24/7 surveillance by Henderson's high tech security systems, reader moves into the basement of Mr Harrington's home. With a new found freedom, after nearly two years, you get to see Eddie in person, but something has changed. An unexpected letter arrives.

Thank you @portaltothevoid for all your help. Much appreciated 💚💚💚

@munchabunch

Since moving into the basement of Mr Harrington's house, security had been pretty tight. It was only in the last week or so it had let up a little. They had to be careful to not freak out the Harrington kids. Luckily the two eldest were living elsewhere, leaving a little bit of space, but it was still quite a squeeze with eight kids to contend with ranging from the age of two to eighteen.

Sebastian, the youngest boy at seven years old, had sat next to you one night, with stacks of photo albums to explain everything to you, just as it seemed, someone had explained it all to him.

In 1995 Steve had met Meredith, who, when observing her photos, looked extremely familiar. Her big brown eyes, long tendrils of almost jet black hair. Ripped super baggy jeans, t-shirt and long cardigan, the sleeves pulled over her hands, as she posed outside of a concert. To be specific, she looked like a female Eddie, but older.

So it was no surprise at all that the hair and alternative style passed on to their two kids, the eldest of the Harrington brood, Charlotte (Cas) and Oliver (Olly) both with those deep dark eyes both with voluminous curly hair. Cas's cropped short to her neck. Olly's trailing down to his lower back.

Next a wedding picture but not with Meredith, this was Cassandra. She had a sleek chic french Bob of naturally light blonde hair, her gown of pure white satin, no embellishments and her bouquet a simple wreath of green leaves. Their kids were the eldest that remained in the house, Ava, 18, James, 17 and Evelyn 14.

Mr Harrington had always wanted 6 children, but had seemingly grown tired of trying to find his perfect partner. So he elected to go through quite a process to find the perfect surrogate. He waited patiently for his next beautiful babe, except for when the scan showed them, there were actually three of them all snuggled up together in there. The identical triplets were 11 now, Philomena, Lucy and Jo.

Then there was Sebastian, who advised that though he did have a mommy once, he didn't anymore, and that's why Mr Harrington became his Dad.

And last but not least, two year old Edina, who according to Sebastian, just turned up one day. She was so small, a newborn. She had screamed the roof off for a few days, and seeing his Dad was so tired, Sebastian wanted to help.

He read about babies and sounds, music and different types of noise too. So he'd sat beside her crib one weekend and played her all different genres. The only combination that worked for the baby was a mixture of Metal and white noise. When Sebastian had shown his Dad his discovery, he was so pleased he "picked me up and squeezed and I thought I might die".

Mr Harrington had knelt down to Sebastian and told him, "That's your little sister in there, she's gonna look up to you. So just like today, even though she's gonna be annoying sometimes, you gotta be kind, ok? We all look out for one another here, don't we?"

Sebastian had nodded "It's the Harrington House number one rule."

And then Steve had asked if Sebastian had any idea for a name for the baby, as they both got up to gaze down into the crib at the sweet little baby, finally sleeping soundly.

Sebastian looked down at the playlist he'd crafted, "Adema?"

"Yeah, Edina. That's a good name." Mr Harrington had misheard, but the name stuck.

Whilst flipping through the photos one thing was abundantly clear: Mr Harrington loved his kids. His face when he was in pictures with any of his children, whether that was individually, birthday parties, Christmas card photos or family portraits he always had the biggest genuine smile.

The same could not be said for his love interests. Whilst he looked happy enough, it wasn't the same. After his marriage ended it was just person after person, a lot of whom Sebastian didn't know so he just moved past them. It was interesting though that Mr Harrington had kept pictures of each of them.

"There are other ones, if you wanna see?" Sebastian offered, "When Dad was at school, so funny. The eighties must have been a weird time, because the fashion…urgh."

"Thank you so very much for all of that, but maybe another time?" You felt swamped with information, but it was enough to get by on.

"My pleasure! I know everything there is to know about all of us," he said, lifting up his phone and snapping a picture of you, "and now we can add you too. Maybe we'll get more pictures if you stay?" he looks up at you hopefully.

You smiled back at him, "I'll be staying here for as long as I can I think."

You'd help out around the house where you could, but it was a very delicate line to tread. You didn't want to become missed when you might eventually leave, but you also didn't want to be seen as a sponge, so you did most of your helping on an individual basis or when the house was emptier.

The remainder of your time was spent practicing guitar, and working in the back room at Harrington's, the record store.

You were absolutely not allowed front of house.

Mr Harrington occasionally gave you the freedom to walk around town provided you wore a disguise of sorts. Just because of pure fear of messing up, you didn't stray far from the store, opting for a nearby park, for a short walk, or to just sit on the bench in the fresh air. Something you'd taken for granted nearly two years ago, but now was as precious as gold.

Today's park stroll was one that you'd been nervous about for a few weeks, for the first time in nearly two years you were going to be able to see Eddie. Not a glimmer of particles, not a voice in your head, but actually here in person.

As dusk rolled in, you had so much pent up nervous energy, sitting was no longer an option, so you paced around the bench itself. You practice how you would say hello in your head as you walk around the bench.

Hearing a twig snap, you quickly turn around towards its direction. In the shadows you can just make out his frame, of course his hair, and the unnatural glints in his eyes.

You stay very still, unsure of what to do as a whirlwind of emotions courses through you in those moments, "How long have you been there, creeping about in the shadows?" You joke.

"Oh, long enough," you hear the smirk in his voice. As he steps forward into the light of the lamppost, you are pretty sure your jaw drops a little. He's even more beautiful than you remember. His skin is pale like moonstone, his lips a rich red, and the rest of his features dark like the void. You feel like the ground is a sticky goop holding you to the spot. Your breath shakes in the cool night air, as you look him over, trying to take in every detail you can.

Fuck. You are certain that even if he wasn't trying to read your thoughts, he could hear your pulse go into overdrive. You take a deep breath and try to get it under control by looking at everything else in the vicinity. You spot a snail climbing the lamppost and try to focus on it for a few seconds, taking in all its details.

Then a sharp pain in your side makes you wince and your eyes fall back onto Eddie. Suddenly an exigency fills your mind. You charge towards him, trying to throw your arms around him, but he catches your wrists before contact, stopping you in your tracks.

"Whoa there!" He chuckles, his hands tightly grip your wrists in between you both, you can see him checking your hands.

"Um…sorry…I don't know…" you stumble over your words like someone in stilettos scrambling up a scree hill.

He gently releases you from his grip, his eyes fall back onto yours, and you look away fast. Like looking into his eyes might cause something terrifying to happen. You’ve gotten so used to the threatening drone following your every movement that you are now always cautious of your body’s natural reaction. Quickly you decide that walking beside him might be more comfortable, so you fall in next to him.

You can absolutely feel his eyes on you, but you resist looking for now. "Sorry if I scared you," you say apologetically as your fingers play with the inside of the cuffs of your jacket.

"Scared is a bit of a strong word, concerned maybe?" He says with a small laugh as he takes the first step of the walk and you follow suit.

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry about that. It was weird." You say half joking. It was weird, but it didn't feel wrong until you'd been stopped.

You walk around in silence for a while, now this is definitely not right for the two of you, and it does feel desperately awkward. You're very much accustomed to your own awkwardness, but from Eddie? No, this was top tier strange.

"Soooo it's good to see you. You know, in person" he says, trying to make things more normal, but your brain isn't really listening, because you're still replaying what just happened in your mind.

"Did you think I was gonna try to hurt you?" You say in almost disgust, and this time you look at him, expectantly. How could he think that, after everything?

"I…I guess I wasn't sure, especially when you came at me so quickly…just you know…habit," he says, acting out a few jabs and ducking and weaving as you walk.

This was new, you hadn't really heard him stumble over his words before that was really your department. He only returns your look once, before looking ahead again.

"Well" you say, unable to disguise the little sprinkling of hurt in your voice, "I wouldn't do that. I would never do that."

"If I told you the amount of times I've heard that lie, you wouldn't believe me," he says with a laugh.

That feeling happens again, an urgency, and you reach out grabbing his arm, stopping your stroll. He looks down at your hand and looks back up at you. You give him a serious look, "Never. Ok?"

His eyes move between yours and if you didn't know any better you'd swear he sighed. You let go of his arm and turn to continue your walk. In the lamplight something catches your eye and you run towards it. A flower. One from your dream. You run over to it and pluck it from the ground and look at it in the light, "Hey, random question, but do you know what this is?"

Eddie catches up and looks at it, "Yarrow?"

You grab your phone and do a quick search, "How did you know that?"

"I know tons of useless shit," he puts his hands on his hips, "though this one in particular isn't all that useless, maybe?"

You tilt your head at him in confusion.

He returns your look of puzzlement, "So you just ran over here to pick a pretty little flower, did you? You've no idea what this is?"

"Well. I don't know what it is, but I didn't pick it because it's pretty. I keep seeing it in…" you trail off. You sounded mad, you were sure of it. But this was Eddie, surely raving about a vivid dream wasn't that mad, when you ripped a hole to a different dimension together?

Maybe this was a very common flower. You'd seen it a bunch of times,so then it appeared in your dream.

Rather than taking the flower from you, Eddie takes your hand that is still holding it and holds it up to inspect it. "Yep, it's soldier's woundwort alright. Where do you keep seeing this, then?" he lowers your hand, but keeps looking in the same place to put his dilated pupils directly in your eyeline.

"In a dream. It's crazy. Maybe it's one of those things, you see something once and you can't stop seeing it everywhere." His eyes still trained on yours, makes you swallow nervously, "Do you still dream? You know, even though you're different?" You try to distract with a question

Eddie's other hand moves to your side, and he walks you backwards until you bump into the back of the park bench "There's nothing in my dreams, just some ugly memories," he sings deeply, but quietly. His eyes scan over your entirety, making you feel incredibly vulnerable.

You smile trying to not let your nerves show, "I know that one…Gimme Danger, little stranger."

He nods, still staring down into your eyes, speaking softly, "Do you know the next line?" He squeezes your scar tissue gently, and it's like a wave of intoxication sweeps up and crashes down on you.

"Are you…are you doing that thing you do?" You ask dreamily, remembering being caught up in this before. Unable to move, completely hypnotised by him.

"No," he says in a whisper, moving his body closer to yours, "It's not me." His eyes trace a familiar pattern, your eyes, your mouth, your neck.

Not taking your eyes from him, you gently push back your collar to reveal more skin to him. An act of submission or a silent pact. His eyes flash for a second, and his fingers dig into your side. Maybe this was a temptation too far.

Snap! A twig crunched somewhere in the darkness.Both of your heads snap towards it in alarm. You instinctively move yourself in front of Eddie. Frantically searching the darkness for anything.

Your brain scrambles like you change radio frequency. What time was it? Shit! "Listen, I'm sorry, I have gotta go. I didn't realise the time. They'll stop me coming here." The panic rises in your voice as you clutch at your chest.

"Hey, hey, ok just take a deep breath, ok? Just tell them you got distracted by something pretty, yeah?" Eddie smirks, brushing his hand over your hair, and placing the yarrow flower behind your ear.

"Yeah, you're right." Despite his teasing, it was actually reassuringly normal and stopped you from spiralling, "Maybe next time, this can be less…um…weird."

"Or weirder…" he grins. He creates some space between you, he's still smiling with his hands in his pockets. "There is something different about you though. I don't know if it's because you've been cooped up, or what, but…" he bites his lip and looks you up and down.

"Me?! I'm different. What about you? You're different too!" You protest only to be met with Eddie shaking his head.

"Nope, not really. It's just your feelings have changed," he shrugs as if to shirk off all responsibility.

"Hey, didn't we say the whole thought reading was reserved for when we aren't in person?" You are a little annoyed at this violation of trust.

Eddie's smile turns into a wide grin and he leans in, so he's close to your ear, running his fingers along your collar bone area to your other scar, the one no one asks to see. The reminder that you threw yourself in the way of that stake to save him. "Oh, I didn't have to telepath shit, Sweetheart."

You close your eyes and inhale, before shaking your head free of this witchcraft. You gesture into the night, before moving away slightly.

Faster than you can fathom he grabs for your belt loop and pulls out your phone out of your pocket. He starts tapping into it, "No passcode?"

"Not allowed," you reply sheepishly.

"Hmmm better keep it coded and PG then, right?" He says and can't help but smile as he makes you embarrassed. "There, I doubt 'Ambrose' will cause too much of a problem." He puts your phone back in your pocket, "Until next time," he says walking away, casting an occasional glance over his shoulder. A small laugh escapes each time you catch him.

It doesn't elude your knowledge that choosing the alias of Ambrose puts Eddie's fake contact at the top of your list.

You race back to the basement and burst through the door, panting.

You drop your things and race up the stairs, "S-sorry I'm late, I got distracted b-by something," you say trying to catch your breath.

Mr Harrington lowers his paper to reveal himself and Edina sitting in his lap, "Late!" She says loudly.

"That's quite right, they are late. What do you have to say for yourself? " He says with his eyebrows raised.

"I was doing my park walk, and I got distracted by something beautiful." You point up at the flower behind your ear.

Mr Harrington smiles and shakes his head at you, "Ok, well, next time, call, alright?"

You nod in agreement and head back downstairs.

You flop down on your bed and look up at the ceiling. Removing the flower from behind your ear, you hold it up in the false light, turning it around in your fingers. Your eyes grow heavy, and your blinks grow slower until finally you drift into sleep.

You open your eyes to the summer sky, a bumble bee bobs around for a few moments before landing on your chest.

“Eh, I don’t think so, Ol' Mr Bumble, that’s my flower only!” You hear a sweet Irish voice beside you playfully complain, making you giggle and the bee buzzes away. “Thas right ya coward, ya wanna buzz off now!” the voice shouts into the sky. You turn towards it, a feeling of pure happiness makes your head swim as the view changes to one of the apothecary’s apprentice sitting up and shaking his fist at the bee.

He lowers himself back onto his elbows and looks over at you, “Fancy that! Bold as anythin’ ” tutting at the bee. “I coulda taken him.” His big broad grin lowers as he looks into your eyes and then quickly back out into the distance, gently twisting the blade of grass between his fingers.

“Y’know” he says quietly, “Dere gonna come a callin’ soon.”

The blue sky disappears behind a sudden influx of heavy dark grey clouds, but he does not appear to notice at all, “I’ll have to go,” he adds.

Your hand touches his arm through the soft billowy fabric of his shirt sleeve and works its way down his forearm to intertwine your fingers.

“I hear ya, love. We could run away. Unfortunately fer you, yer mans a lotta things, but a cowards not one of dem.”

His fingers squeeze yours, “I’ll come home. Don’t you worry bout dat. Can’t get rid o’ me dat easily, I’m afraid.” He half turns to you and smiles, but you can see the worry lurking in his eyes. You sit up and reach out to stroke the back of his hair and the nape of his neck.

“I heard dey were havin’ trouble identifin’ dere soldiers. So I mighta dun something so dere’ll be no mistaken’ me.” He rolls up his sleeve to his shoulder a picture of a Rose with the name Yedda over the top and Aimon underneath.

He laughs and wipes his hand over it, “No darlin’ no amount water or dirt’ll move this. It's one of dem tattoo tings.”

You wipe your hand over it too, it doesn’t smudge or disappear. You hit him on the arm, and he laughs heartily, “Wha? Ya tink dis town doesn already judge us? Anyways dey won’t know bout it, but we will, my sweet. We will. You’ll always know it's yer man,” he nods and smiles at you lovingly before pulling you towards him ,wrapping you in his arms, and the sky turns to blue again.

It's the soft plinking sounds of your alarm sound, you get up and head upstairs to grab some breakfast.

Mr Harrington is at the stove, towel over his shoulder. The triplets in a row next to him making a pancake production line. Jo to his left, mixing up a storm, to his right Lucy is adding fruit to the stacks, and Philomena is last, blasting the towering breakfasts with syrup.

"Morning," you say cheerfully, grabbing a ready serving, and sitting down to eat.

"You've got a letter." Mr Harrington says turning around, pointing the spatula at the middle of the table.

You pause for a moment, who would be sending you a letter? Maybe it was the fan mail. You snatch it up quickly, excited almost. The envelope of textured paper is already opened as you expected.

You pull out the letter inside, and scan your eyes over it.

You must have read it four or five times to make sure you aren't dreaming, and you gently place your fork down on your plate, as the tears well up in your eyes.

"They've asked me to play a song with them…on stage…my old band…when they play Indianapolis," you lift your eyes up away from the paper and Mr Harrington is already waiting for you. His face is so proud, he quite forgets the pancakes and Lucy snatches the spatula from him, so they don't burn.

He takes a seat next to you, "What do you think? Do you wanna go for it? Everyone…well, ok…mostly everyone is ok with it, but no one is gonna stop you from playing. You'd have the normal ankle tag, and they'd have to bring back that stupid drone thing, but you'd be up there with your friends again."

The word friends stings a little. You weren't sure if that applied, but a chance to play on a stage that big was extremely tempting. "I'd be a fool not to, right?"

Link to Next Chapter Everlong Chapter 3 - The Killing Moon

Link to Everlong Chapter 1 - Stacked Actors

Link to Let Me Call You Sweetheart Part 1 Chapter 1

Link to Fanfic master list

Songs you might want to listen to whilst reading this chapter:

[junicai]

Relationship with Stray Kids

➣ CHAN ☾ dachan

daeun is chan’s baby and the fact that she’s only two years younger than him changes nothing 

really really dependent on his approval. especially on mixing during the first few songs for skz 

skz has a completely different sound to what daeun was used to, and changing her production style to mirror that was a challenge

there are a lot of clips in the first few episodes of the survival show of daeun sidling up to chan with a notebook in her hand

and them sitting beside each other on the sofa while they worked

you can find dozens of ‘Bang Chan doing the Proud Dad smile because Daeun existed’ videos on youtube

its a very common occurrence 

hence why daeun hates hates hates being told off by him 

its never anything serious 

but she always feels so guilty afterwards, and then she’ll cry and then chan feels guilty

and it’s a whole guilt-fest 

so daeun usually tries to avoid having to be told off

now that doesn’t stop her from telling him off

can and will drag him out by the ear if he stays in his studio for too long

that’s a lie

she’ll just stand in the doorway and pout until he saves his work down and leaves 

works every time

sorry but this man loves to pick her up? 

its a problem 

girl isn’t even hurt or tired just piggybacks 

always 

he said he likes to carry her because he knows that she dances in heels for so long so her feet must hurt more than theirs does

YEAH-

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

chan walks at the end of the group, we all know this. but the one time he wasn’t, was when daeun was the second last getting out of the van, and had to dip back in to snag the bag she had left behind. already three strides into the building, 

chan - upon realizing that he had seven heads in  front of him, and not eight - spun around in a circle, eyes wide and shoulders pushed back as he tried to peer over the crowds. when he spotted daeun, he took her bag from her hand, snagging her hand in his other one, and refused to let go of her until they made it safely into the venue.  

➣ MINHO ☾ mieun

actually attached at the hip?

genuinely

like, no one was going to peg the very intimidating and sullen looking-fellow with the bubbly bitch with pink in her hair and yet: 

✨besties✨ 

it’s comical 

minho’s dry humor perfectly balances with daeun’s unique blend of absolute buffoonery

 they have a lil tradition before they go onstage of exchanging bracelets

yes, they have matching bracelets

it was minho’s idea and yes, stays freaked out

it’s like a little, ‘see you on the other side’ thing

because lord knows daeun spent hours upon hours running herself ragged in practices until all hours of the night 

and minho Wasn’t Having It

so the bracelets are a little. U Got This. from him

really doesn’t like it when she cries 

to the point where he’ll do absolutely anything to get her to stop crying

it was then, that daeun discovered that minho gives god tier hugs 

God. Tier. 

minho and daeun cuddling when they’re drunk? more likely than you’d think 

they’re hilarious together, and probably one of stays most preferred ships with daeun and any of the boys 

the twt threadfics here are Legendary

the most popular one is a coffee shop au - where daeun is a struggling literature grad, and minho is a long-suffering night shift worker

absolutely does not tolerate any kind of hate towards daeun - verbal or otherwise. he blew a fuse the first time she trended for sexy pictures someone had taken of her at a fansign 

daeun had to tell him it was fine twelve times before he calmed down

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

daeun pulled down her skirt again for the nth time, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. she had her ankles tucked behind the leg of the chair and her hands folded over her lap to try and prevent anyone getting a glimpse up further into her skirt than was strictly necessary, but was - ultimately - doing a poor job of protecting her modesty. 

leaning over, minho took a glance at daeun shifting uncomfortably in her seat again, and shucked off his jacket - leaving him in a thin t-shirt in the cold breeze. before daeun could protest, he had laid the jacket over her legs, tucking it in and then sliding his hand in between hers and holding it tightly over his own lap. 

➣ CHANGBIN ☾ dabin

same age siblings !

both being in the ‘99 line, and with daeun originally training to be a main rapper than a vocalist

they were pretty comfortable around each other having spent so long training in each other’s presence

in fact

they even performed a duet together for one of the monthly evaluations

that was when they really became friends so to speak 

daeun fell asleep during one of their rehearsals on the floor of the studio

and changbin couldn’t just, leave her

so he ended up staying with her the whole night

was she embarrassed in the morning? yeah. and then changbin told her off for not prioritizing sleep more, and then she was more embarrassed.

now in the group, their dynamic settled into something extremely comfortable

when daeun was first introduced to the boys as a team, changbin was the only one she was completely comfortable rooming with 

his studio? nah, their studio 

did daeun sit in on a lot of the 3RACHA work prior to debut? yes, solely because she wanted the experience, and changbin said she could stay

it is actually his studio, but there’s a small collection (read: four) of soft pillows in the corner of the room for daeun to sit on as they work

according to her, she works better on the floor

changbin can’t find it in him to refute the argument, so he always ends up down there with her, with sheets sprawled over the carpet

when he started working out, he started taking daeun to the gym

swole buddies 

except daeun wasn’t allowed to build muscle and just had to run on the treadmill the whole time and changbin wasn’t made about that. he wasn’t.

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

changbin and daeun being the mafia when playing with skz and neither of them being able to look at each other without laughing. every time they’d make eye contact, daeun’s lips would twitch up, and changbin would have to turn away to cough into his arm lest he give himself away. 

ultimately, they lost - much to the chagrin of the pair, who wailed at their loss and proceeded to drink their sorrows away with the coca cola that they were sponsored for. 

product placement at it’s finest, even if it was a metaphor for alcoholism. 

➣ HYUNJIN ☾ dajin

lil beans

babies

awh

not at the start but now, yes.

he was wary around her, at first because hyunjin knows he’s attractive and the Last Thing He Wants is a groupmate that has a crush on him

so he was a bit, cold and aloof with daeun at the beginning of the survival show

he didn’t want to give her the wrong impression !

but then 

then 

daeun apologized to him in her video message after her elimination for ‘upsetting him, and making him feel like he couldn’t be comfortable around her’ and dear god

hyunjin’s heart = broken. destroyed. shattered into pieces. 

he still feels Very Guilty about this sometimes because he knows that his attitude towards her played a huge part in her feeling alienated and not like she belonged in the group

daeun tells him it doesn’t bother her but he knows

they talked through it though

good communication besties 

A+

he doesn’t call her noona though

he did, once upon a time, but then daeun felt weird because realistically, there’s only four months between them and that’s not enough to make her any more of a noona to him than he is a hyung to jisung and felix? 

they have a little rountine now, when either of them are upset

they pack up all the emotions for a little bit

into a little box

get out a laptop (doesn’t matter whos)

and just cuddle, with some blankets, and a terrible show or movie that they’re not really watching until the person is ok to talk 

arguably the most healthy friendship you will ever find

therapists around the country are giving standing ovations 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

felix padded into hyunjin’s room to shake the boy awake, before catching sight of an already-awake daeun wrapped in his arms.

“noona?”

“help-” she gasped out, patting frantically at hyunjin’s arm that was firmly wrapped around her middle. “he won’t let go. it’s been an hour.” 

felix bit his lip, trying to stifle the laugh that was threatening to burst out. “i don’t know, you look pretty comfortable.” he began backing out the door.

“felix. lee felix. lee felix you come back here!” the harsh whisper-shouts echoed down the hallway after the giggling boy. 

➣ JISUNG ☾ jidae

partners in crime

probably have committed some crime together at some point but there’s no proof so chan can’t yell at them for it

they met when daeun first sat in on the 3RACHA meetings 

did someone say: soulmates 

changbin is convinced that the angel choir played when they first locked eyes

like this

jisung kicked the angel off of daeun’s shoulder and now it’s just him and the devil racking up reverse-brownie points in daeun’s conscience 

he’s been a wonderful influence, truly

to be fair though, daeun did attempt to convince him to stop eating ramen every day (to a varying degree of success)

to no degree of success actually. she just takes him out of the dorm to eat it now, but chan doesn’t need to know that bit

daeun? did you mean: jisung’s pillow?

anywhere, any place - he just flops down onto her

many head pats

they are both givers and receivers 

no words spoken only HEAD PATS 

the comfort is exchanged through osmosis

jisung is wholeheartedly against her ever getting a boyfriend 

Absolutely Not. she is theirs, and he will glare at anyone else who dares to Look At Her

nap buddies 

they get a combined total of negative six hours of sleep per week so they always end up napping together 

it’s very cute

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

less of a ‘moment’ and more of a series of events that STAY found hilarious?

we all know han jisung’s iconic converse. they’re legendary. unofficial skz merch. 

right well, daeun was seen wearing them out and around a few times by fansites, and one of them asked had she bought her own pair after seeing jisung’s at a fansign.

daeun laughed and said no, they were almost the same size in shoe so she just borrowed his. 

daeun stole jisung’s shoes. 

➣ FELIX ☾ daelix

stop they love each other so much 

felix said once in a vlive that he finds daeun really comforting to be around because she’s so calm 

‘calm’ 

he had a lot of anxiety about debuting because of what jyp said to him upon his elimination *angry noises*

so daeun tried her best to alleviate as much of his worries as possible

even if that meant sacrificing her own sleep to sit with him in the kitchen and talk things out

sorry i’d like to revisit the point that They Love Each Other Very Much 

felix says that he was worried about leaving his sisters behind, so having another noona was really comforting to him 

daeun absolutely has an australian accent when she speaks english now and it is completely felix’s fault 

he’d actively correct her pronunciation to make her sound more australian because he thinks the accent is so cute on her  

aggressively cute together 

you will get a toothache if you watch them for too long 

someone stop them they’re so adorable 

he likes to give out random compliments to see how red he can make her face go before she whacks him to get him to stop 

the results conclude: a pretty nice cherry-cheeked colour

felix really lives up to his koala nickname when he’s around daeun

will latch on and will not let go until he has to 

you thought chan loved felix? now see: chan watching daeun and felix 

pain

its so painful he just smiles like everything is right with the world and it IS because felix and daeun are there and aaaaaAAAA-

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

a sad moment, but one that features in every compilation of daelix’s interactions anyway. when daeun’s name was called for her elimination, she closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath and schooling her face into something impassive. the boys were all staring at her with devastated looks on their faces, but nothing was matching the look that felix was giving her from his position right by her side. 

he choked out her name, stumbling forwards into her arms as she caught him and wrapped him in a hug. felix apologized profusely for being the one in need of comfort, while daeun just ran a hand over his hair and told him it was alright, she was alright. 

➣ SEUNGMIN ☾ daseung

protector of daeun’s sanity

she has One (1) well behaved dongsaeng and its kim seungmin

it’s not that he’s less likely to act out than the others, really. it’s that he’s the least likely to die while doing it, so that = most well behaved, in daeun’s books 

daeun likes to squish his cheeks

no reason

other than, soft cheeks go squish and seungmin lets her so why would she forsake this golden opportunity

now if he wants to sit on the couch beside her he has to resign himself to cheek-smooshing 

also cheek kisses, rarely. usually when daeun’s intoxicated.

the boys had figured that both of their personalities together would just merge and create an even more chill environment

calm²

but NO

pemdas

it cancelled out

they’re not Chaotic but they’re certainly not Calm 

it’s a unique vibe that can only be described by this -> link

sorry

scholars but minus the education 

profound visionaries but they’re blind, type beat 

have the combined brainpower of the librarian gary from that one spongebob episode but they choose not to utilize it for the memes 

in all seriousness though, they’re very comfortable around each other 

seungmin struggled a lot with confidence during their debut months, and daeun was the only person who really knew the full extent of it all 

there was a Hefty Amount of nighttime talks on daeun’s bed under blankets stolen from the living room 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

seungmin can sing, we all know that. but stray kids’ style rarely allows for full ballad songs on an album, so seungmin being given the opportunity to perform ‘Love Poem’ on Kingdom was truly a blessing in disguise. (the disguise being daeun’s re-occuring vocal nodules that left her unable to perform). 

after the performance, seungmin had barely taken a foot off the stage before he was being tackled by a teary-eyed daeun, who immediately buried her face into his shoulder to stop the cameras getting a good look at her crying. 

“n-noona?” 

“you can sing.” 

“yeah?”

“you sing so beautifully, minnie, oh my god.” 

➣ JEONGIN ☾ jeondae

the first thing you have to realize about daeun and jeongin’s relationship is that both of them can be the Biggest Babies in the world 

now with that out of the way

jeongin ADORES daeun 

im sorry did someone say ‘noona who wholeheartedly finds it impossible to say no to him’?

i think they did

he doesn’t take advantage of it, persay

but he Does and Will use it to others detriment - especially during games

“jeongin! you told me you weren’t the mafia! i believed you! this is a betrayal!”

she’s so so smitten with him and everything he does 

it is virtually impossible for her to be mad at him 

he just gets a little scowl and then a soft flick on his ear at the PEAK of scolding 

is the world’s worst enabler for All His Bad Ideas 

often complains that he’s growing up too fast and it isn’t fair that he’s taller than her now 

which he’ll then respond to by resting his elbow on her head and leaning on her, so. it never goes down very well 

daeun checks his micpack for him before every stage

every. stage. 

daeun is the only person who is allowed to coddle him as much as she does 

hyunjin is Bitter and daeun is Smug 

jeongin needs help with schoolwork? daeun would do it for him if she had been any good at school either, but alas 

 FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

chan stepped into the kitchen, camera in hand. 

“what are you doing?” 

daeun and jeongin shove his backpack off the table, the coloured permanent markers rolling off immediately after, two black ones uncapped in their hands. 

“NOTHING” 

chan looked pointedly at them, and then to the backpack that had slid underneath the table. there, written all over the straps and the front pocket were small drawings, ranging from dinosours to the words (written in very terrible handwriting, so he couldn’t be sure which one of them wrote it): “skool suks!”

chan looked over to the pair. they scrambled off the chairs, abandoning the evidence in their break for safety. 

[stereostevie]

When you think of grunge, do you picture a bunch of long-haired White guys in plaid shirts, singing about teenage angst and self-loathing? Time to expand that viewpoint. Standing above them all should be Tina Bell, a tiny Black woman with an outsized stage presence, and her band, Bam Bam. It’s only recently that the 1980s phenom has begun to be recognized as a godmother of grunge.

This modern genre’s sound was, in many ways, molded by a Black woman. The reason she is mostly unknown has everything to do with racism and misogyny. Looking back at the beginnings of grunge, with the preconception that “everybody involved” was White and/or male, means ignoring the Black woman who was standing at the front of the line.

Bam Bam was formed as a punk band in 1983 in Seattle. Bell, a petite brown-skinned spitfire with more hairstyle changes than David Bowie, sang lead vocals and wrote most of the lyrics. Her then-husband Tommy Martin was on guitars (the band’s name is an acronym of their last names: Bell And Martin), Scotty “Buttocks” Ledgerwood played bass, and Matt Cameron was on drums. Cameron would leave the band in its first year and go on to fame as the drummer for Soundgarden and Pearl Jam. But he paid homage to his beginnings by wearing a Tina Bell T-shirt in a photoshoot for Pearl Jam’s 2017 Anthology: the Complete Scores book.

“For some reason a couple of skinheads are up front, calling her [the N-word] And all of the sudden, Bell grabs a microphone stand and she starts swirling it around her head like a lasso… She swung that fuckin’ thing around her head and about the fourth time, she smashed that son of a bitch.”

Bam Bam’s sound straddled the line between punk and something so new that it didn’t have a name yet. Their music combined a driving, thrumming bass line; downtuned, sludgy guitars; thrashy, pulsing drums; melodic vocals that range from sultry to haunting to screamy; and lyrics about the existential tension of trying to exist in a world not designed for you. The band’s 1984 music video for their single “Ground Zero” is low-budget, but Bell’s charisma seeps through.

“She was fucking badass. That’s all there is to it. She was amazing as a performer. I’ve only seen one White male lead singer command the stage in a similar way that Tina Bell did, and that was Bon Scott of AC/DC,” says Om Johari, who attended Bam Bam shows as a Black teenager in the ’80s and who would go on to lead all-female AC/DC cover band Hell’s Belles.

Christina King, a Seattle scenester who was close friends with Bell from 1984 until the early ’90s, says the singer’s talent was obvious. But she believes a lot of people dismissed Bell as a gimmick.

Among those attending their shows: Future members of grunge bands like Nirvana (Kurt Cobain did a stint as a Bam Bam roadie), Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, and Pearl Jam.

“I remember one person saying to me that they didn’t get ‘the whole Black girl singer thing,’ it just didn’t fit whatever they were into,” says King. “They were too ahead of their time.”

Bam Bam came into being in an era when hundreds of underground clubs, taverns, bars, and social halls — anywhere that you could cram in a band — were within the Seattle city limits. Bam Bam played almost all of them, and often to big crowds: The Colourbox, Crocodile Lounge, Gorilla Gardens, Squid Row — just to name a few.

Among those attending their shows: Future members of history-making grunge bands like Nirvana (Kurt Cobain did a stint as a Bam Bam roadie), Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, and Pearl Jam. Not to mention all the other people, mostly White and male, who would become prime targets for music labels trying to market this new sound.

Bell “already possessed everything they were trying to attain. She had a truer rock and roll spirit than almost any of those guys in that town. Everything they tried to do, she naturally was,” says Ledgerwood, still a loyal bandmate.

One Seattle club, The Metropolis, became “like our fucking living room,” says Ledgerwood. It was also the site of an overtly racist verbal assault against Tina Bell.

“For some reason a couple of skinheads are up front, calling her [the N-word],” Ledgerwood recalls. “And all of the sudden, Bell grabs a microphone stand and she starts swirling it around her head like a lasso… She swung that fuckin’ thing around her head and about the fourth time, she smashed that son of a bitch… She nailed that fucker right in the temple of his head. Split like a melon. And the other guy next to him caught it too, they go down, and we’re like, ‘What the fuck?’”

Ledgerwood says that after going backstage for a while to regroup, Bell came back “and put out the most blistering set of our fucking career.”

This could easily be an anecdote about Bell’s power, her resilience, and willingness to fight back against oppressive forces. But it’s also a story about the cost of being a Black woman who does something that some people don’t expect or approve of.

“She’s being pulled out of her zone because somebody is acknowledging how the rest of the world can see her,” says Johari, empathizing with the star rocker. “And even to react to it by picking up a microphone and smashing someone in the face, that means that that incident cost her not only that moment it takes to get back into the song, but the whole [effects of her] action will last for weeks.

“She’ll replay that over and over and over and over again. And then the people she sees that were there when it happened, they’re gonna come up to her and they’re gonna forget everything that she’s saying, all the stuff that she had did, and they’re only going to focus on, ‘I was at that show where you knocked a dude in the head for calling you an N-word,’” Johari says. “It has nothing to do with her artistry. But it reminds her of the way in which she has to be prepared, just in case it happens again.”

King remembers Bell also felt that some of the other men in the band’s changing lineup failed to treat her as an equal partner: “She’s getting that from her own band members — what do you think audience people are like?”

A European tour in the late ’80s gained Bam Bam international fans, but ended after Bell and Martin split up, and Bell was caught in an immigration enforcement dragnet in the Netherlands.

When they returned to the Pacific Northwest, Bam Bam continued playing shows until 1990, when Bell abruptly quit as they were packing up to head to the studio in Portland, Ore.

“She had just had enough,” Ledgerwood says. “For almost eight years she had almost literally eviscerated herself for the audience.”

But that work never resulted in the national recognition they deserved.

“Grunge, whatever that means, is being identified as from your community, your colleagues, your sound that you were a participant in help shaping, and you’re not even mentioned in any of it.”

“Sometimes you need to be a little bit of an asshole to protect yourself. And Bell wasn’t much of an asshole,” Ledgerwood adds. “She was a pure-hearted person and had a really hard time believing that people couldn’t accept her over something as stupid as race.”

Bell didn’t just quit the band, she withdrew from music completely, says her son, Oscar-winning documentary filmmaker TJ Martin. Not out of resentment, he adds, but perhaps to escape the painful reminders that the music she helped pioneer was now earning other bands multimillion-dollar record contracts.

“Grunge, whatever that means, is being identified as from your community, your colleagues, your sound that you were a participant in help shaping, and you’re not even mentioned in any of it,” Martin says. “I can’t even fathom what that would feel like for it to be sort of spit back in your face with such frequency.”

Ledgerwood believes Bell died of a broken heart. But when Bell died alone in her Las Vegas apartment in 2012, the official cause of death listed was cirrhosis of the liver. She had struggled with alcohol and depression. Her son says the coroner estimated her time of death as a couple weeks before her body was discovered. She was 55 years old.

The things that could have told Tina Bell’s story in her own voice are lost. Martin arrived in Las Vegas to find that the contents of his mother’s apartment — except for a DVD player, a poster, and a chair — had been thrown away. All of her writings — lyrics, poems, diaries — along with Bam Bam music, videos, and other memorabilia — went in the trash without her family even being notified.

If you think you were in Seattle in the ’80s, in the grunge scene, and you don’t remember Tina Bell and Bam Bam, you probably weren’t really fucking there.

“I couldn’t help draw a parallel between her not being respected and seen in the first chapter of her life, as the front person of a punk band, and then even in death being disrespected and not being seen for the merits of the life she lived,” says Martin.

Bell’s death is also an indictment of the way she was written out of her own story. The way grunge’s almighty gatekeepers chose to look through her instead of at her. Grunge became the domain of alienated young White men in flannel shirts, and Tina Bell didn’t fit the narrative they were trying to sell.

“Black herstory can suffer immense amounts of erasure if somebody is not brave enough to ensure that women get counted,” Johari says.

To many of those who were part of the scene at the time, the amnesia seems intentional. Ledgerwood brings up the seminal history of Seattle’s grunge era, Everybody Loves Our Town. In it, the author refers to Bam Bam as a three-piece instrumental band mainly notable because Matt Cameron was the drummer. Tina Bell isn’t even mentioned.

“How in the hell would he have a recollection of how great Bam Bam and its drummer was, and not this unbelievably beautiful woman, this firecracker, this explosive rock and roll goddess?” Ledgerwood asks. “Even if he thought she sucked, to not remember the only Black woman on the whole fuckin’ scene is — well, it’s like that old joke about the ’60s: If you think you were in Seattle in the ’80s, in the grunge scene, and you don’t remember Tina Bell and Bam Bam, you probably weren’t really fucking there.”

You can listen to more of Bam Bam’s music on this Spotify playlist. A vinyl album with the band’s songs is coming out this year on Bric-a-Brac Records.

[fridayfirefly]

Fairest of the Fair

Read Fairest of the Fair on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 9 - Teen Titans

"We've got five hours until the fair closes. That's five hours of funnel cake, Ferris wheels, and rigged carnival games," announced Dick as they stepped out of the car in the parking lot of the Jump City Fair. It was a tradition for the Teen Titan team to visit the fair every year. At first, it had been an effort to humanize them to the citizens of Jump City, to show that they were more than just superheroes. Now, the reason that the team went every year was simply that it was fun.

"I can't wait to try everything." Marinette had been looking forward to the Jump City Fair all summer. It was her very first American fair, and Gar had promised that he would show her around, giving her the full fair experience.

"C'mon, I smell funnel cake." Gar grabbed Marinette's hand as they ran through the crowds.

Marinette laughed. "I was coming with you, you don't need to pull me along."

Gar let go of her hand and pouted. "We need to get there faster. Just think of all the funnel cake we're missing out on while we're standing around talking."

"We can still hurry. I just don't want to run into anyone." Marinette giggled as she followed Gar through the crowd. He wove in between the crowds of people like an expert, scampering right through the chaos of the fair crowds without disturbing a single person. Marinette found it a little more difficult - she was much less nimble than Gar, but every time she fell behind he waited for her to catch up.

"I followed the smell of funnel cake right to its source and here we are." Gar stopped in front of a food stand proclaiming itself to be All-American Funnel Cake. "This is the best cuisine America has to offer."

"Of course. Everyone knows that the greatest American delicacies are carnival food. Who needs gourmet crêpes and macaroons when you can have funnel cake and corn dogs?" joked Marinette.

"Exactly. I'll order our food, you find us a seat."

Marinette strolled through the seating area, trying to find a bench that wasn't covered in syrup and melted ice cream. When she finally found a suitably clean chair, she collapsed into it. She was already sweating from the hot August sun beating down on her, and she couldn't wait to get her hands on something to drink.

"I got the funnel cake and lemonade," said Gar as he set them down on the table.

Marinette grabbed the cup of lemonade and took a long sip of it, savoring the chill. "It's so hot out here. How do you stand it?"

Gar shrugged. "It's all part of the fair experience. It's miserably hot in the day, but it still manages to get uncomfortably chilly once the sun goes down. That's why I brought a jacket."

Marinette shook her head. "If I were wearing a jacket right now, I would probably pass out from heatstroke. Your ability to withstand extreme heat must be one of your superpowers if you aren't even sweating."

"Stop talking about me and start talking about funnel cake," Gar whinged. "You came all the way to America just to try some."

Marinette laughed. "I came all the way to America to join the Teen Titans. The funnel cake is just a bonus." Taking a generous bite of the carnival food, Marinette proclaimed, "I like it."

"Yes!" Gar cheered. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and marked something down. "Step one: have Marinette try funnel cake. Complete."

"You have a list?"

"Your first-ever fair is an important occasion. I want to make sure you didn't miss out on anything."

Marinette smiled. "That's sweet of you. So what are we doing after this."

"After this, we play the rigged carnival games. Then we ride one of the many spinning rides. Then we'll get roasted cinnamon almonds. Then we check out some of the art competitions. Last but not least, we ride the Ferris wheel as the sun sets. Then we meet up at the car with the rest of the Titans to watch the fireworks and go home after."

"That all sounds like fun to me." Marinette finished her lemonade and funnel cake, then turned to Gar. "Ready to go lose at some carnival game?"

"I was born ready." Garfield grabbed Marinette's hand and led her to the carnival game. There was a hoop toss game, a game where you popped water balloons using oversized darts, a game of knocking down coke bottles with baseballs, something vaguely resembling ski-ball.

"Which one should I pick?" asked Marinette.

"They're all varying degrees of impossible, so just pick the game with the best prizes."

Marinette scanned the rows of colorful stuffed animals until she saw the one she wanted, on a shelf beside the ski-ball tracks. "I want the green kitten," she exclaimed, pointing.

"Why?" Gar sounded amused by her enthusiasm.

"It reminds me of you," Marinette admitted.

Gar smiled. "Okay, I'll help you win. We'll win it together."

Ski-ball was harder than Marinette remembered. After twenty minutes and twenty dollars, she and Gar still hadn't managed to get all ten ski-balls into their respective holes.

"Face it, Gar, we just aren't good enough to win."

Gar shook his head. "I'm not leaving until I win you that kitten. One more set of ski-balls." He handed a five-dollar bill to the game attendant. "Do you want the first ball?"

"Sure, but this is the last time we play. I'm not letting you spend all of our food money on this ridiculously impossible game." Marinette grabbed the first four balls off of the counter and gently rolled each one of them up into the first hole, and Gar successfully rolled the next four balls - the first eight were easy. It was the ninth and tenth ball that they failed on. "I'll take nine." Marinette brought her arm back, then swung it forward and released the ninth fall. It landed perfectly into the ninth hole. "It's all on you, Gar."

He narrowed his eyes, plucking the ball off of the counter. This was the closest they had gotten to winning. He swung the ball forward, tracking the arc with his eyes until it... landed right in the final hole.

"You did it!" Marinette cheered, grabbing Gar's hand and lifting it up in the air. "Winner!"

"Here's your green cat." The game attendant handed the stuffed toy to Marinette, who clutched it against her chest.

"I love it! I'm naming him Milo and keeping him forever."

"Alright, now that you've won your first rigged carnival game, you and Milo need to pick out one of the many rides here to try it." Gar pulled a map of the fairground out of his pocket and started pointing out rides. "I recommend the Merry-Go-Round, the Tilt-A-Whirl, and the Paratrooper."

"Which one is closest?"

"The Tilt-A-Whirl is just to the left and around the corner."

Marinette grabbed Gar's hand and pulled him along. "Let's go!"

Together they ran through crowds of people, darting around people and out of the way to avoid bumping into anyone. They made it to the Tilt-A-While and rode until Marinette got so dizzy she couldn't walk in a straight line and Gar laughed so hard his face turned red. Then Gar and Marinette made their way to the Merry-Go-Round, where they rode it a couple of times. Then they met up with Dick and Kori and got more carnival snacks with their friends.

"Say cheese!" instructed Marinette as she paused to take a picture of her friends for the official Teen Titans Instagram account.

Kori grinned and pulled Dick closer to her. Gar reached for the camera in Marinette's hands. "Turn the camera around and make it a selfie."

Marinette did as instructed, moving her own head in front of the camera and grinning as she took the picture. She quickly typed a caption. Enjoying cinnamon glazed almonds (Beast Boy's favorite) and butterbeer at the fair. Hope everyone's having a great day in Jump City! "And... post!"

Marinette sat down to enjoy the snacks, Gar slipping his hand into Marinette's. "Try the cinnamon almonds first, they're delicious."

"They'd better be," teased Marinette. "You've been hyping them up all week."

"I could write poems about these almonds, they're so good. And I know I could probably get them any day of the year, but I only ever get them when we go to the fair so that they never lose their appeal."

Marinette popped a handful in her mouth and hummed in appreciation. "Oh, these are good. I'm going to have to get a recipe for these, so I can make homemade cinnamon almonds."

Gar's eyes lit up. "Homemade cinnamon almonds. That might be the best combination of words I've ever heard in my life."

Marinette playfully narrowed her eyes. "What about 'I love you.'"

Gar's eyes widened. "Um, third-best combination then. Right after when you told me, 'I love you', and when I told you, 'I love you.'"

"Good save. The execution could use some work though. I give it an eight out of ten," joked Dick.

"I'll be generous, and give it an eight point five," added Kori.

"Hey, only I get to tease him," protested Marinette as she gazed at Gar lovingly. "Now feed me more almonds."

Marinette ate another serving of almonds and drank two glasses of butterbeer before Dick and Kori decided to separate from them and find the trapeze tent. Gar got his list back out, checked off the activities they had already completed, and announced, "Now it's time for more rides. Paratroopers, here we come!"

Just a few minutes later, Marinette was pressed against Gar's side as their cart swung through the air. "This is nice," said Marinette. "The Jump City Fair gets the Ladybug stamp of approval."

"Just wait until you see the fireworks. The grand finale is amazing. You'll love it," promised Gar.

"I bet I will." Marinette rested her head on Gar's shoulder as she watched the world spin around them.

When they got off the ride, Marinette and Gar walked hand-in-hand to the art competition tents, where paintings were hanging all around the tents.

"Look at this one!" Gar pointed to a painting of the Teen Titans in action, fighting the H.I.V.E. Five in the streets of downtown Jump City. "This one has my vote!" Gar called out.

"Shush," said Marinette with a laugh. "You're biased."

"Nope. No bias here. Just pointing out what is objectively the best painting he's ever seen."

"Oh really. If you're such an impartial judge, tell me why it's objectively the best painting."

"Because you're in it, Buginette." Gar grinned at her, pointing at Ladybug in the picture, fighting Jinx with her yoyo.

Marinette laughed. "You're so cheesy."

"To be fair, you did walk right into that one," Gar defended himself as they left the art tent. "If you're going to leave yourself vulnerable to compliments, I'm going to take that opportunity to compliment you."

"Oh, look at the sunset!" exclaimed Marinette as she saw the yellow, pink, and orange sky.

Gar slipped his hand into Marinette's. "It doesn't hold a candle to you."

Marinette got onto her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You're too sweet. Now let's go ride that Ferris wheel."

Gar and Marinette walked to the Ferris wheel hand in hand, getting into a car and riding it all the way to the top, where they could see the sunset reflecting off of the ocean.

"You were right, it does get cold," said Marinette with a shiver.

"Here, take mine." Gar took off his jean jacket, laying it across Marinette's shoulders.

Marinette smiled. "How about we split the coat while we're up here. We'll just have to squeeze together." Marinette pressed herself up against Gar, moving the jacket so that it draped over both of their shoulders. Sighing softly, Marinette watched Gar with a smile on her face.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Gar.

"I just don't want to forget this moment."

"I can fix that." Gar pulled his phone out of his pocket, started a video, and turned his camera around so they were both in frame. "How are you feeling, Buginette?"

Marinette kissed his cheek, then smiled for the camera. "Perfect."

"Jump City Fair is a success." Gar ended the video as the Ferris wheel started up again, moving them back down to the ground.

"Every day with you is a success."

The fireworks started as they walked back to the car, bright and colorful. Marinette slid her hand into Gar's gently rubbing circles with her thumb. She knew that he used to be scared of fireworks - still was, a little bit - as a result of his animal tendency. Gar flinched back as the boom of fireworks sounded above him.

"Focus on my voice," said Marinette. "I love you. I love you more than all the stars in the sky. I love you more than all the drops of water in the ocean. I love you forever."

Gar wrapped his arms around Marinette. "I know. I love you too."

@maribatmarch-2k21

[alfredosauce50]

You’re gonna go far, kid [Punk! England x reader]

Synopsis: Ever since coming to England to study, you haven’t had the time to do what made you come in the first place--tourism! The only friend you have is an exchange student from Russia, Ivan, so why not kill two birds with one stone? He schedules a little playdate with Arthur, a local, so he can show you around the hottest spots in London. You two immediately hit it off. Ivan is quick to notice his interest in you, so he starts teasing the poor man and making things hard for him. Camden is the last destination, and there’s no saying when he’ll ever see you again. Will he be able to get over himself and ask you out before the night ends?  Note: Attractions are italicized and have a link to a picture. Wordcount: 4,641 The reader is referred to as she/her.

This was the day you had been dreading, and yet, looking forward to. The first part was easy to explain. Picking up your hot latte, you set it down after a quick sip. You didn’t even have time to enjoy it. Not when you were typing away at your keyboard like a speed demon. You promised your friend you would finish your assignment before today’s meet-up, but your procrastination habits were a bitch. Nevertheless, you were eager to uphold your side of the deal, even if it meant stressing your hair out to get it done. 

So long as he didn’t show up before you were done, right? 

After burning your tongue for the second time that morning, you let out a small groan at the sting you felt but gasped at what you saw outside the window. It was a sound made from genuine terror--rather than the quiet streets of London at seven AM, you spotted a man pressing his face right up to the glass. And he was staring at you, menacingly. 

Anybody would’ve been creeped out by the sight, but you knew the guy. “Aha--Ivan! Hey! Morning?” You began rather awkwardly. 

He waved in response, and his glower melted away in exchange for a childlike smile. “Dobroye utro, (F/N)! I hope that’s not your assignment you’re doing.” He hummed, placing two hands on the glass to peer at your screen from outside. Oh shit. Glancing briefly at said screen, you turned it away before clicking the upload button. 

“Of course not.” You grinned, shutting your laptop immediately after. “I was just... Surfing the net. Checking Instagram. You know?”

“Is that so? I’m gonna check.” He made his way inside. And in no time, he was looming over your shoulder to start browsing through your internet history. You, on the other hand, were sweating balls. 

“You’re so funny, (F/N). Who checks Instagram on their computer?”

It seemed like only yesterday he was the oblivious exchange student from Russia who had no concept of social media. He had been a country bumpkin through and through, but a few semesters after befriending you, your influence rubbed off on him. Even you had no idea what went through your head when decided to talk to him, the intimidating new kid who spoke broken English, but there was no turning back now. He was attached to you by the hip and picked up on your habits faster than you could deal. 

He only became more of a menace when he discovered Twitter.

A displeased expression contorted at his expression when he saw that there was no evidence of you ‘surfing the net’. Google Docs couldn’t possibly count, after all.  “... Hm... Apparently, not you. Why didn’t you finish this yesterday, sunflower? Remember our promise?” 

You sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I passed out last night. But hey, I technically finished it before you came, didn’t I?” 

He craned his head from side to side in thought. “Maybe. But if you hadn’t, you know what that means.” Ivan coiled his arms around your neck and a sickeningly sweet smile curled up at his lips. 

“You will come with me to Moscow for Christmas!” 

A chill ran down your spine at the thought. Going to Russia was bad enough. But during Winter? You were never good with the cold. If you could barely handle London, Moscow was out of the question. “Oh God, please no.” He nodded giddily. “I’m never going to Russia. Maybe I’d consider it during Summer, but--anyway, that’s not the point here! I didn’t break any promises so I won’t be turning into a popsicle this year. Got that?” 

He pouted. “Aw...” 

“You damn sadist.” 

“Hehe.” 

“I wonder how you even became friends with him. Arthur, was it? Poor dude.” You mumbled, but he didn’t look all too offended. 

He tapped his chin and hummed. “Now that you mention it.” Then, he let out a short laugh. “It’s a long story. Let’s just say it was a happy little accident.”

“Unfortunate.” 

“But don’t worry! I don’t plan on bothering you as much as him today.” Ivan clarified, earning a slow nod from you. Phew. The clock was inching closer to eight and you weren’t much of a morning person, so hearing that was like music to your ears. “That’s why I wanted you to finish your work yesterday. I want him to be the only one making mistakes! It’s interesting to see him mess up and get embarrassed.” 

You had to wonder if he was using ‘interesting’ as a synonym for fun because he was clapping. “... Ivan, you really are a sadist.” 

The two of you stayed in that café for another hour or so, ordering some breakfast during your stay. Once the table was cleared and the bill was paid, you and he caught a bus to the London eye. You could marvel at the iconic ferris wheel for a few minutes as you walked up to the London aquarium next to it, your first stop. The building was huge to start with, and it didn’t look like they’d be storing fish in there considering how fancy it was. But wasn’t everything in England fancy? 

“He should be waiting in the front. Look for a short grouchy man with a bad taste in fashion.” You shot him a weird look, beckoning him to elaborate. 

“... And blonde hair.”

“Alright. I guess I’ll try my best.” Glancing around the sea of people filled with tourists, couples, and families, you skimmed the crowd for someone who fitted the description--but to no avail. It was only when they walked up to you both did you find the guy. He had short and choppy blonde hair that framed a heart-shaped face, and under his fringe was a pair of lime green eyes staring on with a neutral expression. And did Ivan say he had bad taste?

You couldn’t agree. Yes, his charcoal pants were ripped and he had a bandana tied around his neck with a Union Jack on it. But he still had a kind of style you liked. Under his black leather jacket was a gray shirt, and combined with the piercings in his right ear, you couldn’t help admiring him for a second. 

“Arthur! I was wondering if you were trampled because we couldn’t find you.” Ivan began, causing the said man to furrow his brows. And boy, were they thick. 

“You just arrived, so don’t start now you twat.” He grumbled. Ivan never teased you for your height, even when you were a little shorter than the Brit. He always found it cute, but you figured it was only because you didn’t care. The Russian always found amusement in poking fun at others, after all. “Anywho, I’m glad I won’t be spending the whole day alone with you.” 

Turning to you with a soft smile this time, he held out a hand for you to shake. “Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland.” 

You shook it, but not without a laugh. It hadn’t even been a minute since meeting him, and his personality seemed to clash violently with his appearance. He sounded so prim and proper, but his outfit screamed punk rock. 

“(L/N). (F/N) (L/N).” 

He released you from his grip. Placing his hands on his hips with an accusing stare, he felt a grin upturn his lips. “Are you copying me, (F/N)?” 

“I don’t know. Do all British people introduce themselves like James Bond?” 

Arthur clicked his tongue. “... Not all of them. Just a force of habit.” 

“Mhm. Right, right. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Arthur. I’m a student here too and I could only imagine how busy it gets for you--so thanks for coming out today!” He didn’t respond to those comments and simply nodded. 

Ivan stayed quiet in the back, but he was probably reading the atmosphere like he always did when he didn’t speak. 

“It’s nice to meet you too.” The blonde turned on his heel and closed his eyes. “As much as I’d like to stay out here and chat, we can do that in the aquarium. Wouldn’t wanna waste our tickets, do we?” 

While the group of three wandered slowly through the establishment, Ivan lingered in the background while you walked in the front with the Brit. For the first ten minutes, you’d look at him expectantly, gesturing for him to join in the conversation. As the mutual, wasn’t he supposed to be the icebreaker? He’d shake his head every time, offering you a smile as if to say, go and make some friends. But soon, this brief spell of irritation morphed into gratitude.

“I’ve been here probably a hundred times, so don’t take it personally when I don’t seem as excited as you.” Turning to him to watch his face as he spoke--which was filtered through a bluish tinge from the Antarctic setting-- you only caught a brief glimpse of it before he turned away. Huh. Maybe it was just you not paying enough attention. 

Either way, what came out of your mouth next would surely grab his. 

“Don’t worry about it. But hey, this is the first time you’ve been here with me, so look alive, won’t you?” It happened to be a slip of the tongue, something bold and improvised, but luckily, he reacted fairly quickly before the regret set in.

“Oi, you better not be flirting with me already,” Arthur grumbled, feeling another smile come as he heard you chuckle. Since when was he this expressive? He pinned it on the fact that he was starting to have a little fun himself. 

“Couldn’t imagine it.” Before he could add anything else, you hopped in front of the penguins and started waving your friend over with great gusto. “Ivan, c’mere. Arthur, mind taking a photo of us?” Once he joined your side, the two of you held up peace signs for the Brit to snap a photo. 

“Ivan, change your pose. We can’t have both of you doing the same thing.” 

The said man moved his peace sign to the back of your head so he could stick two fingers over it. “Is that better?”

“... Better.” Trailing his emerald eyes to you, he felt his cheeks heat up a touch at the sight of you grinning ear to ear. What the fuck, Arthur. Just take the damn photo. And that was exactly what he did, showing you both right after. Whatever just happened, he boiled it down to him idealizing a stranger. That was right. He had yet to get to know you, so his perception of you couldn’t be any better at this stage. 

But there was one thing he couldn’t deny.

“Damn, I look really ugly in this. You two better not post this anywhere.” You settled a hand over the screen to lower it with a nervous laugh. Then, you looked away, and what was that? You looked a little flustered. 

You were cute.

Hanging his head to look at the photo, he knitted his brows together. You? Ugly? He couldn’t imagine it. 

“... I bet I could take an even uglier one of you.”

Spinning back to him, you folded your arms. “What did you say?” 

“Nothing.” He shook his head slowly, and the amusement in his voice made it blatantly obvious he was lying. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

Walking off at that, Ivan followed. Because he was behind him, he could brush his shoulders against his. Arthur looked up at that, but almost wished he didn’t. Ivan was smiling down at him so shrewdly, it was threatening. Then, he raised a hand to his mouth so he could laugh softly. “Huhu. You like (F/N)~” 

His eyes flew open and blood rushed up to his face. “What the hell gave you that impression? I literally just met them!” As adamant as he sounded, he knew deep inside he liked you, but only platonically. Your personality was refreshing, and talking to you was as easy as breathing. Even if it wasn’t platonic attraction, he was endlessly frustrated the other figured it out earlier than he could. 

Whatever it was, he was certainly more sociable than usual, even to the point of being a tease. And not to mention the rosy cheeks. Maybe he should’ve just kept his trap shut--otherwise, his huge outburst let Ivan milk the obvious. Fuck. He even started to giggle like a schoolchild. 

Giving him a rough shove, he muttered a string of curses under his breath.  “I bloody hate your arse, you know that?” He hissed, his face now redder than a tomato. God, why he did have to be born so pale? Every slight change to his complexion was jarring, and it was embarrassing. 

“Don’t hate me because I’m right,” Ivan hummed, joining his side as your back came into view. “Once you realize, it’ll be too late. I’m not letting you have (F/N). I will always be (F/N)’s number one.” Lighting up at that, he skipped off to you in the front. “Wait for me, sunflower! Don’t leave me alone with Arthur!”

Arthur stopped in his tracks and clenched his fists. How annoying. If he was going to continue being a little tyke, then he figured he’d up his game as well. He didn’t know what that exactly entailed yet, but he’d do it. Ivan didn’t even sound like he wanted anything more than friendship, so what was with that? Pointing a finger at him as he walked off with you, his face scrunched up. 

“What did you even call me out for then, you idiot? I’m supposed to be guiding you both!” Picking up his pace at that, he slotted himself between you and him. Flashing you a brief smile, he gave Ivan another push without breaking eye contact. “It’s a tight fit for three, so he’ll stay in the back.” 

“Hey, no fair!” 

By the time the whole aquarium was toured, you and Arthur were laughing to yourselves while leaving through the exit. 

But the joyful atmosphere was short-lived. 

The Ferris wheel just outside was the next stop, and the Brit offered to splurge a little to have a carriage without strangers. That way, you could run around as much as you wanted, even if that meant leaving the two men to sit in their lonesome. While Ivan was sitting on the bench in the centre out of his own volition, the same couldn’t be said for him. 

Sitting back to back to the other, he pressed his legs firmly together and leaned over in a hunch. Then, he dug his hands through his hair, all while keeping his round eyes fixated on the ground. His heart couldn’t stop pounding, and his head was spinning like a carousel. What was he thinking, taking you here? That was right. This was an iconic destination you couldn’t miss, that was why. He was initially planning on staying back there on the ground, but you were so excited, he couldn’t help but hop on with you. 

Fuck. Maybe Ivan was right about him. But he wouldn’t let him know it. Speaking of the guy, he didn’t know if he was sitting there by choice, or just rubbing it in. While he was incapacitated by fear so he couldn’t even stand, he was sitting there because he wanted to. 

“You should’ve stayed on the ground if this was going to happen.” 

Arthur screwed his eyes shut and tightened his arms around his stomach. “... Shut up.” 

“I was just saying.” Ivan murmured, looking at him over his shoulder. Poor guy. He really was down bad, wasn’t he? Down bad for you, that was. Too bad Arthur was hoping he wasn’t convinced--but it was too obvious. So all Ivan wanted was to prove his point, and later on, keep you away from him. But maybe he’d save it until after the ride was over. “... This ride is thirty minutes long. You’ll live.” 

He heard the other groan. “Thirty minutes? How long has it been?” 

“Mm... Ten.” 

“Fuck me.” 

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be long before you would pull away from the railing and return to the company of the two. Arthur had been praying that somehow, you’d leave him alone sitting there, pathetically, but he couldn’t expect something so cold from you. So while he hung his head, he wasn’t surprised to feel your hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, you okay?” He heard you ask, but he never looked up. 

“... Yeah. Just give me a minute.” 

“I have. Ten, actually.” Taking a seat beside him, you leaned down to peer at his face, which was a few shades paler than normal. He didn’t even have the energy to respond, and kept his eyes fixed to the ground. Concern immediately contorted at your features, especially when he looked so shaken. “Arthur, you look a little sick. What’s wrong? Can you talk?” 

He shook his head slowly before managing a weak smile at you. “Sorry, love.” It didn’t even faze him he just called you that. He was far too uncomfortable to feel the embarrassment from a nickname he should’ve saved until a little later. 

“I’m not... Too good with heights. Never have been... I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.” His voice was slow and faint, and you were beginning to suspect he was having a panic attack. “... Sorry if I seem a little lame.” 

“No, of course not.” You frowned. “Things like this happen. Just breathe with me, okay? You can do it. Just count to ten.” 

Arthur took a deep inhale. “... Okay.” 

Around ten minutes later of these exchanges, he calmed down some, especially when you kept on reminding him that the carriage was finally descending. Once the ride was over, you had to help him up and walk him out. Now that he had his two feet planted firmly on the ground, it didn’t take long for him to recover. Even then, you remained rather cautious and stuck with him on your journey to Soho. By the time everyone took their seats in Circolo Popolare, a beautiful Italian restaurant Arthur so kindly booked, you were still looking out for him.

Leaning over to rest your head on the table, you glanced up at his face with a soft smile. “... You okay now?” 

A light blush dusted his cheeks and he nodded. You didn’t need to be this observant with him considering he was well now, but he loved your attentiveness. It wasn’t something he was used to. “Yeah, I’m fine now. Thank you. Now quit worrying about me, alright?” Rubbing the nape of his neck at that, you couldn’t help lingering on his body language for a moment.

It didn’t matter what he dressed like, or what his personality was. He could be endearing when it came to it, and a total softie too. And the thought made you smile even wider. If he thought you were cute, then you thought he was adorable. “Fine. I’ll leave you alone.” You slowly turned to Ivan, the action making Arthur tense up a little. 

Reaching out to your hand, he took it. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

The feeling of his warm fingers around yours made your heart skip a beat. Did he just? Your thoughts manifested into your look of shock, and you darted your eyes over his neutral expression to try and decipher it. Before you could come up with anything, there was a phone in your face, followed by a flash. 

“Wha--?” 

He turned the screen to you to reveal a photo of you, and in your opinion, it was the least flattering picture anybody had ever taken of you. “I said I’d take an uglier photo of you, didn’t I?” Arthur grinned, the words acting like a cold splash of water to bring you back to reality. 

“... You sneaky little shit.” You growled. “Delete that right now!” 

“How about no?” 

“I’ll never forgive you for this, Arthur.” 

“I think you already have, love. You’re smiling right now.” 

You stared at him wordlessly for a few seconds. Then, out of nowhere, you reached out to snatch his phone right out of his hands. Tapping furiously on the screen to get rid of it, you heard his chair scrape back violently as he tried to retrieve it. “Why, you--” 

But it was too late. Gone forever. Lost in the abyss of cyberspace. And so, he immediately channelled his frustration by jabbing his fingers into your sides. “If I can’t have that photo of you, at least let me do this!” You burst into a fit of laughter so loud, nearby patrons turned their heads. Only then did he pull away, leaving you to recover through breathless wheezing. 

“Fuck you, Arthur.” You whispered, but it was on an affectionate note more than anything. As you glowered at him from your seat, you never noticed Ivan doing the same thing, but he was glaring at the Brit for an entirely different reason. Arthur had to be the most self-aware person out there, and to make a scene in a restaurant like this? He really fell for you, didn’t he? 

When he realized Ivan’s scorching gaze burning into him, he froze. 

Not just out of how intimidated he was, but the epiphany that he was right all along. Why else was he acting so out of character? The only explanation was this--in the short time of being with you, he may or may not have developed a little crush. But that was no problem, right? 

All he needed to do was to ask you out. 

But that would prove a task easier said than done, especially when Ivan decided to attach himself to you by the hip after that stunt. That cunning bastard knew what he was doing. After a little window shopping around Bond street and Mayfair, he stuck to you like a tattoo, and kept it up until night fell. While the group walked around Camden, Ivan kept you by his side with a firm grip on your hand. 

When you asked why he was suddenly so clingy, he simply justified it with, “It’s dangerous for small people like you to wander around at night!” 

But Arthur called bullshit. Especially when the other went ahead and smirked at him right after saying it. Maybe he liked you too, but was refusing to admit it. How hypocritical. If not, then he probably didn’t want you making friends when you were the only friend he had. Whatever it was, he wasn’t about to back down so easily. Camden may be the last destination for the night, and perhaps, the last time he’d see you again for God knows how long, but it was his trump card.

If this didn’t sweep you off your feet enough to get you to pull away from Ivan, nothing would. 

As a town famous for its thriving nightlife and punk culture, it encompassed everything he was passionate about, and he’d give anything to show it to you. So he included a visit to the bar here on the agenda today, one that hosted live music. While you and Ivan got comfortable in your seats, Arthur never made a move to sit down. 

It was already dim inside, so you never noticed him leave. The next time you saw him, it was a few minutes later when he was on stage with a few other musicians. Leaning forward with surprise, you watched him strap on a bright red electric guitar. Walking up to the microphone, he adjusted that. No way. 

You were still trying to process him being a professional performer, but a lead singer as well? 

The second he strummed the strings to start a guitar riff, he opened his mouth to start singing.

Play this while you read

Show me how to lie, you're getting better all the time

And turning all against the one is an art that's hard to teach

His fingers never stopped moving as he belted out note after note. His voice was so different to how he talked, you had to do a double take. He sounded a little more rasp, a little more punk. To say you were impressed was an understatement. 

Now dance, fucker, dance, man, he never had a chance

And no one even knew it was really only you

While he jammed out on stage, he was electric. The energy in the bar exploded, and he had everyone singing along. You could almost see the confidence in him shoot up from the excitable crowd, because he was smirking. 

Nice work, you did. 

You’re gonna go far, kid! 

Turning his head to you as he sung that line, you raised a hand to your mouth. Whether he did that on purpose or not was a mystery. But no words could describe how attractive it was. Hell, it even made you mind blank for a few moments. This was Arthur? He was like an entirely different person! Needless to say, you were completely star struck. 

You couldn’t even make out what Ivan was telling you when the music was blaring in your ears. But you didn’t care. Arthur had you caught in a trance with his voice and guitar all until the end. When the song finally ended, the band bowed graciously and threw up hand signs as the audience erupted in applause and cheers. 

When he stepped off the stage, you didn’t hesitate to run up to him. There, you practically pounced on him for a tight embrace. “Oh my god, you were amazing! I didn’t know you could play so well! And sing, too! Why didn’t you tell me!?” You exasperated, pulling away to be met with his dazzling smile. It was the first time you’ve seen him so energetic, as if performing sparked a fire inside him that burned with youthful intensity. 

“I was dying to show you all day. I wanted it to be a surprise, and I had to save the best til’ last, didn’t I?” He grinned, feeling his heart swell up with warmth as he watched you light up. 

“Well, good on you! I loved it!” Squeezing him again, you felt his chest shake under his laughs. When you pulled away, you reached up to cup his face. But it felt so natural in the spur of the moment, even he didn’t seem to care. 

“Thanks again for today, Arthur. I really appreciate you taking us out today. You completely blew me away.”

The way how you phrased it reminded him of why he was here in the first place. That was right. He still had to ask you out. And with Ivan watching on from afar, this was his chance. The thought reddened his cheeks, but while you had his face in your hands, he couldn’t feel more comfortable. “Is that so? If that’s the case, how about I take you out again?” His expression grew serious. “A proper date, I mean.” 

It was your turn to blush, but you managed a quick answer. 

“No need to look so serious, love. Of course I’ll go on a date with you.” 

He chuckled and leaned in to peck your lips. “Stealing my vocabulary now, are we?” 

“Stealing kisses now, are we?” 

“Touché.” 

Now a third wheel of the group, he breathed out a soft sigh and rested his cheek on his hand. “I guess my job here is done.” It didn’t really look like it, but he had been trying to play the wingman all along. Arthur was always one to go a little crazy when he wanted something, and only more so when he was desperate. So all he gave him was a little push in the right direction. 

Maybe he would thank him later, but for now, he’d leave you two be. 

This is a request. Thank you for requesting.

[sanieee]

ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕄𝕚𝕟𝕖

Au: Non-idol au

Genre: Angst, fluff.

Summery: Are you lovers or strangers when you look eye to eye? You knew the answer when you asked him if you could call him yours.

Warnings: It may be longer than I expected it to be. Also, it was [again] inspired by The Chainsmokers. And it’s unedited so, if you see any mistakes, I will re-read it [for the 15th time] again. I’m making individual ones based on several songs.

Words: 2k 

“ᴰᵒⁿ'ᵗ ˡᵉᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳʸ ᶠᵃᵈᵉ“

                       ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛

Hongjoong ︳Seonghwa  ︳Yunho  ︳Yeosang ︳San ︳Mingi ︳Wooyoung ︳Jongho

༛༛ ༛༛ ༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛ ༛༛  ༛༛

Meeting Wooyoung was unexpected. Ending up being his significant other was also out of the blue. Your whole relationship was unlooked for, but amazing nevertheless. But when it started to go down hill, you couldn’t help but think of the happier days. 

You walked in the bar, there were hundreds of conversations told in loud voices, all of them competing with the loud  music that resonated through the speakers. The crowd is young, students from university for the most part, and you were no exception. Your friends had been asking you to go out one night to the bar downtown with them, to have some fun and discuss some gossip if there was any. 

As you were looking for your friends, a pair of eyes were fixed on you since you stepped inside. He ran his fingers through his long dark locks, just to push away his bangs out of his eyesight the next second. He turned to his best friend, who was drinking away his problems. 

Taking away the glass from his hands, he nudged his shoulder.  A loud, “Who is she?” was heard by all the people at their table. Seven heads turned in different directions, but were quickly to turn back to him as they were not given any description of the girl he was looking for.  The oldest of the bunch took his glass up to his lips and after a sip asked “What does she look like?”

The younger boy laughed, and then described what you were wearing. After eight pairs of eyes were roaming through the whole bar, the youngest pointed at you with his head. “Her? She goes to my university.” He was not the type to go after someone for a long period of time, and his reputation of breaking hearts was well known, but he didn’t care as he saw your smile. 

He asked Jongho about you, and when he felt confident enough,  he got up his seat to go after you. He came up to you, tapped your shoulder and winked, you laughed as he told you:  “The name is Jung Wooyoung.” 

His presence was anticipated for you at first, but as the night progressed, you liked how easy going and funny he was, needless to say you had no intentions to push him away. You remember how much you laughed as he danced with you and tried to get you interested in him. But you were not the type of girl to go with the first guy that gives you attention. 

You thought he just liked you that night to have some fun, but it was a surprise to you when you saw him again in your campus. He claimed to pick up Jongho, but the boy was already an adult, so his lies were kind of messy. He brushed everything aside  and stuck to you for a few hours before leaving, and it happened for a few months. 

You were sure he was just playing with you, he would find another girl to trail after. His friends on the other hand, had never seen him so dedicated to anyone before. You claimed he was just a friend, and  he claimed you were going to be in his arms sooner or later. But did you feel anything for him? You weren’t sure. 

You weren’t sure until you saw him in a party hosted by one of your friends at the same bar you’ve met. He came up to you, asked you why you were there. “It’s Chan’s party, he’s my childhood friend so of course I came.” He handed you a glass with a smile, his arm around your shoulders as you looked for Chan. 

A few hours after, you were both sitting on the porch stairs. You took some pictures with both your phones, uploading some stories that you wouldn’t remember you posted in the morning. When the night was deep, when the lights had been on for a few hours, when you were drunk enough to forget you came with someone, you told him you were going home. 

But he didn’t want you to leave you yet. He wanted to spend more time with you. Taking you by the arm he asked you “Hey, what you doing for the rest of your life?" You knew what he wanted, and with a sly smirk you told him "Well, I don't even know what I'm doing tonight." 

He extended his hand to you, which you took softly, and the next thing you knew, you were running in the street towards the subway station. If people saw you, they would be worried while giving you weird glances, but you were having the time of your life. Later on, you were in front of the ticket machine, trying to get a ten trip pass. The reason why you didn't buy a ticket for each was because combining both your cash was at least  20$. 

You laughed as you took little steps to go up the station stairs after getting to your destination. He was pulling your arm with little to no strength, and you were leaning on the railing as your hair got in front of your face. 

When you finally climbed the stairs, Wooyoung pointed to a street stall. You both ran to get in line, and took out some of the left over cash you had in your pockets. He paid your order without landing his face on the floor and handed you a water bottle when he turned around. 

You sat on a bench as you leaned on him, sobering up as you ate French fries. When he asked you if you wanted an ice cream, you said yes as you got up and skipped over to a convenience store. 

And maybe it sounds so cliché, but he found you adorable when you picked your dessert. And he couldn’t stop looking at you as you smiled at him with the city lights behind. Maybe that’s why when he saw you had ice-cream at the corner of your lips, he bent down to give you a kiss.

It was sweet. It was soft. It was needy and it was all you would remember for the next few days. That night you felt free and totally forgot about all your problems. When you asked what it was for, he  claimed it was to wipe off the ice cream you had on your lips, since you didn’t have napkins. 

But let me tell you, it wasn’t the last time your lips collided. A few months had passed and it was clear you were more than friends, but nothing was official. Until he showed up at your university once again, and took you away from your friends, with their permission. 

While walking by the river, he had an urge to kiss you, and he did. Not surprised at all, you kissed him back, but as he pulled away he softly asked you a question you were surely not expecting. 

“Can I call you mine?”

You laughed shyly, taking him by his jacket while you nodded. 

But now he was busy, he didn’t have time for you. His college assignments were taking him away from you, and you couldn’t do much since you were also in your senior year. He got mad whenever you brought up how you were neglecting your relationship. And you stopped trying because the only thing it did was hurt you more. 

You talked about it with your friends, they told you to keep trying to talk to him because a relationship goes nowhere if there’s no communication. When you visited his dorm the next day, you went to his room to try again. 

But he was sleep deprived, he couldn’t think straight and he was absolutely not keeping up with you. When you had enough, you started screaming at each other. San and Jongho were in the living room, very aware that your relationship was not in its’ best moment. They were silent as they looked at their frozen phone screens, more interest in your… yelling. 

“Do you regret calling me yours?!” 

The boys knew it was over when they heard no response, and got surprised when you left with a loud bang while closing the door. When they went to Wooyoung, he was still in shock from your question. Of course he didn’t regret it, but he didn’t feel like you were in such bad terms for you to question his loyalty. San told him to man up and fix it, because if he didn’t, Jongho was going to slap some sense into him.

However, his actions weren’t done immediately. It took him several days to compose himself and imagine himself in your place. He did notice that you barely had time to see eye to eye. That sometimes he was in a rush and brushed past you as if you didn’t know each other. It felt like you were someone he knew, that you were slowly becoming strangers. 

However, with all the rage inside you, you decided to go out one night, tired of braking your head and thinking about him all day long. Dolling yourself up in front of your mirror and going to the bar downtown after calling some friends. And while you were drinking your third glass that night, Wooyoung passed through the door looking for you all alone. 

When he spotted you, he came and sat besides you on the bar stools, to try to get you to look at him. You did take a glace at him but looked the other way the second after. He sighed, he had to fix it but he didn’t know how so he went outside to clear his mind.  He left , which irked you a bit because you were convinced he was being a coward and letting all these years go to waste. 

As you hit the dance floor, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around and saw Wooyoung who was looking down with a sad smile. When you asked him what was wrong, because something inside of you just couldn’t help but to feel worried, he winked at you. You had a confused expression on, but it quickly turned into a smirk when he finger gunned you and told you “The name is Jung Wooyoung.” 

You couldn’t stay mad at him when he was trying to act like you were meeting for the first time. But unlike your first meeting, he took you by the hand and guided you outside. You leaned on the wall, as silence came upon both. But he inhaled deeply and looked at you.

“I will make it up to you.”

“How? Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

He took both your hands, and brought you closer. His cologne smelled like home, he felt like home, you had the urge to hug him, but controlled yourself as you were still ‘mad’ at him. He brought your lips together, and closed the gap once your eyes weren’t looking at him anymore, but at his lips. 

When you separated, he laughed and you just rolled your eyes. You felt like that, that was the end of the night, you were going to go home, sleep and talk with him tomorrow. But he had other plans, as you walked away, he grabbed your arm.

“Hey, what you doing for the rest of your life?" 

You laughed wholeheartedly as you held onto him. 

 "Well, I don't even know what I'm doing tonight." 

Then just like before, you ran to catch the subway. Just like before, you barely had cash to pay individually. Just like before, you laughed your ass off as you tried to go up the stairs at the same station. But unlike before, neither of you were drunk, and you enjoyed your recreation even more than the original. 

You sat at the same bench you ate your French fries as he told you how sorry he was for neglecting your relationship, neglecting you. It wasn’t the best apology ever, I know, you know it, but it was sincere. Both of you promised to never let this happen again, and went to get the ice cream you bought at the same store previously.

As you finished, you were expecting a kiss afterwards, but you weren’t as sure because you had your messy eating habits out of your way. However, when he looked down at you, as he had his arm around your shoulders, he leaned to give you a gentle kiss. 

You smiled. He hugged you and snuggled up to you. All the anger banished away from you, and you weren’t mad at him anymore, you knew you could sort your chaotic schedules together. 

You went back home after feeling tired. He took you back to your apartment and laid in bed with you, he had clothes at your place for improvised occasions like this, so he wasn’t going to go to sleep with some jeans on. As he played with your hair, you were falling asleep. But before you could go to dreamland, he whispered everything you wanted to hear. 

"I never regretted the day that I called you mine, so I call you mine."

Both of you went to sleep with a smile on your faces, and woke up like nothing ever happened.

[sgtbradfords]

"Sorry, were you sleeping ?" with Chenford ?

Love your writing

Thank you for the prompt anon, I hope you enjoy! :)

Tim Bradford’s Thursday shift had been one of the longest he had experienced in a while. Not that it was a hectic night, especially for a Thursday but it all started after he had dismissed his officers on the nightshift to hit the streets.

“Hey Sarge, got a second?” Officer Amelia Hatch asked as she walked to the front of the room, the room clearing out as everyone went their own way. “That kid from that domestic the other night, can I contact the school, see if she will talk to me or maybe the guidance counselor?”

Tim sighed, “It wouldn’t be a bad idea, the kid doesn’t need to be bottling that shit up.”

“I think she would have talked to me the other night, but the mother pulled her away before I could ask any questions.”

Tim took a second to think before giving her advice, his lips forming a thin line, “Swing by the elementary school near their address tomorrow after shift, see if that’s where she attends and go from there. But Hatch, don’t blame yourself if she has no intentions of talking now.”

“Understood Sir.” The officer told him before walking away.

Tim had a pile of paperwork in the metal basket on his corner of his desk that grows by the minute that he knew he needed to get a start on, but being a man of few habits, he had gotten in the habit of visiting booking just after the start of the shift.

“Evening Luke, any regulars in yet?” He asked the intake officer who was typing away at the computer behind the counter.

“Not yet Bradford. But there is a full moon and a bad batch of drugs going around.” The officer spoke, never looking up.

Being the nightshift Sergeant of the Mid-Wilshire prescient of the LAPD, Tim had gotten to know his fair share of regulars, the junkies, druggies, and the few prostitutes that frequented one of the three holding cells.

“Great.” He mumbled under his breath. When you work in law enforcement, you always keep track of the moon cycle, the brighter and full phased the moon was, the crazier everyone got. Though it is not a proven fact, it is just a well-known fact that you learn comes with the job. “Let’s get those in, processed out soon, the quicker the better.”

“Wreck on I-10, van’s stuck in traffic. According to radio traffic they should be here within the next thirty or so minutes.”

Tim was about to thank the officer for keeping him updated when a loud disturbance stopped him, the door of the garage flying open.

“I didn’t do shit, you motherfucker!” yelled the man that was being escorted through the door.

The Sergeant moved closer to assist, the man fighting the two officers every step of the way.

“Harper, you good?” Tim asked, grabbing onto the other man’s upper arm.

“Fine. Found this one defacing the side of the church on Harrison Avenue, drunker than a skunk.” She told him as she secured him to the bench.

“You bitch, I told you I had to piss! You can’t prove nothin’.”

Nyla rolled her eyes. “There’s footage on the camera in the alley and on my vest.”

“You fuckin’ lyin bitch.”

“Enough.” Tim glared. “Get him booked, then throw him in the drunk tank to sober up.”

Nyla nodded as Tim walked away, heading back to his office.

He sat down behind his desk, keeping an ear open on the scanner that sat in the corner of the bookshelf in his office. He picked up the reports, reading them one by one as he began sorting through the pile in the basket, checking, filling, and signing the reports filled out by his officers. The report in his hand was particularly captivating when the shaky voice of Officer Hunt came over the radio.

‘7-Adam-22. Shots fired at my location. Suspect gave chase but is now in custody. Roll back-up and EMS.’

Tim stood, grabbing the keys for his shop out of the top drawer of his desk. The rest of the evening was spent documenting the crime scene and making reports before he headed to the hospital, checking on the suspect and now patient, the man getting stitched after cutting his leg while hopping over a fence. Tim made it back to the station thirty minutes after his shift was intended to end, preforming the daily maintenance on the shop before he made his way inside, heading for the office of the day shift’s Sergeant, Wade Grey. He brought the other man up to speed, filling him in on what occurred overnight, by the time he was done updating his fellow superior it was well past eight in the morning and Tim was dead on his feet.

Tim hastily went to the locker room, changing out of his uniform and back into his normal clothes before heading out of the department. He was lucky that he only lived twenty-three minutes away (on a good day) from the department and for a Friday morning, his commute was harmless besides the lingering effects of the morning rush hour traffic.

He pulled the vehicle in, parking his truck in the drive, reaching over for his duffle bag from the passenger seat before he exited the extended cab. He pulled the ring of keys from his front right pocket, unlocking the wooden door as he made his way inside, disabling the alarm system before reengaging the security system as he kicked off his shoes. The silence of the house had always been strangely comforting, the quietness enveloping him as his sock clad feet padded through the dark bedroom, heading for the bathroom. He tiredly stripped of the clothes, throwing them into the hamper before he walked back out into the bedroom, blindly grabbing a pair of black boxer briefs from the top drawer of the dresser, sliding them on before he pulled the covers back and falling into bed.

He stretched out, laying on his stomach, an arm under the pillow and one over his head, sleep claiming him within minutes of his head hitting the pillow, the comfort of the memory foam mattress with the coolness of the multitude of pillows creating the perfect combination.

The dream he was having was one he wanted to stay in forever, the scene his dreaming brain had concocted was perfect, the sunset hitting the woman in front of him, casting her in the hues it was projecting.

“Lucy, I-“

Lucy smiled as she stepped forward, moving towards him. “It’s perfect.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She grinned, staring at him the sounds of the ocean before them began fading into the background as she leaned in, the buzzing in his ears growing louder.

“What the hell?” he mumbled in his dream as the image began to dissipate.

The buzzing of his phone bringing his sleep addled brain back to reality. There were only four people that could get past his do not disturb settings, and out of the four of them he could immediately eliminate two.

“Hello.” He grumbled into the phone, sitting up as he let out a yawn.

“Tim! You are not going to believe this. Wait- shit.“ she said as the sound of shuffling came through the receiver. “Sorry, were you sleeping?”

“No I wasn- actually yeah, I was.”

He could picture Lucy grimacing on the other end. “Shit. I’m so sorry, I forgot that you worked last night, and that tonight is your night off. I got my days mixed up. I’m just- I’ll just hang up now.”

“Lucy.” He sighed, laying back onto his pillows. “What did you need?”

“It’s not important, I can just tell you tonight wh-“

“Luce, I’m awake now, might as well tell me.”

“Are you sure?” she hesitated as he grunted on the other end. “Ok, so remember me telling you about that high-speed chase we had the other day on I-10? The whole thing is about to get weirder…”

Tim grunted, listening as she continued in her story, her voice becoming softer and softer the longer she spoke and before he knew it, he had fallen back asleep, lulled by the sound of her voice.

“Tim? Babe?” she asked, smiling when she heard the even breaths and soft snore coming from the other end. She ended the call, placing her phone back into her pocket as she made a mental note to make it up to him when she seen him after shift tonight.

Working on two separate shifts and trying to maintain a relationship was difficult, sometimes they would call the other, forgetting that they were likely asleep. Other times, one of them would stay awake for the other, long after their shift had ended, just to catch up. Tim and Lucy have always been a different couple but when all the pieces fall into place, it makes the perfect puzzle.

[theseshipsshallsail]

There’s a new club in the Village - Infinity emblazoned in bright, neon letters - and naturally, the building is jam-packed with society’s outcasts on its opening weekend. Oliver grimaces, pressing his third beer to the side of his face, yet the condensation does nothing to soothe his overheated skin. It’s like a furnace of writhing bodies, and with every bead of sweat that bisects his neck to soak into his collar, he can’t help but wonder why he ever agreed to come in the first place.  

“Drink up,” Vanessa says, brandishing a bright amber concoction as she slides into the booth opposite him. “You look like you need something a little stronger.”  

Oliver raises an eyebrow as he returns the bottle to the table, then plucks the wedge of orange peel from the rim of the proffered glass. It’s been three years since he tasted a negroni, and the potent combination of gin, Campari, and vermouth sends his mind reeling in directions he usually fights tooth and nail to avoid. 

“Remind me again why you brought me here?” he asks, trying not to wince at the bitter aftertaste. “This isn’t exactly my scene.”

Vanessa scoffs. “Well, if you ever left your study...”

“I’m up for promotion!”

“You’ll be up for an ulcer if you don’t slow down. Besides, you deserve to let loose after... you know.”

You know, meaning his divorce, and the eighteen month shit-storm that preceded it.

Vanessa has the office next to his, and in between general grousing about University politics they’ve become close friends. It helps, of course, that she understands his situation all too well, and even though her parents never tried to strong-arm her to the altar, she and her girlfriend still have to hide their relationship from the rest of their colleagues.

Oliver sighs as he takes a second sip of his drink. “It’ll take more than a one night stand to loosen me up,” he tells her, and the filthy smirk that curls Vanessa’s lips has him tempted to bang his forehead against the table.

“Whatever tickles your pickle, Professor.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Hell if I know.” Slurring somewhat, she taps their cocktails together, and Oliver laughs as she leans forward, poking him in the chest. “Listen, Ollie, you and Micol did a spectacular job of making yourselves miserable, but at least you stayed faithful ‘til the end. Why not enjoy yourself, yeah?” 

“Why not indeed?” 

He’s aiming for sarcastic, yet his tone falls somewhere short of exhausted. She’s right, he realises, but Oliver hasn’t had much interest in men or women for a while. He’s not so deep in denial to admit his heart still belongs to another, and being hopelessly in love with someone he can’t have has done a real number on his libido.

“Damn! This place is heaving!” Simone says, slumping in her seat when she returns from the bathroom. Slinging an arm around Vanessa’s shoulder she drops a quick kiss to her cheek, and Oliver averts his eyes, the casual intimacy leaving him yearning for the impossible. “A few too many student-types for my liking, though. Makes me feel like I’m back in the theatre department.”

“Makes me feel like I’m pushing thirty,” Oliver mutters, painfully aware of the significantly younger crowd as he tugs at the cheap material of his shirt. Too many curries and not enough exercise has made him self-conscious of the few extra pounds at his waistline, and depressingly, twenty-eight feels ancient in comparison. 

“You wanna call it a night?” Vanessa asks, and Oliver nods absently as his gaze catches on a couple in the middle of the dancefloor. 

Caught in a world of their own, they make a striking picture. The taller of the pair is bleached-blond and athletic, his arms wrapped tightly around the slim waist of the man in front of him in a surprisingly protective gesture. Oliver can’t see his partner clearly from this angle, but his skin is pale and shimmering as they move to the beat, dark curls falling in a tousled mess. Whether it’s by artful design or sweat-damp from dancing, he can’t quite tell, yet Oliver is hypnotized by the way they bounce as he loses himself to the music, obscuring his vision until the other man reaches forward, gently brushing them away.  

The bass pounds in his rib cage, and Oliver’s throat feels constricted as he watches the brunette link his hands behind his lover's neck. Profile half in shadows, he raises up on tiptoes to whisper in the shell of his ear, and Oliver experiences a crisis of tenderness when he butts their temples together. Something squirms in his stomach. Something raw and envious. Memories flare, unfair and brutal, and he immediately blames the burning of his retinas on the relentless assault of the strobe lights surrounding them. 

“Oliver? You okay?”

No. 

Definitely not.

The jostling crowd causes the blond to alter their position, and Oliver’s head spins from more than just the alcohol as his blood runs cold in his veins. 

“Elio…” he murmurs, vaguely aware of Vanessa’s stifled gasp when she tries to get a better look.

“Your Elio?”

He wants it not to be - wants his eyes to be deceiving him - yet there’s no denying the truth. All that he’s forgotten - all that he’s clung to - coalesces in a rush of unslaked longing, and between one blink and the next, Oliver remembers everything. 

“Not anymore,” he whispers, but then, why would he be? 

Elio was seventeen when they first met, and Oliver isn’t naive enough to think he hasn’t fallen in and out of love many times since then. He’s beautiful, intelligent, talented beyond measure. Was he really so arrogant to imagine he would still be single? Pining for him, maybe? Saving himself? And for what? A six week romance one too-hot Italian summer? Something his cowardice cut short with a long-distance phone call?

He was, wasn’t he?

Arrogant. 

And so very stupid.

“Of all the gay bars in all the world…” Vanessa takes a swig of her piña colada as he continues to spiral. “I thought you said he lived in Italy?” 

“He did,” Oliver replies, picking at his thumbnail. “He moved here for school.”

“And you didn't contact him?”

“To say what?” His ears ring from the shrillness of her tone. “Hey, Elio. Remember that time I broke both our hearts ‘cause I’m a gutless schmuck? How about I buy you a coffee to make up for it?”

“It would’ve been a start.”

“It would’ve been selfish,” he says, tearing his eyes away. “He has enough on his plate with Juilliard. I’d only get in the  -”

“Juilliard?” Simone’s low whistle interrupts his self-reproach. “Impressive.”

“Son of a professor,” Oliver explains. “I always knew he was a genius.” He gathers himself with a quiet huff. “Though he’ll probably say he knows nothing.” The spark of nostalgia is crippling, and it takes everything he has not to break down on the spot. “I should go,” he says, draining the remains of his drink as he rises to his feet. 

“Oliver -”

“Why don’t you come back to ours?” Vanessa offers, making to follow, but whatever expression is on his face causes Simone to catch her by the wrist.

“We’re here if you need us, alright?”

“I know,” he says, eternally grateful for their support as he pushes some cab money into her hand. “Get home safe. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“You’d better,” Vanessa tells him, obstinate in her concern, yet all he can focus on right now is leaving.

The swirling thoughts inside his head are all-consuming, but Oliver is determined to reign in his emotions for a little while longer. Ignoring the way his shoes stick to the tacky vinyl flooring, he grits his teeth as he snakes his way through the crush of humanity. He needs space. Fresh air. Hell, a damn time machine wouldn’t go amiss. He has nobody to blame but himself, and he’s halfway to the exit sign when his pace grinds to a halt, his masochistic streak unable to resist one last glimpse. 

A flash of irrational panic makes him breathe in deep - hold it for a count of three - and when he turns to scan the roiling bodies that fill up the dance floor, he finds them immediately. The shock doesn’t lessen, and if Oliver thought his heart had broken when they’d clung to one another on a train station platform, it’s naught compared to when Elio tips the other man’s chin up with the same fingers that used to play his body like a finely tuned instrument. White noise fills his ears as he ghosts a kiss to his lips - two chaste pecks at first - and then harder. Hungry. Mouths open. Tongues swirling. Deep and dirty. 

Just the way he likes it.

Fool that he is, Oliver doesn’t turn away. But he’s not the only one. Their bawdy display has garnered a small audience of the jealous and horny, and when the cat-calls eventually die down he notices a clearly disappointed red-head stalk past them on route to her table of friends. 

Time has not domesticated him, it seems, and Oliver feels like crying as the world returns frame by frame - the oscillating pulse of the dance track. The lightning burst of colour from the laser system above. An innate sense of powerlessness floods through him - the depths of which he hasn’t experienced since Elio sobbed against his chest in an attic bedroom - and a heavy weight settles in his belly as he recognises the cues and rituals that were once directed at him alone. 

Elio has obviously flourished in his absence. His body language is looser, more relaxed, assured in a way his younger self could only dream of, and Oliver allows an almost-smile as the couple laugh for a moment before turning to walk away. 

His fingers itch for a cigarette - a habit he’s struggling to waive - and the next thing he knows he’s taking a seat at the bar, a double shot of bourbon in his hand he doesn’t remember ordering, and a screaming admonishment from his better judgement to not do anything stupid. 

All I had to do was find the courage to reach out and touch, Elio said once, rife with self-mockery, and Oliver’s advice was to try again later. Was this it? Their later? And if not now, when? Because whatever his feelings of bitterness - whatever his misguided envy - if he lets this opportunity pass him by, he will always wonder. Always look. 

In truth, he already does. 

Ever since Samuel mentioned Elio was moving to the States, he’s carried the idle fantasy of crossing paths in some random book store, eyes locking across a busy street, a name - his, theirs, both - shouted across a bustling coffee shop. Of all eventualities, though, he hasn’t prepared for an Elio who might not be happy to see him. Who might dismiss him. Cast him aside like some ill-fitting chapter in the editing process. The context is all wrong, and for it to happen like this is akin to being plunged into the icy waters of the berm.

“Accidenti!” an achingly familiar voice says from somewhere behind him. “Are all Americans incapable of taking a hint? Or is it just an East Coast thing?”

“It’s the accent, mio amico. Fries their brains.”

“Never mind their brains,” Elio replies in the same lazy drawl. “I think you’ve sprained my tonsils.”

There’s a snicker to his left, and like a moth to a flame, Oliver peers up into the mirror behind the bar, only to find his living nightmare mere meters away, sharing a cigarette. Elio’s still wearing the same bracelets he did that summer, and three years of sleepwalking collapses around him as Oliver hunches over, palms sweating. 

“Seriously though,” the blond continues. “Look at this place! Wall-to-wall entreés, and you won’t so much as skim the menu. You’re spoiled for choice, compagno.”

Elio scoffs as he brings the filter to his lips. “Didn’t I tell you choice is an illusion?”

“As is time, according to Adams.” The man slings an arm over his shoulders. “And here you are, free as a bird, wasting the perfect opportunity.” 

Elio flips him the middle finger. “Stronzo,” he says, leaving Oliver more confused than ever as he studies him over the rim of his glass. “It’s a curse.”

“Self-inflicted, maybe.”

“So what’s the answer? And don’t say forty-two.”

The guy chuckles. “Variety,” he says, signalling the harried bartender. “Things didn’t work out with the violinist - I get it. È la vita! You’re not in the mood for pushy red-heads? Fine. But don’t sell yourself short. Trust Fund Tina’s not the only one checking you out.”

“Perhaps.”

“What perhaps?” A knowing smirk shoots in Oliver’s direction. “See for yourself.”

It’s like experiencing the first tremor of an earthquake. Elio was always a force of nature, and bracing for disaster, Oliver feels the fault lines buckle beneath him. He thought he was done letting fear and shame dictate his life, yet even now, at peace with his true self, he can’t bear to witness the seismic shift between past and present. Instead, he falls back on avoidance, tearing strips off a frayed beer mat until the hair prickles at his nape.

He can feel it - the instant his fate is sealed - and taking a deep breath Oliver returns his eyes to the mirror, meeting Elio’s stunned features. Dark brows climb towards his hairline as the happiness on his face shifts into something else. Something measured. Unrecognisable. A blank slate, almost. For a moment, Oliver fears he’s going to ignore him completely, but then Elio straightens his spine, offers the half-smoked cigarette to his friend, and with a few whispered words strides forward with purpose.

His daring is a law unto himself, but the look he’s giving him now exudes superiority - omniscience, almost - as if he can read every thought that’s going on inside Oliver’s mind, and has already deemed them wanting. It shouldn’t be such a turn on, yet his heart skips a beat regardless. Then another. Every instinct in his body tells him to reach out, to hold Elio’s hand, tuck those wild curls behind his ear, but it’s no longer his place - if it ever really was to begin with - so Oliver takes a deliberate sip of his whiskey, scared and aroused simultaneously, before swivelling towards him.

“Oliver.” His name on Elio’s lips - three smooth syllables - and he feels reborn. “Long time no see.” Hesitating, he offers up a pack of Luckies. “Fumo?”

“I shouldn’t,” he says, dragging trembling fingers through his hair. “I told myself I’d quit. God knows it won't take much to -” 

“Tempt you?” 

Heat rises to Oliver’s cheeks. “Yes,” he admits, and Elio’s smile is a shallow, brittle thing. 

“Well, you know yourself,” he says, returning the cigarette carton to his pocket. “Don’t let me ruin your good intentions.”

His flippancy is like a red rag to a bull, and Oliver’s hackles rise as he sets his drink on the counter, irritated enough by Elio’s calm exterior to try and provoke a reaction. “Is your boyfriend not the jealous type?” 

All he receives is an eye roll. “Bruno’s not my boyfriend.”

“Could’ve fooled me. From what I saw earlier.”

“You saw nothing,” Elio replies, defensive. “We’re friends. Roommates.”

“Roommates?” Rising from his stool, Oliver takes a step towards him. “That kiss -” 

“Is none of your business. Not anymore.” 

It hits him like a punch to the gut. Oliver’s lips part, but no sound passes between them. He’s being irrational, he’ll accept, but old habits die hard, and through sheer force of will he quashes down his guilt, knowing better than to use it as a weapon. 

“Of course,” he says, chastened. “You’re right.” 

“I usually am.” 

“Elio…” This isn’t how he wants the conversation to go. “I know it’s too much to expect your forgiveness, but please don’t be angry with me. We were friends, once. Before anything else.”

“I’m not angry.” A beat. “Not anymore.” Tipping his chin, Elio folds his arms in front of him. One more barrier despite the brush-off. “I’m processing.“

“Processing?”

“Yes, processing. Originates from the Old French proces. Related to the Latin processus, and from the verb procedere in Middle English.”

“Wise ass.”

“Sempre.” Elio shrugs, watching him openly. “What are you doing here, Oliver?”

“My friends saw the flyers,” he says, bypassing the here, specifically, when Elio’s attention drops a few inches lower, and he realises he’s staring at his ring finger.

At the white line that’s all but vanished since he signed his way to freedom.

“You’re…”

Oliver clears his throat. “Divorced,” he manages, shuffling his feet. “Almost three months now.”

“Divorced?” Elio’s mask slams back into place, the distress in his voice palpable. “Why?”

And there are so many things he could say to that - the stress of his job, money, differing expectations - but this is Elio. His first love. His forever love. He, above anyone, deserves the truth. 

“I think you know why.”

“Do I?” That same phony indifference. “What the eyes see, and the ears hear, the mind believes.” 

“The truth is never that simple.”

“Not for us, it seems. Not in this world.” Elio gives his head a small but firm shake, blowing out a frustrated breath. “You know, tonight was supposed to lower my stress levels, not raise them,” he says, granting them a temporary reprieve. “But then, you always were hazardous to my blood pressure.”

“Trust me. The feeling’s mutual,” Oliver tells him wryly. “Might I recommend some deep breaths?”

“Deep breaths?” Elio rocks back on his heels. “If I had any peaches I’d be using my right hand.”

It catches him unawares, and Oliver can't help it. He snorts. Overcome by relief. Then he laughs - a weak sound, and damn near helpless - but a laugh, nonetheless. Cupping a palm to his mouth. Moving it to his eyes. Feeling the tears he’s been fighting since this whole debacle began.

“My God you’re incorrigible,” he mutters, the sharp stab of regret cutting him to the core as he glances over his shoulder, and the blond - Bruno - shoots him a wink. “When you said I saw nothing...”

The hesitant curve of Elio’s smile lights a fire in his chest. “There was a girl on the dance floor who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Lucky for me, Bruno’s never been shy about putting on a convincing performance.” 

Oliver winces. “Well, I bought it.”

“Mission accomplished, then.” Elio edges closer. “I could’ve said the same for you, once upon a time.” The air between them grows charged. “Do you ever miss it?” he asks. “Italy, I mean?”

“Every single day.” Oliver finds himself captivated by the smattering of stubble along Elio’s jawline. The touch of smudged kohl beneath his lashes that turns his gaze smouldering. “Do you?”

“In a way.”

“Just a way?” He’s not entirely certain they’re talking about the same thing, and Vanessa’s advice seems all the more pertinent. “Let me buy you a coffee?” Oliver asks, and Elio frowns.

“What? Now?”

“If you like.” 

“It’s gone midnight!” 

“Tomorrow, then. Whenever you’re available.” Suddenly desperate, he closes the gap between them. “I can’t excuse my actions, Elio - I know I can’t - but at the very least I owe you an explanation.”

“Oliver...” This time it’s Elio who reaches out, his usually steady hands uncertain as they entwine with his. “I was young, not stupid. What’s there to forgive? You left because you had to. You married because -”

“I was weak.”

“Cazatte!” The tension in Elio’s body snaps back like a coil. “My father would have carted me off to a correctional facility,” he murmurs, squeezing his fingers tightly. “I’ll never forget those words.” 

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t be!” Elio sounds furious on his behalf. “Weak, you say? No. Control over others is the true weakness. Coercion. Conformity. All it does is breed hatred. And that’s not you. Not my Oliver.” 

“Am I still?” he asks, laying his cards out on the table. “Your Oliver?”

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” 

Oliver swallows thickly. “I guess we will,” he says, dropping his forehead to Elio’s crown.

He’s braver at twenty-one than Oliver could have dared imagine, and for the first time in years the dull ache beneath his ribs is replaced by a different sort of craving. The way they fit together so easily, like no time has passed, fans the banked passions within him - the desire to press his lips against Elio’s neck, to nip his way along countless freckles until he can fist those unruly curls and guide his mouth back to where it belongs. 

Flush against his. 

Devouring.

But not yet.

This isn’t leading to sex. Not tonight. This is about reconciliation. Reassurance. Redemption.

“There’s a late-night diner on the corner…”

It’s a whisper against his cheek - so quiet he barely hears it - and Oliver leans down, pressing his face to Elio’s collarbone, breathing him in. He knows this won’t be easy - knows there will be dark clouds before the dawn - yet here they are, older and wiser, and three years might as well be yesterday as the parting crowds provide a temporary island in which to weather the storm.

[glowingspence]

Extended family

[What if Cat had Spencer's child and Spencer is left to take care of it? At least he has an old friend to help him.]

Paring: Platonic Moreid

Word Count:1878

Ao3

Chapter 3:

“Do you think this is a good idea?” Savannah whispers late at night a few minutes after Derek slipped into bed with her.

“What is?”

“He needs more than our help, he is traumatized.”

“We will get him some, I promise.” Derek turns on his side facing her. “You are okay with this right?”

“More than okay, believe me I know how much he means to you and I know how much you missed him.” Comforting Savannah lets her thump run over his cheek. “And I did too”

“I-”

“Yes go over” She shoots him a knowing smile

“Thank you” Derek kisses her on the lips before getting out of bed again, walking through the corridor towards the room Spencer is staying in, who the moment Derek lays down on the free side opens his eyes and scoops away. "Just me" He pushes Derek away as fast as possible before laying down again. "I am here if you need anything."

They get woken up by the babies cries and Derek takes the kid and walks towards Spencer's bedside for him to take it but Spencer turns around and covers his ears with his hands so Derek leaves the room with him, changing his diapers and making him a bottle while Spencer is curled up on the bed, crying because he knows this is wrong, he knows he should be there for Theo but he can't. He can't move from his spot, he can't stop the tears.

In pain he wraps his arms around his stomach, pulling his legs up and just hopes that this is somehow over soon. That this was a mistake. That someone fixes this. That someone will tell him that he doesn't have a baby. That this was all wrong.

“You aren't my mom” A small voice appears at the bedroom door making Spencer flinch and seeing a boy standing in the doorway. Holding the door handle with one hand. “What are you doing here?” He walks closer to the bed while Spencer buries his face further into the blanket but doesn't take his eyes off him. “Hello?”

“Your mom is in the guest room.”

“Why? Who are you?”

“Spencer” For a moment the kid is quiet but then climbs onto the bed kneeling down beside him.

“You are uncle Spencer right?”

“No”

“I don't know another Spencer.” He states and then goes to pull at the blanket.

“Hank don't” Savannah steps in, grabbing her son under his armpits and carrying him off the bed. “Our guest is still sleeping so we leave him alone.”

“His name is Spencer”

“I know, it's Uncle Spence.” She tells him with a smile.

“He said he isn't uncle Spencer.” Hank tells her.

“If he doesn't want to be called that we need to respect that okay? But he is the man we told you about. Daddy's friend.”

“I know mom. Dad has a picture of him on his phone.”

“And what did I tell you about looking at our phones?”

“Dad lets me sometimes.”

“Alright, go brush your teeth and put socks on the floor is cold and then we can go downstairs together. There is a surprise.”

“Another one?”

“Of course, go on.” She waits for Hank to run out of the room before approaching Spencer. “You okay?”

“Want my baby?”

“You want him up here?”

“Please”

“I am gonna tell Derek okay?” Shyly Spencer nods, burying his nose in his blanket. “Why don't you sit up and lean against the headboard? This way you can hold him? Or we can lay him next to you?”

“We can?”

“Of course”

“I’d rather sit up”

“Whatever you want. You will figure out what is most comfortable and what makes you two feel safe.” She watches Spencer push himself up leaning against the headboard.

“Do you think I will know too?”

“Why wouldn't you?”

“You know- you know because- I don't know.” Nervously he plays with the blanket on his legs. “People say autistic people lack empathy.”

“And others over empathize-”

“Pretty boy?” Derek interrupts him, Theo in his arms as he steps into the room. “Good you are awake, do you feel up to taking him? Believe me there is nothing like baby cuddles in the morning.”

“We just talked about it” Savannah encourages Spencer, not being able to take her eyes off the baby. “Remember when Hank was this adorable? Now he knows the whole list of swear words.”

“And who's fault is that?” Derek questions and walks towards Spencer. “Here take him.”

“Hey you” Spencer whispers as Derek places him in his arms and then goes quiet just looking at him not really sure what to do.

“He ate good, can't say the same about his old man.” Derek jokes, placing a hand on Spencer's shoulder that he quickly shrugs off. “What do you wanna have for breakfast, kid?”

Nervously he pulls Theo closer to himself, watching him reach for him while Savannah gives Morgan a subtle clue to take things slower.

“Mom who is the baby?” Hank interrupts the moment and walks into the room to see better.

“That is uncle Spencer's baby, come here kiddo” The boy runs over to his father letting him pick him up. “This is Theo”

“Hi Theo”

“We are gonna have to be really careful with him okay?”

“Yes because he is a baby” He states and then leans down.

“Ask first, please.” Derek reminds him, being aware of the fact that Spencer has besides the name hardly a connection to Hank.

“Can I come closer please?”

“Yes but be careful.” Spencer whispers and Derek lets his son down who crawls towards Spencer and kneels down next to his legs facing him.

“Can I touch him?” Hesitant Hank leans forward, his hand hovering over Theo’s head. “Spencer?”

“He nodded, sweetheart.” Savannah helps him out. “Spencer doesn't like looking into your eyes, so you gotta pay attention after asking a question. The nod was meant for you.”

“I look people in the eyes.”

“I know, pretty boy. But you don't when you are already overwhelmed. She was just helping.” Derek calms him, knowing that Spencer isn't going to take everything Savannah says as a good thing when in his mind Savannah is probably a huge reason why Derek left the BAU.

“I know.” Spencer snaps causing Hank to flinch back.

“Alright, why don't we leave you alone for a little bit?” Derek suggests. “I am gonna go downstairs and make breakfast with Savannah, you just send Hank down if you need anything okay? He is gonna keep you company, right buddy?”

“Yes” Hank exclaims and leans forward gently moving his hand over the baby's head. “His hair is so soft!”

Spencer looks up at the child hovering over his son as Savannah and Derek leave the room to give them some privacy.

When Henry was born Derek thought the fact that JJ made Spencer his godfather is a nightmare because he thought that children in combination with Spencer's autism won't go along which was something that turned out to be a worry he wouldn't have needed to have because children are a lot more sensitive. Especially when they grow up with it it's just normal to them so Henry has actually always been someone to just click with Spencer.

“He is only eight days old so you have to be careful.”

“I am already four!”

“You were this small ones too. I saw you at the hospital when you were born.” Spencer tells him and gently guides Hank's hand away from Theo’s face.

“Can I hold him too?”

“No”

“Is he heavy?”

“No” Spencer shifts a little bit, concerned about what Hank will do.

“Why can't I hold him?”

“Because it's a lot of responsibility and I said no.” Theo moves in his arms, making a small sound ones.

“When can he talk?”

“We don't know that yet.”

“When can I play with him?”

“Not yet” Anxious tears form in Spencer's eyes. “You need to stop asking so many questions. I don't like that.”

“But Dad says you know everything.” Bored Hank curls up next to Spencer against the headboard, slipping with his short legs under the blanket too. “His hands are so small, look how they look compared to mine.”

“Yours are really huge already” Spencer tells him and lets Hank touch Theo again. He is not very sure what to do with the two kids. “Hank, can you maybe not lean on me?” He questions scared that he has no right to ask that from a child. “I don't like it”

“Why not?”

“It hurts me”

“Why?” The boy asks while moving away from him.

“Because I- I have- I- we have things in our body, that tell our brain informations-and- and some of these things- are different from yours.” He tries breaking it down as fast as possible, he just wants Hank to stop.

“Why?”

“It happens.”

“Can it happen to me too?”

“No”

“Why does Theo not hurt you?”

“He makes me really uncomfortable actually. But it's okay. I have to get used to it.”

“Did Daddy have to get used to me too?”

“Believe me when I say he loved you even before you were born.”

“But you don't love Theo?” The boy questions with a frown on his face.

“I will” Hesitant Hank leans his cheek against Spencer's arm. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you used to me too.”

“Derek just called.” Emily announces and steps back into the conference room. “Spencer and Theo are with him and his family, he is going to take them in until everything is settled.”

There is a relief on the team's face, all of them having seen Spencer at the hospital. Especially Luke and JJ tried to support him there but he has been on autopilot, just trying to keep his baby safe from Cat and what she might have planned.

“Spencer will obviously have some time off.” Emily continues, “but if that changes any time soon I expect everyone to be supportive and not to judge him. Derek is doing what is best for both of them and he told me that he will do everything so the kid gets raised with Spencer in his life, he just doesn't know if it's gonna be like the average single parent household. And he asked me to tell you this because he knows that Spencer takes a lot of reassurance from you guys and the last thing Derek needs right now is someone pressuring Spencer into loving that child because Derek is convinced Spencer does already but will need some time.”

“Is he- is he accepting him?” JJ asks hesitantly.

“Derek told me Spencer was protective over him yesterday but once they got cleared up and showed him that they aren't gonna hurt his child, Spencer started to keep his distance for a while. But it has only been one day home with him and he just needs time.” They all stay quiet for a moment before Emily speaks up again, “The Morgan's are aware that this might not be situational, if it is what Spencer needs, they will raise the kid. Theo won't be left alone, no matter how this ends, he will have a loving family.”

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: Breaking Point

Relationships: Caline Bustier & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

Characters: Caline Bustier, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Alya Césaire, Max Kanté, Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Juleka Couffaine, Lila Rossi, Tikki

Tags: caline bustier salt, Reveal, Badass Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste Knows, Protective Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Caline Bustier Knows, ml salt, Harassment, Lila Rossi Lies, Bad Classroom Environments, Gaslighting, enablers, Bullying ,Salt, Identity Reveal, Spitefic, Swearing, Adrien Sugar

Summary: '“For instance, being a superhero is not a viable career path,” was what made her tune in, her attention fully pulled to Mme. Bustier, who seemed to be looking right at her.' 

Note: This was written based on a prompt by @norakwami.

AO3 link

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Marinette wasn’t really paying attention to Mme. Bustier’s lecture. To be fair, it was about career options and how to achieve them, something she had researched so completely she already had a list of universities she intended to apply to, along with possible companies to intern, all carefully tabbed in a binder at home that was also slowly filling with application and portfolio ideas.

Given that she was only fourteen and still had four more years before she reached the point of applying, she was ahead of the game. Perhaps she could be considering going to another lycée instead of the feeder for Collège Françoise Dupont, perhaps somewhere private that had a focus on fashion. But she didn’t want to put pressure on her parents, who would have to pay the tuition for such an institution, when she was already winning awards and making a name for herself through designing for Jagged Stone and the up-and-coming Kitty Section, among others.

“For instance, being a superhero is not a viable career path,” was what made her tune in, her attention fully pulled to Mme. Bustier, who seemed to be looking right at her.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Marinette felt frozen by that stare, pinned like a ladybug by an entomologist. How could she know? Did other people notice her stare?

“Ladybug is almost certainly harming her civilian future through these superhero antics, which prevent her from fulfilling all her obligations.”

Alya snorted. “That’s not Ladybug’s fault—it’s Hawkmoth’s. Ladybug protects the city. And maybe Paris should pay her for her services!”

“Ladybug is a teenager who should be concentrating on school,” Mme. Bustier declared, still staring holes into Marinette.

“Ladybug has never released her age,” Adrien murmured, his voice sounding strained. “So that’s conjecture, Mme. Bustier. How does this have to do with our future careers?”

To her horror, he turned and followed her gaze to Marinette.

She felt as though she might hyperventilate, panic rising in her gut. If she was compromised, that put her family and friends at risk, put the Miracle Box at risk, played right into Hawkmoth’s hands. She’d never been good at a poker face, and she wasn’t sure whether she was managing now.

Adrien’s eyes widened, and she knew she’d failed, at least with him. Kwami, she hoped she could trust him.

“I’m glad you asked, Adrien. For instance, Marinette, would you please share your current preparation for your future career.”

All eyes were on her, and she could feel the thoughts swirling around them as she was called out. She swallowed, trying to push it all down.

“I-I… I have a binder. At home. F-fifteen different universities with fashion p-programs. In order of where I want to go most. Also c-companies that offer internships.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves—it helped a bit. “I’ve started my portfolio, including the b-bowler hat that won M. Agreste’s contest, and my work for Jagged Stone and Kitty Section, and p-pictures of clothing I’ve designed and made.”

She could hear murmurs around her, and Alya gave a low whistle beside her.

“Girl, no wonder you don’t sleep. You’re on top of this!”

Mme. Bustier’s mouth became a thin line, her lips pressed together as though she was irritated.

Marinette wished keenly that Master Fu was still around, could handle this situation. She’d come to realize Mme. Bustier was a terrible teacher, enabling bullying and shaming victims as though they were at fault for their treatment. But this was a whole new level of awful.

“Still, the way you run off during Akuma attacks interrupts your daily life and prevents you from—”

“We all run away during Akuma attacks! They disrupt all our daily lives.”

Adrien stood, his back rigid from tension.

“Marinette has been personally targeted multiple times during Akuma attacks. So have I! A lot of this has been documented on the LadyBlog. It’s traumatizing—and we keep our memories of that because we’re not the Akuma. I run and hide, personally. Why would you shame Marinette for that?”

The class fell silent, and glancing around Marinette could see the tension in their faces, their own memories of being chased by Akuma.

Adrien had moved this away from the idea of Marinette being Ladybug to her being shamed for her reaction to Akumas. He was protecting her. And she loved him all the more for it.

“There was Evillustrator,” Marinette murmured, jumping on the red herring.

She glanced at Nathanaël apologetically. He offered a sad smile.

“I had to help Chat Noir with that. It was scary. André Glacier became Glaciator and came looking for me, and Chat Noir saved me from getting frozen. And Gamer was looking for me. Chat Noir saved me again.”

She could see Max wince across the aisle.

“Reflekta turned me into her clone because she was mad at me. And it was my fault.”

Marinette turned and mouthed ‘sorry’ to Juleka.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Juleka whispered, then cringed as she realized her voice had carried far enough for everyone to hear.

She smiled, then turned back to the front.

“My own grandmother tried to turn me into coal when she was Akumatized because she was upset I wasn’t like eight years old anymore—Chat Noir saved me again there, too. And then my dad was Akumatized and Chat Noir and Ladybug had to save me again.”

Marinette hadn’t been able to transform, needing to be saved as a civilian before she could get back as Ladybug. Too many of them had been so public she’d had to trust Chat Noir would be able to hold his own until she got there—and she did, but she was afraid sometime that would be fatal.

“And I saw footage when Adrien was dropped from a building and then when Volpina pretended to drop him from the Eiffel Tower. That’s terrifying!”

She didn’t turn around to look at Lila. Instead she looked at Adrien, who was still standing, alternating between glaring at Mme. Bustier and glancing back at her with concern in his eyes.

“And then there’s mind control Akumas, like with Miracle Queen. I’m scared of Akumas, Mme. Bustier. Even when they’re across the city, they won’t always stay there, and I want to hide. And I refuse to be ashamed of that!”

It wasn’t a lie, either. Civilian her absolutely wanted to hide—and did, just behind a mask.

She turned her attention to the teacher, keeping her back straight, remembering she had Adrien on her side, even if she wished he didn’t know—damn Bustier for that. Marinette steeled herself.

“I don’t understand why you’ve singled me out to try to imply I alone am somehow failing to perform because of Akumas, but you always seem to do this. I’m at fault for being bullied. I need to be an example and not react when my belongings are destroyed and my locker is broken into. Or when someone gets me expelled by somehow putting test answers in my bag and a new Gabriel-brand necklace—supposedly an heirloom—in my locker that’s been broken into before. I’ve spent the last year feeling I’m not allowed to have emotions. But this is the last straw.”

Marinette stood, picking up her bag. When she glanced down Tikki was giving her the Kwami version of a thumbs up.

“Frankly, Mme. Bustier, you have been toxic for my mental health for quite some time. Time I’ve spent researching to discover what you’re doing isn’t appropriate for the classroom; it’s abusive and reportable. If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak to the M. Damocles, as well as my parents. And perhaps the Board of Governors, as I am no longer willing to tolerate this treatment and its continued harm to my education.”

With that, she marched down the stairs, past an open-mouthed Bustier, and out of the classroom, holding her head high.

Once in the open hallway, clear of the windows, she deflated.

“Well, fuck,” she whispered. “I guess I get to do research on a new collège, too.”

She supposed, at least, she’d been successful at diverting Bustier from the Ladybug accusations; the last thing she needed was for Ladybug-hater Lila to know and come after her.

“You and me both.”

Adrien’s voice behind her nearly made her jump out of her skin. She was relieved to see no one else had followed him. She could hear the hullaballoo of the classroom behind her, all control having been lost.

He quirked a grin. “We’re in it together, Bugaboo. As always.”

She stared, feeling like there was a hamster lolling on the wheel of her thoughts instead of running to turn it.

Adrien took her arm. “Come on. I’ll support you. Let’s go talk to M. Damocles.”

“Ch-Chat?” Marinette managed in a hiss as her brain finally caught up.

He gently guided her forward. “My Lady.”

She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh, cry, scream, or some combination of the three. But as they approached M. Damocles’ office, Marinette pushed the issue aside.

After all, she had work to do, and Ladybug didn’t leave work unfinished.

[babyboyblasty]

CHAPTER 9:

In the end it was Mina who had to take one for the "greater good" and promise to delete /all/ (and it was a lot) of her girl Kacchan pictures in order for Bakugou to agree to let them doll him up for the mall. The pink skinned girl had pouted when Bakugou made the bargain but agreed nonetheless because to hell she was missing out on this once in a lifetime opportunity.

"You have to let us do /and/ dress you however we want though, okay? That's the deal" Uraraka reminded and Bakugou rolled his eyes with a 'tch', crossing his arms over his chest.

"As long as you don't make me look stupid, do what you want. Let's get this over with" Bakugou grumbled and the girls squealed. Mina and Hagakure immediately started digging through their combined pile of clothing they each took from their own closets and piled up on Bakugou's bed. Mina had a bunch of animal print and vibrant, loud clothing that just screamed 'look at me' while Hagakure's was a bit more simple but still very girly and cute. Bakugou was dreading what they were going to dress him in.

Kirishima waved goodbye to the girls and they all thanked him for helping them move their things to Bakugou's dorm. Not only were they dressing him but they also brought over their own things to get ready in his room too (they were dressing in their own rooms though). There were makeup bags on his desk, straighteners and curling wands plugged in as they helped do each other's hair, etc. It looked like a disaster zone as pinky and invisible girl dug through their things and carelessly threw them on the floor as they looked for what to put on Bakugou while simultaneously also looking for an outfit for themselves.

"I'll be doing your makeup, Bakugou-san. Do you have something in mind?" Momo smiled sweetly as she sat down in front of him, placing her makeup bag on her knees. Momo by no means considered herself a makeup guru but she did know a thing or two from watching videos and practicing on herself.

"Do whatever you think will look best on me" was all the blonde said and Momo gave him a nod. Based on his facial features already, Momo didn't need to do much. His skin was flawless already so she wouldn't need to do any spot treatments for acne or blemishes. Any eye bags were close to nonexistent too. Bakugou obviously took very good care of himself. All in all, Momo didn't think Bakugou even needed any makeup to appear stunning so something minimal just to make his best features pop out would be the way to go. Momo took a cute bunny headband to push his hair back and out of the way while she applied a sheer tinted moisturizer to his face. She started off with brows then moved on to a light pink/peach eyeshadow look with a small wing. Blush and a tinted lip balm for a coral wash of color was her next move. Cherry flavored. After that all that was left was mascara to make his lashes longer and fuller and a subtle highlighter for a dewy look. His makeup was kept to a minimum to make his natural beauty pop and if it was possible Bakugou looked even prettier than before.

"Wooow" Momo heard from behind her and turned to see Mina, Ochako, Jirou, and the rest of the girls looking over Momo's shoulder at Bakugou in awe. The blonde had his eyes closed since Momo had been applying a bit of highlighter on his lids so he opened them and looked at the girls with a raised eyebrow. For once Mina had nothing to say as she just appreciated the sight of her friend looking like an angel instead of an angry pomeranian for once.

"You did good, Yaomomo" Ochako broke the silence, one side of her head straightened while the other was still curved, the straightener still in her hand. They all agreed, each asking the black haired girl if she could do their makeup next. Momo blushed a bit under the praise of her friends and of course agreed to help them with their makeup.

Bakugou took out his phone to open the front camera and look at himself. He smirked a little. "Not bad, Ponytail" he looked up. Even he knew he looked good.

Momo smiled brightly. "There honestly wasn't much to do. You're already so pretty, Bakugou-san, so I only had to do a few things" she explained.

"Oi Blasty! Look what we have for you!" Mina and Hagakure both came forward with two articles of clothing. "Try them on!"

He took them. One was white and the other pink. "Fine" he mumbled, no other choice but to agree, and went into the bathroom attached to his dorm. He got undressed quickly out of his school uniform and put on what they picked out for him. The top was a white, layed, ruffled, off the shoulder crop top. The bottoms were a pair of high waisted, wide leg magenta shorts that sort of looked like a skirt if he kept his legs together. The combination wasn't bad and as he exited the bathroom, Mina gasped, putting her hands over her mouth like the drama queen she was.

"You look so good, Bakubabe!!! Here, I got these from my room just now. I think they'll pair well with that outfit" she smiled and grabbed some tan sandals with an ankle strap and a small heel. Bakugou took them and sat down to put them on. After that all they had to do was his hair. They didn't really do much but just brush it and add some product to make it fluffy and softer (which Bakugou definitely did not make a note of to remember and buy later). Hagakure spritzed him with a sweet smelling perfume and then he was done. By that point most of the girls had picked up their things and left to change clothing except for Mina who was changing in his bathroom since all her clothes were in his room already and Jirou who was already dressed looking like every girl's e-girl dream aesthetic.

Once she was done, Mina texted the class group chat to check if everyone was ready and that they'll be meeting in the common room in ten minutes so they can head over to the mall together. "We'll see you in a bit, Bakubabeeee" Mina waved him goodbye and she and Jirou left to their own rooms. Once they were gone Bakugou laid back in his bed to rest and mentally prepare himself for the rest of the day. After eight minutes he heard a knock and went up to answer it.

"Hey are you rea- oh" Kirishima's mouth snapped shut as he just stared down at Bakugou with red cheeks and wide eyes.

"Oh?" Bakugou tsked, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. "That all you have to say?" The blonde was just joking but Kirishima immediately shook his head no.

"No! I mean- I.. you.. you look good. Very manly" he smiled nervously and Bakugou rolled his eyes with a snort. ‘Darn it’ Kirishima cursed himself for getting so awkward and not coming up with something better. It was like he was going back to his middle school self.

"Yeah whatever. Let's go, shitty hair" Bakugou grabbed his phone and room key card then locked the door behind him and started going to the elevator to go down to the common room with a strangely quiet Kirishima next to him. ‘What's up with him?’ he thought to himself.

Next to Bakugou, Kirishima's head was going a mile a minute. Every rom com movie he's ever watched with Mina was flashing through his mind right now and he kept imagining himself and his best buddy in the main characters' positions. Him picking Bakugou up by the waist, their hair moving in the wind while his open button up flew behind him like a cape. Him shielding Bakugou from the harsh sun while he enjoyed a popsicle snack (spicy mango is his favorite). Him tucking a flower behind Bakugou’s ear. Him kneeling down to buckle the strap on his sandal when it came loose. Glancing over at the blonde when they were in the elevator going down to the first floor, Kirishima smiled shyly but then looked away with a frown when he realized he was royally 100% screwed.

[word count: 1428]