#i would let it ruminate in my mouth for an acceptable amount of time and then spit out any object-like things

[villalunae]

now that i think abt it 5yr old me was NOT beatin the pica allegations i was eatin cat litter and dr pepper chapstick and biting wet towels to suck the water out of them and suckin on pennies. if smth smelled remotely nice or gave my mouth a metallic taste id be all over that shit

[mrsrookhunt]

Not me forgetting its Mermay until the last day of May. Anyway, idk if it really counts but now I don't have time for plot planning so have an Azul X Reader.

I really love the idea of present day chubby Azul. Maybe he gained weight over stress, I'm not sure. But you still think he's more than adorable when you see him again a year later.

Leave Me Be

Chubby!Azul Ashengrotto x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Self-shaming, Depression, reader is probably also chubby but maybe I'm just projecting

Traveling to the deepest depths of the Coral Sea was less than easy. Honestly, the amount of potions and formulas you had to drink from weaker mages made you feel like shit. Azul could've done far better for you, but upon your accidental return to Night Raven College through some portal you'd found in a puddle, you'd found that he'd left the school and decided to take a year for himself at home.

You were shocked, but there wasn't much you could do; he wasn't returning your messages. You waited a couple of weeks for school to let out, and had Jade and Floyd take you to his home.

You quickly found out that Azul had moved out of his family's home, into the outskirts of town, apparently, according to the rumors, depressed and ashamed of himself.

Alone, with Jade and Floyd already gone to their own destination, you swam unguided to where you hoped was at least the general direction of his new home.

The other Mers had said his home wasn't easy to miss, but for someone as unsuited to water as you, particularly in these dark depths, a serious worry that you would get lost ruminated in the back of your mind.

Around 30 minutes of aimless swimming later, you saw a dim light in the gloom.

It seemed to glow a dim purple, somewhere off in a hole in the side of a massive rock formation.

Bracing yourself to swim upwards quite the distance, you realized just how massive this wall of rock and sediment was.

It was just a guess.

No one had mentioned Azul's home as being on the human equivalent of a mountainside. But then again, it didn't seem like many people had visited him. They spoke strongly of his gloomy, irritated demeanor, and unwillingness to use his magic anymore. It seemed that shortly after he moved, he began rejecting visitors all together.

You pulled yourself along the rough rock wall with your hands, following the light, which became clearer and brighter the closer you swam.

It was just a guess, but you were certain if there was any place the Azul you knew would hide, it would be far away from others, holed up in a spot where he'd be safe and unbothered.

The relatively small opening to the cavern you were less than a few feet from fit the definition to a tee.

Maybe 12 feet across both directions, the mouth of the cavern felt tucked away.

You took in a deep breath when you reached the edge, seeing the gauzy purple light brighten from within, relishing the strange feeling of water filling your lungs instead of air.

"Azul?" You called out, unsteady and feeling small in the vast ocean around you, hands still tightly gripped on the rough rocky surface.

A small flurry of bubbles, and the light turned off with a tick.

"I'm not accepting visitors at the moment." A voice called from within, annoyance pricking every syllable.

You sighed and valted yourself into the entrance of the cave with relief, not going any farther.

"Did you not hear me? Step out of my home, I have not invited you here!" His tone was sharp and outright angry.

You couldn't see a thing in the dark now, but you could feel the soft swish in the water of Azul's swift movements nearby.

"Zullie, it's me." You called into the dark, feeling unsettled.

A silence seemed to fall over the small space.

"...Yuu?"

His voice shook, a little weaker than he had clearly intended it to come out.

"I've missed you." You said tentively, hoping he would turn the light on already.

"Why are you here?"

His voice was composed and sharp again.

"W-well," it was your turn to stutter. He seemed almost angry that you were here. "I found a portal back to school and.. I found out that you had left, and I just..." Though you tried to keep yourself together, tears began to flow freely into the ocean. "I couldn't leave you alone. The first person I went looking for when I came back, was you."

You could hear the heavy breathing from what you could now identify as across the room.

That swish of movement again, and--

"Leave me be."

"What-?"

"You heard me." He sounded solemn. "Go, Yuu. Go back to school, or go back home." His voice was softened and shaky; you could hear small sniffles.

"Azul, please, I've missed you so much!" He must have heard the panic, the hurt in your voice, but he only sank deeper into the depths of his cave.

"I don't want you here." He mumbled. "I don't want you here, and I'm not coming back to school either. Don't wait for me."

"Zullie, please! What happened? What's made you like this?"

"You have," He grumbled into the waves.

Your voice dropped to a whisper. "Me? What did I do?" You sat at the edge of the cave.

He didn't respond.

"I'll sit here until you tell me," you warned, in a voice softer than you thought you could manage.

The silence answered you.

"Azul.. I'll go. Just, listen for a moment. I'm sorry if I hurt you... I.. I really missed you. I'm so, so sorry, I'm--" You were crying into your hands at this point.

A single tentacle wrapped around your arm and gently tugged it away from your face.

"It's not your fault.. I shouldn't have hidden it from you. Yuu.. there was something I neglected to tell you before you left. I.. love you. And I didn't tell you. And I've regretted that every day since. I didn't think I would ever get the chance to tell you again."

The tentacle tightened around your arm.

You wiped your tears away, a wry laugh escaping from your mouth amongst the remnants of sobs.

"That's.. what I regretted too. I didn't tell you either.. I love you too, Azul."

You crawled closer to embrace him.

The tentacle rapidly whished away, and you heard him scoot back. You stopped in your tracks.

"..Azul?"

"Yuu.." You could hear the pain in his voice. "It would still be better if you left."

"Absolutely not! You can't j-just confess and expect to escape it now!" You protested. "I've missed you for far too long. Please, I don't want to leave you right now."

You grasped in the dark, coming into contact with a tentacle you gently pulled toward you, sensing Azul moving closer with it.

"You.. you won't like me anymore." His voice is breathy and he sounds pitiful.

"Who said that?"

"You don't understand... I'm not.. what you remember."

"What does that mean?"

"I look different."

"Your mer form, you mean? I've seen it before."

"No.. I looked different in.. other ways."

"...What do you mean?"

The air that hung between you was dampened by the cold, lonely feeling of sadness.

"I used to be fit, and beautiful, for a time... but I couldn't keep that up after you left. Now I'm just a disgusting remnant of who I was when you knew me. I've done nothing but indulge myself in treats, forgotten all about ideal caloric intake, I've not exercised or--" His voice was tangibly anxious, fast and unstable. You could guarantee his eyes were glazed over with tears.

You squeezed the tentacle you were holding tighter, watching him quiet as he wrapped it around your hand, shaking and softly crying.

"Azul, are you trying to tell me that you've gained weight?"

"I look disgusting."

You cast your eyes downward with solemn understanding. "I doubt that, Zullie. I can't imagine you could ever look anything other than perfect in my eyes." Your voice was whisper quiet, but his breath still caught at the sentiment, whimpers lessening as you gently ran a finger back and forth over his suckers to calm him.

"Don't hate me." He muttered, suddenly pulling away from you and shuffling to the other side of the cavern again.

Click

The light revealed your beautiful octo-mer, still as wonderfully entrancing and gorgeous as you'd remembered.

He took your breath away. You could hardly even see any imperfections, even now. His stomach was rounder, his arms were less toned, his jawline was softer and his tentacles looked more full than before. But he was still the most beautiful man you'd ever lain eyes on.

His icy blue eyes were filled with tears you couldn't overlook, and before he could say another word, you launched yourself upon him in a tearful embrace, soothing him with soft whispers while your tears intermingled with his into the open ocean.

His tentacles wrapped against you, words of love and passion falling from both your lips.

You put your hands on each side of his face, guiding him to look into your eyes.

"Azul, I don't see any difference. You're still you. And I love you because of the Azul up here--" you pushed a finger at his forehead. "Not because your body has changed. I love you, Azul. And I won't leave you again."

He buried his head against your neck.

"I love you, I love you so much, Yuu..."

"Zullie.. I'm here to stay. Do you hear me? I'm never leaving you again."

He pulled you tighter to him, sobbing once again.

"Thank you... thank you for coming back, Angelfish."

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

May 31st, 2023

Yeah, this was healing, I know I'm not fat but damn I feel horrible about my body :(

-Kaori

[rouiyan]

𝘊𝘏𝘖𝘊𝘖𝘓𝘈𝘛𝘌 𝘔𝘐𝘓𝘒 [ 𝘩.𝘳𝘫 ]

synopsis: in a town where the seasons always seem to come a little early and the stars seem to shine a little brighter, two introverted idiots, only extroverted for each other, fall in love.

✧ huang renjun x (fem.) reader (mentioned jaemin x reader) ✧ childhood best friends to loverz

✧ genres : fluff, angst, slow burn ✧ word count : 8.4k ✧ disclaimers : swearing, as in h-e-double-hockey-sticks and probably a darn and a damn

✧ author’s note : another one of my fics that’s based off of an obscure item that i somehow managed to romanticize heavily. anyways, this one was written for the lovely hannah (@moonbeamsung​) who said (in some network bio) that she wanted to live in a childhood friends to lovers au so here we are. (please also ignore how this is ever so slightly reminiscent of ‘this shirt of his’) enjoy!

huang renjun. he's tiny, impudent, childish, and not to mention, he's two months younger than you! huang renjun, the boy whose legs are currently kicking at your own from the side. huang renjun who, when you look to your right, has a lopsided smile on his face while he pretends to listen to your teacher drone on about the days of the week. 

you lean in his direction, "would you quit it?" the boy looks over at you, nods, stops for a few minutes, then returns his incessant kicking. anger is lashing across your four-year-old countenance as the teacher calls out that recess is about to begin. you're the first out the door.

to say that you had no friends was an understatement. you had no friends and the other children liked to gang up on you. so when you take the opportunity, as the first one out the door, to run to the slides, the most vied for playspot on the whole playground, you're not surprised when renjun sneaks up behind you. well, you aren't surprised but rather unaware of his presence, until he pushes you, shoves you, absolutely rams you off the top. in the span of four seconds, you've pummeled down the slope at lightning speeds and instead of just hitting the ground, the sheer amount of force that was exerted from one four-year-old to another is astoundingly clear as you fly up and off the bottom ledge of the slide, soaring across the air before landing in a heap on your elbow. the wood chips of the playground floor that you've landed on dig harshly into your calves and one side of your face. 

you don't let on nearly as much as it hurts when the teacher rushes over and asks if you're okay, if you needed to go to the nurses' office. you nod at her while biting back tears of stabbing pain and embarrassment and, to even more of your horror, she assigns renjun to accompany you to the nurses' office claiming that, "the two of you need to work it out anyways."

face pulled into a scowl and lips twisted into a frown, you limp next to the boy who, even now, finds it his job to ridicule you by purposefully walking fast, he knows you can't keep up. "y/n, you idiot," your mouth drops open at the i-word, "we're never going to make it in time at that pace!"

in reality, you're two steps ahead of him, "huang renjun, i am so going to tell on you."

as it so happens, the bell that rings at the end of the school day not only signals your leave, elbow patched up and held in a sling, but also the arrival of parents, specifically mrs. huang. your teacher beats you to it, guiding the woman by the elbow to the side, a small conversation of nods and creased brows. renjun is next to you, watching as well, but his fingers are fiddling with his sweater sleeves and his nose is scrunched in anticipation—no, dread.

"i didn't mean to," his voice is a bare pipsqueak, the two of you all know he tells tales far from the truth. rolling your eyes, you doubt refuting his claims will ever be as easy as now with his mom sneaking worried glances in your direction, scalding ones in his, "yeah sure, huang. tell that to my broken elbow."

"it's not broken, you're just exaggerating-"

his mom turns in his direction, walks, low heels thudding softly with each step. she's quite the nice woman, you were somewhat sure about that though her face was drawn stern at her young son. she crouches by his side and though you feel a slight outburst oncoming, she turns to you instead, smile taut but polite. "y/n, is it?"

you nod.

"i apologize, first on behalf of my son, and second for my own incompetence in raising him," she gives him an eyeful, turning back to you again, "how is your arm, sweetie?"

you smile up at her because, unlike the boy beside you, she is nice. you forgive her, sweetly, telling her your arm would heal soon and well. she leaves with a gentle pat on your head and a strong arm on her son's own elbow. 

it's the next day when renjun is still sitting beside you, the usual scowl on his face replaced with a sheepish grin, snaggletooth and all, as he slides a carton of chocolate milk your way. "this is the one you like right? the brown one?"

you take it from the table and fold back the top, as you had learned, folding forward once again so an opening would slit. taking a sip, you give a hesitant nod somewhat in his direction. truth be told, chocolate milk was not your favorite, certainly the pretty pink strawberry one was, but a part of you didn't have the guts to stand up for yourself and say no, he was apologizing after all, not outright bullying you.

renjun doesn't kick your shins during class, he doesn't so much as utter a word to you, but when recess is called, and yet again you're out the door first, straight to the slides, the boy makes sure he's right behind you, and not for the purposes of shoving you off this time. he sticks around, and it stays that way.

you get your first pair of glasses at the ripe age of seven, only after you'd exclaimed to the class, rather sheepishly, that you couldn't answer the question because the board was too blurry for reasons you'd yet to comprehend. only at the optometrists office did you start to understand the purpose of glasses in the first place.

the next day in class, renjun, who was still your seatmate, pointed and poked fun. you laughed along with him because, well, because it was renjun that was making fun of you. the same reasoning could be applied when later in the day, when a terribly hubristic boy in your class, several inches taller than both you and renjun, had dared to punch you in the face for having such odd, turquoise frames, a pattern you never purchased again. to much of your surprise and even his own, renjun had punched the seven-year-old duche right back in the face. it was actually the chin from his angle, but hey, it's the thought that counts.

you let renjun choose the next pair of glasses you got, and though his preference was much differing to your own, you wore it for the next year and a half until your eyesight worsened once again. 

renjun steals at your food, and gets his hand smacked by the teacher, so you pass him the carrots, which you abhor and he passes you the chocolate milk, which you adore. it's as simple as that, and it stays that way.

fingers wiping at your glasses with the bottom hem of your shirt. you're sprawled back onto renjun's bed, hiking your feet onto the footboard. "what happens when we die, jun?"

the boy swivels in his chair to face you, feet planting at the exact moment. twirling the pen in hand, he places the tip of it at his chin and glances up towards the ceiling in what you think to be rumination. turns out, he's mocking you as always, "hmm, i don't know, why don't you test it out?" you play along gladly, "it'll take a zombie apocalypse to wipe me out, i'm telling you. and when and if that happens i'm bringing you down with me."

your best friend discards his pen back into the abyss of textbooks and notes on his table. he stands and walks and plops himself down on the bed next to you. the two of you are the same height, especially seen when laying down. he's yet to grow past you and you've yet to stop teasing him of it. in fact, you're just about to do so when he beats you to the chase, eyes on the ceiling once again but actually deep in rumination this time, "i hope we get matching tombstones, sorta like best friend necklaces but like- much more cool."

it's the first time you notice the brisk palpitations of your heart when in the aftermath of renjun's words. his words that were also so carefully thought out, witty but not insensitive. eleven-year-old you couldn't bring yourself to accept the fact that renjun was proving to be much more than just your designated bff. cheeks aflame, you turn your head to the left to catch his eyes already on yours. a gulp, a blink, a shift of your sights later and you finally have the words to respond. "that's only if we're not eaten alive first."

you can't help but imagine if the person you were buried by wasn't renjun, and just some man that you'd get to know in college and marry because you're too old to particularly care about notions of love. you can't help but imagine growing up with someone other than renjun by your side. you can't help it but you also struggle to, the reason behind that being you simply can't imagine. (how confusing!) renjun's all you've ever known and you doubt he could ever be replaced in your records. but as much as you wish it to stay that way, it's only a matter of time until things happen, until high school happens, until puberty happens.

it all starts when renjun bounds into your room on the first day of school, seven thirty on the dot and more than ready to take on the day after the absolute feast your mom had cooked up for the two of you. he's about to rattle on about girls and how they always take so damn long to get ready when his mouth is clamped shut at the sight he's met with. the sight he's met with being your reflection in the mirror. 

you forgot to mention to him that you'd gone to the optometrist a few days back, not for a new pair of glasses but to get your first pair of contacts instead. a great struggle came with getting them in and out but with practice, you'd managed to avoid outright stabbing yourself in the eye, hence the perfectly fitting lens right this moment as you blink out the excess solution. in the mirror, you glance in the reflection at the door of which renjun is standing in front of. you fail to notice the dumbstruck look on his face and rather, exclaim in glee at how for once, you could see him in full clarity without anything sitting atop your nose and getting caught in your hair.

renjun only nods along and stares for a lot longer as you collect your backpack lain across your bed and sling it across one shoulder, beckoning the bewildered boy to follow as you led the way to the garage where your mom was waiting in the car. and even in the car, he fails to conceal his gaze that seems to never leave the glistening of your eyes. in his third period, the only class that you sadly do not share with him, his mind is still playing over and over the look of glee that graced your features in a way he's never seen before. or maybe he has seen it before, and this sudden surge of newfound feelings is just an indication of him going crazy. yeah, he decides as he sets his tray down at the table you'd agreed to meet him at for lunch, he's definitely just going crazy, nothing new.

well apparently, you'd experienced something in the new because you're currently across the cafeteria, waving frantically at him for you to join the table you were sat at. renjun narrows his eyes though it's plainly obvious that you had made friends with people other than him. not that he minds, he's actually glad that you've ventured out of your social anxiety enough to get along with others. it's something that he's always been worried about ever since he stopped bullying you himself. he finds that he's still worrying, for other reasons, especially when he walks over to find you next to a girl and two boys, all of which looked to either be of a year older or just a thousand times 'cooler' than him. he looks over at you, who though is seated at the end of the table, fits in perfectly. with a tight-lipped smile, renjun slides in to your right and almost quivers under the gaze of your new friends as they introduce themselves.

he comes to know them as this: jaemin, the one that overtly flirts with you, donghyuck, the one that never stops talking, and jennie, the one that you seem to closest to, although only knowing each other for just a few periods at most. lunch ends in a blur of conversation, none of them seem all that interested in renjun himself, moving on rather quickly after your introduction of him, but they sure are interested in you. that's what it seems like to him, when in reality, you notice that most the times you've look over at him, he's as quiet as never before. you wonder what's gotten into him.

you trail renjun to his locker during passing period and with a hand holding it open for him and another leaning your weight on the locker beside him, you speak over the hustle and bustle of the hallways, "sorry about that." he gives a light glance your way before shoving a biology textbook into the back slot of his backpack, and eyebrow crooked, "sorry for what?"

"i mean, i did say we'd eat lunch together, i just didn't think that…"

"that you'd make some friends?"

"yeah-"

"it's fine, y/n," he gives you a fond smile, "i'm actually glad that you made some friends."

you scrunch your nose at his response and the solemnity that lined your voice is gone, replaced with your usual, playful and upbeat tone, "geez, i didn't think you'd want to get rid of me already, the first day isn't even over!" he slams the locker door shut, almost chopping off your fingers in the process. you draw them back insticutally with an, "oop!" and renjun gives a chuckle and a ruffle to your hair, "come on, let's get to class before we're late."

he takes the seat next to you in biology, and also in ceramics the period afterwards, and really, you hope it stays that way.

the cafeteria is particularly empty today, most the kids have gone to the school assembly that wasn't actually mandatory but had to be advertised as so in order to get people to go. you pride yourself for being one of the few people in your school who knew that fact and as your eyes rove the span of the room, they stop at a familiar silhouette of a boy that you could never mistake. something about how you didn't know he was going to be here and that he was sitting alone made your heart uneasy. 

you set your tray in front of him before he could comprehend who you even are, "renjun, hey, can i sit here?" it's unfathomable, the way you have to ask him but there's the inkling in the back of your mind that tells you it'd be more awkward if you didn't. you wonder how the hell the two of you have reached a point in your relationship where you had to ask to be in each other's presence. and as far as you know, renjun is still your best friend.

"yeah, sure. you're not at the assembly?"

shaking your head, "no. well, seeing as you're here i assume you also know that they're not mandatory, huh." renjun nods his head. truthfully, he did not know and the only reason he was here was because he thought it was mandatory which meant that you would be there. and wherever you were he sought not to be, for reasons that he only he was privy to. that's what made this whole situation unbearable because as you prattled on about your day, he himself giving the bare minimum of reactions and responses, the tightening knot in the pit of his stomach seemed to grow. 

it grew exponentially, just watching you talk about your chemistry exam, and then your friends and then...this, "what about you, jun? how's your love life?" he's always been good at concealing his inner emotions around you, he knows what you notice and what you don't. sometimes being in love with your best friend has its perks, he supposes. "love life? you're serious?"

"yeah, i mean," you lean forward across the table, uttering under your breath so that the four other people in the cafeteria wouldn't hear, "we're in high school now. remember what we talked about?" renjun scoffs at that, at how high school y/n and middle school y/n still shared the same idea that first relationships were supposed to be reserved for the first two years of high school. he gives you an incredulous look, "we're not even a semester in, geez."

"so that's a no, like a no for 'nothing's going on'?" the glimmer of hope that glints in your eyes is indeed caught by the boy, your own first love, but his intuitions, the ones that were wrong from the start, prevents him from seeing into it any further. "yeah, nothing's going on. you?"

"well," you figure this is your chance to shoot your shot, as small of a shot as it may be, "me neither." what you didn't understand at that time was that boys, more specifically renjun, didn't take hints very well. he likes the facts and he likes them placed right under his nose. and what you didn't take into account was that by saying those two words aloud, you've in fact reprogrammed renjun's thought process to think the worst. and it really only gets worse and worse from there on out, until everything you've built up with him is suddenly, suddenly nothing.

you didn't study, plain as day as you stare at the blank whiteboard in the front of the classroom while virtually everyone else has their head downs, pencils scratching. there's three days until winter break, your first since high school has started and your sanity is definitely at stake. you look down, circle a two, a one, and two threes, and look back up, propping your chin upon a hand and tapping a finger along your jaw. perhaps a thinking pose with get your brain into the right mindset to dig for the right information. you're then reminded of how the information wouldn't be there in the first place. it might've been if you ever dared to listen in class. 

groaning aloud, seemingly the whole class turns to give you a look, a glare, even a questioning glance from your teacher who you're almost sure knows exactly what predicament you're in right now. huffing in equal parts regret and exasperation, you're the first to turn in the exam only forty minutes into the period. after all, randomly guessing the answers to two hundred multiple choice questions isn't all that hard when all you have to do is choose a number from one to three.

sitting back down with a soft thud, you debate sleeping for the rest of class but come to the decision that, one: sleep is for the weak, and two: you don't deserve to sleep after an exam, the only people that deserved to sleep were the people that stayed up late to study, not to watch corny minecraft videos under the blankets. it's not nice to judge other people's definitions of time and worthiness but you're really hard on yourself and the things you do for leisure, for obvious reasons.

body slumped over, you get the closest you can to sleeping without actually closing your eyes. in a classroom full of classmates, some friends and others acquaintances, you feel like you're left entirely to yourself, or your thoughts more specifically. they eat at you. and when your eyes roam and land on that one person, in the column to your left and four seats ahead, you can't seem to stop the spiraling. before you know it, renjun is all you can think about.

the way he twirls his pencil in his hand, you were there when he was watching youtube videos on how to do it. the pencil itself, you were by his side while he read out the reviews for it on amazon. the way he bounces his sneakers up and down in the most rhythmic fashion, the same fashion you'd always scold him for. the sneakers, the ones his mom bought him for christmas just under a year ago. you'd know because you were there too. eyes solely on him, you try your best to find one thing about him that you can't tie your name to before you realize it isn't possible. you know renjun through and through. you like to think you do.

but even with everything that you know, you wonder when you started to feel the tug in the back of your mind that kept whispering that he was moving on from you. maybe you were right to feel that way, the signs were all there. late night texts, facetime calls, hell, even instagram photo replies were scarce these days. and although he'd always chalk it up to his workload, you had to hold it in each time you wanted to quip back with the fact that the two of you were in freshman year, some colleges don't even count first year grades. talking to him at school wouldn't be so hard if he'd stop avoiding you, wherever you were he was not and whenever you'd ask to meet up, he'd give the vaguest of excuses. a general meeting for a club you've never heard of, a math study group with a friend you were sat right next to, a blatant lie. just as blatantly, you come to terms with the fact that it's time to accept and forget.

so when the bell rings and you see renjun rush to do his final, quadruple check, you simply move to put your things away. and when you see renjun return to his seat, eyes meeting yours for a split second, you look away with feigned disinterest. and when he turns to exit the classroom, you stop yourself from linking an arm and forcing conversation upon him. you simply follow in tow and turn in the opposite direction. you don't play into your desires because really, as much as you desire them, your fear of his distance is enough to draw a line. your fear of rejection is greater than any feelings you've ever held for him. isn't that how it always is?

sophomore year is two-thirds of the way through when you notice that renjun is taller than you by over three inches. that alone scares you, and saddens you, because it just goes to show that you haven't talked to him in so very long. his familiar smell and the way his fingers loop themselves in the straps of his backpack bring back a lot of feelings that would've made your heart swoon a mere year ago but now makes it stop dead in its tracks. sighing, you clasp your hands behind your back as your lips thin into a tight-lipped smile, "it's been awhile, jun. how have you been?"

renjun's eyes threaten to water at the sound of your voice. he swears the ground will open up beneath him and swallow him whole in response to the way you still call him 'jun.' the only thing he can do is grip his backpack straps a little tighter and try a little harder to conceal his emotions. after all, his efforts in doing so are what led him into this situation in the first place. "i've been good. you?"

with excess vigor, you nod, "i've been pretty good, studying and all that," you give a motion of your head to denote the obvious that was the building to the side of you. you just had to exit the library at the same time as him and his ride just had to be as late as your own. "so," your eyes snap back to him when he speaks, "how's it with uhh...jaemin?" nodding again, this time with less enthusiasm, as your ex-best friend notes, you prattle on, "it's going really well, seven months strong." 

oh hell, what was renjun expecting? even if you hated the living life out of your relationship, he doubts you would have laid it all out for him to see. the two of you haven't held a conversation, much less eye contact, for almost a year now. and by the looks of how your mom's car pulls into view just then and how you leave him standing on the curb with only a wave of your hand, it's about to be a year and counting.

your mom gives you a worried look as soon as the car door shuts behind you, "sweetie, was that renjun?" she veers the car out of the parking lot as you take one big gulp of air only to refute it back out in a dramatic huff. bounding your back against your seat, you strap on the seat belt and frown into the abyss, a clear devastation in your tone, "yeah it was."

"did you start the talking or did he?"

"i did! well, i thought that he would but he didn't!" with a click of her tongue matching the click of the turn signal, your mother gives you the briefest of glances, "darling, if he didn't want to talk to you then, then you shouldn't expect him to talk to you now."

"but it would've been even more awkward to just stand there."

the two of you shake your head for different reasons, your mother's just a bit more reasonable, "it's been a while, y/n. it's clear that he just didn't want to be your friend anymore. and plus, look at you, all moved on from your first love. your second one's quite the catch, huh?"

and she's right. you nod along with the thoughts that renjun's diminished presence was eye opening in many ways. one, it really was about time you got over him, two years was long enough. two, first loves were just that, the first and rarely ever the last. three, you barely had any friends. and four, your life didn't revolve around boys.

na jaemin asked you out three times before you'd said yes. you liked him more than enough during the first two tries but your hesitance was found in the way you didn't trust him nearly as much as you thought you should in a relationship. your phone pings from beside you and you lift it to see the same boy and the ridiculous contact name he had entered for himself, a nana with about fifty different variations of hearts following. 

a finger hovers above it, about to swipe and give a quick reply, when an incoming notification replaces it. the contact name is rather simple, huang renjun. you suck in a breath and immediately click your phone shut, shoving it back into the depths of your backpack. jaemin will have to wait for your damned nerves to calm before you can get to his text, the blockade being renjun.

it isn't until you're home, backpack slung on the footboard of your bed, changed out of your clothes and resting atop three heavy blankets that should've probably been exchanged in the wake of spring, that you steel yourself to look at the preview of your text.

let's catch up sometime, tell me when you're free. punctuation and all.

biting down on your lip, you note that the coffee in front of you, or rather just its aftertaste, is sickeningly sweet. looking up ahead, the regret that pools in your eyes is put full on display, unintentionally of course, but there nonetheless. you regret that you didn't text renjun sooner, that you broke up with jaemin on your one year anniversary, that you stopped talking to your mom about things that so obviously upset you, and that you simply took the path of misfortunes when it seemed like nothing else could possibly go wrong.

but the matter of the fact is that you did text renjun, and not out of desperation or to rekindle an old love that was never reciprocated. you texted renjun because after everything that had happened, you still have no idea where it all started to go wrong, you have no idea what you even did that could render such terrible circumstances and you have not the slightest clue as to how to get yourself back together. in short, in very short, you are in need of a companion and, for the better part of your life, that's exactly what huang renjun is to you.

as much as you would have loved to meet at a more secluded place, perhaps just your house, you also knew how informal that would seem of you after not talking to the dude for almost a year and a half now. he meets your eyes with his own, hesitant at first, but the smallest of smiles is soon to follow and you're left to wonder why, just like that, your world already seems to shift back into place and why his smile seems to make it all...make sense. 

"how are you now?" the laugh in his tone is bare but detectable only to you. being swaddled in familiarity really does a good number or two on your dampened mood. a smile hasn't chanced on your own face but you doubt it'll be long before it does, "pretty terrible, jun. how 'bout you?"

"about the same."

"same as me or...same as last time?"

"same as you."

the two of you nod, slowly and with eyes locked. his eyes are still on yours when he picks up his venti latte for a sip and even still when he puts it back down. yours are still on his when you do the same, and even still in the moments after when your voice breaches the silence once again, "so this is warranted."

this time only he nods, "you mean that this is necessary."

your response comes in the form of a smile, wide and exhilaratingly relieving, as if you've been waiting for a reason to smile and have, at last, been given one. your hands clasp around the paper cup, the contents inside warming your palms, a feeling that you welcome though the summer heat is fast upon you. the sun sets in the backdrop as your now reinstated best friend walks you home. it's nowhere to be seen when he drops you off at your doorstep and leaves with a mumbled, "goodnight, text me later," and the shuffle of quickened steps down your driveway.

that night, you stay up until the hours of early morning, texting the one person that's always had such a hold on you. sloppily spelled out text after text, you're bound to fall asleep until you do, but not before reading the last he'd sent. 

lets hang out tmw. no punctuation needed.

"i got your coffee, even added a ton of sugar," your eyes switch from the floor to the mug in your hands to the boy sat in front of you. instead of being grateful for the painstaking lengths you'd gone to trying to figure out how to get the coffee machine to work, renjun whines, "i only wanted a spoon of sugar."

"but you said you had to stay up late tonight," he takes the mug from your hands, fingers brushing and his eyes peering over the rim as he takes a sniff, "how will i get my caffeine if i can't even drink it?" shrugging, you take it back from him, "then i guess i'll just drink it."

"what? no, you have to go to sleep soon," renjun's brows crease in slight irritation at the proposition. your do the same, a mirror image of your best friend. when you've known someone for so long, slight nuances like these are always shared. "what are you? my mom?"

"no, but if i was, oho, you'd be damned," renjun grabs for the mug and this time takes a sip. he does his best not to scrunch his face when the sweetness hits. "i'm gonna go get ready for bed then, mom." his chuckles resonate from behind.

renjun stays up late to study and, seeing the score you got on the biology final the next day, you probably should have done the same. he looks back from his spot on the desk, the chair being positioned so that his back was to you. it's only been about fifteen minutes since you came from the bathroom with your retainers in and contacts switched out for glasses but it's just that gets his heart beating again, not so unfamiliar to the palpitations it underwent on the first day of high school, all those years ago.

he gets up and crosses the room, sock-clad feet careful not to make too much noise. you're slumped, half on the headboard and half sprawled across the bed itself, passed out already. bending over your figure, renjun slips the phone from your hands and sets it upon the beside table, he pulls your form further down the bed to prevent the worst type of neck aches in the morning, and he draws the blankets to your chin, tucking the ends beneath your figure in the same way you've always liked it.

then he crouches by your side and stares. he stares as your slow breaths fan across his face, lightly billowing the ends of his hair. he stares as the minutes on the blaring red digital clock on the bedside table fly by faster and faster. he stares until the glasses propped on the bridge of your nose bring back all the memories he'd sought to forget, when really, he could never let himself forget.

renjun remembers you crying about it to your mom, in second grade that is, after she'd picked you up with your nose all blotchy and red and renjun's tiny fists scathed. he remembers how much you hated them and wore them the least you could even though you needed them to see practically anything. renjun remembers at the age of eleven, he'd whispered in your ear on the first day of middle school, how much he liked your new frames. he remembers how you always kept them on when it was just you and him at sleepovers, or how you always told him that you didn't care what he thought of you because it was him, renjun. 

he still wonders if you feel that way though if not, he wouldn't mind spending more time with you to make it so. to renjun, you're presence is irreplaceable. and not because you make him happy, but because you also make him sad, because when you're angry, you don't mind that he's angry too, and that when the whole world is turned upon you, he's the only one that can ground you. to renjun, you're the only person that's capable of making him feel like the best and worst person in the world, at the same time, or not at all, or everything in between.

and if renjun has learned anything from his studies on the universe, it's that in the whole scheme of the world, the galaxies and galaxies so big that no one can even come close to fathoming their size, he is just as insignificant as anyone else on this planet. but he if he has found something, a someone, to which he can anchor his worth, his lifetime of feelings to, he has all the reason to live. renjun doesn't mean to be dramatic, but as a second year high school student he thinks he has all the reason to say that his reason to live sorta, maybe, possibly is you.

standing, he hooks two fingers under the sides of the frames of your glasses, lifting them off your face and folding them in a hand, careful not to smudge the lens, he places them on the bedside table as well. he goes back to studying but it doesn't last. how can it when all he can think about is you?

the you who he slips into bed next to instead of sleeping on the floor like usual. the flustered you who he wakes up to. the sleepy you who ruffles his hair before getting up and out of bed. the lovely you who brushes your teeth to the beat of whatever song is playing. the caring you who makes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the both of you to share at lunch.

renjun sits in the back seat to your side, his mom smiles at you in the rearview mirror. somewhere in her eyes he can tell that she's glad you're back in his life. maybe because that's how it should've been all along. he looks over to you, now with your head stuck in your textbook trying to (futilely) get some last minute cramming in before the big test. his finger fidget with the loose threads of his sweater, he smiles. and it stays that way.

you're not a fan of the stars, at least not as avid as your best friend but you do your best to recognize the ones he's taught you and learn the ones he's teaching, right now. "that one? i thought that was the chameleon one…," renjun is not the slightest bothered, having the ability to go on and on about the heavens above even if no one was listening. he turns his head towards you, weight propped up on his elbows, "we're not even in the right hemisphere to be seeing the chameleon, y/n."

"oh," you turn your head to face him as well but instead of being on your elbows, you're flat on your back, the grasses that teem over the edge of the blanket brushing your right arm. "do you know how long we've been out here?"

"does it matter? we're literally in your backyard," he sits up to check his phone anyways. "it's barely one, let's stay out for a bit more."

"okay."

renjun lays back down, now also on his back and he stares in appreciation that the little city the two of you grew up in wasn't crowded with light pollution in the summer sky, almost as if him and his star fascinations were meant to be born here. the sounds of ten or so crickets are prevalent but not blaring and the light zephyr that sifts between the houses of your street meets your skin with a warm touch. you're fully convinced that summer nights belong to the young.

breaking the silence, you grasp onto the words that cross your mind in passing, "how was your day?" renjun's head swivels in your direction again. oh how easy it is for him to be sidetracked from his favorite pastime by his favorite distraction. "my day? wasn't i with you the whole day?" your right hand balls a fist of grass and pulls, the blades are plucked sleazily from the ground and fall just as sleazily as you release them into the wind. "well yeah, but like- how was it?"

"it was good, any day with you is a good day."

positioning your body so that it now faces him, there's suddenly many things that are crossing your mind and begging for you to voice them aloud. his curt but sweet answer leaves space for your inquiries. "are you ever going to tell me what happened?" he's turning to face you as well, the blanket beneath the both of you scrunching as he moves and the outlines of his face illuminated by the light of the lantern, a good fifteen feet away. "what exactly are you referring to?"

rejun sees his past being dredged up further and further with each coming word that tumbles from your mouth, "like a year ago." his heart beats a little faster and if he wanted to, he could mouth your next string of words. "you got all...i don't know, distant i guess." swallowing thickly, he can feel your eyes on him as he decides to come clean, half clean.

"that was- that was a weird time for me." a noise of confusion and a, "how so?" gets his brain working double time to feed your curiosities without bearing his heart to you. the mere prospect of telling you his undying love for you is undoubtedly out of the question. "i guess, i was having a hard time getting adjusted to school and i didn't have that much time for...us. that's what happened."

so huang renjun ends up tossing out a blatant lie, something he knows you weren't even close to accepting as the truth but also something he knew you wouldn't question. if he wasn't comfortable with letting you know then so be it. you nod. 

there are things that he wants to know as well, "then can i ask what happened with you and jaemin?" and for reasons all too similar to renjun's you also lie, "just kinda fell out of love with him. nothing spectacular."

but renjun knows more than he lets on. he knows from the rumors, things you've told your friends that have somehow made their way around the school, that have made their way to him. it still holds that he isn't all that trusting of silly gossip but the potency this one piece of information holds, the hopes, the desires, the dreams and the fantasies, it's not something he can so easily pass up. he knows that you broke up with jaemin because yes, you fell out of love with him, but that only happened because you were still in love with him, huang renjun.

where you live, september mornings, even still early in the month, have already succumbed to the edicts of fall. fog gags the clear air and renjun finds it difficult to see three feet in front of him. despite that, the road to school is still the same as always and though his mom was unable to drive him today, making it so he had to wake up half an hour early, he doesn't mind it half as much as he thought it would. in fact, he finds himself thinking more about you than anything on the lone walk there.

hands swinging back and forth, a little crazily in the absence of anyone else on the street, he passes by the convenience store a few blocks down from the school, the one that's open twenty-four hours a day and the one that you and him have been frequenting a lot at three a.m. when the midnight hungers start to kick in. the thought almost slips his mind before he has a chance to act on it.

you decide that junior year is the worst. not even halfway through your first period, the looming presence of empty resumes and college application preparations is already making you queasy. luckily, you share four of your classes with renjun who is currently in the seat next to you. he's focused, as always, while your ap us history teacher reads off of the syllabus to stall time. you really should be paying attention as well but the first day of school, especially one with renjun by your side, seems to transport you into the depths of your memories. your first day of freshman year. there's key differences though. 

let's start out with the obvious. renjun is now a head taller than you, much to your chagrin. he teases you about it just as much as you had when he was the same height as you. also as obvious, you're no longer on talking terms with jennie and donghyuck, whom have since stuck with jaemin. which leads to the biggest turn of events that distinguishes your first day in high school to your second to last, if such a comparison even mattered.

third period ends, this time ap english language, a class that you don't mind at all and are, in fact, so invested in the free write that was assigned that you don't notice that the bell has rung, or that all the people around you are either packing up their things or leaving. you don't notice renjun, who's still beside you, packing up his own things as well. his desk is completely cleared save for one thing, one thing that he picks up hesitantly and holds behind his back, entirely unsure if now was even the right time for him to be carrying through with his plan.

this plan of his had been meticulously thought out during his walk to school, an impulse driven thought that, if not successful, would guarantee a trashy start of his junior year. the corners of the carton are a little bashed up from being jostled around his backpack for so long and he hopes the contents aren't completely spoiled just yet.

your head snaps up in surprise as he crosses over to the front of your desk and you're even more surprised to see that the classroom is completely void of students, your teacher had even rushed out to make the most of his lunchtime. "oh shoot! we're not gonna get a spot at the cafeteria, jun!" with haste, you start shoving your belongings into your backpack, the pencil case still wide open as you toss it in. renjun himself recedes in his thought process, certainly there would be a better time. if only he lived on your side of town, maybe then he could do it while walking you home. or maybe if he had the last period of the day with you, surely catching you after class would be too difficult. or maybe it he should've done it yesterday after the two of you spent the whole night playing games, that would've worked out a little better tha-

"renjun, what's that you're holding?"

his hand that was once behind his back has now dropped to his side, escaping his notice, and you were bent over the side of the desk to yank your backpack closed, giving you the perfect view.

"oh, this," he overcomes his flustered state in a record time of three seconds. it's now or never, he thinks, "this is for you." renjun holds out a carton of chocolate milk to you. "picked it up on the way to school today."

you take it from him graciously, turning it over in your hands as the realization dawns on you, "wait, this is the same brand as- as that one." renjun licks his lips, he shoves his hands into his pockets, takes them back out, sets them atop your desk, "yeah, it is."

your bottom lip is tucked under your front teeth as you look up at him with thoughtful eyes, no longer of appreciation or revelation but rather…, "jun, why did you get this for me?" you fold back the top of the carton, as you had learned, folding forward once again so an opening would slit. bringing it to your lips, you take three sips, the container so small that that already amounts to over half its total.

the window of opportunity has never been set wider than now. you watch as your best friend gulps, visibly, as he blinks, purposefully, as a hand comes to the scruff of his neck and rubs at it, almost forcefully before twelve years of his pent up feelings are regurgitated into the empty english classroom. the cafeteria is surely packed now.

"i like you, y/n. i got it for you because i like you."

backpack left on the ground beside you, you take a step forward, one which he reciprocates with a step back. another step is taken and another until you're in front of him, the desk directly behind. swallowing your nerves, your eyes glisten in the garish yellow lighting, "that's- that's nice to know. because i like you too."

renjun licks his lips one more time before they're on yours, kissing you just as he'd dreamed of ever since he even knew what it was, what it meant. his hand on your waist is as decisive as his steps that push you back and back until your thighs hit the desk, you prop yourself up onto it. renjun uses his height to deepen the kiss, he duly notes the sweet tang of the chocolate milk on your lips and he loves it. he loves the way it tastes, he loves that it's his lips, his tongue, that's tasting it, he loves that it's your lips that he's kissing, he loves how your hand never leaves the spot on his waist, or the other one on his shoulder, and he loves how he gets to kiss you like this however and whenever from then on. or really, he just loves you.

and it stays that way.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — my many inspirations for this piece — the song around by niki, the kdrama 'reply 1997' an all time favorite, and of course, hannah! check them all out hehe... hannah babe, i hope you loved this piece as much as i love you. consider it a token of my love HASHAAs but really, you're such a wonderful presence in my life <33

[hale-13]

Engulfed

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 30(!!!) Prompt - Crying

It’s just all too much. Everything is too much. It’s been a year and Peter can’t stand to do anything but sit here on this roof and ruminate until his mind goes blank.

Words: 2146, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Roger Harrington

TW: Depression, Survivor’s Guilt

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Peter can I speak with you real quick?” Mr. Harrington called as the final bell of the day rang and students started abandoning the class in droves. Ned shared a commiserating look with him as he finished packing up his things and left the room; leaving Peter to approach Mr. Harrington’s desk nervously and stand in front of it, shifting his weight back and forth nervously. “Oh!” Mr. Harrington said, holding up his arms in surrender as he closed the door behind the last student. “You can relax, you aren’t in trouble!”

Peter let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and let some of the tension drain from him muscles. “I’m not?”

Harrington raised an eyebrow at him, “Have you done something to warrant being in trouble?”

“No!” Peter said, his voice breaking a little on the end. “No sir!”

His teacher gave him a suspicious look but didn’t push it, instead gesturing for Peter to sit down in one of the empty desks as he perched on the edge of his own desk. Peter dropped his bag and sat, trying to keep his fingers from twitching from the anxiety strumming through him. Harrington observed him for a moment longer before sighing and handing Peter a folder. With curiosity, Peter opened it and paled considerably as he cycled through his latest test grade in addition to his final paper and project of the nine week grading period. There wasn’t a single grade above a ‘C’.

“So I wanted to talk to you before I handed these back tomorrow,” his teacher said gently, pulling a free chair up to the desk Peter was seated at and pulling the folder from his slack fingers. “Peter this isn’t the work I’m used to you turning in. What’s going on?”

“I uh,” Peter said, mind blanking as he flipped through his term paper that was absolutely coated in copious amounts of red ink. “I don’t know. I worked… I mean I spent… I don’t know,” he stuttered out, feeling untethered and confused.

Harrington sighed and, carefully, pried Peter’s fingers from the folder and closed it, setting it down on the desk. “You’ve seemed a little overwhelmed recently,” he said gently. “Most of your teachers have noticed it and this isn’t the only class where your work has taken a bit of a nose-dive. I know that you guys don’t always want to talk to teachers and school administrators about what’s going on in your personal life but, Peter, we’re here if you need it okay?”

Peter nodded, a little dumbly, his tongue too thick and dry to form words. He felt dizzy – he was turning in failing work in more than one class? “I uh…,” he cleared his throat and tried to wet his mouth, “I guess I have been a little… distracted recently but I’m okay,” he said and tried to hide his flinch at how unconvincing his voice sounded. He was fine right? “I’m sorry about the work, I know I can’t make up the test grade but is there any… uh… any extra credit I can do? I’ll do anything!”

“It’s alright,” Harrington said, picking the folder back up and standing. “I’m going to let you retake the test on Monday and if you write an analysis of what was wrong with your essay and correct the issues I’ll regrade it, same with the project. You’ll need to have them both to me Monday morning I can’t offer more than a ‘B’ on any of them but it should help your grade and make sure you don’t lose your scholarship.”

Peter felt like someone had ripped the floor out from under him and he had to grip the desk tightly. “My scholarship,” he whispered horrified and Harrington gave him a guilty look.

“You’ll have to speak with your other teachers on Monday about extra credit and make-up work but I believe all of them will be willing to help out,” Harrington passed the folder back to Peter who took it with numb and trembling fingers. “It’ll be fine Peter.”

“Right,” he said, feeling like he was underwater and standing shakily. “Thanks Mr. Harrington, I’ll go work on these now.” He never heard the man respond nor did he remember much of his walk home, the next thing he was aware of was standing in his room, his hoodie a little damp from the mist that had descended on the city and the barely-there drizzle that had started. Peter dropped his bag with a thump to the floor and collapsed into his desk chair.

He had work to do and he did so at an absolutely feverish pace. Reading back through his paper he had no idea how he had thought it was even marginally acceptable to turn in. He hadn’t even bothered looking at his project yet but he knew that it would look the much the same and he could already feel his gut twisting into tight knots as he considered the work he would be putting into it over the rest of the weekend.

By the time he had finished, his eyes were dry and crusty and the rain was pounding in earnest against his bedroom window; the only light coming from his desk lamp and the flickering streetlight outside his window. He sat back and blinked furiously, staring at the window with his eyes blurring in and out of focus. He could feel his heart speed up and shook his head once, hard, before jumping from his seat and stripping out of his clothes to pull on his suit.

“Hello Peter,” Karen said brightly as his HUD flickered and readings started to populate. “It is past-,”

“Mute Karen,” Peter said, voice croaking and shaky as he popped his fingers and neck. “Disable HUD and go dark.” It wasn’t often that he shut down his entire suit and went out the way he used to – just him with no extra tech – but sometimes it (and Karen) did effect his senses. And sometimes, like tonight, he just needed the silence.

He opened up his window, reveling in the cool air that creeped into his room and the drops of rain that stuck against his limbs like ice cubes. He paused for just a moment before firing a web through the fog to latch onto the building across the street, swinging out into the weather.

As he took slow laps around Queens, he let his mind drift and his body to just run on complete auto-pilot. He rarely saw any sort of major crime in rain and fog like this and his Spider Sense was quiet in his mind as he swung. Without Karen active and with his suit dark, he didn’t have his heater or GPS or access to his phone or the police scanner but he was fine with all of that. Content to just swing until he couldn’t.

The ‘until he couldn’t’ came a lot soon than he thought, his numb finger slipping on a web and sending him careening onto the top of a building where he rolled and ended up on his back, staring up at the moonless and starless night sky and the thick drops of rain. He laid there for just a moment longer, stunned and taking stock, but nothing hurt too much, he just felt detached.

With no small effort, Peter sat up and scooted over to sit with his back against the roof access, staring out over Queens but unable to see more than a few hundred feet ahead of him. His eyes unfocused and he felt his mind slowing down – blank and quiet finally.

“Do you know what time it is?” His mentor’s voice should have surprised him but, even drifting off the way he was, it was impossible to not hear the loud repulsers of the Iron Man armor. He touched down on the roof to the left of Peter and his face plate shifted up, keeping him dry from the rain but reveling his face that was a mix of disapproving and concerned. Peter just shrugged.

“Sorry,” he said, voice hoarse and monotonous in the gloom. Tony furrowed his brows at him.

“You good kiddo?”

“Sure,” Peter said, looking out over the roof top again. “Fine.”

“Right,” Tony said, his voice disbelieving. “Well its past your curfew buddy and you’re completely soaked. You okay with me giving you a lift home?” Peter nodded without consideration. He was cold and he couldn’t really feel his fingertips – getting a ride home on the Iron Man express was definitely preferable than walking. “Hop on then,” Tony motioned to his back as he turned and, after a moment to psych himself up for it, Peter stood slowly and wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck.

The armor was warm and the flaps prevented Peter from getting pestered by too many of the remaining raindrops on their flight. He let his eyes slip closed as they flew, content to drift, which he realized was a mistake when he opened them a few minutes later and realized Tony had taken them to the Tower instead. “This isn’t my apartment,” he said, dropping down to land on the over-large balcony of the penthouse so that Tony could step out of the armor.

“Nope,” he agreed, shuffling Peter inside and carefully pulling his mask over his face and dropping a towel around his shoulders. “You’re staying here tonight – I know May’s working third.”

The water dripping from his damp hair onto his neck made him shiver but Peter made no move to dry off with the towel – standing just inside the entrance to the penthouse and staring ahead at his mentor who clucked his tongue and started to dry Peter’s hair off himself. “What’s going on Pete?” He asked as he rubbed the terry cloth through Peter’s curls. “This isn’t you.”

“Nothing,” Peter said, his voice sounding emotionless, “I’m fine.”

The look Tony leveled him with was that of pure disbelief but he herded Peter toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “Go take a warm shower and change. I’ll make some hot chocolate and meet you in the living room when you’re done.”

Peter nodded his assent and made his way toward his en suite bathroom. The Spidey suit was sticking wetly to his clammy skin and it took some doing to get out of it but it was worth it to slip into the fancy shower his room at the Tower offered. He stood for an untold amount of time under the burning spray of water and felt the tension leave his body, his emotions swirling confusingly in his head and leaving him nearly dizzy. Deciding he couldn’t put it off any longer, Peter grabbed the towel from the heated rack and dried off, slipping into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie before making it back to the living room.

In his time away, Tony had made one of the only things he could in the kitchen: hot chocolate from scratch (a recipe from Rhodey and his college years) and was settled on the overly large couch with a pile of throw blankets. Peter sank into the nest and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, accepting the mug his mentor offered and taking a sip of the steaming drink.

“Alright out with it,” Tony said, sitting to face Peter, the expression on his face open. “Something’s going on buddy but you can tell me okay?”

“It’s October thirteenth,” Peter blurted before biting his lip.

“October thirteenth?” Tony asked with a furrowed brow. “What…?”

“Uncle Ben died a year ago,” Peter whispered, curling up further into himself. From next to him Tony let out a sigh of air.

“Oh kiddo,” he said, voice sad and filled with understanding. Peter sniffed once and felt a hot tear leak down his cheek. He didn’t bother wiping it away. “There’s… not really anything that I can say that will make it better,” Tony said as he scooted closer and sat his mug of coffee on the table in front of them. “I know that from experience but, if you ever want to talk about him you can always come to me.”

Peter nodded once and was surprised when, just a moment later, Tony reached out and pulled Peter tightly into his side in a hug. Peter’s mind went blank for a moment and then he felt his eyes well with tears that fell in silent waves down his cheeks. He had felt so overwhelmed, so underwater for weeks leading up to this day and he just…

“Let it out buddy,” tony said, pulling him in tighter and running calloused fingers through Peter’s still-damp hair. “It’s alright.”

With that permission, Peter turned himself more fully into his mentor, curling himself in tighter and letting his eyes cry themselves out.

It felt like catharsis.

[demisexualgeralt]

A gift for @jaskierbatey for @thewitchersecretsanta. I tried to fit as much of your wish list in as I could. Happy holidays, and I hope you enjoy!!!

--

Geralt walked into the saloon and let the giant centipede’s mandible thud loudly on the floor. The chatter in the room stopped, except for the soft sounds of banjo strings, which belonged to a young man who either had a death wish or simply couldn’t take a hint. Regardless, the saloon owner rushed over to inspect Geralt’s offering.

“There were three of them,” Geralt grunted. “Your land should be fine now. No more disappearances.”

“And...the missing?”

“Their bodies are there. You can do with them what you wish. Though I wouldn’t send those with a weak stomach. Sorry.”

The man nodded solemnly and pulled a coin purse from his side. Geralt took it from him and counted out the coins carefully, ensuring the amount was all they’d agreed on. When he determined it was satisfactory, he nodded and turned on his heel. The sooner he could find an inn and get centipede guts off of him, the better. 

The next day, he woke early and prepared to get back on the road. A witcher’s life was certainly not a sedentary one, and with so many people traveling West and fucking up the natural wildlife, it had become unusually lucrative. People were desperate and while Geralt didn’t normally like to capitalize on those too down on their luck, he was happy to take the coin of those whose own greed led them to do stupid things like building a town next to the burrowing grounds of a bunch of giant centipedes.

He finished getting Roach ready and was leading her out of the stable when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. He tensed and turned, wanting to see what unfortunate soul decided to try and rob a witcher.

“Oh! That...is a big sword. I’d ask if you were happy to see me, but, ah, you don’t seem the type to buy into that kind of humor.”

“Hmm.”

“Who am I, I hear you asking! My name is Jaskier and-”

“Don’t care. Fuck off.”

He started to walk away, but heard determined footsteps behind. “You should care. I feel if we put our talents together, we could both come away very rich.”

“Not interested.”

“You seemed very interested in that coin purse earlier.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and turned to face the man. “What I’m interested in is getting paid to do my job. Not whatever hare brained scheme you’ve cooked up. I kill monsters. I get coin. There’s nothing you can do to help with that.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, witcher. See, I have acquired a good deal of stories in my time, and witchers are full of stories. But people don’t like witchers, do they?”

“If this is what being liked gets me, I’ll take my chances.”

Undaunted, the man continued. “I could help you! Spread word of your tales, sing your praises. Increase your coin. You think you got a good deal from that saloon owner? There’s dozens out there like him, just as stupid, who would pay double that for the same job, if only they had a little nudge from yours truly.”

Geralt scoffed. “You’re how old? What would you know about people?”

“Quite a lot, thank you very much! And I’m 19. But I listen. People aren’t that difficult to read when you learn how to listen.”

“And you do?” Geralt asked, leaning against the side of the stall.

“I have to. It’s part of the trade.”

“Hmm.” Geralt eyed him, taking in this strange man in front of him. Eventually, he turned back to Roach. “Fine. Come along. It’s your funeral.”

--

Months passed and somehow, it was not Jaskier’s funeral. Geralt assumed he would get tired of walking, of not having a warm bed at night, of only having Geralt for company, but some stubbornness must have edged out his discomfort. And Geralt knew he was uncomfortable- he complained constantly, but each night, he settled around the campfire, playing softly while rabbit or squirrel cooked over the fire and listened while Geralt told his stories in halting, sporadic thoughts. 

He hated to admit it, but it was nice, having someone to share the road with. Most of the time.

Whenever they traveled into town, however, he was reminded of what an absolute pain Jaskier could be. All he wanted was a drink before heading back to the inn they were staying at and preparing for the next day’s hunt. Instead, he was treated to the sight of Jaskier making himself at home next to a group of women close to the bar. It shouldn’t bother him. It didn’t bother him. It was Jaskier’s job to ingratiate himself to whoever came along, charm them. Jaskier told him time and time again that what he had with those people was never personal, strictly business.

It was easier, then, to understand that what he and Jaskier had was also strictly business. It shouldn’t bother him. And yet, every time he saw Jaskier spend the night with another, only to return triumphant with an expensive trinket or swiped bundle of coins, he felt an ache deep in his bones.

It hurt, to be just another transaction. A means to an end. He might not pay Jaskier, or afford him any trinkets to sell or hoard, but he provided shelter, food, companionship between beds. That was all he would ever be.

He made his way over to the bar, grunting his assent when the barkeep offered him a drink. As she handed it to him, she leaned her elbow on the counter and looked at him.

“Drowning your sorrows over something in particular, witcher?”

“I’m drinking alone.”

She snorted and he glowered. Not many humans were willing to provoke him (except Jaskier), but she had clearly seen enough rough folk to not be cowed by him.  “I can see that.”

“Hmm,” he intoned, hoping she would take the hint and end the conversation there. Unperturbed though, she pressed on.

“Seems you don’t have to. That one keeps glancing at you.” She inclined her head slightly and he could see that she was referring to Jaskier. He rolled his eyes.

“He’s a friend.”

“Just a friend?”

“Mmm.”

She nodded slowly. “See, I’d believe that. But I’ve tried to make enough men jealous myself to know the look.”

“Hmm.”

She clicked her tongue. “Not the chatty type. I get it. But think about what I said.” She turned back to other patrons and left Geralt to ruminate on what she’d said. 

Eventually, the night wore on and he decided it was time to take his leave, before the truly unruly patrons started to act up. He glanced back at Jaskier, who gave him a smile before turning back to his latest conquests. Satisfied that he would be fine until morning, he headed back to the inn to try and get some rest.

--

He did not, in fact, get the sleep he was looking for, but instead sat and restlessly tried to avoid thinking about the barkeep’s words. There was no reason for Jaskier to try and make him jealous. If he wanted Geralt, he had plenty of opportunities when they were alone to make a move. He wasn’t shy about going after what he wanted. Geralt thought himself in circles, but they all led to the same conclusion. 

Sometime before the sun rose, he heard Jaskier fumble in. “Geralt? Are you awake?”

“I am now,” he grumbled, despite not actually being asleep.

“Good, good. Do you want to see what I got?”

“No.”

“Wonderful.” 

He sat heavily at the edge of Geralt’s bed, shoving his feet aside to make room. He smacked Geralt’s leg until he looked at him, practically punching him in his fervor to show Geralt the ring on his finger.

“Are congratulations in order?”

“No, you ass. But it is pretty, isn’t it?” Jaskier looked down to admire it. It was simple, adorned with a modestly sized opal.

Geralt sighed. “Stealing people’s weddings rings seems like a new low, even for you.”

Jaskier scoffed. “I didn’t steal them! I can’t help it that people like to give me nice things. Besides, if you’re mean to me, I won’t give you your present. Close your eyes.”

Geralt did so against his best judgement and felt as Jaskier put something small in his hand.

“Okay. Open.”

He opened his eyes and found a small gold band in the center of his palm.

Jaskier’s eyes shone. “Just think. If we wear them and act like we just got married, they might give us a free room! Or...a room upgrade at least. It’s great, right?”

Geralt swallowed.

“Or…” Jaskier backtracked. “We could melt it down? I’m sure we’d get money for the gold?”

“Fine. Whatever you want to do.”

“Geralt? Did I...offend you?” He bit his lip. “Look, I know you would never actually marry me. This is just...a con. But, if even the thought of it offends you, I’ll...I won’t bring it up again.”

“It’s fine.”

Jaskier tapped nervously on his thighs. “Geralt, please. I don’t want this to get in the way of our friendship. If you want me to go…”

“I don’t.”

“Okay. Well, that’s a relief. Then why won’t you look at me?”

Geralt sighed. He wasn’t like Jaskier, couldn’t say what he wanted to say and make it all fit together somehow. His words were stilted, difficult.

“I don’t want to pretend.”

“I already told you, Geralt, we don’t have to do that if you don’t-”

Geralt moved forward to kiss Jaskier, who just let out a surprised ‘oh’ against his mouth. He didn’t pull away though, relaxing into Geralt’s touch. After a moment, he pulled away, looking for something he couldn’t name in Jaskier’s eyes. Acceptance? Joy?

“That...yeah. We can...you want to? With me?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the wordsmith?”

Jaskier glowered at him. “The man I’ve been hopelessly in love with for months just kissed me. Forgive me for not recovering immediately.”

“You- months?”

“You didn’t know? Geralt, I’ve been making moves for months? You really didn’t notice?”

“...no.”

Jaskier huffed a laugh. “Well. Then let me make myself abundantly clear. I like you. I would like to do this and other things with you in the future. If you would like.”

“I would...like. That.”

“Perfect,” Jaskier said, leaning in to capture Geralt’s lips again. 

After a while, Jaskier lay on Geralt’s chest, and Geralt felt the first threads of sleep calling him. Before he could though, he heard Jaskier speak up again.

“So, does this mean that we can do the marriage con?”

“Go to sleep, Jaskier.”

“Fiiiiiiine.”

[jeeperso]

D&D Quotes Without Context

Ravenloft, Hazlan Arc, part 1

"Killing's not working and murders all we’re good at!" "I’m good at lots of…" "And murders all we’re good at."

"Chipmunk droppings, I just got this nice cloak and my daggers enchanted. This stinks like a badger who hasn't bathed in months."

“I can do horrible. But, sure, whatever.” "I'm sure there are easier ways to get a harem for yourself, that don't come with as many strings attached."

"Wrong head. This one is much more swelled."

"Let's hope if we ignore it then it will do the same and then bugger off." “We def gonna have to kill it by end of day.” "Worse, I'd hate for us to agitate it and it turn out to be some sort of.... delivery head..." “It’s what I’d use for messages if I was a forked up Wizard.”

"You don't intimidate me." He says, clearly intimidated.

“If it makes you feel better, now I only have to roll one body into the ditch.”

"We've no quarrel with you. Stand aside, or barter like...and he ran off..."

"There we go. Nice and non-violent." “You mispronounced 'boring'.”

"I'm going to keep a look out in case someone competent tries to ambush us."

“Besides, I’m like… a free lance peacekeeping agent. For certain definitions of peace. And keeping. And all the other words really.”

"Okay, just what is that, an ogre, a hill giant, or something else?" “Can I kill this one?”

"A silver piece says Tiny is as likely to attack them as us."

"Unfortunately we were testing a modified growth potion one day and I drew the short straw."

"I figured as much. You're ill equipped, your tactics are amateurish, and you don't respond well when things don't go your way. Screams desperate with few options." "You don't have to rub it in man." “You tried to rob us. Twice. And we didn’t kill you. Even though I kinda want to.”

“I dunno, the one with horns is screaming that he’s got some cool shit we can steal.” "I am Nima Galzona, Necromancer, and apprentice to the great Hazlik." “Jonni Humantorch, genie fucker.”

"I'm...not comfortable riding inside a giant mouth. Bad experience with a dire mole once."

"Do necromancers just lose the ability to smell? Or they just get so used to the scent of decay that it doesn't bother them any more?"

"So anyone else get the feeling that 'murders' is going to be a drastic understatement about what's wrong here? I don't get the impression that a crime spree merits wizard attention."

Today however the streets are strangely sparse, as you head to where the caravan usually sets up, you find out why. “Please be fire, please be fire, please…”

Death to all witches and workers of magic, repent and pray the gods show thee mercy, for I have none. --The Witchfinder. “Oh, sweet! Someone they’ll give me money to set on fire!”

“I don’t use magic. The universe just knows I’m awesome.”

"Oh boy... shits about to get political." Jonni stops and puts the torches she was gonna start selling back.

At this point Nima turns around and unleashes a massive skull shaped fireball into the air high above the crowd. “Nice add on. 9/10.”

“Which remind me, if you cast speak with dead, and speak with plants, can you talk to chairs?”

"I threatened to pick you up like an angry poodle once, am not afraid to do it again."

"I'll go along, someone needs to make sure Jonni doesn't set stuff on fire we need intact."

"I wonder what kind of experiment it must have been to have so many people..." "I can guarantee you won't like the answer." OOC: Let's be optimistic. Maybe it was an experiment in self-sustainable farming to improve the local ecosystem. OOC: Narrator: it was not.

"Why can't we ever go anywhere nice? I can vaguely remember nice places used to exist somewhere at some point."

"Okay, who broke the moon?" OOC: Who knows in this savage land of sorcery and super science. "Wait, he can break a moon! Umm, we should avoid him for a long, long time." "This is his domain after all. That or some race of lunatic ratmen who thought it was made of Ruminating Rock."

Just a single row of normal sized bricks, about ankle height. "Its a trap, get an axe."

“Marsh, we can make you a new hand, right?”

“Shove it in.....Are we still saying 'phrasing'?”

"Goggles on, things are weird." “Here weird or 'coke party in the City of Brass' weird?”

"You know how I was wondering about why we never go anywhere nice? Well now we are somewhere nice and I don't trust it at all."

“Hey, so what are you doing after work?” Pause. "I do not have that information." “Well, this is Hell, let’s burn it down. Burn it all down!”

"Hold on, I speak attraction." (POSTER'S NOTE: As in theme park, not sex.)

"That information is classified. Please give administrator passcode." "A Wizard did it." "Passcode accepted." "I can't believe that worked." “My second guess was ‘ruminating powder.’”

"Yeah.. The others seem to be currently living-impaired.." “Let’s check my newest victim first then.”

“Hey, slim! Look alive! I wanna discuss mass burial techniques!”

"Talk! Fast! Or steam loud!”

"It is wrong to murder a defenseless mage in cold blood. It is wrong to murder a defenseless mage in cold blood. It is wrong to..."

OOC: Marshal is of the opinion we don't kill him for a long time.

OOC: So what this session has taught us is like everywhere else in Ravenloft, The Weird Wizard Wasteland SUCKS!

Gorbash: okay… so… how do we finally get out of here? Domain lord: Only the Dark Powers could let you out. Edmund: So we need to talk to them. Domain Lord: Literally no one ever has. You’d have to cause a catastrophic amount of attention to maybe get their attention. Jonni: …. My hour has come at last. "Time to kill a monster. And it is self-defense if he summons a monster intent on murdering us." “Sure. Let’s go with that.” "Hi, if you are watching this. I am dead. I assume you killed me, but that was a mistake..." "It really wasn't." "Must run faster. Must run faster. Not getting caught in another dimensional implosion. Must run faster." Escape collapsing grad thesis, first! “Yeah, let’s let Marsh calm him down while we check to see if that loser left anything interesting out here." You find a very interesting ant. The tiny, angry sun is back in the sky. "Don't make eye contact..." "That’s my purse! I don’t know you!” Jonni somehow kicks the sun in the balls. "Beware! We have fortified waffles! They can concuss at 50 paces." “Crab people. Or more fucked up Wizard experiments. 50/50 odds.” OOC: Doctors without Domain Borders. "We only want the food and clothes." "And we just want shinies.” "Money is no use to us, no one would take it from us." “Oh, you just gotta know how to talk to them. Grab em by the short and hairies first.” "As said, my waffles are well fortified. They can be used as throwing stones." "And as a professional, I would advise not swimming five hours after eating one." "Really Jonni, I don't mind the way you speak.. but it might not hurt to try to limit the goading to people who CAN'T wipe us from existence?" “Killing me only proves I was right.” “Hey, we were bonding over our opinion on casual murder!” OOC: Her two diametrically opposed sides! Her evil side! And her indifferent side! "We never truly die, this will avail you nothing." “Yeah? I bet kinda dying still hurts like a mother forker though.” OOC: Slab of iron with which I have lived, strike now one last heart of dickery… “Sorry not sorry we killed your folks!”

[sweetestlamb]

Green-Eyed Monster

Genre: Revenge romance? Is that a category? It is now. 

Summary: Ju-Ri doesn't understand how a nice normal guy like Gang-Tae could fall for someone awful like Mun-Yeong, little moments into their relationship provide clarity and envy in equal parts. 

Author Notes: We have already been so well-fed today, but here I am offering more food, if you’re a glutton then eat it all up! Thank y’all for voting for this one and making me temporarily table the High School AU, today’s episode has given me SO MANY IDEAS. SO MANY. So I will definitely be writing that this week, stay tuned! 

p.s: I planned on being meaner to Ju-Ri but as a feminist it’s hard for me to shit on women no matter how much you irk my soul. I just want us all to succeed and not compete, especially not for men. But never fear, jealousy and mild torture is still here. 

Ju-Ri avoids the front nurse's desk as she makes her rounds, checking on the patients and then checking on them again, better safe than sorry, anything to ignore the news that all her colleagues are chattering about in excitable voices. Gang-Tae and that woman. She doesn't understand how he could be with someone like her. Prior, to that witch crash landing into their lives she had considered her and Gang-Tae close, friends even. They didn't need to communicate often, they had moments of silence that spoke volumes, she told herself. It was only a matter of time until they.....

Then she had appeared. Like a bad dream.

Reeling him in on her line and despite his attempts to wriggle free, she captured him. Ju-Ri watched them circle around each other, him chasing after her every time she was on her war path and Ju-Ri couldn't help the frustration that washed over her as she wondered why? What was it about that woman that made everyone overlook all her glaring flaws? She was selfish, brash, and downright mean. Her touch was the killing blow to everything and everyone around her. She knew that in due time, the sweet caretaker would be next. She was like Medusa, staring too long would ultimately lead to your downfall.

These thoughts swimming in her mind caused her to walk right into them. In a sense. Turning the corner, with a grimace on her concern bitten lips she found the very pair she was ruminating about. Her eyes widen as she took in the scene in front of her; Ko Mun-Yeong had Gang-Tae cornered, their faces closer than was acceptable for the work place. His blush was apparent even from her distance, as if someone had taken a red paintbrush to his cheeks. Mun-Yeong smirked, leaning in even closer, until Ju-Ri was sure they were sharing a breath. The way he was panting made it clear that he was not getting an adequate amount of air. Her eyes tightened into a glare, of course that bitch wouldn't even let Gang-Tae breathe without hindering him. Vaguely she overheard their exchange.

"Mun-Yeong calm down, we can't do this at work. " He said to no avail, knees buckling as as Mun-Yeong dismissed his requests and placed a hand on his cheek dragging him dangerously close.

"This is your fault for being so pretty. I can feel your eyes on me when I'm teaching. It makes me want to end the class and jump you." She finished her suggestive statement with a snap of her teeth, her lips pursing as Gang-Tae swayed as if hypnotized. "Just one kiss and I'll leave you alone. I promise. I'll be a good girl." She pressed on, her words contradicting with the evil smile that spread across her ruby lips. He groaned in response, while she widened her eyes in mock innocence. Moving ever closer.

Gang-Tae stood stock-still, hands tightened in fists, a vein protruding from his heated neck, as the she-demon took his silence as confirmation, cupping his strong jaw into her hands, drawing him closer, closer, their lips on the cusp-

Before she abruptly threw the patient charts in her grasp on the ground. The crash echoing down the hallway, breaking the couple from their reprieve. Gang-Tae leapt back like he was on fire, dipping under and out of Mun-Yeong's evil clutches, absently straightening his placidly pastel uniform. Mun-Yeong on the other hand, did not seem the least bit bothered, turning much like the cat that almost got the milk. Her face lighting up when she spotted Ju-Ri, menacing smile covering her face, before the sound of her heels filled Ju-Ri's ears- who even wore heels to a hospital?- until they were face to face.

She paused to bend down and pick up the charts Ju-Ri had accidentally dropped and Ju-Ri pretended not to see how raptly Gang-Tae watched the smooth motion, his eyes hungrily examining the abundance of skin that was visible under her short pale lilac skirt. He licked his lips, lost in the sight before him. Ju-Ri coughed loudly, his eyes guiltily shifted away, intensely staring at the wall instead as if just noticing that it was here.

"Here." Mun-Yeong pushed the chart into her limp hands, "This is yours." And she heard the unsaid message, Gang-Tae is not. She didn't respond to the quip, snatching the charts from the outstretched hands and looking intently at Gang-Tae, shocked that he would allow this sort of behavior at his place of work. She turned away in annoyance at finding him distracted again. Mun-Yeong was smoothing out invisible wrinkles in her skirt, his eyes were fixed on the quick movements of her hand. Surprisingly enough, Mun-Yeong was the one to end this intolerable awkward moment, turning back to Gang-Tae and wrapping her claws around his thick neck, his ears pinking up at the sudden attention, as she stage whispered, "Next time, you won't be so lucky, these lips will be mine. " And with that she was gone, leaving him suspended in the moment before he shook myself and walked off without a word to Ju-Ri.

With a defeated grunt, she stomped off, maybe the patients needed a third check in.

After finding a nice pillow to scream into, Ju-Ri started to thinking rationally, their relationship was clearly purely sexual. Gang-Tae was such a shy guy, he was merely excited to be with someone as experienced as Mun-Yeong and okay, maybe if you squinted and looked sideways while hopping on one leg, one might consider Mun-Yeong pretty. She bristled at the memory of her very own mother expressing that, she wasn't that pretty. If anything she was terrifying and that far outweighed any external beauty. Ergo, it was only a matter of time before Gang-Tae reached this conclusion and the world would be right once more.

This was the only thought that kept her from violently scalping herself.

Unpacking her lunch, the familiar scents of her mom's home-cooked meal filled her senses, glad for a quiet moment. She ate, pointedly thinking of nothing and no one, until the chair across her was pulled out and occupied, thankfully it was only her mom, who she greeted with a tight smile. She was still coming to terms with the fact that her own mother had befriended her arch nemesis, for lack of a better term. This was after calling said woman; pretty, all but escorting Gang-Tae to her macabre castle and through her advice, helping them reconcile after he had finally escaped. It wasn't that Ju-Ri didn't want Gang-Tae to be happy, that's all she wanted, but she knew first hand what happened to those who got too close to Mun-Yeong, she was a walking danger ahead sign.

Why did no one heed the warning until it was too late?

They lapsed into small talk, how was your day? I made the dumplings you like, here have some. It was all too good to be true, that should have been her first sign that she should evacuate the premises. But she figured that they wouldn't be as shameless as to rub their relationship in her face, she was mistaken.

As she was looking up, she saw movement at the cafeteria's entrance, eyes landing on Gang-Tae unaware of Mun-Yeong sneaking up behind him, until she slid her arm through his larger arm, linking them with a broad smile. She said something to him that made him stumble over his steps, before righting himself and gazing down into her dark gaze. They stood there, unmoving, eyes locked, completely disregarding everyone around them, all but obliterating her appetite.

She waited for him to break the chain of their arms, as he had done in the parking lot, when she had made the mistake of looking back at the commotion behind her.

He didn't.

He allowed himself to be dragged by Mun-Yeong's smaller stature, until she realized with sharp realization that Mun-Yeong was traipsing to her table. Seeing her mother's answering wave and smile, an ice cold slap of betrayal hit her. Did this woman intend to take everything from her? She huffed in indignation, turning her body away from the approaching pair.

Her mother gently knocked her feet under the small table, that was about to feel even smaller. Claustrophobic,even.

She pretended not to notice and stuffed more food into her mouth, hoping that no one would try to engage her in a conversation.

Her mother greeted them, Gang-Tae, ever thoughtful, saw her reaction and quickly stated that they planned on eating outside, they just wanted wanted to say hi.

"Why can't we all eat together? I want to stay." Mun-Yeong innocently maliciously inquired, looking at her newest victim and Ju-Ri watched his jaw tighten out of the corner of her eye, he pulled her with their interlocked arms, the force resulting in their bodies colliding.

"Don't be silly, of course we can all eat together. I brought extra food for that very purpose, I don't want to see those atrocious sandwiches, that's not a real meal." Her mother stated, leaving no room for argument. Ju-Ri wanted to argue, to shout that she didn't want to be anywhere near her, they weren't friends and she didn't plan on acting like they were, damn it. 

A chill washed over her as she considered the seating arrangement, her mother sat across from her, leaving an empty chair next to them both. She should have sat next to her before it was too late. 

Gang-Tae shuffled awkwardly, also noticing the conundrum, before Mun-Yeong easily slid into the seat next to her mother, causing Ju-Ri's mouth to open in shock. Was she actually going to let Gang-Tae sit next to her? His eyes exhibited his surprise as well before he took the last remaining seat. Mun-Yeong smirked as if amused by her discomfort, before accepting the handful of food that was being pressed into her waiting hands.

They ate in relative silence, Mun-Yeong and her mother leading the conversation, she tuned them out, silently seething at the mere fact that they seemed so comfortable in each other's presence.

The loud clicks of chopsticks knocking against a surface made her look up and she watched as Mun-Yeong chased a slippery quail egg with to avail, lips curled in disdain as she cursed the elusive delectable treat. Gang-Tae's warm chuckle hit her ear, "Here, let me help." The fondness coating his voice made her stomach churn, as he delicately picked up and placed the egg in her bed of rice, Mun-Yeong smiled in return batting her eyelashes, "My hero."

In all her years of knowing Gang-Tae she had never seen him so attentive, unless it was with his brother. She wasn't the first person to have a crush on him, but like her all others had been denied. Gang-Tae was a mystery that didn't want to be solved, sweet and calm, but unattainable. Yet here he was soft and eager, doting over Mun-Yeong, who was now tapping her spoon against the bowl of beef, expectant look in her eyes.

He didn't react at first. Pushing the bowl closer to her instead, but she was relentless. Opening her mouth as she continued to click, eyes drilling into his face, until he backed down with a sigh, easily picking up the meat and bringing it to her bowl, only for her to bend her head and close her mouth around his chopsticks instead. With a resonating hum of approval, she took the meat, maintaining eye contact during the entire ordeal, which in reality lasted a few seconds but it felt like hours to Ju-Ri, forced to watch this inappropriately intimate moment. Gang-Tae coughed and shifted in his seat, long legs squeezing together, as Mun-Yeong smiled salaciously, licking her lips.

"I have to get back to work." She was glad when nobody called her out for leaving fifteen minutes before her allotted break was over.

Alcohol was her only friend. She picked up cases of beer, planning to drink herself into a stupor after the week she had. Everywhere she turned, they were there disgustingly wrapped up in each other, she dearly wanted to blame it all on Mun-Yeong and her obsession but....she watched him trail after her whenever she got too far. More than four feet was his limit. He would pace the hallway outside the room that was designated for her literature class, peeking in and fleeing with a blush when he was met by Mun-Yeong's jubilant smile.

She didn't want to think about them, not today, she just wanted to drown herself in her liquid friend and remember better days when Mun-Yeong was a distant memory.

So of course, she heard their voices as she ascended the stairs leading to her rooftop. Kicking the wall in anger, fighting the urge to throw a tantrum and fling her beer at their heads. If she wasn't safe in her own house, where was she safe?

Their quiet voices could be heard over the slight breeze in the night air, "What's wrong? You've been upset all day." Mun-Yeong's deep voice break the silence. No response came for long seconds, and she pressed on, "Are you upset about work?" Pause. "Is it your brother?" Longer pause. "What? Are you mad at me?" Another pause. Mun-Yeong must have seen something on his face because her resounding aaahhhhhh was loud and clear.

"Okay so you're upset with me? Are you mad that I tried to ravish you in the supply closet?"

Ew. She mentally told herself to never go in that closet.

There was no response.

"Okay not that, good because I know you liked that. All those delicious moans you were making made it clea--” 

"You're still texting him." He thankfully cut her off, Ju-Ri was grateful as she felt her own cheeks heating up, mostly in shame. She knew she should leave before this conversation took any more turns but her feet refused to listen to her brain.

She tried to think of who this mysterious man was. How many hopeless men had Mun-Yeong trapped in her web? If she had so many men, why did she have to take Gang-Tae too? It just wasn't fair.

"Who?" She took a step up the stairs until she would see them, sitting close on the table, Gang-Tae's long legs dangling off the surface as Mun-Yeong sat crisscrossed facing him in a too-big shirt that hit her knee. It didn't take a genius to surmise whose shirt she was wearing, Ju-Ri thought bitterly, the only silver lining that it wasn't a piece of clothing they'd bought together.

Mun-Yeong had a butter wouldn't melt on my tongue expression on her face and Ju-Ri wanted to slap her again, why was she always playing innocent with him? She was anything but.

Gang-Tae didn't fall for her act thankfully instead starting to stand up, anger clear in the sharp lines of his body. Mun-Yeong's hand shot out and pulled him back down onto the table, she crawled closer, then he sat motionless, eyes low on her face.

"Are you jealous? He's a friend now. We become close during our- she gestured to them- break. " His lips snarled.

"He likes you."

"So?" Mun-Yeong responded, "Why does that matter? I don't like him, not like that."

Gang-Tae seemed taken back by her answer, huffing and then deflating before whispering in a defeated voice, "I just don't like it. I don't like the way he looks at you."

A sultry giggle fell from Mun-Yeong's smirking lips, "How does he look at me? Is it the same way you look at me? Does it make your heart ache? Do you like me?" With each question, she moved progressively closer, until she was planted in Gang-Tae's lap. Legs straddling him as he grabbed her waist, as she momentarily lost her balance.

He let out a furious breathe of air.

"I don't notice because I'm only ever looking at you." And then with startling accuracy, her eyes met Ju-Ri's, she felt a chill run through her bones, "And I'm not the only one that looks at you. You work and live with someone who is always looking at you. I don't mind, because I know you're mine. When you lose control, just grab me and kiss me. I'm yours to kiss. Stop being jealous and enjoy the fact that you have me."

Gang-Tae's eyes roamed her lips, thumb running across the plush opening, "You're the only one I want to look at me too. I don't see anyone else but you, you drive me so crazy." With a swift pull, he grabbed her head, intent clear on his face. Following through on her offer.

She bolted down the stairs before she could see their lips join, but not before hearing the crash as Mun-Yeong successfully tackled Gang-Tae, wet noises loud in the dark of night.

She got black out drunk in her bedroom. Telling herself she remembers nothing the next morning. Ignoring the indecently large red marks that mars Gang-Tae's neck as they awkwardly stumble around each other, leaving the house at the same time.

The director berates them all in his office, Ko Dae-Hwan, Mun-Yeong's father had attempted to choke her yet again, this time following her class. Someone had forgotten that he was explicitly not allowed to take that class and brought him, and as she was exiting the room, he had thrown his body across the stretch separating them, crushing hands tight around her neck, squeezing out her last breath. All the patients had started screaming, the room a chaotic mess, until finally they'd been able to sedate him and pry her from his grip.

Mun-Yeong had fled the room with tear-filled eyes and a glare directed at them as they had been making sure all the patients, including her father were okay.

Looking down the line, she realizes that Gang-Tae was missing from this reprimand. He was on a break when the situation had taken place. It didn't taken long before he burst through the door, "Where is she?" He only had eyes for the director, frantic and ready to run at a moment's notice.

The director replied, "Nurse Byeol saw her go into the women's room." And he was off, not bothering to spare the rest of them a glance.

She was only going to wash her hands she told herself, she didn't care how Mun-Yeong was doing, she was always fine. She wasn't sure Mun-Yeong even had feelings. Remembering, the manic smile that had spread across her face the last time her father had attempted to end her life.

"I'm here, it's okay. You're okay." Gang-Tae's deep voice echoed on the bathroom walls, soothing and calm. "I'm sorry I wasn't there, I'm so sorry. I'll never leave you again. I will protect you." He promised resolutely, sounding like her suffering was physically hurting him too.

She shouldn't be hearing this. It was too intimate a moment for outside ears.

She turned to give them privacy, but not before hearing Mun-Yeong tearfully state, "It's not the first time. He tried to kill me when I was a kid, why does he hate me?" Her voiced cracked on the last word, and Ju-Ri ran out of the room, eyes dewy.

She watched with her heart in her throat as minutes later they left together, Gang-Tae asking to leave early, the look on his face clearly saying he would leave with or without permission, their fingers interlocked, as he pulled her limp body out of the hospital.

He briefly stopped to place a gentle hand on Mun-Yeong's head, whispering something only she could hear, bringing a wet smile to her face. It was so tender, Ju-Ri couldn't watch.

The scene kept replaying in her head for days, what was it like to have someone want to protect you that way? Gang-Tae lost all inhibitions when it came to Mun-Yeong, he was bold and brazen and fiercely protective. Hurting anyone who dared to hurt her. She overheard from Cha-Young, that he had demanded to be the one to stand guard whenever Mun-Yeong was leading her classes.

He had stormed into the director's office and ordered that, stating that he was the only one who could adequately protect her.

That was where he was know she supposed, she hadn't seen him all day, she walked down the hallway leading to the class needing to understand their relationship, what made Mun-Yeong so special? If she started acting like a bitch would that get his attention? Was he attracted to her because they were such opposites, lost dissonances who found their way to each other?

Her thoughts stalled at the scene before her, the hospital would need to be routinely sanitized.

Gang-Tae towered over Mun-Yeong, hands firm on her waist as she giggled and attempted to pull away, "What are you doing? You said we weren't allowed to do this here anymore. Why don't you have to follow the rules you create?" She eyed him coyly, twisting out of his hold, only for him to easily drag her back, slamming her into the wall. His hand cushioned her head.

"I told you not to wear this to work, you're supposed to teach them, not seduce them." He retorted sternly, eyeing her ensemble, Ju-Ri agree her outfit was completely inappropriate for work. She donned, a emerald pleated skirt that barely reached her thighs, soft diaphanous white blouse with a bow tied at the neck, white laced boots and frilly socks.

"I think I look cute, like a blushing school girl. I thought you would like it." She answered from under her thick, wispy eyelashes. Her soft pink lips, opening in wonder. The picture of innocence.

He growled and leaned into her space, "I like it too much, that's exactly why you shouldn't wear it. I might lose control." He fingered, the pleats, tugging the skirt down as if to lengthen it.

She nodded her head, smacking his hands off her skirt with a tsk. Before lifting up onto her tiptoes, blowing warm air gently on his face, causing his eyes to flutter close, "Good."

Then she walked sashayed away, skirt swishing with each swing and dip of her hip. One final coy look over her shoulder, blowing a kiss and then a cheeky raspberry. Pssssst. 

He grasped the spot where she just was, watching her retreat with heated eyes, before finally letting out a frustrated, "Ko Mun-Yeong!" Before turning and entering the locker room with the reverberating slam of the door.

She didn't understand their relationship, didn't understand why Mun-Yeong deserved Gang-Tae and she didn't. Didn't understand how she made him lose control when nothing else could. Still didn’t see the appeal.  But maybe it wasn't her place to understand. Maybe it was time to stop dreaming an impossible dream.

[marshmallowprotection]

Calluna

Pairing: Saeran Choi/Reader

Fairytale AU.

Description:

The Prince has been bound to the castle walls, and he’s never been able to leave from it. The only place that he has to escape to are the books that he reads and the garden that he’s allowed to venture into every evening. But, what happens when he encounters someone that has eyes that know a world unlike his own?

Inspired by a drawing by @sensetenou​

Chapter Index

Chapter One: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Two: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Three: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Four: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Five: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Six: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Seven: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Eight: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Nine: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Ten: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Eleven: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Twelve: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Thirteen: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Fourteen: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Fifteen: Here! | AO3

Chapter Fifteen

You were bound with shackles against your ankles, sitting at the side of the king’s throne as if you were his glorified pet. 

The former-queen had taken her time to clean you up and dress you up like some kind of doll. You were wearing all black, as to be expected of someone that would soon lose their life but Saeran had made it clear that you weren’t going to die. 

Nothing made sense, but you had no choice but to bite your tongue. You had your answer as to what would become of Saeran in due time and now, your only hope was that you would be spared the sight of his end, or by some miracle, whatever Jihyun planned to do was going to work. He knew your friend Zen, and Zen had wanted to rescue you. 

Zen’s reach couldn’t protect you, but you knew that he would be the only person to know with certainty that you weren’t Red Hood. He was the only person in the world that was on your side and for once, you wished that you had listened to him and left when you got the chance to run. It would have been the smart thing to do. 

Perhaps, if you had taken a boat to freedom across the sea long ago, things would be different than they were now. It was funny, you missed the sea and the open waters. Growing up, you had lived in a town by the sea someways away from the main center of the kingdom, and the water called to you as it called to adventure for many people. 

However, your parents had wanted you to stay in your studies and become a scholar. They would be disappointed to know that you had thrown all your studies away and saw where you were now, but it didn’t matter anymore. There was no changing this and there was no changing what was happening, no matter how much your heart told you to swat the crown from Saeran’s head.

You weren’t even sure if the effect of the crown would leave if it left his head. 

Magic was still this abstract construct where anything and everything cruel was a possibility. This witch who wanted to use her power for her gain would ensure that you didn’t understand what was happening enough to stop it. She may have admitted that she planned on killing everyone but that was not explaining how the magic worked. 

You were alone, save for the guards posted at the door to ensure that you didn’t get out of your chains and run. As if you had any tools to pick your lock and leave! Your fists clenched at the fabric of your sleeves tightly, grinding your teeth despite yourself as the frustration tore through you.

The amount of desperation that you felt was tried and true. 

The anticipation was meant to drive you mad. 

Saeran was miking the time with whatever he was doing because the sun had already started glow with the embers of the evening sun soon to set on the horizon and break away to the long night with no moon to enshroud the world; The only thing remaining for yourself and others stuck under the haze was a path of anguish. 

And here you were, trapped like a sacrificial lamb. 

There was nothing for you to do but ruminate and sit. Your mind wandered for quite some time as you grew used to the way that you were ignored and set aside, and the silence was far more welcoming than anything that you had dealt with thus far. You thought perhaps that your punishment was to sit here and wait, forever, for no one to come and see you. 

It was almost worst than being trapped in the basement. At least down there, you didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing you. It was dark and you could grow accustomed to the dark as you had with the chains that had bound you to Red Hood. It wasn’t about your comfort, no, you weren’t going to be given that anymore. 

The queen made that abundantly clear when she told you what you would be within the coming days and that was deceased. 

You weren’t sure how much time passed but eventually, the doors to the room opened and you were given the sight of Saeran. A crown set upon his brow and the black cape over his shoulders letting you know that he’d just returned from his business outdoors where the smog had started to overrun the grounds of the castle with the brewing guard. 

Gone were the flowers and sunshine, replaced with anger and smoke from the brimstone fire to burn you all alive. 

His eyes rested squarely on you as the sneer caught your eye. He was seemingly happy to see you caught in his trap next to the phone, beaming at the sight of the chains around your legs that kept you close to his side. He said nothing to you but he took his spot on the throne, resting his head in his hand as he gestured to the guard. 

“Send them in,” he ordered. 

Who?

Your answer was given to you sooner, rather than later, as you watched the guard bring in some very familiar faces from the dungeons. You knew them from your work with Red Hood, one by one, you took note of countless thieves that were in the same boat as you. They had no choice but to obey and to serve the crooked man. He had left them for dead, and whoever hadn’t been caught was now forced to… you knew they had been forced into the mindless army that the queen was creating and thanks to Red Hood, there was an endless supply of people who already meant nothing to many. 

These people would likely face the same fate as them, forced to be drones that would die for the queen that wanted to bend everyone to her will. 

If they didn’t get killed first as an example of what would happen against those that turned against her, then they would likely die on the fields of battle as those kingdoms tried to fight against the threat that would usurp them all. They all saw you as well, and you knew that they knew the truth. But, if any of them pitied you, they didn’t say. 

They wouldn’t tell the king that you weren’t Red Hood, either. 

There was a chance that many of them could stay in the grace of the true Red Hood if they didn’t bow their head to this. You were merely a puppet for them and there was nothing… no one that would stand up for you. You looked down at the floor the second that you knew that nobody was going to come to your side or defense. 

You accepted that. 

There was no fighting back against this disgraceful degradation. 

Saeran didn’t like that. The chains binding you to his side were tugged hard and you were forced against his side, a gasp leaving your lips as he gazed into your pathetic eyes. You had nothing to say because you were too stunned for words. 

“Pathetic, huh?” his voice called your attention. “I suppose you’ve all realized that your leader had submitted to my will. It wasn’t like they had any say in the matter, hahaha. Take this as a lesson, never dare turn against the crown or you’ll be strung up like my pretty pet here is. You’ll wish for death as mercy instead.” 

There was a resounding silence to his words. Nobody had anything to say in regards to that. They all knew well what he was saying and where they would be. The frenzied part of you almost wished that you were under a curse as well, the humiliation dragging against your pride and kicking you where it hurt the most. 

Saeran’s gaze never left yours. “Have you decided to plead for mercy? Come now, you’re amongst your fellow criminals and allies. Why don’t you show them how weak you truly are? Why don’t you let them know who it was that brought you to your knees?” 

And you were like a caged animal, pushed against the wall with nowhere to go as the bigger monster forced himself into your personal space for the kill. Despite yourself, you shivered because you felt his shaking excitement at your fears. A part of you wanted to believe it was the crown but another part of you had a feeling that this angry, vindictive side of him had always been there. 

Angry at the fate that the world had dealt him. 

Angry at what happened to Ray because he trusted others. 

Angry because he was fueled by the people around him. 

“Tell them,” he persisted. “Tell them what you did, Sparrow. Tell them how you tried to trick a crowned prince to steal everything he had and what it earned you. You know, go on, tell the story from your perspective! I’m sure you had a good laugh about it when your men at your side, laughing at the prince you tried to ensnare with your wiles.” 

You knew that fighting against his words was fruitless, but still, you hated the way that he looked at you like you were the source of the grief. It wasn’t you that had hurt him or trapped him here. It wasn’t you that perceived him to be a fool and took him for the trouble. It was you that had extended your hand to a lonely soul who wanted a friend, and it was you that wanted to protect him.

You were willing to throw your happiness away to ensure that Ray would live. 

You were not Red Hood. 

You were not a caged bird for anyone’s amusement. 

And if that resistance that existed within your spurned heart, Saeran could see it from the way that you looked at him. Opening your mouth, you could feel yourself about to say something that you knew would be something you’d regret in the coming hours, but the humiliation of everyone seeing you in such a miserable state. 

At least, you would have said something, if it wasn’t for the newcomer that was dragged into the room, a verbal lashing on his lips as he kicked against the constraints that he had been locked away in. It was a voice that made your eyes snap away from Saeran’s immediately, looking for the warm crimson orbs that had looked after you for years as a big brother. 

“If you think you can treat me like this, you’re sorely mistaken. I didn’t do anything, so you can unhand me! Do you think this is any way to run your damn kingdom’s guard? You’re all a damn disgrace to the guard.” 

“...!” 

“Ah, the White Devil,” the chuckle from your side was enough to warn you of something that no one was supposed to know. “It took some work to track him down but there was no way that I could let your right-hand man go without punishment. He’s been living in disguise as an actor for some time, but those features aren’t ones that he can hide.”

Your heart sank as you met Zen’s eyes. He saw you trapped and narrowed his eyes at the king. It was the same boy that you had told him about as far as he knew, and if anything, it confirmed that he had given you the wrong advice. Zen would do anything to protect you, you knew he would, and the only reason he had gotten caught was that Red Hood likely leaked his identity. 

He lashed out further against the guards, “How dare you,” he growled. “How dare you treat them like a filthy animal—”

Zen was forced onto the ground the more that he fought them, and before long, his head was pressed to the ground. He was exhausting himself and only making things worse for himself. Jihyun had told you that he wanted to rescue you, but there was no chance that even he could come and remove you from this gilded cage.

You wished that he would have run when he got the chance, it would have been better for him, “Zen, stop fighting them,” you pleaded. You reached out an arm to him but it would never see his side. “It’s not worth it!” 

“Yeah,” Saeran mocked the tone in your voice. “Stop fighting the guard, listen to your boss, and maybe I’ll spare you some pity for your crimes. Come now, it’s worth a shot. Surely you know how to act like a gentleman. You shouldn’t act so distasteful in front of your boss, Red Hood, or your king. It isn’t becoming of a man of your age.”

With his tantrums, he had no right to talk about anger problems. 

Zen’s fight slowly died down the longer that he was forced down, and when the fight in his arms had calmed down, he looked at Saeran. “That’s where you’re wrong. They’re not Red Hood,” he said. The clamor in the room had started to quiet down as you felt the man beside you tense with anger. “They have never been Red Hood. You should know this, king, or have that crown of yours sucked all of the power from your head?” 

“How dare you question my intelligence—” 

You were pleading with Zen silently to stop fighting. You cared about him but he didn’t have to throw his life on the line for yours. He had already done that when you were a child and you refused to let him suffer through something just because he wanted to protect you again. You were an adult now and this was your cross to carry. 

“I question your objectivity,” Zen corrected him with a scoff. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that someone as young as them could kill a seasoned criminal and control his command? Not only that but convince everyone that they are him so easily. If Red Hood had been killed, then one of those that had much of his power would take that spot. You think a penniless sparrow could fight grown fighters with no injuries?” 

Zen was a slave to no one, not anymore, and you could see the fire in his eyes that spoke of a man that feared no higher power. 

“It seems to me like someone wants you to believe that it was the sparrow instead,” he continued as he met your gaze. “And, you’re far too angry and prideful to admit that you might have been wrong and you’ve committed to a lie that you’ve been told to believe.”

You could hear no sound in the mirror as Saeran rose from his chair. Nobody dared to make a sudden noise or movement as he approached Zen. The guard hoisted from the ground so that he would be forced to look into the mint eyes of an angry demon with nowhere to go but here in the pits of hell that he walked through.

“Filthy mutt,” he hissed. “If you value your miserable life then you’ll stop while you’re ahead and shut the hell up. I’ll string you up by the gallows and force the bird to watch as it happens, and it will be all their fault for not teaching you respect.” 

“If anyone should learn some respect, it’s the man lying right as he speaks to me about what he believes,” Zen spat with vigor.  “They cared about you with all their heart and you’ve repaid them by turning  against the only person in your life that wants to protect you from those that abuse your authority.” 

Silence. 

“If they cared about me as you claim, then they wouldn’t have tried to steal the crown that was meant for me, White Devil. Their true crime was lying to the crown. Theft is one thing, but toying with the hearts of others for your enjoyment is the ultimate crime. You know that. Liars are those that are the most shameful. Like yourself, conning the hearts of others to get what is it you want. I can only presume that they learned their deception from—”

“Stop!” your voice cut in before Zen could say anything in response. 

All eyes in the room snapped back in your direction as you allowed yourself to have the floor, and you ignored the looks of their emotions as your hands clenched at the fabric of the shirt.

 “It’s not worth it, Zen,” you said. “I’m already damned. Don’t throw away your life to protect me. I’m not a kid, I’m not helpless. Thank you for what you’ve done for me but please, I’m begging you, stop. Stop fighting, there is no hope left.” 

The misery in your heart told you there was no hope left. 

But, Zen refused to stop hoping for a brighter tomorrow. 

“You might have given up on your life, but I haven’t!” he said, looking at you with that fierceness he never lost. “You’re not Red Hood. Don’t take this lying down! You don’t have to pay for crimes that you never committed. Don’t let them push you around, this isn’t you. The [Y/N] I know would never wallow in pity or accept this humiliation!” 

The shame that washed over you forced you to bow your head to the floor. No matter what Zen said, you couldn’t let him suffer for you. That was why you swallowed the pooling fire instead and looked at Saeran, “Zen was never involved in any of this. Please, don’t punish him for my sins. It isn’t right. You can’t do that.” 

And Saeran just laughed in your face, “That’s where you’re wrong, Sparrow. Anyone that has had the misfortune of working with you will know the same fate in my eyes. As much as I love to hear you finally begging, I don’t think I’ll spare this one. He means a lot to you and that means he should pay for that sin with his life.”

This is the price of your sins, that voice echoed through your mind. You know what it feels like to be isolated and destroyed the same way that Ray was.

The laughter of the vindictive marionette king echoed in the chamber as wetness began to roll down your cheeks. 

“Don’t fall for it, [Y/N]!” You snapped your attention to Zen as he was being dragged out of the room to the dungeons. “That’s not who he is! Listen, don’t stop fighting! Never stop fighting for yourself up here!  You need to pluck the apple from the tree. Remember, as you did when I took you on your first assignment!” 

The… apple?

Your eyes widened. 

He was talking about the crown.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Ten Sides (Part 16)

“The next chakra is the water chakra.”

“Wonderful, I just love waterbending.” Azula grumbles.

“I think that you’d make a good waterbender, it’s all graceful and agile.” He notes. “I think that it would come naturally to you. When Pathik and I were doing this he told me that all of the elements were connected. They’re four parts of one whole and that’s why, to balance your chakras, you need to work with all four elements.”

“I suppose that, that makes sense.” Azula agrees. She takes a deep breath. “So what mental anguish are you going to inflict upon me next.”

“Guilt.”

Azula inhales sharply, she supposes that he has plenty of ammo.

“The water chakra deals with pleasure and is blocked by guilt. I think that you can guess where this one is located.”

Azula nods, “I am plenty aware, yes. Let’s just get this guilt tripping over with.”

Aang shakes his head. “This isn’t something I goad you into feeling. You tell me...or tell yourself what you blame yourself for and what you regret doing.”

There are a great many things that come to mind, things that she would rather not think of at all. Things that she hadn’t realized that she felt remorse for until her mind began to wander. And, Agni do they extend far back. So many little things; shoving TyLee over as children, a collection of petty antics done for the sake of making her mother hate her more, most everything surrounding Zuko. Albeit, it was much better to have beat Zuko down than to have let father beat her down. And yet all of these things have come back for her. She thinks of the little things that had led up to Mai and TyLee stabbing her in the back. All of the profound things, the games and manipulatives. It hurts. She doesn’t want them to hate her and yet she can’t see it anyother way.

She sees the scar on Aang’s back, the one that matches Zuko’s. She is a killer, she supposes. And the boy she killed has been going out of his way to help her. She doesn’t understand and she isn’t sure that she wants to.

More than anything she resents herself for letting father toy with her so heavily. Agni, she thinks that she always knew that he was. But, spirits, she wanted him to love her. She needed him to. So she let it all go. She let him shape her into a monster. She did this to herself, she did all of this to herself. Her mind is fractured. She is alone. She is shamed and undignified. And it is her fault.

.oOo.

Her eyes are so downcast. She is staring at her palms but he is sure that she isn’t actually seeing them. He thinks that he should reach out and tell her that, that is good enough, that she can stop now. But he is certain that it doesn’t work that way. Not if they want to do this right.

Instead he waits for her stare to grow less distant. All last she looks up,  somehow more drained than before. He wonders if this was a good idea.

“When I spoke to Guru Pathik, he told me that I had to forgive myself if I wanted to do anything good for the world. He said that I had to accept that all of the things I thought of happened and that I needed to let them go.” And how delightful it felt when he did.

“Accept it?” Azula asks, her voice low.

He nods.

“I killed you.”

“But I’m still here.” It feel strange to downplay it, but there will be a time when he discusses that with her. And it might be easier if he allows her to process it and come to terms with it for herself at first. “You were part of a war just like me and Katara and everyone else.”

She opens her mouth and then closes it again. He is curious but he doesn’t push her. Not until it becomes plenty clear that she is struggling to let any of it go. “I’m not happy with everything I did in the war. I killed people too...I think...when I went into the Avatar state.” He shudders. “And if I didn’t, I hurt them badly enough that they can’t fully recover. You’re not unforgivable.”

She shifts and rubs her fingers over the cloth of her pants. “Then why doesn’t anyone forgive me?”

“You haven’t exactly asked for it.”

She stares off into the distance.

“I forgive you.” He smiles. “We’re still going to have to talk about it, but I forgive you.” He hopes that, that makes it at least a little easier for her. “It’ll be so much easier for other people to forgive you if you can forgive yourself.” He might be rambling now, but maybe something will resonate with her. “Don’t you think that it will be easier for you to make friends and heal if you realize that you’re not a bad person so you can stop acting like one?”

“I’m not?”

“You’re not.” I insists. “I know it. I know that you don’t like it but, after working with your spirit energy, I can tell. Your dad’s spirit energy was terrifying and it was really, really dark. Yours wasn’t like that…”

She swallows again. “It wasn’t?”

“No. It wasn’t.”

.oOo.

Aang ventures to the ship’s kitchen and comes back with a cup of what she can only assume is a noxious combination of onion and banana juice. Fleetingly, the thought of stomaching that is more horrifying than whatever chakra the will be working with next.

She takes the cup in her hands and stares ambivalently into it. “Is this going to make me throw up?”

“It’s actually not as bad as it sounds.” Aang promises. She can tell that he is lying, she knows that if she asks him to have a glass as well that he will flinch away. “Okay, so I don’t like it at all, but it’s Pathik’s favorite drink.”

She takes only a little sip first. “What is this supposed to achieve?”

“Pathik says that it helps him cleans his chakras.”

She shoots him a skeptical look.

“And I thought that you could use a little break.” He pauses, “are you feeling a little better now?”

She supposes that she is. It is plenty reassuring to know that at least one person--two, if she counts herself--has forgiven her. Doubly so, hearing that her spirit energy didn’t radiate some deeply rooted vileness.

“We’re going to be working with the fire chakra next.”  Aang says. As soon as the smile appears on her lips he adds, “speaking from experience, working with your choice element’s chakra is one of the hardest.” She can see it in his eyes that he thinks that the same will be said for her. “The fire chakra deals with willpower and shame blocks it off.”

Her stomach does a little flop, only briefly before it occurs to her that she has been ruminating on her shame well before this. “I don’t think that this one will be any trouble at all, Avatar.”

All of the indignities that have come with losing control of her own mind--first during the agni kai and then to the hands of Sangyul. All of the indignities that have come from failing to beat Zuko. Zuko who wasn’t never the best firebender. Zuko who was a disgrace in her father’s eyes. What does that make her? She thinks of the indignities of having cried in front of them.  She thinks of the indignity of letting Sangyul reap so much of her agency from her, of the gash she’d cut into her face. Mostly her cheeks burn at the thought of gushing over and pining for Aang. Of the night when he had pulled all of the wrong strings and she found herself trailing her finger over his chest until he shoved her away and made his retreat. Thank the spirits that he had… She had things on her mind that night. Things that bring color to her cheeks even without having acted upon them.

Her whole life has amounted to nothing but shame. Shame and humiliation. Foolishness and uselessness. The sheer wasted potential in itself is something to be ashamed of.

Oh it is no trouble. It is no trouble at all. The shame has been running in circles in her mind for the longest time now. And maybe that is partly why it was so easy for he and Sangyul to slip in and put thoughts into her mind.

“The hard part isn’t listing the reasons to be ashamed.” Aang shakes his head. “It’s accepting these aspects of your life.”

Aspects. She thinks that they have become a little more than aspects. And she supposes that he is right, it is significantly harder. Impossible in fact. She would much rather reject them, pretend like they didn’t happen. And yet she can’t. “I am aware that they are a part of my life. Plenty aware. Let’s move on.”

Aang sighs. “There’s accepting them and then there’s accepting them. You’ve stopped denying that whatever happened, happened. You accepted that those things did happen. But you haven’t accepted that it’s okay…”

“Because it isn’t!” She snaps. She feels rather ill. “I let him do that to me…” she isn’t sure if she is speaking of father or Sangyul or of both of them as one entity. “I…I could have been so much. I...” she trails off. In her distress she has already babbled too much.

Aang nods. “Part of accepting that is realizing that, those things don’t define you.” He cups his hand over hers, a soothing gesture--she recognizes--nothing more and nothing less. “That they aren’t the most important parts of you. There are so many other things that outshine them.”

“Like what?” Azula inquires. What is left of her dignity? What is left of the version of her that she actually had respect for?

“Like your intelligence.”

Perhaps she gives him a skeptical look because he continues. “I think that I would have made a lot more progress on tampering with your spirit energy if you were simple-minded. And if you weren’t so strong.”

There is strength in intelligence and intelligence in strength, she supposes. But she isn’t entirely convinced that she has either.

“It takes a lot of strength and resilience and courage  to even start doing something like this. Trust me, I know that unblocking chakras is difficult. I suggested it because I figured that you could handle it.”

She supposes that he has a point.

“If you want to fix the things that you are ashamed of, you have to embrace that they happened.” He reiterates.

And another fair point. Truly she does want to move on from these things. She supposes that she doesn’t have to share them with anyone else, that no one else has to know about this moment--this series of moments of weakness. She supposes that it is much better to face them than to run from them. She is a lot of things but she isn’t a coward. She isn’t weak. She, despite it all, has more dignity than that, more pride than that. It would be nice to hold her head high again, if only to spite everyone and everything that has tried to make her feel foolish and inadequate.

She closes her eyes and bunches her fists. But to accept shame is to accept imperfection. Admittedly, she has shed perfection long ago. Admittedly, it almost feels comforting; at least there are no more expectations of her. At least hope and potential have all been wasted to the point where she doesn’t have to worry about upholding them.

She thinks of how much more significant success would be, how much more satisfying, if she manages to achieve it without it being handed to her. How much more glorious glory would be if it were something she earned for herself in the face of adversary. So she can say soundly that she has done it on her own. That it is a product of skill and talent rather than luck and natural born privilege.

There is a depth in shame. A paradoxical pride in shame. In facing it and making something of it.

She inhales deeply, “alright, Avatar, which chakra is next?”

[five-wow]

considering what we now know, one of the last of these i might ever get to do: i watched 10.18! thoughts under the cut.

the previously on reminds us of adam’s yakuza problems, so i was braced for that, and then we get an establishing shot of the mcgarrett house instead! and suddenly steve is ironing a shirt on a towel in his kitchen again, and for a moment i was extremely confused because this is very clearly not the same shot as in the valentine’s episode but it’s also... the same thing?

BUT THEN, of course, we get steve raising a finger and going “don’t” just before we’re shown that danny is SITTING ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER WATCHING HIM, again i might add, and danny hasn’t even said anything yet but steve is already defensive and claiming that he likes ironing (which i love, that is a wonderful headcanon) and as far as déjà vus go, this is one i do not mind in the slightest. this is, in fact, the exact content i come here for.

okay wait, EVEN BETTER, danny seems to be sitting on the counter... reading a book? he is... in the kitchen, reading (writing in? idk) a book (in a room where there are zero chairs, which is usually where people locate their asses when they read books), while steve is also in the kitchen, ironing a shirt? dear lord. danny moved in and suddenly eddie wasn’t the only guy following steve from room to room in his own house anymore, i guess.

waiiit, steve is going on a date with emma. that is. not bad, just, so very confusing. (potentially very much a lie, omfg. that kind of confusing.)

HAH. i’m not the only one who went “?”, because danny doesn’t believe steve either.

fdjkfd steve asks alexa for his schedule to prove he’s telling the truth but what this really proves is that if it’s a lie, steve had the foresight and intention to put a fake appointment in his calendar, which i would in no way put past him. that’s the easiest thing in the world.

also, danny casually dropping in that he bought alexa for steve? i??? danny is just “casually” hanging out in rooms steve is hanging out in while it makes no sense for danny to be there, buying steve presents, pulling steve’s pigtails by questioning everything he does when he gets the chance, and that’s? that’s normal now?

junior!!! junior pops into the kitchen!

and he’s GOT A DATE TOO, which is a) WONDERFUL and b) a reason for danny to start describing tani which is fascinating and c) a reason for steve to say “well you know what, i think it’s great that you and tani are giving it a go, bud”, which is super cute and it’s A+ to know they have steve’s official stamp of approval (i mean, he’s their boss, that could’ve somehow gotten awkward), but also leads to a shot we get of danny pulling a face that’s kind of “ugh” and “yeah right” mixed into one and just. you know where i’m going with this. if you’re on this blog and you’ve read this post all the way to this point you definitely know where i’m going with this, but yes, this is absolutely danny mentally yelling that it sure is great THEY’RE giving it a go, steve, and doesn’t that potentially inspire you to ruminate on something going on in your own life, like, say, how you feel about your best friend and partner who also works on the taskforce with you and has a big mouth and whose name is oddly close to tani, actually, for that matter?

steve gets a call about shots fired at adam’s building and i’m just now realizing i’m only two minutes into this episode. i’ve spent at least ten times the amount of time rambling that i have watching anything. gonna need to shake that up a little bit.

fdjkfd lou and hpd enter adam’s apartment and they find at least three guys in actual gear, all dead, and adam curled up on the floor in what looks like sleep clothes, with blood all over him, and a) is adam literally superman now? but also b) even if i do accept that it’s possible he killed all of those guys before they managed to hit him anywhere vital even once, then how did he get smeared in blood that evenly all over? did he roll around on the floor before he curled up in the corner? i’m not an expert, but i feel like that’s not how a person would look after fighting off three attackers and presumably shooting most of them.

oh BOY. adam, with a crazy glint in his eyes: “i’ve been trying to dismantle kenji’s operation for months now. and i finally have the evidence to do it.” i both unexpectedly like this, and already low key hate it for how it’s probably going to be used as the show’s way of clearing adam from all the completely bonkers things he’s been doing all on his own with zero authorization or backup and bringing him back into the fold of five-0 as a somehow still trusted team member.

oh dang. opening credits do their thing, and then there’s no pause to check whether there’s even actually any actual evidence on that thumb drive adam was holding, but we just jump to swat, adam, lou and junior rolling up to kenji’s house and engaging in a huge shootout.

adam is now the lone dude pursuing kenji through the dark woods, who is also alone, of course. they brawl, adam gets the upper hand, and he gets a chance to shoot kenji which he doesn’t take, and then he calls for emts (good! this is good!) and extremely dramatically tells kenji “you were right not to trust me. i was working for five-0 the whole time”, and it just sounds like such a weird brag at this point. so i guess adam never went to the bad side again, suddenly? he just... keeps pretending he does over and over, and the criminals on this very small island keep being stupid enough to trust him, which honestly, is on them.

adam keeps bragging and oh gosh, tell me there’s a twist here and this is not just his victory lap. there’s so much of the episode left that something has to go very wrong about adam’s nice plan to wrap it all up neatly.

aha! it’s implied that letting kenji live might go badly for adam because kenji has information about adam that is bad for him. they did not completley forget that adam did crime stuff!

noelani seems to be at a funeral and we meet her parents and they don’t exactly seem super proud of her achievements, which i think we were told in the past, but now we’re shown, and it hurts my heart.

oh noooo. noelani gets to the open casket and immediately finds marks on the body that she clearly thinks are suspicious. that’s! not going to go well, gosh.

fdjkfdjkf adam and steve are in steve’s office and steve basically just went “so your plan to fight the yakuza was to join the yakuza” and adam very seriously goes “yes.”

steve is very not happy and adam doesn’t truly seem to grasp why and then steve’s phone rings and there’s a case, which is very nice timing for adam. saved by the bell.

so five-0 is on a ship that got robbed by pirates but it’s all very mysterious, and then they realize there might still be a pirate on board and they split into search parties and it’s junior and tani as one (who start talking about their missed date), and steve and danny as the other (who are not shown talking about dates, but who knows), and just. i love watching both of those duos work together, and the junior-tani vs steve-danny parallel is once again very in your face, hah.

tani gets locked in a kitchen with the pirate and junior is outside freaking out and that’s angsty but then junior and steve finally break through the door in a combined effort and they and danny rush in, only to find tani has already solved the problem without their help. YES. GOOD CONTENT.

jkfdfjdk over on the island, quinn is now helping noelani intimidate the coroner who wrote a bad report on noelani’s uncle’s death and that is ALSO very good content.

dfjdk lou welcomes most of the team back to hq and asks “anybody left pining”, which he follows up with the rest of a sentence about the high seas, but UH. YES. i know some people who might be pining.

lots of plot stuff happens and it’s genuinely interesting to watch, but also, oh my god, quinn and noelani are making me cry.

fjdkfd tani goes to meet one of the guys from the magnum pi crossover and he says he’s still waiting to hear back from quinn about the dinner he was hoping to have with her, and i like that because my lesbian quinn headcanon is still going strong.

quinn and noelani encounter a teen trying to get out of gang life who might be on a wealthy person’s hitlist, and my first thought is just. put the kid in the mcgarrett house. not only will he be instantly adopted by steve (and thereby gain a complicated network of siblings), but he’ll also be living in a place where he’s protected by not one, not two, but three members of five-0, two of whom are former seals. just. aside from the dire lack of beds, it would be so good.

jfkdslf, steve, danny and junior find the pirates and a room full of bags of powder that looks like drugs but probably isn’t, seeing as it killed the pirates, and then a small army rolls up outside and starts shooting at them, forcing them to take cover in the room with the powder, which starts dusting the air as the bags get shot. i love how the writers made the circumstances work here, omg.

I LOVE THE WAY THAT PLAYED OUT EVEN MORE, because it made a) for a very interesting shootout with clear stakes, and b) for a somehow both hilarious and potentially super angsty moment when danny is fairly affected by the powder, which has to bring up some bad sarin gas memories for him, and then steve shoots one last bad guy right over danny’s head and danny’s ears are ringing and he yells something and steve doesn’t understand him and just kind of pats his back in comfort, which in turn gives me strong driving-a-nuclear-bomb-through-the-woods, name-your-restaurant-Steve’s-please flashbacks, oh my gosh.

tani makes a REALLY LAME PIRATE JOKE and i LOVE HER.

quinn got the whole team together at a bar so noelani wouldn’t be sitting at home alone!!! the type of supportive female friendship i want to see!!!

and then quinn wants noelani to come dancing with her, but the magnum pi guy shows up and noelani tells him that maybe he could take her place. GAY QUINN IS SOARING. also, poor woman. this has strong vibes of danny setting steve up half against his will.

tani and junior watch quinn and the guy dance and decide to join and/or dance fight them in the best conversation ever, and it looks they’re all having SO MUCH FUN and it makes my heart happy.

what ALSO makes my heart happy is how much i enjoyed this episode, because i thought there would be a lot of yakuza stuff after that “previously on” and the beginning, but adam just kind of disappeared after his talk with steve, and suddenly there were two entirely unrelated plots which were both very neat and gave me so, so many character interactions i adored, ahh, how wonderful. i love season 10 so much.

[a-to-a-and-d-to-d]

The First Post, Unaffiliated

This is not my first rodeo on Tumblr, but I have not logged into my original account in some time.  I think a large part of that decision was due to a bitter taste in my mouth regarding friendships made on this site that I would eventually need to detach from, and sometimes that’s a difficult thing to not only recognize the need for, but to accept and actually do.

I am also less into fandom than I had been.  I realize that my indulgence into fandom was to find acceptance and love, but much like seeking religion or social groups for this purpose, it was bound to eventually backfire and discontinue that comfort that it brought me.  

I will probably go about discuss religion and like things in this place eventually, as I often ponder religion and spirituality, but do not take my pointing out of anything I find interesting as a means to try to disprove or prove anything.  

I thought perhaps today, though, I will talk about something that is on my mind a lot lately, and has recently been brought to the surface by a friend’s situation

One of the struggles I continue to deal with, even as I ever so slowly trudge towards that which we call mid-life,  is the child’s relationship with the parent(s), and how those that are/were damaging, we some how feel necessary to reconcile in some ways, for our sanity and for the parental love that we crave because we did not receive an adequate amount of any sort of parental relationship in our youth.

I personally did not develop what I would consider a relationship with my parents until I hit my 20s.  I spent a childhood being lonely despite being surrounded by siblings and having parents who remained married.  My teen years resulted in a tumultuous relationship with my mother and her scramble to convince teachers and other parents that she did not “screw up” as a parent.  I dealt with a significant amount of troubles in my adolescence and her reaction to that time was to become angry.  Angry that I had issues, angry that it was clear I had issues, and that I wasn’t living my teens as though everything had been and was perfectly fine.

My older siblings also had difficult times during their teen years, resulting from abusive and neglectful parenting and allowing their children - mostly due to a lack of interest in them - to stay in unsafe private schools and ruminate on those difficulties by themselves.  Somehow, I had been expected to be emotionally capable at 10/11 years old to deal with constant harassment.  I found release in music and story telling, and sometimes I still very much cling to these things.

What is currently difficult is trying to reconcile parents you had to who they are.  Can one forgive an entire childhood of neglect and mistreatment because their parents are better equipped to deal with the issues of completely independent children, or is the fact that they are no longer sole providers for any children making it easier for them to have a relationship with them?  The real question at the bottom of this barrel is, is are we - who decided we can tolerate a relationship with these people as adults - continuing to trigger ourselves?  I have had more than one night, after talking to my mother, laid in bed and unable to sleep, thinking about some violent act committed against me when I was so small, and wonder... how could she look at a child of 5 and think that was reasonable in any way?  It upsets me when I recall those my moments; of course they’re upsetting.  But the biggest part of the upset is the fact that I have the memories of this violence but a parent now that I feel more connected to and invested in their wellbeing.

When I was about 18, I was certain I wouldn’t cry at the funerals of either parent, but now I’m concerned about their well being as they become elderly.  In some ways, it feels like I’ve betrayed my child self by maintaining a relationship with them even though I had promised myself as a child I would cut them off for good.  This is a promise I’ve made a few times as an adult as well.

I think part of the reason I continue to go back is that we all yearn for a family of some sort.  And for a while, I thought I had found a “found family,” but after so many years, it was made clear that it really wasn’t that way.  Being rejected by found family hurts so much more than an entire life of biological familial rejection.  I’m sure this is due to the fact that I had been subjected to violence and neglect once I became a toddler.  Once actual parenting was required.

My childhood resulted in an odd way of feeling emotions and attachments.  I may talk about this in depth at a different time.

What’s been really bothering me is a friend and their particular relationship with their parents.  I’ve spent the better part of a year hearing about how their parents, one in particular, is vile and just the worst.  They plan to call authorities.  They let pets suffer & die (though my friend also noticed the pets in question and lives there so there is some question as to why they didn’t step up and do something about it).  They claim years of abuse and current child abuse in the home.  A lifetime of making them feel worthless and taking jabs, blaming them for a lack of confidence and depression.  They spent a lot of time discussing their anti-mask feelings and has made comments about them dying so the other parents could be free.  The other parent isn’t great, either, but the major complaint is that they’re racist as all get out.. but they excuse it away by saying “but they’re my parent.”

The bad-mouthed parent, the vile and evil one, the anti-mask one (and the racist one as well,, but less about them), the one said friend couldn’t wait to leave and never speak to them again, contracted our pandemic friend.  And the vile parent is suffering quite a bit more at its hands.  Suddenly, we love this person.

I had a similar experience several years ago, as well, of supposedly incredibly abusive and terrible parents that continue to abuse and mistreat into their adulthood, suddenly becoming a weird sort of saint in their eyes when illness/death is at the door.  its not that I believe people who have toxic parents do not love them, or should not worry or mourn if tragedy strikes them.  What I am saying is that, if you imagine your parent getting sick and suffering, and that makes your heart hurt and you feel a surge of love, then perhaps you shouldn’t have spent several years convincing everyone around you that they’re the worst person.  It makes me question what is more true.  I do think that we all unconsciously exaggerate situations that effect us, such as relaying a story of toxicity, but if you do it to a point where I think you’re just waiting for the opportunity to leave their life forever, I might wonder why you’re so bent out of shape.

Is it mourning of the relationship we wish we had?  As long as that parent is alive and relatively well, we may be thinking that there’s still a chance to have that relationship.  We hope that maybe the parents will suddenly give a shit about us and will love us in the way we needed when we were children.  And its difficult to admit to yourself that this isn’t going to happen.  Even if your parental relationships are fulfilling and loving now, they are not what you needed when you were a child and you cannot get them now, because you are not a child.

You can always experiment out in the big bad world with different avenues.  As I equate violence to the touch of a “loved one,”  I’ve fetishized some of that violence.  Just as, I’m sure, people had fetishized their own experiences and needs that had been neglected.

However we cope, we need to find healthy and viable ways to do so.  And while I do question the legitimacy of the abusive parent when a friend’s reaction to their parent takes a complete turn when something bad happens, I also understand that relationships with abusive people are weird and difficult, especially when they’re our families.

[yeoldontknow]

Cherish

Author’s Note: this was originally intended to go up for minseoks birthday but i was so busy preparing for japan i never got a chance to edit. now that he’s leaving soon, it feels the right time <3 Pairing: Minseok x Reader (oc; female) Genre: romance; angst; fluff; au Summary: When you met Minseok at a wedding, you did not think you could swoon for a man quite so hard. But like the world, he is cyclical, and so you ruminate on all the ways he proves you wrong. Rating: PG Word Count: 2,154

The day you met him, you thought you could not love him any more than this.

Much unlike you and, surely, impossible, the sight of him made your heart stumble in his rhythm, tripping over the elegance of his hair, his jaw, his neck. Off to the side of the dance floor and holding a flute of champagne with the same care he’d give to a lover, he was talking. He was talking, lips moving and shaping words as though each deserved a kiss as they passed along his tongue, and you were surrendering to a minute state of mourning that you could not hear his voice. He was talking, and the world around you was changing.

For a moment, you thought maybe it was changing for worse, because to become unhinged at the sight of a man in a tailored grey suit certainly must mean danger. For a moment, you thought maybe it was changing without your permission, wings of longing emerging from your back, like branches, rounding up and over to reach for him - to cage him in your lust and to never let him turn from you again. For a moment you thought, he is a volatile, threatening thing, and to love him like this is the start of my unraveling.

For a moment, you thought the change was because you were needy. Weddings did that, you knew, turned men and women, often comfortable in their loneliness, into hungry, persistent things. And as much as you knew the transformation was swift and reckless, you knew the shades of this type of chaos rarely lasted past morning. Weddings did that, made love a thing to be consumed rather than nurtured, turned envy into rapture and made one night spread into an unattainable eternity.

Weddings, you thought, were fraught with celebration of possibilities, and too many were pushed beyond their expiration.

But then he laughed.

He laughed and, truthfully, you cannot recall who was standing beside him, because he was an act of reduction; a paradox that made the world impossibly finite and impossibly limitless. You cannot recall who stood beside him, because the insignificance of everything else was erased by the confrontation of something, someone, impossible.

Because, as though you had been waiting, as though you knew, as though you had prepared, the whole of your existence seemed to amount to this moment.

The reception hall was loud, crowded, yet over the DJ and the shrill laughter of the woman beside you, you could hear him. Low, musical - melody that made your blood burn, written and rewritten by the stars and meant only for you. It slid down your back, a torrent of yearning that made your spine arch and your mouth water - delivering you well beyond desire into the arms of need.

And when he looked at you.

When he looked at you…

He looked at you, and his fingers gripped the base of his champagne flute just a little tighter, affected but stoic in the way he delivered himself to paradise.

He looked at you and he exhaled, as though he were making room to breathe you in. As though he had been experiencing an endless missing, long since comfortable in the way emptiness makes a man feel consumed and, all at once, preparing to unmake himself, ready to be run raw.

He looked at you, and he smiled, knowing. There were secrets buried beneath the warmth of his cheeks, as though he too had been waiting, as though he felt you. As though he needed you, too.

He smiled, and you, already so far gone in your wanting and craving, thought you would not survive this. You would not survive him, and, for this destruction, you were glad. You hoped you would not recognize yourself when he was through.

The night he kissed you, you thought you could not love him any more than this.

Summer in the city was hot, the thick air making it hard to breathe, but, for you, the suffering was worth it because he was holding your hand. Long, delicate fingers entwined with yours, skin touching and burning as though separation surely meant death. Sweat was building between your palms, but neither of you cared.

Not truly. Not when it meant that you would carry each other home, bathed in residue.

For you, it was a flood. For you, it was an outpouring of all your longing, bursting from your skin to wash against his in an act of cleansing.

Your living room was an oasis of air conditioning, raising goosebumps along your skin and creating a map of all the uncharted places you wanted him to touch. Along his hairline, the sweat dried and made him glimmer, glowing in a human way that made your chest ache.. Sheepishly, he apologized for the state of his appearance, vulnerable and shy, and quiet in the way he hoped you would still want him.

Instead you called him the sun, defining yourself as the horizon on which he would never set.

It was easy to see he was nervous, but, then, so were you. He looked at the floor while you looked at him, admiring how his lip curved upward in the effort of keeping himself still, holding back from kissing and kissing and kissing you. He looked at the floor while you looked at him, heart racing at the sight of his long eyelashes, the way his speeding thoughts made his eyes dart around the carpet, mind struggling to catch just one.

He looked at you while you looked at him, and only then were you able to truly feel gravity.

You came together naturally, slowly, gently - a kinetic reaction to the build up of affection that finally pulled you into each other’s arms. Swollen with it, filled to the brim and unable to keep it in your chest any longer, you sighed into his open, eager mouth, and found yourself trembling at the wetness of his tongue.

It was short, brief enough to feel as though he hadn’t been there at all. With a finger pressed against your lips, you watched the threads of his seams come partly undone, his face morphing into a profound affection; basking in the misery of your separation with an unbridled thirst, before he turned from you with a soft goodnight, and left.

His hand on your cheek as he spoke did not linger, fearing what it would mean if he let himself stay.

You went to bed that night hot, feeling the phantom limb of his skin against yours, and moving against the fabric of your sheets as though it was his hands sliding against your hips.  

The night he told you he loved you, you thought you could not love him more than this.

It was not a special night. By all rights, it was a night that should have faded into the distance, the conclusion to a day that had your permission to blur seamlessly into an endless, unnumbered infinity. This evening should have slipped, bending and shaping itself as it crawled away, to nothing more than the mere acknowledgement that I was with him and we were happy.

On this evening, you were cooking, hands gracefully cutting vegetables and turning meat - pausing only to sip your wine and look out the window of your kitchen. It was raining and the world was at peace with this cleansing, sun already set but sky not yet ready to be dark. It was raining, and so you should have seen his reflection as he approached from behind, but instead you surrendered to the shock of his arms around your waist, reclining back into him with a small, content smile.

In his arms, you felt a great undoing overcome you - the undoing of what it truly meant to be stable, secure, and hopeful. Home, for you, had never been a transient thing, your world colors by rules and laws through which it became easy to relate. Home is not a thing that has the opportunity to leave, not of its own volition, not by its own choice.

And so, in his arms, the shift of your definition was nothing short of unprecedented. In his arms, you felt the whole of the cosmos burst through you, erupting in your heart and turning it into a cauldron that made nothing but a love for him. You should have been surprised, you should have been alarmed, but it was him - your Minseok - and he was always so good at kissing your expectations full. There was a power to this love, driven to the brink of your affection and devotion as though to the edge of the universe, and your body did little else but birth stars of interstellar craving just for him.

There was no reason to speak, not really. From his chest into your back, you could feel the steady rhythm of his heart, radiating endearment into your muscles and easing away all the tension carried within. So often, this was how he loved you, silently and with the whole of his soul. So often, this was how he loved you, confident in the acceptance of his feelings and willing to be soft, weak, and malleable only for you.

‘I love you,’ he whispered into your ear, dragging his nose around the shell before resting in your hair. He inhaled, deep and full, taking you in and keeping you inside him until surviving only on you caused him pain, forcing him to exhale slowly.

‘I love you, too’ you said, meeting his eyes in his reflection.

You knew he didn’t need you to say it, but you thought it only fair you let the half formed image of him, blurred and smeared from rain, know that even this broken image of him was enough to command your will.

The night after your first argument, you thought you couldn’t love him any more than this.

You had barely opened the door before he was at you, mouth clamped over yours and hands fisting in your hair. Conversation and platitudes died on your tongue, choosing instead to surrender to the need of having him around you, inside you, beneath and beside you, for always. Every inch of your chemistry wanted to rewrite itself, burn away your atoms and put them back together with his, turning you into something whole, new, and unbreakable.  

He hadn’t called or texted for nearly twenty hours, and caverns in you were opening, ripping themselves wide and turning you into a void that begged to hold him, touch him, love him. You were apprehensive in his hold, nervous of a change in dynamic or passion; he was pale, sick with lack of sleep and eyes heavy with regret. For a moment, you thought this was what losing him felt like, saw him as an apparition of the man you used to covet, until you saw the way your hand on his cheek made a flush break across the skin - your touch alone commanding the flow of his blood.

You never apologized for the words you both said in the heat of rage, something that only crossed your mind after the soul shaking sex and the quietly wept tears of contrition.

You never apologized, and you’re sure you didn’t need to. Not really. Words as weapons held little power when the touch of his skin against yours was atomic, burning their residue away through the sheer act of love and forgiveness.

The day you married him you thought of cycles, circles and revolutions of pining for a thing that was yours and, likely, was always yours.

You thought of the day you met him, when first heard him laugh over a sea of noise and the worship of false realities. You thought of how he smiled at you, then, as though he were taking the whole of your soul into his body to keep you, learn you, remember you always.

You thought of how he kissed you, how he always kisses you - first with his heart and then with his mouth, giving you love always before lust, and never letting you break from him before he’s had his fill.

You thought of how he fights you, passionately and adamantly, arguing only because he cares too much - about you, about loving you, about every detail of the world you’ve built together with him, and caring little else for the excess in between.

You thought of how you love him, with fragments and pieces of your body you think you never had, yet are born daily just because you wake up next to him. He births these things from you, creates them every time he touches your skin, every time he presses his lips to your mouth, your hair, your shoulder.

Always, you think you cannot love him more than this.

Always, you are proven wrong.

[inquisitorhotpants]

It should have been Kryn.

Not that Ca’ii would wish Vitiate on any of her sisters - or anyone, really - but of the three of them that answered Darth Marr’s call, Vitiate taking up residence in Kryn’s head would have made the most sense. Already tied to the Force, an astonishingly powerful Sith in her own right. 

It should have been Kryn but Kryn died side by side with Darth Marr, advancing on the former Sith emperor with murderous intent, in an explosive lightning strike that lit up the top of the Spire. 

Surely Force bonds aren’t as fanciful as they’re depicted on the Holonet, and it’s not like Ca’ii is exactly an expert on the things, but the holodramas almost universally depict those who suffer a severed Force bond as half-mad, almost feral, driven over the edge by a malady of the soul for which there is no remedy. 

Yes, perhaps it’s for the best that Kryn didn’t survive. 

Raitlia, of all the Sartoris clan the most natural leader, is who Arcann turned to for an alliance - an alliance that turned out to be shorter lived than even Ca’ii expected - and whose mind Valkorion chose to inhabit, as Ca’ii found out after Lana and Koth mounted quite the exciting rescue of the carbonite-frozen Havoc Squad major and her smuggler captain sister. 

As Raitlia drew allies to her side, stepping into leadership of a ragtag coalition as naturally as she herded her younger sisters in a former life that now seems impossibly distant, Ca’ii remained by her side, lending help where needed, speaking for mercy when Raitlia’s jaw was too tight, her green eyes too angry, her knuckles pale with the strength of her grip on her assault cannon. 

Ca’ii is angry too, but Ca’ii has seen enough death, enough fear, enough misery. Too many people stripped of their humanity, too much of the smell of carbon and smoke and blood. Of all her sisters, even her Jedi sisters, Ca’ii has always been the most positive, the most relentlessly upbeat, the diehard believer that things will get better if everyone just tries hard enough. And so she stops her sister from taking out her enmity on Zakuul, on anyone who crosses her, because Ca’ii won’t see her principled, honorbound oldest sister turn into a mirror of the hatred they’re trying to fight. 

Truth be told, even with all that Ca’ii didn’t expect Raitlia to show Arcann mercy, nor Senya for stealing him out from under their noses. Not after Kryn’s death and his attacks on the galaxy and his attempts to kill both Raitlia and Ca’ii. But after a pause that felt like an eternity, Raitlia snapped a clipped let them go, Ca’ii, and fly us back to the Gravestone, her hands clenched into fists, the words forced out from between gritted teeth. 

--

Ca’ii sits alone at a table in the cantina, idly swirling her subpar ale in her mug. 

Her childhood, by and large, was happy. Fardon and Sai’rah may not have been flush with credits, but there was never any doubt that they loved all eight of the girls they took in off the streets of Nar Shaddaa, never any doubt that they would support whatever the girls chose to do with their lives. 

She almost can’t fathom a childhood where one parent cared for nothing but making his children into weapons, while the other seemed content to do nothing but stand by and watch this travesty happen. 

Her gaze, once again, drifts to the figure in white, solitary and silent at a hastily erected table in the back, a fair distance from the rest. His attention is focused on a datapad in front of him, rather than the frivolity around him, and he exudes a distinct air of a person who doesn’t wish to be alone with their thoughts but has no choice in the matter. 

Of course, she understands why people won’t sit within two tables of Arcann. He’s been the boogeyman of the Alliance since the alliance was formed. Everyone remembers what he’s done. There isn’t a person on Odessen who hasn’t lost someone to an attack he ordered. Consequently, there has been no small amount of dissatisfied murmuring about Raitlia’s decision to allow him to join the Alliance, even after he bent the knee and pledged his fealty to her on no less than a galaxy-wide Holonet broadcast. 

Ca’ii shuts this complaining down, naturally, before it gets to Raitlia; no one is going to question whether her sister is doing the best for this alliance on her watch. Indeed, Raitlia commands a truly astonishing amount of respect from an incredible cross-section of ideologies; they’ll accept her decision, if not necessarily throw a parade for it. 

But then again -

She’s run this mental path more than once. What he’s done against what he’s trying to do now. Being good at what she does, though, is due in no small part to her ability to judge character and sense ulterior motive, and there’s no gain for Arcann to have faked his way into the Alliance. With everyone assuming he’ll turn on them, either he’s playing the longest con she’s seen since Darmas Pollaran … or there is no con.

Arcann stands, seemingly oblivious to how conversation dies when he does, and strides out of the cantina. 

After a moment of fierce internal debate, Ca’ii slides her chair back and follows him. 

--

She finds him on the walkway leading to the landing pad for the Felicity, leaning against the railing and staring out at the Odessen wilderness; she stops a polite yet companionable distance away and mimics his stance. “You must be the most un-rowdy patron that cantina has ever seen.” 

His only answer is a noncommittal hmm. 

“I’m sure Qarac appreciates it, especially after she’s had to clean up after Mandos, Sith, and me on occasion,” she continues. When the silence following this stretches out into discomfort, she clears her throat. “I’ll leave you to your ruminations, shall I?”

“Why did you follow me?” he asks, quiet. 

Why did she? 

Ca’ii shrugs. “People haven’t exactly been lining up to welcome you to the Alliance. We all have our differences - I don’t know how Sana-Rae keeps that enclave of hers in line, just from watching my Jedi and Sith sisters interact in the past - but I imagine it’s a bit harder for people to overlook this particular difference, as it were.” 

“That didn’t exactly answer my question.” 

“Well … I know what Raitlia has told me about Valkorion. I know what a monster he was when he was known as Vitiate; I saw what he did to Ziost. I can’t imagine being raised by someone like that, and it’s obvious how he mistreated you and Vaylin.” Though mistreated feels inadequate. “I think that you’ve demonstrated your loyalties, and -” She stops, well aware of how ridiculous her next words are going to sound. “I guess I just thought maybe you could use a friend. Or at least an acquaintance. Especially while Senya is still in her coma, you’re pretty alone here, and no one deserves that.” 

For a long moment he doesn’t answer, and she starts to wonder if he’s going to at all. 

“So I’ve tried to murder the Outlander - who I have since learned is your sister - more than once, not to mention frozen you both in carbonite, waged a scorched earth war against the galaxy ... and you want to be my friend.” One eyebrow arches. “I’m a bit surprised you’re not more of Major Jorgan’s mindset.” 

His eyes really are quite a pretty shade of blue. Damn. Why does she always notice these things? 

She chuckles. “You may be lucky Aric isn’t Force-sensitive, or you might have taken a nasty tumble off a walkway by now. But as much as he glares at you, he won’t cross Raitlia. If she says you stay, you stay. He’ll just be grumpy. But he’s always grumpy. He was even grumpy when he met me, and I’m the most charming of the Sartoris sisters. Don’t take it personally.” 

“He’s right, though.” 

She considers. “I can understand where he’s coming from, yes. Normally anyone who hurts my sisters gets a personal asskicking from me. It likely didn’t escape your notice in the times that our paths crossed that my aim is nothing to sneeze at.”

“But?” 

“But like Aric … if Raitlia says you stay, you stay. And that means I’m not going to treat you like a pariah, if you’d rather not do everything alone. Of course, if you want to be left alone, I won’t force you to enjoy my scintillating company.” This time she grins. “But I think it’s possible you have better judgment than that.” 

Slowly, almost unwillingly, the corners of his mouth pull upward into a faint suggestion of a smile. “One might suggest that I’ve ably demonstrated my judgment is questionable, at best.”

At this surprise bit of self-deprecation, Ca’ii laughs out loud. “Fair point. But so is mine. Ask Raitlia sometime. She had a list a few years ago; knowing her, she still has it. Anyway, I’m going to go back to my quarters and have a good drink and see what’s on the Holonet. If you want to join me.” 

Did that sound flirty? She didn’t mean it to sound flirty, but sometimes that just happens without her trying. 

She isn’t sure she’d be unhappy if it did, which isn’t something she’s going to unpack tonight. 

Arcann shakes his head. “No.” A slight pause. “Not tonight,” he amends after a moment’s thought. He opens his mouth as if to say more, then closes it. “I … thank you for the invitation, however.” 

Ca’ii nods. “Consider it standing. Perhaps I’ll find you out here again.” She just can’t help herself. “You know, that’s my ship.” She points, somewhat unnecessarily, toward the XS sitting on the landing pad. “Doesn’t look like much, but she’s a beauty. I can understand why you’d want to come hang out with her.” 

To her shock, Arcann actually chuckles, low and rumbling. “You caught me,” he says, deadpan and with no attempt to sound genuine. “I’m out here because of your ship, not for the solitude.”

“And here you said you don’t have good judgment.” Ca’ii steps back from the railing. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts. Have a good night, Arcann. Prince Arcann? Former Em-”

He holds up a hand. “Really,” he says, somewhat pained. “Just Arcann.”

“Have a good night, just Arcann.” 

Now she’s sure she’s not flirting, not with that line. It’s the galaxy’s oldest joke, and Ca’ii can still hear her father using it on Kryn, eliciting a groan from the Miraluka every time.  

“And you, Captain Sartoris.” 

“Just Ca’ii is fine, if you prefer. I only make you call me Captain if you’re on my crew.” 

This is an absolute lie. The only person who still calls her “Captain” is Corso. 

Maybe she is flirting. Shit. 

“In that case, enjoy your evening … just Ca’ii.” 

“Did you just -”

Arcann inclines his head and strides past her, leaving her on the walkway and grinning after him. 

This is going to be a problem. 

Pretty eyes are bad enough; he cannot also be secretly funny and somewhat inscrutable and clearly suffering from Lost Lonely Nexu Cub Syndrome. 

Raitlia is going to kick her ass.

[wildcard47]

Please do either 33 or 35 for fitzier

33. Unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it.

Although it had been two weeks since John Irving, walking alone near the east ridge, had sighted a group of Netsilik and convinced them – somehow, God only knew how – to return with him to Terror Camp, many of the sickest men were still abed. 

It was understandable, really. The men needed more than small amounts of fresh meat. They needed rest. Time to grieve the brothers they’d lost. And time to gather their strength for the days ahead.

Sitting in the joint captains’ tent next to a sleeping James’s bedside, Francis knew, although he had not yet voiced it to another soul, that they would also need to walk again before the summer was out.

And it was while he was ruminating over this prospect that a small bit of biscuit suddenly hit him in the temple.

“What the – ”

Turning, he caught James’s eye. James, who was very clearly awake, and who had assumed a very innocent face. 

Even lying on a cot in his weakened condition – eyes bloodshot, still flushed with fever, and unable to walk for more than a few minutes at a time – the man still managed to smirk at him as he met Francis’s puzzled gaze.

“Don’t brood,” he rasped.

Francis felt one corner of his mouth twitch up. “What?”

James shook his head slightly, but he was still smiling, even as Francis saw the exhale that indicated this was slightly painful. “You’ll get lines in your face.” 

He gestured to his jaw with a flick of his fingers, barely lifting them from the blankets. 

Upon putting the joke together, Francis let out a cackle that shocked him in its intensity. “Bollocks. You got those from grinning at all your ridiculous stories.”

“Well.” James smiled again, wider this time. “’Twas worthwhile, then.”

Laughing even harder, ducking his head, Francis felt the relief of their present situation wash over him all at once. A sudden surge of gratitude pulsed through his chest at the idea that James was still here, and still smiling, and could in fact tell his stories for many days more. 

Or even throw weevil-filled biscuits at his face.

“Francis?”

Glancing up, Francis met James’s inquisitive gaze – recalling how warm and sharp and fragile the man’s broad shoulders had felt under his gloved palms at Victory Point, how intensely they’d stared at each other, how he wanted James to look at him that way every minute – and suddenly he was leaning forward, heedless as a besotted schoolboy, cupping James’s face in two hands and kissing him as soundly as he could.

It was only when James made a soft protesting noise against his mouth that he pulled back.

Panting, stunned, Francis had no idea what to say next, but surely James had one last bon mot saved for such a strange occasion. He would make some sort of gently amusing comment, they might very possibly laugh at such foolishness together, and that would be the end of it.

James only stared. And stared. And stared. Mouth slightly open, eyes wide with shock. He stared at Francis until the lingering silence between them became unbearable, and Francis finally had to avert his eyes, and scratched awkwardly at one side of his beard.

“Erm. If you – James, I – I’ll not presume to – ”

He was prepared to make his excuses and retreat with as much of his shattered dignity as was humanly possible when something much more solid than a piece of biscuit boffed him in the forehead.

It was James’s glove.

“What the hell was that for?” Francis demanded as he batted it away, head snapping up to scowl at his Second.

“You’re brooding again,” said James very evenly. A flush of colour had risen in his cheeks. “Don’t.”

“Oh,” murmured Francis in a whisper.

And then James slipped his bare hand into Francis’s – squeezed his fingers tightly – and the penny dropped.

“Oh.”

“Stay a few minutes, Francis,” said James, and squeezed Francis’s fingers again, even as he shut his eyes. “I daresay I’ll not mind your giving me additional crow’s feet, if it means you’ll try that again in the morning.”

“You’re an idiot,” growled Francis after a small pause, but he was also blushing, and he stayed anyway.

35. An awkward kiss given after a first date.

James had been surprised when Francis had accepted his dinner invitation without reservations, and had been even more surprised when the evening had gone off without a hitch. There’d been no tossed-off insults – not genuine ones, anyway – nor bouts of sulking, nor anything resembling the clear annoyance Francis had once shown at sharing his company, in the early days.

It was so new, this strange and tentative flirtation now blossoming between them, even after more than a year of actual friendship. If you’d asked James two years ago whether he’d be sharing a heaping bowl of pasta and a serving of tiramisu with his most frustrating colleague in the department – and deliriously enjoying Francis’s company to boot – he might have assumed you were trying to trick him.

By the time they had left the restaurant, and were walking back toward the nearest metro stop, the pleasure buzzing in James’s chest had reached previously-unfathomable levels. 

He stopped at the gate of a particularly beautiful apartment garden without saying a word – so quickly, in fact, that it left Francis a step ahead on the pavement, still snorting over the misspelled street sign from two blocks earlier.

“Oh, have you seen another? Is it worse than pubic facilities?”

Francis’s blue eyes gleamed beautifully under the soft streetlight, and his crooked smile showed off the gap in his teeth, and when this enticing picture was paired with the gentle tap of his hand against James’s elbow as he walked up to join him by the gate, James found he could not resist leaning in and capturing Francis’s mouth in a heated, rather long kiss.

Although Francis leaned into the kiss for several seconds, he also pulled back rather suddenly, staring at James as if he’d just spouted off a round of Portuguese curses.

“What – what was that for?”

“I don’t know,” said James after a small pause, and released Francis’s arm. “Just, ah, wanted to. End of a good date.”

Francis shifted on his feet, narrowed his eyes. “Date.”

“Yeah,” said James, with dawning horror. “You – you did know that’s why I asked you to dinner. On a Saturday night. And paid for both of us. That’s – did you really not think we were on – I mean, that it was one?”

From the way Francis blanched, and his mouth suddenly dropped open, he did not.

“Shit.” James was momentarily lost for words. His heart had dropped somewhere into his intestines. “Well. That explains the surprise.” He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets. His knees were shaking. “Sorry. You just – looked sexy, and I thought the evening was going well, so I wanted to – ”

“Sexy?” Francis whispered.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I’ll just – see you Monday, or whatever. I’ll go now.”

“James.”

Sighing, James looked up. He still had not moved one whit.

“I am surprised,” said Francis in a rush, still barely meeting James’s eyes, “but that doesn’t – I mean – you can do. Again.”

“What?”

“If you wanted to – whatever – then you – you can do.”

James actually laughed, stung by such reticence. “Christ, Francis, stop being so bloody opaque! You didn’t even know we were on a date five minutes ago. And now you’re gawping at me as if I’ve lost my mind entirely! For god’s sake, man, if you honestly want me to stay, or to kiss you, or do anything else other than go home and drown myself in the bath out of sheer hideousness, then you’ll have to say something a bit more articulate than whatever, else I’ll toss you into this chap’s garden and slap the living daylights out of – ”

Judging by the speed in which Francis grabbed James’s lapels and yanked him forward into a heated, almost embarrassingly-passionate embrace, the answer to whether he wanted a second kiss was very clearly yes.

[nalufever]

One of a Kind: Chapter 1 of Guarding Miss Shirayuki

Fandom: Snow White with the Red Hair

Summary: Obi didn't know when he accepted the job of protecting Miss Shirayuki that he'd become so entranced with his charge. Yuki was smarter and more intriguing than any other person he'd spent protecting - but how could he ever have guessed Shirayuki would become so important? A canonesque romp of a story - exploring the relationship that could have been.

Chapter One: One of a Kind: Guarding Miss Shirayuki ~ This is the first chapter of three - Dedicated to my good friend @hidetheremote . You da best! Thank you for talking, listening and joining my salty rants! There’s two more chapters, so I hope you enjoy as much this as much as I loved writing in a fandom you adore. This section is about 5000 words ~ ^^

Obi spat, the thin stream of saliva and blood mixing with the old stains underfoot. He blocked out the shouts - some encouragement, some invective, and all easy to ignore. He'd endured five years of training, working his way up in the mixed martial arts ranking. No way was he going to blow his chance at the championship on account of some foolish yelling. All he had to do was beat this guy and he'd be in the title fight next month.

Hungry for the win, Obi's opponent danced left in the giant metal cage they occupied. Rushing forward, the man delivered a flurry of punches in combination with side-kicks. Voice gruff, he sneered, "You look tired."

With a feral grin, Obi shook his head. "M'not, but you must be." He raised his hands to protect his face and moved closer into Staniel's reach, surprising the man.

Staniel faltered, his next punch extending into the air where Obi had been. His arm pulled back but Obi had already thrown his arm and used leverage to toss him. On his back, Staniel cursed as Obi took total control, pinning him to the mat.

The bell clanged and the referee stepped in, bellowing the count, slapping the mat with every number. "...nine, ten!"

Obi sprang up with the official, his arm raised high. The crowd cheered, chanting, hooting, whistling. It was almost perfect. He searched the stands, imagining in the far off faces the features of long-lost comrades. Forcing a smile, Obi bowed his head in thanks.

Walking slowly out of the cage, Obi ignored his aches and pains. A hot shower would soothe his body even if it also encouraged morbid introspection. The dead were going to stay dead even if they still had space in his mind.

Alone again in his apartment, Obi shrugged off his clothes, leaving them in a heap and stepped into the welcome confines of the shower. Stinging needles of hot water washed away some of his melancholy. Head bowed again, Obi thought back to happier times. He'd been so young and naive - but no longer. Life had a way of teaching a student - it was either learn or die when your job was being a bodyguard.

Hands flat against the tiled wall opposite the shower head, Obi closed his eyes and pretended his tears weren't mixing with the water. Sighing, he stood straight, soaped and rinsed his body - regret wouldn't do anything but drive him crazy.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Shirayuki shifted the collection of binders in her arms and pasted what she hoped was a pleasant smile on her face. "I'm actually close to a breakthrough on one of the problem area formulas."

"How many times do I have to insist you call me by name?" Zen sat back in his padded chair, crossing his legs. "We did attend the same college, no need to be so formal."

"I'll try to remember."

"Excellent, I've decided to give you some assistance with your project." Zen smiled, hand drifting to one knee and tapping. "Our company stands to make a fortune once it's complete. That means competing companies, like Daiichi Sankyo and Otsuka Holdings, will want to keep pace by whatever means necessary."

"My team is full, sir."

"I wasn't asking-" Zen continued, as if Shirayuki's interjection hadn't happened, "-I'm telling you, as of noon today, you'll have a specialist added to your team."

"With what kind of Ph.D?" Shirayuki set her binders on the corner of the vice-president's desk, sinking into a chair. "I formed this team myself, we've got all the major talent we need."

"He's a security specialist." Zen nodded in time with his still tapping fingers, his eyes locked onto Shirayuki's gaze. "This is non-negotiable. The amount of profit is astronomical - and you're our main asset."

"Let me understand, you're assigning me some sort of bodyguard?" Shirayuki pinched the bridge of her nose. "There's no way I need some beef-brained, thick-witted muscle bound moron underfoot in my lab or interfering with my team."

"I promise to spend most of my time improving my feeble brain and keeping out of your way."

Shirayuki whipped her head around, mouth dropping open. The man in the doorway wore dark dress pants and a crisp white shirt, fitted to show off a lithe figure - no bulky or ostentatious muscles - a fit and firm body. Blushing, she grit her teeth and ignored the jump of rocks in her stomach. "Adding a person at this late stage will upset my workers."

"Don't overestimate your role, Shirayuki." Zen chuckled and waved the newcomer to the other chair. "All management is on board with this decision - Obi here will become your personal assistant."

"With all due respect," Shirayuki fought to keep her voice level, "I have no need of an assistant. What I said earlier is still true. I -"

"If I may, sir?" Obi picked up the binders on the corner of Zen's desk. "We'll leave first." He stood with an impassive face, leading the way from the private office, through the maze of cubicles in the main part and down the corridor towards the area kept secured for members of the bioengineering team.

More than a bit pissed over following her unwanted 'assistant,' Shirayuki lengthened her stride, intending to pass. "I don't need you to carry my stuff. I'm capable of managing my own possessions."

Voice dry, Obi said, "Such big words from a smart science nerd. Are you sure this muscle-bound moron will understand?" Obi stopped and held out his burden to his new boss. "If you want your notes, please take them - but how else are you going to explain my presence to your team?"

Shirayuki reached to grab them - hands out, she hesitated, thinking. She huffed and jammed her hands into her lab coat. "I'll get rid of you somehow."

Amicably, like he hadn't challenged Shirayuki, Obi smiled. "Once this job finishes, I'll go away. You're not the only one displeased with this arrangement." Binders held against his chest once again, Obi inclined his head to the still fuming woman. "After you, boss."

Shirayuki hunched over her laptop and stared at the group designed molecule, comparing it to the previous incarnation and checking her notes for discrepancies. Imelda tapped her on the shoulder, making Shirayuki jump.

"Sorry boss, we're taking a lunch break."

"Cafeteria?" Shirayuki pulled up another diagram. "Bring me whatever." She focussed back into her work.

"We're going stir-crazy," Imelda waved her hand in front of the screen. "Raj is insisting on taking us to his cousin's place. We'll be back a bit late - you don't want to come, do you?"

"I'm two ideas away from solving the last problem." Belatedly Shirayuki remembered to smile and look at her second-in-command. "You guys go and have fun - you've been working really hard. You may as well come back even later. Go rest your brains." She made a shooing motion, and waved goodbye to her team.

The private powder room door opened and Obi exited, wiping his hands on his borrowed lab coat. "You sent them to lunch without you again. Don't they ever wonder why you stay on company premises? Normal people like taking time away from work."

"They'd be more surprised if I joined them." Shirayuki took off her glasses, absently cleaning them on the hem of her shirt. "It's more expedient for me to eat in the cafeteria. I hate losing time to food when I could be solving more important issues." She looked up in shock as Obi filched her glasses with dexterity any pickpocket would envy. Squinting, she frowned in confusion.

"You mean to tell me you're an antisocial nerd?" Obi blew a puff of air on Shirayuki's glasses. Pulling a proper lens cleaning cloth from his jacket, he polished and presented the cleaned glasses to Shirayuki. "You should let your personal assistant buy you lunch."

Skepticism warred with hunger - stomach rumbling, Shirayuki saved her progress and locked the laptop. "Might be the only thing you're good for."

Obi smiled and said nothing, allowing his boss to walk in front. For all her prickly attitude towards him and his assignment, Shirayuki treated her teammates well - and worked a damn sight harder than he'd expected. Not that he thought all beautiful women were lazy - no, he'd done his homework after taking the bodyguard job. Shirayuki came from a monied family. Wealth, status and impeccable breeding - she didn't need to work. This woman wanted to make the world a better place and had applied her smarts to learning something that would benefit everyone.

Maybe he shouldn't enjoy how her hips swayed as she walked. Her figure, even hidden as it was under a lab coat - it was curved in all the right places. Obi shoved down his appreciation into the box he'd labelled 'late night fun time.' She wasn't the spoiled rich princess he'd feared - but she was far out of his reach. His pedigree was muddy while hers was golden.

Halfway to the cafeteria, the Vice-President of Fujisawa Corporation stepped into their path. "Hello, Shirayuki and Obi!" Zen smiled warmly at Shirayuki and exchanged nods with Obi. "I have some business matters to discuss with you, Obi."

"We're going to grab lunch in the cafeteria right now, care to join us?" Shirayuki, still ruminating about polypeptides and molecular bonds, missed the serious undertones in Zen's words.

"Go save us a good seat, I'll join you soon." Obi waved off Shirayuki, keeping his inner glee hidden as her nostrils flared and she stomped away. Beautiful, smart, and prone to quick flare-ups of temper (as befitting her fiery red hair).

Zen wasted no time after shutting his office door. "I need you to provide twenty-four hour coverage." He strode to his desk, hand slightly trembling as he dug a key out of his pocket and unlocked the topmost drawer. "Here, take a look at this."

Face impassive, Obi read the threatening letter. He offered it back to Zen, "She's not going to take this well."

"She needs to be protected from knowing there's a death threat against her. You're getting paid well to shield her body, you can shield her mind too." Zen put the letter back. "She's not just a valuable employee, she's...she's special."

"I understand, sir." Obi took note of the light flush on Zen's cheeks, the man's starry eyes and wistful smile. "Shirayuki is a one-of-a-kind woman. Er, person."

"You were right the first time, she's a wonderful woman." Zen dropped into his chair and sighed, rubbing his forehead. "By any means necessary, keep her safe."

"Good work guys! Tomorrow is the weekend and that means I don't want to see anyone at work." Shirayuki laughed as several of her team parroted the same thing back to her, cautioning her against becoming a workaholic. "Fine, fine! I'll see you Monday." She waved them off, smiling.

"You going to take your own advice?" Obi smirked. Shirayuki had forgotten he was in the lab - or was he that good at staying silent? Either way, it was cute how she'd clutched her chest and glared at him.

This week of bodyguarding had been both heaven and hell. Miss Shirayuki was smart, personable and extremely capable - especially in regards to her work. Thinking about her, Obi had decided to keep a wall between them - needing the formal type of address to remind himself that the red-haired, smart, talented woman was above his reach.

Obi came to love watching her eyes light with passion as she wrote equations; the tip of her tongue making an appearance as she concentrated, how she'd push up her glasses and squint. It was hellish to be so close and be denied the physical contact he was dreaming of nightly.

"I know how to relax." Shirayuki lifted her chin. "See you Monday, unless you'd rather quit right now. Zen is blowing this product launch out of proportion. I don't need a babysitter."

"I'm sure you think that." Obi crossed his arms over his chest. "But you haven't ever tried my relaxation program."

"I'm good." Shirayuki's voice was flat and showed disinterest. "I have chores to do and no time to waste on you."

"Huh, didn't know you were a coward." Obi shrugged and waited - Shirayuki's nostrils flared. Oh, she was hooked. "For someone so smart, you're not willing to try other methods? Far be it for this muscle-bound moron to call you on your bullshit." Game. Set. Match. He made a show of checking his pockets for keys and tipped an imaginary hat. "See you Monday. Coward."

Shirayuki ground her teeth and seethed. What a high-handed, smug, sexy and rude bastard. "I'm not a coward."

"Good news, you're gonna love my relaxation program." Obi offered the woman under his care his arm. "Step this way."

Not exactly sure why she was going with Obi, Shirayuki decided she'd slip off once she got bored. A simple distraction and her unwanted personal assistant would never notice her leaving. Allowing him to take her somewhere was an anomaly. It had nothing to do with how cute the man looked. Nope! Nor his earnestness, or even how much she'd wondered about what he did on his own time. Uh-uh. This was her learning more about an opponent.

The sounds and smell of the underground gym hit Shirayuki hard. She'd been confused why it was several levels below the surface - and all Obi had said in answer to her questions was, 'no special reason.'

"Is there something wrong with the ventilation system?" Shirayuki did her best to breathe from her mouth. "I can recommend several new versions of air scrubbers - when's the last time this was serviced?"

Obi chuckled, ignoring Shirayuki's questions. The more he delayed answers, the more she'd be inclined to stay - or at least not want to escape at the first chance. He nodded to several competitors in greeting, making progress towards one of his oldest friends. "Beatrice! I'm glad to see you're still here at this hour."

"Well, ifn' it isn't our mysterious loner." Beatrice smirked, setting her weights onto the bar support. "What brings you here with a visitor? Not your usual Friday night type of date, now is it?"

"Date? No!" Obi flushed, his eyes widening as he looked back and forth between the two women. "This isn't a date - she's my current boss in need of some relaxation."

Shirayuki shifted her weight, lips pressed in a straight line. An uncomfortable minute passed. "Obi thinks I don't know how to relax." Her words were offered to Beatrice, but her savage look was given to Obi. "He's wrong."

"Yes," Beatrice nodded, "I can see that. Obi is so clueless when it comes to introductions though, wouldn't you say? Your name is?"

Face even redder, Obi rubbed his forehead. "Sorry Beatrice, may I introduce Miss Shirayuki of Fujisawa Corporation?"

Shirayuki thrust out her hand to the other woman, "Call me Yuki, pleased to meet you. No need to stand on outdated formalities."

"Agreed." Beatrice took note of Yuki's strong grip and enthusiastic shaking. "A pleasure for me as well. This gym could do with more females who know their own minds."

A bit chagrined, Obi looked like a deer caught in headlights. "I was wondering if you had a spare workout outfit to lend?"

"What's wrong with yours? Don't you keep extra spares?"

"Of course I do - but it's not really proper for me to offer man's clothes for a lady." Obi wished very hard for the floor to swallow him. "They're clean but not meant -"

"Clothes are just clothes." Shirayuki wasn't sure if she'd surprised herself more or Obi. "As long as they're clean - no big deal if they're men's or lady's." She smiled at Beatrice and dropped her expression down to borderline polite to look at Obi. "It's a bit more than rude to expect to borrow someone else's clothes without asking beforehand."

"I like her." Beatrice pinched Obi's cheek. "You should try to not fuck this up." She laid back on the bench and grasped her barbell, "I'm in the middle of my workout, so if you don't mind, I need my 'me' time." One smooth motion and Beatrice hoisted her weights. She winked at Obi. "Talk to ya later - maybe meet up when you and Miss Yuki have reconciled your differences?"

Obi met Beatrice's stare with a sinking stomach. "Yeah, that'll be soon, I'm sure."

Beatrice hummed noncommittally as she continued with her workout, dismissing Obi and Yuki from her mind - secure that sometime soon she'd be meeting up with them under vastly different circumstances. A more harmonious and happy sort - the kind you bring up in a toast to the bride and groom. She disguised a snort of laughter as effort and continued her bench presses.

Isolated in the empty changeroom, Shirayuki looked at the armful of clothes Obi had given her and smiled. Plain but serviceable t-shirt and shorts, dull blue in colour - but fashioned of moisture-wicking fabrics. She dropped them on the bench and took off her work clothes. Tonight was going to be interesting - and she'd never been so enthused to work-out before.

Obi hurried into his second set of gym clothes. Shirayuki had seemed interested in working out - but he'd be damned to take her acquiesce at face-value. If she was lying and ran out now, she might be captured by the scum threatening her life - and that would haunt him forever.

"I'm going to show you my usual work-out." Obi nodded, "Miss Yuki, this shouldn't be any harder than you can manage."

"How hard do you go at it on a regular day?" Shirayuki made sure to smile sweetly. "I'm sure I can keep up. Don't hold back on my account."

"Fine." Obi marched over to an unattended machine, adjusted the weights and changed the incline of the bench.

Shirayuki watched him, her smile losing its wattage as more people left the gym. "What's up with the mass exodus?"

"Friday nights aren't as busy - some people go out on dates instead of working around the clock like nerds." Shrugging, Obi pretended not to see Shirayuki frown. "Are you sure you should use such fancy words with a big dummy like me?"

"Don't distract me."

"Wouldn't dream of it." His dry delivery was at odds with Obi's smirk. He would dream of Yuki - and his imagination would spook her like nothing else. "This is a very simple machine, I would guess you've used something like this before."

"Obviously." Shirayuki tugged on the bottom of her borrowed shirt. "Who hasn't?" She gestured at her bodyguard to move aside. "All the time."

Obi hid his smile as Shirayuki sat backwards on the bench and did a very poor job of hiding her search for work instructions. She moved her feet further apart and made a show of rolling her shoulders and then tightening her shoelaces.

"All the time?"

"No. How long were you going to let me struggle?"

"I'll use it first - you watch and learn. Get up." Obi then sat facing forward and gripped the handles, admiring the attractive picture Shirayuki made. She stood with hands on hips, her little frown all the more adorable as she chewed her bottom lip. Obi demonstrated five reps. "Now you try."

Shirayuki nodded and sat, gripping the handles tight.

"Relax, no one's gonna try to take them from you!" Obi laid a hand on Shirayuki's shoulder, "Is this too much? There's lots of treadmills we could use instead."

"I've never enjoyed the more complicated gym machines." Shirayuki released her death grip, wiping her hands on her thighs. "I let my competitive nature get the best of me - but I don't mind if you get your workout in. I can get myself home from here." She made to rise, stopped by Obi moving closer - his face, normally so impassive, clearly chagrined.

"Hey, I was a little bit pushy too. But my offer stands - exercising makes for a great release of endorphins." In the back of his mind, Obi wondered how hard Shirayuki would slap him if he suggested the other (and better to his way of thinking) method to achieve peace. Damn, that would be glorious.

"It's been a long week, and I know I've had enough of your company." Shirayuki let a bitter smile twist her lips. "And I'm not in the mood to be babysat further."

"And here I thought we were connecting on a friendship level." Obi joked, forcing gaiety into his voice and actions. He shrugged, taking a big step backward. "Miss Ph.D. is a coward."

"Fine - I'll be running laps on a treadmill and you knock yourself out on that contraption." Shirayuki stood and raised her chin. "You'd better add more weights - after all, it isn't a good workout if you don't struggle."

"Pfft. Thanks for the words of wisdom." Obi watched Shirayuki secure a treadmill, pleased it was close - and began a light gym routine that switched him from machine to machine, all ringing Yuki's treadmill.

An hour of covert spying and exercise later, Obi, drenched in sweat (more from nerves than exhaustion) was dying for a shower. Shirayuki had cooled down from her run twenty minutes ago and was openly staring as Obi continued to use more equipment. Was he a bit of an exhibitionist, or was he pathetic? Why would someone so smart and talented care about him? If nothing else, Obi knew he wasn't that unattractive. Miss Yuki might at the very least decide to slum and sample his wares. Heh, Obi knew he was being ridiculous.

An itch between his shoulder blades made Obi wary. He inspected the perimeter of the gym for suspicious activity; only two men working together, one as a spotter and the other lifting. He'd lived long enough as a bodyguard not to ignore those sorts of sensations. Lived - that was the operative word. Taking a precaution that others deem unnecessary could be the difference between a big fat bonus cheque or riding in place of honour in a funeral procession.

"Babe!" Obi knew Shirayuki would respond - very possibly loudly - immediately.

"Sweetie-nugget," Shirayuki answered through gritted teeth. "Have you lost your mind?" She moved closer, arms crossed.

In for a penny, in for a pound. "Babe, you can yell at me later. Right now, you should listen to your man."

Obi stood and placed his hands on Shirayuki's shoulders, leaning within kissing distance. Praying it looked like he was fooling around, Obi whispered instructions. "We're leaving now - and whatever happens, follow my lead."

Her sweet breath tickled his ear, and Obi fought to control his libido. He was a battle-hardened assassin dammit - why did this woman derail him from his purpose?

"I noticed those two guys too - they're both big and bulky but only using half the weights you set for me."

Damn, Shirayuki was every inch a brilliant person. "We want to give them the slip without alerting them. Let's go and allow them to follow - but we'll cut and run once we move past the exit."

Shirayuki giggled, her lips dangerously close to Obi's ear for his peace of mind. Softly, she said, "You'll pay for this later."

"I can live with that." Obi prayed his luck would hold as he gave her a hug. "Might as well run the tab, huh? We'll act like lovers. Can you manage? You want your work badge, right?"

"You know you're dead, right? And yeah, I can't let that fall into the wrong hands. I could cancel it, but ..."

"Later. We'll discuss it later." Obi caught Shirayuki's hand and laced his fingers with hers. Making sure to take slow and easy strides, he lead her to the women's locker room. Taking care to seem oblivious to the two threats, Obi kept his back to them - as if he was totally unconcerned. He fished out his phone and began browsing.

Holding her street clothes and personal possessions to her chest, Shirayuki came out of the locker room. "I'm ready."

Obi kept hold of his phone, pretending to pay attention to that more than where they were going. "My keys are on me - there's nothing else I need to retrieve. Take my arm and play girlfriend, okay?"

Sensing Yuki wanted to argue but knew it wasn't workable now, Obi gave himself a personal bonus. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and placed his hand over where Shirayuki had attached herself to his upper arm. "You're a nasty girl! Can't believe you like knockin' boots before getting clean!"

They were mere steps away from the exit. The two burly men appeared to be discussing which machine to use next - as they ambled closer and closer to the exit as well.

"Takes one to know one!" Shirayuki felt flustered. She knew her reply didn't quite make sense, but it was the best she could currently manage.

In the gym's foyer, Obi hustled his charge down the corridor leading to the front entrance. "Hurry, they'll most likely split to cover both the front and back. If we can get out of sight sooner, so much the better."

Hands on the door, they both heard heavy footfalls pounding closer.

"Shit!" Obi thrust Shirayuki out first and clicked his car remote. Halfway down the block his vehicle chirped and unlocked. "Run faster!"

Obi looked over his shoulder - the larger of the two thugs was fumbling with some kind of sidearm. Together they pelted towards the car, Obi rolling over the hood to take the driver's side and Shirayuki collapsing into the passenger seat.

Two soft 'thwups' made the car shake. "Get down, more!" Obi jammed the key into the ignition and peeled away from the curb, laying smoke and rubber. Three more 'thwups' - dinging the bumper and breaking a tail light.

"I'm gonna have to assume they know where you live - I can't bring you to your home until they're neutralized." Obi glanced at Shirayuki. She was hugging her clothes like her life depended on it. Reaching over slowly, Obi patted her shoulder. "Lucky you, we're besties until this is solved."

"Did they change the definition of lucky? If not my place, then yours? There's got to be a better choice."

Obi was relieved to hear a bit of Shirayuki's attitude make a return. If she could make jokes it meant that she was rebounding from the horror of the two goons shooting at them. "You haven't seen my place, so don't diss my digs."

"Either I make snarky comments or I start freaking out. Your choice, sweetie-nugget." Shirayuki giggled, high-pitched and going higher.

"Call me darling." Obi glanced at his charge - she was caught off-guard by his comment. Now for some more foolishness. "My love, honey, or even dear would be acceptable. But don't call me late to dinner."

Shirayuki realized she was digging her fingernails into her street clothes, ruining them. She released her grip and let them slide down her legs. Only turning her head, she stared at her bodyguard. "You must be joking."

"Not joking." Obi took the next left and zipped down a small street - more of a lane, actually. "Well, a bit. Feeling better?"

"Yeah...I am." Her nerves were still jangling, but more from imagining herself using those endearments on Obi. More exactly, from imagining an intimate encounter with him...bare limbs twisted together...satiated...heated bodies and a climax scream torn from her throat after an hour of foreplay. Was this her body's reaction after encountering danger?

"I've got a defendable safe house - perfect for this situation." Obi let his tone grow jocular as he tested Shirayuki's resilience. "Unless you'd rather run away with me to some decadent top-flight hotel?" He gunned the engine and took a corner with more zip than needed. "Thanks for the silent vote of hell-to-the-no."

Shirayuki shook her head and slumped in her seat. "Take me wherever you need. I'm not going to be thinking and using logic until my heart makes its way back into my ribcage."

"Deal."

To be continued....

[blandwriting]

It's been a long pause, where have I been? Mostly procrastinating at knowing how to be a functioning adult. Despite my flaws, characteristically I'm still very much the same. Major Depressive Disorder, a term to prescribe me antidepressants at a low yet effective amount to keep my anxiety at bay. Effexor XR, Side effects include loss of appetite, drowsiness, blurred vision, fatigue, dry mouth, nausea, sweaty palms, leg tremors, insomnia; I guess the cure and the ailment are one in the same. I'm functioning now at a rate where I feel almost numb enough to feel sufficed by my less than mediocre existence. Thirty years old, greying hair and pubes, a long list of non established idea's that never got off the ground. Financial freedom.... We just reinstated a credit card due to the pandemic taking away our wage and making us less than satisfactory to pay for our fancy Meriton apartment in Mascot. Paces ahead but still trailing behind. I always find myself romanticising life.... Looking for the hidden posies in the mess. No wonder my outlook had degraded to catatonic self destructive seeking missile. I was hit by a car and rolled up onto the dash.... fell to the ground miraculously leaving unscathed only bruised and badly shaken... although the longing for greater injuries if not death was the only thing I could fixate on. Why was I so depressed... why was I so unnerved at my miraculous and somewhat outstanding ability to survive a car driving directly into my right leg without so much as even breaking a bone? I flew over the top of the bonnet and rolled down onto the wet and unforgiving bitumen with nothing more than a manic episode. It opened up a huge sinkhole.... the medication was the only thing stopping me from taking my own life. I cared for nothing. I've had a lot of sobering moments in my short by well worn life. But sitting across from my doctor with tear stained cheeks, quivering bottom lip and shaking hands, I'd spent the last three days just scream crying every moment I had left with my swelling thoughts of self harm and suicide. I simply no longer wished to live.... My doctor worried expression painted across her face sat there and listened to me, as my emotions heightened and I cried out that I was fine... everyone said I was fine... so if I'm fine then why do I no longer want to live... Something has to change... I'm exhausted.... I simply no longer wish to exist, I am meaningless and broken I'm discarded and used, People whom only benefit from myself keep me around I am not loved, I never had been unconditionally loved. She sat there mouth agape... "Krystal..." I looked up to her, With what I can only imagine would have been one of the most pained looks I've ever given another person... " You're not going to kill yourself are you?..." she said furrowing her brows at me with a downturned expression, I looked to the right with my lips pressed into a straight line, rubbing the edge of my thumb nails to the underside of my thumbs, swapping them back and forth, as I looked to my left avoiding eye contact but ruminating on how I felt... softly I let out " I don't know anymore". She reached her hand across the table and asked for my left arm as my right was rendered useless by the bruising. I handed her my hand, hers warm the warmest hand I've felt in a long time, " If you kill yourself Krystal I'll be very angry with you, It will hurt everyone you love, You make me laugh everytime you come in, there are so many other choices".

In that moment I looked at her, I knew I couldn't do it, I'd been held accountable. My heart swollen she wrote me a prescription and I'd left that office with a follow up appointment booked, before I walked out of her room I asked her for a hug, In that moment I felt loved, truly loved with an unbiased heart, She literally didn't have to at all, but I just so needed a hug without answers without question, I just needed that in that moment. To feel loved.

This is the thing, loved. A feeling every human being on the face of the planet longs for a feeling of complete and total acceptance. That is all I've ever been looking for, to feel accepted. I grew up in an unconventional yet familiar family story, My mother freshly 18 two weeks out of the legal boom gates, and my Father turned 22 an hour and fourteen minutes after I was born, It was the typical Australian 1991 period, Still heavily influenced by Christianity, My mum was placed in a separate wing from the other mothers who were Married or accounted for, She and dad were on-again off-again young lovers with a fiery relationship built on jealousy drama and pure attraction, I came into the world on a Monday, it was Mercury retrograde, need I say more. Mum didn't have a lot of money or a stable household at that time, she was living in-between homes, Momentarily we lived in the garage out the back of her mothers house, a red back spider infested ex photography studio and teenager hangout spot, They had a tumultuous relationship themselves, That's the difficulty with family scars, My father from memory lived in a share house with friends, he and his parent's also from a not so forgiving background, both of my parents were dragged up I wouldn't really say either had the golden childhood either of them really deserved, two seperate sides of two different coins, but both resulting in the universal fate of their meeting and my existence. It wasn't long and without shock before my parent's broke up. My dad wasn't ready for fatherhood, he was still drinking and fighting and doing whatever he wanted to do, and mum a young mother had taken on the role of responsibility with a bit more of a stiff upper lip, Rightfully so. He and she were again on and off again for the most of my formidable years, I remember my mum writing notes on a phone pad, back when corded phones were a thing and you were stuck in one place, She'd write his name with hearts and little doodles, I also remember her agonising cries when they'd broken up. It wasn't unusual for Mum to drop me at dad's and for he to leave me with his latest fling and I'd give them hell while he went out stalking down Mum wherever she was. I remember the arguments and my dad's alcohol induced rages towards mum. He showing up to our cottage at random hours banging on the doors and window's to be let in, I remember being dragged out of bed at 2-3-4 am to be placed in a cold Torana to drive around because he was in a violent frenzy smashing every valuable mum had collected on her very small wage she was earning working at a pub to support us, to give me all she could. He'd come in and ruin everything, our tables our chairs the television he'd smash her beds up throw the kitchen around smash the dining tables and chairs, a violent and unstoppable force, and then just like a hurricane he would dissipate and we would rebuild; I don't know how my mother did it, that man didn't even pay the child support he was owing, how do I know this as an adult I went into my centrelink history and saw all of the unpaid arrears.... funny that.

Due to my home life being so far from average or normal I really focused on my imagination, I was plagued with nightmares and an extreme amount of anxiety.... But we didn't really know or talk about mental health in children back then... So I just played with our cats and dogs, singing on the swing alone or annoying our Landlord who owned a sign writing shop out the front, I'd collect snails or grab my dog and escape to the hair salon out on the main road our cottage was behind. The creativity really appealed to me, it gave me an escape from an otherwise crippling existence even for a small child, I was so loved and my mum did everything she could to prove that so, but I just felt so conditional.... I think even as a small child below the age of five I knew that my mothers life would be different if I didn't exist... At school there were rumours around about my family so obviously the children were biased based upon their parents opinions even as early as preschool mum and I faced adversity... I was an outcast from a poor family going to a Lutheran preschool in an affluent area, my mum showing up in a Commodore to drop me off, young and beautiful, I found it difficult to make friends, although I had one best friend but she ended out going to the adjoining Primary school and I were to be moved to the state school three doors down from our cottage.

When I started at my primary school there was 27 students from year 1 to year 7, there were Three educators, Miss S was year 1 - 3, Mrs B was mathematics and science and the Principal Mr F educated year 4-7. I'd made some friends but I was a little off-beat and bossy and a real stickler for the rules so I was always telling on everyone, I wasn't overly athletic or smart, I was more interested in writing or talking or reading than really doing any actual school work. I remember vividly being in trouble for talking while we were doing maths which I still very much struggle with today.... But I ended out being put in time out and I sat there and thought I'd counted to a thousand... because I was entirely bored.... Miss S walked past and I told her " Miss S I counted to a thousand". She looked down at me and said " No you didn't, You silly girl you don't know how to... now be quiet". I'm still cut about that... Mole.

There were many times in those years I was subjected to questionable people and activities many in which I know for sure, No child of mine is ever having sleepovers at their friends houses.... and I mean it. I was socially under developed and preferred the company of adults to children... I didn't fit in with kids my age and the ones I was socialised with were little sicko's with weird parents...

Surprisingly my parent's got back together when I was around age 7 or 8... My dad was working overseas and for some reason mum and he decided to get married by this point my mum had my first younger brother and She and Dad got married...... even that day was a flop for my poor Mum... he ended out going on a four day drinking binge with his friends and mum was left to clean up the mess of the wedding after party and retire home alone. Romantic right?.... I love and adore each one of my four younger brothers and I am so thankful for their existence they’re all individually wonderful and loving and kind i just find it difficult to sometimes sit there and think about how different my mum’s life could have been... had none of us existed.... although I am grateful sometimes for existence I just wish that my dad had dealt with his demons and maybe had gotten some help, flash forward a few years and dad ended up in rehab for six weeks during that time he’d seen mental health professionals but nothing came from it... he just decided to not take his Zoloft because “he hates feeling happy” He for some reason needs aggression which for me is something I just cannot simply understand, now as an adult I recognise my parents have their own issues their own histories and past just as we all do, but it’s one of those things where when I was younger and learning about the world my perception wasn’t of that but only of a lack of unconditional love, now as an adult I’ll do upmost anything to prevent being like my father, so when offered the help I took it... there weren’t other options in that moment for me to be functioning... I just hope I made the right choice.

As a teenager I experienced the usual laziness,  my household was filled with children and crying and new borns the precession of another brother came closely after the first was born and mum was dealing with a “hyperactive” toddler and a newborn and myself now a pre-teen.... I’d moved school’s by this point but realistically speaking and I’ll cut it fairly short, I never really fit in with anyone or anything.... Without being academically gifted or Athletically gifted... my value wasn’t highly ranked... I spent most of my lunch breaks playing Chinese checkers in the library or reading books, I loved books and Encyclopedia’s, hyper-fixating on certain topics and being drawn to the mystics and paranormal.. I would spend hours pouring over pages within books my Aunties had gifted me for Birthday’s or Christmas’s. I feel like my time filled within that school was also darkened by my own inability to behave like a “normal person” I don’t know if at the age of ten I was acutely aware at all about my inability to fit in... all i know is getting choked out at lunch time and ran away from wasn’t the best...

I’ll continue the story later.